Page 87 of Meet Me In The Dark
His gaze stays on the road when he says, “Believe it or not, I’m very selective with who I blindfold.”
The admission does something strange to my chest, but before I can overthink it, the words slip out. “I haven’t gone back. Have you?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
He stays quiet for so long, I think he might not answer at all.
“Because I’d be searching for someone who’s not there.”
My heart slams against my ribs, so I keep my head down and tug at a loose string on my hoodie.
“Yeah,” I murmur, barely loud enough to hear myself. “Me too.”
I’m not sure if he catches it. I don’t look to find out. Instead, I turn toward the window and watch the city roll.
When he finally parks in front of my apartment building, I slide out of the car with my legs feeling like jelly.
I stall at the open door and turn back to him, words tumbling out before I can stop them. “You know what?”
He meets my gaze. “What?”
“I don’t think I hate you as much anymore.”
Those broad shoulders lift on a bark of laughter, the rich sound sliding deliciously down my spine.
“That’s good, because I’m tired of pretending I hate you.”
A stupid grin curls my lips as I roll my eyes and shut the door.
By the time I get to my kitchen, my hands are trembling and my pulse is racing for reasons that have nothing to do with boxing.
I’m just pouring myself a glass of water when a sharp knock pounds at my door.
Frowning, I rush over and swing it open.
Oh.
“Julian, what are—”
“I forgot something,” he interrupts, voice gravel-edged and strained.
My brow furrows. “What the hell did you forget?”
“This.”
Before I can take another breath, he steps forward and crowds me into the doorframe. His hands cup my face a second before his mouth crashes onto mine.
Oh. My. God.
I’ve died.
I’m sure of it.
Everything stops.
Thought. Air. Time.
