Connor
The dessert was tiramisu. I took one bite and I swear I heard nothing else. Edward was talking. His mouth was moving. His voice was low and steady, that way it got when he was trying to sound casual.
But I couldn't hear a single word.
All I could think about was getting him to that bed. Getting my hands on the buttons of his shirt. Getting that grey fabric off his shoulders. Getting him under me, or over me, or against the glass with the lake behind us.
I must've been staring because he stopped mid-sentence. "What?" he asked.
"Nothing," I said, and my voice came out quiet.
He smiled at me. Slow. "You're not listening."
"I am," I lied.
"Liar," he said, and there was no heat in it. Just amusement.
He leaned back in his chair. The candles between us flickered. The night had come down fully now, and the lake was black except for the moon cutting across it. The air was still warm. Cicadas again. And somewhere, low, music started.
