Him, in spite of everything.
His lips part, and she finds herself staring at his full lower lip, wondering what happens next, how the two of them got like this in the first place. How they’ll ever go back to not holding hands against his chest.
Desire fizzes inside her. At moments since she got here, Rafe’s arms have felt like the only solution to the most fucked-up equation. Now she finds herself imagining what it might be like to be held by him, with and without clothes. Mindless sex with Rafe might be the only thing that could take Dez’s mind off her life. Let her forget about being a fugitive from justice for a while. Let Rafe’s muscles be the only thing she has to focus on …
She thinks again about what his bare chest would look like moving over her in bed. What his back would feel like if she ran her nails up and down it.
“Dez?” He steps toward her, both of them now only about a foot away from her bed. She holds her breath and meets his eyes and—there—attraction throbs between them.
Oh fuck, he wants her, too.
This isn’t going to end well.
“I keep asking myself what I could have done differently,” Rafe says. “What could have stopped this from happening.” He runs one hand up and down his biceps, a nervous habit maybe. One that shows off the toned muscles of his arms.
“But I can’t go back in time,” he continues. “I can only look ahead. You know? Because there’s more out there I’m needed for.”
Dez meets Rafe’s eyes, surprised to find familiar torture mirrored back at her. The longer she looks, the warmer she feels. And the more she believes him. Okay, there are still gaps in the logic. The kinetics are confusing, and that sound … But she’s no expert on acoustics. If Dez is an expert on anything, it’s recognizing a cinematic moment.
And this is one. In real life. This is the close-up shot in the movie where the audience watches two people forever bond over the kind of suffering that transcends reason.
These are the kind of scenes in movies that defy dialogue. Dez and Rafe don’t have to say a thing.
She feels him reach for her hand. The simplest touch coming from Rafe makes her tingle. Then she feels a weight in her hand. He’s giving her something.
A phone.
“What’s this?”
“We call them cellular phones. You use these buttons, dial someone else’s number, and occasionally, they pick up.”
Dez elbows him. “I thought first-years couldn’t be trusted with such revolutionary technology.”
“They can’t.” Rafe presses a finger to his lips.Shhh. “Take it for the night, and don’t tell anyone.”
“Why?”
“I know you have people back home who want to hear from you.”
Dez swallows and pockets the phone. She wants to thank him, but her voice gets caught in her throat. It’s kind, unexpectedly kind, what he’s just done without her asking. A tear runs down her cheek.
“Oh,” Rafe says quietly, stepping closer, reaching out.
Gently, with his thumb, he wipes the tear away. She holds her breath and tips her head toward him, new tears welling. It’s too much, the sweep of his gaze across her face, like he’s reading her every emotion. She turns her head, turns her body away.
“I’m fine,” she says, wiping her eyes, taking a breath.
“You don’t have to be.”
“Please,” she says, her back to him, “go back to being a dick. I know how to deal with that.”
“What don’t you know how to deal with?” he whispers.
She turns to face him, and he’s right there, his body so close to hers their chests touch on the next inhale. If she leans in a little closer, if she lets her body take over, her mind can finally turn off.
They’re staring at each other. He smells like petrichor. Like snow. Dez can barely breathe.
“Don’t,” he says. “Don’t do that with your lip.”
