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But somehow I don’t think she’d approve of my sneaking around tonight. Tip-toeing past her closed door, I swallow hard. Soft light glows around the edges, and I guess she’s still awake, but I don’t stop.
I need to risk it.
Duke’s house is dark and quiet, shadows gathering in the corners of empty rooms. The furniture in the living room looks bigger than normal as I creep past, the armchairs rising out of the gloom like mountain ridges. The moon stares at me through the open drapes.
I duck my head, creeping faster.
Duke’s bedroom is upstairs. Will he still be awake? The floorboards creak as I push on. A clock ticks further down the hallway, and it’s so late it’s nearly early.
Our kisses on the boat were hours ago, but I can’t settle. There’s an electric current humming through my veins, and I’m jittery with pent-up energy. If I go back to my own room right now, I’ll tear out all my hair by sunrise.
When we came back earlier, both red-faced and guilty, we sat through a zombie movie with Meg and dodged her questions about dinner. She squinted at us both, like she could tell something was off, but she didn’t push, drawn away by the groaning zombies.
Never been so grateful for a horde of mindless cannibals. I didn’t even wince at the gory bits, because there was a whole different movie reel playing in my mind’s eye.
The way Duke looked at me on the boat—like he was a starving man, and I was a juicy summer peach, ripe for plucking.
The way his body pressed against mine, flattening me to the rail.
The way his groans vibrated right down to my marrow.
“You’re brave tonight,” Meg said to me, poking my knee as the zombies tore another victim apart.
Lord. She has no idea.
And if I’m lucky she never will, because while I was tossing and turning in my bed back there, skin hot and too sensitive beneath my sleep shirt, I realized: it’s still the same night. This is still technically our not-date. If Duke and I keep going for a few more hours, this is all the same lapse. Right?
Tomorrow, we’ll be better. Tomorrow, we’ll draw those lines again, and we won’t cross ‘em.
But tonight…
If Duke doesn’t kiss me again tonight, I’m going to explode.
* * *
His door is shut. Obviously. My knuckles rap softly against the wood, and I lean my head close, straining to listen. There’s the rustle of sheets; my own shaky breaths. Thewhump whump whumpof my heartbeat in my ears.
What if he’s asleep? What do I do then?
“Clem?” Duke says, so quiet I nearly miss it through the door, and my throat is tight as I turn the handle. The door sighs open.
I step into Duke’s bedroom.
It’s dark, lit only by a shaft of moonlight spilling through the open drapes, but my eyes have adjusted on my journey through the silent house and I can make out some things: the dark floorboards, the sturdy furniture. Duke’s bed is huge—a big bed for a big man—and he’s sitting upright, the white sheets slithering down to his waist.
Bare chest, as big as a barrel, and dusted with dark hair that trails down, down, down over the curve of his strong belly.
Duke stares at me.
I stare back.
“Close the door,” he says at last, deep voice rasping through the quiet, and I fumble to do it. There’s a softthunk, then we’re shut in together.
My breaths come quicker. Duke peels back the sheet with one arm. “Get over here.”
He doesn’t need to tell me twice. My feet fly across the room, barely touching the cool floorboards, then my knees sink into the mattress, and he’shere. Hotter than a furnace, surrounding me with his warmth.
Duke smells like soap and toothpaste and faintly of that river-green musk from earlier. I press my face against his throat, breathing deep.
