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He’s the kind of good-looking that transforms once self-respecting females into useless puddles of dumbass.
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I feel like grabbing my crotch and checking to see if my balls are still there, because I think they may be in her pocket and I need to get them back.
Asher might be my younger brother, but I don’t think he realizes it. He would beat the world down for me if it would make things better, and I think he feels like a failure because it won’t.
Josh Bennett laughs, and for one minute, everything is right in the world.
“I’d ask you, you know. If I was allowed. I’d ask you a thousand times until you’d tell me. But you won’t let me ask.”
“It wasn’t so much that I wanted to see her again,” he says, looking at me with the depth of more than seventeen years in his eyes. “I wanted her to see you.”
“Because she’s mine and I don’t want you touching her.” I’m a five-year-old fighting over a toy. I feel like an idiot as soon as I say it, but it’s said and it’s true. And I don’t want it to be.
I wanted to talk to you. He says it like it’s the most obvious answer in the world. He drove us two hours away for dinner, to a place where no one would know us, so that we could have a conversation. I want to laugh and cry and hug the living crap out of him. I kiss him instead.
“I love you, Sunshine,” I tell her, before I lose my nerve. “And I don’t give a shit whether you want me to or not.”
