Page 37 of When Nothing Else Matters

“Um, we’ve never—”

“It brings me back to the days we had sleepovers in my tree house,” he continues, ignoring my question but answering it at the same time. He’s reminiscing about our make-believe childhood together. A game I have come to love.

I lie back on the pillow beside Dylan, my body position mimicking his. The tips of our elbows touch with our proximity, and I will myself to focus.“God, that feels like it was only yesterday. As I recall, you were a bed hog then too,” I play along.

“At least I didn’t talk in my sleep.” He knocks my elbow with his.

“Oh, because snoring is so much better.” I return the gesture.

He laughs. “And remember that god-awful music you used to make me listen to? You were obsessed with the nineties as I recall.” His eyes flash to mine, and when I raise an eyebrow, he smirks. “I’m going to guess you still are,” he teases. “Faking aside, let me see. You have an unhealthy number of boy bands on your playlists.” He scans my face for a reaction. “Or hard rock and grunge?”

He’s right, and I wish I didn’t feel the need to acknowledge it. “All three actually—rock, grunge, and a tiny bit of boy band music on there.” I hold my thumb and finger an inch apart, though it’s actually more like eighty percent boy bands.

“Okay, I’ll give you hard rock and grunge, but boy bands, really?”

I sit up in a flash, a look of shock on my face. “Hold up, hold up. Pause for a second. I’m happy to play along with this little game of ours,” I say, motioning my hand back and forth between us. “But don’t you dare say a bad word about my taste in music,” I scoff.

Dylan stares at me for seconds and then breaks into laughter. It’s so infectious that I join him.

“Okay then, what’s your favorite song of all time?” I ask, eyebrows raised, hoping I can return the tease.

He pauses for a second and then closes his eyes. “Metallica, ‘Nothing Else Matters,’” he says with melancholy in his voice. There’s definitely a story there, but he doesn’t explain it; instead, he says, “You?”

I almost don’t want to tell him. He’s never going to believe me, and I certainly don’t have the same feelings toward it as he does, but I confess, anyway.“Metallica, ‘Nothing Else Matters.’”

Crystal-blue eyes flash to mine, and he squints, no doubt looking for signs of mockery. I offer a soft smile and a shrug in confirmation, and his slightly hardened gaze softens.

“Okay, now that’s out of the way, remember when…” and just like that, we’ve moved on without Dylan offering any explanation. We continue our game, back and forth, teasing and laughing, until Dylan pauses and once again turns to look at me.

“You know, Mom always said we’d end up together,” he jokes, but I feel the air shift a little.

“That’s because she always wanted a daughter.” I laugh, a little uncomfortably, but hopefully he doesn’t notice. He scoffs and pulls my attention from my thoughts.Did I say something wrong?

“Ah, I don’t think Lucy would appreciate that comment,” he replies.

Shit, he has a sister?“Then maybe it’s because I was theonlygirl, other than Lucy, who’d put up with you.” I wink and am instantly rewarded with a sexy smile.

“You’re probably right.” He laughs until his smile morphs into a cocky grin. “Another thing I’ll always remember is that you have a ticklish spot right about…” his voice trails off.

Jumping to his knees, he places himself near the middle of my body. “Here,” he says, starting his pursuit behind my knees. He pokes his fingers into the flesh but gets nothing in return, not even a flinch. Next, he moves his fingers up to under my arms, a confident smile in place, but gets the same result—nothing. I bite back a smile at his failure, as his brows furrow in concentration. I see the moment an idea pops into his head, before he slowly drags his fingers across my skin, his eyes following the same path. I resist the urge to swallow when he moves over the ridge of my collarbone and stops at the base of my neck, but I can’t stop the shiver that takes over me. Thankfully, Dylan’s unwavering in his mission to figure out my weak spot, so he doesn’t notice the effect he’s having on me. Either that or he’s equally affected.This is no longer funny.

When his next attempt, once again, gives him nothing, he pulls back and looks at me for a minute, studying my face. I recover from my internal moment and raise an eyebrow, slightly impressed that I seem to have thwarted his plans so far. That is until a devilish look crosses his face. He positions himself up on one hand and places the other on my waist, just above my hips.Oh shit!The second his fingers touch my skin, my body jumps on pure reflex.

It’s Dylan’s turn to raise his eyebrows in question, but his look is pure gloating. Before I can get him off me, he starts using several fingers to tickle me to tears. My body thrashes around as I laugh uncontrollably and scream at him to stop.

Dylan laughs along, putting every effort into making me squirm, until I’m basically jelly, then stops. “Just like old times,” he smirks. “Except I’m pretty sure we also made out,” he states matter-of-factly.

“Ha, that never happened.” I mean, none of this has actually ever happened, but I feel the need to argue with this one. It’s one line we are better offnotcrossing, as fake as it may be.

“Sure, it did. I remember it vividly; you were terrible, but I wanted the practice.”

What? He didn’t.“I was terrible? Me? I think you have that backwards.”

“Ah, so you’re admitting we made out. I knew it!”

Shit. So much for that.“Maybe a couple of times before we decided, rightfully so, that friends shouldn’t make out.” I’m no longer sure if I’m talking about our pretend childhood or trying to make a point about right now.

Dylan lets out a small laugh, and I know he’s thinking the same thing. Breaking the awkwardness or perhaps adding more, he straddles my legs and grips my waist, tickling me once again. This time with a little more force.

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