the mess of books and papers and pens littering the surface. The sweatshirt she was wearing underneath had a neon-pink pair of puckered lips on the front. It was so clearly not hers it made me smile faintly.
I took a few soft steps toward the lamp, then decided against it. Our eyes were already adjusted to the dark, and the curtains I’d left open earlier were letting in enough light. The moonlight made her hair look silver, ethereal, the soft angles of her face cast in gentle shadow as she looked around. Her eyes wandered to the desk, the bed, the window, everything but me.
I came to stand directly in front of her, not even sure what I wanted her to say. But she was here, and I couldn’t find it in me to be anything but pleased.
She looked up at me and swallowed, reached out, then dropped her hands and balled them into fists at her sides. She was clearly anxious, but her brave eyes never left mine as she licked her lips and took a big breath.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered and clenched her jaw—as if the words didn’t taste right on her tongue. Or as if she was bracing for my response.
I frowned. “What for?”
“All of it,” she breathed. “For being a bitch to you when you first got here, for making your life hell, for not seeing you were just trying to help me, for not seeing what I was doing to you and to myself. The willful ignorance . . .” She shook her head, that silver-blonde hair falling partly over one eye. “For blaming you for my friends seeing me in that state last night. For the posters and Will and Drew and this whole mess. I’m sorry for all of it.”
She squared her shoulders and gave me one firm nod, ready to accept whatever I threw at her, however I reacted. So strong even in her humility.
I moved closer and allowed myself a single touch—a brush of my fingers against her temple as I tucked that lock of hair behind her ear—before I forced my hands down to my sides. Just because she was here, just because she was apologizing, didn’t mean she wanted more from me.
“I gave as good as I got.” My voice was as low as hers but just as decisive. “I goaded you, Donna, and a part of me wanted my life to be hell. I didn’t feel like I deserved happiness, friends, light after what I’d done. As for the other shit, I chose to follow you and push you, and I was probably crossing lines and sticking my nose where it didn’t belong, and for that I’m sorry too.” She shook her head and opened her mouth to object, but I rushed on before she could. “As for Will and Drew and that whole mess—I promise you none of that is your fault. I was getting dragged into that shit before Will realized there was anything between us. That’s not on you.”
She searched my gaze for a long time, then gave a tiny nod and a barely audible “OK.”
“OK.” I resisted the urge to pull her against me, hold her, protect her, devour her. There was barely a sliver of moonlight between us, our bodies drifting closer and closer.
“Hendrix?” Those round, perfectly imperfect, mismatched eyes still held me prisoner in my own room.
“Yeah?”
“Thank you. For sticking your nose where it didn’t belong. For pushing me. For seeing what was happening when no one else did—when even I didn’t let myself see the extent of it.”
“I’d do it all again in a heartbeat, take every mean thing you said and did, to make sure you were safe.”
“I know.” She reached up and finally touched me, gripping my shoulders. “I know . . . I . . .”
My heart beat so fucking hard in my chest I was sure the thudding would wake the neighbors. I dared not speak as she tried to get whatever she was trying to say out. But with a slight shake of her head, she gave up on words altogether.
Instead, she lifted onto her toes and tilted her face up to mine, her eyes already half-closed as I reacted to her—naturally, instinctually. My hands went to her back as I met her halfway in a kiss. Her nose was still cold from being outside so long, but her lips . . . her lips were warm and soft and perfect.
She kissed me with such tenderness—such