Page 85 of Wrath

“Could I swim as a kid?” he asks. “Yes.”

He draws more waves, and I can feel him draw an umbrella. “Was that a beach umbrella?” I smile.

I can hear him smile back as he says, “Maybe.” In an almost whisper, he says, “You feel okay?”

“Yep, all good here.”

“Can you tell before it happens?”

Ezra. I have this weird flash of memory—of me standing in the shower, thinking his name. “Sort of,” I tell him. “But I think not always.”

He draws a star on my back.

“Starfish?” I manage, even though my lungs are tight from our proximity.

“Maybe.”

He draws a rectangle.

“Rectangle?”

“Square.”

Then he writes, “DG.”

My fucking traitor body does this little shiver. He scoots closer, wraps an arm around my waist. “Still okay?” he murmurs.

“You made me do that,” I whisper.

“My finger?”

“Yeah.”

“Sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry.”

He rests his cheek against my shoulder blade, and right away, he moves to straighten up.

I put my hand over his—over the one that’s at my waist. After a moment’s hesitation, he lays his cheek against me again.

“I can hear your heart,” he says after a second.

“What does it sound like?” I whisper.

“Like music. Boom. Boom. Boom.” His head on me is heavy. “Good and steady.”

“You sleep okay last night?” I ask.

“I’m good.”

His head is still leaned on me. Shit. I fucking love it. “Didyou sleep?”

He nuzzles his cheek against me, pressing it against a new spot on my upper back. “Don’t worry about me. I still remember your burger order, too. I’m gonna get it for you.”

“I don’t need it.”

He tips his forehead against me, and I can feel him inhaling.

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