Benecio
New York was cold. But Dove was warm.
That was all I cared about.
We were wrapped up in each other's arms on the sidewalk, somewhere fancy with brick buildings and string lights and way too many people taking pictures of food. We were supposed to be walking to dinner. But there was a live corner band playing something slow and jazzy, and I just had to hold him.
So we slow danced. Right there. On the pavement. Like idiots. Like the world wasn't watching.
Dove was beaming up at me, hearts in his eyes, my shirt sleeves rolled up and his braces catching the light.
"You look damn beautiful under the stars," I said. My voice was low, just for him.
He looked up, squinting. "What stars? Benecio, it's New York. There's like, three." And then he laughed. That bright, loud laugh that makes people turn their heads.
