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Sterling
My hero.
Yeah, right. That’s me. A regular hero. My superpower is ordering takeout.
Did I go out of my way to get her a pizza? Yes. I know I didn’t have to do this much, and her reaction is equal parts sweet and embarrassing. It makes me feel a little better when she invites me in, sits down at the kitchen table, and dances as she eats her first slice.
I forget to touch the one in front of me, my gaze softening, a smile curling onto my lips.
“You don’t know what you did,” she says, moaning. “You just turned my night around.”
“I bet. There’s nothing worse than losing your dinner.”
“Exactly. It brings up, like, primal feelings. I was about to go crazy.”
The house vibrates around us, and laughter—familiar but long-lost laughter—floats through the room. Aurora seems to hear it, perking up and smiling. As much as she appears to be struggling with the house, she’s more connected to it than most are. Aurora can hear her laughter and probably feel the cries, too.
Can the rest of her family hear it? Does she talk to Aurora? I want to know, but it’s a strange thing to ask. As much as the house can torment others, I’m used to being the only one who feels those things.
I take a small bite of my pizza. She insisted I eat with her, and there’s no denying that I’m hungry. “I’m just relieved to see she let you out. I thought I was going to have to use my ax.”
“You brought an ax?” She lifts an eyebrow. “Hot.”
I blink, taken aback. “It is not hot. How is that hot?”
“Trust me, it’s hot.” She takes a single bite of her crust before dropping it onto the plate. Her expression softens, her gaze never wavering from mine. “Seriously, though. Thank you. You really didn’t have to do all this—coming over, bringing me dinner.”
I smile tightly. “It was no problem.”
After finishing my slice, I stand up. “I’ll leave you to it, but please text me if you need anything else—”
“Wait!” She’s on her feet, and before I know what’s happening, her fingers slip into mine.
I force down a thick, dry swallow.
“Sterling, I—”
I’m beginning to understand Aurora too well. Every mood. Every shift. Every tell. I know when she’s sincere, and I know when she’s lying. Right now, there’s something so honest in the way she looks at me.
The house settles around us, and a breeze pushes through the room, forcing us together. Aurora’s glistening lips part. I swear, I know exactly what she’s thinking.
She wants to kiss me.
I chuckle softly and shake my head. “You can’t like pizza that much.”
“What do you—”
My jaw tightens; I have to force it to relax enough for me to respond. “You can’t like it enough that you’re willing to pretend we’re more than friends.”
I don’t want to play games like these. I don’t seem to be able to stop when it comes to her. It takes every ounce of restraint to keep myself from kissing her. Really kissing her. Not like before.
But I don’t know what I want, or if I can have it, without putting her at risk. I’m no better than her. We’re both playing games.
“We’re… not more than friends.” Yet, she’s still holding my hand. “And we shouldn’t, but we could?”
“Could what?” I pull her closer, even though I should push her away, pressing her fingers to my mouth, kissing the back of her hands, and her fingertips. “Could hold hands? We already are.”
“We could do more.”
