Spice
The first was a boy from Encino. His name escapes her, but his smell still lingers, pungent like garlic in her nostrils.
Then there was Miguel. He surprised her. She'd expected sweet and sharp, like smoked paprika, but he was dark and a little bit broody, the aftertaste bitter on her lips and tongue.
Robbie was sweet. Stronger than vanilla, fresher than cilantro, there's something heady in his eyes that makes the blood fire in her veins.
But Sam – Sam's the best of them all. Tory breathes in and bends, and kisses lips of sugar and spice, cinnamon and ice.