Page 19 of Summer with My Sexy Ex
I don’t even know why we’re laughing.
But Bristol looks fucking gorgeous doing it.
And it makes me feel good, like this huge weight has lifted from my chest.
It’s been so goddamn long since I’ve felt like this, I don’t want it to stop.
But it does.
And much sooner than I expect.
bristol
Wyatt looks unfairly handsomewhen he’s laughing, especially when I know my face turns to tomato-like shades, more so if I’m short of breath. I’m talking a red so concerning that people usually ask if I’m okay.
Blanche:It borders on maroon, really.
It isnotmaroon.
Blanche:Tomayto, tomaahto
I’ve learned to try to rein it in before that happens, which is how I begin to sober before he does.
“Ah, I needed that,” I say, fanning my face.
“You’re breathtaking when you laugh,” Wyatt says.
My heart skips a beat in my chest.
“I mean, you’re fucking gorgeous anyway, Brie.” He reaches out to tuck a piece of my hair behind my ear. His fingers graze my neck, making me shiver. “But when you laugh, you are simply exquisite.” His words are reflected in his gaze; he’s being sincere.
I’m smiling.
And swooning.
Dammit.
He smiles back. It’s boyish and charming.
For a moment, I let myself bask in the glow of Wyatt and his attention.
Then I slap myself across the cheek.
For real.
“What the hell?” Wyatt asks. “Did you just slap yourself?”
Yes, Wyatt, I did. How very astute of you.
Blanche:Wanna know why? ‘Cause we’re a badass.
Those mental slaps across the face most people give themselves as an internal reprimand don’t work for me. My slaps have to be real and result in physical pain. Otherwise, I’ll never retrain my brain. I know it. Blanche knows it. And my noggin knows it.
Obviously, I don’t tell him this. My thoughts are for me. He has no rights to them. But he probably thinks I’m a little off my rocker after hitting myself.
It’s his fault.
He’s the reason my brain needs to be retrained. My favorite hardcore antihero has a quote about how the right man will bring the crazy out of every woman.
