Page 40 of The Chemistry of Us

He shoved me. His hair was messy and full of sand as he flipped me over onto the blanket. “And now? Can you feel how much my heart is breaking now?”

“Why?” I asked. “Why would it break?”

“Because,” he whispered, “I want you with me all the time, and you’re too far away.”

I rolled my eyes. “Okay, player, I’m right underneath you.”

“I want you on top of me.” He nibbled on my bottom lip. “I want you underneath me. Next to me…” He pulled me closer, his arms wrapping around my waist, not my neck but my waist as if he needed my body fully pressed against his. “By my side.”

“What?”

His lips found mine in a tender kiss. “They say if you kiss under the stars, the person will be by your side.”

“Did you just make that up?”

“Maybe I just wished it to be Tru, get it?”

I laughed and flopped down next to him. “I’ve never had someone by my side.”

“Well…” He grabbed my hand and squeezed it. “Wish on a star, and maybe you’ll have someone.” He was quiet. “Maybe he’s already there.”

I wasn’t one to cry over stupid stuff. I’d lived a life of poverty, a life of trying to protect myself, a life of constantly being isolated or moving, and for the first time, I looked up at the stars and wished for someone for myself.

I wished for him.

For someone to be by my side—not as a hero but as a partner.

I wished for him.

“So…” He turned to me. “Tru, what do you really want for your birthday?”

I turned to him and kissed him with everything in me. Our lips met in a chaotic way that made me almost embarrassed by my aggressiveness. He tasted so good, like the air, the sea, nature, everything I needed to embrace. He pulled away and eyed me up and down. “Happy birthday, Tru.”

I frowned. Was he giving me something?

I wasn’t sure until he kissed me harder and pressed me against the blanket. “Happy birthday.” He pulled off my shirt.

“Happy birthday.” He shoved my swimsuit bottoms down. “Happy birthday.” He paused, hovering over me, his arms on each side of my head resting there. “Happy birthday.” He pressed a tender kiss to my neck and whispered, “Nobody deserves a birthday the way you do, so from the bottom of this egotistical, silver spoon-fed asshole, Harvard—ass with a capital A—please, have a happy birthday.”

My swimsuit bottoms were off.

I was half naked below him.

And all he did was lower his head. His tongue licked each thigh and then went higher as he smiled against my pussy. “Blowing out candles…is so over-fucking-rated. I’d rather lick you.”

Now

I joltedmyself out of the memory the way someone would during any sort of trauma or memories because, at the end of the day, it didn’t last, did it?

I didn’t want to be upset, but I was.

Only because my birthday was coming up, and every birthday, I thought of that moment, and it was all his fault that I did. Nothing would ever come close to it. My brain wouldn’t even allow me to finish the memory, and for a good reason, I guessed.

I grabbed my phone, my pillow, and put on some comfy clothes, then walked into his room and smacked him on the ass. “Wake up.”

He jolted up and stared at me with confused eyes. “Why?”

“Yay, you’re alive!” I smacked him again because I could. “Okay, roomie, time to go back to sleep, but look forward to torture for the next eight hours.”

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