Page 77 of Loverboy

“Are you done?” he murmured.

“No,” I said bitterly, even as exhaustion crept in.

“You’re right.” He huffed. “You still need that kiss you were bullshitting me about.”

My stomach flipped violently as he pressed into me, one hand gripping my leg and the other curling around the back of my neck. I jerked back slightly on instinct, resisting the very same thing I’d asked for in the early morning hours, always contradicting myself.

This was heavier. He kissed me deep and slow, a stark contrast to the playful kisses he’d given me in the morning, and even the filthy one from the night before. His tongue traced the seam of my lips, coaxing me open, and I met the leisurely slide of it with my own. Where I tried to go too fast, he forced me to slow down, making sure I felt everything in full.

My fingers flexed in my lap, too afraid to reach out and take what I wanted for myself. I started to feel lightheaded, my eyelids growing heavy, and every inch of my body radiating with heat. By the time I found the nerve to touch him, I was trembling, searching for his hand on my lap without ever breaking away from the kiss. When I found it, I squeezed.

“For the record,” he said breathlessly against my lips. “You can kiss me anytime.”

34

Milo

I PEERED THROUGH the viewfinder of my camera, my fingers aching from the cold. The wind whipped through my hair, and I brought my knees up to my chest, pulling my oversized hoodie over my knees for extra warmth. It hadn’t started snowing yet, but as soon as the sun began to set, the cold of the Canadian autumn was brutal.

Beyond the balcony’s glass door, Jasper shifted in the armchair and picked up his coffee, his gaze fixed on his laptop. At least fifteen minutes had gone by without so much as a glance in my direction, and I hated myself for being jealous of his schoolwork.

He wasn’t ignoring me on purpose, I reminded myself, turning the zoom ring and focusing the lens on his face. His focused expression made heat rise to my cheeks, and I felt like a fucking peeping tom. I loved seeing him like this—sharp angles, a frown that always seemed judgmental, his thick brows pinching together. I liked his intensity.

The shutter on my camera clicked a few times as I took more photos, still watching him through the viewfinder. His eyes lifted from his work, sliding to meet my lens, and my heart skipped a beat. He raised an eyebrow, and I instinctively took several more shots before he dropped his attention back to his laptop.

I set the camera down on the concrete next to me and then shuffled around until my spine met the glass. Only then did I start browsing the LCD screen, flipping through all of the photos I’d taken of him.

It felt good to replace all of the photos I had of Sofia. I had an unreliable memory thanks to childhood trauma, and photos were my lifeline. They were permanent—reliable when my brain was anything but.

I flinched as the balcony door slid open, rising to my feet and tucking my camera into the pouch in my sweater, like he hadn’t already seen what I was doing.

“Are you done?” I asked sheepishly.

“No.” Jasper shook his head, joining me in leaning on the railing. “Smoke break.”

I was already opening up my pack when he answered, sliding out a cigarette and putting it between my lips. He caught me by surprise when he leaned over and stole one before I could stuff them back into my pocket, his fingers brushing over mine.

What are we?

The question had been haunting me for days. Things were quietly changing shape. Neither of us got any closer to saying anything definitive out loud, but the things we did together had become bolder. Riskier.

His mouth would chase away the bad thoughts, but he’d never overstep the way he had the night of Blane’s birthday dinner. Maybe he was waiting for me to catch up, to meet him where he was. The only problem was that I didn’t know how.

I fumbled with my lighter, my thumb striking the spark wheel several times before I managed to get a flame. He watched me take my first drag, and just when I was about to pull the cigarette out from between my lips and tell him he was weirding me out by staring, he dipped his head. My stolen cigarette was in his mouth, the tip pressing against the glowing ember of my own.

My body was a stupid, useless thing. I had no control over the sudden racing of my heart or the fluttering in my stomach. The weather was cold, but I was burning up watching his cigarette light up in the scant space between us.

“You got something to say?” He blew a plume of smoke in my face.

“Yeah,” I admitted. “You’re weirding me out.”

“Seriously?” He frowned. “I’m pretty sure you’re the one who was just sitting out here taking photos of me.”

I didn’t dignify his accusation with an answer.

“Yeah, exactly.” He bounced back with an amused smile. “You really are a brat.”

“You knew that already.”