His lips trail down my neck, sending shivers all over.
"I love looking at you," he breathes, brushing the hair off my shoulders. "Will you let me look at you?"
My heart hammers, a wild thing seeking his. "Yes."
So he does. And I feel it. For a long...
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C A M I L A
The cool morning air doesn't wake me up completely these days. It's not just the cold; it's the weight of everything.
I'm not a morning person. At all. But here I am, stumbling around in the crisp, brutally freezing November morning air. I bundle all my curls into a tight bun with two elastics because one is a fool's game.
The world is shrouded in that soft pre-dawn gloom that makes everything feel a bit unreal, a bit softer around the edges. I hate to admit it, but I kind of love this quiet.
Unfortunately, it's so goddamn freezing I can see my breath, but hey, it's quiet. I'm almost disappointed my second-last semester at school is ending soon.
Noah tried to push me away, to ice me out, but I stayed. I stayed because I knew he needed someone. It's hard to believe, but I think it was actually me he needed. Hard to believe that I might be that important.
For the first time in my life, maybe I am.
I think about Noah, how vulnerable he was, and how he finally let me in. It's like we turned a corner, but there's still so much...ugh. There's just so, so much.
The sun's just starting to flex, stretching light across the skyline. It's a perfect day for a run. Perfect and clear. Just...perfect. Right?
Diners unopened. Grocery stores locked and waiting. The world feels like it's holding its breath, waiting for something.
I blow out three large breaths, crack my neck, and take off.
The pavement is solid beneath my feet. The air's sharp, cutting into my lungs with every inhale. It clears my head, makes me feel...awake.
The buildings tower above, shadows stretching long across the streets as the sun inches higher. There's a certain stillness, like the world hasn't quite woken up yet. I like it.
I round a corner, past the old diner that's still dark, its neon sign flickering weakly. I pick up the pace, the sound of my sneakers hitting the pavement a comforting metronome.
That's when I spot him—Fox.
My boyfriend's best friend—my best friend's boyfriend?— is on the outdoor patio of the coffee shop that we all went to that day. Hallowed Grounds. He's munching on what looks like a croissant. He's dressed in fancy teal sweats and a hoodie, like he just stepped out of some preppy catalogue.
He sees me and grins, waving the half-eaten croissant at me like a flag. "Morning, Sport! Fancy seeing you out here. Are you as mentally unwell as me?"
I slow to a jog as I approach him with a huff. "Didn't peg you for a morning person, Freckles."
"Hm." Fox is sprawled in his chair wearing sunglasses, munching on that sweet, a cup of coffee in his hand, surrounded by what looks like an entire library's worth of textbooks. "Couldn't sleep. Thought I'd get some studying in," he shrugs, sunglasses gaze directed toward me as he takes a sip.
