Page 108 of Make Me Dream of You

“I’m not yours.”

“Yes you are. You’re mine. Just like I’m yours.”

I stare dumbly up at him. My breathing is too loud.

He touches my wrist.

I pull it away from him and square my shoulders. “Then why did you tell Taryn not to worry about me, that it’s not that serious?”

“Is that what this is about?” He furrows a brow.

I don’t say anything, steadying my expression, wanting to go off but afraid I’ll burst into tears instead.

He softens his gaze and reaches for my hand, his fingertips grazing my palm as he lowers his head and quiets his voice. “She was concerned about our relationship causing drama. That’s what I was telling her not to worry about. That’s what I was saying wasn’t that serious. I am serious about you.”

“You are?”

“Yes. I just—I didn’t know how serious you wanted it to be. You’re young and having fun. I thought you wanted to keep things casual?—”

“No.”

“No?” There’s a hint of a smile on his lips.

“No.” I shake my head and his smile grows.

He kisses me roughly, greedily, lips parting just enough so that the tip of my tongue tastes a hint of mint from his. Pulling away he takes my hand, interlacing our fingers, and we walk back out to the shop.

“Everyone,” he says loudly, “listen up.”

Everyone in the shop turns to look at us, those not with clients walk toward us. My hand burns, still interlocked with his.

Anthony’s face is red.

“I wanted you all to know, so there’s no questioning, Livvy and I are together.” Noah looks at me, the grin on his lips soft, but his eyes sparkling. “I’m crazy about her. And it’s not casual.”

“This is some fucking bullshit.” Anthony pushes out the door, the metal of the bell banging against glass.

“Here we go.” Taryn rolls her eyes and walks off, her black boots thudding heavily against the floor.

Noah bends down to me. “Don’t worry. I’ll talk with Anthony.”

“I guess it’s time for me to tell Bex about us, then, too.”

He nods, but says, “When you’re ready. No rush.”

But he is in a rush to get me upstairs, taking me by the hand to the elevators and kissing me the whole ride up. I breathe in his scent, the warmth of his skin under his clothes, the feel of his hands on me, his hard chest, his soft lips.

He said he’s mine.

He’s mine and I’m his and though I’ve imagined this scenario in my head hundreds of times, it was never this good, this right, this perfect.

His arm is around my waist as he shoves the door to the apartment open.

Wood is sitting at the kitchen counter with a bowl of cereal, spoon mid-air, milk dripping from between the honey nut O’s.

“Don’t you have somewhere to be?” Noah asks him, his grip on me tightening.

“Nah, bro. I’m just hanging at home tonight.”

---