For the longest time, I want nothing more than to kiss Gray's bubblegum pink lips. The first time I've ever been kissed and every moment is spectacular, dazzling fireworks exploding in my head. In between kisses, Gray details his trip to Las Vegas and explains that Naomi hid my letter from him, otherwise, he would've been here sooner. He apologizes for dating Naomi, admitting he felt nothing for her and has known he's gay for years. Only his friends back in New York City know the truth, and me. Naomi might out him and me, but I stopped giving a fuck about what everyone thought about me a long time ago.

The two of us watch the sunset together, remaining silent as we sit at the porch swing. In this moment, I feel calm. Everything is the way it should be. It reminds me of weeks before when Gray and I would hang out together. Only, now, we are more than friends. We are boyfriends. Maybe we were always more than friends, towing that thin line between closeness and intimacy. Except now, I can reach over and kiss Gray without a hint of doubt.

Tessa yawns and rubs up against my legs, plopping herself by my feet. Gray smiles, happy that Tessa has taken a quick liking to me, and I melt into his warm torso. Gray's arms wrap around my chest and I lay in his lap, the two of us swinging back and forth with the rhythm of the wind gently moving the porch swing. With a gentle hand, Gray twirls his fingers through my black curls. For once, I feel at peace and the only thing on my mind is Gray.

"Wanna make some dinner?" Gray asks, looking down at me, his breathtaking green eyes glimmering in the fading sunlight like freshly polished emeralds.

I nod, too enchanted to make the words come out of my mouth. Gray understands and leads me into his house, perusing through the kitchen cabinets. I laugh, amused that he has no clue where anything is. When I offer to assist him, Gray assures me he's not looking for anything specific.

"There's nothing in this house!" He exclaims playfully, throwing his arms up in the air to admit defeat. I shrug, running my hand through my black curls, making it clear that it's Gray's job to figure out what we should do for dinner.

I don't mind letting Gray have a little control.

Gray jokingly scowls at me, narrowing his eyes to show his faux irritation. He rummages through the kitchen drawers, but I have no idea what he's looking for. Soon, Gray pulls out a pizza delivery menu and shakes it in the air like he has found a prized diamond worth millions.

"We could order in. You think they do New York style?"

"I wouldn't know. I've never been to New York," I reply, resting my hands against the kitchen countertop, letting it take my weight as I stare up at him, a look of pure bewilderment on his face.

"What? You've never been to New York?"

"Never been on a plane, actually."

"Shit. I thought a boy like Paris would've been an avid traveler."

"My Mom studied in Paris. She painted a lot, said it was her inspiration. That's why she named me after the city. I was her new inspiration."

I muster a smile, covering up the somewhat melancholy memory. Yet it seems impossible to ignore the fact that I can never ask my mom to tell me any more stories about her time in Paris. Instead, I try to focus on all the things she did tell me about Paris – the beautiful paintings, the stunning architecture, her trips to the Eiffel Tower. She said it was her favorite part of the city. At night, she would go up to the very top and look down at all the twinkling lights and curious individuals. Afterward, she would paint everything she could remember, any exciting or intriguing figures that caught her eye. The thought of her running through the city of lights with a youthful smile on her face and a braid full of raven curls intrigues me. I consider all the wonderful experiences she must've had. Trying new foods, exploring the streets, meeting eccentric characters. Looking back at all those memories, real or not, makes me bloom with joy. I come to the realization that it's time for me to make my own memories. That's what my mom would've wanted.

Without warning, I walk over to Gray, who's on the phone ordering pizza, and I wrap my arms around his waist, tickling his ribcage with my fluttering fingers. He giggles, halfheartedly begging me to stop so he can concentrate on the phone call. I refuse to listen. Instead, I nibble at his ear, before turning his cheek to kiss him, gently gnawing at his bottom lip. He lets out a soft moan that probably frightens the poor soul taking our order. Gray manages a hasty goodbye and ends the call.

"Pizza will be here in 15 min-"

I shut Gray up by pressing my lips firmly against his, not even giving him a second to breathe.

***

It feels fantastic to finally kiss him, to touch him, to let myself give into all the desires I felt since the second I met his mesmerizing green eyes. The two of us have managed to make it to the couch, and I have my legs wrapped around his waist, reaching up to kiss him as some random show on the TV blares in the background. He clings tightly to my shirt, and I can feel his fingers pulsating, his heart beating wicked fast. At last, all those nights going to bed lonely are over.

Then, we hear a knock at the door. I reach up to Gray's ear and whisper softly, "pizza's here." He nods and moves to go to the door, but I stop him, tumbling on top of him. He gasps as I kiss his chin and trace my tongue down his neck. Before I can continue, he manages to wiggle out from under me and stumbles to the door, his face burning red with inebriation. I chuckle from afar, wondering what the deliverer must think of Gray's blushing face.

"That'll be $16.75."

I wait on the couch as Gray pays the deliverer, letting myself catch my breath. Soon enough, the front door closes and Gray walks into the living room, a large box of cheese pizza in his hands.

"Eat up," he remarks with a smirk, setting the box down on the coffee table in front of the couch.

"You are dirty, Grayson middle name Pierce!" I respond, playfully punching his arm as he sits down on the couch beside me, grabbing a blanket to keep us both nice and warm.

"Allen," Gray replies, biting into a large piece of pizza.

"What?" I ask, grabbing a slice and taking a big bite, starving from our make-out session.

"My middle name is Allen."

"That's cute!"

Gray mimics gagging on his pizza, "It's my dad's name."

"Oh," I blush, my cheeks taking on a fuzzy pink. Gray starts dying of laughter from my embarrassment, almost dropping his slice of pizza in the process. I laugh along with him, falling into a horrible case of the giggles.

After the laughter subsides, I slip back into Gray's clutch, resting my head on his firm shoulder before taking another bite of pizza, feeling at home in his arms.

If every night is as magical as this, I want to spend the rest of my life with Grayson Allen Pierce.