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“Don’t apologize for the actions of others, Bryce. We’re not responsible for anyone besides ourselves. Everyone has their own mind and their own conscience, even if they choose to ignore it,” she murmurs, eyes flitting between mine before drifting down to where we’re connected.

Her cheeks turn pink as she applies pressure with her finger, forcing my lips to part enough for it to press against the bottom more than the top. I exhale over the dainty fingertip, and her breath hitches, gaze bouncing back up to snag on mine.

I’ve dreamed of being this close to her. Of what the heat from her body beating into mine with wild fists and attention fixated on me and only me would feel like. What I was wishing for was nothing compared to the real thing.

“You’re blushing, Sunshine,” I breathe out.

The pink deepens and spreads to her ears. “You don’t blush.”

“I don’t?”

She touches my cheek with her other hand, using the backs of her fingers to stroke the length of it. I shiver from head to toe, unable to hide such a visceral reaction this time.

“Maybe you do,” she whispers, stroking my skin again where I know it flames as brightly as hers. “Pink looks good on you.”

My laugh is rough, but as she stares at my mouth with a startling sense of awe, I don’t think she cares how it sounds.

“Your smile looks better, though,” she muses, one of her own appearing.

“I’ve smiled around you before.”

“Hardly. Not like that.”

Cool air attacks my hot skin when she removes her hand and uses the other to trace the shape of my bottom lip and pull up the corner of my mouth.

“I’m more of a scowler,” I say bluntly. Aiming for it to sound like a joke, I hope it doesn’t sound as self-deprecating as it feels.

“I like your scowls too.”

If we stand here like this any longer, I’m going to start thinking too far into these comments and find meanings behind them that don’t exist.

We’re in public.

This is all for show.

An act for or Pamila and the couple that I’d bet have already told my mother everything we intended her to learn.

I’m not interested in hurting myself.

Daisy’s forced to stop touching me, our connection breaking when I take a step back. My neck is hot, and I feel how damp it is with sweat as I pull my hair into my hands and drape it over my shoulder.

“If we don’t go now, someone will have drunk our beers,” I mutter.

She blinks a few times, her face unreadable for the first time since I’ve met her. “You’re right.”

I hesitate to touch her now.

In front of Darren, we were able to keep our distance in the classroom. But we aren’t in a classroom this time, and we’re about to do this in front of everyone important in my life. Her twin brother included.

“What do you need me to do?” Daisy asks, reading my mind. She looks like herself again.

“Do we hold hands?”

“We do whatever feels natural.”

But what if everything feels natural with her? I’d hold her hand every day if I could, even if my palms grow sweaty in seconds.

“Start with this,” she adds, threading our fingers.