Page 91 - My FlipBook

T R A I L O F C R U M B S

leaned back on Dylan’s chest, his chin resting against her hair.
She stayed close to him, watching Priya work her way around
the room as more people arrived.
As the noise climbed around them, Dylan poured two
cups of his homemade punch and led Greta, bumping shoul-
ders and stepping on feet, across the living room. He dropped
into the wicker chair and pulled her into his lap. She fit there,
in the curve of his body. Tucking her legs up, she lay against

his chest. He ran his fingers up under the cuff of her jeans,
against her bare skin. She knew there was a reason she’d
shaved her legs.
“You’re the most beautiful girl here,” he said, his mouth
by her ear. She lay still, his heartbeat making her sleepy.
After a sip of punch, which burned going down, she tried
to put it on the floor. “I think I’m good for now,” she said.

“I might be designated driver.”
Dylan laughed. “I don’t think you’ll be driving anytime
soon. Don’t die on me now, Greta.”
She’d drained the cup. After Dylan went for a refill,
things got blurry. Memories smeared or chopped in pieces.
Rachel sitting close to Matt on one of the sofas. Priya and
Sam dancing to a song playing on Priya’s phone. Some guy
with a goatee smoking nearby, tapping ashes into an empty
bottle. On a trip to the bathroom, Angus stepping close to her,

smiling, his hand on her waist. Talking close to her ear. Her
reaching to touch his dreads, but Dylan appearing, pulling
her away. Doing a shot with Sam. Matt and Dylan streaking
out the front door, shirtless, into the snow. Dylan kissing her

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