Page 8 of If Only In Our Dreams

“I was embarrassed,” I added on because I wasn’t sure—at this point—he even realized I’d been running. He deflated a little, shrugging a shoulder as he nodded along.

“I tend to get that reaction from people,” the light in his eyes dimmed, closing off, and I?—

“No.” I stepped out into the hallway, letting the door swing shut behind me. “I just…” I ran a hand through the back of my hair, cheeks heating. Damn. I couldn’t remember the last time I felt this…off. “You were reading my book.”

And you’re gorgeous.

Really fucking gorgeous,I thought but didn’t say.

“Reading your…” Trashmouth’s brow furrowed. His eyebrows were darker than his hair, maybe dyed? Or maybe naturally that way. I wasn’t certain. One unruly hair near the front of his right brow was off-kilter, sticking slightly to the left, and I had the oddest urge to reach out and stroke a finger over it. “What?”

Stop ogling him, Ben, and answer the question.

“My book,” I shrugged, uncomfortable—the butterflies in my belly rioting. “I enjoy your music. I wasn’t expecting to see you reading my book.”

“As in…you’re theauthorof the book I was reading?” he asked, staring at me like he was ready to call bullshit.

“Unfortunately.”

There was a pause as Trashmouth’s guard wavered, threatening to fall. His eyes were wide, like he genuinely hadn’t expected me to say that. Which was fair, I hadn’tmeantto say it—it had just slipped out.

It was like when he was around, my body and mouth betrayed me.

“What?” He laughed, clearly surprised. “What doesthatmean?” I’d apparently done something right because the warmth bled back into his gaze. “Whyunfortunately?”

Only I was glad I’d slipped up now, because he’d laughed.

I made him do that.

I got the feeling he didn’t laugh often.

“I’d be happy to tell you when you’re finished,” I jerked my head toward the bathroom, figuring I’d monopolized enough of his time. “If you have time, of course.”

Trashmouth stared at me, head cocked, a thoughtful hum buzzing in his throat.

He has a lip ring.

I wasn’t sure how I hadn’t noticed before.

But I certainly did now.

After a moment of serious deliberation, he seemed to decide that I was, in fact, not a threat. Maybe it was the awkward way I was standing, staring at him. Or maybe it was the sweat on my upper lip? I’m not sure.

“Yeah, sure. My ride’s not supposed to be here for another forty minutes,” Trashmouth hummed. His lips twitched up at the same time that his pale green eyes narrowed playfully. “How do I know you’re not fucking with me?”

How odd, my ride was due to arrive at about the same time.

“I guess you’ll just have to find out.” I hadn’t really meant to flirt. I mean, I had. Of course I had. He was fucking adorable. But it just kind of slipped out?

Trashmouth snorted—amused. And I made a mental note to find proof of who I was before he returned so he’d know I wasn’t lying. So that I could put him at ease once and for all. And as I stepped aside and let him through, I tried to tell myself that the butterflies would fade. That this was a fluke. It had to be.

Talking to him would prove that.

Only…that felt like a fucking lie.

Robin—because after a quick Google search, it was easy enough to find his first name—returned from the bathroom, looking marginally better than before. His hair was a little damp, like he’d washed his face and gotten it wet. The pale, nearly white strands dripped onto his forehead before he brushed them out of the way, only for them to fall back down again.

He stood awkwardly for a moment, eyes guarded, shoulders hunched as he hunted the empty terminal for me.

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