Page 28

Ophelia

July 3, 12:13 AM

“So you’ve been in love before?”

“Yes, once,” he says, and I wish the answer were different. I wish he’d said no. I don’t know why. It doesn’t make any difference at all. He can be in love as many times as he wants. It has nothing to do with me. Still, I wish he’d said no.

“It didn’t last?” I ask. Why am I doing this? Why am I asking more questions?

Because he did the same thing to me, and it felt good to talk to him. And because I really want to know. Something about that scares me.

A shadow crosses his handsome face. “No, it didn’t.” His voice sounds different than it did just a second ago. It’s strained and hoarse, as if it still hurts to think about.

“Do you want to talk about it?” I stroke his thumb with mine, very lightly, and I can see goose bumps rising on his chest. Phoenix shakes his head, a strand of hair falling over his forehead. I have to fight the urge to brush it back.

“No, I don’t.”

We’re silent for a while, and it doesn’t feel uncomfortable. It’s somehow . . . warm. Which is silly, because silence can’t be warm, but it is. It feels safe and familiar. Then I hear a soft sound, like fingertips tapping on the window. “It’s raining,” Phoenix says at the same moment I realize it too.

“Yes, sounds like it.” I start to feel melancholy, and images rise up that I thought I had forgotten. Sam and Jase and me in the garden of our house in LA. “We used to go out in the rain and dance in the garden.”

“We?” Phoenix asks, and there’s an undertone in his voice that betrays him. He must think I’m talking about Archie. But that would have been the last thing Archie would have done with me.

“My brothers and I.” I lean over and kiss him lightly on the cheek so he won’t see the flicker of sadness in my eyes. Normally, it’s easy for me to hide my feelings and not let them show. But not today. Not with him.

“You have brothers?”

“Yes,” I say, my voice trembling. I fail completely, and I almost expect Phoenix to probe further and ask me more about it. Instead, he asks me something else.

“Can you dance?”

“No,” I lie, because that’s part of the rules. If he knew I did ballet, it would be easy for him to find me. And that would break our agreement. No last names, no details. Nothing that would lead us back to each other. There’s only this one night. And today, I don’t want to think about Sam or Jase. “Why, do you?”

He laughs. “No, not at all.” He stands up and holds out his hand to me, with a challenging smile.

“What’s all this?” I ask, my heart skipping a beat because I already know the answer.

“We’re going dancing in the rain.”

I feel warm and fuzzy, and I want to cry. I put my hand in his and let him pull me off the bed.

“You’re cute. Did you know that?” The words pop out of my mouth before I can even think about whether it’s a good idea. I don’t usually say things like that to anyone. Except that Phoenix isn’t just anyone.

“Sure, I hear that every day.” He grins, and I roll my eyes, but I can’t fight the smile that’s spreading across my face.

“I think I have to take that back. You’re also pretty conceited.”

“Just confident.” He pulls me closer until my bare chest touches his. I can feel his heartbeat right next to mine.

“Yeah, I can tell,” I say, trying to sound sarcastic and failing miserably. My voice has dropped half an octave, and I feel a throbbing sensation between my legs.

His eyes light up as if he senses it, and then his mouth finds mine. I forget how to breathe. My lips open all by themselves. The feeling of his tongue in my mouth sends hot jolts of electricity through my body. It’s a slow kiss, almost gentle. His hands cradle my face and gently tilt my head back. He deepens the kiss, and a sigh of yearning escapes me. I feel him smile against my lips before letting me go.

“Get dressed, before it stops raining.”

“That would be a disaster, of course,” I reply, but I reach for my dress and slip it on. My panties are lying torn on the floor somewhere, and I can’t find my bra. Phoenix hands me my sandals while I’m still buttoning up my dress. He’s wearing a black T-shirt and dark-gray sweatpants. How can anyone look so hot in sweatpants? Especially gray ones? Someone needs to explain that to me.

“Ready,” I say, and take my sandals from him. His gaze wanders over my body slowly, almost hesitantly. I stand completely still as he looks at me, even though I really want to snuggle up to him and push him back onto the bed.