Page 5 of Make Me Dream of You

She and Bex have already been so generous since I moved back to Seattle after graduation, letting me crash on their couch for free while I look for a job. Thank you doesn’t seem like enough.

She and my sister have been best friends and roommates since their freshman year in the dorms. She’s the level-headed yin to my sister’s impulsive yang.

Macy’s phone buzzes in her purse and she pulls it out. “Oh biscuits, it’s Spencer, I need to take it.” She smiles apologetically as she answers. “Hey, babe.” Her smile quickly falls. She covers her other ear with her hand. “I’m sorry, it’s loud in here I didn’t hear your last call.”

She looks at me and mouths “sorry.”

“I told you I was going out with Bex and Li—” She’s quiet, mouth downturned as she looks down at her lap. She nods as she listens to whatever he’s saying on the other end. “Yeah, okay. I will.” Another pause. “I’ve only had one drink, I’m not going to—” She stops abruptly then says, “Yes, you’re right. Okay. Talk to you later.”

She looks at her screen for a moment after the call is ended then back up to me, like she forgot I was here. Her expression back to a big smile. “Sorry about that. Where were we?” She reaches for her drink, blinking rapidly.

“Do you want to dance?” I ask. “I wouldn’t mind dancing.”

Macy scrunches up her face and shakes her head, but then she looks over my shoulder and shouts, “Wood!” waving someone over to us.

A blond guy in a white T-shirt walks up to us, looking like he just walked out of a damn J. Crew catalogue. He’s got that muscular jock, all-American, boy-next-door thing going on with the blue eyes and tanned skin and a big smile with perfectly straight teeth. The only quirk to his ridiculously handsome face is his slightly lopsided smile.

“Mace, bro! I didn’t know you were here!” He goes in for a one-armed hug. Macy dodges left and he quickly recovers, smoothly transitioning his outstretched arm up for a high five which she returns.

“Do you want to dance?” she calls out.

Wood’s eyes light up, his smile widening so that dimples appear in his cheeks. Of course he has dimples, too. “Oh, heck yeah, girl. Let’s go!”

“No, not with me. You know I don’t dance. With her—” Macy gestures to me and he looks my direction for the first time realizing I’m here. “This is Bex’s little sister, Livvy.”

The smaller, lopsided smile is back on his lips as he takes me in. “Well, hi, Bex’s little sister, Livvy. Nice to meet you.”

He lifts a fist to me, and I bump his knuckles. Then he does a hand exploding thing and I try to copy it but end up doing a weird little jazz hand move instead.

“We’ll work on that later.” He winks at me then turns back to Macy. “You sure you don’t want to join us? I’ve got two hands. I can totally handle both of you.”

Macy rolls her eyes. “I’m sure you could, but I’m good. Keep her company and keep her safe and don’t let any weirdos near her.”

He shoots finger guns at her with a wink. “I’m your guy.”

Wood and I head to the dance floor, his hand lightly on my mid-back as we weave through the crowd.

Under the flashing lights, we dance to the pulsing music, melting in with the other dancers, drunk and letting loose. He keeps a respectable distance from me, not automatically going for the rear grind like so many men do. He’s making me laugh with every random, dumb dance move he can think of—the sprinkler, the shopping cart.

But the dance floor is crowded so we end up closer and closer. I’m still buzzing. The music is good. It’s hot and sweat beads at my temples.

Then past Wood’s shoulder, he’s there. In the distance, leaning back against the wall, half in shadow. Noah. He’s watching us. No—he’s watching me.

His eyes are completely obscured, the hollows of his sockets black and empty. But I can feel his stare. The sensation sends a chill down my spine. A feeling of dread. Excitement. My skin heats. My pulse races.

Wood puts his hand on my hip.

Noah steps forward out of the shadows, brows furrowed, mouth set in a scowl. His eyes are, indeed, on me—and Wood’s hand. If a glare could cut like daggers, his would cut to the bone. Cut to kill.

He looks like he wants to come over here, punch poor Wood in the face and take his place. I wish he would. Not the punching part, just the dancing part.

I keep dancing, trying to push the thought of Noah’s hand on me out of my mind.

But the next time I glance in that direction, he’s gone.

Wood taps my shoulder as he leans in, lips close to my ear. “Do you want to take a break? Maybe go grab another drink?”

“Sure.”

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