Page 187 of Burn Bright
“Flashing a mob of people would’ve freaked me out, and I didn’t like being that dickhead’s entertainment. But I was mostly stuck on the life-or-death situation.”
My jaw tics.
“Don’t burst a blood vessel. I’m alive. You saved me,” she says flatly.
“You could’vedrowned.” I smear a hand down my face and exhale the heat. “If it makes you feel any better, I can’t drive. Ever since the car crash where I was behind the wheel…I just can’t put my foot on the pedal without violently shaking.”
She eases more. “So I’m not the only scaredy cat?”
“Definitely not.” I can’t stop looking at her. “Maybe one day…” I trail off.Maybe one day I’ll teach you how to swim. You can help me drive again.One day isn’t going to come. I can’t see a way there. I don’t even want to ruin this moment with her and reignite the painful search.
Harriet twirls her sticks, then nods to me. “Put a song on for me, and I’ll play it on drums.”
“Which one?” I take out my phone.
“‘She’ by Green Day. I’ll count you down.”
I grin. “All right.” I find the song in my music library. “I’m ready when you are, rock star.”
She sticks her tongue between a finger-V, and I laugh harder. Her scowl makes way for a scrunched smile, and I already know I’m her biggest fan. She doesn’t even need to move.
“Three, two, one,” she nods, and I press play.
The song is an angsty rock anthem, so perfectlyher.As soon as the melody strikes, she takes off. Moving her drumsticks at an expert, rhythmic pace I’ve never seen. Instantly, I’m entranced. With her. With how her body thrashes to the music, lost in the powerful beat. Eyes closed as she taps the drums in quick, rapid succession.
Her head bangs, blonde hair going wild. Strands stick to her forehead, and her face pinches in emotion like the song flows through her bones.
Her passion sends me to an exultant state. Her pure, unadulterated love swells emotion in my throat. I’m stunned by all of her, and I watch and tears try to gather. I feel the burn against my eyes. Unable to look away. Still never wanting to—because there is a truth living in the essence of my soul.
I am so deeply in love with her.
She’s become the quiet rustle of leaves. She’s become the soft soil beneath my feet. She’s the cold air that awakens my lungs. The gorgeous light bending through the trees. She is the planet I’ve adored and tried to care for, and when I look ahead and see her, I see my entire world. In all its peaceful beauty.
43
HARRIET FISHER
Kissing Ben has become my favorite activity. From a girl whoneverfantasized about kissing, all my brain does now is cycle through the kisses we’ve had this past week. The push-me-up-against-the-wall kisses in the storage room at the End of the World. The pick-me-up-in-his-arms kisses when he comes over to my apartment. The bury-his-tongue-in-my-mouth kisses in his building’s stairwell.
I’ve loved every single one.
We aren’t an official couple or even technically dating. Not when Ben is still hard stuck on his wilderness plans. He reminds me he’s leaving after almost every kiss, which makes me feel like I’m freefalling off a steep cliff. But I get why he does it. He’s scared to create any false hope. Not that I ever believed my kissing skills could convince him to stay. I’m not an idiot—I don’t even think sex will do the trick. He’s adamant he’s leaving.
Except…it’s November 6th. And he’s still here.
He told me it’s because of Classical Mythology. He wants to keep the promise he made to be there for the group presentation, which is scheduled for the end of November. So I have less than a month.
Less than one month left with Ben Cobalt unless his brothers convince him to stay in New York.
It’s the last thing I think before I put a fist to his apartment door and knock.
Ben opens the door, his hair styled in soft waves and his dark pants slung low on his hips. He’s not wearing a shirt, and I can’t tell if I’m more distracted by the ridges of his well-defined abs or the way he smells.
Because he smells…amazing. Pine and mint waft off him in the freshest scent. Along with a dizzying musk. His natural man-smell makes me stupidly feral. Like I could bury my face in his washboard abs. Like I could make a fabric softener with that fragrance and spritz it daily on all my clothes and blankets. Like I am obsessed, okay. And maybe it’s a little unbecoming. But fuck it, I am obsessed with this guy.
Weirdly, happily, obnoxiously obsessed.
I’m flushing when he smiles down at me and lets me inside.
