“Obviously.” Brennan grinned.
The first song faded and the next one began with a blare and he imagined little Cole, his brother, and his mom bopping around a kitchen filled with light. Brennan shot up into sitting.
“Not to insult this experience,” Brennan said, “but I feel like we can’tnotdance to this one. It’s in thename.”
Cole’s eyes opened and he sat up on his elbows, smiling. And the way Cole looked at him—Brennan didn’t want him to stop. “You’re absolutely right,” Cole said.
They were both up in an instant. Brennan wasn’t a dancer—at the other night’s party, he’d gladly jumped on the table to recite poetry and did his fair share of mingling, but when it came to the dance floor, hekept his distance. But Brennan was realizing that the rules he thought he had were different when Cole was involved.
They only bobbed awkwardly for a few seconds before they got into it, jumping around. Brennan took Cole’s hands and twirled him. Cole laughed and Brennan did it again to see if it garnered the same response. When Cole stopped spinning, he landed with a hand on Brennan’s chest, flushed and delighted. Brennan sang along under his breath, not caring if he was out of tune. Cole stayed close, an arm’s length away, moving his hips in a way that wasverydistracting.
“You hear the difference, right?” Cole asked. “On vinyl, it’s fuller. Like, listen to that hi-hat—it doesn’t sound like that on Spotify!”
“Yeah, I hear it,” Brennan said, and he did, a different warmth layered. But he wasn’t entirely sure that it wasn’t because of the present company, and the enthusiasm he spoke with.
The next song was softer, slower, and Cole’s wide grin mirrored it. Brennan dared to nudge closer, the hand not twined with Cole’s going to his waist, not pulling him forward but easing, asking, and Cole pressed forward in answer. Brennan was keenly aware of Cole’s sharp intake of breath, the speed of his heartbeat. The hand on Brennan’s chest slid up to his shoulder. Slowly, Brennan turned them and swayed to the music.
“I’ve never actually slow-danced with someone before,” Brennan admitted. If he’d still had a heartbeat, he was sure it’d be racing faster than Cole’s.
“Oh thank god, me, either,” Cole said. “All the books made high school seem so much more romantic than it was, didn’t they?”
“And a lot more exciting,” Brennan agreed.
“Your inciting incident came a little later in life, huh?”
Brennan’s mind offered a trail of breadcrumbs toward bad thoughts like,This isn’t late in my life if I’m going to live forever,but Cole’s smile was soft, his voice light, and he tapped his fingers where they splayed between Brennan’s neck and shoulders. It was grounding as much as it was endearing. They swayed, slow and steady, and again Brennan wanted to kiss Cole.
Through everything, Cole had been the one thing he chose for himself, the highlight of his days. He liked to think that even if he wasn’t a vampire, he would have ended up here, with Cole. They could havehad squadBacheloretteNights and flirting at the library without these added complications. Because it wasn’t about vampirism, was it? It was late nights talking in the library, poetry anthologies and romance novels exchanged back and forth with sticky-note messages. It was Cole taking care of Brennan and Brennan taking care of Cole. Couldn’t that be enough?
He wanted him and Cole to be inevitable. But it still wasn’t certain. He wanted to kiss Cole, and he knew on some level that Cole would reciprocate—the searing memory of their kiss in the pool was an aching reminder—but he had things he wanted to say.
I like you, but I’m a vampire. And I want to make sure you really understand that.
Brennan had, embarrassingly, gone so far as to rehearse in the mirror.
“I like you,” Brennan said, and Cole’s eyes softened.
Cole ducked his chin down. Then he looked back up and his mouth curved into a smile that was half the size of the ones he gave freely but twice as bright, eyes crinkling, and Brennan thought,Yes. That. I want to do this, every day.
“That’s good,” Cole said, “I was worried for a second.”
Brennan’s gaze fell to Cole’s lips, which were especially pink and kissable right then, or maybe Brennan had never given them enough consideration. He ended up saying, almost absently, “Yeah, no worries there.”
“Good,” Cole said, and then kissed him, the hand on his shoulder going to the back of his neck to pull him in—Brennan went gladly.
Brennan tugged him in by the waist without the questioning hesitation or the frantic need from last time. They kissed with the slow certainty that they had time, the quiet knowledge that they liked each other and were going to do something about it. The rest of the world stilled, and all he knew was Cole’s pulse racing, his smell—vanilla, underneath coconut shampoo and sweat—his taste, and Brennan pressed in until there was no space between them, until the back of Cole’s knees hit the couch and he wobbled, Brennan stabilizing him.
He’d wanted to say something else to Cole. He’d had it rehearsed, but with Cole sucking on his lip like that, he couldn’t quite remember. What was it? He’d wanted to say—
“I’m still—” Brennan warned between kisses, “—a vampire.”
Cole pulled back, licked his lips, eyes roaming Brennan’s face. “Nobody’s perfect.”
With that, Cole flipped them around so Brennan’s back was to the couch, pushed Brennan down to sit, and climbed on top of him. It was, admittedly, the hottest thing that had ever happened to him. Then Cole was kissing Brennan within an inch of his undead-not-life, and Brennan wondered why the hell he’d been talking himself out of this for so long.
Except, a weight in Brennan’s mouth let him know his fangs were dropping again, and Brennan ripped away, flight reflexes kicking in. But he stopped himself, freezing with a few inches between them, breathing heavy against each other. Cole looked at Brennan’s mouth. His fangs. What if he hurt Cole again? What if he lost control? What if—
Cole gave Brennan’s hair a gentle tug and caught his eye.
