Except suddenly, I do.
If someone had suggested this possibility on the first day of school, I would have thought they were high. Or that I was.
It’s not without its conflicts. Emory has made it clear that Sydney isn’t welcome. She pretends she doesn’t care, sitting over with the lacrosse boys, but the pointed looks directed my way are laced with tension and a bitterness that makes the back of my neck prickle.
Then there’s Reyn.
He’s not supposed to be anywhere near me, but the merging of our worlds has made that a challenge. And after those two nights in my room, it’s almost a physical ache to not be around him. It doesn’t help that he hasn’t been to my room since that night. It seems like his dad is always home now, so I’ve had to settle for the moments like these, clustered around the other Devils, watching him, pretending I’m not over-warm and restless and impatient, and yes.
Tired.
Sleeping without Reyn sucks.
It’s only been three times, but god. I already miss it. I miss the good dreams, the lake and the fireflies and the stillness. I miss the warm, solid weight of him beside me. I miss the way he looks when he’s sleeping, face slack, lips just barely parted. I miss the way he kissed me when he left those two nights—a soft, feathery touch to my forehead—believing I was still asleep, even though I was listening to him put his shoes on.
Admittedly, sleep is a doomed endeavor when night is the only time I can really talk to him. For the past week, we’ve met at our windows, phones pressed to our ears, voices low across the distance. It’s painfully insufficient, but at least I have that—the sound of his voice as he leans over the sill, face shadowed.
Sometimes, if I really work for it, he’ll raise his face into the light and give me one of those patented Reyn McAllister smiles.
“I’ll be there after practice,” Afton says. “We’re working on homecoming stuff.”
“I have a shit-ton of homework for Dr. Ross due tomorrow, but,” Emory says, lowering his voice. “I have the next rite.”
I discreetly glance across the table at Reyn. His intense green eyes are already fixed on me. It’s a thrill to know that maybe he shares this chaotic, bone-deep need to touch and clutch and have. He’s a lot better at this thing than I am, stealing his covert glances at the perfect times. Of course, Reyn is always good at stealing. His expression is always schooled into something aloof, disinterested, but I know better. He’s definitely interested. I can tell when those eyes roam to my mouth, my chest, my waist, my legs.
He’s infatuated with my thighs, and it isn’t fair. The thought that I can’t just give them to him, feel his hands grazing up my skin there, claiming it, marking it, is killing me. if I wasn’t being watched twenty-four-seven by my family,
I’d get utterly lost in letting him fawn over them as much as he wants.
Unfortunately, that’s not how life works. Just figures that I’d finally find a guy who wants me, a guy I want back, and I’m not allowed to even be around him. I try to steal another glance, but this time, he’s not watching me. His gaze is trained across the room, face set into that sharp stillness. He’s got one hand on his backpack and he’s already halfway out of the chair. I turn to see what he’s looking at. Not ‘what’, but ‘who’.
Dean Dewey.
I glance at my brother, who has also noticed what’s going on. “Dude,” he says to Reyn, “let me say something to him. We can deal with this.”
“My problem,” Reyn says with a shrug and, a blink later, has already eased himself into a group of passing students.
“Is everything okay here?” Dean Dewey says, eyeing the empty chair. A water bottle sits on the table, half-full. It’s not the first time Dewey has scared Reyn off. It’s like they’re hoping to catch him in the act, just to have something to pin on him. Maybe Jerry and Dewey are trading notes or something.
“Everything’s fine,” Emory says, speaking for the group. Afton gives him a smile. Tyson focuses on his lunch. I feel the hot spike of anger building in my chest, but swallow it back until the Dean, and his penetrative eyes, leaves.
“We need to fix this,” I say to Emory, fed up. “It’s not fair that he can’t sit with his friends.”
“He can sit with his friends,” Carlton says. “Just not when you’re around.”
The words sting like a slap, even though I know Carlton didn’t mean for them to. “You’re right. Reyn should sit here, and I—” I look around, deciding, “I’ll go somewhere else to eat from now on.”
“What?” Emory grabs my arm before I can stand. “No way. That is not how we’re handling this shit. You’re my sister. He’s my best friend. There has to be a solution.” He sighs. “I’ll talk to Mom and Dad, maybe they can do something.”
I nod but wait a few minutes before leaving the cafeteria anyway, explaining that I just don’t have an appetite anymore. It’s not a lie. I search the hallways, but can’t find Reyn. I fire off a few texts:
Where are you?
Are you okay?
I’m sorry.
Finally, just before the bell rings, my phone buzzes.