Daydream (Maple Hills, #3)(61)

The worst thing about Ryan Rothwell is how nice he is. Nate always said it and I never understood how the worst thing about someone could be how nice they are. Now I get it. He isn’t doing anything wrong and I want to get Daisy to throw him out. It’d be a more tempting option if I thought speaking to Daisy wouldn’t result in Halle’s friends trying to kick my ass.

Halle takes the spot at my side and looks up, her bunny ears slipping backward. “You okay?”

“Want to dance?” I ask her.

Her eyebrow quirks. I’m as surprised as she is. “Uh, sure.” Halle takes my hand and leads me through the crowd to a less crowded spot out of the view of our friends. “Spill it.”

“Spill what?”

“What’s got you all agitated? You definitely don’t voluntarily dance. Do you have your noise reducer things in?”

“It isn’t that. I—” She’s looking up at me, patiently waiting for me to say something. “Have you been to a Halloween party before?”

“Not since I was a kid. And I’ve never been in a nightclub before.”

Of course she hasn’t. “So this is a new experience for you?”

She nods, her bunny ears wiggling. “It’s kind of perfect, because I’m writing a chapter that starts in a nightclub.”

“What do you need to help you write? What are your imaginary friends up to in this part?”

This is what I’m supposed to be doing. Helping her in return for all the help she’s given me. Not thinking about who she is or isn’t talking to. I don’t ask her about her book as much as I should. She brushes me off all the time if I bring it up.

“They’re not imaginary friends! Okay, well, maybe they’re imaginary, but anyway. Nothing. I just need to try to write it I guess. My characters—not friends—get into a big fight, and she storms off. He follows her, tells her she’s stubborn and awkward, and makes him feel like he’s losing his mind. They kiss. It’s kind of hard to visualize that while we’re dressed like this, though. Maybe we could just dance? And you can tell me what’s making you act weird? C’mon.”

I don’t know how to dance so I follow Halle as she leads me from the quieter edge of the dance floor to the center. Her hands link at the back of my neck, her body pressing into mine so we can still talk with other people behind us. Her heels put us at a closer height.

“Is this okay? If I touch you here?” I ask her when my hands grip her waist gently, feeling her move to the rhythm of the song seamlessly.

She nods, mouth skimming my ear when she leans in so I can hear her. “You don’t need to ask me.”

“I do. I should. Men should.” How have I steered this conversation in the direction of Halle considering that other men should touch her? “You deserve only good experiences.”

“You’re not just men, though, you’re you. I like when you touch me. I only get good experiences with you. Henry?”

“Yeah?”

“I know you’re dressed up for the occasion, but can we lose the spikes?” she says, nodding toward my hair. “I kinda like the shirt, but I can’t concentrate when you look at me.”

Music to my fucking ears. Hanging the sunglasses from the button on my shirt, I joyously rip that plastic crap the guys got from the Halloween store from my head. “You like the shirt?”

“Mmm.” Even though her mouth is next to my ear, I can tell she’s smiling. Her body feels so good against mine. She smells so good. Every single thing about her is so good.

“I like your costume, too. A lot.” If she presses against me any harder, she’ll feel how much I like her costume. How much I like her.

“Did you see my tail?”

“I saw your tail. And your socks. And the heels. And the ears. I always pay attention to what you’re wearing, but you made it impossible not to tonight.”

“I hoped you’d like it,” is all she says.

And those five words give me something to think about for the rest of the night.



* * *



I CAN STILL HEAR MY friends drunkenly singing a song about karma in the Uber as it drives away from Halle’s house.

“They’re going to get me in trouble with Mrs. Astor. I swear her hearing aids pick up sound two streets away,” Halle says, walking up her driveway with her heels in hand.

I’m close behind her, trying not to concentrate on her bunny tail or the curve of her waist where my hands spent the night. “Mrs. Astor loves me. I’ll protect you from her.”

She digs in her purse for her keys, and the second we’re through the door she drops her shoes and purse on the floor and table beside the door. “Is there anyone you can’t charm?”

“Professor Thornton.” I kick my shoes off beside hers. “You.”

“You think you haven’t charmed me? You’re in my house, Henry. You’re about to sleep in my bed.” I move closer to her and watch the way her eyes take me in. Leaning around her, I drop my sunglasses onto the table next to her purse. I swear I hear her breath catch. “I’m pretty sure you’ve charmed me real good.”

She doesn’t move when I stand straight, close enough to her that I can see every dark lash when her eyes close. Every barely there freckle on her nose. Every tiny movement of her chest as she tries to control her breathing. “I haven’t tried to charm you, Halle.”