“Racing up the wide staircase, I barreled through the double doors and smacked right into a brick wall.Stumbling backward, my arms flailed like a cracked-out crossing guard. My over-packed messenger bag slipped, pulling me to one side. My hairflew it front of my face, a sheet of auburn that obscured everything as I teetered dangerously.Oh dear God, I was going down. There was no stopping it. Visions of broken necks danced in my head. This was going to suck so—Something strong and hard went around my waist, stopping my free fall. My bag hit the floor, spilling overpriced books and pens across the shinyfloor. My pens! My glorious pens rolled everywhere. A second later I was pressed against the wall.The wall was strangely warm.The wall chuckled.“Whoa,” a deep voice said. “You okay, sweetheart?”

“My bag hit the floor, spilling overpriced books and pens across the shiny floor. My pens! My glorious pens rolled everywhere.”

“Tension pulled my eyes open when her fingers traced a trail down my neck. Sensation blossomed, and I threw my head back and sucked in the air. Her arm slipped around my waist, catching me before I fell. ”

“That earns him a smack with my book bag."Ow." He clutches his arm. "What do you have in there? Books?" A grin snakes across his face. "I like my women feisty."He adds, "I like my broken.”

“I stop crying for a moment when light from the street steals into my bedroom as Silas gently pushes the curtain aside. He leans against the wall, arms folded across his bare chest and hair falling in front of his eyes. Almost silently, he moves to the tiny space between my bed and the wall and lowers himself to the floor. Raising his knees to his chest, he drops his head and reaches for my hand, running his thumb across my knuckles silently.I slide off the bed, sheets wrapped around my legs, and ease into his lap, tucking my face against his neck. He cradles me against him like he’s afraid to let me go. I know I should shy away, that I should climb back into my bed out of loyalty to my sister. But there’s something that locks me in place, something that won’t let me stray from the gentle rise and fall of his chest or from his arms, supporting me like I’m something precious as his lips brush across my forehead.Without speaking, we finally fall asleep.”

“Time has stopped; time is racing. Lochie's lips are rough yet smooth, hard yet gentle. His fingers are strong: I feel them in my hair and on my neck and down my arms and against my back. And I never want him to let me go.”