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None of that involves a certain green-eyed baseball player. I’m the one who walked out on him, anyway. I bet he hasn’t thought about me at all.
I still showed up for the date we planned—I waited over two hours just in case she’d show—but she ghosted me. I don’t want to admit that to my own brother. Not when his girlfriend is Mia’s best friend.
Sebastian Miller-Callahan. Sebastian, who has been smiling at me ever since the movie theater last fall. Sebastian, who calls me sweet when I come. Sebastian, who threw a punch for me. Who the hell does that?
“Can you break up with someone if you’re not dating? If you, in fact, refuse to label it, then finally say yes to a date when you’re asked for the second time, and then flee and fucking ghost him?”
Even as wet as a sewer rat, Mia di Angelo is the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.
You’re drinking a beer, but you prefer bourbon. You’re wearing a pink dress, and you hate pink. You were flirting with a total loser, letting him touch you when you don’t like being touched by strangers.” He cocks his head to the side. “Want me to keep going?”
“Oh my God.” “What?” “Oh, no. Boo. I thought I saw Alexander Skarsgård, but it was just another hot blond guy.” She clears her throat. “You know, I think there’s one in Moorbridge, too. He plays baseball.”
As I expected, a pair of black suede boots, identical to the ones I had to throw away, lay nestled in the tissue paper. I check the size automatically. Eight. They’re going to fit perfectly.
“Just curious,” he drawls. “How long were you planning to jerk him around, Mia?”
I don’t trust myself to speak without bursting into tears, but I dig my heels into his back and kiss him as fiercely as I ever have, and I know he understands my silent plea. To come in me, to claim me, to leave a mark in me so deep that nothing can take it away.
Maybe changing your mind about something fundamental isn’t a betrayal, but a sign of growth.
I love the way she’s looking at me, not demanding so much as begging, like the world will shatter if I don’t move right fucking now.
Soft. Comfortable. A little bubble of warmth in the middle of the night, the way we’ve done it so many times now.
But it’s been too long, and I won’t be satisfied until she comes again. Until I taste myself mixed up in her.
I love the look of him now, and I’ll love the look of him five years from now, and ten, and twenty, and all the years after. My heart clenches as he rolls us onto our sides, tickling me so I shriek, clapping a hand over my mouth.
