Page 107 of Heartland

“Um…” I’m a little distracted now. I open my bedroom door just as the knock comes again.

“Company?” Leah asks.

“Uh, maybe? Could be Ellie, I guess.” I stretch the curly phone cord into the short hallway and open the outer door.

“H—” Dylan starts to greet me, but I cut him off with a chop of my hand through the air.

His eyes widen.

“I’d better go,” I tell Leah. “Talk to you this weekend?”

“Sure. You have to let me know when your last exam ends. I can come get you if you can’t hitch a ride back with Dylan.”

“I’ll ask him,” I say as Dylan grins at me. “Have fun in Chicago!”

“I will! Later, sweetie.” We hang up.

“Leah, I guess?” he asks. “She’s going to Chicago?”

“Yeah. Something about a new donor for the—” This sentence gets cut off, because Dylan yanks me against his chest and kisses me. Hard. His hands cup my ass, and his mouth claims mine with speed and authority.

Even after the best month of my life, I’m still surprised when he does that. But not too surprised to cup his face in my hands and give it right back to him.

“Hi,” he says after a long, wonderful minute or two. “I missed you. Can you tell?”

“A little,” I say, breathless. I hope he takes me right to bed.

“I come bearing cheap beer and YouTube. Can you take a study break?”

“Of course,” I say. “My last essay is almost done.”

“Can I read it?” he asks, easing past me to remove his backpack and drop his coat on my desk chair.

“No.” I already know it’s good. All you need to get an A is to bare the ugliest parts of your soul.

“It was worth a shot.” He opens the backpack to pull out two bottles of beer and his laptop.

It’s not long until we’re ensconced on my bed, watching SNL replays while cuddling. The videos are funny, but I’m distracted by the woodsy scent of Dylan’s skin, and the way he’s resting a hand on my tummy.

I love everything about this moment. The casual ease of our time together. The sound of his laughter. Dylan is better at living in the moment than I am. He reminds me to stop and just be.

Even after all the times we’ve been together, I still crave him. I want that hand to unbutton my jeans and then slide into my panties. I want him to roll me to the side and kiss me again.Right now, please.

“Can I play a different video for you?”

“What?” I ask stupidly. My attention is shot.

“These guys. Hang on.” He clicks around the keyboard and pulls up a website I haven’t seen before. It’s for a French-Canadian fiddle band. “They’re playing in Lebanon on New Year’s Eve, and I’m thinking of getting tickets. Will you come with me?”

“Well, sure. Who’s going?”

“It would just be you and me.”

“Like a date?” I ask, turning to look at him.

“Just like that,” he whispers, his brown eyes soft. “You got better New Year’s plans?”

“Of course not.” That’s crazy talk. “But how will we explain it?”