Flow (Grip, #0.5)

by Kennedy Ryan

We both gave each other space to be misunderstood, because we really wanted to understand.

“I don’t care what color a girl is. I like the color of smart, the shade of funny, and sexy is my favorite hue.”

“So what color am I then?” I ask before thinking better of it. He’ll probably just say I’m white, obviously.

“What color are you?” he repeats, his eyes never leaving my face. “You, Bristol, are a freaking prism.”

There are too few perfect moments in this life. Far too few of us get them, but I am privileged to have this one with this man. When he empties his chest of his heart and empties his body of his soul for me under a starry sky on a Ferris wheel. And I know. In this moment, I know that I’m lost to him. It has been a matter of days. It has been a string of moments. It has not been long enough to tell him, but in my heart, I know I am lost.

“You come back to me, okay?” he whispers in my ear. “Slow doesn’t mean stop, right?”