Page 25 of Texting My Valentine

“I’d imagine just that, then I’d throw the orb, and then, I’d be in that person’s head. I’d try to imagine everything they might be thinking and feeling. I’d try to become them just for a little bit. Weird, huh?”

“I don’t know if it’s weird or not. I don’t really care. It’s creative and interesting. Are you a writer?”

“Uh… no.”

I chuckle. “Are you sure? Don’t worry. I won’t tell anybody.”

“It’s kind of weird,” she mutters hesitantly.

“There’s that word again. Whoever said you had to be normal, Tori?”

She shrugs, then keeps walking. I walk beside her for a moment, hesitating and wondering if I should do what I desperately want to, then stop overthinking and go for it. I slip my arm over her shoulder. She makes a soft moaning noise and falls against me. The experience is so natural. It’s like we’ve done it countless times before, yet it sizzles with the heat of newness.

My body begins to pulse, my instincts roaring. This hunger has to mean something. It’s an effort to keep my hand on her shoulder. So tempting to slide down over her hip, grab and massage her ass, slide my hand into her pants, and find her…

“This is nice,” she murmurs.

“Yes,” I reply. “It is.” My voice is husky. I need to keep talking so I don’t go ‘full beast’ and tear her clothes off. I say, “What’s weird about not being a writer?”

“Promise not to tell?”

“Swear.”

“I’ve been visiting open mic poetry slam nights for six months. I’ve always wanted to be a poet; when I was really little, I wanted to be an actor. I guess this combines the two.”

“That’s great,” I say, hoping she will tell me more. I want to know everything about her.

“Is it?”

I give her a squeeze. “It sounds like it takes a lot of bravery to get up there when you’re so nervous about it.”

“Who said I was nervous?” she counters.

“You didn’t have to.”

“The performances don’t make me nervous. I’m shocked by how calm I am when I go to the events. As long as nobody I know is there—which, so far, they haven’t been—I’m able to handle it. But the idea of somebody I know seeing it?Thatfreaks me out.”

“Why?” I ask, genuinely curious to know why this makes her nervous. Having a friend to support her should lift her spirit instead of causing her discomfort.

“I don’t know. I guess I like to keep some stuff private.”

“Well, I’d love to see a performance.” When she laughs in disbelief, I squeeze her again, this time with a playful edge. “It’strue. And don’t forget, technically, we don’t know each other, so I’d be a stranger,” I say, with an eyebrow raised.

She looks up at me, her eyes bright and magnetic.

This is the perfect moment to kiss her. But if I do that, can Ijustkiss her? Will I take it further?

She turns away, and the moment passes. Damn.

“What sort of performances do you do?” I ask. “What are your poems about?”

“Do you really want to know?”

“I wouldn’t have asked otherwise. Forget Guardian Angel. You’re aGuarded Angel. You’ve always got your shield up.” I nudge her with a toothy grin. “See what I did there?”

She tries to hold back, squeezing her lips together, but then the laughter escapes.

“Okay, you got me, but only because it was so corny.”

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