Exes and O's (The Influencer #2)

by Amy Lea

I’ve always been a bit of an anomaly, finding purpose not through what I do but through my relationships with friends and family.

“You like to talk to everyone, though.” He pauses, letting out a one-syllable laugh. “You’re gonna be the death of me, Chen.”

“You were right. I—have feelings for you.” The declaration knocks the wind out of my chest. I tamp down the urge to ask a million questions, letting him continue. “Big feelings. To the point where I don’t even know what to do with myself half the time. I’ve tried to get you out of my head for months, but your stubborn ass just won’t leave.”

“If there’s anyone in this world I want to try for, it’s you,” he whispers.

It’s different with Trevor. It’s a hard-hitting gravitational pull in my very core, grounding me to the earth, filling in every last crater of my heart. The ones I never knew could be filled. The ones I never even knew were empty. It’s confirmation that a different kind of love—love in the purest sense of the word—is real.

My heart has now officially broken for the eleventh time. And strangely, I’m stronger than I’ve ever been.

Real life isn’t a ninety-minute movie or a three-hundred-page novel. It takes time to truly understand what someone else needs and how the other person communicates their love.”

“Tara, I’ve had it bad for you for months. You. Are. Everything. You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me.

I needed to come home and tell you that I want all the things you want. That I’m capable of giving you everything. And I don’t want to go slow, because I can barely breathe when I think about living my life without you. I want to complain while you watch Disney movies. I want to alphabetize your books. I want to read with you at night. I want to tolerate your mess. I want . . .” He lets out a weak half laugh. “I want a family. One day. I want to do literally anything as long as it means being with you, because I am so in love with you, I don’t know what to do with myself.”

Because I’m me, my mind blanks entirely, homing in on the only coherent statement echoing in my mind. “I’m really not that messy.” He does that face, the mock-disappointed face he always makes. “Tara, I just told you I loved you and that’s what you take out of it?” I cover my face with my hand. “I’m sorry. I’m not used to declarations of love like this.”

“Trevor, you are a million times better than any trope I could ever dream up.”

He’s not just the hero of my dreams. He’s the hero beyond my wildest imagination. The best part? He’s nonfiction.