I stare at his chest, my mouth drying at his sculpted muscles, the six-pack, the deep V that leads down to his jeans. I see his tulip bouquet tattoo, the script letters at the top of the pink blooms. My eyes blur. Emotion lifts me and destroys me at the same time as I trace my fingers over the words. Tulip. Waiting for you. Always.
HE GOT A FREAKING TATOO FOR HER. Im dead. Im sold. Gimme 20 of him, Santa
