Page 56 of Revolve
“Let it happen, Romanova.”
She sighs, and it warms the center of my chest. “But, Ajay—”
“He can wait. I can’t.”
“But—”
“Shh,” I whisper into her hair. “We’re having a quiet moment.”
I don’t even need to look at her, her head pressed against my chest, but I know she’s rolling her eyes. I run a hand over her back, tightening my hold, and feel her relax. Her shoulders drop as she burrows into me. The silent surrender nearly pries my chest open.
We stay there for a while, and I forget about the running car and the cook sitting inside. I think she does too, until he calls her name, and Sierra pulls back. With one last look, she ducks into the car, and closes the door.
Everyone’s asleep when I get inside the house. Sebastian is passed out in the living room, the TV still on. I search for an envelope, and once I’ve got it, I go past my room and head up the stairs to the right.
I pull out the toy “diamond” ring I dispensed from the machine at the diner and slide it into the envelope. With my best cursive, I writeTabithaon it, then slide the white envelope under Kian’s bedroom door.
His hungover brain is going to have fun with that.
TWENTY-ONE
SIERRA
DYLAN WAS RIGHT.
It brings me a great deal of pain to admit that. Simply thinking those words leaves a bitter taste in my mouth. After Ajay parked in front of Iona House last night, he asked me on a date.
I told him I needed to check my schedule, but even my subtle rejection left me tossing and turning. I couldn’t figure out why I even rejected him, but deep, deep down, where the Mariana Trench probably is, I knew that spark of attraction that flared in my belly disappeared as soon as Dylan Donovan exited the car. I couldn’t stop thinking about the hug, how gentle he was, his words whispered in my ear. I don’t hug people. Every time it’s happened it’s been wholly unpleasant, but with him it didn’t feel that way. Not even a little bit.
I spent most of the night knitting. I felt myself spacing out, ping-ponging between the oversize Dalton Hockey hoodie drying on my desk chair and the memory of the heated look Dylan shot me before I sat in the passenger seat. When I did finally fall asleep, I dreamed of him. And for the first time since I moved into Iona House, I slept through the night.
“So, are you ever going to tell me what’s going on with you andDonovan, or should I guess?” Scarlett asks from her place on the floor when I step out of my room. “Because my guesses include rope, more rope, and a blindfold. Possibly a gag.”
I plop down next to her textbooks, clutching the purple gift bag in my hand. “None of that. But …” I can barely say it. “I kissed him.”
“Was it good? That’s rhetorical.” She’s not even remotely surprised, and I feel attacked. “What? It’s Dylan fucking Donovan, and you haven’t been with anyone in over a year. It was inevitable.”
“Hey! I’m not that touch deprived.” She gives me a look. “Fine, a little, but that was all that happened. We’re just partners.”
She snorts, eyeing my jacket. “And where are you going on Sunday night? A just-partners booty call? Do you have toys in the bag? Whips?”
“Yeah, everything I’d need for my sex dungeon,” I say flatly. “I just have a last-minute errand to run. Besides, I don’t even own a vibrator, Scar, you know that.”
“That’s gotta change. I think I’d go a little crazy if, on top of all that stress, I couldn’t get a proper release.”
“I’m doing fine. No need for releases here.” Except for the fact that I might start whistling like a pressure cooker any minute. Scarlett tells me to use protection when I walk out.
When I get to the hockey house, I’m fidgeting with the handle of the gift bag as I wait for someone to answer the door. The wind nips at my ears, and I hope it masks the way my body shakes from the dull feeling of anxiety.
Kian Ishida opens the door, and country music plays from a radio on the entry table. He tilts his head, assessing me carefully. “Sierra,” he says.
“You know my name?” I didn’t even think Dylan talked about me.
“Of course. We don’t get nearly as many girls at our door anymore. The ones for the rest of us usually text rather than ringing the doorbell, and Dylan’s been awfully busy skating lately. And since you’re here, dressed like that”—he takes in my tight black leggingsand Dalton Athletics half-zip like they’re a clear giveaway—“it was only logical.”
“Well, then, Nancy Drew, can you get your friend? I need to give him something.”
His bright smile makes me give him one in return. “You know, if you ever want to talk about how irritating Dyl—”
