1642734778_punk-57-pdf

well as a couple next to us.
Masen buries his lips in my neck, kissing and biting. “The windows are
blacked out,” he mumbles against my skin. “So tinted it’s illegal.”
I turn back to him and dive into his mouth again, hearing their music
and laughter only feet away, all around us, and not giving a shit. I catch a
glimpse of someone passing by the truck, and I let out a moan.
He moves from my mouth to my neck again, getting greedy, and I close
my eyes, holding onto him.
Coming up, he cups my face again, wiping away the tears with his
thumbs. “Tell me something true.”
I lick my lips, hungry and wanting his mouth back, but his eyes are
holding mine. He’s not letting me off the hook.
I lean in and put my forehead to his again. “I don’t like cheese on my
sandwiches,” I admit, chewing on my lip. “Bridge to Terabithia is my
favorite book.” My fifth-grade teacher read it to us, and it always stuck with
me. “I make jalapeno bagels sometimes, because my mom told me once
that they’re my dad’s favorite.” I glance up at him to see his eyes still open
and on me. “He left when I was four, and I haven’t seen him since. I don’t
make them when she’s around, though.”
I press my teeth down on my lip harder, but his thumb nudges my lip
back out, probably seeing how nervous I am.
“I don’t get along with my sister,” I admit, “and I don’t feel close to my
mom anymore. I know a lot of it is my fault. My armor got too thick, and I
stopped letting people in.” I pause and add, “Most people.”
New tears spring up, and a small sob escapes. He kisses me and pulls
back just enough to rub my mouth with his. “I can’t get enough of you.”
I smile a little.