Page 122 of Falling

“Baby, you're forgetting that there's a million different ways I can get you off without my mouth. But trust me, you'll be begging to kiss me by the time I'm done with you,” I whisper for only her to hear. She rolls her eyes at me, pushing me away again.

The game continues around us as Kennedy asks Harry, “Truth or dare?”

“Dare,” Harry replies, leaning forward to look at her better.

“I was kinda hoping you’d say truth,” Kennedy says, a smirk playing on her lips.

“Why?”

“So then I could ask if you were single or not.” Everyone, except those two, exchange glances, smiles creeping up our faces. I knew there was something going on with them, but they’re clearly both too chicken-shit to do anything about it. Besides, they seem like good friends.

“Smooth, Ken,” Wren mutters under her breath when Scarlett looks at her with wide eyes. Harry still hasn’t recovered from the question, and his mouth is open wide, blinking at Kennedy.

“He’s single,” I say. He's usually fine with girls, but for some reason, I think Kennedy scares him a little. “Very,” I add, watching the confusion on his face.

“This feels like a perfect opportunity to play seven minutes in heaven,” Xavier suggests, trying to stifle his laugh. “Should we spin a bottle? I’m not playing, obviously.”

“We don’t need a bottle,” Kennedy says happily as she stands up. She waltzes over to Harry and grabs his hand as he blinks up at her, pulling him away from the living room.

“Do you think that’s a good idea?” Scarlett asks quietly. “I’m in real protective older sister mode.”

“He’s a good guy,” I say, reassuring her.

“You better be right,” Scarlett says, pinning me with a Kubrick stare. “Or I’ll kill you.”

I raise my hands in surrender as Wren smiles and stands up in front of me. “Leave him alone. Kennedy can handle herself. She completely flamed a guy at Coachella last year without our help,” she says.

“I forgot about that,” Scarlett laughs.

“What’s this Coachella story?” Gray shouts from the kitchen.

“That’s a story for another time,” she shouts back before she pulls me up from my seat. “I want to see if what you said is really true.”

Everyone groans as she drags me up the stairs to my bedroom. There are very few things I can say no to when it comes to Wren, so I follow her like the dumb puppy I am.

39

MILES

BOYFRIEND OF THE YEAR

I can’t rememberthe last time I celebrated Valentine's Day.

It always felt like such a stupid holiday to me. Especially when you’re single. No one wants to walk into Target to see Valentine’s Day-themed banners everywhere when you’ve just been broken up with. No one wants their timeline to be flooded with pictures of people in love when their idea of being in a relationship is physically repulsive.

Well, Iusedto think it was a stupid holiday. Now, I think the gods have blessed me with the best girlfriend in the world, who is currently sprawled out on my bed like she owns it. I’d have her in my bed every night if I could, but she only stayed over last night because I picked her up from her semi-final competition yesterday. I spent the entire time during the competition on the literal edge of my seat, watching her glide and turn on the ice. I truly don’t think I’ve seen anything more beautiful. She’s worked her ass off for these competitions, and she competes in them like it’s no big deal, coming out on top with flying colors because she’s just that fucking good.

Wren’s lying like a starfish on her stomach in her underwear and a tank top. She passed out the second we got in last night, and I’m almost too afraid to wake her. I bet she’s exhausted from the competition, but it’s almost eleven and I’m afraid she might not function if she doesn’t wake up before twelve.

I set the breakfast tray down on my bedside table, smiling at the concoction I made. I did have to take some pointers from Evan, who scolded me in the kitchen as I prepared some pancakes, sausages, and eggs for Wren’s breakfast-in-bed surprise. The pancakes don’t look as heart-shaped as I had hoped, but they’re something. I’m new to the whole boyfriend thing, but I think breakfast in bed and some hand-picked flowers are a good start.

Did my neighbor turn on their sprinklers when I picked daisies from his garden? Yes. Yes, he did.

Did I regret it? Not one bit.

Leaning forward, I poke Wren in the cheek. “Wren, baby,” I say softly, stroking my thumb against her cheek to wake her. I don’t know what it is, but watching her sleep makes me feel weird. Overwhelmed, almost. I just keep staring at her, and it’s hard to believe that she’s real.

“What?” she grumbles, shoving her pretty face into my bed sheets.

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