It’s all she could think about. Put that pet rabbit in the stew pot, and brushed her hands down her jeans.
Attraction, they had it hot, hot, hot. (Like the bunny in the pot, she giggled.)
He couldn’t leave her, she’d never allow it. She would choose for him.
I’m so thankful for the micro-fiction opportunities on Medium! (I’ll write that in my gratitude journal later.)