His eyes flick toward me, amused. “Of course you’d choose her.”
“You wouldn’t? Not violent enough for you?”
“Maybe.” He pauses at the accusation. “Or maybe I just prefer my saintsconflicted.”
“I’m Catholic,” I say. “We knowall saintsare conflicted.”
We laugh softly. The conversation drifts to poets, films, the strange symmetry of anatomy and melody. He mumbles something in Greek; I catch half of it, the word for light, another for returning. He translates when I ask.
“It’s about Eurydice,” he says. “How love makes ghosts of the living before it ever resurrects the dead.”
“Of course you’d pick something tragic and Greek,” I tease.
He grins faintly. “It’s kind of my whole thing, if you hadn’t noticed.”
“Oh, I noticed,” I say. “Beautifully depressing.”
“It’s a curse,” he says, smiling. “All the best lines are.”
The porch goes silent except the sound of crickets and the faint lap of water against stone. He looks out over the lake for a long time before speaking again.
“I’m talking too much,” he says finally. “Veering dangerously close to pretentious twat territory, trying to keep my brain busy so it doesn’t wander where it wants.”
“Where’s that?” I ask, even though I already know. Something wicked in me wants to hear him say it.
He exhales a low laugh. “To the ways I’m thinking about you… that I probably shouldn’t be.”
My pulse jumps. I turn my head, meet his eyes. “You could talk less,” I murmur.
His mouth curves, slow, dangerous. “That’s not fair.”
“Neither is teasing,” I say.
For a moment, no one breathes. The night itself seems to wait. Then he leans forward just enough that his voice barely carries.
“I never tease, I make delayed promises,” he whispers.
He reaches up, brushes a strand of hair behind my ear, careful and sure. I meet him, lean into it, both of us testing. He’s trying to see if I mean it, if the barriers Haima tried to build are still there. I just sit in it, his touch, his proximity, until it feels like he’ll crack and kiss me. But then he sits back, smiling faintly at the sky.
“Sky’s full of stars and not one is taking it well that I’ve got the better view.”
I groan and shove his arm lightly. “Stop it.”
“Stop what?” His voice dips, velvet and dangerous. “The way Ilookat you? Notice things? Tell you the things youwantto hear but don'tdareask for?”
“Yes,” I say immediately, staring straight ahead.
He huffs a soft laugh. “Fine. Let me try again.” He tilts his head, studying me with far too much amusement. “I’minsanelyjealous of my bike.”
My brain short-circuits. The implication hits and I go scarlet.
“Rafe!” I smack his arm and heloses it, laughing like he knew exactly how fast he could ignite me. Which, apparently, is very. My whole body burns, betraying me with every degree of heat. I try to calm myself down but it just gets worse.
He dips his head, eyes dragging over my face, savoring the carnage. “You’re blushing.”
“Iam not.” I am, violently.
He smiles like he can read every thought I’ve ever failed to hide. “You can pretend all you want, but you heard me and I stand by it.”
