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“Richard. It’s supposed to rain,” Collin whined. “It’s gonna get all slippery and I’m gonna slip right off into the road and then some car is gonna be going too fast to see me and they’re going to hit me and I’m gonna die and you’re gonna be like ‘Oh man, too bad I was a dick to Collin and abandoned him in his time of need.’” Jesus Christ.
Ice had crept into my limbs, numbing my ass and thighs but still I’d stayed statuesque, listening to the world move around me, existing without me, my insignificance a comfort.
“You don’t even like animals,” Collin told me, even though I clearly already knew that. I glared at him. “I like them,” I defended, even though he was right.
He was so fucking pretty I wanted to crush him like a petal between my fingers. What the fuck. What the fuck, Richard?
When I was little it had started so simple, something so instinctual inside me I couldn’t give it a name.
It was tricky seeing around everyone when I typically was one of the shorter people in the room but Richard was easy to spot. He had a presence unlike anyone I’d ever met before. And I needed to get the fuck out of here before he noticed me. If he caught me off guard like this I was bound to do something stupid. Like yell at him—or ask politely to sit on his dick, which would lead to some rather awkward shifts at the diner.
Everything about him was made of poetry just waiting to be read.
He looked cute when he was all disconcerted like that. It made me want to piss him off more and see what happened. Like poking a snake with a stick. Not that I’d ever do that. Because rude.
Even his shoes made sexy noises when he moved, heavy and rubber-coated, like I wished his dick would be.
Richard was gorgeous when he was grumpy—but happy Richard was…god…looking at him was like staring into the sun.
His voice was honey over toast on a rainy day. Comforting. Warm. Safe.
Everything Richard said was with purpose. Each word handpicked to accomplish a mission he’d already planned every outcome for. We were polar opposites in that way. Words shot out of my mouth like bullets so quickly I couldn’t even load the gun before it went off again.
I blinked away the wetness that threatened to spill down my cheeks. Crying wasn’t a luxury I afforded myself. It cost too much.
Yesterday he’d been all sunshine, his words sweetly spoken, his gaze a heavy caress that gave me goosebumps. Today he was a spring pre-dawn, brisk and too cold for even the flowers to open up to.
What if I smelled bad? Oh god. What if I tasted bad? What if he hated it—and he didn’t tell me—and then he finished out of a twisted sense of obligation and not because he actually wanted to and forever and always he would think of me as smelly Blair the inconsiderate prick with the inconsiderate prick.
“You can never really tell if someone’s lost just by looking at them anyway.”
Forever seemed pointless without him now that I knew what his laughter tasted like.
