Page 87 of Crave Thy Neighbor

I have plans to make you scream.

“Oh, yeah. I remember,” I lie. “Nolan wants to get a kitchen table and a couch for when I finally get my life together and move out.”

Nolan’s eyes darken for only a moment before he pastes on a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. “Figured I’d get started shopping now in case I have to order something and wait on it.”

“It’s about time you officially move into your place,” Dean says, clapping him on the back. “Proud of you. Growing up so fast.”

Nolan shrugs his hand off, scowling at him. “Shut the fuck up and get those spirit sticks to your girlfriend before she really does kill you and I have to help her bury the body.”

“Aw. You’d do that for her?”

“I’m pretty sure you’re not supposed to sayawabout your own murder,” I point out.

“Nah. Just means my boy here loves my girl.” He pats Nolan’s chest. “Holy shit—that means thereisa heart in there. I knew it!”

“Dean…” Nolan growls.

“All right, all right. I’m leaving. Try to keep your hands to yourselves, you crazy kids.”

He winks at us, and it sends my heart into overdrive as he waltzes away whistling.

I whirl on Nolan as soon as he’s gone.

“What did that mean? Do you think he saw us?”

“I don’t know.” Nolan shrugs. “Who the hell knows what Dean is saying half the time.”

“He was standing there when you…” I trail off, knowing he’s aware of what I’m referring to.

“Even if he did see something, he won’t say anything.”

I chew on my bottom lip, not so sure.

Nolan reaches over, using his thumb to pluck my lip from between my teeth. “Stop that. I don’t want them all chewed on when I’m kissing them later.” I grin at that. “Don’t worry about it, okay?”

I nod. “Okay.”

My head gets the memo, but my heart doesn’t.

14

Nolan

We haven’t come up for air all week long.

With Sam at his dad’s, Maya hasn’t had to sneak out of my bedroom in the wee hours of the morning, and I can’t say I’m sad about it.

I’ve never been so excited to wake up with her lying next to me.

I’m trying really fucking hard to not think about that fact too much.

“You know,” she says, head on my chest as she runs her fingers through the hair there, “we should probably actually go furniture shopping at some point so you have something when I move out. I don’t want to leave you empty-handed when I take my couch back, and you really should get a kitchen table for whenever you have guests over.”

I don’t ever have guests over.

Hell, other than Dean (and River because they’re attached at the fucking hip), I haven’t had another person in my apartment in the few months I’ve lived here. I never had anyone over when I lived at my old place, and not because it was too small.

Inviting someone into your living space is intimate. It’s showing them a side of you that’s literally locked behind a closed door.

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