Nate

Good. That was very good.

I kept trying to reassure myself as I went back to my room, climbed into bed, and closed my eyes.

Three in the morning—was that a noise from Nova’s room?

I sat upright, the cover thrown off, and I was hurrying over, more like scurrying. If she was sleeping, again, I did not want to wake her up. She had serious pipes on her when she needed to rally. Oh boy, could she rally.

I tiptoed in, and then stopped in my tracks.

Nate was on the floor next to her, sitting with his knees drawn up and resting his arms loosely around them. His legs were spread wide, his head turned so he could still see her.

She was sleeping, her blanket pulled up through her arms. Miss Penguin had been kicked to the side and a little snore was coming from her.

Maybe I made a sound? I didn’t know, but he turned and his eyes caught mine.

I almost stepped back.

I wasn’t prepared. Stark panic was in his gaze and he didn’t hide it from me.

I waited, expecting the mask to slam back in its place.

It never did.

He continued to stare at me.

Feeling a pull, I took a step forward.

Another step.

Nova was asleep so in a way, it was just us two in the room.

He held my gaze the whole time.

Awareness spread through me, making every cell in my body alert.

The air in the room was… it was… I couldn’t place it, but it felt more. It felt beyond us, as if something were wrapping around both of us, bringing us together.

Or maybe that was just me being foolish?

The moonlight was bright outside, shining through the curtains and spilling into the room, casting us both in light and shadow at the same time.

I shivered, not a bad one, but not a good one. Just an aware one.

He continued to stare at me, his eyes intense, piercing into me.

I moved forward again and slowly lowered myself down so I was sitting facing him. I pulled my knees up, my arms resting loosely around them. We were mirroring each other, and because he still hadn’t put a wall between us, neither did I.

Not this night, not our first night all of us were here.

My breath was short. My chest was rising. I felt my nipples harden as I took him in, all of him.

He was in only sweatpants. No shirt. No socks. Just his pants.

The moonlight hit him in the exact right light, showcasing defined shoulders and arms. His chest. The shadow tapered down over his stomach, and I couldn’t see it. That was in darkness, but his side showed not an ounce of fat.

Feeling a breeze that moved over the back of my neck, I lifted my eyes and almost gasped again. He’d been watching me watching him, and a whole other awareness passed between us.

Lust filled his gaze, and it was hungry.

I felt it match a need inside of me. My mouth was suddenly dry. My throat parched.

Then it was his turn.

His eyes trailed down me, over my tank top, lingering on my skin, my breasts. My shirt was made of soft material and it bunched at my waist, showing my sleeping shorts’ waistband. The side of my stomach was exposed and then he moved further, his gaze going over my thighs, my knees, my calves, my feet, and back up.

I felt touched by him.

I should’ve been repulsed.

I wasn’t.

A throb had started and it only intensified as his eyes went to my lips, up to my eyes. He held my gaze, then dipped back and stayed on my mouth.

That same lust was washing through me, hitting my insides like angry waves against a cliff’s edge. It felt violent, but desperate at the same time.

My breath hitched.

I licked my lips.

I sat and watched him. He sat and watched me.

Neither of us spoke. Neither of us moved. Not an inch.

But I wanted him.

Then Nova rolled over, a snore left her, and it did nothing to break the mood.

I still wanted him, but neither of us did a thing about it. That night was a truce in our war.

We’d go back to hating each other in the morning. Hating, but needing.

20

Quincey

I wasn’t sure what I had expected, but over the past three weeks, it wasn’t what happened.

And that was a big nothing.

Nothing happened.

There was no drama.

There were no more police visits.

No calls from my father.

No emails.

Nothing.

I had expected some drama with Nate, but there was zilch on that front, too.

He seemed to sense when I wanted time with Nova—when I wanted to feed her, hug her, play with her, change her diapers, chase after her. And the times when I was tired, he sensed that, too. He stepped in, and even as I would start going to her room, I’d hear his low croons, which were usually followed by her laughter.