Lana smiled, hiding her devious expression behind the rusted chains of her swing. “True love’s spark gave me a sign.”
“Lying ass.” Rus snorted.
“Okay, maybe your sister texted.”
“Snitch.”
“Total bitch,” Lana replied. “It’s why I love her more than you.”
It seemed Rus and Lana had worked their way past the screaming stage of their breakup. He called her every name in the book when she returned, not so much a word, or an explanation for why she’d taken off. He supposed he knew the answer already, but it still hurt that she had abandoned him.
Rus stared at the tattoo on his wrist, the Valentine’s Day he’d never forget. Not for a million lifetimes.
“Where’s your head?”
“Lost on Lana.” Rus puckered his lips and pressed a hand to his mouth, dramatically blowing a kiss.
“Damn straight.”
“Ugh, never straight.”
“True. Even your dick is curved.”
“Seriously?”
“What?” Lana shrugged. “It’s a good thing.”
“Uh-huh.”
Lana kicked herself closer to him, using the momentum to nudge Rus. He played into it, swinging wonky himself, and soon their legs ended up intertangled as they weaved back and forth on the swings.
Their laughter echoed in the woods. Rus’ heart pounded so loudly, so loudly he couldn’t hear anything else. It allowed him to fall back into old memories. Love and loss and life and Lana.
Somehow, their rusty chains ended up twirling round and round each other until Rus and Lana were face to face, breathing heavy, and lost in each other’s eyes.
Lana leaned forward, lips almost grazing against Rus’ until he pulled away.
The silence was awkward, chilling even on such a warm night. It took seemingly forever for their swings to untangle from each other, eyes meeting every time they twirled around, slowly unwinding and returning to their own space.
“Smart call.” Lana chuckled, staring up at the moonlit clouds. “We never work, do we?”
“Unfortunate but true.”
“I’d burn the world for you, darling.”
“And I’d hand you the match, love.”
“Is there someone else?” she asked.
“Maybe I’m just not that into you.”
“Wounded.” She gasped, feigning insult.
“And yeah, there is sort of someone.” Rus awkwardly shrugged, like he was weighing things. He was, in a sense. Weighing how much of his life to elaborate. “Sort of someoneselse. Plural. It’s weird.”
“I’m intrigued.”
“There’s these two guys, and I don’t know… I like them both, but…”
