Page 22 of Evolved

“Is she okay?” I ask Knox.

“Barely got wet. She’s fine.” He helps me sit up enough to sip from the cup, keeping me covered with the blanket, which I’m grateful for since it’s not dark anymore, with a fire and a flashlight nearly blinding after the constant dark of our escape.

The warmth of the tea slides down my throat, warming my belly as I swallow it down, not really even tasting the flavor.

When I’m done, I hand it back to him.

He sets the teacup down on the coffee table beside us, exposing the inside of an exceedingly sculpted biceps muscle before he tucks the blankets back around us.

“I’m going to sleep now,” I whisper.

“Okay. You’ll be okay,” he says gently, his voice soft, maybethe softest I’ve ever heard, very different from the way he cursed and shouted at Gran earlier, and somehow, I believe him.

Not just in this moment, but overall.

He’s here.

We’ll be okay, despite the apocalypse, despite losing the White House, despite everything.

Eventually, I fall asleep, vaguely wondering if lips brushing against a temple counts as a kiss?

It does, doesn’t it?

And I’m not sure, but I think the last thing I hear before I fall asleep is his voice saying, “I like you too.”

I’d be lying if I didn’t say it’s the best I’ve slept in months, years, decades, maybe ever.

6|Huffing testosterone and pheromones

OTTILIE

Frankie’s still at the farmhouse,

Yorke is restless, watching as guns disappear and people fill the White House

KNOX SILVAis incredibly warm.

It’s like I’ve woken up inside an oven. Weak light is filtering through a pair of massive windows—one of which is notably missing a velvet curtain. The shade of the light says early, gray, like the sun only topped the horizon a few moments ago.

I’m lying flat on top of Knox, my face wedged between his clavicle and his neck, my bare breasts squashed flat againstsmooth skin, over sleek muscles. There’s a smattering of hair across his chest.

His head resting on a silken throw pillow, his face turned slightly away, one of his arms is draped over my shoulders, and the other is stretched all the way across me diagonally, his fingers loosely curled around the dip of my waist.

I’d eat rum raisin for you.

As I remember, a sharp burst of warmth spears through my abdomen.

It’s not lust, or at least notjustlust. It’s something else, something more.

I’ve never been this close to a man while naked, at least not this long. My limited sexual experiences were quick and somewhat revolting. This feels like the best hug of my whole life.

It’s incredibly intimate.

It’s also incredibly comforting, and since he’s unconscious, I let myself soak up the warmth of it, breathe in the smell of him, the sound of his even breathing, his steady heart, and it awakens something inside me that feels like yearning.

I always assumed I was missing the gene that made sex enjoyable. And I really haven’t considered repeating the process, but now …

Whatever Knox is putting off, it’s the stuff that leads to broken hearts, discord in the ranks, babies born after the apocalypse. It’s not a good time for me to be huffing testosterone and pheromones straight from the source.

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