Neither your parents nor your friends seemed to think highly of Simon. They were all of the opinion that he was a lousy punk who was going to break your heart someday. The Simon you know and love would never consider hurting you, so you really couldn't care less about what they thought.

Now that you've been dating him for about two months, everything has been fantastic. He gives you rides on his motorcycle late at night and treats you like a princess, hell, he even helps you sneak out of your bedroom most nights.

Simon has planned a romantic night in honor of your birthday. He drove off with one hand firmly on your thigh and the other on the wheel, giving it occasional soft squeezes, after he managed to get you out of your house and into the passenger's seat of his blacked-out Jeep.

"You didn't doll yourself up just for me, did you? You know I can't help myself when you're dressed like that, sugar. Seeing those pretty little thighs on full display, bloody hell... Can't even keep my eyes on the road."

His jaw was clenched, his eyes were fixed sternly on the road, and his grasp tightened rather than loosened on your thigh, showing you how tense he was.