“I need you, Ari. Right now.” The admission nearly buckles my knees. And God help me, I love it. I love how badly he wants me. How he doesn’t hide it or make me guess. How he’s barely holding it together, even now, in my sunlit kitchen on a Tuesday afternoon, surrounded by bags of boring groceries. He wants me all the time. And the worst part? I love it. I love being wanted like this. Like I’m not a burden. Like I’m not too much. Like I’m exactly enough.
