Sugar McKenzie and August Wakefield couldn't be more different - Sugar, a meticulous, caring, but lonely paramedic and August, a charming former reality star still chasing his dream. But they've both closed themselves off emotionally from others...t...
"Vulnerability is the birthplace of innovation, creativity and change."
- Brené Brown
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I kissed her neck. I smelled strawberries and mango fragrance. My nose grazed her jawline. Her soft noises encouraged me. "Sebastian," she said.
I pressed her against the apartment door. This was my third date in one day, and the day was almost over. Christmas Eve sucked.
After I hit the "jackpot" being on Champion, my mother acknowledged me as her only son. She called and invited me to attend the traditional holly-jolly shitty parties. The pretend game occurred, my cousins, second-cousins, and somehow third-cousins – I didn't know their names – asked what I was doing. All the small talks. I preferred sticking a knife in my eye than talking about the weather and my job. I knew we were related and I honestly didn't care.
Throughout the years, I created excuses. This year it was a promotion gig. I told my mother word for word: "The director specifically stated that rehearsal was on Christmas Eve."
There were no exceptions.
My mother allowed it as if I had any control.
She wished me luck and ended the call stating she'll meet me for New Year's Eve.
My dating apps had kept this long day preoccupied. My hand ran through the girl's auburn hair. I believed her name was Anna.
Anne.
I kissed her lips. Her left hand rested on the back of my neck, she kissed back with the same enthusiasm.
Annie?
"Shall we go inside?" she asked.
Her blue-gray eyes stared. Her right hand massaged overtop my disheveled oxford shirt. My three top buttons opened. I felt my Adam's apple bob up and down.
"Of course, darling."
Nicknames were my saving grace. The value depended on her interpretation. Women either love these endearments, or despised them as if they were mud on their shoes. She smiled.
And I'm in the clear.
She moved her hand to the doorknob. Her eyes never left mine. I chuckled and continued kissing her.
I had a routine. Spend an hour to two hours with the woman - if the time was shorter than an hour then the woman could feel used. The outcome I never desired was violence and hurt, which one possibility resulted in thrown crystal vases, clothes, wine glasses, peppermint hot chocolate –
