Page 118 of Even in the Dark

“But you told that guy it was ’cos I hated crowds.”

‘‘Which wasn’t a total lie. And I figured you’d prefer I say that than say about the dark.”

“Yeah. Was glad you said that.” He turns his head. “But how did you know—that I was freaked out by the dark?”

I turn my head, too, to meet his jade green gaze. “Because I felt your body go all tense and your leg shaking. I could hear the way your breathing suddenly changed…” My finger traces circlesagainst his chest. “Because I see you, Dylan. Even when you can’t see me—I still see you… Even in the dark.”

His hand squeezes against my hip, and I press against his chest in response.

“I’m a fucking catch, huh? Seventeen-year-old guy who’s scared of the dark.”

“I’m scared of people realizing I’m not as tough as I pretend to be,” I tell him. “For two years, I dated boys just because they seemed like the kind of guys that would help me stay popular and couldn’t tell that everything about me was fake.” I start tracing circles again. Round and round as his chest lifts and falls. “So yeah, being afraid of the dark is way less embarrassing than the stuff I’ve been afraid of.”

In The Morningby The Ballroom Thieves starts playing softly on the speaker perched on the bookshelf above us. One of my favorite songs. Even more so now.

“Being scared of anything is kind of an ego punch when other people know about it, I guess.”

I keep tracing circles. “When did you get all deep and wise?”

“Literally just now… Pretty sure it’s not gonna last.”

I laugh. We lay there for a while, me tracing circles. Him sliding his finger back and forth along my side every once in a while. My breath hitches every time he does it. I’m sure he notices, but he doesn’t let on. Outside, the snow is still falling steadily, making everything look fluffy and dreamy and soft in a way that smoothes out all the rough edges.

“Anything else you want me to know so I never make you feel uncomfortable or anything? Or if you don’t want to talk anymore about this kind of stuff, that’s cool, too.”

He turns his head again and goes back to looking up at the faded dusty lanterns. “How about I promise to tell you if ever you’re stepping near any land mines?”

“So I don’t have to worry about triggering them, and you don’t have to worry about sharing all the stuff with me you don’t like talking about… That is a smart idea, Dylan Braun. I am giving you a gold star for that one.”

“A gold star, huh?”

“Yup. Two of them.”

He chuckles. Shifts onto his side, pulling me with him so we’re lying face to face, the beanbag molding to our bodies. He props his head up against his fist. “Can I ask for something else, instead of two gold stars?”

I narrow my eyes. “Depends what it is.”

He imitates my narrowed eyes and tilts his head. Flashes a devilish grin. Doubles down with a slide of his tongue along his full lower lip. And then brings it home with a flick of his lip ring. “I think you know what it is.”

I think I do. My heartbeat suddenly kicks into double-time.

“Okay… Then, yes,” I whisper.

“Okay then…” He leans in. So slowly.

I feel his warm breath against my chin before I feel his lips against mine. They’re soft and gentle, and so are his fingers pressed against the back of my head, pulling me closer, his thumb grazing along the crease of my neck in a way that makes me shiver and then moan. And then his tongue swipes slowly against mine and his breath hitches. A sound escapes the back of his throat that makes my insides melt. My outsides, too… everything right now feels like it’s melting. Into him. With him. The kiss deepens. He initiates and I respond and he leans in and my palm travels along the length of his spine until the tips of his soft curls tickle the ends of my fingers, and I weave them into the silky strands. He tugs lightly at my lower lip with his teeth, grinning mischievously. Or like the cat that ate the canary, or maybe both. And this time I’m the one poking his lip ring with the tip of my tongue. It’s warm and rigid and feels strangeagainst his soft lips. But also ridiculously sexy. He tilts his head, his mouth moving against mine, making that sound again at the back of his throat.

And then the music gets really, really loud—only it isn’t The Ballroom Thieves anymore. It’s Marvin Gaye.

Let’s Get It On.

Followed by Jay’s cackling laughter. Shockingly high for such a huge, burly bear of a guy.

“Get a room, you couple of horn dogs!” he calls, killing himself with laughter now.

I chuckle against Dylan’s lips. But he doesn’t even pull back, just lifts one arm behind his back to give Jay the middle finger.

He slides his mouth along my cheek. “You saidtwostars, right?” he whispers against the shell of my ear.

---