Page 18 of Our Darkest Summer
“My mom used to collect books she wanted me to read when I got older,” he said, swiping a bit of dust off a top shelf. His voice was softer now, quieter. I watched the dust dance in the air, falling toward the floor. “But most of them are what she read to us when we were little. And I also brought a few with me.”
His warm breath brushed against the back of my neck, and for a split second, it was hard to focus on the books in front of me. It was months ago we last talked like this. I traced the spines, and my lips twitched as I recognized some of the titles.
“I meant what I said yesterday,” I murmured, my gaze still on the shelf.
There was a pause before Thomas responded.
“I know.”
I turned to face him, searching his expression, but his face was unreadable. He wore the mask I was too familiar with by now.
“I mean it,” I said again, firmer this time.
He didn’t speak, just watched me.
“But also,” I inhaled, bracing myself, “it would be a good opportunity for me…for my crime journalism internship,” I bit into my bottom lip, keeping in the breath I took.
I was starting my fourth and final year of college. If I wanted a chance at assisting a real crime journalist, I needed a strong portfolio, and a cover letter. A case I was a part of, made my chances significantly higher. Except, I didn’t want him to think I was some parasite. I did want to help.
I kept my lips in a thin line, waiting.
“One across. Four letters. First letterS.”
Suddenly, it was hard to swallow.
“Clue: The only person I would trust to capture what happened that day, wholeheartedly.”
His words caught me off guard. Not only what the clue meant, but the way he phrased it. With our own form of communication. With our game.
My mouth moved on its own. “Sage,” I breathed the answer, and his eyes glinted.
Chapter Ten
Thomas
Kinsley’s lips stayed parted,her breathing uneven. She looked stunned by my crossword, like she hadn’t actually expected me to agree. There was something else in her expression as well.Relief.
Maybe, deep down, I felt the same.
But the way my chest tightened made me uneasy.
I’d spent months keeping my distance. Months convincing myself this was the only way. But she was everywhere now—in my house, in my space, in my damn head—and it was making it impossible to breathe.
My heart pounded, my pulse hammered beneath my skin, screaming for just one touch.Fuck.
I took a step back. Or tried to, but before I could put the necessary distance between us, she reached for me. Her fingers curled around the edge of my T-shirt, tugging me back.
We both froze.
Kinsley’s chest rose and fell too quickly. Her cheeks were flushed, her eyes fixed on my throat.
I swallowed hard. My gaze dropped to her mouth. Soft. Slightly parted. Tempting in ways that made my brain stop functioning. Before I could second-guess it, I lowered my head,my breath mingling with hers. She smelled like strawberries and vanilla. Sweet and soft and fucking intoxicating. For a split second, I let myself imagine my sheets smelling like her.
From her.
I clenched my hand, my fingers digging into my palm, as tried to ground myself. Tried to regain control.
I should’ve moved.
