Page 8 of Boyfriend From Hell

This poor woman had heartbreak written all over her. I knew the answer to my question before I asked—it was clear by her red rimmed eyes, the way she regarded me with obvious skepticism (and curiosity, which was appreciated).

She was so animated when she spoke, and I couldn’t help but find her enthralling.

Her hands would work the air as if she were putting on a play and her words were the characters.

I decided then and there I would do whatever it took to mend that shattered heart of hers.

I’d pick the shards up with my teeth if I had to and take every cut as a blessing, so long as I was the one doing it.

I watched her, keeping my expression as plain as possible as she drew her perfectly pillowy bottom lip between her teeth and mulled over her reply.

A part of me wondered what those plush lips would feel like against mine. What would she taste like? I imagine she’d be sweeter than honey and I’d give anything to taste those lips.

The sound of her voice, so filled with caution, slapped me out of my self-imposed fantasy.

What was I thinking? This girl needed love—someone to show her that she was what the universe itself was made of. That she was all the stars combined into one beautiful, mortal package. And I planned to do exactly that for her.