Behind the sparkling blue eyes and jawline so sharp you could cut glass with it, Luke was a big softie. The kind of softie with a pet rat that whizzes across the floor in one of those clear, plastic balls.
I lifted my feet as the ball encased rodent shot out from under the sofa with a rumble.
“That’s Remy,” Luke said, as the tiny creature spun wildly up the hall.
“As in Ratatouille Remy?” I said, failing to hide my surprise as I pictured this six-foot-something man enjoying Disney movies.
“Yup. He doesn’t cook, though. Wanna meet him?”
He took my hand and lifted me off the cushions with such force my feet briefly left the ground. I collided with his chest. I didn’t mind.
He smiled down at me, his floppy black hair hanging in his eyes.
“Oops,” he said with a crooked grin, and pressed his mouth to mine.
As kisses go, it was pretty damn good. His lips were soft and warm and still had the sweetness of marshmallows on them. The ones we snacked on while watching the latest episode of The Mandalorian.
“You taste like marshmallows,” he said, and ran his tongue across my lips.
Stars exploded behind my eyes from the unexpected rush of heat that engulfed my entire body.
“So do you,” I squeaked just before he crushed his lips back into mine.
We stumbled up the hall, bouncing off the walls, giggling into each other’s mouths.
He shouldered his bedroom door open, and we tumbled in.
I fell back onto the mattress with a soft bounce.
“So, we’re doing this?” Luke said, his eyebrows raised.
I grabbed the waistband of his jeans and pulled him towards me, “I sure as hell hope so.”
We’d been dating for about a month and I’d dreamt of this moment ever since I watched him stride across the restaurant with a red rose in his hand. He was even more handsome than the photo on his dating profile. But his looks weren’t why I chose him. It was because he said he was a Star Wars fan and once had a dog named Indiana. I didn’t know he loved Disney movies too. It was almost too much for my geeky heart to handle.
A tiny weight landed on me and I gasped into Luke’s mouth.
I looked up and saw a pair of beady red eyes staring me down.
Remy the rat was sitting on my legs, a dirty sock in his mouth.
“Look at that,” Luke said. “He brought you his favourite sock. That means he likes you.”
I turned back towards Luke and my stomach did some kind of gold medal winning gymnastic flip. His hair was sticking out in a thousand different directions, where my hands had mussed it up, and it somehow made him even more gorgeous.
“He does?” I said, hoping he read between my lines.
Luke smiled, “Yeah. He really does,” and shooed the rat off the bed.
I melted into Luke’s arms. “Good. Because I like him too.”
Then his lips were on mine again, soft and warm and still tasting like marshmallow
© Amy Hutton 2020