I sigh, retrieving it from my pocket, and staring down at the screen.
Seventeen new messages: Julien, Ezekial, and Sai.
Jasmine leans in, so close… I’m distracted by her heat again, how it sinks into me, somehow igniting and soothing the dark at once.
“Is that them?” she asks softly.
I nod, pretending to read the messages, anything to stop me from touching her.
“They’re worried you’ve made me cry again?” she gasps, reading the message aloud, sounding… upset, and a little angry. She sits back with a huff.
As I’m about to put the phone away, she says, “We should send them a selfie.” And smiles.
I stare, enamoured by her, how her eyes seem to blaze even in the dark, her smile only tempting me closer.
But I also stare because I do not understand.
“A selfie?” she repeats, her smile fading. “A picture of us—together,” she says, each part a little slower than the last, but I still appear blank. “You have no idea what I’m talking about, do you?”
Her voice is on the edge of laughter, and I wonder—if I stay like this—if she’ll take pity on me and maybe let me hear it fully.
Instead, her smile widens, and I decide that is also an excellent response.
“That’s okay, I’ll show you.” She keeps smiling, erasing all my worries and reigniting all my darkest desires with that single look. “Move over.”
Before I can process the command, she shifts closer, then closer, until she’s angled across me, thighs sliding over mine as she settles into my lap sideways. Not straddling. Not quite facing me either.
Her legs drape over mine, her feet resting upon the stone, her side pressed to my chest, her back curled slightly against my arm.
She fits so well.
Her arm hooks loosely around my shoulders, the other reaching for my phone as she holds it out in front of us and her heat wraps around me.
I decide… I like selfies.
“Smile, Kane.”
There’s a flash. My darkness flares. I flinch.
“Okay, terrible,” she says with a quiet laugh, already scrolling. “Let’s try again.”
Now I know what a selfie is, my darkness rescinds, and I’m more prepared. But even the second shot catches me watching her more than the camera.
Then another. And another.
She flicks through them with a soft shake of her head, laughing under her breath.
Her weight shifts as she leans forwards to take another. Each time she moves to get a better angle, she somehow ends up closer, until her hair is brushing my jaw, her breath warming my neck.
My hand moves to her waist, steadying her, feeling her—she doesn’t pull away. The heat of her seeps into me. Brands me. I feel it through every layer between us.
Then her jacket slides down.
Just enough to reveal her shoulder.
And suddenly, I’m no longer thinking about the photo.
Her shoulder is bare, smooth, right there in front of me.
