Steve itched to leave the briefing. It was impossible to concentrate, and for once, he thanked his lucky stars for his eidetic memory which gave him perfect recall as he could no more focus on Fury and his briefing then he could stop thinking about Lily.
He’d come on too strong. He knew it. Lily was hurting, and he’d been laying down innuendos and comments of an inappropriate nature. She didn’t need that from him. Not now. She needed comfort, support, and care — not grabby hands.
But she liked grabby hands. Steve tried hard to ignore the inner voice which reminded him of how genuine and uncertain she’d sounded permitting him to touch her wings; how hope and longing had filled her voice. But he’d wanted no misunderstandings and asked for clarification because he genuinely didn’t want to overstep her boundaries. Was touching a woman’s wings like grabbing her ass? How was he supposed to know without asking?
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