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“You mean aside from the big ‘FUCK YOU’ you’ve got tattooed on your forehead?” He gestures at my face with his hand. I purse my lips. “Oh, so you can see it. Good. For a minute there, I thought it must have washed off in the shower.”
“Yeah, I do. And right now, all signs point to me taking you down to my room and fucking your brains out.” Dead. RIP Jake Compton, the best grinder the NHL ever had. He died doing what he loved most.
“God, you’re so far out of my league. What the hell are you doin’ with a guy like me?” He’s trying to make a joke, but I sense the undercurrent of truth in his words. He’s actually confused. I step in, brushing my thumb over his lips. “You’re a lost boy, remember? You’re meant to be finding me.”
Of course, my perfect girl likes to play. I bet she’s got more kinks than a garden hose.
“I’ve always loved storms,” she murmurs, her hands resting on my forearms. “The complexity, the power. Its nature showing herself to us. We dare to cage her in, but storms are her way of showing us the truth. She is limitless.”
“The minute I heard my first love story, I started looking for you, not knowing how blind that was. Lovers don’t finally meet somewhere, they’re in each other all along.” Maybe we’ll meet again. Maybe not. Either way, we’ve been in each other all along. XO, Mystery Girl
