“Can I do anything to convince you thatlosing youis the only thing I care about?”
Exhaling into the steam, I murmur, “I don’t know.”
“Are you considering marrying me?”
More and more each day. But all for stupid reasons. Even knowing the statistics on how many marriages fall apart, I’m after the permanence it doesn’t even actually offer. And, worse, I’m after it at all because I want long nights with no limits, no feeling like an idiot in the morning, no waking up from the haze one day and realizing I’ve been used and discarded.
Just.
Days upon days of hot chocolate and kisses.
I sigh. “Not to be crass, but I want insurance before doing the stupid things with you that I want to do.”
“Ah,” he says. “You just want my body.”
“Just?” I grimace and bite my tongue, becausejustwanting this man physically would be easy. I’ve already wasted my firsts. If it werejusta down-and-dirty situation, I would get down, and I would get dirty, and we’d have a great time, and I’d be at peace with the feel good. I’d wake up in the morning, double-check that precautions and protection were involved, then move on.
What I want is so much more than physical. It’s so much closer to thatforeverhe mentioned. If I didn’t care about him, our bodies would be bodies, and it would mean nothing, and it wouldn’t be able to hurt me.
But.
Unfortunately.
With him, I’m pretty sure it would meaneverything.
Breaking the silence of my shivering emotions, Kyran murmurs a gentle, “You don’t want my liver.”
I stop myself approximately three milliseconds before attempting to kick him—on account of the hot chocolate he’s holding. Regaining stability, I mutter, “Ido, actually, want your liver, e-boy. Were I only after your epidermis, my liver wouldn’t be getting so very involved, you know? Do you understand what I’m saying to you?”
“I understand that we’ve somehow transposed the heart and the liver.” He blows on his hot chocolate and takes a sip. “And I am loving it.”
Could I not have developed feelings for someone less…eclectic?
Someone less…like me?
Releasing the tension in my muscles, I test my own hot chocolate again, pouting into it as I find it manageable to sip. Smooth, thick chocolatey goodness fills my mouth. It’s incredible. I bet he got some fancy, extra creamy brand. Or. Maybe he used milk? It would not surprise me if he brought milk. He’s ruined me for my lame powder packets and water.
Safe silent moments transpire between us, peace infiltrating the cracks, and I find myself lulled into the security ofbeingwith him. Until, of course, he finishes his marshmallow and drink, stands, and begins going through my things.
“What are you doing?” I ask as he meanders through my tokidokis, plucking each plastic horse up and examining it before returning it to its exact place on my shelves amongst its friends.
“What do you mean?” He opens an antique music box I’ve filled with jewelry that I never wear but thought was pretty. Sometimes, I take the golden chains out and stare at the charms dangling from them while sitting cross-legged on my bed.
He sets his hand on the first knob of my dresser.
“That’s my underwear drawer.”
He looks at me, holds eye contact, and moves his hand to the second drawer. When I do not suggest it possesses lingerie, he opens it. And rifles through my pj’s.
Oh-kay. Whatever.
I lift my phone and turn my video back on.
“I want attention,” he says.
I do not turn the video off. “You want attention while you invade my privacy?”
He’s at my closet now, sifting through my dresses. “Yes.” He pulls a frilly monstrosity Maelin made for me in what I like to call hermost recent delusion era, holds it up, and asks, “Does this fit?”
