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4
"So,Dylan Morgan, tell me more about what you do, when you’re not hiding." I curl up on the cushioned sofa and spill some wine on my dress. Shit. I brush at the stain.
Dylan falls silent for a moment."No, that’s not the game. We don’t talk about real life, remember?"
"Game? Are we playing a game now?"
He lowers himself into the tattered armchair opposite. Have I made the right choice staying here? "Isn’t that what this is?" he asks.
"Hmm." I look into my glass. "Games… When you came here in the past, when you were a kid, did you play on the sand dunes outside the cottage?"
"That’s a random and weird question."
"You said games? Is that not what you mean?" I sip wine. "Idid. Maybe I’ll do that tomorrow. Maybe now. Would you roll down sand dunes?"
Leaning back against the ragged cushions, Dylan crosses a leg over the other knee and stares as if I’m unhinged. "No, Sky, rolling down sand dunes isn’t on my holiday agenda."
"Holiday agenda? Holidays don’t have agendas." I lean forward and whisper, "Holidays are for fun."
"Oh, I intend to have fun, all right," he says in a low, suggestive voice.
I snort out a laugh. "Not with me you won’t, Dylan Morgan. Not unless you want to roll down sand dunes or build sandcastles."
Dylan rubs his head. "You’re leaving tomorrow anyway, remember?" he says and looks annoyed about something.
"Yeah. Right."
"Unless…"
"What?"
He shakes away a thought. “Nothing. And why do you say my full name like that?"
"Dylan Morgan? Because you said it like that to me." I straighten. "‘I haven’t introduced myself, I’m Dylan. Dylan Morgan’." I mimic his self-important tone and then chuckle at him.
His mouth tugs at one corner. “Very funny, summer Sky."
"Summer Sky. Very clever, like I haven’t heard that before." I huff. "I’m not a summer Sky; I’m a winter Sky."
"Frosty?"
"No! Because my birthday is in November!" I retort.
He bites his lip, smirking at me. "Well, I think you’re more of a summer Sky."
"How?"
"Your hair is sun-coloured, and you brightened my shit day."
I snort. "Right. Smooth."
"Smooth? Fuck, Sky, if I wanted to be smooth you’d know about it."
"Don’t swear at me!"
He shakes his head, again looking at me as if I’m odd. "Apologies, Sky."
I sink back against the sofa and his face grows increasingly blurry. "Smooth or not, it won’t work. And don’t even think about touching me. I can defend myself."
