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“Do you think you’ll ever get bored of me?”
I jerked in surprise. “Say what?”
“You know, only being with me. Do you think you’ll get bored?”
“Are you bored?” I asked, looking down at her head. Where the hell was this coming from?
“Of course not,” she said, lifting her head to look at me. “Why would you think that?”
“Then why are you asking if I’m gonna get bored?”
“’Cause it’s different for guys,” she replied, the words almost a whisper. “Like, what if you want someone that looks different or something? Or like, bigger boobs. Maybe you’ll want to see what’s out there.”
“Not gonna happen.”
“You don’t know that,” she replied.
“Yeah, I do,” I said, curling my arm under my head as I stared at the sky. “Why would I want anyone but you? I love you. You get me. Plus, you’re hot as fuck and you can put your legs behind your head.”
“You’re not being serious,” she replied flatly, dropping her head back down against my chest.
“I am, though,” I said, giving her ass a squeeze. “I can’t imagine wantin’ to be with anyone but you, sugar. That’s the honest truth. Don’t need anythin’ else, don’t want anythin’ else.”
“High school relationships never last,” she said quietly.
“Sometimes they do,” I replied. “We’ll be the exception, yeah?”
“I hope so.”
“I know so.”
“How are you so—” She paused and huffed. “So calm about it?”
“I don’t see why you’re so worried about it.” I tipped my head back down. “You’re goin’ to school right down the road. We’ve known each other forever. You know my family and I’ve, uh,seenyours.”
She laughed a little.
“We’re solid.”
“People change a lot before they’re twenty-five,” she argued. “What if we’re completely different people?”
“Then I guess I’ll have to love whoever you are when you’re twenty-five,” I said with a chuckle. “You’re overthinkin’ it. We’ll be together, we’ll change together, it’ll all be good, alright?”
“Alright.”
“Emmy!” a high voice yelled from across the yard. “You’re here!”
“Myla!” Emilia yelled back, popping her head out of the hammock to see my little sister. “I am!”
“Ooh, I love your hair!”
“Thanks! I like your braids!”
“Your shirt is pretty.”
“So is yours.”
“Jesus,” I muttered. “Wrap it up, Compliment Cathys.”
