My Darling Arrow (St. Mary's Rebels 1)

He also has his typical V-neck gray t-shirt on along with a pair of washed out jeans. Usually, I tell him to wear other colors but today I didn’t wanna bug him.

I wanted to be nice.

Because today’s special.

Of course I don’t think he remembers.

If the past two years have taught me anything, then it’s the fact that the love of my life can be forgetful sometimes. He can remember all the plays and strategies. He can also remember the plot of a book, a tiny piece of a poem that he’s read; yeah, his reading hobby? That definitely stuck. But he forgets important milestones and dates.

He definitely tries but it’s a losing battle.

But hey, he’s got me, right?

I always remind him. And then I make him pay a little. Just for fun.

I’ll remind him today too.

But first, I wanna see how long it takes for him to find out that I’ve broken his rule.

Turns out, it’s not so long.

Because once he’s placed his order, he turns around to check on me. But when he doesn’t find me at my original spot where he’d left me before going to get our ice creams, his jaw clenches. He runs his eyes, which I’m sure are dark right now, around until they land on me.

And I smile.

He frowns.

My lips part at his sexy glare and my fingers grip the silver chain sitting on my chest that he also gave me back at St. Mary’s. He told me to never take it off and I haven’t.

Not once in the past two years.

His gaze shifts to where I’m clutching his chain before coming back to my face. Just to play with him, I wink and pout my lips.

His eyes flash – dangerously, seductively – before his lips twitch.

Before leaving to get the ice cream that I told him I so desperately wanted, he told me to stay put because the place was crowded and he wanted to be able to see me from the booth. We’re at a carnival-like thingy and I admit that the place is packed.

But come on.

I’m not a delicate flower or a child. I can go wherever I want.

It’s just that my boyfriend – boyfriend; yay! – is kinda possessive and dominating and he thinks he owns me.

Which he totally does.

But still.

He likes to take care of me like I’m his most cherished possession – again, which I am – and so he tends to go overboard. But since I own him too, I put him in his place at times.

Like now.

By breaking his rule.

Once the ice cream guy hands him the cones, Arrow begins to walk back. His eyes are still flashing and gosh, the way he’s walking, almost prowling, over to me, makes me clench my thighs.

Makes me shiver.

Two years, and still I’m not at all equipped to handle his sexiness.

I’m so not equipped, and I know that as soon as he reaches me, I’m going to throw myself at him like a lovesick schoolgirl, which I’m not. Not anymore.

I graduated from St. Mary’s two summers ago.

But it’s not a secret that I can be a little crazy and emotional.

A little reckless.

And in the time that we’ve been together, I’ve been both. A lot.

Maybe because it hasn’t been easy, the past two years.

First, it was St. Mary’s.

As Arrow promised that night – the night he confessed his feelings and said that we’d figure everything out – he dropped me off at St. Mary’s the very next day. He wasn’t allowed into the dorm building though, which he didn’t like at all, so he kissed me goodbye at the door in front of everyone and told me that he’d call me Saturday.

He did, too.

He called me every Saturday until I graduated. He also came to see me on visiting weekends and took me out on dates. Again, as he had promised.

There was gossip as I’d feared and nobody at St. Mary’s warmed up to me until the end – well, except for my awesome friends with whom I still keep in touch – but nothing I couldn’t handle.

Anyway, the rest of the time, up until my graduation, we emailed.

Writing traditional letters to each other – which we did also – is fun but technology does have its perks. Especially when you’re in a long-distance relationship with your boyfriend, who’s also a very busy and bright athlete.

Arrow stayed in town for Christmas that year before leaving for LA.

I still remember how hard it was when he left.

Even though I wasn’t sneaking out to see him like I used to do before they found my letters, the thought that he was close, in that gray motel room, had been a comfort.

But then he left because he had to.

So those first couple of months were not pretty.

I would cry a lot during our Saturday phone conversations and he’d try to console me. I’d write him long emails and he’d write me even longer ones. Sometimes he’d be the sad one instead of me, which he basically showed by being short and abrasive, always blaming soccer for our distance. I’d be the one to soothe him then and tell him that this separation was only for a few short months.