53 Letters for My Lover (53 Letters for My Lover, #1)

by Leylah Attar

“What good is love if you don’t show it?”

This is what it must feel like, being sucked into the dizzying spiral of a deadly tornado. One moment I’m spinning in the absurdly dark rings around his electric blue irises, and the next, everything fades into the smoldering sensuality of his mouth. How many heartbeats does it take to cross ten inches? To close the buzzing, zinging, charged up field between us?

We were a different kind of broken. The quiet, silent kind that gets swept under the bed or stuffed in the linen closet. And we had become good, really, really good, at leaving those spaces undisturbed.

“You just see what you can’t have,” I reply. “Maybe. Or maybe I’ve carried you with me for so long, there’s no room for anyone else.” I suck in my breath. “You’ve made me out to be something I’m not. It’s all in your head.”

Somewhere in the fabric of all these years, our lives got tangled, like unruly threads pulling and snagging into impossible knots. How could we have known that one night would stay with us so long? I remember it like it was yesterday.