Page 82 of Catch the Sun

And when he whispers my name against the curve of my neck, everything is golden. “Ella.”

My skin comes alive with goose bumps. My heart is pounding, my core achy.

A little voice inside my head yearns for him to dip his hand lower, to the space between my legs.

No, no, no. Stop it, Ella.

Terrified by the strange new thoughts, I tilt my head to the side and look at him. I’m not sure why I do that, but part of me needs to know what he’s thinking and feeling. I need to see his eyes. Maybe to him this is harmless, friendly, playful. Maybe my body is responding in all the wrong ways and I can laugh it off, and we can be normal again.

But looking at him is a mistake.

When his head tips up, his eyes are glinting with crystalline intensity, far from mirroring laughter or playfulness. His gaze is unwavering, heated, steadfast—and in that split second, I realize we’re on the same page, consumed with the same tension, the same pull. Normalcy feels miles away.

He leans in closer.

His lashes flutter, lips part.

Our mouths are a centimeter from locking together.

My instincts fire and panic overthrows me.

The light snuffs out as I scramble away from him. “I–I think I need to go.”

Max inhales a breath and releases me like my leaking light just burned him. “Go?”

“I need some air.” I move away on teetering legs, unable to look at him. He calls out to me again, but I’m already fleeing. Running away like a coward.

I shove my way through a mass of bodies, tripping over chair legs, earning glares and annoyed remarks from the crowd.

Brynn! shouts my name.

I keep running.

“Ella!” It’s Max this time, chasing after me.

Tears cloud my vision. Tears of terror and confusion. I didn’t want this… I didn’t wantthat. There’s a burning ball of need in my belly and I want to clawit out of me. It’s a wretched invader. A trespasser. When I make through the double doors and into the cool air, I slow my pace, bend over, and clasp my hands around my knees as I try to catch my breath.

Max jogs up beside me, his sneakers coming into view on the sidewalk. “Ella.”

“Don’t… I can’t.”

“Can’t what?”

Still winded, I lift back up and swat sections of damp hair out of my eyes. His brows are bent with concern, but a small smile still bleeds into the look he sends me. It’s soft, gentle. Kind. His gaze scans my face, my pink cheeks, my wild eyes and tangled hair. I don’t know why he’s smiling. I hate that he’s smiling. “Don’t, Max,” I repeat. “Don’t smile at me like that.” There’s a hiss to my words. Each syllable is infused with lethal snakebite venom.

His smile withers, poisoned to death. “Why not?”

“Because you smile at me like Imatter,” I snap. “Like I mean something to you.”

“You do matter. You do mean something to me.” His throat works through a swallow and he shakes his head at my words as if he can shake them out of the stratosphere. “You matter a lot. You’re my friend, Sunny Girl.”

“Am I?”

“Yes.”

“Then what was that?”

Max doesn’t miss a beat, tilting his head as he asks, “What did you want it to be?”

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