Rogue hearts

They say that perfumes linger. But she can't remember the way he smelled. Only the fleeting recollection that she liked smelling him when she nuzzled her face in his neck as he engulfed her in his arms. Some people are amazing huggers- she realized this only after being hugged by him. That is how she thought of it- hugged by him. Not hugging him. And the knowledge of all the other girls he hugged is suddenly undeniable. And she wonders if any of them carried his scent back with her. Maybe they had better olfactory senses. She is amused that she is experiencing jealousy- it is beguiling to observe it, like she is not the one personally involved in the whole affair. And she then remembers the way his lips brushed lightly against hers as they hugged goodbye. The knowledge safe between them- in the way they touched each other every time they met. Not even communicated through eyes. Too personal to be put in words or in the way they looked at each other. But in the way his hand rests on the small of her back for just a moment, in the way their cheeks brush against each other as they greet, the way they held hands while looking away from each other. The knowledge too sacred to be defiled by even a look of acknowledgment. So what happens when two innocent heart-breakers with their own hearts patched up and ready to be broken again cross paths and sparks fly?
After all she DID remember the way his lips felt. She was glad they were thin. She had never liked kissing the full kinds...