Number Two

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...

He's trying to pull apart everything I work hard for.

But...
I can't help but stare at him while he's talking.

His tan skin is a Caribbean banquet, and I want my share of flesh.

His eyes are like the deepest depths of the sea, and I want to dive into them.

His messy hair waves frantically along with his words, and I want to reach out and pull it.

He realizes I'm staring, and I get a look of curious disgust.

I look away, desperately trying to will the red tint off my cheeks.

Ten Things, One Thing // JamiltonWhere stories live. Discover now