Dorian Anson is my friend. She’s the only person who’s ever questioned my smiles. My jokes. The one liners that have our friends shaking their heads at me. I’ve lived my life on those smiles. They never failed me, until her.

I wasn’t counting on her when I designed my front. I never imagined the possibility of someone like her coming into my life.

The wild hair, the kind smile and those eyes that see everything.

She was the girl with the beautiful soul, pretty face and whole heart. But hearts aren’t made to stay whole.

I watched hers break. I watched her tears fall. I watched as her world tilted on its axis and shattered at her feet.

This girl.

She sees me, all parts of me—the truths I try to hide, the secrets I bury. What’s mine and what’s not.

She sees it all, and I can only hope the truth isn’t too much. That she won’t walk away.

That she won’t leave me…alone.

We both have a past. We have ghosts. We have fears.

I’m hoping that somehow in the end, we’ll have each other too.

I’ve never needed anyone before her, and I know I’ll never want anyone else after her.

There is no one like her.

My pretty girl.

Dorian.

“I believe I kissed you thoroughly.”

“You did. I should’ve raised the ante.” She chuckled as she reached down and picked the bag up from where it’d fallen onto the chair.

She handed it over to me with a smirk. Her lips pursing like she was trying not to laugh.

I kept my eyes on her as I opened it and then I looked in, “lube? You got me lube?”

She burst out laughing. Her eyes actually watered. “You were complaining about how your dick was getting friction burn from your hand, so…”

“So…you got me lube?”

She took the bottle from my hand and inspected it before she said in a soft and sultry tone, “it’s not just any lube. It lasts longer, making a little go a looooong way. Oh, and apparently it tingles all the right places.”

“You got me tingly, long-lasting lube. Just what every guy wants for his birthday.”

“I got you something else too.” She reached into her bag and took out a small cardboard box with a little blue bow stuck on top.

“Oh wow, is this a cock ring to go with the lube?” I asked teasingly as I took the box from her. “You shouldn’t have.”

“Shut up and open it, Becca was right, you’re testy.”

“Stop calling her Becca, she’s not your friend. She’s my assistant.”

“Just open the damn box before I really do take that one back.” She poked my shoulder.

After the lube, what else could she possibly get to top it?

Alexandra Silva is a lover of words and romance. She blames the classics and a nutty English teacher for her obsession with books and fiction. Come rain or shine with either coffee or wine in hand you can find her with her nose stuck in a book and her head in the clouds. She lives in London outnumbered by her very loud boys, with her very own hero and their two wild cats–Jack and Jill.