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“Really? You’re creative?” I lean in closer, eager to learn more about him. His body is relaxed and there’s a lightness I rarely see. “Stories? Poetry? Scriptwriting? What’s your poison?”

“Poetry.”

I arch my brow. A lock of brown hair falls over his face—this is one of those rare moments when he’s not all put together, and I like it. “Hm. I can see that. You’re a man of few words. So, of course you’d like to write the least amount of words too. Why make things easy for people to understand, right?”

Ethan barks out a laugh and I grin, my heart throwing itself against my rib cage.

He smiled!A wide, dimple baring smile. AndIbrought that to his face.

“No, Lexy. I like poetry because it’s magic with words.”

Magic. I inch closer.This is magic.

“The least amount of words to tell the most riveting story. Capturing emotions in its essence. That’s magic, don’t you think?” he rasps.

It’s seduction. His voice. I can listen to it all day.

My mouth dries and I wet my lips. Those ever-changing eyes of his snare on the movement. His pupils dilate.

Heat shoots between my legs and I’m reminded of how we fit together that night at Mystique—hot and cold, fire and ice—how his raspy voice and talented fingers brought me to orgasm with the slightest touch.

My lips part and I look away, feeling out of sorts.

Ignoring the butterflies fluttering in my stomach, I sit up, grab my satchel, and pull out my notebook and a pen.

Flopping on my stomach this time, I kick my feet up and read the prompt.

Love, in Seven Lines:

Describe love without using the words “love,” “heart,” or “forever.” Use exactly seven lines or sentences.

Frowning, I stare at the blank lines underneath it. How can I describe love in only seven lines? I think about my parents’ volatile relationship—the intense highs and devastating lows, the fights, the kisses. I get seasick standing in their presence.

How can I describethatin seven sentences?

Have I ever been in love before?

My heart flutters.Is that a yes?

I groan—damn missing memories.

“Why do you look like someone is making you do math all day?”

“Not everyone is a genius with numbers, Mr. Deliminator.” I shove him gently, and he slowly sits up. “My assignment. I’m stumped, but it’s due next week. You love poetry, right? Maybe you can give me some ideas.” I hand over my notebook and sit in front of him.

Ethan rolls his lips inward as he reads the prompt. He swallows, and when he speaks, his voice is hoarse. “Don’t focus on the limitations. Seven lines is plenty when it’s used wisely.” His eyes snap to mine, and he holds out his hand.

I give him the pen and watch as he uncaps it. His gaze roves over my face—a soulful caress. Then he closes his eyes.

“Imagine it’s the end of the world, and an asteroid is barreling toward you. You only have seconds left with the person you love. What do you want them to know?”

His lips curve in a bittersweet smile.

My lungs seize, riveted by the intensity on his face.

His eyelids flutter open, revealing a melancholic wistfulness, and he writes.

Moments later, he hands me the notebook and rasps, his voice thick with emotions, “It’s been a long time. Go easy on me.”