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She faltered, breathless, struggling. Xander’s hand pressed against her lower back, slid under her hair, spread warmth over the space between her shoulder blades. His thumb began a slow tracery of her spine, and she curled her bare toes into the wet grass. A ladybug landed on her instep and began a clumsy, zigzagging amble over her foot. It didn’t tickle; she felt nothing at all. “This can’t end well. There are no happy endings for people like us, Xander,” she whispered, staring at the sky. “We both know that.” It was a long, long while before he answered. His thumb kept a slow rhythm over her skin. When he finally spoke he sounded older, and very tired. “Yes.” She was surprised how much that hurt, and what a relief it was he hadn’t tried to lie. She bowed her head and closed her eyes.
- Writer
