Out on a Limb

by Hannah Bonam-Young

I know I have zero claim over the guy, but I don’t particularly enjoy him having an enemies-to-lovers meet cute with the Antichrist.

“So…do we—do we get married?” “What?” I jump back. “No! What? Why would we get married? We don’t even know each other!”

He sits straighter, blowing out a breath. “Sorry, I’m not sure what came over me just then.” “The ghost of your great-grandfather, evidently,” I say.

I yawn, stretching my arms over my head, and Bo tilts his chin up, winking at me—as if my yawn was a nonverbal cue to get everyone out. I hadn’t intended it to be, but I appreciate the concern.

Love this

He traces his bottom lip with his thumb, then stares up at the ceiling. “If our goal is platonic…could you do me a favor?” “Sure?” I ask, obvious confusion overtaking my voice. “Could you keep it down? At night?”

He notices, his lips twitching up just a little. “Old house, thin walls. Beautiful moaning coming from down the hall that makes me want to pull my hair out.” This is not happening. I forbid this from happening. He doesn’t look away, his eyes narrowing on me as I stare off over his shoulder, willing myself to teleport into the fucking sun.

Hahahahahaha

“I want you to help me with money.” “Seriously?” He grips the arms of the chair as he kicks a leg out. “Hell yeah!” I laugh, a little offended. “I’m not that bad with money, am I?” “No. Sorry, just—I’m glad you’d come to me for help. I like that.”

“Celebratory?” I ask. “What are we celebrating?” “Your new plan. The kid you’re growing. You, in general.”

“Three big, important words. You know them, yes?” “No, sorry, I’m unfamiliar. You better wake up and tell me.” “You deserve better than a bedroom confession. There should be spectacle,” he says, smiling to himself, his eyes still shut tight. “Pizzaz,” he adds, sighing. “I don’t need spectacle.” I just need you.

“I love you, Win. I love you so much it makes me feel like I’ve hated everything else in my life up until now. Nothing compares to what I feel for you. Not even close.”

“I know you’re not used to it, but so long as I’m around, I’ll be looking after you,” he says, voice low and gruff. “I consider it my job and my privilege from now on. You want things to be fair? So do I. Trust me that I know what’s fair. Trust me to look after you, Win. Trust me to take care of you the way I need to.”