Frustrated, I shut my eyes.
I can’t stand the way he’s looking at me—so open, so heartbreakingly innocent through a blur of blue-tinted tears. It’s making me uncomfortable.
And please… could his eyes get any bluer?
The only time I’ve ever seen that shade was at a photo shoot in the Gulf of Mexico.
Or—wait. Is it the Gulf of America now?
Fuck if I know.
In fact, fuck the person who renamed that beautiful body of water to begin with.
And fuck me—becauseI’m losing my goddamn mind!
I pop my eyes open.
He’s still staring.
I’m still stuck.
I struggle to look away. Fucking stage a war against myself.
But every effort is useless. Like swimming against a rip tide—I’m already under, already losing air.
And the worst part?
Some reckless part of mewantsto drown in him.
I hate it.
Slowly, I lift my hand back to his face, my thumb brushing across his cheek. His skin is warm, a little damp from the tears, but still soft—stillhis.
There’s not a single thing I’d change about him. Not one.
He’s perfect.
Tears and all.
His hair slips through my fingers as I sweep it aside, fingertips resting lightly against his temple before tracing down the curve of his face to his mouth.
He puckers those glossy lips against the tips of my fingers, and I almost lose my mind.
Or what’s left of it anyway.
I drag my thumb across his soft, doughy pout, soaking in the feel of him. Telling myself this is it. The last time I’m ever going to touch him—so help me God.
He presses a gentle kiss into the pad of my thumb as if he just heard my thoughts, and I close my eyes, searching for a pocket in my brain to tuck this moment into.
And once I’ve found it…
I turn away.
Away from his pretty face.
Away from my pretty dancer.
Exhaling slowly, I run my palms down my thighs, like I’m trying to rub the guilt off my skin. It clings, though, thick and heavy.
