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Luke Kelly, baseball star and total babe—and slide it over the
“I didn’t pick you up,” I point out. “You just sort of attached yourself to me.”
“Like a cuddly and adorable koala.”
“Or a par...
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Wars have been fought for less than a smile like Max Kuemper’s.
“You look at that kid like you’re starving and he’s your last meal.”
Max—lovely, tousle-haired, sleepy-eyed Max—walks in, and I swear to god I almost cry in relief.
“Maxy, I’m here, wearing an omelet yellow shirt and an apron, asking you to go steady with me.”
“Sex cowboys?”
“I just couldn’t think of any other relationship terms, so figured I’d make up some of my own. Sex cowboys sounds like it might be a good time.”
“Boyfriend, then. Whichever label means that we’re exclusive, and that nobody can touch you but me, that’s the one I want.”
“Good morning, baby,” I reply, because I’m a fucking sap,
“You’re not broken, Max. You’re beautiful and kind; you make me fucking laugh, and it’s not like you’re even trying to do it, but everything
you say always ends up being what I needed to hear. I wanted you the moment you walked into the diner that night—I wanted to know you, and touch you, and just be around you. None of that changed when I found out about the party. I know you’re mad at me, and I’m going to do what you asked and leave, but I’m not leaving for good, okay? I’m not walking away.”
He stops at the threshold, toeing the line between the hallway and my room like a vampire who has to be invited inside.
because you’re mine, which means you’re mine to take care of.”
“A back rub and he gave you his clothes? Forget kicking his ass, I’m going to bury the body in the woods.”
“Sir, would you like to be penetrated in some early morning coitus?”
I’m obsessed with how obsessed he is with my fucking hair.
