[1.15] Fleetwood Mac, I Love You

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       LEANING ON the unfamiliar, yet identical burgundy BMW to her own, Valentina had never felt so out of place in a place she'd literally grown up in

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       LEANING ON the unfamiliar, yet identical burgundy BMW to her own, Valentina had never felt so out of place in a place she'd literally grown up in.

After convincing Steve that she heard Nancy mention something about wanting to see a movie today in town square—a lie that caused much more of an angry reaction than expected out of the boy—Valentina was now waiting impatiently for the brunette to retrieve his car keys from inside the house.

He'd offered for her to come inside because it was cold out, but the sun was beaming high in the sky against the light breeze of mid-November, causing Valentina to give the boy a skeptical look as she sat back and relaxed against his car.

Hearing the side door slam, Valentina turned her head to see Steve spinning a keyring on his pointer finger as he walked toward her, eyes trained on the ground as his lips moved subtly under her watchful gaze.

Choosing to ignore the inaudible mutters coming from the brunette, Valentina yanked open her passenger's side door after he unlocked it and got in.

The leather seats of his car were not as clean and well-taken care of as the fabric of her own, a smug expression pulling at he corners of her lips at the thought. The boy joined her in the driver's seat, starting the ignition and checking his mirrors on each side of the car.

Going through the motions that had become muscle memory over the several departures through the years, Steve placed his right hand behind the black seat on which Valentina's blonde hair sprawled out. It was a bundle of waves and curls alike. A total mess, just like her mother had teased.

The scent of sandalwood and rich leather ambushed the sensitive nostrils of the passenger, scrunching up her face in distaste as the aroma flooded the air trapped inside the vehicle.

The boy's face was mere inches away from her own, turned fully to the right to check the backside of the street.

From the corner of her eyes—since Valentina was deathly afraid to make any movement that could result in her breath hitting the tan skin of his left cheek—Valentina could count the freckles and discolorations that embellished his natural bronze.

That's how close they were.

His hazel eyes drooped over the horizon through the empty street, the only two people awake at this hour being the ones who hadn't slept all night and were now residing in each other's outré company.

Her nostrils flared in temperate discomfort, finding an odd sense of blissful ping that enveloped her like a hug from a stranger—bizarre, but comforting.

The skin of his cheek tinted rosily ever so slightly with the heat of the girl's breath, who naturally turned her head toward him eventually, losing the battle against her body that unwillingly sought out the warmth of a body it'd grown so used to some time ago.

𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐑𝐎𝐍𝐎𝐌𝐘, ˢᵗᵉᵛᵉ ʰᵃʳʳᶦⁿᵍᵗᵒⁿWhere stories live. Discover now