Page 30 of Only in Your Dreams

Zac sucks in a steadying breath, wiping at his eyes.

“With its little tiny teeth—”

He rubs his face. “Fuck, that’s the best thing I’ve heard in a long time. Thank you for that.”

With a shake of his head, Zac digs another t-shirt from his bag and pulls at the hem until he rips it in half. Another rip and he takes the long strip of fabric and wraps it around my foot and ankle, the way I’d watch Parker do it when he tended to minor injuries after a football game.

“It’s not the best job, but it’ll do,” Zac says, knotting the brace in place. He places his pillow under my foot to elevate it and then pulls a slightly melted icepack out of the cooler and props it on my ankle. “Bless Brooks and his six-hundred-dollar cooler, huh? Everything in there is still cold.”

“Most of all, bless his chocolate chip cookies.”

Zac passes me one, tops it with that smile of his. “Bless his chocolate chip cookies.”

Chapter 8

Zac

“You’re sure it’s not in there?”

I sort through Melody’s backpack for the hundredth time in less than two minutes. Ignore, once again, the urge to sneak that pair of black mesh panties into my pocket when she isn’t looking, because that would be wrong. Really wrong.

But so damn tempting.

I unzip the front pocket of her bag, looking there too. “There’s no lip balm in here, Mel.”

She holds out her hand until I pass her the bag. “There has to be. I specifically remember putting it in here. I couldn’t find my overnight bag lip balm, so I packed my purse lip balm. Which meant that I had to put my nightstand lip balm into my purse, and my car lip balm on my nightstand…”

I collect the deck of cards we’ve been using to entertain ourselves all day and stuff it back into the carton, unable to hold back an affectionate smile as I watch her get increasingly irritable with every pocket that doesn’t turn up a lip balm.

Fuck, she’s adorable. I’m addicted to her scowl. Always have been.

“And why do you have so many lip balms, exactly?”

“Because I enjoy having silky-smooth lips.” She squints at me. “You’re telling me you don’t use lip balm? Like, ever?”

“Never.”

“And your lips don’t get all dry and cracked?”

“Why?” I wag my eyebrows at her, tossing the box of cards off the mattress. “You wanna take ‘em for a test drive? Feel for yourself?”

The scowl melts off her face. The second I catch the tinge of pink on her cheeks, I know I fucked up.

“Shit. Mel, that was—” I shake my head. “I’m sorry. That was tasteless.”

We’ve been tip-toeing around each other all day. This sort of dance where for one shimmering moment, she forgets she resents me and we slip into this easy, comfortable thing where we justgel. Bounce off each other.

And then she blinks and awareness returns, and before I know it, we’re lapsing in uncomfortable silence where she looks anywhere but at me, and all I feel is an intense desire for her to be ready to hear me out.

Whenever I imagined seeing Mel again, I definitely pictured a lot more groveling. So many apologies she’d tell me to shut up already. I pictured confessing—fuckingfinally—that I’ve been crazy about her since the second I saw her hop down the stairs of her childhood home in that fuzzy purple bucket hat and a yellow dress that seemed to be made out of some kind of terry cloth material. I still don’t particularly understand that dress to this day, but I digress.

No, but seriously. Is it because you’re meant to wear it after you get out of the shower, or…

Alright, not the point.

Mel reclines into a stretch so deep I can hear her back crack. It’s proof that she’s been forced to sit around doing nothing all day with her ankle propped up. The sun has completely set by now, and the two lanterns lighting up the inside of our tent cast creepy shadows against the walls.

I move my fingers over her swollen ankle for something to do. I can’t see much in this light, but I can make out the purple bruising that’s developed around her makeshift brace. It seems to have stopped swelling any bigger, at least.

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