Entanglement (YA Dystopian Romance) - By Dan Rix Page 0,32

they were alone—

Aaron faced her and slid off his sunglasses. She fidgeted with one of the laces on her bathing suit top.

“So I guess this is it then,” he said.

“No duh,” she said. “You’re horrible at goodbyes . . . and you’re not getting a steamy goodbye kiss if that’s what you’re fantasizing about.”

“I think that would be inappropriate,” he said.

“You’re worried about your half, aren’t you?” she said, her tone daring, and he hated the way she referred to his half like she didn’t expect it to be her, didn’t even want it to be her.

“It’s complicated,” he said, facing forward again, his mind in turmoil. It was true; their involvement with each other this close to their birthdays could damage both of them. Like underage sex, enough emotion for the wrong person right now could drain clairvoyance from their channels, never to be replaced. Not a lot, but enough to notice, and they would feel what was missing the second they laid eyes on their halves.

A thick, sticky heat smothered the inside of the car. Amber shifted in her seat. “Do you ever get scared?” she said.

“I’m scared right now,” he said.

“I’m not.” Her green eyes sparkled. “You make me forget.”

“Stop it,” he said.

“What if this is all we ever get?”

“This is not all you get,” he said. “You get to spend your entire life—”

“With the wrong person,” she said, finishing his sentence. “Do you want to meet my parents and see for yourself?”

“Amber, you don’t have to be like them,” he said. “You’re not Clive’s half; halves love each other. That’s the only thing that’s real.”

“And what’s this?” she said.

“It’s fake.”

At first she didn’t move, but then she clicked open the door and stepped onto the curb. “Then maybe I was just being naïve,” she said, her voice flat. The door latched behind her.

It was done.

Aaron took a deep breath and tried to connect his ignition wires. They sparked, but he couldn’t hold them together.

Something felt wrong. He and Amber turned eighteen in five days. Halves or not, they both knew the danger of falling for each other. The decision to wait should have been easy, an obvious precaution. Anyone would have done the same in their shoes.

Instead, she acted exactly how he felt—as if these five days were her last. Ever. She acted like she didn’t want to say goodbye. He didn’t want to say goodbye, either. Because in five days, his own connection to his half would be uncertain, unlikely even. It might not even exist.

But Amber was real now.

Aaron kicked open his door. He caught her halfway up the broad, terra cotta steps leading to her front door and grabbed her by the hand.

“We don’t have to end this—” he said, pausing to catch his breath, “if you still want to do this.”

“I changed my mind.”

“No you didn’t.” He pulled Amber closer, and her hair loosened and gathered over her eyes. The ocean reflected in her irises like glitter.

Suddenly his sprint up the stairs caught up with him. He tried to catch his breath but couldn’t, or was it her, the heat emanating from every inch of her bare skin? Because he felt dizzy just looking at her.

And then he did it.

On impulse, while his brain was infuriatingly absent, he did the very worst thing he could have done. He kissed her.

The kiss surprised her at first, but then she sank into him, and he felt her fingernails digging into his back, squeezing him even closer. In his arms, her body felt naked and hauntingly appealing. Around them, the horizon’s silver haze swirled endlessly. They were weightless. And Aaron realized his nerves had been frozen up until now, numb, asleep for his whole life.

Waiting for her.

He pulled away slowly, and the citrusy, salty taste of her lips lingered pleasantly in his mouth. But before he could speak, movement in one of the windows drew his gaze. “Are your parents home?” he said.

“Are you hoping they saw?” she said, goose bumps spreading down her forearms.

“They’re inside, aren’t they?”

“I don’t actually want you to meet them.”

Aaron tried to read her expression, but she was closed off once again, guarded. “Amber,” he said, “is it a bad idea for me to keep seeing you? Will I end up hurting you?”

She stared at him, biting her lip, but said nothing.

“But you want me to anyway?” he said.

Slowly, she nodded.

And she looked very different than the girl he had met at the bonfire—disturbed, more dangerous. Involved in things she