Elliott
Chris laughs so hard he almost falls off the roof.
“You’re lying,” he wheezes, clutching his stomach. “There’s no way you punched the Alpha of the Crescent Pack in the face.”
“I was ten,” I say, deadpan. “He tried to steal my sandwich. Honor had to be defended.”
He throws his head back and howls with laughter. Actual, honest-to-gods howling. I’ve never been more in love.
We’re perched on the inn’s flat roof, legs dangling over the edge. The night’s crisp, the city quieting down beneath us. Above, the stars look like they’ve been scattered just for us.
But I don’t care about the sky.
I care about the boy next to me, hair wind-tousled, eyes bright with mirth, warmth rolling off him like a furnace just for me.
“You’re the weirdest person I’ve ever met,” Chris says, still smiling.
“And yet,” I murmur, leaning closer, “Here you are. Hopelessly in love.”
His smile softens. “Maybe.”
“Definitely.”
I kiss him before he can answer.
It starts as a tease. Just lips. But he kisses me back
