“I’m sorry,” I whispered, not knowing what else to say. But beneath the sadness, there was a bubbling fury at the ones who had wronged him.
Dakota shrugged, like it didn’t matter. “It’s fine. That was like…seven years ago? It’s in the past and I’ve left it there. I don’t need to carry all that around with me.”
I didn’t know how he could just let it go so easily, and part of me was viciously jealous of that. How much happier would I beif I were able to let go, too? Was I even capable of feeling that emotion anymore?
“So what do you think about me now that you know I’m crazy?”
I scrunched my brows together and looked at him. “You’re not crazy, stop saying that.”
“That’s not what everyone else thinks.”
“I don’t really give a shit what everyone else thinks, I can form my own opinions and I’m pretty sure you’re just really weird, not crazy.”
The left side of his mouth curved up. “Weird, huh?”
“Yeah, you’re weird as shit. And honest to an annoying fault. It really feels like you’re fucking with me all the time, but…”
I ran my thumb down his index finger.
“But…?”
“Can’t I just trail off and not have you goad me into finishing my sentences?” I scowled at him but was quickly distracted by the humor in his eyes.
“No, that’s just rude. Finish your sentences. Especially when they’re about me.”
“You’re so annoying,” I muttered, not meaning it at all. “ButI don’t think you’re actually fucking with me. I think you’re being genuine. Which is…”
I bit my bottom lip, and when I glanced at him, he was staring at my mouth.
His eyes flashed to mine as he smiled. “Which is…?”
I rolled my eyes and let out a long, frustrated sigh. “Surprising.”
“Good. I like surprising you. But I don’t like it when you surprise me like you did last night, so can you please promise me you’ll tell me if something is wrong?”
He moved his fingers from my hair and held his hand between us, palm up, those long, pretty fingers steady and still. Were we making a deal?
I raised my gaze to his as my heart pounded. “I don’t get you. Why do you care?”
“Because. I saved your life, so that makes you mine. Twice, if we’re counting last night. I’m definitely counting it.”
My jaw dropped, and I wanted to ignore the way those words sounded so fucking good that I wanted to hear them again and again and again.
That makes you mine.
But when I saw the amusement in his eyes and his lips twitched as he tried not to smile, disappointment rose and I resisted the urge to punch him.
“You’re fucking delusional,” I muttered. “Get lost.”
And still, I slipped my hand into his.
Because underneath that amusement I saw a glaring truth: it wasn’t some joke to him, he really believed what he was saying, and I wanted to live in that belief. In his delusion. I wanted to stay wrapped up there and be kept forever.
But instead of saying any of that, I asked, “So when are you going home for break?”
The smile he gave me was wolfish. “Oh, didn’t I tell you? I’m not going anywhere. You’re stuck with me for the next month, darling.”
Those butterflies in my stomach multiplied and exploded.
