Page 65 of First Verse

“I promise I’m not trying to make you feel bad. I know why you haven’t told your parents about us—for the same reason that when I told myparents, I asked them not to mention it to yours.”

Sadness tinged with guilt swiftly eclipses the surprise that he told his parents about us. Brunch on Sunday was exhausting, and not just because of Wilder’s welcome interruption of my sleep the night before.

I hate lying to my parents, even if it’s lying by omission. I hate even more that it’s becoming easier by the day. But I can’t handle the alternative, which is telling them Wilder and I are officially together. The look on my dad’s face weeks ago is a thorn in my memory. I never want to be on the receiving end of that expression again.

“They don’t hate you or anything,” I say quickly. “It’s… complicated.”

“I get it. It’s going to take time to prove to them that I’m not a fuckup anymore. But we have time. Right?”

My mouth goes dry at the careful words, the suggestion of a deeper question beneath them.

“What are you asking me?”

He takes one more step, and I tilt my face up to maintain eye contact.

“Will you be my girlfriend, Evangeline?”

My pulse trips over itself. “Aren’t I already?”

His eyes simmer. “Answer the question.”

“Yes,” I say breathlessly. “I’d love to be your girlfriend.”

His smile expands, deepening dimples and filling my head with sparkling fog. “Good. What are you doing tonight?”

You,I think, and his eyes flash like he heard the thought.

“Why? You want to take me on a date?” The skin around his eyes tightens, his smile freezing. Realizing my mistake, I add quickly, “Not in public or anything. I don’t expect that. Especially since, you know, my parents… and people with cameras, and crowds, all that stuff.” I laugh, the sound a tad shrill. “Do you even read the comments on your socials? They’re wild. I’d be worried someone might knock me out and kidnap you?—”

His index finger presses to my mouth, silencing me. I gasp and he takes advantage, dragging his finger along the inside of my lower lip. My breaths turn choppy. His eyes flicker up long enough for me to see his wide pupils, then lower back to my lips.

“Such a pretty, pretty mouth,” he whispers, sinking his finger past my teeth. “Suck.”

All rational thought suspended, I close my mouth and suck, shifting forward at the same time so his finger sinks deeper. He grunts, hips twitching. The hardness behind his zipper grazes my belly. My mouth waters. I grab his belt buckle, ready to drop to my knees and finally,finallytaste him, but his other hand seizes mine.

A whine of protest warbles in my throat. Wilder sucks in a breath, his finger curling against my tongue. “Fuck, baby. You want me in your mouth? Stretching your jaw and throat like I stretch that pussy?”

My clit throbs at the gruff words. I press my thighs together against a sudden sharp pang and nod. His eyes close briefly and he rocks into me.

“Dammit,” he hisses, shaking his head. Lust and conflict sit clearly on his face. “I can’t believe I’m saying this, but you’re not giving me a blowjob right now. Remember where we are?”

A modicum of sense returns. I hear muted piano keys being struck in a nearby room, the bright, metallic sound of a snare, muffled voices of teachers and students. My eyes widen in horror, my libido shutting off like a faucet.

Wilder smirks as he slips his finger from my mouth, popping my lower lip against my teeth before lowering his hand and tucking it in his pocket. All the while, he watches me with that impish, cat-like precision.

“You’re welcome,” he murmurs silkily.

I rub my palm over my burning forehead. “Thank you. I don’t know what I was thinking.”

He bites his lip, a smile shining in his eyes. “I’m at least seventy percent to blame. You’re incredibly hard to resist.”

“So are you,” I whisper.

His expression softens. “The reason I asked what you were doing tonight is the guys and I were wondering if you wanted to come over for dinner. Kind of a reunion slash catch-up situation. And a celebration, too, for signing with Indigo yesterday.”

It takes me long seconds to process the words, the majority of my thoughts still on a hamster wheel of how close I came to throwing my ethics out the window.

“Um, at your house?” I finally ask.

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