He kicks open my door.
The room is dark except for those glow-in-the-dark stars. It's perfect. Romantic. Sweet.
I'm in his arms under the stars.
He lowers me onto the bed.
His fingers skim my temples as he slides my glasses off my face. He folds them carefully. Like they're precious jewels.
My eyelids flutter together. Then apart.
He's looking down at me with those dark eyes.
He's going to leave.
He can't.
I reach up for him. Curl my fingers around his wrist. "I guess I lost."
He nods. "You even remember which movie we were on?"
No. I can see Finnick with his trident. Shit, we were in the middle of Catching Fire. That leaves two and a half movies to go.
"It's too bad," I whisper. "I had the perfect tattoo picked out." I tug at his t-shirt, pulling him closer.
My hand finds his chest. My finger traces the line.
"Right here. A Latin expression. But I won't say which one."
He smiles, charmed. But it fades. Back to stern caretaker. I think. I can only see so well without my glasses.
"You should brush your teeth," he whispers.
And take my medication.
But I can't leave.
Not with him this close.
It's all I'm going to get.
The way he's looking at me—he's dead set on this just friends thing.
I stare back into his eyes. "Make me."
He shakes his head as he pulls back. "Sweet dreams, Kay."
But not as sweet as him staying.
* * *
The next few days, I avoid Brendon. I eat in my room. Watch TV while he's at work. Insist Emma and I watch movies in her room.
Sunday is the longest day ever. Even though there's a rush at work, my shift stretches on forever. I don't get cut until ten. Don't get home, in my room, until ten thirty.
Only an hour to go.
And I'm not ready.