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That’s the thing about distance: it either gives you time to move on from someone, or it makes you realize just how much you need them.
He shouldn’t care this much. He doesn’t need to impress me. I’m just his stepsister.
Yet, she wants to hold his hand and kiss him ?
Just his StEpSiStEr my asssssss
“Me estoy muriendo por besarte,”
“I’m not going to tell you that,” he says. “Because I’m not over you.”
“No,” he says with a minute shake of his head. He smiles gently, his eyes resting on my collarbone. “That’s not what it means,” he murmurs. “I said that I’m dying to kiss you.”
“When it comes to you, it’s simple: as long as you don’t give up, I won’t either.”
Is there a difference between loving someone and being in love with someone?
I really hate this part. Like why couldn’t have eden just sucked it up and been nice. It makes me cringe soooo hard. Like girl, you’re rude af!!
“Are you that addicted to me, Eden Munro?”
“You’ve got nothing to be worried about,” he whispers slowly, his breath hot against my cheek, “because, baby, I’m all yours.”
I fall asleep in the arms of the person I’m in love with,
“C’mon, Eden. Not again.” He purses his lips. “Why is it so hard for you to understand that you’re the one I’m into and no one else?”
want you more than that kid down there wants to catch a foul ball,”
“But I’m starting to wonder if tonight he wants a home run as much as I want you.”
“If Jeter hits a home run tonight,” he whispers against my skin, “how about we get our own too?”
He knows the effect he has on me. He likes the effect he has on me.
He crashes his lips to mine, eager yet gentle, and he kisses me deeply straight from the get-go.
“But, Eden,” he murmurs, his voice raspy, “no one gets a home run at the start of the game.”
To Tyler and me, we’re so much more.
His eyes are gentle and faded again, although a little bloodshot.
He might be high ?
need you because I’m in love with you, Eden, and I have no idea how I’ll ever get over you.”
Inked in small lettering, black and bold, is my name.
though people knowing our secret no longer seems like the end of the world.
“How about: Je t’aime?”
“Only if te amo works for you,”
“We are officially going to hell,”
“I was always going to choose you,”
“No te rindas.”
“And that’s not even mentioning La Breve Vita. I think they’re Italian. She loves ’em. She always closes her eyes when she listens to music, ’cause she’s a little weird like that. I kinda like it though. Every time I walked into her room, she’d be sitting there, earphones in, eyes closed. Half the time I don’t think she even knew I was even there. She never looked up, but she looked cute as hell. Still weird though.”
“Happy Fourth of July, baby.”
The nakedness of thy sister, the daughter of thy father, or daughter of thy mother, whether she be born at home, or born abroad, even their nakedness thou shalt not uncover,’” Tyler murmurs, his eyes never leaving mine, forever smoldering. “Leviticus, chapter eighteen, verse nine.”
“In other words,” he says, “I am most definitely going to hell.”
All it says is this: MINE.
I’m his. I’ve always been his, never quite Dean’s, and Tyler’s always been mine too.
It changes from soft and slow to fast and furious every few seconds, a mixture of our anger and our sadness, and soon I’m sinking into him again, forgetting everything that has just happened.
I think we’ll forever be each other’s biggest secret.
“But it’s New York. We don’t do anything less than crazy in this city.”
“The Target parking lot.”
“No way,” he says once he realizes what my next move is. “You’re gonna owe me new tires after this.”
Dean being here could ruin everything.
“You know, ’cause I totally stole her boyfriend and all.”
“I can’t even begin to tell you how thankful I am that you did.”
“You can’t do this to me again.”
wasn’t gonna explain myself,” he says. “I was gonna ask if you could get the fuck out of my apartment.”
“I don’t choose Dean. I choose you. It’s always been you.”
Touch him, tell him I love him. And not in French this time.
I’m smiling because our secret no longer seems so wrong or so scandalous or so terrifying.
She’s the second person to know, yet she’s the first to accept it, and for that I’ll forever be grateful. Acceptance feels nice.
Along my left wrist, the words No te rindas
His words. His writing. His one simple request.
