Ramble by L.K. Kirk

He was the first boy I ever loved—and I mean capital L—Loved. I would have twirled around him in a cloud of rainbows and confetti, kissing small puppies and waving at the loveless girls still waiting for their princes for the rest of my life if he’d let me.
But he didn’t.
Isn’t that how these things go? Girl loves boy, boy turns out to be a lying, stupid, dic—uh, dillhead who rips her heart out and hands it over to a four-year-old T-ball team for batting practice.
But that was practically a lifetime ago. Well, six years ago, really. I’ve moved on.
And that’s exactly what I have to keep reminding myself because now he’s back.
Just waltzing through my town—my life—like barely any time has gone by. I’ll be damned if I just fall at his feet like nothing ever happened. He’s in for a rude awakening. The confetti cannons do not fire back up just because he decided to finally come home!
I definitely won’t be noticing how good he looks. My rage and anger will overshadow the fact that my heart flutters like a traitorous hummingbird every time my name crosses his oh-so-stupid, oh-so-kissable lips.
I definitely don’t care that he seems to be everywhere I turn and for some reason wants to spend time with me.
And I definitely, and I mean definitely, won’t let my lust-fueled, sex-deprived brain take the wheel and steer me like a texting-while-driving teenager straight toward the same disastrous cliff I swan dived from years ago.
I definitely won’t.
Right?