Page 87 of Meet Me In The Dark

His gaze stays on the road when he says, “Believe it or not, I’m very selective with who I blindfold.”

The admission does something strange to my chest, but before I can overthink it, the words slip out. “I haven’t gone back. Have you?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

He stays quiet for so long, I think he might not answer at all.

“Because I’d be searching for someone who’s not there.”

My heart slams against my ribs, so I keep my head down and tug at a loose string on my hoodie.

“Yeah,” I murmur, barely loud enough to hear myself. “Me too.”

I’m not sure if he catches it. I don’t look to find out. Instead, I turn toward the window and watch the city roll.

When he finally parks in front of my apartment building, I slide out of the car with my legs feeling like jelly.

I stall at the open door and turn back to him, words tumbling out before I can stop them. “You know what?”

He meets my gaze. “What?”

“I don’t think I hate you as much anymore.”

Those broad shoulders lift on a bark of laughter, the rich sound sliding deliciously down my spine.

“That’s good, because I’m tired of pretending I hate you.”

A stupid grin curls my lips as I roll my eyes and shut the door.

By the time I get to my kitchen, my hands are trembling and my pulse is racing for reasons that have nothing to do with boxing.

I’m just pouring myself a glass of water when a sharp knock pounds at my door.

Frowning, I rush over and swing it open.

Oh.

“Julian, what are—”

“I forgot something,” he interrupts, voice gravel-edged and strained.

My brow furrows. “What the hell did you forget?”

“This.”

Before I can take another breath, he steps forward and crowds me into the doorframe. His hands cup my face a second before his mouth crashes onto mine.

Oh. My. God.

I’ve died.

I’m sure of it.

Everything stops.

Thought. Air. Time.