Page 94 of Loverboy

He pinched my cheek. “You’re so scary.”

“I mean it.”

“Then you’d have to kill yourself after,” he whispered conspiratorially. “Because you can’t live without me.”

A shiver ran down my spine.

Every time I tested how much of my dark mind he could take, he matched it effortlessly.

“You think I wouldn’t do it?”

“Oh, no. I definitely think you would.” He chuckled.

He brought my hand to his lips, his nose brushing over my knuckles reverently.

“But I would never leave you,” he sighed, kissing the back of my hand. “So I guess you’ll never get to live out your murder-suicide fantasy.”

“Tragic.” I grinned.

“What will we do, then?” Jasper smirked. “Run away together?”

I nodded definitively.

He hummed in thought, reached for the matching necklace around my neck, and let the vial slip through his fingers.

“Sounds like a plan,” he agreed.

That was it. He didn’t overthink it the way I did. He’d abandon everything and everyone if it meant being with me, and it was a devotion I wasn’t worthy of. We hadn’t left the apartment yet, and I was already fighting back tears.

His hands cupped my face, thumbs rubbing at the damp skin beneath my eyes. It was too hard not to cry. I felt everything all at once, and it was unbearable every time. The guilt for trying to kill myself, the overwhelming joy that came with being seen at my worst and still wanted—it was too much. Too fucking much.

“Stop that,” he scolded.

“Yeah, cause I’m doing it on purpose, asshole.” I choked on a sob.

“Always so dramatic.” He leaned in, nudging my nose with his before I felt the slide of his lips over mine. My eyes fluttered closed, a few stray tears streaking down my cheeks and pooling on his fingers.

I kissed him back desperately because I was desperate. His hands moved to my waist, and I draped my arms over his shoulders, wishing we could meld together so he could never be free of me.

“We don’t have that much time.” His voice was muffled against my lips, his stubble scraping against my skin.

There would never be enough time. I’d spent years of my life wasting time on girls who weren’t for me, when my endgame had always been right in front of me. I didn’t know how long I had to make up the difference.

“Is it too late to cancel?” My bottom lip quivered.

“Yes.”

“What if I throw myself down the stairs and break my ankles?”

“Milo.”

I heaved a heavy sigh and rested my head against his shoulder.

“I’ve got us,” he promised. “I always do.”

41

Milo