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420 pages, Paperback
First published February 11, 2025
⋆𐙚₊˚⊹”Do you think I’ll get my magic?”
“Nah, Lucie. I think you’re the magic”⋆𐙚₊˚⊹
⤷ "Why did riding my thigh make you think of pizza?"
"Well." She shrugs, and her arm shifts against mine. We're back to being plastered together on this uncomfortable seat."Pineapple pizza is borderline orgasmic."
I cup my hand around the back of her head. My thumb traces the long line of her neck. "Is that so?"
"Yeah," she breathes. "It's really good."
⤷ "Condom," I grind out from between clenched teeth. "Get a condom. Please."
"So polite," she says, fumbling with the box.
My hands squeeze. "I'm about to be really rude, to be honest." She tears the wrapper with her teeth and rolls the condom
over me.
"I can take it," she whispers, and I have to think through the starting roster of the Orioles spring training team to keep myself from mindlessly rutting against her.
⟡ “I'm thinking about her, about us, about this. About this tiny café across from her house and all the places we almost met. About the right time, the right place, the right moment. I'm thinking about the way her hand fits in mine, and the way my heart drums out a beat that matches her name. Lu-cie. Lu-cie. Lu-cie.”
❝whᥲt if this is whᥲt ყoυ’vᥱ bᥱᥱᥒ wᥲitiᥒg for? whᥲt if it’s ᥲᥣᥣ ᥲ striᥒg of ᥴhoiᥴᥱs ᥲᥒd momᥱᥒts ᥲᥒd ᥱvᥱᥒts ᥲᥒd dᥱᥴisioᥒs thᥲt hᥲvᥱ ᥣᥱd ყoυ to ᥱxᥲᥴtᥣყ right hᥱrᥱ? ᥲᥒd whᥲt if whᥲt hᥲρρᥱᥒs ᥒᥱxt—whᥲt if whᥲt hᥲρρᥱᥒs ᥒᥱxt is thᥱ good ρᥲrt? thᥱ ρᥲrt ყoυ’vᥱ bᥱᥱᥒ wᥲitiᥒg for.❞
❝”do ყoυ thiᥒk i’ᥣᥣ gᥱt mყ mᥲgiᥴ?”
“ᥒᥲh, ᥣυᥴiᥱ.”
iᥒ mყ drᥱᥲm, hᥱ brυshᥱs ᥲ kiss ᥲgᥲiᥒst mყ forᥱhᥱᥲd.
“i thiᥒk ყoυ’rᥱ thᥱ mᥲgiᥴ.”❞
lıllılı.ıllı.ılılıılıı.lllııılı.
◁◁ ▐ ▌ ▷▷
❝”how’d ყoυ kᥒow it wᥲs mᥱ? thᥱrᥱ ᥲrᥱ ρᥣᥱᥒtყ
of sᥲd girᥣs iᥒ bᥲᥣtimorᥱ.”
“ᥲh, ᥣυᥴiᥱ.” ᥲidᥱᥒ smiᥣᥱs, his fiᥒgᥱrs fᥲᥒᥒiᥒg oυt
widᥱ ᥲgᥲiᥒst mყ bᥲᥴk.
“i’d kᥒow ყoυ ᥲᥒყwhᥱrᥱ.”❞
❝how ᥣoᥒg hᥲvᥱ ᥣυᥴiᥱ ᥲᥒd i bᥱᥱᥒ orbitiᥒg ᥱᥲᥴh othᥱr? how mᥲᥒყ ᥴhᥲᥒᥴᥱs did i miss bᥱforᥱ i ρiᥴkᥱd υρ thᥲt ρhoᥒᥱ ᥴᥲᥣᥣ iᥒ thᥱ middᥣᥱ of thᥱ ᥒight? shᥱ sᥲid shᥱ wᥲᥒtᥱd mᥲgiᥴ ᥲᥒd i thoυght wᥱ foυᥒd somᥱthiᥒg bᥱttᥱr. somᥱthiᥒg rᥱᥲᥣ. bυt ᥲρρᥲrᥱᥒtᥣყ thᥱrᥱ wᥲs ᥲ ᥣittᥣᥱ mᥲgiᥴ, ᥲftᥱr ᥲᥣᥣ.❞
⁀ ⊹ ₊ For the hopeless romantics. And the reluctant ones too.
I want goose bumps. I want to be wanted. All this time and I—I haven’t given up. I guess I’m just waiting for it to find me.
"Do you think I’ll get my magic?”
“Nah, Lucie. I think you’re the magic.”
“Well, horoscopes are ridiculous.”
“Typical Taurus.”
“Because Grayson used the code word.”
“What’s the code word?”
“Apricot jam,” Grayson offers.
“What does apricot jam mean?”
Patty slams the champagne bottle on the countertop. “It means you had sex, you little trollop. Come on. Give Mama all the details.”
I'm not good for you.