Page 146 of Flirty Fall Fling

She reaches into her bag and pulls out a first aid kit. With care, she cleans my hand, then wraps it. I do the same for her.

“It’ll probably leave a small scar,” she confesses. “Anyone who reads your palm from now on will see it and know.”

“Good,” I say, grinning.

The fling has an expiration date.

The scar doesn’t.

Whatever happens after Halloween, a part of me will stay written into her love line too. Just like some part of her is written into mine.

“You’ve taught me a language only a few people speak, Blaire.”

“I hope it’s worth it,” she says.

“If I were asked if I wanted to relive these moments with you a thousand more times, I’d say yes in a heartbeat.” I squeeze my hand tight. “It will make a fun story one day.”

“Yeah? Going to tell our kids about it?”

I stop laughing and smile. “Yeah. And what a story that will be.”

She playfully shoos at me. “The fling ends⁠—”

“On Halloween. I know.”

I watch her get dressed.

Her eyes meet mine. “Thanks for playing witches with me.”

“Any fucking day of the week. Even on Mondays.”

33

BLAIRE

Iwake up in a recliner built for a man twice my size, wearing his hoodie. There’s a box of Junior Mints and loose gummy worms stuck to my thigh. For some reason, I have popcorn in my pocket.

The screen across the room is frozen on a menu that says, Continue Watching?

I think we made it forty minutes into the scariest movie he could find before I ended up inside his sweatshirt with him because I was cold. After that, the movie stopped being the focus. We ended up naked, and now I’m wearing his clothes, sitting on his lap. There are a dozen theater seats in this ridiculous room, and we used one that’s directly in the center.

Jamie is still asleep under me, breathing slow. I watch him and do the math of how long we’ve been doing this.

Thirty days. It feels like I’ve known him for years. A lifetime even.

Which makes today a record.

Somewhere in the past, there’s a version of him that never had a fling with anyone longer than a month. As of this morning, that man no longer exists.

His hand is partially open. The line across his palm is now a thin pink scar, straight down the love line, just like mine.

His breathing changes under my ear before his eyes open. One arm tightens around me like he’s scared I might leave.

“Morning, sweetheart,” he says, voice low and raw.

“Do you know what today is?”

He thinks about it longer than the question deserves. “Thursday.”