Page 54 of Heartland
I shake my head.
“Don’t worry,” he tells her. “They probably have a lot of lines down tonight. But you know they aren’t going to leave the campus in the dark for long.”
A few moments later he wishes her a good night. He ends the call, pockets the phone, and darkness swallows us. And so does the silence.
I think I can hear my own heart pounding.
“Saturdays, huh?” he whispers eventually. “You told me we could only have the kitchen on Fridays.”
“I’m sorry,” I whisper. “That wasn’t true.”
“You…lied?” he asks. As if it’s inconceivable.
This is why my inner bad girl doesn’t come out very often. Because I’m terrible at this. “I did,” I admit. “I’m sorry.”
He sighs. “Move over.”
“What?” My heart is in my mouth.
“Move over so there’s room for two.”
Surprise makes me wait another beat. But then I scramble up to the head of my twin bed and pull back the covers. Dylan stands up, which makes it easier for me to slide between the sheets. My pulse jumps erratically as I wait for him to leave, or yell at me, or ask me why I lied.
But that’s not what happens.
I hear the dry sound of a zipper and the clink of a belt as Dylan sheds his jeans. Clothing rustles. And then Dylan pulls back the bedclothes and gets in beside me.
I’m so surprised that it takes a minute to start breathing again. Dylan smells like mint toothpaste, as well as the woodsy scent that I associate with him. We’re lying side by side on our backs, which is not how things go in my fantasies. But it’s close enough to make me feel twice as wistful. And twice as guilty.
Why did I ever think lying to Dylan would improve my life?
The silence is killing me. I practice apology speeches in my head, but before I settle on a worthy version, Dylan’s breathing evens out and lengthens into sleep.
It’s such a sweet sound that my eyes feel prickly. The heat of his body seeps into mine. I want to roll over and take more of it. I want to mold myself to his sturdy body and breathe his woodsy scent.
But that’s not allowed. And this is all I will ever have—friendship and the ache of wanting more.
It takes me a long time to fall asleep.
* * *
The next time I open my eyes, I’m startled to find the wall only inches from my nose.
I’m even more startled to realize that Dylan’s body is shifting sleepily against my back. All of it. A hard chest and long legs. And even a hard—
His body detaches from mine in an instant, leaving cool air in its wake. Behind me, the mattress unweights as he rolls off the bed. There’s a clunk and then a mumbled curse as Dylan trips across the small room and clicks off my desk lamp.
The power must have come on in the night. It’s early morning, judging by the gray light that’s just starting to filter in through my window.
Dylan opens my bedroom door, propping something against it, because it doesn’t close all the way after he leaves. I hear a toilet flush, and then water running for a while.
I roll over as he comes through the door in his underwear and a T-shirt.
I look away quickly, instead of appreciating the way those boxer briefs lie so snugly against his strong thighs.
He sits down on the edge of the bed. “Did you sleep?” he asks in a roughened voice.
“Yeah. You?”
