Looking around, I noticed the village wasn’t that busy and the traffic was nearly dead. It had to be after midnight by now, and since everyone was saving their energy for tomorrow night, it was pretty quiet. Still, though, I had no idea where the guys were, and there was some noise coming from Sticks. I didn’t want anyone seeing me and calling my name or seeing her with me.

Fuck.

I pulled up my hood and took her hand, leading up the hill to where the small pond with a bridge sat, a large fountain in a garden, and a witch’s hat gazebo off to the right. It was a nice, elevated little oasis from the busy village center.

The water spilling into the fountain grew louder, and she let go of my hand, approaching it. She held out her palms, feeling the spray and smiling, and I wanted to take her and climb in with her right now.

Digging into the pocket of her jacket, she pulled something out, turned with her back to the fountain, closed her eyes, and then tossed the coin over her shoulder and into the water.

“Wanna do one?” she asked me, pulling another coin out of her pocket.

I walked up to her, taking in her little bow tie, her hair, almost white with strands of gold, parted and falling on one side, and her lips, the color of bubble gum. Unable to tear my eyes away, I took the coin and flung it over her shoulder and into the water, never taking my gaze off her face.

Using my shoulder to keep herself steady, she slipped off her flats and hopped up on the rim of the fountain and then let me go, having some fun doing ballet moves and balancing herself.

Her phone rang, though, and she stopped, pulling it out and turning it off without answering it.

“Parents calling?” I asked.

“Yeah.”

She must’ve had a particular ringtone to identify them.

Watching her move, twirl, bend, and dip, I followed her around the fountain as she pointed her toes and flexed the muscles in her legs.

What would happen when she grew up? Who would have her? Where would she move? How would this all change?

And all I knew in that moment was that I would fight for nothing more than to keep her like this. Innocent and happy and pure.

Dancing in fountains.

Wobbling, she suddenly reached out for me, and I stepped up to her, catching her before she fell.

She laughed, putting her hands on my shoulders.

“Training hard?” I asked, lifting up her foot to look at the bruises and redness from her toenails cutting into her skin.

“Always,” she replied.

These were a dancer’s feet.

“Does it hurt?”

She shrugged. “I’m used to it.”

Then she wrapped her arms around me and jumped into my hold, forcing me to circle her waist to catch her. She smiled at me, and I held her like that, refusing to put her down as we just stayed there.

But then, tightening her hold, she slowly brought herself in and hugged me.

My chest swelled, aching like shit, and everything washed over me at once. Her smell, her warmth, her hair and body… My lungs caved, and I didn’t know why, but it felt so fucking good. I wrapped my arms around her like a steel band, almost feeling relief at holding something—or someone—for the first time in forever.

When was the last time this happened? I never gave fucking hugs, except when Banks needed to talk me down, and that was more like hanging on to something than…

Than actual affection. Than someone actually liking me.

I wasn’t weak. I didn’t need this shit.

But God, she felt good.

“You dance?” she said in my ear.

“No.”

“You are right now,” she pointed out.

And I stopped, realizing we’d been turning in a slow circle.

“I think I like this dancing even more than ballet,” she told me.

And the corners of my lips turned up in a smile. If only Kincaid could see me now…

But then I saw people approach the other side of the pond, walking up the incline, looking at us.

“We have to get out of here,” I told her.

No one could see her with me.

We got back to the car and sped off, and I drove her home, knowing her father would be calling the police station soon if he hadn’t already. She was probably supposed to be home over two hours ago.

“They’re probably pretty mad,” she said as I slowed the engine outside the hedges of her property.

I killed the lights and crawled down the driveway—the gates open—and rounding the hideous fucking fountain to her front door.

I braked, pressing in the clutch, and put the car in first again, sitting there. She hadn’t needed help to the door that night I took her out driving, so I assumed she was okay.

But she just sat there, her face turned down a little.

“When will I see you again?” she asked in a timid voice.

I didn’t know how to answer that. I was busy tomorrow night, and I’d be going back to school a couple days after that.

I would see her again.

Or…

Maybe. I didn’t know.

Jesus, why was she asking? Were we in a relationship or something? Was this a date?

I knew this would happen. She’d have expectations.

Yes, I wanted to see her again. She was mine. In our secluded, secret little world, she was mine.

I wanted to watch her dance, and I wanted to steal her away a thousand more times to feel her excitement and fear and live through how vulnerable and sweet she was, but…

I wanted to keep her happy, pure, and innocent, too. I didn’t want to ruin her.

The more time we spent together, and the older she got, the more this would turn into something else. We’d eventually fuck, and she’d make demands I couldn’t fulfill.

When she found out who I was, she’d run.

“Is it because I’m blind?” she asked, her voice cracking. “Is that why you hide yourself from me?”

I glared over at her, resenting the shimmer of tears in her eyes as she tried so hard to hold back the little tremble of her chin. So sweet. So sad.

“She was right, wasn’t she?” she mused, her tone with a strange resoluteness to it. “I may still want what I want, but I have no control over people who don’t want me to have it.”

She was talking about that boss of hers who tried to tell her she couldn’t have everything she wanted. She wanted me, and while we could fight for what we wanted, people couldn’t always be won. Or, that was what she thought. She thought I was embarrassed by her. That I didn’t want to take her out or be with her during the light of day.

Her face cracked as she smoothed her skirt over her thighs, and she folded her lips between her teeth to keep from crying, but the tears spilled anyway.

I told you I was going to hurt you someday.

She pulled her house keys from her bag, and removed one key from the ring, dropping it in the cupholder.

“Just keep it,” she said. “I like thinking you might come back some day.”

And then she climbed out of the car and found her way into the lit-up house, closing the door behind her.

I dropped my eyes, gripping the steering wheel and staring at the key like it was a goddamn drug. I wanted it. I knew I would use it.

I wanted to use it this second.

Goddamn her.

I drove off, careful to keep my speed low and my lights off, and as I turned onto the highway, I turned up the music, kicked the car into third gear and then punched into fifth.

But then I blinked, shook my head, and immediately swerved off to the side of the road, and skidded to a fucking halt.

Damn her. Shit!

What the fuck?

What was she doing to me?

Where was my head?

I’d rolled through the past two years, watching her from a distance, knowing that she would be my heroin and knowing that my obsession was a no-win situation when I got to her again.

I wanted to be with her. I wanted to touch her. I wanted to keep playing games with her.

But I wanted to keep her fourteen forever, too. Young and beautiful and innocent and the one place in my life that wasn’t dirty.

She wasn’t fourteen anymore, though.

She was growing into something men would want.

Something I wanted.

I looked down at the key, gold and sharp, sitting there in my console, screaming at me louder than the music coming out of my speakers, and I… I just…

I didn’t want to leave yet.

I wanted to hide somewhere dark and quiet, feeling her whispers on my lips and smelling the mint in her hair.

Fuck it.

Swinging the car around, the tires screeching on the pavement, I drove back to the entrance of the driveway and parked outside it.

Grabbing her house key, I plucked my phone out of the console and turned it on to text the guys I’d be in for the rest of the night, but I noticed it was dead. I pulled our group phone off the charger—the one we used to record our pranks for Devil’s Night—and tossed the guys a text with that one, telling them not to expect me the rest of the evening, and stuffed it into my pocket as I plugged in mine to charge. I locked my car, jogging into the property and keeping out of sight as I veered into the backyard, noticing the downstairs lights were off but a few upstairs remained on.

Walking into the backyard, I dug out the key she gave me and paused, remembering they didn’t have an alarm system last time I was here. Hopefully that hadn’t changed.

Sliding the key in, I twisted the lock, turned the handle, and opened the door, finding complete silence as I stepped into the dark kitchen.

But not for long.

“Winter, I leave for the airport at five a.m.!” someone shouted upstairs. “You couldn’t call?”

I looked around, scanning the kitchen and area, finding it empty. Quietly closing the door, I walked as softly as possible down the hall and into the foyer, staying close to the stairs for cover.

“I’m sorry,” I heard Winter say.

They were upset because she was late and hadn’t called.

“Have you been crying?” her mother asked, sounding exasperated.

But she didn’t have a chance to answer before her father bellowed from down the hall, “You’re lucky I didn’t phone the station! If you can’t handle some common courtesy, then you’re quitting that job, or any job for that matter.” And then he added, “It’s utterly pointless anyway.”