London“It’s not the kiss I crave but the soul connected to it.”
—London Wright
A miscalculated flick of my paintbrush against the wall sends a firestorm of gray droplets toward my face. “Kate!” I whine to my roommate.
She takes one look at my speckled face and bursts into laughter.
“It’s not funny. This’d better come out of my hair,” I grumble.
“Oh, bless your heart.” She shakes her head from side to side, a giant smile on her face.
“Um, isn’t that the equivalent of saying, f**k you, or something in the South?” I ask, quirking up an eyebrow in question.
“It can be. Just depends on the manner in which it’s said. I didn’t mean it that way, of course. I meant it literally because you, London, are just the cutest. I’ve never met someone quite like you.” She chuckles to herself and conti
