Just Like That - Cole McCade Page 0,13

in her castle?” he asked. “Perhaps, since it was all she knew...it never even felt like a cage.”

Summer let out a sunny little laugh. “Are we talking Grimm’s Rapunzel or Disney’s Rapunzel?”

“Does it matter?”

“Considering in one I end up losing my eyesight trying to reach you, and the other I just get hit in the face with a frying pan?” A wickedly amused sound rose from the back of Summer’s throat. “Yes.”

Fox wrinkled his nose. “Please do not project us into the roles of fictional lovers.”

A soft rustle rose, denim moving against grass, the sounds of fabric against skin. It was an oddly intimate sound, one that made Fox remember the sound of flesh on sheets, the pad of soft footsteps in the dark, a quiet room where he never wanted the light to find him and wake him from a dream of being in love.

He couldn’t breathe.

He couldn’t breathe, and he couldn’t seem to move even though everything inside him wanted to run as Summer drew closer, closer, until he was a warmth at Fox’s back, this bright thing that kept trying to chase away the cold touch of ghosts, of yurei whose icy spirit-fingers wrapped around Fox’s neck, choking off his air, but Fox didn’t want to let them go. Didn’t want to let in the breath they were strangling from him.

When if he remembered how to breathe, that one tiny swelling of his chest might just shatter him.

“What about real lovers, then?” Summer asked, husky, low, his breaths and his voice like a lick of flame on a frozen night.

Fox stared blankly straight ahead, curling one hand against his chest, against his shirt, clutching up a handful of the fabric. He couldn’t turn around. Couldn’t face that warmth.

Didn’t Summer realize?

Didn’t he realize if he burned away Fox’s wall of frost...

There was nothing beneath, and he’d just melt and evaporate and wisp away?

“Why?” he whispered. “Why do you want something like that?”

“You told me to be bold.” Soft, entreating, yet...so inadvertently seductive, too. Fox didn’t think Summer realized just how seductive his sweetness was. “I can’t think of anything bolder than asking the most terrifying man in Albin Academy to kiss me.” Summer drew closer, the crackle of grass beneath his feet, his shoulder brushing Fox’s in a sudden quiet shock-jump of sensation before it was gone as Summer stood at his side, looking out over the water as well with that strange, gently melancholy smile on his full red lips. “Once per day.”

Fox watched him from the corner of his eye, brows knitting. “That’s...a bizarre proposition.”

“Is it?” Summer slipped his hands into the pockets of his jeans, his shirt drawing tight against leanly toned musculature, wrinkles seaming against the flex of his biceps. “It’s motivation. If I’m bolder, if I prove to you I can do this job... I get rewarded with a kiss. With one caveat.”

There. One caveat.

All Fox would need to end this ridiculous game.

“And what would that be?” he asked.

“Only if you really want to.” Summer shook his head slightly, messy hair drifting across his eyes. “I couldn’t stand it if you felt like you had to. Like you were obligated, or like...” He trailed off, eyes lidding, voice quieting. “...like I didn’t really care what you want. I think... I kind of think ‘no’ is the most important word we know, and not enough people listen to it.”

“You have to know that I would say no right in this instant, Mr. Hemlock,” Fox said through his teeth. “Which makes your proposition quite pointless, as it is.”

Summer lifted his head, then, once more looking at Fox directly. Considering how he avoided eye contact so pathologically, Fox...didn’t understand why Summer seemed inclined to so often look at him so fully, so intently, when he claimed to be afraid of Fox, claimed to be so anxious he actually found Fox terrifying.

But perhaps that’s what bravery was, Fox thought.

Summer was afraid of him...

And yet still looking at him.

Trying to see him.

And telling him, in his own way...

That for some bizarre reason, he found Fox to be worth facing down that fear.

He didn’t understand.

And he didn’t understand how intently Summer looked at him, those rich blue eyes subtly dilated, turning them smoky.

“Summer,” he whispered. “Call me Summer.”

Fox’s eyes widened. His fingers clenched harder in his shirt.

Did Summer not...understand what using given names meant, to him?

Perhaps he was only half-Japanese, his mother a white American woman who gave him his gray eyes in a rare genetic fluke, but he