I wrap my arms around him and bury my face in his shirt, inhaling the subtle hint of his cologne. He smells like the beach. I close my eyes and wish we were there. Away from all this bullshit.

We stand in silence for several minutes, neither of us moving. After a while, I can’t tell who is hugging whom-who is holding whom. It’s like we’re both barely suspended, clinging to each other, afraid we might fall down if either of us lets go.

“I said your name in my sleep,” I whisper, slicing through the silence.

Carter immediately pulls back and looks at me. “Did he hear you?”

I nod. “Yes. But I think I covered it pretty well. I told him he misheard me-that I said something else. But he was really angry right after it happened, Carter. Angrier than I’ve ever seen him. And I just…I thought you should know. I think we need to be more careful. I mean, I know there’s nothing really going on between us, but-”

Carter interrupts and says, “Isn’t there, though? I know we technically haven’t acted on it, but this isn’t innocent, Sloan. If Asa even knew I had class with you…”

“Exactly,” I say.

Carter nods, knowing what this means. He can’t talk to me at the house. Hell, he shouldn’t even look my direction anymore. After what happened early this morning, Asa will be suspicious, even though he believed me. The last thing I want to do is cause trouble for Carter, but it seems I’ve already done that.

“I’m sorry,” I say to him.

“Why are you apologizing? Because you had a dream about me?”

I nod.

Carter lifts a hand to my cheek and the corner of his mouth lifts into a grin. “If we’re apologizing for that, then I owe you about a dozen apologies already.”

I bite my cheek to hide my smile. He drops his hand and presses it against the small of my back. “We’ll be late if we don’t hurry.”

I laugh a little at the thought of being tardy. What weight does being late for class hold against all the other shit that’s going on in our lives? Very, very little. But he’s right.

I follow him out the door and back down the hallway toward the classroom. Before we walk inside he leans down and whispers, “For what it’s worth, you look really beautiful today. I kind of can’t catch my breath.”

He keeps walking, despite the fact that his words have frozen my feet to the floor.

That’s all those were. Words. A few simple words strung together, but they held just enough power to physically stop me in my tracks.

My hand goes up to my mouth as I quietly inhale. I force away the smile that wants to break out and I somehow force my feet to walk into the classroom. I glance up and see Carter pulling two chairs out on the top row, so I make my way up to him.

My knees feel like they’re about to fail me. This is how it should be. This is how guys should make girls feel.

Why the hell did I ever give Asa the time of day?

When I reach my seat, he’s still standing, waiting for me to sit down first. I give him a quick smile as a thank you and take my seat. I take my books out of my bag and he does the same. The professor walks in just as we’re settled. He turns and begins writing on the board.

Screamed a little too much at the football game last night. Lost my voice. Go through chapters 8-10 and we’ll catch up on lecture next week.

Half of the class laughs at the note. The other half groans. Carter opens his book to the right page. I lean forward and open mine and begin reading. I don’t get far before Carter grabs a pen and begins writing a note. I’m giddy with anticipation, hoping it’s for me and he’s not actually taking notes for class.

I don’t even feel guilty. I should feel guilty about this. Especially since Asa sort of proposed to me this morning, and out of fear for my own life, I was forced to say yes.

This is so fucked up. I’m going to hell.

Actually…I might already be in hell. Most of the time this life feels more like a punishment for something horrible I must have done in a previous life. Until Carter came along, at least. I don’t remember much that has ever made me excited about life before he recently entered it.

Carter slides the note to me. It’s folded in half, so I lift the paper and read what he wrote. I expect something random, like the game we’ve played in class before. Instead, it’s just a simple request.

Put your hand under the table.

I read it twice before looking at my hands. The note is a little random, but not like the game I showed him. It’s only random because I’m confused by it. I slip the note under my book and then lower my hand under the table and wait for him to hand me whatever it is he has.

To my surprise-he doesn’t give me anything. His warm palm slides against mine and he threads our fingers together, resting our hands on my thigh.

And then he returns his focus to his textbook, resuming his reading like he didn’t just attempt to set me on fire.

That’s exactly what it feels like-my hand wrapped in his-him touching my leg. I feel like someone needs to douse me with water. My heart begins to race and I feel like my whole body is tingling.

He’s holding my hand.

Jesus fucking Christ.

I didn’t know holding hands could feel better than a kiss. Better than sex. Sex with Asa, at least.

I close my eyes and focus on the weight of his hand against mine. The width of his fingers between mine. The way his thumb occasionally runs back and forth.

After probably fifteen minutes of pretending to read the textbook in front of me, he pulls his hand from mine. He doesn’t release me, though. He just begins to make circles with his fingertips against my palm. He traces every part of my hand, my palm, my fingers, between my fingers. With every minute that passes, my mind begins to wonder what those fingers would feel like against my leg. My neck. My stomach.

My breathing grows heavier. I begin to take in shorter breaths with each minute closer we get to the end of class.

I don’t want class to end. I never want it to end.

When he’s explored every part of my hand twice-over, his fingers slide to my leg. He begins to stroke my knee, about three inches up the inside of my leg, and back down to my knee. My eyes are closed and I’m gripping the book in my hands. He does this for several more minutes, driving me completely insane, almost to the point that I might have to get up and go to the bathroom to splash cold water on my face.

But I don’t, because somehow the fifty minutes of class are up and everyone is packing up to leave.

I find the strength to open my eyes and glance up at him. He’s staring at me, his gaze narrowed, eyes heated, wet lips that I can’t seem to look away from. He grabs my hand again and squeezes. “I know I shouldn’t…”

I shake my head. “You shouldn’t.”

I’m not even sure what he was about to say, but I have an idea of where his mind is at right now, because mine is right there with his.

“I know,” he says. “I just…I can’t be this close to you and not touch you.”

“And I can’t not let you.”

He inhales a deep breath, then releases it at the same time he releases my hand. He gathers his book and shoves it inside his backpack. He stands up and throws the backpack over his shoulder. I look up at him and he’s staring down at me. I wait for him to say goodbye or walk away, but he doesn’t.

We stare at each other for a few more seconds before he drops his backpack and falls back down in his seat. He wraps his hand in my hair and presses his forehead against the side of my head. I have no idea what he’s doing, but the desperation in the way he’s pressed against me makes me wince.

“Sloan,” he whispers, his mouth directly over my ear. “I want everything about you. So goddamn much. To the point that it’s blinding me.”

I gasp at his words.

“Please be careful,” he says. “Until I can help you get out of there. I don’t know when that’ll be, but please. Be very, very careful.”