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“Over there in the red flannel. He’s got that look about him. You know, the one that says he’s bad for your health, and your heart.”
She snuffles and then snorts at me, shaking her head from side to side upon discovering that I’m not, in fact, the treat dispenser she was hoping for.
The life of the motherfucking party, the last man standing at five a.m., all while dying on the inside.
But my hold doesn’t ease on him. For some goddamn reason, I don’t trust letting him go. I feel like if I do, he’ll simply slump to the ground. If I don’t hold him up, who else is gonna?
On top of all that, I lost my lucky stone. It feels like a sign.
“I fucking idolized you.” Those wide eyes still trace back and forth over my mouth as he gives me his soft admission. “I hated losing to you . . . but I loved seeing you win.”
“What a pretty thing you are when you blush for me,” he murmurs, and I nearly combust on the spot at the way that turns me inexplicably and confusingly to absolute stone.
All I can think and feel and goddamn breathe is him.
Help me, I’m so pathetic.
“You want to be a brat? Or do you want to be a good boy for me?”
“I had nowhere else to go.”
“I could never hate you, snowflake.”
“I feel safe with you.”
“Ummpphhf. Oh, god,” he gasps and immediately rocks into my hold. “No, snowflake. There’s no one here but me giving you this.
