Page 237 of Cloudy With a Chance of Bad Decisions
I knew how to bring him joy. How to make him smile. How to make him drop his precious control. I knew how to make him feel seen, and loved. How to appreciate him, the way he was meant to be appreciated.
As I stood there staring at him, taking him in, there was no denying the honest truth.
And maybe I didn’t know how to love myself yet—but I knew with bone-deep certainty how to love George-Arthur Milton.
There wasn’t a single man in the world who would love him more fiercely than I would.
He must’ve recognized that in my gaze, recognized my devotion, my awe, my gratitude. Because the tension in his frame fled, and those dark eyes glistened.
They said,I’m meeting you halfway.
They said,we’re not done yet.
They said,I need you, I need you, I need?—
“You look like you could use a recharge.” George’s words broke me.
A laugh escaped before I could help it, and suddenly that terrible, awful ache in my chest was completely gone. As though George’s presence had untangled the knots.
“You have no idea.” No truer words had ever been said.
When I kissed him, he tasted like honesty.
Nothing existed outside his mouth—soft, pliant, then biting and ravenous.
Teeth, and tongue, and long-long fingers tangled in the back of my hair.
Time blurred along with my vision, rain mixing with tears, with spit and sweat. The thump of my heart was louder than the rumble of thunder above us. The storm didn’t let up, but neither of us cared, growing soggier by the minute.
George’s skin was chilly beneath my palms, fingers scraping up those sweet cheeks and into his tangle of blond hair. It was knotted now that the rain hadmade it catch. The gel he’d styled it with that morning made it sticky and hard to card through.
I tugged.
I felt his responding gasp all the way to my toes.
“I was so mad at you—” George’s voice broke. “For not admitting you need me.”
“But I do—” I licked his whine right out of his mouth. “Ido.”
“I need you too.” George’s wet lashes were a spiky, dark blond. The whites of his eyes were red, swimming with tears. “I don’t want to be friends,” his breath hitched. “I don’t want to be anyone else’s?—”
“George.”
“I know it was just for practice but can’t it be—” George’s voice was shaking. “Can’t it be forever? Can’t we…can’t we just never stop?” His hands clung to my shirt, pulling at the fabric. “Does ithaveto end?”
“It doesn’t have to end.” I kissed him again, overwhelmed—frightened—and elated all at the same time. “Never, George.”
“I won’t let you down like those other people,” George sniffed, his dark eyes swirling with tears. A few rolled down his cheek, mixing with the rain. “I don’t care if every day isn’t a ‘good day.’ The way I look at you will never change.”
I kissed him again, cutting off his confession.
When I pulled back again this time, he was far more settled. “You don’t have to be perfect,” George promised softly. “You don’t have to be perfect for me to love you.”
“I know.” My throat clicked when I swallowed. And I did know. I did. Because I realized the feeling was entirely fucking mutual. In fact…it was George’s flaws that endeared him to me so very much. His fussiness. His tendency to smother. How loud, how bright he could be. Argumentative and grouchy—and so…so goddamn lovable.
George wrapped his arms around my middle, burying his face in my neck. He shook. Shook so damn hard. I clutched him close, rocking him as Iinhaled the scent of his shampoo, my eyes squeezed so tightly when I opened them I saw more black spots.
His fluffy head was right there. So kissable. So I kissed it. Kissed his ear too. Kissed his forehead, and his nose, and his eyebrows—and his cheeks, and his chin and his?—
