Page 108 of Heartland

He shrugs. “We don’t need to. We can go wherever we want together.”

My chest contracts with discomfort. “It’s not a good idea. Besides, I’m saving up for my computer.”

“It’s my idea, I’d buy the tickets,” Dylan argues. “Think of it as a New Year’s present.”

“You already gave me a present. A big one,” I point out. “And I always babysit on New Year’s so that Leah and Isaac can go out.”

“Oh. Okay.” He looks a little deflated.

“Sorry,” I say, my heart hammering. I hate saying no to him. But if I suddenly had big plans, Leah would want to know why.

Dylan plays one of the videos anyway, and I can see why he likes this band. It’s funky, but the music is based in the same fiddle music that he plays.

They’re really good. And now I feel like crap for turning him down. “You could go without me, you know.”

“I suppose.” He wraps an arm around me and doesn’t say any more about it.

Curling a little more tightly toward him, I ask myself what the hell I’m doing. I should be enjoying every minute of time he wants to spend with me. I should just live it up while it lasts. Protecting my heart is a lost cause, anyway.

And now it’s becoming a problem.

That night in the library, we promised each other we’d tell the truth. But every day I fail to do that. I love Dylan, and I don’t think I should tell him. He might end things if I do. That’s probably what would happen.

And I don’t want to see his face when I say it, either. I don’t want to watch him flail around trying to explain why he can’t say those words back to me.

Kaitlyn was right. It’s hard to be the one who’s more in love. It’s frequently excruciating.

The band is still playing on Dylan’s screen. But all I really see is Dylan’s perfect hand resting on my stomach. Tonight I just ache for him. Right before my period, I always feel… Whatever the female version ofhornyis.Needy, maybe.Heated.

It’s not a new phenomenon. When I was a teenager I used to lay awake at night fantasizing about sex. I dreamt of a man’s weight pressing me into the bed.

Open your body to your husband when he asks you to, the Divine Pastor used to preach.Receive him and take his seed whenever he is restless.

I couldn’t wait. I was already restless. But I knew better than to say so. Girls were slapped just for looking too long at the boys. They were reprimanded for flirting, or for showing any skin at all. Our dresses came down to our anklebones.

And any girl who was found walking near the young men’s dormitory would be severely punished. It was also forbidden to walk around with wet hair—because that was too sexual.

I still don’t understand that last one. There’s nothing too sexy about my post-shower hair.

Female desire was never mentioned, even by the women. I honestly believed there was something weird about me until I worked that job at Walgreens and discovered magazines. They were very educational. “Find the Big O!” “Drive Your Man—And Yourself—Wild!” “How to Tell If He’s As Hot For You As You Are For Him!”

It was there in the magazine aisle that I realized I wasn’t a freak after all.

None of that is helping me right now, though. The music plays on, and I roll closer to Dylan, tucking my cheek against his shoulder, wondering when we’re going to take advantage of all this unexpected privacy in the dormitory.

I love him. And I also crave him.

He clicks on another song, and I privately groan. Then he gently runs his fingertips across my tummy, which only makes things worse.

“Chass.”

“Hmm?” I ask, woozy with need.

“You’re very quiet tonight.”

“Mmm.” I stroke a hand down his chest and sigh.

“You can ask for it, you know.”