Free A Sorta Fairytale by Emily McKee Page B

amazing fucking. Plus the chiseled ass and amazing brown eyes. Your eyes. Both of yours. They overtook me. I’ve heard eyes are the window to the soul, and I truly believe that. Yes, it’s nice that both you and Thomas are amazingly good looking, but even if you weren’t, your eyes and your souls would eventually win me over. 
    “I like your laugh,” you blurt.
    “You do? Why?”
    “I don’t know. I think it’s because I see the real you. The happy you.”
    I shy away, breaking eye contact. “And the other times. What do you see?”
    Your fingers touch underneath my chin and pull me to look up into your eyes. Smiling, you say, “I see you. I see every form of you. Your bitchiness. The side of you that’s trying to hide your feelings. I see your funny side. I see all of you, Stella James. But I would like to get to know more of you, so without further ado...” Taking a step back, you wave toward the gates to the garden. “Let’s get going.”
    I love how you use my nickname. It shows you’re comfortable with me, and I’m starting to warm up to it. The sense of comfort you give me is something foreign to me. I’m not used to feeling comfortable with someone. Or anyone for that matter. Fucking someone is totally different than being comfortable with them. When I’m fucking someone, I’m not thinking about opening up to them. Well, besides my legs. I don’t speak. I moan. I don’t say anything sweet. I tell them to fuck me harder till I come. Your sweat and your arousal mix. Nothing more. Nothing less. 
    “Come with me, Stella,” you say with a bit of sternness in your voice.
    “Okay,” I comply.
    You smile.
    “What?”
    “Nothing. It’s just that you listened to me the first time.”
    I stomp, kicking at the cobblestone. “What’s your point?”
    You lean into me. Our chests touching. Sharing the same breath. “My point is I didn’t have to ask you a million and one times in order to get the same damn result.”
    “You’re unbelievable, Alex McNeil.”
    You smile. “As are you Stella. Now. Shall we?”
    I smirk. “We shall.”
    We walk side by side, not saying a word. Surprisingly, I’m okay with it. I’m not uncomfortable. I’m not trying to run away. I’m content. Something I haven’t felt in a really long time. Don’t get me wrong. It scares me I’m so comfortable with you already, but it doesn’t shock me. You aren’t like others. You aren’t trying to get into my pants right away. You want to get to know me. It intrigues me and excites me all at the same time.
    “Tell me about your childhood.”
    “What do you want to know?” I scoff.
    “What’s so funny about that question?”
    “I don’t know.” I shrug. I look at the different bright colored flowers. “I just don’t see the point in talking about my family. How about we talk about yours?” I don’t tell you that I miss them terribly. That I was ashamed of them growing up. It took me till I was older to realize they were the best parents anybody could ever ask for.
    “I don’t talk to my family,” you exhale.
    “Why?”
    “Why don’t you talk to yours?” you counter.
    I stop walking and stare at you with menacing eyes. I’m enraged I have to tell you this. I haven’t even told Thomas. It’s a question Thomas has never asked. “Because they died.”
    You lower your head and rest a hand on the back of your neck, ruffling your hair. “I’m sorry,” you mutter.
    “Oh, well. You didn’t know.” I continue walking in silence. My heart races, my chest rises up and down. I want to smack you right across the face. Yet I also want to fall into your arms and have you hold me while I cry. I haven’t thought about my parents since their passing. It destroyed me, but I got over it. Well, as best I could. I tried to move on, and the best way I found possible was just forgetting about them. After they died, I packed up my bags and moved to New York where I met Thomas. I never looked back. I never thought about