Sliding his teeth across his lower lip, he turns to face me. As I take a daring step into his room, he eyes me carefully.
“My middle name is Lily.”
Everything inside me itches to take another step, but I’m a coward.
“I hate the snow. I think I’d like the beach, but I’ve never been. My favorite color is yellow.”
His eyes remain weighty, but one corner of his lips tips up. “Yellow?”
“What?” I ask, swallowing as flutters dive low in my stomach. “Happy people don’t own the color.”
He arches a brow, swipes a hand across his mouth to hide a hint of a smile. When he drops his arm, he leans against his dresser and watches me with a lazily amused expression on his face, like we’re just getting started.
Nerves tip and sway inside, but the warmth surrounding them is stronger. These are inconsequential facts about myself, but they’re things I’ve never told anyone. I’ve never had anyone to tell before.
And some of them aren’t so trivial.
“I’ve never been kissed.” I clear my throat. “Guys have tried”—Carterhas tried—“but there’s only one person I’ve ever wanted in that way.”
He squints, angles his head, and looks at me so closely heat spreads like wildfire.
“I’ve done a lot of things.” I glance away, hug his jacket around me as my dress shrinks and becomes too tight, too itchy, too small. “With a lot of guys. But I’ve had consensual sex with only one, only once.”
His nostrils flare, and I know he caught that word: consensual. Relief spills into my lungs when he doesn’t ask about it. Instead, he asks quietly, “Carter?”
I nod. “Freshman year.”
He pushes off the dresser and takes a small step toward me. “So, all those guys at school ... all those nights you were out late ...”
I shake my head, thanking God for the single lit lamp in the far corner of his bedroom that keeps my face shadowed as the sky outside his window darkens. I’ve never admitted any of this to anyone, and now it sounds so ridiculous, so pathetic, even to my ears. He wanted real, but to reach that part of me takes admitting how fake I really am. My knees shake as he watches. He said it himself, he can’t do this any other way, so it’s a risk I’ll have to take. Even if I am the biggest bullshitter of all. Even if it means he’ll never want me now.
My vision blurs due to the wetness in my eyes. “I let them talk,” I rasp. “But the truth is, I don’t even know why I do it. Sometimes, I think I do, but then I see you, and I—I don’t know anymore. That guy you saw me with?”
He waits, silent but with laser-sharp focus.
“I can’t—” I swallow. “I can’t tell you who he is because it could hurt him. But I swear, I wantyou, Easton. I’ve only ever wanted you. And I know I keep fucking everything up, but it’s like—it’s like something is glitching inside me, and I don’t work right.” My eyes shut, trying desperately to lock the floodgates. I only open them again when I think no tears will spill. A dry, half-laugh escapes me. “See? Fucked-up, right?” I chew my lip and curse myself when I taste salt. “You wanted honesty. Here it is.”
Easton drops the towel on his bed and slowly moves toward me. He stops when we’re face-to-face, and my stomach knots as he tilts his head and stares down at me with haunted eyes.
“I did.” He examines me so closely it’s torture not to look the other way. I don’t get it. I don’t get how his expression is so gentle after the mess I just dumped at his feet. His eyes burn slow and soft, and I want the flames to touch me, lick me, scorch me. “That’s what I wanted from you. Now, it’s your turn. And no bullshit. What do you want from me, Eva?” he asks, voice restrained and throaty. It wraps around my exposed nerves like a warm balm.
No bullshit?
The walls that encase us slip farther and farther away.
My response escapes without thought. “Tonight.”
Tomorrow.
Always.
His gaze drifts along my face, leaves a burning trail everywhere it touches, and I’m so flushed all I feel is heat. My heart skips and then stops when he reaches around me. The door softly clicks shut behind my back. I hear the quiet sound of the lock.
My knees weaken. Because I know from experience Easton doesn’t do things the way other guys do.
Eva
He stares down at me, eyelids heavy, lips close enough to touch if I were to rise to my toes. For a moment, I think he’s going to kiss me. He doesn’t.
