My birthday. March eighth. Thirty-eight. He’s been wearing my birthdate on his jersey for six years and I had no idea. He slowly turns over his shoulder to look at me. I lean my chin on my arm that’s resting on him, a painfully big smile on my mouth. “So, you like really like me, huh?” I tease quietly for only him to hear.
So cute. I think I am going to vomit.
