“I love you,” he whispers. We lie
together, the sheets tangled around our legs, his arms around me
and my body backed up against his. He laces his fingers through
mine, hugs me tight, my arms crossed over my chest. He’s draped
around me like an expensive coat, wonderful and warm, mine. All
mine.
I turn so I can press my lips to his chin,
stubbly and unshaven—the hair’s so light that I can only see it
now, this close, it shimmers in the lamplight. “Dylan,” I sigh. The
way I say it brings a goofy grin to his face. “Love you, too.”
He rests his head against my shoulder. “What
time is it?” he asks.
As if I know. I hold up an arm to show him
my bare wrist. “What time do you want it to be?”
That makes him laugh. He’s so cute right
after s*x, all giggles and love talk, he’s one of
