Page 82 of Puck Fest

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“We need to be more careful.”

“We’re already being careful. How much more careful can we be?”

“I don’t know.”

“That’s always your answer.” Danny’s voice is tight with frustration. “How long do we keep doing this?”

“Until it’s safe.”

“When is that? When Alex stops watching? When people stop noticing?” He steps closer. “I’m tired of hiding and acting like you mean nothing when you’re everything to me.”

“Danny—”

“I’m in love with you.”

Everything stops.

“What?” I rasp.

“I’m in love with you,” he repeats. “And I can’t keep pretending I’m not.”

I press my hand to my forehead. “This is the worst possible time?—”

“I know. But I had to say it.”

I should tell him to go back inside, to maintain distance.

I should do a lot of things.

Instead, I do the one thing I know I absolutely shouldn’t.

And I kiss him.

Right there. On the street. Where anyone could see.

When we break apart, he’s looking at me with hope flickering in his heated green gaze.

“I love you too,” I say.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

We’re standing there, foreheads pressed together, when I hear it.

“Holy shit.”

We turn.

A drunk, staggering guy in his thirties with a phone pointed at us.

“That was some kiss. You guys know you’re in public, right?”

My blood goes cold.

“Delete that,” Danny says.

“Why? It’s-s just two dudes-s making out. No big deal, right?” The guy grins. “Unless-s there’s-s a reason you don’t want it posted.”

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