Page 86 of (My Accidental) Killer Summer

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I flinch like he’s slapped me. “That’s not fair.”

“Neither is this.” His hand brushes mine. “But we’re here.”

And then something in me just breaks.

Or maybe it cracks open—finally—under the weight of everything I’ve tried to suppress. The fear. The guilt. The ache.

Because this man? This infuriating, impossible man?

He saw everything.

And stayed.

And now he’s going to bury the bodyfor me.

I lunge at him like I’m trying to hit him—but it’s not a hit. It’s not anything like that. It’s a pull. A desperate, angry collision.

He meets me halfway.

And when his mouth crashes into mine, it’s not sweet or soft. It’s not forgiveness. It’s not even comfort.

It’s everything we shouldn’t want.

But can’t stop needing.

forty-two

. . .

Noah

I should stop her.

I should step back, take a breath, remind myself that this is wrong. That she buried a man tonight and I watched her do it.

That I let her.

That I’m planning to bury the body better.

And that’s not all I’m burying for her.

But her mouth is on mine, and she tastes like fear, hope, tequila, and everything I thought I’d lost.

And I can’t stop.

Because I’m already in this.

Because I still love her.

Because I won’t survive another day without her. Not after tasting her again.

And because I’ve already killed half the evidence and started building the patio in my head.

forty-three

. . .

Elle

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