Page 109 of Hard Knot

Was it two days ago? Maybe on audition day? Or the night before cause I always take it at night because it makes me drowsy? I…hmmm. It’s so hard to think right now.

"Lie down," James says, his tone leaving no room for argument. The command in his voice sends a shiver down my spine that has nothing to do with my rising temperature.

"Why?" I can see why with how the room is spinning but I don’t want to lose in whatever argument this is brewing to become.

I can’t fathom losing in general.

"Can you not be stubborn for once?" he suggests.

"I'm not stubborn," I protest, crossing my arms. "I'm observant."

"Oh?" His eyebrow arches. "If you're so observant, maybe you would have noticed you're burning up."

Am I? Nah. He’s hallucinating.

"I'm not!" I press my hand to my forehead for emphasis. "See? Cold as ice."

To be fair, my hand feels clammy in comparison to my forehead that I realize is drenched with beads of sweat, but I’m not admitting that shit. I’m too far gone now.

He groans, moving my hand aside to replace it with his own.

"Fuck, Elizabeth, you're hot as hell."

I grin like he’s caught onto my diabolical come back.

"I know I'm hot as hell," I quip, trying to deflect. "No need to state the obvious."

Another groan escapes him.

"Just be pretty and shut up."

"Make me."

The words hang between us, charged with five years' worth of tension. His eyes darken as they meet mine, and for a moment, neither of us moves.

Then he looks at my lips…as though they’re forbidden fruit he absolutely can’t touch.

"God, you're tempting the devil," he mutters, but then his lips are on mine in a heartbeat, and thinking becomes impossible.

The kiss is both familiar and new — his lips moving against mine with the same passionate intensity I remember, but there's an edge of desperation now that wasn't there before. His hand cups my face, thumb stroking my cheek as his tongue traces the seam of my lips.

Memories flood my mind: late-night studying that turned into make out sessions, stolen kisses between classes after heated debates and venomous glares. The way he used to look at me like I was the only person in the world who could ever challenge him.

Would things be different if I hadn't run?

The thought brings others with it — questions about his father, about his involvement in the mafia.

Was he always part of that world and I never noticed? Or did something happen in the years I was gone?

The room starts spinning as the lack of oxygen makes my head light.

I break the kiss, intending to ask at least one of the questions burning in my mind, but the world tilts sharply.

"I got you," James's voice comes from somewhere far away as strong arms catch me. I want to protest, but a weak whimper leaves my parted lips instead.

He lowers me gently to the sofa, and I try to focus on his face, but my eyes won't cooperate. They’re rolling back as if they can’t help the drop, my body tingling with various sensations, yet feeling numb all at the same time.

Everything feels too hot, too intense, but I can’t control anything as I’m a victim of this spiraling catastrophe of sensations.

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