Page 71 of Oathbreaker

“Shit, sorry,” I say, stepping into the room and closing the door behind me.

She sits up. “No, sorry, I just wasn’t expecting anyone.”

We stare at each other until the cartoon breaks our attention.

“Why are you up so late?” she asks. Winter moves to pick up the popcorn, grabbing the spilled contents of the bowl in fistfuls.

“I wasn’t feeling tired.” My voice sounds strange in my ears, as if I’m fighting tension in my voice box. I don’t tell her that I’ve just arrived home an hour ago.

Winter hums.

I fidget.

“Do you want to hang out for a little bit?” Winter’s voice is smooth and hushed, but she doesn’t look at me when she speaks the words.

I want nothing more than to hang out with her, to be in her atmosphere. When I pause for a moment too long, her eyes swing to mine.

I can’t deny her a single thing.

“Of course, baby,” I say in just as soft a tone.

Her smile could rival the sun.

She pulls back the blanket, and I almost trip when I see her nipples pressing through her flimsy tank top and her smooth thighs only covered at their tops by the soft jersey-knit shorts.

Control yourself.

I sit next to her. The sofa is massive, easily able to sleep at least five people, so I’m close to her but not touching.

“Animated movies, huh?” I settle into my seat, pulling the edge of the blanket over my lap.

“You know I love them,” she says, her words a breath above a whisper. And I do know that. She told me how much she loved kids’ movies on our all-day date.

“I’m not judging,” I tell her. “But what do you love so much about them?”

We’re strolling through the indoor mall after having left the crystal shop. She takes a long sip of her boba tea and chews on a tapioca ball before answering.

“I guess you could say I’m a hopeless romantic,” she replies. Two spots of pink bloom on her cheeks. I stop her, lacing my fingers between hers.

“There’s nothing wrong with that,” I say. She looks at me for a long moment, her smile growing wider every second. She pops up and kisses my cheek. I feel the action down to my toes.

“But you really think the rat is romantic?” I tell her, tilting my head to look at her better as she contorts her body into the corner of the sofa. “If I remember correctly, this particular movie didn’t even meet your top ten.”

She chuckles slightly, but then her soft grin turns sad. She chews on her lip before saying, “Paris.”

I hum. Paris.

My palms itch with the need to hold her hand, to touch her.

“Yeah,” I say, clearing my throat. The silence between us is heavy.

“Next year,” she says with a clear, determined tone. I shift my body to face hers, and she stares at the screen. Tears rest at the edge of her lower lids.

“Next year,” I say with just as much resolve.

I gaze at the side of her beautiful face.

“Hunter,” she begins. She clears her throat again. “I’ve missed you.” She finally turns to face me, and I prop my elbow on the back of the sofa to rest my cheek on my knuckles.

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