𝖳𝗂𝗅𝗅 𝖩𝗎𝗅𝗒 𝖢𝗈𝗆𝖾𝗌 𝖠𝗋𝗈𝗎𝗇𝖽 ✎ᝰ.

𝗖𝗵𝗮𝗽𝘁𝗲𝗿 𝗧𝗵𝗶𝗿𝘁𝘆: "𝑲𝒊𝒔𝒔𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝑩𝒐𝒐𝒕𝒉"

JULY

She found herself tied up in this endeavor caused by only her doing. All she did was spend a few weeks with this boy. A few weeks. Now she's seeing his eyes, his face, his— she dragged her thumb across his jawline— everything. He's here. In her bed.

She's in a world of trouble. Lots and lots and lots of trouble.

Her mother would be through the roof if she saw this right now, this boy with his arms around her. Not to mention her father, who'd be even more livid.
She winced, but deep down, she wanted the moment to last forever. She wanted to drown in him— his scent, his smile, his love but breathe him in at the same time. She never wanted to be left nostalgic. To feel like this forever was something she ached for.

"Stop staring at me, goldilocks," Grey grumbled in his sleep, her gaze quickly averted, and she could feel her face heating up.
She'd been doing that a lot these days, blushing. It's driving her crazy.

"Good morning to you too," she whispered to him in a sultry voice. His eyes snapped open just as hers did, and something she couldn't read flashed over his face.

"Good morning," Grey rolled over, rubbing his eyes, grumbling random words to himself. Honestly, she would have found this moment beautiful— and maybe even something more— if he hadn't called her Goldilocks. She wasn't living with bears. Rude.

"For someone who broke into my room last night, you're a prude," she grumbled, stretching a lazy arm over him. She figured he wasn't getting up until she got up. She was right.

"Prude? Oh, please," he kissed his teeth. "Release me, you golden-haired, baby-faced, goblin."

She rolled her eyes at him, grinning. "So you're upset I called you a prude, but you're alright with being a squatter?"

A deep chuckle erupted from him, and the sound made her vision blur. "Squatter? You invited me, sunny."

She propped herself up on her left arm and held her head in her hand. Using her other, she gripped his cheeks. Hard. Enough for him to gasp in pain and instinctively grab her wrist to pull her hand off. It didn't work. It made her dig her fingers into his cheeks even harder. "My dad used to do this to me when I was young and sassy. You're getting the same dang treatment."

"Ow," he gruffed out in sloppy pants. "Your dad's," he finally slapped her hand away. "A jerk for showing you that move, sunshine."

"I know, yet I'm grateful," she grinned before dropping her smile and stating, "Now leave."

"Before breakfast?" he grinned.

"You'd rather be dead?" she grinned back.

"Ouch, sunshine," he threw his head back and laughed. "Fine, I'll buzz off." He took the space between them and captured her lips, and for a moment, she was floating. Then the feeling of his kiss left her like a fleeting, sparse breath tangled in frozen air. She became breathless, even without his lips on hers.

He panted, "I need to stop doing that, I'm getting too comfy."

"Yeah, you are," she sat up, her back fully erect. Her hands went straight to figuring out the knots and curls of her hair to mask her anxiousness.

He shot up, too, easing off her bed to grab his shirt from the hanger in her closet. She watched him, wondering if it smelled like her. "Where will you go?"

He froze. "Home."

His voice shook as if he were cold. She turned to the space heater, and her brows came together. It was on. She read the number— sixty-five degrees Celsius. There was no way he was cold.