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My tattoos are always the topic of discussion.

It’s true what people say; the feeling is addictive.

My mom threw a fit when she realized I wasn’t stopping at one, but if Priscilla Parker is one thing, she’s open-minded.

Some people get color in their tats, but the storytelling of black and white always felt deeper to me. The mix of grey and black laying the foundation, while your skin provides the background.

This was a story of its own.

Hidden near the pocket of my forearm, it’s not one your eyes would go right to, but it’s one upon inspection that would immediately raise an eyebrow.

I chose her eyes, because that night, the glowing green touched parts of me that had been untouched for years.

What I never fully processed was how hard it would be to fully explain how much they mean to me. How do I explain simply that in a world of crowded thoughts and shadows—dark corners and even darker demons—one pair of sparkling green eyes would change the trajectory of my life.

Fia’s beautiful face blushes pink above me as my words sink deeper into her mind.

If you asked anyone who knows me if I’d ever be absolutely and completely ruined by a woman, they’d say you had the wrong guy.

I mean, shit, sometimes I, too, think I’m in the wrong mind, but that’s the kicker.

Nothing about wanting her feels wrong. Fighting for her, learning how to love for her, finding out who I really am, changing the habits I thought would carry me to the grave to prove to her that I am a worthy enough specimen... None of it feels wrong.

Finally, when the pull between us loosens just slightly, her words shake.

“There are plenty of people with green eyes,” she deflects, croaking a small hiccup as I rise to my haunches, placing myself at her eye level.

“Not these.”

“There are people who are less complicated.”

“Complicated people are more compelling.”

A weak laugh responds to my words.

“You’re Jett Parker. You can have women lined up at the door just at the idea of having a chance with you.”

Her eyes turn glassy, and I clear my throat, feeling the same emotions.

“Yet the one I want is sitting on my couch, wearing my T-shirt, and owning every fucking piece of my heart.”

With my face only inches from hers, I’m desperate to inhale any bit of air she’s willing to share with me.

“Jett, what’s happening?”

I wish I fucking knew.

I’ve never felt so unwaveringly enamored by someone to the point of no return.

Needing a small shift from the intensity, I simper. “Considering you’re my girlfriend for a little while longer, I’d say this is just a typical Sunday.”

Fia sniffles, and I can’t help but reach my hand up to cup the side of her face.

“What’s supposed to happen next?” she asks, sounding just as desperate as I am as she leans into my touch.

“I kiss you.”

I don’t run from the inevitable like I usually would. I don’t defer this moment of connecting deeper with a slap of humor. Instead, I run right into this mixing pot of feelings pulling us together.