in cotton candy.” Laughing, she trails her fingers over my pecs. “Which would be quite the feat, considering what cotton candy weighs.”
“I would pay good money to see that.” I flip through my own mental list of fantasies, skipping quickly past the filthy ones. That’s not where we’re at in this moment. “I always wanted to be a superhero,” I admit. “Not Superman or Batman, but something unique. A niche that’s not filled yet.”
“You mean like Pig Man?” She grins. “I read that Alexander the Great used pigs for counterattacks on elephants. They’re quite fierce warriors.”
“No kidding?”
She shrugs. “Apparently, elephants are terrified of pig squeals.”
I laugh, so charmed my heart nearly bursts. “Maybe not what I had in mind for my superhero self. How about something more practical? Maybe Racial Injustice Man or something like that.”
Iz quirks an eyebrow. “Able to eradicate white supremacy in a single bound?”
“Exactly.” I tuck a curl behind her ear. “Or Medical Marvel Man—something where I can snap my fingers and instantly diagnose and cure whatever’s making someone sick.”
“Very altruistic. Much more so than the cotton candy.”
“Oh, I’ve got frivolous fantasies, too.” I roll onto my back, and Iz rolls with me, still stroking my chest. “Stuff about jumping out of airplanes or maybe holding a koala.”
“That’s smart, choosing fantasies that could really come true.” Izzy’s brow furrows. “I need more of those. Maybe riding a camel or learning to turn a cartwheel.”
“I like it.” And I swear I’m not picturing Iz turning that cartwheel in a floaty little skirt. “How about silly fantasies? I had a friend once who wanted to buy a devil costume and ride the elevator all day asking everyone who got on if they’re going down.”
Izzy laughs, dark curls tumbling over her face. “I had a friend who did something similar,” she says. “A marchioness from Illingheim. If we were out together drawing undue attention, she’d stare at someone with this evil look and say, ‘I must find a new host body. Yours looks suitable.’ It never failed to send them running.”
“I love it.” I might also love Izzy, but no way in hell is this the time to spring that on her. “My sister used to get laughs by dashing into public places and asking the first person she saw what year it was. When they answered, she’d shout, ‘It worked! The time machine worked!’ and run out whooping and pumping a fist.”
“Oh, I love that. I’d like to meet your sister.” She blinks. “Figuratively, I mean. I’m not implying this is the sort of relationship where we’re meeting each other’s families.”
“Technically, I knew your Bracelyn family before you did.” I keep my voice light, trying to clear the worry flickering in her eyes. “And you’ve already met my mom. I’d say we’re halfway to getting married already.”
It’s the wrong thing to say. A stupid joke, but one that sends her bolting upright with the sheets clutched to her breasts. “Was that my phone? I left it in the other room, but I’m expecting a call from my moth—”
“Iz, I’m sorry.” I sit up, too, dragging a hand through my hair. “It was a joke. A dumb one, I’ll admit that.” I put a hand on her arm and feel she’s trembling. “I know we’re not getting married, okay? You’ve made it clear you’re not here long-term.”
Maybe my heart hasn’t gotten the message, but the rest of me has. I know this thing between Iz and me can’t go anywhere, and I accept that.
I’m trying to accept it.
She bites her lip and holds my gaze. “I care about you a lot, Bradley. So much.”
“And I care about you.”
Her throat moves as she swallows. “Our time together—it’s been amazing. And this, what happened between us just now—” Color floods her face again, but she doesn’t drop eye contact. “It’s amazing. You’re amazing. But my time here is ending soon, and I don’t want it to hurt too much.”
“It’s okay, Izzy.” I cover her hand with mine, not sure if she means her or me. Which of us is more likely to get hurt? “I understand you can’t stay. I’m happy with the limited time I’ll have with you.”
It’s not a lie, but also not the truth. Not the whole truth, anyway.
“Good,” Izzy says softly. “I’m glad we’re on the same page.”
“We are.”
We’re not. Because if we were, my heart wouldn’t tick up to tachycardic rhythms, rattling my ribs as Iz pulls me in for a slow kiss. My head wouldn’t