I honestly didn’t care. I finally had a cute guy’s hands on me and was having a hard time keeping my breathing under control. I was sixteen and horny as heck, so my biggest concern was trying not to come before there was even a hand on my dick.
“Right there, yes.” I gasped as his hand finally fumbled awkwardly over my fly. Any shred of concern I’d had over making out in the movie theater of my small town had flown out the window the moment one of the hottest guys in school had leaned over during Spanish class and whispered those words into my ear.
“Quiero chuparte.” I want to suck you off.
What I’d originally thought was a joke had turned out to be an invitation.
I’d agreed to meet him at the movies the following night. I hadn’t known the guy very well since he was fairly new in town, but I was flattered as all hell he’d picked me to ask out. We’d been on the same baseball team for half a season, and I’d only just noticed him checking out my ass in my uniform pants a few weeks before.
Oh, he was sly about it, but it was there. I’d tested my theory after a game one night when I made a show of leaning over to pick up some stray equipment right in front of him. I thought for sure he was going to stab someone with the wood he popped. When I’d caught him staring, he’d blushed crimson and spouted off a bunch of bullshit about my having something on the back of my uniform pants.
It had surprised me, to be honest. He was the kind of guy who cracked queer jokes and called everything he didn’t like “gay.” A typical sporty dude who fit the homophobe jock stereotype to a T. But once I realized he was into me, I assumed all that bluster was for show, done out of fear of being discovered as gay in small-town Texas.
I’d gotten up the nerve to throw him a wink, letting him know I was cool with it. After that, it was just a matter of dropping flirty hints here and there to see whether he’d flirt back or punch me in the face. Lucky for me, he’d flirted back. Well, maybe not flirted so much as whispered the hottest line of Spanish that had ever been spoken.
He fumbled for my zipper and finally got his hand into my pants. Thank fucking god.
“Yes,” I hissed as his hand wrapped around my cock.
“Shut the hell up or someone’s going to hear us,” he growled.
Like I cared. I was so hot and turned on my head was beginning to buzz.
“Oh god” I couldn’t help but gasp as his hand squeezed pressure up and down my raging hard-on. I remembered the giant wad of paper napkins I’d grabbed in the lobby and wanted to be ready so I didn’t have to walk out of the theater with giant come stains all over my clothes.
“Shh,” he snapped again. “Cut that shit out, or I’m stopping.”
Jeez, what was his problem?
“Gonna come.” I hissed through my teeth as quietly as I could. There was no telling why I even warned him. Maybe I had some fantastical notion he’d want to lurch forward and suck down my release like it was a gift from the gods or something. No such luck.
Regardless, my release hit in a blaze of fucking glory. I felt like the king of orgasms with come shooting everywhere. In my imagination, it spattered my chest, my face, my partner, the popcorn bucket, the seat in front of me, and the projector high above our last-row seats.
In reality, it barely covered the guy’s fist.
Because, let’s be real, I may or may not have already jacked off three times that day in anticipation of the hookup.
After tossing him some of the rough paper napkins from my pocket, I used others to wipe myself off before tucking everything away again.
Once we were cleaned up and facing front, I watched the group of actors preparing to rob a bank on the big screen. My movie partner mumbled something, and I turned to face him.
“What?”
“That’s a little selfish, don’t you think?”
The high I’d been riding came crashing down with his words.
He continued. “Seems to me, you owe me one,” he said with a smirk, unbuckling his belt and opening his own pants.
It’s not that I disagreed—for sure I wanted him to feel as good as I had, but I’d just kind of thought we’d go for round two after catching our breaths and then he could be on the receiving end.
Honestly, it didn’t matter to me. I was horny enough to make out like that all night long. And with someone that sexy? Yes please. Sign me up. If things kept going that way, I’d have an actual boyfriend by the end of the night.
I threw up the armrest between us and lunged for his face with my own, crashing my lips down on his in what was probably an overeager kiss. He shoved me off, sputtering, and put his strong hands on my shoulders to push me down. Ah, okay. He wanted a blow job.
I was cool with that. It was for sure on the long list of sex acts I’d barely gotten a chance to begin checking off in my brief time on earth. Despite never having done it before, I had full confidence in my abilities to at least give it my full enthusiasm.
After quickly dropping to my knees on the nasty cement floor, I reached for his open fly and took him out.
Oh god I might come again just from touching it. It’s a hard fucking penis. In my hands. And it’s not mine. Jesus.
I lurched forward with little to no grace and put my mouth on it. We both groaned, and I felt the chair at my back shift. Was someone sitting that close to us and we hadn’t realized it?
Who the fuck cares—I have a cock in my mouth. An actual stiff cock.
I licked and sucked like a newborn calf, hungry for any positive reaction out of the guy above me. The sounds he made were like gold stars on a child’s work sheet, and I tried diligently to earn more. It seemed to last forever but was probably only about ten point five seconds before he was yanking on my hair and coming all over my face.
Thank god for the supply of napkins I still had in my pocket.
After cleaning up the second time, I lay back in my chair, feeling triumphant. I was the king of sex. I was the motherfucking king of cocks and orgasms. Hopefully, someone had seen that display of manly perfection I’d just put on. I wanted to shout it from the rooftops.
I just gave Curtis Billingham head and rocked it.
Who was I going to tell first? For sure my brother Hudson. And maybe—
“Don’t tell anyone what we did,” he warned in a growly voice—the mean kind of growl, not the sexy kind.
I let out a breath. Fuck.
Fuck.
I should have realized he was one of those guys—happy in the closet and not about to tell anyone his “shameful secret.” His antigay rhetoric hadn’t been a front after all. It had been real.
My face felt numb. I couldn’t decide if it was from the oral calisthenics I’d done or the sting of humiliation I felt at having gone down on someone who clearly didn’t want me for more than that. Had I really not realized the guy was only using me to get off?
I felt like an idiot. Like I should have known it was all too good to be true.
“Why not?” I asked anyway, unable to look at him.
His voice came out high and squeaky. “Are you fucking kidding? My dad would kick my ass. And probably yours too.”
“He will not. What makes you even say that? Tons of people in this town are gay.” After I used the “g” word, he sucked in a breath. “Will you lower your goddamned voice, West? I’m not gay, you idiot. Are you trying to piss me off?”
“Fine,” I said, lowering to a quieter whisper. “You just got blown by a dude. Wanna explain how you’re not gay? You asked me out, remember?”
If looks could kill, he’d be sitting next to my corpse.
“I’m sixteen and horny as fuck,” he snapped. “Assumed a pretty mouth like yours could suck cock with the best of them, so I decided to test my theory. You’ve been making eyes at me for weeks. It doesn’t make me gay to take someone up on their obvious desire to blow me.”
Humiliation bloomed hot all over my body. He hadn’t been interested in me, just a willing orifice? I stared at him. “You gave me a hand job first. Not to mention you’re the one who offered to blow me in Spanish class, not the other way around.”
“So I got the words wrong. I never was any good at Spanish.”
Seriously? The guy was an ass. Why hadn’t I seen that? Was I that bad of a judge of character? No, mostly just that blind with lust and hormones. I felt so stupid. I’d thought it was the start of having my first boyfriend—someone who’d show me off and flirt with me in halls at school. Someone who’d come to family dinner and cheer for me during our family’s crazy board game competitions.
Someone who’d smile when I walked in a room and kiss me just because.
I’d been so wrong. So naive.
“Not a word about this, West,” he snarled. “You don’t want this getting back to my father. Trust me on that.”
“What makes you think he’s such a homophobe?”
“Because I heard him tell Father Roman that the only reason he wouldn’t marry his girlfriend was because of her queer kid. Well, that and the fact the kid’s a troublemaker.”
“Who?” I asked, knowing pretty much everyone in town.
Curt snorted. “Nico Salerno. That kid’s got problems, just like his sister. No wonder my dad can’t bring himself to pop the question.” He said that last part with a laugh but not before I heard a sharp intake of breath from the next row.
Suddenly a scrawny guy stood up from where he must have been crouched down in the seat in front of us. He whipped his face around to us, eyes flashing and dark, overgrown hair hanging in his face.
“Fuck you,” he spat before bolting out of the row of seats toward the exit.
“Shit, he’s going to tell the manager.” Curt stood to go after him. “Gonna beat his fucking ass if he tells anyone.”
I shoved him back into his seat, deciding I was done with this “date” anyway. “I’ll take care of it.”
I raced out of the theater and caught up with the kid before he reached the lobby. “Wait up,” I called.
His steps faltered, and he glanced over his shoulder at me. There was something familiar about him, and I realized with a sinking stomach that I recognized him. He was the kid Curt had just been talking about, the troublemaker. He was a couple of years younger than I was, but had a sister around my age.
“Nico, right?” I asked.
“No.”
That was the first lie Nico ever told me. But it sure as hell wouldn’t be the last.
I stepped closer, holding my hands out in an effort to keep him from bolting. “Look,” I said. “I’m sorry you heard that.” And I meant it.
He studied me from under thick, dark lashes, lips tightened in anger and face flushed in embarrassment. He shoved his hands in his pants, and that’s when I noticed the bulge straining against his zipper. He’d heard us getting off. It had turned him on.
“Doesn’t matter. It’s the truth,” he said in a huff. “Everyone in town knows it. Makes no difference to hear him say it.”
I could see the hurt and anger coming off him in waves, and I hated I was one of the causes.
“The guy’s full of shit.”
“This whole town is full of shit,” he said defiantly.
I couldn’t help but smirk at him. Nico was kind of cute with those stormy eyes and pouty lips. I shook my head to clear it of the stupid lust haze. What the hell was my problem? It was thoughts like that that had landed me in that damned movie theater to begin with. Never trust the lust thoughts, West, I thought.
“What’re you going to do? Leave?”
I’d meant it as a joke, but his eyes darkened at the suggestion.
“Come to think of it, yes,” he said. “That’s exactly what I’m going to do.”
Six weeks later, Nico Salerno disappeared from Hobie, Texas, and his family never saw him again.
Felix and the Prince #2
Chapter 1
William Triannon Frederik Harald Christien Grimaldi of Liorland
“Huh?” I asked, turning over and bumping into a familiar, hairy chest.
The groggy voice behind me spoke again. “It’s almost four in the morning. You need to get the hell out of here.”
“Shit.” I sat up and looked around, orienting myself. I was in my friend Iggy’s flat again. We’d been out clubbing the night before. As had become our habit too often lately, we’d ditched the women we’d been dancing with and gone back to his place for a quick fuck.
“Yeah,” he mumbled, turning over and presenting his bare ass to me. “I should have booted you out hours ago. If I find the paps on my stoop in the morning, I’ll kick your ass. Plus, I have a date tomorrow night with that guy I told you about, so I need my beauty sleep.”
I stood up and found my clothes in a rumpled pile by the bed. My phone and wallet were still in the pockets, and I quickly texted my driver to come pick me up by the side entrance to the building and made my way to the door.
As soon as I opened it, a pair of royally pissed-off eyes glared back at me.
Fuck.
“Sorry, mate,” I muttered to my bodyguard, Jon. “Let’s go. Hans is outside waiting.”
“Feel better now?” Jon smirked once we were safely behind the tinted glass of the sedan. “All nice and relaxed?”
“Fuck off.” I leaned back in the seat and closed my eyes. “You’re just jealous you didn’t get any tonight.”
“Who said I didn’t get any?” he joked, quirking his eyebrow and tilting his head toward my sixty-something-year-old driver.
I couldn’t help but bark out a laugh. “Right. Hey, Hans, when was the last time you got lucky?”
“Nineteen eighty-seven, I believe,” Hans replied wistfully. “Her name was Marbelle.”
Jon snickered at me in the back seat while Hans continued. “Way better tits than you’ve ever had, Jonathan. And the woman could suck—”
“No!” I sputtered. “Please. You’ve been with me since I was twelve. Jesus, Hans. You’re like my grandpa.”
“Then maybe don’t ask, sir,” he replied with a sniff. “And may your beloved grandfather rest in peace.”
I thought about my grandfather. Hans referred to him often. Grandpa, King Lior VII, had been one of the greats. An all-around good man and benevolent leader. Smart as a whip and savvy in European diplomacy. I missed him like crazy.
“He’s probably not resting at all, and you know it. More than likely he’s chasing Grande around heaven,” I suggested.
“Your grandmother was a beautiful woman, Lior. I wouldn’t blame the king at all for not letting her get any peace up there,” Hans chuckled.
The car pulled through the service gates onto the palace grounds and parked in a hidden spot behind a short wall. Jon and I got out and made our way into the royal residential wing.
“Sorry about this,” I said again to my favorite guard. “I didn’t mean to fall asleep over there—truly.”
“One of these days your cock is going to fall off from skank rot.” He sniffed and looked down his nose at me as if he was the royal one.
“I’m safe,” I said. “And more often than not, I only fuck Iggy as you well know.” I was talking to myself more than anything. “I’ve known him since we were fourteen. I trust him with the royal scepter.”
Jon ignored the stupid joke and continued his lecture. “Maybe you should stop this hooking up bullshit and find someone. A nice man or woman you can build a life with.”
I stared at him like he was insane. “Yeah, right. A man. As if.”
He shrugged. “Sir, the prime minister of Luxem—”
“Save it,” I interrupted. “I know all about Xavier and Gauthier. That’s not the same thing as hereditary royalty, and we both know it. If the next heir to the throne married a man instead of a woman, my grandfather would roll over in his grave along with every monarch before him for a thousand years.”
“So, what are you going to do? Continue to sneak to Ignatius’s flat when you’re a fifty-year-old king?”
I felt my head begin to pound near my temple. It was a subject I’d considered ad nauseam for years. “No. I plan on finding a good woman to settle down with. Someone worthy of being the queen when the time comes. But right now, I’m going to sleep and hopefully not think about it for a few long years since my father is healthier than most men half his age. Good night.”
“See you in the morning, sir,” he said, holding open the door to the wing holding my private quarters.
Once in my apartment in the palace, I saw my valet sitting at the kitchen table in his button-up pajamas and bathrobe.
“Sir,” he sighed. “Don’t even tell me. I can smell the club smoke from here.”
“Arthur, what are you doing up? I hope you weren’t waiting for me. It’s late.”
“You don’t want to hear about what happens to your body when you get older,” he grumbled. His hands were wrapped around a mug I knew contained chamomile tea.
“You’re forty for god’s sake.”
“When I see you drag your scraggly ass in from a romp in the Ignatius hay, I feel ten times older.”
I kicked off my shoes and reached into the refrigerator for some water. “You’re just jealous. He asked about you again, you know.”
Arthur’s eyes shot up. “Who did?”
“Iggy.”
Despite his formal posture, Arthur blushed from his collar up to his hairline. “Dear god, you must be insane.”
I shrugged. “He’s had a crush on you since we were at Hotchkiss, and you know it.”
“Pfft. I wouldn’t go near that disease-ridden play—”
“He’s one of my closest friends,” I warned. “And he’s never had sex without a condom in all these years. You know I wouldn’t go there otherwise.”
His nostrils flared before lifting into the air. “And you think I need your sloppy seconds? I may not be a royal, but I can pull as well as the next guy.”
In almost fifteen years of being in service to me, I’d never once seen Arthur with a man. I’d heard rumors, of course. He’d dated a man named Paul for a few years, and when it ended, he hadn’t been able to hide his sadness. It had happened not long after Grandpa passed away, and the two of us had bonded over our respective grief: Arthur for the loss of his love and me for the loss of my beloved role model. Arthur had been more than a valet ever since. He was almost a substitute for the warm, easy relationship I’d had with Grandpa.
I bid Arthur goodnight and retreated to my bedroom where I collapsed on my bed and fell into a deep sleep. Two hours later he was back, shaking me out of my dreams.
Before I could protest he said, “It’s your father.”
I bolted upright, alarm bells ringing in my head. Immediately I remembered a similar morning fifteen years ago when I’d woken to the news of my Grandpa’s death. I grabbed Arthur’s arm.
“He’s okay,” Arthur quickly reassured me. “He was experiencing chest pains but the doctor examined him thoroughly and is certain it was merely a panic attack.”
I placed a hand over my thundering heart. “Thank goodness.”
“He’d like to see you.”
“The doctor?”
“Your father. He’s summoned you to his room, and you know better than to keep the king waiting.”
My head started to pound again.
Half an hour later I made my way through the bowels of the palace to a specially designed medical bay in the basement. My father had it built years before so the royal family could get treatment without tipping off the paparazzi.
When I arrived, I found my father arguing with his doctor.
“I can’t do this anymore,” my father mumbled down toward the front of his thin examination gown. “I won’t.”
“You’re fine, Father. You’ll be back on your feet tomorrow with meds that’ll fix you right up,” I suggested. “Maybe you’re just too stressed.”
Truth be told, inside I felt nothing but a giant sigh of relief at the situation. Thank god it wasn’t something more serious. As selfish as it may have been, I was grateful I didn’t have to take his place so soon. I wasn’t sure who had been scared worse by the situation—my father or me.
As I caught my mother’s eyes across the bed, I noticed a slight shake of her head. She didn’t look scared so much as… disappointed.
“Maybe it’s time, Lior,” she murmured to my father. “Tell him.”
“This is neither the time nor place, Catherine,” he asserted, taking on the persona of strength I was more used to seeing.
My mother looked at me with a kind of sympathetic sadness. “It’s time you prepare yourself to take the throne, darling.”
I stared at her in disbelief. “It was just a panic attack,” I protested. “Lots of people get them.”
“He’s going to step down,” she said quietly. We were the only people in the room, but even so, the news was shocking coming from her mouth. I glanced toward the hallway to make sure no one could have overheard.
“No,” I said.
“Son,” my father began, “she’s right.”
“No,” I repeated, feeling my heart begin to stutter in my chest. “No. You’re fine. It was just a—”
My mother shook her head. “He had a panic attack when he told me he was divorcing me. He’s in love with someone else.”
The words, spoken by my strong and beautiful mother, almost shattered me.
I stared at them both in stunned silence as my brain struggled to process this information. “You can’t.” This time it was a childish sound. A plea—a whine even. I wasn’t a prince worried about his father stepping down from the throne, but a son blindsided by the news of his parents divorcing. “Please.” A whisper.
Neither of them seemed moved by my protest. Their minds were made up. I spun on my father. “Who?” I demanded. As if it mattered. “Who the fuck is worth losing my mother for? Who is worth throwing away the monarchy for? A thousand years of your family on that throne and you walk away for a side piece of ass?” Anger heated and popped beneath my skin, leaving me restless and itchy. It was selfish, I knew. Every single bit of my reaction came from a desperate, almost manic, desire to keep my life from changing so drastically.
My father answered in a monotone. “Eleanor Wu. And I’ll not have you speak of her that way.”
My mouth hung open as I stared between my parents to see if he could possibly be telling me the truth. Mother’s eyes closed with a wince, confirming it.
Eleanor Wu was my age. The grown daughter of my mother’s best friend.
My father, the king of Liorland, cheating on his wife with a twenty-nine-year-old flight attendant. For fuck’s sake, how did something like that even come about?
But it didn’t much matter now. The result was the same regardless of who he was fucking. My father would be forced to abdicate the throne in disgrace once word got out. And word always got out. There was nothing to be done about it.
Then I would take his place. Become the true monarch of Liorland along with all of the duties and expectations therein. As well as the scrutiny. The press would be all over me, poking into every aspect of my life. Any small amount of freedom I’d enjoyed as prince would be over.
I would be the new king.
I staggered back and collapsed in a chair by the door. I was twenty-nine—mature enough to realize my Iggy-fucking days were over. Hell, my days even thinking about sex with men were over. There was no way in hell the monarchy could survive two such scandals. Suddenly I was being forced to make the tough decisions I’d been punting all my life. My parents had been pressuring me to choose a wife and settle down, to prepare for the stable life I’d need to have when it was my turn on the throne.
But I’d resisted, still in denial about the conflict between my sexuality and being heir to the throne. If only I had a brother to pass the crown to, but I didn’t. I had a younger sister, who’d known from birth that Monaco’s Liorland crown passed only to the male heir. As archaic as it was, the rule had been around for a thousand years. Not that it mattered. Henriette was twenty-six and single. She had no more stability than I did.
“And you’re willing to throw everything away for her?” I asked my father. “She’s forty years younger than you!” I felt my voice rising and clamped my lips tight.
“What’s done is done,” my mother said stiffly. I noticed she’d barely glanced at my father once during the entire discussion. I hadn’t even thought about what this change would mean for her. How much this would upend her life as well. She’d been queen for more than a decade.
“Mom—“ I started to say.
She cut me off with a tight shake of her head. “You should get some rest. I’m sure the next few days will be busy for you.”
I wanted to protest but I could tell by the rigidity of her shoulders that now wasn’t the time. I stood and kissed her cheek. I had no idea what to say to either of them so I just left, saying nothing.
Later that evening, after my mother had reassured the council officials awaiting word about my father’s health, she found me sipping a lukewarm cup of tea in the kitchen of their residence. My father was back in his own bed, sleeping soundly while my mother and I were left reeling from the day’s revelations. My father seemed to have abdicated not only the throne but any respective repercussions from the decision.
“You all right, darling?” she asked, walking up and cupping her small hand against my stubbled jaw. It was an uncharacteristic maternal move, and I felt myself leaning into her touch.
“No, of course not,” I muttered. “It’s shit.”
“Language, dear,” she said out of habit. She sat down on the love seat next to me and let her shoulders slump just a bit. Despite the awful, middle-of-the-night wake-up call she’d had, her suit was still pressed and fresh as if she’d had hours to primp.
“What happens now?” I whispered into the quiet room. “What the hell? How are you even handling this?”
“Does it matter? It’s done. She’s pregnant. He wants to announce within the month.”
Holy fuck.
“No,” I breathed. “You’re kidding. Say this is all a joke.”
She shook her head with a small laugh. “I wish.”
I clenched my hand into a fist. “That fucking bastard.”
Usually she would admonish me for speaking about my king in that way but she remained silent. Which was pretty much confirmation she agreed with me.
I let out a long sigh. “I’m not ready for this,” I admitted.
She turned to gaze into my eyes. “It’s time for you to grow up and take his place, Lior.”
I felt a thick lump form in my throat at the sound of my name. My mother had only ever called me LJ. To her, Lior was a name reserved for the king. My mother, with her American ways, had jokingly referred to me as Lior Junior from early on, while my father and everyone else called me Lio.
“I don’t know if I can,” I said.
She shifted on the edge of the love seat next to me and sat up straight again, all signs of fatigue slipping away with a clearing of her throat. This was the queen of Liorland in all her glory.
“Whether you can or not remains to be seen, Lior. The fact of the matter is… you will.”
Wilde Fire #3
Prologue
Otto - Almost Ten Years Ago
“That’s a mighty fine cock you got there, boy.”
The voice, as familiar as my own heartbeat, washed over me. I closed my eyes for a brief moment and let out a breath I felt like I’d been holding all summer.
Walker was back.
“Round these parts, we call them roosters, shithead,” I said with a grin, turning from my spot at the fence to see my very best friend in the world sauntering lazily toward me down the dirt drive. Long, skinny legs were wrapped in worn blue jeans, and a faded Hobie 4-H T-shirt was snug enough to show off his rounded shoulders and narrow waist. The late August sun beat down on his golden skin, making him look even more like a mini-god than he already did.
“Now that I’ve seen your cock, you gonna show me that fine ass I know you’re hiding around here somewhere?”
There was a sparkle in his blue eyes, and I noticed he’d grown another inch, maybe two, since I’d seen him last. The guy had been slow to grow, but he was finally getting taller and more muscular with each passing month it seemed. Now that we were both eighteen, I wondered if he was ever going to come close to catching up with me when it seemed I might just keep growing forever.
“Debbie Gibson finally bit the dust,” I said with a laugh. “Sassy is trying to get Grandpa to buy her a mule to replace the old bitch. In the meantime, no ass.”
I waited, butt leaning against the fence and arms crossed in front of my chest, for him to come to me. Every nerve jangled under my skin, and my heart thundered in my chest. I was afraid if I took one step toward him, I’d lose my composure and fling myself at the guy with a guttural sob.
As Walker got closer, I saw the crooked eyetooth of his lazy grin. I noticed the familiar cowlick that sent his white-blond hair flipping the wrong way above his left ear. But as he came near, I also saw the telltale signs that all was not as easy and happy as it seemed with my best friend.
Faint worry lines etched his young forehead, and there was the faintest wobble to his chin.
“Seth?” I whispered as he got closer.
“Fuck,” he croaked. “Fuck, I missed you, Otto.”
We were Walker and Wilde. Neither of us used first names unless something was terribly wrong, and the sound of it on his voice nearly dropped me to my knees.
I uncrossed my arms and held them open as I stumbled toward him. His body crashed into mine, and our arms went around each other as tight as barrel bands.
“Oh god,” I groaned into the side of his neck, inhaling his scent like a drowning man taking his last desperate breath. “Thank fucking god you’re back.”
We held each other like that for long minutes; the entire lengths of our teenaged bodies pressed up against each other as if maybe, if we were lucky, we could just crawl inside of each other and become one person.
I sent up a prayer of gratitude for Walker’s safe return from a summer spent at his grandparents’ house, and thought I might never survive another absence of his again.
But then that fucker opened his mouth and broke my heart with three little words.
“We’re moving away.”
