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Uncomfortable things have to be worth it, worth whatever discomfort they bring you, otherwise they’re just…uncomfortable for no reason.
I get crushes on men rather easily. Sue me.
There’s something else about them though—something else behind that makes me sit up straighter. A confidence, maybe? Some kind of self-assurance…? Or maybe it’s just good, old-fashioned pride, I don’t know.
“Reckon I’m a bit in love with ya, that’s all.”
Our eyes lock, and there’s somethin’ electric between us, like you could bring the dead back to life with the spark.
Fuck yeah, I’m a new man. There was me before Ysolde Featherstonhaugh, and then there’s me now, after.
