Monday, May 21, 2018

He's Back

I surprised him. It was around eight in the morning. He was bright-eyed and I was still a little glossy. He thrives in the morning and I can't coherently do much until around noon. He was running errands and I came up behind him. 

"Haven't seen you in a while," I whispered in his ear. 

I felt the stubble on his face. I was on the very tip of my toes and could barely reach high enough to cover his blue eyes but I felt his cheeks move. He was smiling. And when he finally turned around I realized how genuine that smile was. 
 ... 

I wanted to grab a drink before we took the drive home. He waited for me outside and I got a lemonade because I knew it was his favorite. He just sat there and stared while I stood in line. 

I had only kissed him once since the new year rolled in. I skipped out the doors and started pulling him by the waist of his pants toward me. I startled him a bit and he laughed. 

He was trying to grow out a beard and he was a little sloppy. Nevertheless, I was still incredibly attracted to him. And he was still hiding his sweetness. He was years younger than I but he tried desperately to act older, wiser, and more nonchalant than his maturity level spoke for him. But I didn't care. He was fun. And I respected the fact that I scared him. What I respected more was the fact that he didn't run from the fear. 
 ... 

We were walking when a man across the street yelled in my direction. 

"Hey! Hey, sweetie," he continued. 

I didn't necessarily know that he was yelling at me but his voice made me uncomfortable so I didn't turn my head. 

"Hey! Meghan Trainor," he yelled again. 

That's when I knew it was for me. And that's when he grabbed my hand and tugged on me to go faster. 

I started laughing, "What's wrong?" 

"I don't like it," he replied. 

"Like what," I asked, "that wasn't a big deal. People say I look like her all of the time." 

He looked down at me and said, "You didn't see the way he was looking at you. I didn't like it." 

"Well, you don't really have any say in the matter. Whether you're still holding my hand or not, I'm not yours," I explained and pulled away from him. 

"You like reminding people of that," he scoffed and turned to walk away. 

 I could feel my cheeks redden, "No, I don't," I said while I scurried to catch up.
 ...

I loved the way his hand felt on my lower back. He'd guide me up the front porch steps or out the door with its steadiness. But sometimes it felt wrong because I knew we could never be anything more than these short moments. I was living for them though.

My head found its way onto his chest everytime the lights went out. The texts he would send me asking me to not ever fly alone again. But once he was indulged, just a bit, he'd turn it off. He'd go back to the games and not caring. I knew better though. I knew better from day one with him. It was all fun and games but there was some emotions sliding in from left field that I was uncovering at the same time that I was throwing dirt on the pile to cover it up. 

I couldn't have feelings for him. No matter how black his hair was or how blue his eyes were. No matter how tall he was or how peeking at that one tattoo of his brought me back to that first night together. No matter how much we liked to talk about our dreams and decipher their meanings. There was nothing about us that would ever fit. And I was completely okay with that. I accepted that when we first met. I just hadn't accepted the fact that I would eventually develop some sort of actual care for him.

 ...

I climbed into his lap and faced him. My legs wrapped around his back and my head rested on his shoulder. 

"Look at me you idiot," he said.

I popped my head up quickly, "Excuse me?"

My attitude spiked and I unlocked my legs to try and get up.

"Don't move," he demanded.

"Well, what's your problem," I asked.

He rolled his eyes, "Nothing Grace. Sometimes you just need to be called an idiot to keep yourself in check. You just aren't as observant with yourself as you are with other people."

I looked back at him confused all the while I felt his rough hands find their way up the back of my sweatshirt.

"No matter who I end up with, she will never have those eyes or that crease in her bottom lip and I will always want her to," he said.

My stomach dropped. There were so many ways I could deconstruct that sentence. There were so many different ways I could process it. Instead, I responded in the worst of ways.

"Yeah, they all say that about my eyes," I said as I took a turn rolling my own.

He was silent. I could tell he was mad.

"Grace," he began, "you ruin all moments. It's not even that you can ruin just one moment, you literally ruin every moment." 

I replied quickly, "I know." 

I felt the tears coming. And I was nauseated. And I really wanted to jump up from his lap and run into the bathroom and turn the lights off and hide in the tub. 

"I'm going to try this again," he continued, "No matter who I end up with. I'm going to end up with someone else because by the time I am able to settle down you will have found someone worthy of you and your daughter. I'm hoping you have another child by then. But no matter who it is, she won't ever have those eyes that every man that's kissed you loves so much. She won't have that sexy crease in her lower lip. I will want her to. I will think about you from time to time and I will wish she had those two things."

I sighed.

"Don't ruin it," he said.

So I just stared at him instead. I didn't know what to say because every thought that came to mind was incredibly inappropriate. 
SHARE:

A Divorcee's Playlist




365 days separated two drastically different lives. In 365 days I had my heartbroken, I got divorced, I became a single mother, I got my first STD test, I began wearing jeans again, I started spin class and tried kickboxing, I kissed other men, I got more tattoos, I put together new furniture and chucked an old sofa out the front door, I went to therapy, I got a job in the city. There were 365 days between the day my husband walked out the door and the day I was sipping on hot tea at the Royal Palace Tea Room in Sydney, Australia. A lot can change in a year. 

Here's the soundtrack that got me through that change. Each song also happens to coincide with every chapter of the book. 
 “Don’t Panic” by Ellie

 “Better Man” by Little Big Town

 “Let It Go” by James Bay

 “What If” by Adam Friedman

 “Your Guardian Angel” by Red Jumpsuit Apparatus

 “Can I Be Him” by James Arthur

“I Could Not Ask For More” by Edwin McCain

 “Learning To Let Go” by Corey Crowder

 “Love Yourself” by Justin Beiber

 “In Fire” by The Workday Release

  “Everywhere” by Fly by Midnight

  “Obsessed” by Emblem3

 “Bird Set Free” by Sia

 “Autumn Leaves” by Ed Sheeran

  “I Won’t Give Up” by Jason Mraz

  “No Promises” by Cheat Codes ft. Demi Lovato

 "Future Looks Good” by OneRepublic

 “Million Reasons” by Lady Gaga

 “Cold” by Maroon 5

 “Best You Ever” by Michelle Branch

 “Wild Love” by Elle King

 “Follow You Down” by Matthew Mayfield

 “HAPPINESS” by NEEDTOBREATHE

 “Don’t Be A Fool” Shawn Mendes

 “Style” by Taylor Swift

 “Hold On” Chord Overstreet

 “Liability” by Lorde

 “Go” by Boys Like Girls 
SHARE:

Thursday, May 10, 2018

Really Good At What He Does

Currently Listening To: "What Goes Around... Comes Around" by Justin Timberlake


28 days. That’s how many days between the day you told her you loved her on February 5th - months after you told me you loved her - to the time John died. So what exactly changed? When did you decide you didn’t love her anymore? I call bullshit.

That's the text our mutual friend sent him just days after our relationship fell apart. Our entire circle was just as confused as to what could have happened. What could make someone throw away a future and a family so quickly? 

But really, it was less than 28 days. It took less than 28 days for him to trash me and Claire, and cuddle up to his new, fellow assistant coach. It took less than 28 days to damage multiple friendships and break a variety of promises. It was the 11 days after we buried Dad though that were the most cruel. He's becoming a better man now, have you heard?

...

February 5th, 2018

My stomach did a little dip when I saw him turn the corner. Handsome, he had gotten his hair cut and a fresh shave. He wore a camel-colored Tommy Hilfiger coat that complimented his dark skin nicely. 

"Hey baby," he said with a smile and nonchalant attitude.

He began planning the surprise back in December. All of my girlfriends knew about it. I suspected something would be happening but there was a basketball game rescheduled for the night so my hope diminished. But when Lake came to pick me up at the door, still in her scrubs, I knew he had come through, again. 

I already knew he was trying to find the perfect moment to tell me he loved me. There had been so many missed chances now, for months. But that's the night he did it. And for 28 days the crumbled feeling that marked that date completely disappeared. 

...

He would get so hot and bothered. He'd nearly finish the task by me just blowing along the sides of his neck. He was so mystified by this that he eventually texted Ian:

So, have you ever gotten off just by making out?

I'm now told that Jennifer and Ian argued about whether or not we were having sex yet. For the record, we were a few weeks away from our first time together. But this particular interaction with our shared best friend makes me giggle... still. 

...

He's really good at what he does. He's really good at making a woman feel special; special to him in particular. Each of us were the exception to the rule. He felt differently with me, with her, with the high school sweetheart that came before me. The attention to touch and detail, most of the time, was impressive. The compliments came at the right moments. "Baby," melts right off his tongue for each of us too.

They're all perfectly placed at moments that make her, or I, believe some type of genuine feeling. And that was important for me, especially in the bedroom. I had come from an experience that wasn't the best and never made me feel safe. And he knew that. 

The way he would call me sexy when I climbed on top or how he'd whisper, "You feel so good," throughout every thrust, those kinds of things can win a woman over. And in the moment, she'll feel like you've only ever said it to her. Of course, that's not the case, especially with a man that's crafted the art so well. Not crafted the art of sex, but the game.
...

I would tease him as much as I could. Or, as much as I had the opportunity to. So much so that I remember waking up to a snap from him one morning; complete with a photo the message read:

Still hard from last night.

In the evenings, I'd turn the lights out and ungracefully hop into his lap on the sofa. I'm taller than what he was used to, and he liked that. Once he was straddled, I'd go right for his sweet spot; the left side of his neck would do it every time. Then I'd wait because the moaning, "Oh baby" or "f*ck" would fall right into my ear as his hands found their way into the back of my shirt or waistband. And those hands and that touch, they quickly became aggressive.
...

The first time he touched me, really touched me, I fought it. My guard was still up in every sense of the word but somehow a finger still slipped inside. 

"You're so tight," he growled, "you'd never know."

"I know," I laughed back. 

...

September 5, 2017

The first time I allowed the rest of him inside of me, I was surprised by how perfectly we fit together. We didn't want our first time to be on the floor but once we started neither of us wanted to stop. 

When we finished, he walked around with a big, cheesy smile on his face while doing a little two-step, victory dance. He won a piece of me that night. I used to think about that moment and giggle. There was such an innocence in the way we went about it all. But I realize now, that was a part of the bigger game plan. And I hate him for that. I hate him for taking a part of me that I held so tightly. And he continued to do that, even after he met his newest target, which is the sickest thought of all.

...

He kissed every inch of me that night. But once he got to my inner thigh, his teeth came out to play. He bit down and said, "You're mine."

I woke up the next morning with a bruise. He had left his mark.

...

February 14, 2018

One of our longest sessions was on Valentine's Day night. Foreplay was drawn out and different positions were used. He was more adventurous on weekend nights so when I asked him for an explanation for his new moves he replied, "It's a special night."

Neither of us wanted to get up and find our clothes, too tired from the day and what had just happened between the sheets. We laid there talking about the future instead.

...
extended

March 16, 2018

The night before our relationship unraveled we had sex for the last time. Of course, I didn’t know it was the last time then but it was different from any other toss in the sheets because of what he was doing. 

Spreading my legs and getting himself adjusted inside came with deep sighs and a growling, “I love you” in my ear. It was probably the quickest session we had ever had. 


Afterwards, he went to the bathroom. He threw my clothes off the bed and laughed mischeviously  So, I laid there with just the black sheet wrapped around me thinking, "It's all going to be okay. We're going to get through this." 

...

April 12, 2018

He was staring with his gaze falling on every line my body owned.

"Stop looking at me like that," I said annoyed.

He smirked, "I always look at you like this."

"You can't look at me like that anymore, I'm not yours," I rebutted.

I sat on the couch facing him. And I noticed, his eyes were lingering longer than they should, again.

"Ya know," he began, "for not sleeping much you look really good."

I replied, "I know."

...

I wonder. Did he buy all new underwear? Or is he wearing the 20+ pairs I bought him for Christmas with her?

SHARE:

Tuesday, May 8, 2018

Chapter 22: Divorce Diets Work


Currently Listening To: “HAPPINESS” by NEEDTOBREATHE
March 2016 – September 2016
My vagina was taking a beating. But the guy in the corner I couldn’t take my eyes off of. Even in the midst of the pain radiating from my crotch and my concern about not being able to walk the next day, I kept glancing over to him mid sweat wipe. Where were the endorphins to get me through these last 15 minutes? Where was the cushioned seat I had read about on the Internet? This man in class though, if my pelvic region was on fire, how were his balls doing? I couldn’t get them out of my mind. Did he have any? Did he tuck them away somewhere? Was he wearing dude Spanx to keep them in a safe position? Maybe a cup? We were up and down so much on the bike that my downstairs was nearly rubbed raw that first session. There’s no way that this man wasn’t feeling it every time his testicles slapped the seat. I was worried. Would he be able to have children?
Once class was over and I had made it through, I asked the teacher, “So, what’s the secret?” 
She answered, “Just get through a few classes and you’ll get used to it.”
And she was right. Spin class, amidst the sweat, the perfect asses that would cycle away in front of me and my upchuck reflex that would come alive when I ate too close to starting time, became my solace. It became my safe place. It became my Zen. I loved it. I loved the drive downtown. I loved how much of a badass I felt like once I got back in my car after a 50-minute session. Admittedly, I also liked when I would bribe a friend to come along. More specifically, Maddison, who would go through Steak’N’Shake drive through with me ordering patty melts, sides of cheese for our fries, and turtle nut milkshakes afterwards. It was our reward. We’d eat in the car as to ensure that no one saw that my eyebrows had melted off. And we’d pour the crumbs from the fry bag right into our mouths without shame or onlookers. They were the best nights of that summer.  
I was already down about thirteen pounds. I was eating normally again. And being able to slide into a pair of jeans and wear them in public feeling confident after a solid three years of hiding them away in the closet felt incredible. I had been teetering on the lines of a size 14 since I got married but I was finally back to a size 12 and confident in it. I graduated high school about thirty pounds lighter but that’s also the size I wore when I threw my cap into the air and hit the road to Disney World. I’m not completely sure why women’s bodies are so weird. 
My hair had grown out too. The previous Thanksgiving, the last one I had shared with Norman, I had donated about ten inches to Locks of Love. He was creeped out by the chopped off ponytail I had brought home and sat on the bench in the dining room before packing it up to send off. I was getting it all back though. It had become so much more bouncy and wavy since pregnancy and I was embracing it. I could tell I looked better than I had since I was 16-years-old. I was making myself over from the inside out, top to bottom. I was healthy and I was regaining my confidence. 
I had a dream that I had gotten a few new tattoos too. I saw myself sketching them in a small notebook I kept in my pocket. So, I decided, since I hadn’t gotten one since I was 18 that it was time to do that too. I scouted out a few new places but it wasn’t until I ran into someone with an umbrella tattoo on his pinky finger that I felt like I had found the right person to do the job. 
Mom and I pulled up to the local coffee shop in our hometown. It’s nothing fancy, its name is literally “The Coffee Shop,” and they only have one giant-sized iced coffee you can order but it’s delicious. The young man at the drive-through window had a ton of ink. Sleeves and small pieces throughout his hands, but it was the umbrella that caught my mom’s eye. Although she isn’t a huge fan of talking to strangers, she struck up conversation with our new barista. He told us all about Flash City Tattoo in West Nashville and that’s the same day I made my appointment to get the first design I saw in my dream. 
I’m not sure if it’s the most popular thing to do, but I went to the tattoo parlor on a Monday morning with my 21-month old and my mom in tow. They sat in the waiting room while Claire looked through questionable magazines as I received a small tattoo under my left collarbone. It read, “clarity,” and ended with the “y” cascading into an umbrella. If there was one thing I learned throughout all the mess, it was that I always had the power of clarity. I couldn’t let the denial muddy it. All you need is an umbrella to help you see through the rain, and Claire was mine. She helped me to see the light at the end of the tunnel. 
I was trying really hard not to become bitter. I didn’t want to be bitter about love or relationships and I surely didn’t want to end up becoming bitter about marriage. Inevitably, I still wanted that. I still wanted a completed family. I wanted more children too. I wanted it for Claire even more. So, when I decided to apply for a job at Arzelle’s, a bridal store downtown, the irony completely surpassed me. 
Waiting for the divorce to become finalized was daunting. I didn’t feel free. I felt like I needed to walk on eggshells. I was afraid of flipping a switch with Norman, causing him to plot some type of revenge plan by making the legal process harder than it needed to be. So, I tried to think of ways to get my mind off of things. Since I work from home, I felt even more stifled. I needed to breathe outside of the walls that I shared with him. That’s why I decided to apply to Arzelle’s. I had been writing about weddings and wedding gowns for years. I always toyed with the idea of one day having my own bridal store, so I thought, “Why not spend some time learning the business?”
I didn’t go about it in the most professional of ways. Instead, I was completely honest and upfront. I e-mailed the owner:
Hi there!
I'm just popping in to see if you have any job opportunities happening at Arzelle's. 
Since I graduated college in 2011, I've been a full-time freelance writer - mostly in the fashion realms and particularly the wedding genre. One nook that I never had the opportunity to experience was working at a bridal boutique, interacting with brides and just being around something I enjoy so much.
And I'll be completely honest; right now I'm going through a divorce (one I was blindsided with no less) and have become a single mom overnight. I'm not looking for a full-time job, as I'm still writing my days away. Instead, I was looking for a new and fun opportunity and an experience I would love to have, shake up my routine a bit, get out of my head, the whole shebang!
I remember coming in to Arzelle's and shopping for my own gown several years ago - now a bittersweet memory - and I loved the experience there so much I even sent in an e-mail praising the day, although I didn't even purchase my gown there. 
Although this may be a shot in the dark, I didn't see that you were hiring or anything like that, I thought I would shoot you an e-mail either way. Even if it was just a 1-2x a week opportunity, I'd love to dive in!
My resume is attached.
Thank you so much and I look forward to hearing from you soon. 
She called me in for an interview a month later and I landed a position. It wasn’t until I was at counseling with Charlie did I recognize how ironic the situation was. 
“You’re getting a divorce so you decided to get a job as a bridal consultant,” he asked.
“Well, I didn’t want to be bitter,” I explained. 
He told me that he was really proud of me. And for some reason, when a therapist says they're really proud of you, it feels different. This was around the same time I started going to spin classes and tried a round of kickboxing at a local gym. I was proud of myself for beginning to feel better, especially because I was also working really hard on trying to find the humor throughout my days again. Life isn’t as bad when you can laugh and, sometimes, real life is far funnier than situations that you could make up in your head.
For example, a few months after I started working at Arzelle’s, I was chatting with Drew. She was a young, scatter-brained sweetheart that I quickly fell in love with. It’s like she was the little sister I always needed to have around and I was her older sister, showing her the ropes and giving her advice she’d never take but always wanted. We were headed into the fall and my feet from my new black booties were aching so I sat on the bench and grabbed the iPad to check the e-mails rolling in. I went through some sales pitches and jotted down new appointments when I recognized one of the names in the inbox. “Rose Casey: Job Inquiry,” it read. 
I started laughing. Imagine my surprise when I saw the name of one of the girls my husband cheated on me with show up at my work. I hated to think that I’d run into her again. She may not have realized how her actions helped to perpetuate the ending of a marriage. As such a young girl, she may not have realized that being picked up from your parents’ house by your boss was terribly inappropriate and unprofessional. She may have never realized that when she was hanging out with my husband I was at home caring for a baby cutting four teeth. She may not have realized that he planned to marry me within the first month of dating. She may not have realized that he planned to have a baby with me either. She may not have realized that I put off getting my master’s degree, the master’s degree I could have gotten from Johns Hopkins University to do it. I was accepted there without having to the take the GRE because my GPA was so high, higher than her's I noticed from her resume. I read her e-mail silently correcting its grammar and hoping she had one hell of a summer with my husband. While she played kickball with him at night and went out drinking for Irish-fest, I was at home, taking care of the baby we so carefully created together. Claire had RSV that night. I wanted him to bring her Pedialyte but he chose her instead.
“Sure, come work with me,” I thought, “We’ve already shared so much.”
The same week in autumn that Rose reared her ugly head again, I had another Tinder debacle. He was tall with a bald head and a scruffy beard. I saw that he worked at Vanderbilt as a nurse. He looked semi-nice, so I decided to swipe right. We instantly matched. And then he instantly messaged. I messaged back a total of three times before I figured out that I wasn’t interested. Then I deleted Tinder altogether. Later that evening a friend of mine sent me a screenshot of Norman’s new and “secret” Facebook. We noticed that he had been tagged in a post by someone we had never heard of. We clicked on the name and quickly realized that it was the latest Tinder guy, who had been hanging out with Norman the night before downtown at 2AM. I nearly vomited. 
The poor guy had no clue that he was hitting on his new buddy’s ex-wife. The adorable little girl in my photos, the one that he commented on and said how much she looked like me, that’s his daughter! I never once thought that it was all a set-up. Norman didn’t have anything to gain from that. Instead, the scenario just proved to me that he was acting as though we never existed. I did learn that his new buddies had really great taste in women though, so there’s that.  
           All of those funny scenarios gave me another little boost of confidence though. I was realizing that the divorce diet was actually working for me. It was a shame that I had to have something so horrible happen to my family for me to feel so much better about myself. I was knocked completely to the floor and was able to build myself back up again, whichever way I felt like fit best.
I discovered James Bay’s Chaos and the Calm album during this time too. The irony of it is that I knew most of the songs from riding in the car with Norman. He probably was already planning on going to the show at the Ryman. I hoped I would run into him there. Because I knew the day he ran into me he’d remember. The day that we would spot each other from across the room, his knees would go weak, and his stomach would drop and he’d remember. I’d be with my friends feeling a bit more carefree than I’d had been in years, dressed like the girl he fell in love with when she was 17, and he’d remember how much he loved her. But it would be too late for him. Because I never forgot about the boy I fell in love with when he was just 19-years old with a crooked smile. Most importantly, I didn’t love the man he became a decade later.
When he did finally remember though, I’d be ready to date again. It may be weeks after the divorce is stamped and final. It may be months. But I know that when it’s time to make out that dating profile – we all have them – it’ll read:
I refuse to date those of you who wear scarfs or ankle pants. It’s still to be confirmed as to whether or not my ex-husband is gay. And I’m not taking any chances this time around.
SHARE:

Wednesday, May 2, 2018

Blue Eyes Always Take Hold of Me

"They'll have to live with the trail of evidence for the rest of their relationship," Brad said.

I nodded.

"Seriously though, no matter when they 'come out of hiding' or go public, everyone around them will know what the actual story is. Parents will question it. Hell, the head coach should question it. I'm into gross things," he smirked, "but there are just a lot of lines that were crossed here."

I nodded some more.

"He went to church with her, and the next day came to talk to your mom about marrying you, that's insane to me," he continued to shake his head, "and this chick knew about you the entire time."  

He paused for a moment and then asked, "What happens when they break up?"

I shrugged my shoulders.

"Exactly, he'll run," he continued.

I replied, "That's what Ian said."

"I don't know who that is but he's right. It's shady as shit. It's bizarre that he's already around someone else's kids. These two people aren't right in the head, and you need to be thankful you got out of it before there was a ring on your finger. And look, I'm on your couch so perk up," he smirked again.

"Oh, I'm perked," I laughed. 

He grabbed the back of my neck and pulled me toward him, "Then act like it."

This time we weren't standing up near my front door or behind his sofa. This time I sank into the couch and felt the weight of him on top of me, finally. I gave in to his sly smile and broad chest. I'm always taken back by his height, always comparing him to another. The freckles across his cheeks and nose don't take away from his handsomeness. He's older now. And his earthy musk mixed with leftover cologne, he smelled like a man. There was no hint of beer to his taste this time either.

His favorite thing to do is to trace my tattoos. He lifted my shirt up and took in a full view of my newest addition. 

"So, you're getting another one Thursday," he asked.

I nodded as Brad kissed the spot on my ribs that I used as a placeholder for new pieces of art. His mouth eventually trailed back up alongside my neck and found its place on my own. 

I really was okay. The history behind my ex that was uncovered had been making me physically sick. Knowing that he had been with multiple women within one year's time and never single, each relationship flowing right into the next, made me nauseous - but also extremely grateful that I made him get an STI test before anything ever went down between the two of us. Breaking up with his pregnant girlfriend to begin a relationship with someone nearly ten years his junior, made me want to rip off my own skin and replace it with something, anything, he had never touched before. When I was told that his signal for finding a new girlfriend was that he'd go into his room at his parents' house, and sift through yearbook pictures, I was slightly scared, concerned, and I could feel the regurgitation in my throat.

I was still in the process of separating who he actually was into who he pretended to be with us. I was still coming to the realization that this person I loved was just a phony. But I was okay because I had decided that I didn't want someone who "acted right" just for me. I wanted someone that was a good man, through and through. Love can change someone for the better but I wanted him to walk into my life with the type of character that God was already proud of. I was tired of being someone's "fix it." I wanted an equal. 

Those thoughts faded away within the night though. With Brad's hard hands up the back of my shirt and the slight danger that someone wouldn't be happy to know what I was doing, I forgot it all in the midst of his warm lips and slight stubble. He has blue eyes too. And it never fails, blue eyes always take hold of me.

SHARE:
© Grace Lynne Fleming. All rights reserved.
Blogger Templates by pipdig