He sits in the same tree, against the same long, sturdy branch, reading that ridiculous book. I’m surprised he hasn’t been yelled at more often. I guess I’m the only one who really cares how inappropriate it is.
Every day it’s the same thing. I’m out for my morning walk, making my way to the local coffee shop, and as I take my seat at my usual spot by the window that looks out onto the city, there he is. Face hidden in those filthy orange pages. It makes my blood boil. Last time I confronted him, it was like I wasn’t even there, just an annoying mosquito flying around his head.
He treats me like a child, but that’s to be expected when he’s known me since I was a little girl playing in the flowerbeds behind the school and constantly obsessing over boys. But that was a decade ago, and I know he sees me as more than that young, innocent girl.
it’s days like today where I just can’t be made at him, though.
I opened up my front door to get a breeze going, and I almost miss the beautiful bouquet of pink roses laying on my porch. I picked them up, breathe in their sweet aroma until it fully invaded my senses. I looked for a note, but the only thing that caught my eye was a lone silver ribbon. I couldn’t keep the smile off my face even if I tried.
That man knows just what to do to make me feel special, from surprise flowers to stolen kisses to late nights under the stars away from curious and prying eyes in the park. It’s hard to keep what we have a secret, and I’m starting to feel like I want to shout about it from the rooftops, consequences be damned.
And that’s how I found myself laying underneath his tree. From where I’m resting I can take in his features, form that mop of shaggy hair that stands up at every angle, to the outline of his muscled body just under his clothes. But it’s that damn boo that hides his sensuous mouth, prominent bone structure, and piercing mismatched eyes that draw me in so completely.
Maybe that’s why I get so aggravated that he reads such an explicit book in public–not that its completely inappropriate, but that it takes away what little I can see of his handsome face. A quick jump and I’m o the branch in front of him. All I get is an eye flick in my direction. I push the book down away from his face and just think to myself, ‘Fuck it.’
I lean in and kiss him square on the lips. He pulls back, eyes wide and looking around.
“What the hell? What if someone saw?”
“Let them watch,” I say as I lean back into him.