When Stars Collide (Light in the Dark 2)

My arms wind around his neck and I arch my body, pressing my breasts into his chest.

His hands ghost up my sides, leaving a trail of fire in their wake.

He kisses his way down my neck and my head falls to the side, welcoming the press of his lips. My breaths come out as short pants, because he’s effectively stolen all the air in my lungs.

He cups my face, staring into my lust-filled eyes.

Xander has always been the one guy to make me weak in the knees. No one has ever measured up to him, and now that I’ve had a taste, I know no one ever will.

He kisses me once, just a brief press of his lips, but even still it feels as powerful as the passionate kiss we shared moments before. My body shakes, but it’s not with nerves like before; no, this is something more powerful, something I’m scared to even understand.

He tilts my chin up with a press of his finger, and my eyes meet his.

“Don’t be afraid,” he whispers. “Of me. Of us.”

I swallow thickly. “I don’t know where we go from here,” I admit.

My feelings are all over the place. I feel conflicted because who really wants to be married at nineteen, but this is Xander—the boy I’ve lusted after my whole life. There’s no one I love or trust more, so maybe this is some twist of fate b

ringing us together or something, but I always come back to the marriage thing.

Marriage is a big deal—at least to me, anyway—and not something to be taken lightly. And as much as I love Xander, as much as I always have, I don’t know if I’m really in love with him. It’s not like I know him enough in the romantic sense to feel that way.

But damn it, I want to get to know him that way.

I want to go on dates, and get flowers, and fall into bed together at night.

I just don’t know if I want it like this.

I feel like it’s fate’s way of mocking me—give me the guy I’ve always wanted but with one big ass string attached.

“Hey, hey, hey,” Xander chants, breaking into my thoughts. “Where’d you go? Down the rabbit hole, I presume?”

My lips twitch with the threat of a smile. “Something like that.”

Luckily, the timer goes off and saves me from further inquisition.

I know I can’t avoid talking to him about my thoughts forever, but right now, I need more time to think through things on my own.

Thea and I eat our pizza in relative silence. A silence I’m not used to. She’s always been chatty, and it’s something I’ve never minded. It feels weird to sit in the open kitchen and not have her tell me about something—a book she’s read, some football stat, or how cute she thinks the neighbor’s dog is.

I don’t try to get her to speak. I’m smart enough to know not to push her, and after the day we’ve had, she deserves the time to think. I know we’ve both already been doing a lot of it today.

We finish eating, and I volunteer to clean the plates. She smiles gratefully and leans her hip against the counter, watching me. I think about the night we shared, and the kiss not long ago, and I’m desperate to have her in my arms again. I feel like I’ve waited long enough to call her mine, and now that I have her, I still don’t really have her, and it sucks.

I wasn’t that drunk last night when we decided to get married, and she wasn’t either. I know, because I would’ve never gone through with it if for a single second if I thought it wasn’t something she really wanted.

We’ve been skirting around our feelings for years; last night, something imploded, and it couldn’t be ignored anymore.

“What movie do you want to watch?” I ask her, rinsing off one of the plates. When she doesn’t answer, I glance behind my shoulder and see that her eyes are glazed over and she’s lost in her thoughts, so I repeat my question.

She jumps slightly and bangs her elbow on the countertop. “Ow,” she cries, grabbing her elbow and rubbing the spot.

“You okay?” I ask, not asking about her elbow but how she’s feeling.

She nods, but I know she’s not. I’ve always had a sixth sense when it comes to Thea. When we were little, our parents used to joke about it, but I don’t think they had any idea how true it was. I remember once, when we were much younger—she was probably only about three and I was six—she tripped in her yard and skinned up her knee on a bunch of twigs and started crying. Even though I wasn’t the one hurt, I cried too, because even then her pain was mine, her joy was mine, and every other emotion in-between was mine too.

I finish with the dishes and dry my hands on a rag. Thea still stands there, never having answered my first question about the movie. I cross the few feet separating us and place my hands on her hips. She jolts at my touch and goosebumps prickle her skin. I can’t resist the upturn quirk of my lips when I see it.