Page 35 of Too Late

“I said your name in my sleep,” I whisper, slicing through the silence.

Carter immediately pulls back and looks at me. “Did he hear you?”

I nod. “Yes. But I think I covered it pretty well. I told him he mis-heard me—that I said something else. But he was really angry right after it happened, Carter. Angrier than I’ve ever seen him. And I just … I thought you should know. I think we need to be more careful. I mean, I know there’s nothing really going on between us, but—”

Carter interrupts and says, “Isn’t there, though? I know we technically haven’t acted on it, but this isn’t innocent, Sloan. If Asa even knew I had class with you …”

“Exactly,” I say.

Carter nods, knowing what this means. He can’t talk to me at the house. Hell, he shouldn’t even look in my direction anymore. After what happened early this morning, Asa will be suspicious, even though he believed me. The last thing I want to do is cause trouble for Carter, but it seems I’ve already done that.

“I’m sorry,” I say to him.

“Why are you apologizing? Because you had a dream about me?”

I nod.

Carter lifts a hand to my cheek and the corner of his mouth lifts into a grin. “If we’re apologizing for that, then I owe you about a dozen apologies already.”

I bite my cheek to hide my smile. He drops his hand and presses it against the small of my back. “We’ll be late if we don’t hurry.”

I laugh a little at the thought of being tardy. What weight does being late for class hold against all the other shit that’s going on in our lives? Very, very little. But he’s right.

I follow him out the door and back down the hallway toward the classroom. Before we walk inside, he leans down and whispers, “For what it’s worth, you look really beautiful today. I kind of can’t catch my breath.”

He keeps walking, despite the fact that his words have frozen my feet to the floor.

That’s all those were.Words.A few simple words strung together, but they held just enough power to physically stop me in my tracks.

My hand goes up to my mouth as I quietly inhale. I force away the smile that wants to break out and I somehow force my feet to walk into the classroom. I glance up and see Carter pulling two chairs out on the top row, so I make my way up to him.

My knees feel like they’re about to fail me.This is how it should be. This is how guys should make girls feel.

Why the hell did I ever give Asa the time of day?

When I reach my seat, he’s still standing, waiting for me to sit down first. I give him a quick smile as a thank-you and take my seat. I take my books out of my bag and he does the same. The professor walks in just as we’re settled. He turns and begins writing on the board.

Screamed a little too much at the football game last night. Lost my voice. Go through chapters 8–10 and we’ll catch up on lecture next week.

Half of the class laughs at the note. The other half groans. Carter opens his book to the right page. I lean forward and open mine and begin reading. I don’t get far before Carter grabs a pen and begins writing a note. I’m giddy with anticipation, hoping it’s for me and he’s not actually taking notes for class.

I don’t even feel guilty. I should feel guilty about this. Especially since Asa proposed to me this morning, and out of fear for my own life, I felt forced to say yes.

A proposal should feel like a positive thing, but Asa’s proposal feels like a punishment for something horrible I must have done in a previous life.

I feel like I’m in hell most of the time. The only times I feel happy lately are when Carter is around.

Carter slides the note to me. It’s folded in half, so I lift the paper and read what he wrote. I expect something random, like the game we’ve played in class before. Instead, it’s just a simple request.

Put your hand under the table.

I read it twice before looking at my hands. The note is a little random, but not like the game I showed him. It’s only random because I’m confused by it. I slip the note under my book and then lower my hand under the table and wait for him to hand me whatever it is he has.

To my surprise—he doesn’t give me anything. His warm palm slides against mine and he threads our fingers together, resting our hands on my thigh.

And then he returns his focus to his textbook, resuming his reading like he didn’t just attempt to set me on fire.

That’s exactly what it feels like—my hand wrapped in his—him touching my leg. I feel like someone needs to douse me with water. My heart begins to race and I feel like my whole body is tingling.

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