“What the fuck are you talking about?” he snaps.
Oops.
“Never mind.” I shake my head and offer him a smile. “I was being silly.”
The irritation clears from his eyes, and he focuses all of his attention on me. His silvery gaze roves over my face, drinking me in, and my skin grows warmer the longer he stares. I forget all about the chilled ground beneath my butt. “That’s one word I would never describe you as. Silly.”
Why am I offended by his remark? “How would you describe me, then?”
“Interesting. Beautiful.” Oh, there he goes, calling me beautiful again. A girl could get used to that. “Smart.”
He reaches for my face, his fingers grazing my cheek, and I rear back. He drops his hand. “You don’t even know me.”
“I know enough.” He grins, and I finally see those dimples he was talking about. Poor Mrs. Brown never stood a chance. “You don’t seem to mind that I’m the son of a criminal.”
“It doesn’t bother me.” Air stalls in my throat when he leans in, his face close to mine. “Why should it? You’re not the one who stole the money.”
“I like that you accept me for who I am and not what my name is. Or how much money my family has.Had.” He makes a “poof” gesture and chuckles, the sound coming from deep in his chest. My entire body tingles when he reaches for me. His hand settles on my waist, and he gives me a tug. “It’scold out here.”
“You think things are dire enough that we need to share body heat?” I’m pointing out the obvious but realize I sound like I’m flirting. And from the way his eyes suddenly get heavy-lidded and his lips part, I can tell he believes I’m flirting, too.
“Definitely,” he murmurs, tilting his head so our lips align.
I jerk back, not about to let him kiss me. Talk about distracting.
“Hey. You’re really drunk.” I press my hand against the solid wall of his chest and gently push him away from me. “And I’m not as easily swayed by a pair of dimples as some people are.”
He smiles. “They always work.”
“Not on me.” I shake my head.
“Huh.” Connor squints, like he’s trying to see inside my brain. “I can’t quite figure you out. You’re like a misery wrapped in a stigma.”
I burst out laughing. “Don’t you mean a mystery wrapped in an enigma?”
He waves a dismissive hand. “Whatever. You know what I mean.”
His somber words and equally somber expression tell me he’s starting to sober up a bit. For all I know, he’s been out here a long time, the bottle long empty. Without hesitation, he gets to his feet and holds out his hand for me to take, which I do. His strength and steadiness are a shock to my system, given how loose and languid he seemed just a moment ago. I brush off the seat of my pants and straighten.
We’re standing in front of each other under the tree. Where his sister died and mine fell to her near death.
This place should terrify me, but being here with Connor, I’m not scared.
“You feel it, don’t you?” Connor asks.
I frown, confused. “Feel what?”
“The connection between us. It’s there. Here.” He gestures in the space between us. “Don’t try and tell me it’s all one-sided, either.”
I gape at him for a moment before pressing my lips together like that’s going to contain my uncomfortable feelings for this boy. I’m about to respond, but he speaks over me instead.
“I don’t trust it. The connection.” He adds the words like he might want to hurt me, but all I see is brutal honesty etched into his face. He’s trying to tell the truth. That’s more than I can say for myself these days.
Frankly, it’s more than I can say for almost everyone I’ve met since setting foot in this country.
“Maybe you feel connected to me because I’m brand-new here and I don’t know your history,” I suggest, proud of how calm I sound.
“Maybe.” His voice is full of doubt. “Want to walk back to the dorm with me?”
