The house was silent as Anastasia walked downstairs. Her skin still felt hot, and her throat was tight and dry.
She needed water to wash away the taste of her own shamelessness.
She didn't even look at the couch as she passed through the living room. She was too distracted by the memory of the text and the heat in her body. She went straight into the dark kitchen, opened the fridge, and grabbed a cold bottle of water.
She drank it quickly, the chill hitting her chest.
As she closed the fridge door, the light vanished. A tall shadow was standing right there, towering over her.
Anastasia gasped, her heart leaping into her throat. She stumbled back in fear, but Dylan's arms shot out and caught her firmly by the waist.
"Hey, it's just me," he whispered.
His face was only a few inches from hers. In the dim light, she couldn't help but stare at him. She saw the boy he had been when they were only teenagers. His eyes hadn't changed at all... they were still kind and full of light.
