Blood Type: Book One of the Blood Type Series (complete)

The Stuff of Dreams

My mother disappeared through the front door without another word, the click-clack of her shoes against the stone floor the only sound echoing her departure. I stared at John, my eyes wide. "What the hell did you do to my mom?"

He shrugged. "I find that people are extremely susceptible to the direct approach."

"I'll have to remember that," I said.

John opened his arms. "Come here."

Melting against his chest, I inhaled the scent of the outdoors lingering on his skin. "Sorry she was acting so crazy. She's not usually like that."

"Don't worry about it," he said. "She loves you. And she loves Zach. I'm a stranger."

"Still," I said. "Thanks for tonight. I had a really nice time."

John put a finger under my chin and lifted my face. His eyes blazed under the soft burn of the overhead light. "So did I. Now stop talking and kiss me."

I closed my eyes and the entire world seemed to disappear. As John's lips pressed against mine, it was just the two of us floating in space, the firm stone under our feet falling away. My troubles with Zach, Olivia, and Gabe ceased to exist. There was no Mom or Dad. No Ian hanging his head out the car window making rude noises and yelling for us to get a room. I closed my eyes even tighter, and Ian magically faded into the night with the rest of my worries.

John pulled me closer, molding my body against his. His skin, typically so warm, was unusually cool, but it felt refreshing against the heat and humidity of the night. Lacing my hands around the back of his neck, I twined my fingers in the soft tufts of hair that brushed his collar. I opened myself up to the kiss, feeling at once that my body had slipped away and I'd lost all sense of myself in the intoxicating sensation of his mouth.

The car horn honked, jarring us back to reality.

"Ow!" I said as John nipped my bottom lip with his teeth.

Ian leaned out the car window. "Come on, coz! I'm not getting any younger."

"I'm so sorry," John said to me. "I got caught up in the moment."

"That makes two of us. Is my lip bleeding?"

John tilted my face to the light and pulled my lip down gently with the flat part of his thumb. He shook his head. "Not a mark."

The car's horn blared again.

"You'd better go. If Ian keeps that up, my parents will lock me away for the rest of my life."

"Come on, John!" Ian yelled again. "The night is young, and I've got needs. Take me out to prowl the town."

"I forgot how much babysitting he requires," John said with a groan. He rested his forehead against mine. "Dream of me tonight."

I laughed and brushed the tip of my nose against his. "Whatever you say."

**********

That night, I dreamed of a garden.

Full-headed dahlias with colorful blossoms as big as my fist; the slender forms of bell-shaped foxglove dangling from long, slender stalks; clusters of vibrant blue and pink hydrangea; a bed of blood-red poppies . . .

And there, a single thistle—a tuft of dense purple adorning a bulb of thorns in regal splendor with spiky spindles, like the pointed canines of some ferocious beast protruding along its stiff spine.

Reaching to pluck the offending weed from where it had invaded the roses, my fingers hovered inches from the spiny stalk when a voice cried out: "Don't touch it!"