Page 69 of Changing the Play

Not even a question. “Of course.”

I pull away to grin at him. We hold eye contact while my heart skips around in my chest. With a soft chuckle, he brushes his thumb along my jaw and plants a gentle kiss on my lips. “Let me go grab my book. I’ll be right back.”

I climb off his lap and sit patiently, waiting for him. When he gets in bed and sits against the headboard, I rest my head on his thigh. His hand finds its way into my hair, and he starts reading.

I close my eyes, letting his voice wash over me. I love the way he forms the words, how his tone changes with each one, how he brings the characters to life. It’s soothing. Relaxing.

“You’re good at this,” I murmur quietly.

He laughs softly. “What? Reading? I should hope so.”

“No,” I say, laughing with him. “You’re good at that too. But I meant bringing the story to life. It’s like your voice transforms it—makes it feel real. Tangible. Like I could almost reach out and touch it.”

West hums. “That’s the point of storytelling, though, right?”

“Yeah,” I agree. “But not everyone can do it the way you do. Not everyone can make me just exist in the world with it. You’re going to be an amazing teacher.”

His breath hitches, his fingers pausing their stroking of my hair. “Thank you, Darcy,” he whispers.

I wonder for a second if I’m the first person outside of his English teacher to have told him that. If I’m the first person to believe in him. “You’re welcome. It’s easy to exist in your world, West. Like breathing. Thoughtless and with no effort. It’s nice—to just exist with you.”

He’s quiet for a minute, and when he finally speaks, his voice sounds a little choked. “It’s easy to exist with you too, Darcy.”

I love youI want to tell him.I love you so much.“Keep reading?”

“Anything you want.”

Chapter 23

Weston

“Hey,” Darcy says, smiling as he walks through my front door.

“Hey,” I respond, making my way to him and planting a noisy kiss on his lips. His bright laughter has my heart doing gymnastics. “Are you ready?”

“I am.” He leans in to give me another kiss and it’s going to spiral out of control if I don’t put a stop to it. I’d love to take him to bed, or more accurately havehimtakemeto bed, but it’s been almost a month since I promised him a date, and we’ve managed to fuck our way out of it too many times.

Fingers tangle in my hair as he groans against my lips, his body flush against mine and for a second, just the tiniest little millisecond, I consider saying fuck the date, fuck me instead. With a gasp, I break our kiss and take a giant step away. “You stay over there.”

Darcy laughs. “Oh? Is this you telling me you don’t want me to touch you?”

“That’s not what I’m telling you at all and youknowthat. This is me telling you I want to take you on a date and you need to stop kissing me long enough for my brainpower to return.”

“Well, come on, then,” Darcy says, reaching out a hand to me. “When we get back you need to finish reading to me.”

We’re very close to the end ofPride and Prejudice, and I’m loving every second of it. It’s already my favorite book, of course, butnow?Shit. You’d have to pry it out of my cold, dead hands. With the way Darcy rests his head in my lap and listens to me read? With the way his lips tilt up into the sweetest little smile when I do? Not a chance of it ever being replaced as my favorite now.

I take his hand and lead him out the door, pausing long enough to lock up and press my lips to his temple. I made a reservation at the same restaurant I took him to the first time. I could almost laugh at myself for that. It was very much a date, even if Darcy was the only one who realized. It’s a good thing he’s patient. Otherwise, I’d have ruined my shot before I even realized I had one, and what a damn shame that would be.

“Are you excited?” I ask, giving his hand a little squeeze.

His smile is the sun when he turns to me. “Of course. I’m always excited to spend time with you, though, in any capacity.”

We’ve almost made it to the door of the apartment building when it swings inward and in walks my fucking father.

I stop in my tracks, almost tripping Darcy up in the process. “What’s wrong?” he asks, turning to face me.

“Weston,” Dad says, his eyes taking in mine and Darcy’s intertwined hands.

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