Stone Cold

by Winter Renshaw

“You should’ve been mine,” he whispers against my ear, sending a spray of goose bumps down my arm. “I … I wanted you too …” I manage, breathless and hot. “I just … I was afraid to admit it—and I thought you hated me.” He stops cold, his body freezing against mine as our eyes hold again. “I never hated you, Jovie,” he says. “I was in love with you.”

“I know this isn’t some love story out of one of your books,” he says, “and I can’t promise you that any of this will be predictable, ever, but Jovie, I’ve been in love with you for over eight years. And I promise you, I’ll love you the way you deserve to be loved—the way you always should have been loved.”