Her thermal’s snug under the sawmill tee, and her hair’s in a messy bun like she’s got shit to do—and still somehow manages to look like the sweetest sin I’ve ever seen.
Adorable. Sexy. Capable.
And mine.
The taste of bubblegum still lingers on my tongue from our kiss.
Sweet. Special. Her.
See she tries to act like it’s no big deal—like I kiss her like that every day.
Like it doesn’t knock the breath from my lungs each time.
But I know better. Kisses are a love language and mine say the same things each time.
I need you.
Stay safe.
I trust you.
You’re wanted.
Come back to me.
I’m waiting for you.
I know it’s a lot. Intense. But it’s how I feel.
For the first time in my life, I’m in love.
I haven’t told her yet.
I need to.
I press my lips together and still taste her. And I grin because I found it finally, just the other day.
The source of that tantalizing bubblegum flavor.
It took me a while to figure it out. To find the sweet reason bubblegum clings to her breath in the mornings, why it coats her pillow, and makes me half-hard every damn time I catch a whiff of it.
For days I thought it was candy. Maybe just actual gum.
Hell, I even checked her coat pocket once when she wasn’t looking, thinking she had some kind of sweet tucked away.
Truth is, I can’t get enough of it.
That scent is summertime and sunshine. Days filled with fun and promises.
It’s home. Familiar. It’sher.
Anyway, I finally caught her in the bathroom brushing her teeth, humming to herself like nothing in the world could touch her, and I saw it.
That bright little tube with the cartoon dinosaur on it.
“You’re using kids' toothpaste?” I asked, leaning on the doorframe, smiling like an idiot.
She froze, toothbrush in her mouth, then flushed and nodded.
