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For the ones who were told their dreams were too dreamy but who went on to make them come true anyway. And for my awful high school English teacher, Mr. C, who looked me in the eye at sixteen years old and told me I’d never be a good writer. Thanks for the motivation.
When life gives you lemons…” It squeezes the acid right in your fucking eyes.
“Oh, tonight? Tonight is just our meet-cute. It’s the night we’ll tell our kids about one day. Remember?”
They’re hard insecurities to shake, especially when they were planted so young, reinforced by the words I grew up hearing. But I’ve come to embrace these parts of myself. Most days, I believe they are some of my best qualities.
To the outside observer, it would appear that I’m staring at the guy I showed up here with. But they would be wrong. I’m staring at his dad.
Hell, I can feel it in my own. This is a cruel, cruel joke. Because I may not know him well, but I ache for him all the same. I would have chosen him. I curl my
Go look at something purple, Clyde teased yesterday. And all I could think was, I can’t. Not when everything purple reminds me of Gwen’s unusual eye color.
“Careful what you wish for, Gwen. I’ve got a laundry list of ways I’d like to watch you work for it, and none of them involve poker.”
And still I wonder if he dreams about breaking the rules the way that I do.
“The thing is, Gwen, next time you want to watch me, you should just ask.” My brain function stutters as my eyes snap to his. “Pardon me?” “You heard me.”
“Oh, cute. Mocking my beliefs and career. Very original. No one has ever made that joke before,”
“Thanks, Daddy Buzzkill. You just chased him off for no good reason.”
“I mean, to be frank, all your chakras are fucked.” “Oh yeah?” “You’re repressed and lashing out.” My molars clamp as I gaze down on her. “And bitter. And so tense that I don’t think your body would let you take a proper deep breath even if you tried.”
“Or what? You might man up and take something for yourself for once?” I snap. I take something for myself for once. My hands dart out and grip Gwen’s waist. “You know what?” I snarl, yanking her toward me, staring at her plush mouth as her lips softly part—no doubt to say something infuriating. But I don’t let her get a word in edgewise. “Fuck it,” I mutter. Then I kiss her.
Where my father found faults, Bash only finds beauty. And he doesn’t even need to try. I could tell by the way he looked at me the first time I invited myself to sit down with him.
