Page 128 of Cinder
I glance toward Elle to hide the ridiculous smile trying to break free. “I suppose I could tolerate that.”
“So generous of you.”
“I’m known for my charity.”
His thumb brushes over my wrist. “My girlfriend’s very kind.”
A warmth spreads through me that has nothing to do with the weak afternoon sun, and Evan nods toward Elle.
“Come on, we better get down there before she starts asking any more pointed questions.”
I grin as we make our way to the shoreline, which is scattered with smooth stones in varying sizes. Elle is already attempting to throw them into the water with absolutely no technique whatsoever.
“It skipped,” she announces, right after her pebble drops straight down with a kerplunk.
“Incredible form,” I tell her.
Evan crouches down to pick up a stone and turns it over in his fingers.
“You ever skipped one?” he asks me.
I shake my head. “Nope.”
“C’mere.”
I hesitate for half a second, then step closer. He moves behind me, close enough that I can feel the heat of him at my back before he even touches me. His hand comes around mine, placing the pebble in my fingers and adjusting the way I’m holding it, while his other hand settles lightly at my elbow.
“Like this,” he says, voice low.
I feel every inch of where he’s touching me, the pressure of his fingers guiding mine. The way he angles my arm just slightly, his chest brushing my shoulder as he leans in.
“Flick your wrist,” he breathes, hot by my ear.
I try, and the stone hits the water and sinks immediately.
Elle groans. “That was bad.”
“Thank you,” I say dryly.
“You’re weren’t flicking.”
“I was flicking,” I protest. “I’m a great flicker!”
Evan’s laugh is quiet behind me. “You certainly are.”
I still, turning my head slightly. “Wow. Okay.”
He grins. “We’ll work on it.”
I pull out of his hold before I can think too hard about how easily I could stay there, and pick one up by my feet and try again, but it sinks immediately.
“I think I’m a lost cause,” I say, brushing my hands together.
“Or,” he replies, crouching down, “you’re using the wrong one.”
He doesn’t grab the first pebble within reach, he studies them. Turns one over in his fingers, then sets it down. Picks up another. Rubs his thumb over the surface, testing something I can’t see. Rejects that one, too. It’s subtle, the way he does it. The way he’s choosing.
Eventually, he straightens and walks back over to me, holding one out in his palm.
