I looked around, feeling like I belonged, and a dull sinking sensation settled in. How could I be happy? Dad was in the human realm. When would I ever see him again? I knew our neighbors would do what they could to take care of him, but . . . I hoped he was okay. I suppose the one comfort was that nothing would make him happier than this, seeing me surrounded by friends. Still, my eyes burned, my throat turned sore, and the black hole within me was about to gush open.
I heard a buzz from my transmitter, then saw Leland’s left hand wrapped around his under the table.
Leland Stray:Want to go?
Ember Blackburn:I should probably stay at my own party . . .
Leland Stray:Okay. Now answer honestly.
Ember Blackburn:Yes. I want to go
* * *
I stood in his room,notlooking at his gigantic bed, which had been Vanished from the large space, but at the round table in the center of his room with four light-oak chairs around it, and the tan, L-shaped couch by his open-concept closet in the corner. Still tidy, and it still looked like him, but less like a bedroom and more like the living room of a mid-century modern home.
He set down the two drinks he’d grabbed on our way out of the cafeteria. My gaze lingered on his couch, the buttery leather begging to be laid on and sunken into. And it was a couch andnot a bed — not that I was thinking about beds. Though the dark-gray throw from his bedwasdraped over an armrest.
Leland stood an agonizing two feet away from me, his big palms open at his sides, his broad shoulders relaxed and his muscular arms making a hip-wide opening like the one he’d made in my dream before saying,Come here.
“Please don’t make me beg,” he said.
I slipped into his arms, stiff at first, but then his hands settled against my lower back, mine finding somewhere to rest in the center of his. Our breathing brought us closer until, eventually, I sighed into his solid warmth. It must have gone on for five minutes before he lowered his mouth to my temple.
“You okay?” His lips were one nod away from caressing the shell of my ear. “You seemed a little shaken after your fruit monologue.”
I laughed some of the heaviness in my chest out into his shoulder. “I’m okay,” I murmured, and raised my chin to look at him so he knew I meant it. “I just started thinking about my dad, and . . .”
Leland’s hand slid up to cup the back of my neck, giving me the strength to keep going.
“I don’t honestly know how I am. I don’t think I want to keep talking about it, but it’s . . .” I breathed out. “I think it’ll be fine.”
His hands loosened, the one around my neck falling to his side. Our hug became friendly and one-handed, no different from how a teacher hugs a student — if you overlooked the charge electrifying the air between us. I slid sideways out of his arm and proceeded to act like the hug never happened.
“Couch or table?” asked Leland, his gaze sweeping across his room to inventory all his expertly crafted furniture. When I didn’t answer, he gave an inquisitive head tilt and tried, “Arcade common area?”
Definitely not the common area. Though I also wasn’t sold onthe other options. The chairs looked hard and cold, and the gaps of empty space between them were too big. I’d prefer sprawling across the puffy, white sheepskin rug on his floor, somewhere we could recline side-by-side like we had on the daybed.Couch?The couch looked like I’d never get up from it.
“Tableee,” I said, and nodded through the sting of the lie to convince myself it was what I wanted.
Leland didn’t buy it. He grabbed our drinks and led us to the couch, offering me the good side with the chaise lounge, while he relaxed into the opposite end, on the other side of the small leaf-shaped coffee table.
My eyes dropped to where his lips were wrapped around his neon-pink cocktail straw as he sipped his Sunset Moonale. I stared at his lips, utterly transfixed.
“Yes?” he asked, hazel eyes burning.
“Your drink is very beautiful,” I said, fighting a smile as I watched him toss the straw to the side with abandon and drain half the glass with his lips around the rim.
“Why is it so good?” he groaned as his head dropped back.
“Belinda’s a genius.” I shrugged, trying to ignore my replay of the guttural sound he’d just made, and other scenarios he might make it in. I glanced away at every possible moment and just as quickly looked back at him. I tried to name the potted plants sprinkled around his room.Monstera? Some kind of palm?And I replayed Leland’s groan, like a record that wouldn’t stop scratching.
“Burning?” he asked.
“No,” I said quickly. Freezing, actually. I picked up the throw blanket and awkwardly laid it over my legs. It smelled like him. Woodsy.
He Summoned my cuffs and slid them across the walnut coffee table. I picked them up and slipped them over my wrists.
His hand shifted and jostled the ice in his drink. “How youwere when we found you in the temple was . . .” He set his glass down and stared down at his thighs as I watched a ring of condensation mar his table. I didn’t know if I wanted him to finish the thought, not wanting to return to the place where I thought the best thing I could be was unconscious.
