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To finding your comfort person
It wasn’t even about the lack of romance in my life; it was about being someone’s priority. Having an anchor. Knowing there was a person out there who would be my first call if shit went down and vice versa.
I was a balloon drifting aimlessly through the crowd while everyone around me found their tethers.
“Don’t sound so happy to see me, buttercup. I’ll get the wrong idea.” I suppressed a laugh at Brooklyn’s eye roll.
“Wow. I didn’t realize you watched me so closely during our matches.” I placed a hand over my chest. “I’m flattered. Truly.”
Brooklyn may look angelic, but she had the tongue of a viper. It was oddly attractive. I shouldn’t enjoy verbally sparring with her so much. She was the manager’s daughter, which meant he would rip my balls off if I looked at her the wrong way. On top of that, she was one of my sister’s best friends, which meant Scarlett would also rip my balls off if I looked at her the wrong way. It was a lot of potential danger for one girl. The problem was, I’d never liked playing it safe.
“Okay, buttercup.”
He was like the moon to my tide; his mere presence altered my gravitational field.
“Who’s the one who can’t control themself now?” “I never said I could control myself around you.”
“No fever, which means you’re not sick and delirious. You just have bad taste.” I dropped my hand. “I’m so sorry. That condition is incurable.”
I stayed out of it. I had enough on my mind without trying to wrangle a bunch of footballers who were arguing about dinosaur sex.
“The reason is because I couldn’t stop thinking about you while I was gone. Then I come home to see you sitting there, doing nothing except existing, and I can’t fucking breathe.” His voice was low and taut. “Maybe you were right. I am pissed at you because you can float through the kitchen, making pancakes and cracking jokes, while I’m using every goddamn ounce of willpower not to touch you. That’s why I don’t want to be around you. You’re killing me, and you don’t even know it.”
Tout finira par s'arranger.”
“Brooklyn.” I lowered my voice, my throat strained. “I’d lose every single fucking bet in the world if it meant I could be with you.”
“Et ça a un putain de goût, ma chérie.”
temporarily. “Je serais toujours là pour toi, mon coeur. Quoiqu'il arrive.”
“If anything happened to you, I wouldn’t survive. Do you understand? Tu es plus que mon cœur. Tu es mon tout.”
The taste of his kiss. The feel of his touch. The sound of his voice next to my ear and the comfort of his scent in my lungs.
“I think so. Hell must’ve frozen over.”
“Probably. The heat is overrated anyway.”
He said it was because buttercups were beautiful but poisonous, just like me and my insults. Plus, they matched the color of my hair.
