Always (Indigo Falls #1)

by Loren Leigh

Simkung. It’s Korean for that throb you get in your chest with some people.

Why does the way he’s holding those cups make my breath hitch?

“Regardless, you haven’t done anything. Why this sudden interest?” “It’s not sudden,” he says smoothly. “My interest is a constant.”

It’s breath-catchingly gorgeous. And infinite. Some people say it makes them feel small, but looking up at a star-stacked sky like this, I’ve always felt part of something. Maybe that’s why I’ve inked it all over my body. Or maybe it’s simpler than that: I just like this shit. The possibilities of the night sky.

Kepler’s just different. He always has been. In a sky stacked with stars, he’s the brightest one.

The full truth lingers just on my tongue. How he wakes me up. Head to fucking toe.

“And I text you because every one of those pictures you send feels like it breathes life into me. I walked with you to the willow because I want every second I can get with you. Even if it fucks up my head a bit, even if I know that it’s crossing a line.” His pupils flare, the gray darkening. “I followed you back here because I wanted to see how you are since I know you had a difficult night. And also, selfishly again, because I imagined shoving you up against the bookshelf and kissing the fuck out of you, even if I’m pretty sure that won’t ever happen. Even if I’ve imagined doing just that ever since that first time I saw you on the Quad.”

Maybe you’re not the best judge when it comes to me.” “Maybe not, Quinn. But I gotta tell you, I like everything I see.”

“You’re more than fine,” he whispers. “I’d say breath-catchingly sexy.”

What if I could fall in love with Kepler Quinn? What if I’m a bit in love with him already? What if I have been for years?

Kepler slides in next to me, his fingers brushing the side of my thigh, and this time, I look over at him, and my heart damn near oragamis in my chest.

He’s really fucking beautiful. Head to toe. Brain to heart. All of him.

“Kepler Quinn wants to give me another first.” He hums softly. “I like the sound of that.” “I do too.” I inhale slowly. “I wish I could return the favor.” He huffs out a laugh that becomes a white cloud. “You don’t know how many firsts you’ve given me.” “Name one,” I challenge him. He picks up his toast, bites the corner, chews slowly, then swallows. “Love.”

“I could tell you about the treehouse and the telescope, the way that this man lives in my soul, that first moment I saw him on the Quad five years ago, how he’s my constant, how he fills me up. But you can see all that because it’s spread out on the table before you. It speaks for itself. So, ‘how long has it been going on?’ I’ll just distill it down to one word.” His eyes warm to a light gray. “Always.”

“You’re my universal constant. Something that will never change.” That genuine smile expands over his face, the one I’ll never get tired of. “I love you to the depth of my ability to love.”