Page 26 of First Verse

His body is a man’s now. Broad shoulders, narrow hips, long lines, and lean muscle. His face, too, has lost all vestiges of childhood. He’s haughty and chiseled, almost ethereally beautiful.

I hate that he takes my breath away.

When one of his brows arches up, amusement flaring in his eyes, I wrench my gaze from his annoyingly perfect face.

“Whatever,” I mutter. “You’re pretty but your personality sucks.”

He makes a small sound. Almost a laugh. Then he says, “Michael doesn’t date. He fucks and ghosts.”

Inwardly, I flinch. Outwardly, I scowl. “Don’t pretend you care. Maybe I want to fuck and ghosthim.”

His lips curl, a challenge more than a smile. “Do you?”

I throw my hands up in exasperation. “What are we even doing right now? The first conversation we have in three years and we’re already arguing? Clearly we need another three. Or better yet, ten.”

“I don’t want to argue with you.”

He drags a hand through his hair—shorter than when I saw him last but still unruly—and makes a soft sound of frustration. When he looks at me again, my knees go weak.

It’shim.

My friend.

“I saw the show last Friday.” This time when his lips curve, it’s a real smile. “Snuck in the back so you wouldn’t see me.”

Every muscle in my body locks.

“You were amazing, Evangeline. I’m in awe of you.”

I stand in mute shock, my face burning and my mouth open. Wilder pushes off the wall. Two steps bring him to me. I have to crane my neck to maintain eye contact.

“What are you doing?” I whisper.

His gaze roams my face. “I don’t know,” he answers as softly. “I miss you. So fucking much. Do you really hate me?”

I swallow hard. My body burns; my scalp feels like mist. I have a sudden, visceral memory of the last time we were this close. In his childhood bed. His hand on my thigh. Between my legs.

Before I can do something stupid, I force the memory to play to its disastrous end.

“Yes.”

I want to mean it, but I can hear my uncertainty and so can he. His teeth catch his lips, arresting a smile. Slowly, so slowly, he bends forward, caging me against the counter with his hands to either side of me. His head drops beside mine, warm breath cascading over my neck.

I stiffen, paralyzed between an urge to push him away and savor this dangerous moment. My toes and fingers tingle, and I can’t stop myself from sucking in his scent.

“I wish that were true,” he murmurs, my body vibrating with the low words. “God, I wish you hated me.”

“I do,” I choke out.

“Liar.” His mouth grazes my skin above the collar of my jacket. Not a kiss. Worse, almost. He breathes me in, and with every breath, he sucks out more of my sanity.

You drank me dry so slow

I didn’t notice as I lost my glow

The words shoot through my mind like comets, fiery tails dissolving my mental haze. I plant my palms on his chest to shove him back but freeze when I feel him shaking. The world shifts and presents itself from a new angle, one in which he isn’t intentionally provoking me but collapsingagainst me.

“Please.” His voice cracks. “Don’t push me away. Just for a minute, let me come home.”

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