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“You’re allowed to feel whatever you wanna feel, querida. If you wanna stay out here a little longer, that’s fine. If you wanna go in and rip the bandaid off, that’s fine too. If you wanna blow off some steam, there’s a punching bag in my shed. And if it’s all too much and you wanna leave, take my keys.”
I’m not sweet. You’re sweet to me. Because I like you.
“Why the fuck wouldn’t I?”
“Amelia,” Nick reaches for me, and it’s the plea in his utterance of my name that has me letting him guide me to stand between his legs. “I love you. And every reason you’re conjuring up for why you think I don’t only makes me love you more.”
