Page 8 of It's Always Sonny

Iam in Sonny’s arms, and suddenly, my senses are gone.

No, that’s not true, because I can feel how much more muscular he is now. And his scent hits me harder than our collision.

He smells like the “sea salt and cedar” deodorant I put in his stocking freshman year when we did our gift exchange before going home for Christmas. I hadn’t told him I loved him yet—that would come weeks later in the middle of a snowing quad—but he said it to me then, when we exchanged gifts.

He put on the deodorant right away. It wasn’t the only gift I gave him, but him instantly putting it on was his way of acknowledging my claim on him. That’s not my interpretation, either.

“There,” he said. “This is my signature smell now. Whenever anyone smells me, they’ll know I’m property of Parker Jane Emerson and no one else.”

I laughed as he pulled me into a tight hug. He smelled irresistible. “What about all the other guys who wear this brand? Do I own them, too?”

He squeezed me close like he was protecting me from hordes of men. “Nope. Nuh-uh. Not happening. You own me and no one else.”

And then he brought his mouth to my ear, and his lips grazed my lobe so softly, I could almost think I imagined it if not for the knee-weakening sensation. “And I own you.”

“Ha!” I laughed, even as I leaned my face against his because my bones were turning to jelly at the feeling of his lips against my ear. “Nice try.”

“Fine. I may not own you,” he said, backing up. His eyes jumped between mine. “But I love you.”

Time stopped. The snow falling outside my apartment window was suspended in midair. We’d only been dating a couple of months, and he was my first boyfriend. My own parents hadn’t said they loved me in … I didn’t even know.

But the feeling in my heart was overwhelming and all encompassing and beyond anything I’d ever felt before for anyone or from anyone.

What could that be but love?

I couldn’t say it back, so I kissed him until I wasn’t on the verge of tears anymore, and all the while, I smelled sea salt and cedar …

Does he really still wear that deodorant?

And am I really still in his arms?

Shoot! I’m still in his arms!

I wiggle to break free.

And I fall to the ground.

Years of gymnastics have taught me how to fall well, so I’m able to spin enough that I crash onto my butt instead of my face, but tile doesn’t feel as good as gym mats. Shocker.

“Ouch,” Sonny says in that voice he absolutely does not have a license to use. That thing is a weapon. “You okay?”

“Fine.”

I roll to my knees and scowl at the way Sonny smiles and holds his hand out to me. How dare he use that smile on me? He knows for a fact that his half smile turns me into a puddle of goo as surely as him kissing that spot right in between my eyebrows.

Not that he’s kissing anything.

Or that I’m remembering the feeling of his lips. At all.

I allow him to pull me to a stand, but only because these heels are no joke. When I’m up, he gives me one final tug until I bump against his chest.

I try to push away, but his gaze glues me to him as surely as his hands, which press just firmly enough into my hips to make me too weak to move.

Why does his touch still have so much power over me? Why does the hair on my arms and at the nape of my neck have to rise?

“Let go,” I snap.

“You sure? You seemed more than content to stay in my arms twenty seconds ago,” he says, not moving his hands. My chest rises and falls too rapidly, and my eyes flit from his lips to his impossibly bright aqua eyes. And then back to his lips. Which part into a full grin.

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