Cold Hearts and Stubborn Minds

8

Tuesday

It was partway through the day that I found out I was being followed, but only because a friend pointed her out.

It was the girl who had seen Dylan and I in the woods. Turns out, she had been following me for almost the whole day, staring at me. One of Dylan's admirers, maybe.

Or a stalker. Who knows?

When I met up with Dylan at my locker, she stared at me from down the hallway before leaving. I got goosebumps.

"She's been following me all day. It's freaking me out," I say, rubbing my arms. Dylan looks at me sympathetically.

"Freaking you out the way I do or the way stalkers do?" he asks, a smug grin on his face. My cheeks heat up. I stick my tongue out at him. He chuckles.

I pull the rest of my stuff out of my locker and shove it in my backpack. I shove some other things in my locker and force it closed. When I look back at Dylan, he looks amused.

"What?" I ask. When he doesn't answer and starts walking away, I ask again, "Seriously, what?"

"Nothing at all, Lover Boy," he says. I roll my eyes and catch up to him, and, feeling eyes watching me, look behind me, but see no one. It doesn't surprise me.

Dylan has his hands in his pockets. He's not wearing gloves today. Gloves one day, none the next. His hair is sticking up wildly. He didn't brush it in the morning, and even if he did it would still stick up. I brush a piece out of his face. He gently catches my hand and lays it against his cheek. My own cheeks warm and he settles my hand against my side.

Once we get outside, I breathe in deeply, enjoying the cold smell of the air. The snow that had fallen overnight is crunching under our boots.

I'm a little chilled, so I huddle into my coat, my scarf bunching up around my face. I don't like getting cold because it's hard for me to get warm again. Always, no matter what. Even if I took a hot bath.

By the time we reach his house I'm shivering. The wind cut through my coat and stuck to my skin. I can't feel my toes, fingers, or nose.

"You really are bad at retaining your body heat," Dylan says, letting me into the house and closing the door behind me. He slides his boots off with ease and heads upstairs, and when he returns he has a bundle of blankets in his arms. He directs me to sit on the couch.

Soon, he's wrapping blankets around me, making sure they're tight. By the third or fifth blanket, I'm starting to warm up.

He sits down on the couch and I scoot over to him, trying to get some of the warmth he somehow radiated. He sighs and unwraps me, then pulls me into his lap and wraps the blankets around the both of us. I can instantly feel the difference.

Though there's no way anyone can see us, I still feel like I'm being watched. I'm probably just getting paranoid.

He rests his head on my shoulder and picks up my hand, playing with my fingers. He makes swirls and curls, pulling me closer. I'm almost completely warm now, my cheeks heated.

Something brushes against my jaw, and I realize that it's his fingers. He's tracing the outline of it, taking long, deep breaths. I can feel his heartbeat against my back, slower than mine, which is racing, of course.

His fingers trail down my neck, to my Adam's apple, and then back up. My vision goes dark as he covers my eyes.

I feel his lips press against my jaw and then make their way up to my ear. He nips the top of my earlobe and then gently sucks on it.

The butterflies don't even bother with my stomach. They instantly head downwards, creating tension.

One of my hands come up and touch his face. He takes it in his hands and kisses my palm before licking up my wrist. My head is pressed against his chest, tilted back, the tension in my pants growing with every touch. Why must I be so easily aroused by him?

I brush my thumb against his bottom lip and it trembles. He pulls my hand away and rests it on my thigh. I want to direct his hand to my crotch, where pressure is steadily increasing, but don't.

He nips on the dip between my neck and shoulder, making my back arch slightly. It's going to leave a mark.

Somehow, I think he knows this too, and slows down, resting his head on my shoulder again and breathing heavily. "I need to stop doing that," he breathes, one of his hands resting on my stomach. "I'm sorry."

My nerve system is all over the place. Where he nipped me is starting to tingle, his hand seems heavy against my stomach, and the tension in my pants seems all too eager to continue. My mind is going a mile a minute. Is he just teasing me? Does he really mean it? Will he do it again?

I can feel his breath against my ear as he speaks, his voice low and quiet. "I'm going to be gone for two days. Try not to burn the house down."

I could barely concentrate. "Leaving... Why?"

"It's nothing you need to worry about," he says, pressing his lips against my ear, making my mind forget about it. "Nothing at all."

----~~~----

When I woke up the next morning, he was gone.