ME:[photo]
ME:Xoxo
While I’m scrolling, Blythe’s tone changes—that overly polite edge people get when they’re trying to tell someone to fuck off without actually saying it. I glance up and see a man standing too close, smiling like a predator who thinks he’s charming.
I rise slowly, stepping between them. “Hey,” my voice smooth as silk, “read the room. She’s not interested.” I take Blythe’s hand and guide us down the trail.
He follows anyway, his voice far too loud. “Oh, come on, beautiful. You know you like what you see. You want a piece of me, don’t you?” He laughs, proud of his own filth.
A second one joins in, his grin as greasy as his tone. “Come on, ladies. Little double action? We’ll take turns pleasing you.”
I stop walking. Turn. And close the distance between us.
My hands find their targets, one in each palm. I squeeze slowly, savoring the way their smirks falter. “Sweethearts,” I murmur, each syllable like honey laced with arsenic, “I tried to be polite. I really did. But you’ve gone and made me mean.”
They’re shifting now, knees threatening to give. I lean in, my voice dropping to a near-whisper they have to strain to hear. “She doesn’t want to talk to you. And we certainly don’t want your—” my gaze sweeps down with a delicate, disdainful pause “—tiny little souvenirs anywhere near us.”
I smile, all softness that doesn’t reach my eyes. “Now be good boys… and run along.”
We make it home fast, locking the door behind us, the adrenaline still humming. I pull chicken from the fridge and start gathering ingredients for homemade chicken alfredo.
While I’m rolling the pasta dough, my phone rings—an incoming video call from Donovan.
“Hi there, handsome. How was kissing ass today?” I ask when his face fills the screen.
“Star, I’m fucking exhausted. Really, I just want to lay my head in your lap and watch a movie,” he says through a yawn.
“Are you making alfredo with homemade noodles?” His tone perks up; it’s his favorite.
“Yeah, Coach. I missed you, and I thought making this would make me feel better.” I wipe my arm across my forehead, and Donovan lets out a belly laugh.
“Stella, you have flour all over your face.”
I lean closer to the screen, catching my tiny picture in the corner. “Fuck, it is all over my face!” I grab a towel and wipe at it, still smiling.
We don’t talk long—he needs sleep, with volunteer work in the morning—but it’s enough.
The next two weeks blur together in the most mundane way. Quick texts during the day and an even quicker call at night. We’re both exhausted, running on fumes, and the distance is starting to sink its teeth in. The longer we’re apart, the more it gnaws at me.
Finally, I’m flying home. Donovan is in meetings with the PR bimbo, coaches, and the school admin. Guess he isn’t picking me up from the airport.
Sugar Plague:See you soon, Slay Muffin. I'm snagging you from the airport. Then a muck we shall run!
Me:Just what the doctor ordered! Is Theo going to be with you? Sugar Plague: NOPE! He flew home two days ago. Some family thing.
Me:Well, coffee, books, and wifey! I’m off the plane and see Ansel, and we do exactly what wesaid. With coffee in hand, we take long romantic walks down the book aisle.
I snag a few romance books I’ve been wanting to read. A cowboy romance, Step Brothers…yes, please. Small-Town Romance… Biker Boy, Stalkers, sign me the fuck up.
I blacked out while shopping because I came home with at least 10 new books, a few bookmarks, and the cutest little bookshelf decor.
When I walk into the apartment, Donovan isn't here. His meeting must be running late. I hang my bag up, toe my shoes off. I walk through the kitchen and into the living room. I lounge on the couch and pull out the small-town romance. I need a sexy biker boy in my life—since mine isn’t here right now.
After a few chapters, I decide to change into something comfy. I walk into my room and hesitate for a moment. It smells different, like wildflowers and honey. Not a bad smell, but not something I am familiar with. I shrug it off and grab Donovan’s Huntsville Dragons t-shirt. It hits mid-thigh and covers my butt perfectly. I grab my blanket and make my way back to the couch to binge this romance book.
Several hours later, the door swings open and Donovan stumbles inside.
“Star! You’re home,” he slurs, swaying with each step.
