hand dragging down his blushing face.
When he’s back on his elbow,
a smile lingers,
all charm and trouble.
His arm starts to raise,
blueberry in the chamber.
“Wait—you sure you don’t need your glasses, old man?”
He bites his lip,
teeth releasing afuck-yousmile.
“Listen here, smartass. I’m nearsighted, aight? I can see about five feet out. Lucky for you, you’re sittin’ real pretty in the sweet spot.” He flicks the berry between his fingers. “Past that? Blur city. So if we’re out and I forget my glasses? Stay close. Hold my hand, make sure I don't walk into traffic.”
The picture of that slaps a smile across my lips. Over hand holding.
Jesus… I'm so fucking weak…
He lifts his arm, lining up the shot.
“Sayahh,”he says, brows lifted, cocky as hell.
I raise my middle finger.
He tosses it, and it bounces off my nose.
I blink slow, face falling deadpan.
He fights back a laugh—“Nah, nah, one more.” He grabs it from the pile between us and pushes up his sleeve. “You keep missing ‘cause you’re too busy eye-fuckin’ me.” He lifts his chin, eyes on me. “Try not to fall in love mid-toss this time, aight?”
I take a breath.
But my next words slip with it?—
“If you make it,
“I’ll let you sleep next to me tonight.”
I hear it halt the space between so fast
even the wind stops.
Andrew freezes.
The crease between his eyes deepens.
Then his arm slowly lowers.
“Not sex,” I quickly add.
“Real sleep. In a bed.
“Breathing next to each other.
