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Amber Blake is having dreams, and they just might be the key to saving her best friend, Mark.
Unfortunately, she's too preoccupied pretending to hate the boy next door, Carter Hayes. Secretly hoping to rekindle what once was, Amber atte...
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Carter's hand stays on my leg the whole ride home.
It's all I can concentrate on as he drives down familiar streets, eyes fixed straight ahead. His fingers stay painstakingly still against my thigh, the tips stopping just before the dip between my legs. If he notices me squirm against my seat, he doesn't comment. His hand just stays in place and doesn't move an inch, no matter how bad I want it to.
No matter how bad I want him.
And maybe I shouldn't, not after the night we've already had. I'm emotionally drained after our talk at the log, made worse by the ten minutes spent cleaning up Carter's set up. Maybe my mind should be glued to the secrets he revealed, ones I've been mulling over for most of my life. I should be working out how this could tie into his death, or possibly lead to a new clue. I should be focused on Mark.
But to be frank, a bitch is tired. I feel like I've been on go since waking up in New York, never once taking a selfish moment for myself. The falling out is something that's haunted me forever, but that chapter is finally closed. Even though there's still things I don't know, for the first time, I'm okay with not knowing — at least for tonight.
Besides, I really can't stop thinking about Carter's hands.
Where I want them, what I want them to do to me, things I've held myself back from thinking all week. Well, all my life really, except for nights when urges needed to be dealt with personally. I had to pull inspiration from somewhere, and it didn't hurt that his window was right there, either.
But my desire for Carter isn't something I have to deny anymore. The thought of his fingers roaming my bare skin, followed by his lips, then his tongue, makes it even harder to sit still. I'm genuinely surprised I'm having thoughts like this at all. Not because of Carter; this isn't the first time he's turned me on, and if I have it my way, it won't be the last. No, I'm surprised for one very specific reason.
Tyler. Hampton.
Now, I've never been one to romanticize things. Leading up to the night at Cameron's, I hadn't given much thought to swiping the old V-card. Tyler could've been anyone at that party, and I'm still not sure what made me drag him into one of the basement bedrooms. What I do know is, I wish this time travel shit was controllable so I could go back and tell myself fuck no, girl.
