Page 95 of Stealing Infinity (Stolen Beauty)

Unlike my brain, it always knows what it wants, and right now, it wants Braxton. And going by the glazed look in his eyes, he’s meeting me match for match.

Still, as reckless and self-indulgent as I can sometimes be, my pragmatic side insists on being heard. Which explains why I find myself placing a hand on Braxton’s chest to keep him from coming any closer.

“Everything okay?” he asks, confused by the mixed signals I’m giving—the needy heat of the hand that keeps him at bay, and the determined look on my face.

“I’ve been thinking…” I say, watching as the flame in Braxton’s gaze is instantly doused by a torrent of dread. “Maybe…we should just…” I bite down on my lip, hardly able to believe what I’m about to do next. “Maybe we should just sort of…cool it down…way down. At least for a while…”

In an instant, Braxton’s fingers fall from my waist, and I’m reminded of the way he and Elodie bickered back at the club while I lay in a trance on the couch, and how angry she was when he pushed her away. He’s over her. That much is clear. But Elodie is not over him. And if I have any hope of becoming a Blue and cementing my place here, then I can’t risk alienating her any more than I already have.

Also, if I’m being honest, I’m confused by my feelings for Braxton. I mean, my entire world was just flipped upside down. Everyone I knew, and most of what I believed, has been ripped right out from under me, only to be replaced with a slew of new faces and a shocking list of possibilities that I’ve barely had a chance to process, much less adapt to.

And while I really like kissing him, and while there’s an undeniable twinge in my belly and skip of my heartbeat whenever he’s near, I’m not sure if that means I have feelings for him; if I’ve fooled myself into thinking I like him to get back at Elodie; or if he’s just a beautiful, sexy boy I kiss in an effort to not feel so lonely.

And until I can manage to sort that all out, I think it’s better for both of us to just leave last night in the past.

To Braxton, I say, “For now, I think it’s better if I limit my focus to finding my way here at Gray Wolf and learning everything I can, as quickly as I can, so I can make Blue. I can’t afford to be distracted by anything else. So…I’m hoping we can be…friends?”

Braxton’s eyes graze over me, and while he looks a bit crestfallen, he soon nods in agreement. “Just know, I’m always here for you, Tasha,” he says. “Oh, and I left you a tray.” He hooks a thumb over his shoulder to where a silver tray with coffee and pastries sits on the table before the velvet settee.

The gesture is so kind, so caring, I have to fight the urge to take back everything I just said, grab hold of his arm, and drag him over to my bed so he can make my body shatter in all the ways I’ve imagined.

But of course I don’t do any of that. I need to stay focused, cement my place here. Once that’s done, then maybe I’ll have a better grip on exactly what it is that I’m feeling.

As soon as he’s gone, I pour some coffee into a pretty porcelain mug, pop a piece of almond croissant into my mouth, and head into the bathroom.

When I emerge, I find a stack of yellow sweatshirts neatly stacked on the shelf where the green ones once were.

Defer no time,

delays have dangerous ends.

—William Shakespeare