He rambled.
Oh boy, did he ramble.
He rambled in a way that was nothing but
a bunch of bippidy blah blah to my ears.
Rambled in a way that made my head go
all dizzy and squeezy.

Despite the fact that he no longer dressed like the big dork he did then, despite the fact that he’d swapped the nerd wear for some
much cooler clothes, despite the fact that he’d let his hair go all shaggy and loose to the point where it curved down into his face in that
cool guy, slightly windswept, effortless way, despite the fact that every time I looked into his brilliant blue eyes I was totally reminded of
the Zac Efron poster that used to hang on my old bedroom wall, it still didn’t make it okay for him to laugh at me the way he did.

And just as I start to move past him, my hip accidentally rubs against his, and his face is so close, and his eyes so deep, that I can't help but lift my fingers to his smooth, sculptured cheek. Then without even thinking, I close my eyes, lean in, and kiss him.

After two solid weeks of waking up in Damen's bed, wrapped in Damen's arms, you'd think I'd have grown used to it by now.
But nope.
Not even close.
Though I could get used to it.
I'd like to get used to it.

He stops in his tracks, face expressing major disappointment. "Wait - seriously? That's it? We don't get to do a stealthy tiptoe as we slip around back? No sneaking through a cracked window, or arguing over who gets to crawl through the dogie door to let the other one in?

Soundlessly whispering into the void, my lips moving quickly, silently, without ceasing. Calling his name, calling him to me.
Even though there's no use.
Even though it's futile.
Even though it's way past too late.