Coveted Page 8

  Chapter 8

  Despite Bran's prediction that Michael and I would make up, I had still not spoken to him by the time March ticked around. Granted, a large part of that had been because I was too busy practicing with Bran, sending out university applications, and studying. I still thought that if Michael had wanted to be my friend again, he might have put in some effort but he appeared too preoccupied.

  I had seen Maria coming and going from his house and seen the two of them show their sickening displays of affection in the hallways. Even if I had the time to talk to him, the more I thought about it, the less I knew what to say to him. I wasn't angry or even embarrassed anymore. I just wasn't sure how to be his friend after what had happened between us. He didn't seem to care to be mine. He had a pert girl right in front of him.

  At least, that is what I thought.

  It was during one of our droning math lectures that Bran reached across the aisle and tapped my hand. When I looked at him, he ticked his head to the side, indicating Michael's direction, but when I looked at Michael, he was diligently taking notes. Maria, who was sitting next to him, looked a little disgruntled. I questioned Bran with a shrug and a raised brow. In response, he looked back at Michael, who was still writing. I was completely confused by the entire exchange. It wasn't until after class that Bran enlightened me.

  "He misses you," he said, as we walked down the hall together.

  "Ha!" I scoffed. "He would actually have to notice I'm gone. He's been perfectly preoccupied."

  Bran shook his head. "He was watching you in class before I got your attention. I bet he'll be apologizing any day."

  "And I think you need your head examined," I countered as we reached my locker. It was a nice fantasy but I had seen no evidence to prove it was reality. It was looking more and more like Michael had decided we were broken for good.

  Bran shrugged. "I guess we'll see. Maybe he'll come to our concert."

  I let my head fall against the locker door. The resulting metal bang was louder than I had expected. With a jolt, I straightened and looked around to see if anyone else had noticed. If they had, they had also quickly returned to their own business.

  "You alright?" he asked.

  "Yeah, I just hate being reminded of music these days. Who knew Mrs. Montgomery could be such a bitch."

  He raised a brow and crossed his arms in front of his chest. "Really? It's that much of a shock?"

  "Ok, fine. It isn't. I just wish she wasn't taking her fear out on us."

  He leaned against the locker next to mine and watched as I opened it to stuff my math books inside. The added books threw off the balance of the pile, causing the entire stack to teeter forward. Instead of doing the smart thing and trying to stop the books from falling, I threw my hands up to protect my head. I waited for the injury that didn't come.

  Peeking up, I saw Bran's large hand holding the stack against the back of the locker. He continued to talk as if nothing had happened. "At least she's still letting us use the music room after school."

  She seemed less bothered by it since Bran had started to practice with me. As promised, he stayed with me every day whether it be for practice or rehearsal.

  As much as our hard work had meant the two of us had improved, it could not make up for the abysmal playing of the rest of the group. Mrs. Montgomery had made good on her threat and gave detention whenever she felt someone had not practiced enough. At least a third of the class had received one. As our concert date approached and Mrs. Montgomery's nerves frayed ever more, it took less and less to trigger the punishment. At our most recent rehearsal, Bran and I had almost been sentenced to an hour in detention too until he pointed out that it would take away from our practice time.

  I sighed and momentarily stopped searching for my English books. "I really need a break from all this today but we better practice. I'm not sure how well your excuse will help us next time."

  While agonizing over music had my mood pretty low, it was nothing compared to the agony that gym had begun to offer ever since my rift with Michael. His blatant relationship with Maria had meant that he, and by extension I, had become the topic of gossip.

  Some had guessed correctly that he had rejected me in favour of Maria, which gave Samantha and Amanda all the fodder they needed. Their desire to bring me down was sharpened by the fact they still seemed to believe my presence was their only hindrance to dating Bran. They were too self-obsessed to realize that my presence had very little to do with it. Bran was simply uninterested. He saw them as petty gossips, but that did not stop them from taking their disappointment out on me whenever he wasn't within earshot.

  "Well, at least Michael finally figured out the dead weight holding him back," Samantha said overly loud as we readied to play volleyball.

  I tried to ignore her and kept my eyes focused resolutely on the ball in Ms. Williams' hand but my attempts were pathetically undermined. Samantha's words described exactly how I felt. The sting of it may have waned but having her of all people sum up the truth so completely was the official low point of my day.

  Amanda scoffed. "I bet that's why Bran is being so nice to her. She probably went crying to him and he's too much of a gentleman to send her away. She probably thinks he likes her or something the way she hangs around him all the time. Like he'd ever ask her out. If he liked her, he would have done it already. He probably just pities her."

  If Amanda only knew how she had lifted my spirits with that last comment, she would be mortified. The thought of the shock and disgust on their faces if they knew that not only had Bran asked but had continued to pursue me despite my insane hesitations wiped away any of the hurt Samantha's comments about Michael had caused. They knew nothing about any of it and yet the simple fact that they were wrong gave a small victorious leap in my gut.

  As planned, Bran and I stayed behind after an hour of being yelled at and ridiculed by Mrs. Montgomery. She was beginning to resemble a crazed medusa. She had hysterically declared that there would now be three hour practices every night for the next two weeks until the performance but had to relent when half the students raised their hands and explained their other commitments. I was beginning to suspect it was Mrs. Montgomery's fled sanity that was now hindering us more than any lack of skill or practice.

  After all the other students had left, Mrs. Montgomery had had her traditional five-minute cry before whisking from the room with a handful of wet tissues, leaving Bran and I to return to the music. When we played together, it worked. Bran never played a wrong note and I was getting steadily better and more confident. It was a welcome change from the messes that were the rehearsals. Our music lilted together until I missed one of my marks, again.

  "I just cannot make that transition," I whined, flopping my head down on the keys, which echoed my frustration in a discordant burst.

  Bran was next to me with a pencil in hand. Even after all these weeks and all of my denial, his proximity had not ceased to burn me with his heat and tease me with that lovely smell of his. "Because you keep holding this G too long," he said kindly. I heard him scribbling on the page but did not look up. I was not thinking about my inadequacies as a pianist.

  The Scottish wilderness was hypnotizing my fantasies and in the centre of it, a broad-shouldered warrior. I whimpered and Bran rubbed my back. The gnawing flared its talons. It would never go away until I fed it but I hoped it would become tolerable simply because it was so constant. That was, until moments like this when its rhythm whipped around like fire.

  "It isn't that bad," he offered, assuming my frustrations had nothing to do with how I felt about him.

  Why was I such an idiot? The more time passed, the less logic I had to support my hesitation. With a sigh, I decided. I would give him what we both wanted. I looked up at him and he smiled his crooked smile at me.

  "Anything I can help you with, dove?" he asked.

  He was a sorcerer. Yes, that was it, but I didn't care. I could have said yes right then but now I hesitated for an
entirely different reason. If I gave into my desire enough to say yes at that moment, then I might also end up doing something that would be an expellable offense. I would tell him after practice, when we were somewhere more appropriate. Of course, if no one knew...

  "Am I interrupting?"

  Thank whatever god that was holy. Michael was in the doorway looking uncharacteristically unsure of himself. If he had been even a moment later, he might very well have been interrupting in the worst possible way. Despite his good timing, the gnawing was annoyed and its sentiment quickly spread to me. Would it have been that bad?

  "Need something?" Bran asked. His voice was light but I saw his hand resting on the piano tense.

  Michael took a few steps into the room. "I just wanted to talk but never seem to track you down at the right time."

  "I thought it was because you'd said everything you needed to say," I growled. My annoyance with his presence was growing. "If you don't mind, we have some practicing to do."

  He stepped farther into the room. "It will only take a minute and obviously I didn't say everything."

  Bran had not taken his eyes off Michael. "You have your chance now," he suggested. His tone was still friendly but he was also still leaning over me.

  "Can I talk to Lucina alone for a minute?" Michael asked, looking Bran right in the eye.

  Bran looked down at me. I looked back at him and nodded.

  "Of course," he said as he straightened. Though his tone never faltered and he sauntered from the room as if he hadn't a care in the world, I noticed how firmly his fists clenched before he stuffed them into his pockets. Was he feeling protective? Jealous? Both? He'd never had a problem with Michael before. The fact that he seemed to have developed one was strange.

  "I wanted to apologize for being a jerk to you," Michael blurted.

  I had still been focused upon Bran. It took me a moment to come back to the conversation at hand and another to process what he had said. I raised a brow.

  He walked closer as he continued, "I could have been more tactful about it all and I just keep feeling like I messed it all up." When he reached me, he rested his hand on the piano and looked down at me. "I miss having my friend around."

  I had not lowered my eyebrow. "What does Maria think about that?" I asked.

  He blinked at me as if he had not expected the question. "Not a clue," he said. "This isn't about her. This is about us, as friends. Maria is great. I really do like her but I need friends too. I miss hanging out with you. I miss all the things we used to do together. I miss having someone I can talk to without feeling like I have to recite the dictionary just to be understood."

  I laughed involuntarily. I didn't want to disrespect his relationship with Maria but it sounded like my assumptions about her intellect were correct. "You two still together?" I asked. I was genuinely curious and not remotely jealous. Maybe I was finally over him.

  "Of course," he said, his eyes narrowing. "You only going to be friends with me if I dump her?"

  I held up my hands defensively. "No, nothing like that. It just sounds like the veneer has worn off a bit. You don't sound happy."

  He flopped down on the chair Bran had been using. "She's great. She really tries hard and I like her but I feel like I need a bit more well-rounded life. I need my friend back. Do you accept my apology?"

  It was funny. I had known the moment I saw him in the doorway that I would accept whatever he had to say. I couldn't find a single trace of my animosity anywhere. In all the weeks since, it was like I'd found life beyond Michael, exactly what he had wanted. His rejection wasn't such a big deal even if I did miss him. Life just felt wrong without him teasing me in his good-natured way.

  I tapped my finger on my chin and looked up at the ceiling as if I were having difficulty with the decision. I could at least let him stew a little. Ok, well not that much. I still wasn't fond of sadism. "Fine," I said. "All is forgiven."

  He clapped his hands together as he stood. "Great! What are we doing when you're done here?"

  I started packing up my music. I knew the rest of the evening would be a bust anyway. The thoughts I had had about Bran were too tantalizing to focus on keys and notes. "We are not doing anything," I said. "I have some things I need to do tonight. Maybe tomorrow."

  He pouted. "Not tomorrow. I have to help Maria study for Friday's math test. This weekend?"

  I thought of what the evening's events could mean for my plans. "I'll get back to you."

  "Fine," he grunted before sticking out his tongue and heading for the door. "I'll see you in class tomorrow," he called over his shoulder. "Bring all your assignments. I want to make sure your grades haven't dropped in my absence."

  "I got a 96 on my last physics test without your help!" I shot back.

  He just laughed as he walked down the hall.

  Bran was in the doorway a minute later, leaning against the frame with his arms crossed in front of his chest. He raised both eyebrows at me expectantly.

  "Friends again," I said as I zipped up my bag.

  He smiled and walked up to lift me into a big hug. "I'm glad. It was so annoying watching you two covertly glance at each other all the time."

  I breathed in his scent and enjoyed his warmth wrapped around me. I slid my arms around his waist and rested my head against his chest. The gnawing had become a frenzy but I didn't mind. It would be sated soon.

  "You're not jealous?" I asked, remembering his tension when Michael had come into the room. I did not want to bring it up directly but I also wanted to make sure there wouldn't be any awkwardness between them.

  He chuckled. "Nah. I'm pretty sure I've already won."

  Like we had so many other nights the previous weeks, we finished tidying the music room and headed out to his car. I stepped gingerly through the slush, hoping not to find that one patch of still frozen puddle I knew was waiting to upend the next incautious pedestrian.

  Spring had committed to a full attack upon the cold. It was above freezing though not by much but after the deep freeze of winter, it felt warm and heavenly. Running water could be heard all around us; dripping off the school roof, flowing into the storm drains, trickling off the bleachers by the track. It was a lovely reminder that parkas and endless nights were in fact temporary inconveniences.

  The sun was still up when we got back to my house. It was nice not having to come home in the dark and was a comforting reminder of warmer days to come. I unlocked the door and held it open for Bran.

  "Tonight we're watching the latest Doctor Who, but no spoilers this time," I scolded. I had begun to thoroughly enjoy the show despite my usual hang-ups. In fact, I was finally feeling like I was moving beyond them. Given enough time, I might become a bigger fan than Michael. I couldn't even place why but the darker and more violent stories had begun to intrigue me rather than repulse and terrify me.

  Bran put his hands up defensively as he walked to the couch. "I talk about the Silence one time and you've never forgiven me."

  "Damn right," I said as he sat down. I plopped down next to him and rested my head against his shoulder. As I turned on the TV using the remote, he wrapped his arm around me. I could stay there all day. I wanted to stay there all day and I had decided that was perfectly acceptable.

  The intro music finished but I had not been paying attention. I had been thinking of my handsome Scot. Now that there were no more questions in my mind, I was determined. I looked up at him as I considered how to say it. He looked down and smiled. "Can I help you with something, dove?"

  I couldn't find the words. File not found on my vocabulary yet again. Bran was worse than a virus when it came to my mental computations. While I couldn't speak, I also couldn't look away. Those swirling eyes of blue and green were perfection. Wasn't there something I had wanted to say to him?

  Maybe he was a mind reader. Maybe I was just that obvious. However, he had done it, he seemed to have figured it out. He lifted his hand and caressed my cheek. I did not take my eyes from his. He leaned
closer. I lifted my chin. His caressing hand stopped to cup my jaw. He was so close.

  And it was not enough.

  The gnawing in my chest had turned from shrieks and scrapes into an intolerable wildfire that threatened to sear me at the cellular level. I needed to quell it. It was beyond ignoring so I closed my eyes in my effort to bear it.

  I felt the moist warmth of his lips press against mine. Far from sating me, it had just thrown oil onto the flames. There were now two fires: one that threatened to destroy me in agony and the other that promised salvation through pleasure. I could not pull away. I needed this. I wanted it. It was worth all the agony in the world.

  I pressed into him and lifted my head as best I could to keep the contact with him. Our lips parted as he kissed me more deeply. Then our arms were around each other.

  When had I gotten onto his lap? I turned my face just to ease my suffocation. He moved his mouth down my neck. My hips, instinctively knowing things I did not, started to grind against him. His hands cupped my buttocks, helping to press me against him. I knotted my fingers in his hair as I held him against me, whimpering as he teased my throat with his lips. And through it all, the fires inside me battled for supremacy. I did not know which would win and I did not care so long as I could experience this moment.

  He tilted his chin up and I looked down into his eyes. There was a spark in them I had not seen before. No, not a spark, a fire of his own, a complete inferno blazing behind his swirling greens and blues. I knew at that moment that all the turmoil inside me was happening inside him as well.

  His gaze dropped and lingered upon my lips. "My dove," he whispered. "Finally. My sweet dove."

  Our lips were doing battle again and my body writhed against his, wanting things that I should have been responsible enough not to want at that moment. I did not care. Every molecule in me was in a frenzy and I rejoiced at those that eagerly wanted to create this bond. Even with the agony, everything felt right, even as he lowered me onto my back on the couch, even as he pulled off his shirt. He revealed a true warrior's body of rippled and taught muscle but he was not just some sculpted boy. He did not just have the build of a warrior but the skin as well. Long scars marked his chest and torso and along each of his chiseled sides were faded tattoos. The rumours had been true. On one side there was a large raven in Celtic knotwork; on the other, an equally large dove.

  He leaned over me to kiss me again, sending more agony through my pores. I arched my body to keep contact with his. I needed him to touch me and he obliged. His hands slipped under my shirt and rubbed my cells into uproarious assent. I knew it was not enough. I wanted it all. I had never kissed anyone until moments ago and yet I felt not a single reservation about what was happening. If he really were an incubus, he had succeeded fully.

  He pushed himself off me and grabbed his shirt, pulling it over his head as he sat back down on the end of the couch. The fires within me combined into one excruciating protest at the loss of his attentions. The flames of destruction momentarily overtook those of pleasure, then they too began to subside. The shrieks and talons faded into the familiar gnawing. But the lack of Bran was now a worse torture than the flames. The vacuum he had left in me was too much.

  "Your mother's home," he whispered in his burr, which was made all the more prominent by the huskiness from his own arousal. I forced myself to the opposite side of the couch. My hands trembled as I tried to smooth my hair. I had just finished righting myself when the front door opened and my mother walked in.

  I was not moving; there was no reason for her to suspect what we had been doing. I was sure I looked just fine though my cheeks might have been flushed. No matter how I looked, I did not feel fine. I had had ripped away from me the one thing I was sure I needed even more than breathing. A bucket of ice water would have been less shocking. My nerves were still protesting the sudden withdrawal of input. My body was crying at the loss. My mind was trying to regain its hold upon reality, which was too inadequate to ever bring me happiness again.

  "Hi, mom," I managed to say without even the slightest quaver to my voice. It felt like my first real lie and shame infested my gut just below the protesting gnawing.

  "Hi, dear," she said, sounding exhausted.

  "What happened?" I asked. I latched onto her defeated tone. If I could focus upon someone else, someone who was not Bran, I might be able to rediscover my sanity and control.

  She did not look up as she pulled off her scarf, only waved a dismissive hand in my direction. "Just another bad case. I'm sure you don't want to hear about it."

  Reluctantly, I offered, "If you need to talk..." She was right that I didn't want to hear it but I needed to. I needed to be reminded of the existence of others, the needs of others, the help others required.

  "No, no. You and Bran keep watching your show," she said. "I'm just going to make myself some dinner."

  For the first time, I felt resentment towards my mother. What kind of woman left her daughter alone with a guy as handsome as Bran? Had she taken complete leave of her senses? Logically, I knew she had no evidence to be worried about. It would be out of character for me to break any rules and I normally never lied. She would have no reason to suspect. If it were not for the echo of hot torture still churning inside me, I probably would be feeling the same relief most teenagers would have over not getting caught. But I needed a saviour, someone who could prevent me from jumping Bran right there in my desperate attempt to quell the agony inside. Was this what it felt like for most teenagers? I had trouble believing that. If it were, I was positive teen sex would be more rampant than it was.

  I watched my salvation walk down the hall to the kitchen in search of her dinner. When we could hear her getting out a pot, Bran leaned in close. "Bad case?" he asked in a low voice. Why did he have to be so warm? Why did he have to smell so amazing? And why did his very presence have to consume my sanity so easily? I tried to focus on what he had just asked me. Mundane conversation might just work.

  "Animal cruelty case," I explained.

  His jaw tensed. "What kind of cruelty?"

  As much as I didn't want to talk about that kind of thing, it was an out and I grasped at it to avoid the alternative. "It's always different but one time a cat lost an eye and a tail. She knows it bugs me so she doesn't always tell me everything. I think there might have been more cases that she hasn't mentioned. She's been increasingly distant when she gets back from work."

  Bran's eyes darkened. "Someone's been hurting cats around here?"

  I nodded. "At least a couple of the cases were cats. Not sure about tonight. There have been more lately though. It's not usually that common." Talking was helping. The need to throw myself at him was less acute.

  He frowned. "Not good. Some kind of sicko might have moved into the area or at least has moved up from smaller creatures." The inferno that had been behind his eyes had dulled.

  There was still a spark but it was not the same quality of what had been there as we attacked each other.

  "Who knows," I muttered. As my senses were returning to me, they replaced my arousal with annoyance that I was being deprived. Would being with Bran turn me into a nymphomaniac? "They almost never catch anyone for these things," I added.

  "Still, it worries me," he said. "You know what they say about people who hurt animals, it isn't long before they upgrade to humans."

  That spark behind his eyes flickered stronger for a moment. I was sure now it was not arousal. It was something else, something a little frightening, something that reminded me of my aversion to violence. All my concerns were wiped away as he lifted his hand to stroke my cheek. "I'm just worried about you," he added.

  The gnawing burst into flame again at his touch. I leaned closer. We could be quiet, right? I shook my head clear. The insanity was trying to creep back in. I couldn't let it. I looked him right in the eyes and tried not to melt. "How could anyone ever hurt me when you've become my honorary shadow?" I asked.

  The hint of a smile twitc
hed at the corners of his mouth. "I'm glad you don't seem to mind."

  "Why would I mind having your hot ass around all the time?"

  The hint of a smile spread into his perfect crooked grin. "You think I have a hot ass?"

  "I thought that was obvious." This was not heading in the right direction. I knew it wasn't but I was also losing my sense to care. Everything about him pulled me to him. Everything in me refused to resist. Bran in my life was right; as it should be. "Bran... " I whispered.

  "Yes, dove?" He asked in equally low tones.

  "Have we known each other before?"

  His body stiffened. "Why do you ask?"

  Now that it was out, it felt more logical. I didn't hesitate. "Everything about you just feels so familiar. It scared me at first but the more time I spend with you, the better it feels. And when you kiss me and touch me, it is like you know me, really know me."

  He let out a long breath. "What are you saying? Like we knew each other in a past life or something?" He was trying to sound nonchalant but his body had not relaxed.

  "I guess. You know, like soul mates."

  Bran was definitely different than Michael. He never would have suggested something so unprovable as past lives. I never would have mentioned them either, not unless I wanted to be mocked every day until the end of time.

  He tilted my chin up to him with a single finger. "Soul mates have nothing on us," he said. The inferno was behind his eyes again. He moved close. This was not a good idea. I moved closer too. He leaned in and I welcomed it as he kissed me again. It was not the deep passion we had shared moments before. It was a frustratingly lingering kiss.

  How was he maintaining so much control? I moved closer in my attempt to press into him. The fire demanded it and I was too weak to deny it but he was not. He was as strong on the inside as he looked on the outside. I wanted to smack him for depriving me but he did not give in. He had the nerve to pull away.

  The credits of Doctor Who were rolling. "I should probably get going," he said without moving an inch. I did not like the threat. My disappointment must have been obvious. He leaned in and kissed me again, unfortunately even more briefly. My body had reacted by trying to press closer but he had already withdrawn to look into my eyes. "So, in answer to the question I asked you the first time we sat on this couch together?"

  I blinked at him in shock. Had I not already given him the ultimate confirmation? Regardless, the gnawing insisted I answer. It would not permit me to risk Bran withholding his attentions again. "Yes," I said on a breathless sigh. "My answer is a an unreserved yes."

  He stroked my cheek. "You have no idea how much that means to me, dove. You have just validated my entire life."

  And by depriving me of what I needed most, he was shattering mine.

  I should have been scared. The intensity, the lack of sense, all of it should have made me run the other way. My first instincts had warned me not to indulge this path and the evidence was beginning to show that being with Bran might be a detriment to my well-being.

  I forced myself to accept his departure as he pushed himself off the couch. I walked him to the door where he stopped to face me. Though the flame in his eyes had quelled from an inferno to a candle, it was still present and that small indication gave me a tiny measure of satisfaction and hope. He was enduring as much pain as I was.

  In one fluid movement, he wrapped an arm around my waist and kissed me again long and deep. The touch reignited all the agony and pleasure of minutes before. It would never be enough. Damn my mother for coming home!

  As our lips parted, he did not pull away but rested his forehead against mine. "I will see you tomorrow," he breathed. His breath seared all the turmoil of my insides across my skin.

  "So far away," I whimpered. How was I ever going to act like a normal human being again?

  He smiled. "Aye, for me as well. Night, my sweet dove." He released me to walk to his car.

  I knew I was possessed. The little sparks that continued to prickle my insides had been proof of that but now that I had let myself say yes, I had to admit something else. I did not want to make either of us wait another two months for me to gain the courage. I also knew that despite my hesitations, we had been truly together since the moment I had accepted Michael and I were not meant to be.

  "Bran," I called out more softly than I had intended. He still turned with the hint of a smile. "Please don't think I'm desperate or crazy," I said.

  He walked back. "I'm pretty sure there is nothing you could say that would make me think either of those things about you." He stopped in front of me and looked down into my eyes.

  "I was able to give you an answer tonight because..." There was no point in hesitating but I did. Maybe I was afraid it would ruin everything but at the same time, I knew that wasn't it at all. "I love you."

  His crooked smile spread across his lips and he leaned close to whisper in my ear. "And why do you think I waited? Because I will love you until the end of my life."

  I would have melted into him if he had had his arms around me. As it was, I forced my knees to lock to keep me upright. He kissed my neck, teasing me with his touch.

  "Goodnight, dove," he said before walking back to his car. He blessed me with one last flash of his smile before sliding into it. He took every small measure of meaning in my soul with him as he drove away. I felt abused and hollow as I stared at the empty street.

  I waved goodnight to my mother as I walked by the kitchen on my way to my room. She was talking on the phone. I didn't expect a response but she covered the mic with her palm and asked, "Bran's gone home already?"

  "School night," I called out over my shoulder.

  "Oh yeah, right. Well, sleep well, honey."

  That had nothing to do with it. In his absence, my logic was returning. It helped ease some of my hurt as I realized his quick departure might have something to do with him being in the very same state I was. He was just in better control.

  I wasn't sure I would sleep at all. The memory of his lips and his touch was too exciting for sleep; being awake without it too torturous. Whether I slept, I could not endure my internal dialogue about what had just happened in the presence of another person, especially not my mother.

  I left my light off as I closed my bedroom door. Riley was sound asleep in the middle of my bed. I tried pushing him off but he wouldn't budge. After a second and third failed attempt, I relented and resigned myself to curling up in the upper corner of the bed next to my pillow. I consoled myself with fantasies about Bran that did not involve being interrupted.

  I was awoken by a growl and a bark.

  "Riley, be quiet," I groaned.

  He growled again and I heard scraping outside my window. Adrenaline took over. I sat up and looked at the window. The drapes were drawn so I could see nothing but shadows from outside. The shadows looked normal. There was a bush near my window. It was possible the branches had scraped the wall but it was Riley growling again that prevented me from being comforted by that explanation.

  I considered my options: turn on the light, go to the window, yell out. None of them seemed very appealing and all had their drawbacks so I went with the option that made me feel the least like a paranoid chicken. I slipped out of bed and crept up to the window. The scraping sound was gone. Riley was still looking in the direction of the window with twitching ears but he was no longer growling. I tried to peak through the break in the curtains but could see nothing meaningful. I pulled one curtain aside.

  There was nothing, not even a breeze, to move the bush. It was just another chilly Spring night. Then a cat meowed and hissed nearby.

  Every muscle in my body relaxed. I turned to Riley, letting the curtain fall closed again. "Just a cat," I said to him. I gave him a pat on the head and curled back up in bed. He rested his head on my thigh. Stroking his fur with a steady rhythm, I lulled both of us back to sleep.