The stolen kiss

"Tell me more about stolen kisses," she had said.

He took another sip of whisky, put down the glass and stared at the blinking cursor. His fingers flew across the keyboard.

---

"Here's a book you might like," she said.

"Hmm. A Greek mythological love story," he remarked, reading the back-cover of the book she had handed him.

He pushed her against the row of dusty books in the old library, quickly looking over his shoulder to make sure the septuagenarian librarian wasn't around.

"You like these, do you?" he whispered, as he looked into her bright, kohl-lined eyes.

"Don't you?" she asked him, with a flutter of her eyelids and a quickened breath.

He let his arms gently hold her waist as he pulled himself closer to her.

"I do," he whispered as he moved closer.

Their eyes faltered, and closed.

They stole a kiss in the old library. The dusty books of Greek mythology were their only witnesses.

--

"Not bad," he said as he emptied his glass.

He poured himself some more whisky...