My jaw ticks at the thought of her not believing my words were genuine. How can she not see what everyone else sees?
A wisp of her black hair gets caught in a gust of wind, making her lose focus. Her eyes close as she smooths her hands over her locks. Her dark brows furrow in apparent agitation as she runs her fingers through it, then she parts her full lips with a deep, dramatic exhale.
I follow her gaze, landing on her thighs. Wearing a flowy white button-down blouse and a short black skirt with tights, her legslook even better than usual. Shocking, I know, considering they always look fucking perfect.
You know what I like even more than her thighs, though?Her laugh.That godforsaken laugh has the power to make the heavens fall, I’m certain. It starts soft, then builds into a crescendo that rivals the sound of music itself. I wish I could hear it more often. Her laugh alone makes me feel lighter in return.
With a sudden, stark realization, I abruptly glance away.
I can’t recall the last time I paid this much attention to someone’s laugh. Hell, no one’s laugh has ever made me weak like hers.
I’m stumbling, knowingly walking deeper and deeper into a trap, and rather than listening to my gut and turning the other way, I’m frolicking in with a lopsided, goofy smile on my face just because I get to be near my captor. Near her.
This is normal, right? We’re friends. I’d say we’re close friends in my book.
Ironically, I don’t know if she’d even consider me her friend yet, and that somehow draws me even more to her.
Ilikethat she’s uncertain about me.
Ilikethat she doesn’t fall for my tricks.
Ilikethat she’s impossible to read.
Oh, hell. I like Cleo Graves.
Ireallylike her.
I assumed my attraction to her was temporary, surface-level. An infatuation. But I thought wrong.
It isn’t too late—I can retreat. I can pull back. In fact, Ishouldpull back. We have a good thing going on, and she’s made herself crystal clear.
We may have shared a moment a few nights back, but that’s all it was to her. Just a moment on a rooftop with a wingless manshe can’t stand. I bet she cringes when that night crosses her mind—that is, if she even thinks about it at all.
Damn. This is so unlike me—wondering if she thinks about that night while unable to help myself from playing it on repeat in my mind.
I’m not one to get caught up in real feelings.
In fact, I broke up with Katherine right before my death because I wasn’t ready to settle down and commit to her for the rest of my life. Ichoseto be alone, and as bad as I felt about ending things on some days, it was my choice, and ultimately, I owned it. At one point, I thought we could have been endgame, but ever since meeting Cleo, I’ve known that I was sorely mistaken.
It wouldn’t make sense, not when the only person who consumes all my waking thoughts is sitting right beside me on this marble bench, fussing over the wind making a mess of her hair. I can’t help but smile at her like a dumbstruck fool.
Thisisdifferent.
I lift my eyes to look at her again. Damn, I swear she’s been attempting to fix her hair for like seventeen minutes now.
I extend my hand, grasping the stray strands of hair. I tuck a lock behind her ear, then look into her eyes. I trace her ear, trailing my fingers down her neck, my palm landing on her shoulder. I rest my hand on her longer than I intended, but I don’t particularly care at the moment.
“You’re welcome,” I say with a grin, voice cracking.
…did my voice really justcrack? The best word to express how I’m feeling at the moment isexposed, and honestly, I’m not a fan.
We both clear our throats at the same time and glance away from each other abruptly.
“How about we get out of here?” I offer.
“And go where?”
“Anywhere.”
