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“Yeah.”
Suddenly something occurs to me.
Something naughty.
And it’s not my fault that it did.
It’s him.
It’s because he’s just so… fucking sexy and authoritative and dominating.
Going up on my tiptoes, I bring my lips up to his and whisper, “But what if I call you something else?”
“What?”
I bite my lip, pondering if I should.
A second later, I go for it. “Something that starts with a D.”
He frowns in confusion, and I swear I burst out laughing then and there. But I need to hold on. I need to shock him a little. If I didn’t, then I wouldn’t be trouble.
For him.
Now, would I?
So I stretch myself up further and bring my lips to his ear. And then I tell him what I’ll call him. The word that starts with a D and ends with a Y.
And he goes still.
Like completely and utterly still.
Moving back, I look at his face. It’s blank, his eyes cool. Except for a clenched jaw – really clenched jaw – there is no movement on his face.
Yikes.
I think I crossed a line here, didn’t I?
Fuck.
“Conrad, I was kidding, okay?” I tell him. “I totally was. I was just trying to shock you. You don’t have to freak out. I swear. I –”
He cuts me off by letting go of me and moving away.
I open my mouth to calm him down again. But he grabs my hand, rather tightly, before calling out, “We’re leaving.”
And then he pulls on my arm and starts walking, jogging almost, dragging me behind him and that’s when I burst out laughing. He brings me to his truck and opens the door. Putting his hands on my waist, he picks me up and almost dumps me on the seat but before he can get away, I grab his collar and keep him.
“You liked that, huh?” I whisper, smiling.
The blue in his eyes is all gone now, replaced by black. “We’re going home.”
Home.
Yeah, where we live together, him and I.
All cozy and comfy.
I move his long-ish hair out of those pretty, lusty eyes. “I love you.”
They do go tender at my soft declaration for a second and he picks up the necklace with pink stones that he gave me a few days ago and pulls on it, bringing me in for a long, wet kiss. At the end of which, he rasps, “I love you too, baby.”
I smile at his endearment before I order, “Okay, take me home. And get your game face on. Be all angry and growly. Be my thorn.”
He kisses me again before he asks in an amused voice, “Yeah? Why?”
“So you can teach your wallflower all the lessons,” I whisper against his lips.
At this, his kiss turns shaky.
Because he turns shaky.
Because he’s laughing.
I can’t believe he’s laughing while kissing me. This is supposed to be romantic and sexy.
But it’s okay.
I love when he laughs. I love when he kisses me.
I love him.
***
Once upon a time, I was afraid to dream.
Because I thought the pain wasn’t worth it. The pain wasn’t worth the euphoria of dreaming. The agony wasn’t worth the ecstasy of hope.
But then I met this girl. On the side of the road at midnight. Or rather 11:15 PM.
She looked like a dream and I was on a quest to punish myself for dreaming.
It’s quite poetic.
As she would say.
She’d probably even draw something in her sketchpad to depict the moment. Because that’s who she is.
She’s an artist.
She’s colorful and imaginative. She’s made of roses and pink glitter. She clinks when she walks and her skin is like gossamer.
She’s art itself.
The girl who makes me laugh. Who makes me dream.
The girl I’m in love with.
My wallflower. My Bronwyn.
THE END
(For Conrad and Bronwyn)
I’m going to kill him.
I am.
I know people think I’m joking. But I’m not.
I’m serious.
I’m super fucking serious.
Now more so than ever.
I just have to find him first. The asshole, the fucking devil, who sent me here, to St. Mary’s.
I’m standing at the threshold of cafeteria, where Principal Carlisle just announced that she’ll be leaving at the end of the term and the devil himself will be replacing her as the new principal.
New principal.
Him.
The nerve of him.
The fucking nerve.
I run my eyes around, trying to find him – it shouldn’t be hard. The man is as tall as a freaking building. A boring, vintage… stupid building.
And I’m right. About being easily able to find him I mean.
Because there he is, standing in front of the principal’s office, wearing his boring tweed jacket with elbow patches, talking to Principal Carlisle.
Fisting my hands, I stride over to him, practically bulldozing through people in my hurry to get to him.
To get to his very sculpted and broad jaw that seems perpetually clenched.
So I can punch him there.
As soon as I get close enough, Principal Carlisle glances over to me and a sigh escapes her. That’s her go to reaction when it comes to me: Poe Austen Blyton, the troublemaker of St. Mary’s.
