IDRIS
Jack tabs on the steering wheel, his hair is messy because he might run his hand on his hair a hundred times when I didn’t pick up his phone on the first ring when I texted him just a few minutes ago. “Stop playing with your hair,” I say, climbing into the car.
He chuckles, “We are going to the beach,” He says, driving the car to the beach. His black t-shirt and black skinny jeans don’t let me take my eyes from him.
“I don’t like staring,” he says like he always says.
I laugh, “I don’t hear your words on that.” I say.
He chuckles, “And your fingertips on my abs,” He says.
He is right. Whenever I touch his abs, his body just watches to feel the touch in my tips, how soft his skin is yet he is so hard as a rock. All his muscles... “Stop undressing me,” He says when my head is
