“You sure can. You can move so I can climb inside.”
I smile faintly, taking a step back. “Didn’t I tell you I didn’t think we should hang out anymore?”
“Yeah,” he says, climbing in the window. “But I decided that wasn’t going to work for me. Why should we let a few haters stop us from enjoying each other’s company?”
“It’s not the haters I’m worried about,” I say dryly. “Your girlfriend is a total psycho who may or may not have sent me necrophilia porn.”
“That is pretty weird when you put it that way,” he says. “It wasn’t porn, though, if it makes you feel any better.”
I stare at him.
He closes my window, locks it, then turns around to face me. “I nosed around on her laptop while I was over there earlier. It was a clip from some fucked up Spanish film called The Corpse of Anna Fritz. We should watch it. Looked fucking nuts.”
I blink at him. “No thanks.”
He shrugs. “All right. We’ll do something else, then.”
“I was just about to go to bed.”
He smirks. “I like that plan.”
“Alone,” I specify.
“I like that much less.” He walks over to my dresser, casually running a hand along the surface. “I saw your friend Hannah earlier.”
I tense. “Oh?”
He nods, flicking a glance at me. “She’s Anae’s stepsister, so they live in the same house.”
“Right.” I lick my lips. “Um… Did you guys talk, or…?”
He nods again, looking at an old picture of me and Janie propped up against the mirror. “I asked her what she thought of that video.”
“Oh.” My heart thuds in my chest. I never messaged Hannah back when she asked if I was okay. I was too mortified, and some part of me wasn’t sure if she would be on my side once she knew I sent a picture like that to her stepsister’s boyfriend—even if they don’t get along. “What did she say?”
“That I’m an asshole for dragging you into Anae’s path.” He smiles faintly, turning to face me. “She didn’t use that word. She used something nicer. Cruel, I think it was.”
I crack a smile. “I’m not sure if cruel is any nicer than asshole.”
He shrugs. “Not the first time I’ve heard it. Won’t be the last.”
His footsteps are slow and deliberate as he meets my gaze and closes the distance between us.
My heart speeds up. Butterflies scatter in my tummy as he moves so close, I have to look up to hold his gaze.
He smiles, and my heart drops free from its cage.
His hand moves toward me, and then he’s stroking my jaw, causing gooseflesh to erupt all over my body. “Do you think I’m cruel, mermaid?”
Entranced, I shake my head.
“No?” His voice is low, intimate, but confident in a strange way.
He knows he’s taken control of me.
He knows he’s my body’s conductor, orchestrating every flutter, every beat of my pounding heart.
It’s impossible not to think about how we’re in my bedroom alone, in the dark.
I lick my lips. They’re suddenly so dry, I wish I had some water.
“You haven’t been cruel to me,” I say.
He shakes his head, his thumb stilling on my face. He slides it over and grazes my bottom lip, sending a thrill straight through me. “No,” he says. “I don’t want to be cruel to you.”
He dips his head. My heart thunders. His lips meet mine, and it’s like I’m not even breathing my own air anymore. I’m melded to him as he pulls me against him, holding my body close and backing me toward the bed.
I kiss him back, but I keep my hands to myself. It’s the hardest thing in the world when I want to touch him. I want to slide my arms around his waist and hug him, or wind an arm around his neck to pull myself up to his height.
Because I don’t, he breaks the kiss and looks down at me, his eyes slightly narrowed.
I don’t want the trouble that comes with him, but I can’t deny wanting him.
“Get on the bed.”
My heart drops at his command.
I back up until the backs of my legs hit the soft material of my bedding, then I sit down and scoot back toward the middle.
Dare walks to the edge of the bed and looks at me, then he pulls off his hoodie.
I’m frozen as the T-shirt underneath rides up a little to show a swatch of his toned abdomen. The tease makes my body warm, but then he reaches back, grabs the T-shirt, and pulls it off, too.
Oh my god.
Tension gathers between my thighs. I shift awkwardly on the bed, unsure where to look. I want to look away because it feels somehow rude to stare, but he’s so beautiful. His eyes are dark and hooded, his body a work of absolute perfection. His chest is smooth and muscled, his abs cut like he belongs on the cover of a fitness magazine. He’s too beautiful to be real, and far too beautiful to be here, in my bedroom.