Despite growing up together, Catherine Simmons and Mattis Reed were never close.
Cat was inseparable from Mattis' younger sister, Chloé, while he was busy running around on the football field.
But when Cat's new dream drags her across the country du...
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Waking up with Cat in my arms has never felt so good.
I've been holding back lately, and I think I needed her to shake some sense into me. We can't live in fear for the rest of our lives.
Also, birthday sex is superior.
Cat rolls out of bed, disappearing out the door before I even have a chance to kiss her good morning, but before I can sulk too much, she's back, a small package in her hand.
"Here," she says, dropping it in my lap and taking a seat beside me on the bed. Her smile is slightly nervous around the edges, and she twists her hands in her lap.
I stare at the gift for three long seconds, wondering if asking her to take it back would be rude. It's just; she's already given me everything I could have wanted.
I'm not talking about the sex but about how she's blossomed since we returned home yesterday. It's been such a short time, but the difference is striking. She looks happy. And that's worth a million presents.
"You didn't have to get me anything, Cat."
"Hush, and open it," she demands, lips pinched, and I do as I'm told.
It's a small notebook, similar to the one I got her for Christmas. For a moment, I'm afraid she wants me to start writing her poetry because, honestly, the one I wrote about her hair is as good as it's gonna get, but when I open the first page, I notice her intricate handwriting. I quickly flip through it, skimming pages upon pages of Cat's poems.
Her smile is shy, and she's avoiding my eyes. "You told me to start writing again. These are all the ones I wrote about you."
Her cheeks are aflame, and I love seeing her all bashful.
I read the first one, realizing it's the poem she wrote for class shortly after starting at Columbia. The one I caught a few lines of before she grabbed her notebook out of my hands like it was a rabid animal. The one about passion.
I had no idea it was about me.
There are dozens of them. Some long, some short. Some sad and longing, others happy.
The last one, written just last night, I gather from the date in the corner, is only two lines long, but it hits me right in the chest.
Nowhere feels quite like home As in his arms
I sweep Cat onto my lap, kissing her deeply.
I'm just about to suggest we repeat last night's success when she crawls off me, mumbling something about coffee.
With a sigh, I throw on a pair of sweats and follow her.
Seeing her stand at the kitchen counter, hair falling down her back, ass barely covered by those shorts makes my heart stutter. I can't believe she's mine. I walk up behind her, encircle my arms around her waist, and kiss her neck.
