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Even at the risk of losing their jobs.

I sigh and he takes that as my agreement to the point he made.

Then, in a softer and somehow also rougher voice, “Open the window, Bubblegum.”

And the breath that escapes me then is all shivery and trembling.

Bubblegum.

His name for me.

It’s been exactly three years since he called me that.

The last time was the night of my thirteenth birthday. And today, I turn sixteen and I…

I hated that name.

Idid.

And I hate that he’s calling me by it. Probably to throw me off or something. So I get my trembles under control and, reaching forward, I open the window and immediately step back as he enters my bedroom.

This is so absurd, isn’t it?

I haven’t seen him in a year, not since he went away to college last year. Since then he hasn’t been back, not even for the holidays. Which is not really out of the norm and now he’s standing in my bedroom.

What is he doing here?

“Is this the first time you’ve been back? Since you went away to college,” I ask, watching him rake his fingers through his hair, which I realize has grown out even more.

His surfer’s hair, only dark.

“Why,” he asks, his reddish-brown eyes flashing, “did you miss me?”

“Yes,” I tell him, taking in his sharply honed, slightly more mature features. “I missed you like I miss getting stabbed in the eye.”

He rakes his eyes over my features. “Very wild for someone very…”

“Very what?”

“Pink.” Then, “And girly. And good.”

“Well, I’m a girl and I’m good, so,” I say in a prickly tone. “And from what I remember I told you not to call me that.”

At my words, his lips tilt up slightly. “If you remember that then you probably also remember that I never really cared about what you told me.”

“That’s because you’re selfish, arrogant and despicable.”

“More synonyms to describe me,” he murmurs. “Nice to see that I still take up way too much room in your pretty little head.”

“You do not —”

“Besides,” he continues over me, “still can’t blame me for calling you that, can you?”

“What?”

Instead of answering me, he looks down. At my dress.

And before I can stop myself, I blush.


Tags: Saffron A. Kent St. Mary's Rebels Romance