Sweet Filthy Boy by Christina Lauren Page A

him you hate speaking but love moving
    you told him everything about dancing before the accident and not dancing after
    you told him about how it felt to be trapped under the hot engine
    you told him about two years of physical therapy, and trying to dance “just for fun” after
    you told him about luke and how he said it felt like the old Mia died under the truck
    you told him about dad and how you’re sure he’s going to change Broc and Jeff from sweet kids into dickheads
    you told him how much you dread the fall and moving to boston
    you actually said “i want to love all of my life as much as i love this night” and he didn’t laugh at how stupid you sounded
    and here’s the weirdest part
    are you ready
    I close my eyes, weaving a little. I’m not ready. Because this memory is sliding back into my thoughts, the victory, the urgency, the relief. I’m not ready to remember how safe he made me feel, and how easy he was. I’m not ready to realize that he’s witnessed something no one in my life has ever seen before. I suck air into my lungs and look back down at the letter.
    you didn’t stutter. you BABBLED.
    I meet Ansel’s eyes when I read this, as if seeking confirmation, but he doesn’t know what the letter says. His eyes go wide as he searches my expression, barely holding back from speaking. Does he remember everything I said?
    so that’s why you proposed and he said yes really fast with this drunk smile like it was the best idea he’d ever heard because of course we should get married! now you’re headed there but i wanted to write this first because you might not remember why, and that’s why. don’t be a jerk. he might just be the nicest person you’ve ever known.
    xo
    Miaself
    ps. you haven’t had sex with him yet. but you want to. A lot. Please have sex with him.
    pps. you just asked him if you guys were going to and he said “we’ll see.” :/
    I fold the papers up as neatly as I can and push them back inside the envelope with shaking hands. My heart feels like it’s doubled in size, maybe conjoined to another, a new one that prefers the staccato of panic. The doubled beats bounce and reverberate in my chest.
    “So?” he asks. “You know I’m dying of curiosity.”
    “I wrote it before we . . .” I hold up my left hand, displaying the simple gold band. “The last time I wrote myself a letter . . .” I start, but he’s already nodding. I feel like I’m spinning beneath the weight of this.
    “I know.”
    “And I proposed to you?” I suppose what actually surprises me is that there was a proposal at all. It wasn’t just drunk stumbling. I remember his teasing the night before that I should go with him to France, but this took discussion, and planning. Getting a car, giving directions. It required us to sign papers, and pay, and select rings, then repeat vows coherently enough to convince someone we weren’t drunk off our asses. I’m actually a little impressed by that last part.
    He nods again, smiling.
    “And you said yes?”
    Tilting his head slightly, his lips pout the words, “Of course I did.”
    “But you weren’t even sure if you wanted to have sex with me?”
    He’s already shaking his head. “Be serious. I wanted to have sex with you the first time I saw you, two nights ago. But last night, we were really drunk. I didn’t . . .” He looks away, down the hall. “You left to write yourself a letter because you were worried you would forget why you proposed. And you did forget.” His brows rise, as he waits for me to acknowledge he’s made a decent point. I nod. “But we got back to the hotel, and you were so beautiful, and you . . .” He exhales a shaky breath. It’s so jagged, I imagine I can see the slivers of it fall from his mouth. “You wanted it.” He leans closer, kisses me slowly. “ I wanted it.”
    I shift on my feet, wishing I knew how to pull my eyes from his face.
    “We did have sex, Mia. We had sex for hours and it was the best, most