Resting a hand behind her head, she looked at me, her big eyes taunting me as her other hand rested on her bare stomach. She looked so fucking soft and warm and perfect. He’d seen her like this. He’d lain next to her like this, and regret racked through me, not because of the picture before me, but because it should never have been him. I could’ve had her—her first time, everything—and I let her go three years ago.
