strap was always twisted. You were scared of ladybugs, but not spiders—which is really fucking strange, by the way. You dreamed of becoming a marine biologist when you grew up. When we played house, you made yourself the armadillo—yeah, armadillo—every goddamn time. You had the coolest rock collection. Oh, and your favorite ice cream flavor was cotton candy.” The muscles in his neck are taut, and his glare bounces between my eyes. He releases a breath. “And I know you feel something when I kiss you. I feel it too. Don’t you dare try to claim otherwise. We are good together, Bridget.”
