That first night in his bed, I lay atop the sheets, grinning. Aaron rolled toward me as the sweat cooled on my skin. “If we see each other again, I need to start wearing my mouthguard,” he said. Inside my purse, mine lay stashed alongside my just-in-case condoms. “Thank, God,” I said, showing it to him. We laughed about geriatric dating, kissed again, popped in our devices, and set their colorful cases on his nightstands. I ran my tongue against the smooth acrylic which hugged my teeth as tightly as Aaron’s arms entwined my waist. Our imperfections made us perfect together.
By Andrea Goyan