Page 76 of 72 Hours of You

“Hey, Belle. Did the Beast join Moms for Liberty and burn all your books?”

Peter laughs. “I … I don’t even know what to say to that.”

“Really, though, what’s with the empty hands?”

Peter shrugs. “I just didn’t feel like reading.”

I put my hand on his forehead. “Are you good? Because I’m not trying to catch whatever the latest plague is.”

Peter smiles. “I’m fine.”

And then I realize my hand is still on his forehead, his hair brushing my knuckles. I take my hand back, and my cheeks go hot. But he only smiles even bigger.

“Let’s get the fuck out of here before I have to suffer through stats class,” I say, deeply trying to ignore the fact that I was borderline caressing his actual face.

I’m about to head for my truck, but he grabs my elbow. “Let’s not go into the city.”

I stop. “Why?”

“No more Clockers. Not today, anyway,” Peter says. “I heard you the other night, Syd. And not just about what happened in the past. About what it’s like for you now.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean …” Peter lets out a breath and rubs the back of his neck. “I mean, you deserve something too. Something that isn’t about death. Something about us. About you and me. Right now.” His hand slides from my elbow to my hand, holding it. “We’re alive. Let’s act like it.”

His eyes are so bright and clear and his hand is so steady and warm in mine that in this moment the only thing I want in this world is to say yes. Yes to Peter Beckett. Yes to whatever mistake this might or might not be. Just … yes.

“Okay,” I say. “What did you have in mind?”

Peter lets go of my hand, walks over to his passenger door, and opens it, waiting. “You’ll see.”

Forty-Three

PETER’S CAR IS IMMACULATE. Minus the stacks of books acting like a thousand extra passengers in the back seat. The last time I was in his car I was bleeding from the head, and I wasn’t exactly taking stock of the vehicle’s cleanliness.

Peter glances over at me from the driver’s seat, a smile at the corner of his mouth. “Are you thinking about when you called me honey boy? Because I have to tell you, I think about it at least three times a day.”

I suck in my cheeks and try to stop the red fingers of embarrassment from creeping up my neck. “No. I was thinking about global warming.”

“Pro or con?”

I roll my eyes and turn the volume up on his speakers just a little. “Who is this? It’s … weird.”

“But good, right?”

“Yeah, actually. Really good.”

“‘Actually,’” Peter says, making little air quotes. “You’re surprised I have decent taste?”

“I mean … who can tell with you? Your book selections are kind of—”

“Eclectic, varied, and indicative of a very interesting person?”

“I was gonna say a hot mess.”

Peter laughs. “Fair enough.”

“So who is it, though? Who’s the band?”