In Your Dreams (Falling #4)(49)

That’s the only word that works for this state I’m in. Stunned.

Casey. Has. Stunned me.

When he let go of my body, it was like a hold on me dropped me back to earth. I could hardly look at him, because I knew if I did, I’d want him to go back to that. His hand was so hot on my ribs. His breath…ahhhh. There were tingles—definitely tingles. But it was also this sexy song, and I’ve never really been held quite like that, so it might be that it was just the circumstances. It might not have anything to do with Casey at all.

The music stopped and so did the fantasy. He went right back to showing me things, and always no less than three feet apart from me. And my head went into blender mode. It got worse as the night went on.

“Watch me make them all fall in love,” he said at one point. And I watched—I watched as Casey manipulated the hundreds of beautiful people all pressed together on a dance floor. He filled their ears with lust, and their bodies followed. Just like mine had.

That’s all it was. It was a lesson.

Lesson learned.

I woke up this morning and had to write. It was early, even though I didn’t get back to my house until two in the morning, I woke up at seven. There was something nagging me, something calling. I haven’t felt the itch in so long, I had to do something about it. I can’t quite get it right, but it’s these words:

Pinprick

Burn

Ice cold

Sweat

Drugged and sweet and wet





I’ve been hunched in my car with my legs slung over the center console for three hours while I try every combination with every melody my fingers can find on my guitar. Nothing feels right—it’s all jumbled and lost. Like my head. Because of Casey.

Just when I think I might have something, it disappears.

“Murphy! Murphy! What are you doing?”

Lane is knocking on the opposite window, pressing his face against the glass and blowing. My brother is light and air, and there isn’t a single thing about him that isn’t golden and happy. I lay my guitar against my chest, the neck between my knees, and I watch him make goofy faces for a moment before pressing the lock button so he can crawl inside.

“Move your legs,” he says the second I let him in.

“Bossy,” I tease, moving for him.

“I want to go to the mall. I need new pants. I grew…an inch,” he says, lifting his leg awkwardly and showing me his sock.

My brother hasn’t grown. He’s twenty. He just wants new pants. But I love that he wants to get new pants with me. Being near him slows down the churn in my head. Lane is good for me—he’s medicine.

I rub my face and smile before nodding.

“Pants it is. Let me put my guitar away and tell Mom,” I say.

“She knows. She told me to come get you. She gave me money,” Lane smiles, holding up what looks like sixty bucks.

I give him a thumbs up as I carry my guitar back inside. My mom’s waiting at the door, and takes it from me.

“Thanks,” I say.

“Some boys at summer school were making fun of him,” she says quickly before I can get away. I slump and lean against the wall. Lane’s been lucky, for the most part, and hasn’t had to deal with a lot of bullying. He’s sensitive and understands more than people think. And every now and then, some * preys on him.

“Because he likes khakis? They made fun of khakis?” I sigh, my forehead pinched in disappointment.

“Honey, teenage boys are idiots,” my mom adds with a laugh. “Just help him pick out some jeans.”

I nod and turn back to the door for my mission, my feet stumbling when I see the maroon-rusted Volkswagen pulled up next to me. Casey is in my driver’s seat with the engine on, and he and Lane are leaning forward, patting their hands on the dashboard. Casey doesn’t judge khakis, though I bet he used to.

I don’t interrupt them until Casey’s head swings forward and his mouth curves up on one side. He holds up a finger as I approach the door, signaling for me to hold on for a second. I can kind of hear the music playing inside—it’s “Wipe Out,” a classic, and my brother loves that song. The second it’s over, Casey rolls down the window.

“Hey,” he says. Cool-boy word. It makes me smirk as I bend my head down to talk to them.

“Hey, yourself,” I say. “You’re in my seat.”

He looks forward at the steering wheel, running his hands along the curve of it and stretching out his fingers, slowly letting them wrap back around the width.

“It’s a nice seat,” he grins, giving me a sideways glance that I feel in my knees. I cross my legs to forget it.

“It is,” I smile back, lowering my lashes in a challenge. I’m not in his league when it comes to this…whatever this is. And I know it. My relationships have all been with nerdy librarian types, researchers, the occasional fellow singer-songwriter kind of guy who wants to hug trees and play free music for the masses. Maybe that’s why none of them ever made me feel the pinprick or the burn. I know that’s what those words mean. I know that’s why they flew from my pen onto the notebook that is…oh my god, right f*cking there!

Casey’s eyes flinch, and I know he saw me tick. With one glance at me, his eyes narrowed, he then looks to what I saw and sees it. He looks at me again, this time with a devil’s chuckle as his hand reaches to the dashboard against the window and slides out my beat-up, bent and very-well-used spiral notebook.