“You’re tall,” I said, clearing my throat. “When you’re standing, I mean. Aren’t you?”

I remembered the feel of his body pressed into mine last time, and even sitting now, the top of his head reached just above my breasts.

Moving my hands over his face, I took in the smooth skin, gently brushing his forehead, temples, cheekbones and brow with my fingertips.

“Young,” I continued, painting a picture in my head. “Oval face but a hard jaw. Sharp nose.” I lightly pinched where the bone met the cartilage, smoothing my fingers down the length. “How did you break it?”

It was just a faint curve the naked eye probably wouldn’t catch, but I could feel how it bent just slightly in that centimeter.

“I fell,” he answered.

I cocked my head, reading between the lines. I’d gotten pretty good and figuring out what people didn’t say.

“Yeah, my mom falls a lot, too,” I told him.

He was clearly punched and didn’t want to elaborate. Which meant he was either still pissed about it or…embarrassed and ashamed.

Moving on, I ran my fingers over his straight eyebrows, the cold, smooth ridge of his ears and lobes, and his thick hair that fell over his forehead and in his eyes a little. He was probably dark-haired, since fair people like me often had thinner hair.

I trailed my hands down to his chin, my heart pounding as my fingers danced around his mouth, but then I brought them up and traced the lines of his lips.

His hot breath fell across my fingers, and my whole body warmed. Was he looking at my face, too? Into my eyes? What was he thinking?

“I wish I could see you for real,” I told him. “I want to know what you look like when you look at me.”

He remained silent, and embarrassment burned across my skin. I shook it off, moving on.

“No piercings,” I added. “On your head anyway.”

His upper lip tilted up, and I half-smiled. “And he smirks,” I teased.

Of course, I didn’t need to feel his mischievous smile to know he was a bad boy, but it comforted me to know he had a sense of humor.

“Your neck…” I grazed my fingertips down his smooth skin and throat.

“What about it?”

I leaned in, surprising myself as I pressed my cheek into the skin there. He didn’t move a muscle.

“It’s warm,” I remarked. “Smooth.”

And the house was cold.

I inhaled, smelling his soap and shampoo, far too fragrant to be hours old.

“You just showered,” I guessed.

Pulling up, I took a step closer, holding his head right in front of me and sliding my fingers back into his hair.

“Tall, dark, young,” I commented on what I knew about so far. “Good personal hygiene, likes to fight, long eyelashes, kind of a pretty boy, I’m thinking…”

He snorted, and I smiled, too, but then my fingers grazed something on his scalp but before I could figure out what it was, I felt another one. My face fell, contemplating the raised pieces of skin. As I examined the rest of his scalp, I found several others. All about a quarter inch long.

Scars.

“I fell,” he said again, not waiting for me to ask the question.

I clenched my teeth for a moment. “That’s a lot of falls,” I said. “Do you have those anywhere else?”

“You wanna check the rest of my body?” he asked, sounding cocky.

I dropped my hand, trying not to roll my eyes. Thanks for the offer.

“How old are you?” I asked.

But his guard stayed up when he replied, “Older than you.”

What was he doing here? Really? Was he just a prankster, pulling another joke for Devil’s Night, or did he actually have more sinister intentions when he broke in a week ago, before he saw me dance and got suddenly smitten? What would happen if I refused to dance again? What did he really want?

“What’s one thing you’ll never be able to do but really want to?” he asked.

I nearly laughed. One thing?

“Are you kidding?” I shot back. “I have a whole list.”

“Just tell me one.”

I pondered it for a moment, thinking about how I missed all the things I would never see again. Films, plays, mountains, trees, waterfalls, dresses, shoes, the faces of my family and friends… I didn’t know what it was like to leave the house alone or do simple things like go hiking or for a stroll in the woods by myself. I would never be able to escape, run away, or experience the freedom of a spontaneous getaway all by myself without anyone knowing or being there to help me.

“Drive,” I finally answered him. “My dad used to have this old stock car in the barn at our ski lodge in Vermont, and I would sit in it and shift the gears, pretending I was racing. I’d love to be able to drive.”

He was quiet for a moment, and then finally, he rose, and I could feel him right in front of me.

“Would you really?” he asked.

There was a sneaky smile in his voice that made my heart skip a beat.

“Let’s get out of here then.” And he grabbed my hand and pulled me along.

“Huh?” I stumbled, perplexed but letting him take me even though I had no idea what was going on. “And go where? I can’t leave!”

I remembered my mother upstairs and closed my mouth, shutting up immediately.

“I can take you if I want,” he said, pulling me into the foyer toward the front door. “Or you can scream now and the fun has to end.”

“Who says I’m having any fun?”

“You’re about to.” He stopped but kept hold of my fingers. “Or, if you want, I can put you to bed and go have fun with someone else.”

I rolled my eyes. Please. Like I’d be jealous or something?

“You’re the one I want to play with, though,” he whispered, leaning in.

Yeah, I’m sure. A psycho with a penchant for blind girls who can’t pick him out of a line-up. Was I out of my mind?

“People and music and fires and beer,” he taunted. “Let’s go, Winter. The world awaits.”

I shook my head at myself. I was out of my mind.

“You’ll bring me home?” I asked.

“Of course.”

“Alive and… untouched?”

And he laughed, and it was the first time I’d heard his voice. Deep and smooth and very much humored at my expense. “Tonight. Sure.”

My expression fell, and I hesitated only a moment before I pulled out of his grasp and inched my way over to the closet, feeling for one of my hoodies that was bound to be in there.

Finding one, I pulled it out and slipped it on, digging out a pair of sneakers, too. I wanted my phone. I should bring it.

I turned back toward the stairs, but then stopped, remembering the GPS on it my parents used to track me with an app.

If my mom woke up or my dad came home, would I want them to be able to find me with a boy whose name I didn’t even know, doing something I shouldn’t be doing, and use it as an excuse to send me away again?

But then again, if I needed them to find me, I was going to be damn glad I had the phone, wasn’t I?

Decisions, decisions.

Screw it.

I inhaled a breath, turned around, and reached for his hand.

He took it and opened the door.

“Why don’t you use a stick?” he asked, leading me down the driveway. “Or a guide dog or something?”

Believe me, I’d love to. It would allow me a little more freedom.

“If I need to go anywhere, someone helps me,” I told him. “My parents don’t like me to draw attention to myself.”

They thought people would stare at me. I wasn’t the only visually impaired person in town, but I was pretty sure I was the only full-on blind one, and I knew their fears without even asking. And they were right. It made people uncomfortable. I’d been through enough awkward conversations to know when someone just wanted to be away from me, because they didn’t know how to act around me.

The part they were wrong about was that they thought the world was still the same for me, and I should learn how to navigate it the same way I did before. I couldn’t. People might be uncomfortable, but they would get used to it. They would change. It was a source of resentment that my parents thought that no one should be inconvenienced, and it was my responsibility not to be a burden to others.

It was my world, too.

“You could never not draw attention,” he finally said. “And it has nothing to do with you being blind.”

The way he said it—gentle and thoughtful—made heat rise to my cheeks, and I didn’t know if he meant my dancing or if I was pretty, but I smiled to myself, suddenly warm all over.

I didn’t have time to ask him to clarify, though, because the next thing I knew he was in front of me, reaching back, grabbing my thighs, and hefting me up onto his back. I sucked in a breath, my feet lifting off the ground, and I hurriedly circled my arms around his neck so I wouldn’t fall.

“I can walk faster,” I told him. “I can. I didn’t mean—”

“Shut up and hold me tight.”

Okayyyy. I locked my arms around his neck.

“Tighter,” he bit out. “Like in the closet the other night.”

I smirked but he couldn’t see it. I tightened my arms around his neck, tucking my head close with my cheek next to his. I’d tried not to think about my parents’ fight that night, but I couldn’t not think about him. How his arms, heat, and pulse in my ear made it all go away. How sometimes you have to get the worst to feel the best. It was a nice memory.

He carried me down the driveway, and when his shoes hit rocks, I knew we were outside my walls.

He stopped and set me down, my leg brushing a body of metal. I put out my hands, rubbing them over steel, glass, and a door handle.

I smiled.

Of course, he wouldn’t have pulled up right in front of my house. He’d parked outside the open gates.

I trailed the length of the car, feeling the smooth surface, but not glossy like glass. It was a matte paint, the long, clean lines and grill narrow, sophisticated, and sleek. Definitely foreign.