They Said I Was A

What Are They Waiting To See?" Sam Follows My Gaze And I Shrug. "who Knows? You Could Always Do A Dance, Or Tell A Joke, Or... Kiss The Bride?" "not The Bride," He Wraps His Arms Around Me, And Gradually Pulls Me Close. Our Noses Are Practically Touching. I Can See Right Into His Eyes. I Can Feel The Warmth Of His Skin. "you." Me. "the Girl Who Stole My Phone." His Lips Brush Across The Corner Of My Mouth. "the Thief." "it Was In A Bin." "still Stealing." "no It Isn't-," I Begin. But Now His Mouth Is Firmly On Mine, And I Can't Speak At All. And Suddenly, Life Is Good.

For Years Now I've Kind Of Operated Under An Informal Shopping Cycle. A Bit Like A Farmer's Crop Rotation System. Except, Instead Of Wheat, Maize, Barley, And Fallow, Mine Pretty Much Goes Clothes, Makeup Shoes, And Clothes (i Don't Bother With Fallow). Shopping Is Actually Very Similar To Farming A Field. You Can't Keep Buying The Same Thing, You Have To Have A Bit Of Variety. Otherwise You Get Bored And Stop Enjoying Yourself.

The Worst Thing A Girl Can Do Is Trail After A Boy When A Love Affair Is Dead.

Except...i Do. Of Course I Do. Because As His Hands Gently Cup My Waist, I Don't Make A Sound. As He Swivels Me Around To Face Him, I Don't Make A Sound. I Don't Need To. We're Still Talking. Every Touch He Makes, Every Imprint Of His Skin Is Like Another Word, Another Thought, A Continuation Of Our Conversation. And We're Not Done Yet. Not Yet.

Everyone Knows The First Rule Of Business Is "look Good During Confrontations." Or If It Isn't, It Should Be.