“Fuck, I love you.” This girl makes me laugh like no one else, even when things are heavy. And especially when they’re awkward. She finds the joy in the deepest suck. “About that,” she starts, toying with the buttons on my shirt. Hesitation creases her forehead for a moment. “I mean it. With all my heart. I wouldn’t fuck with someone like that.” “You love me.” I can’t tell if it’s a question or a statement, but I treat it like the former. “I love you, T. I don’t even know when I figured it out. Maybe when I pulled the car over, or on the drive back. Or when my fingers were shaking so much I
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