Page 66 of Even in the Dark

Jays only had issues five, seven, and nine in stock, so I’m going to need to borrow six and eight from Dylan. I refuse to skip ahead, so I’m stalled at issue five until I see him again. When he stays home from school again on Thursday, I cave. As soon as we finish supper, I make my way over to the Brauns'.

I can tell, just from the gravelly tone of his voice when he responds to my knock on his bedroom door, that Dylan was sleeping. My suspicions are confirmed when I open the door and find him slowly sitting up on his bed, raking a hand through his tousled hair, looking adorably disoriented.

And did I seriously just use the word “adorable” in the same sentence as “Dylan Braun”? Hot—yes. But adorable? It doesn’t exactly fit. It must just be because I forgot for a second about his new haircut and how good it looks.

“Hey,” I greet him, staying on the threshold, one hip leaning against the doorjamb. “It’s me.”

He gives me a confused look, then glances out the window. His hooded gaze slides back to me. “What time is it?” He scratches his bare chest, and I try not to let my own gaze dip lower, to the rack of muscles that define his stomach.

“It’s seven-thirty.”

He nods, then glances around at his mattress, gliding his un-injured hand along the comforter, dipping it beneath the stacks of throw pillows, clearly searching for something. His hand clasps at gray fabric—a T-shirt that’s almost sliding off the bed, which he slips on. And this time, I do let my eyes briefly skim the ridges of muscle that undulate and dip as he stretches to pull the top over his head. As soon as his head pops through the neck, though, I make sure my gaze has returned to his face. His cheeks are flushed from sleeping, and for some reason, it makes his eyelashes look darker.

“You need something?” He arches an eyebrow.

Now that he’s fully clothed (because I know now that, despite the shirtless modeling gig, he doesn’t like being shirtless), I step fully into his room and make my way over to the bookshelf. “Yes, I need something—issues six and eight.Sleepwalker.”

He doesn’t answer, but I don’t miss the way his eyebrows lift even higher, like he’s surprised. Possibly kind of happy. At least, I think there might be the tiniest upward tic of his full lips.

I hold up the comic I borrowed from him Friday night. “Issue four. Returned and still in pristine condition,” I state, tucking it back in its rightful place before retrieving issue six. When I turn back, Dylan’s watching me, his tongue gliding along his lower lip, prodding at the tiny silver hoop.

“You’re skipping five?”

“I went to Jays and bought it. I couldn’t wait.” My shoulder lifts. “So, yeah. I may be slightly invested.”

"Jays?"

“No one’s told you about Jays?”

No answer.

"Jays is the comic book store in town.”

“There’s a comic book store here?”

“Okay, full disclosure—I’d never been before this weekend. But it just might be one of the coziest stores in Sandy Haven.”

His nose wrinkles. “Cozy?”

“Like, if a Marvel store had a baby with Olivander's—that’s the vibe at Jays.”

His expression doesn’t change.

I roll my eyes. “Oh my God, just—trust me. It’s a great store. Tiny but packed with floor-to-ceiling comics.”

“Cool.”

“Actually, it’s totally dorky.” I drop into the same chair as last weekend. “But also very awesome. We can stop in some day afterschool, if you want.” I glance at his cast. “When are you going back, anyway? How’s the hand?”

He chews the inside of his cheek and lets out a hollow sigh. Rakes his hand through his hair again. “Fine.”

“Are you going back to school tomorrow, then? Or is Phil making you wait until next week?”

“I think tomorrow.”

He doesn’t sound sure. Maybe he doesn’t even know? It’s like this guy isn't allowed to make any decisions about his own life. I think I’d put my fist through a wall too if my life was as closely monitored as his is.

“If you could choose, would you rather stay home for as long as you could get away with, or go to school?”

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