Page 54 of White Lights
“That might be a sign,” Rafe says as they come to a stop in the building’s foyer.
“Here’s your phone,” Dez says, tossing it at him in lieu of thanks.
Rafe catches it in the air without looking. “Any news from home? Has the heat died down or is the fuzz still afoot?”
“You’re a dick,” Dez says, and steps out into the dark and frozen squall.
“I’m more than that,” Rafe says, keeping pace as they brace themselves against the wind, walking back toward the towering Goliath building. “Even if my dick happens to be your favorite thing about me.”
“I’d hardly know,” Dez says before she can stop herself.
Rafe laughs, stops walking, and faces Dez. He reaches forward, wraps his fingers in her hair, and gives it a tug that makes her gasp. “You’re a horny little thing, aren’t you?” he whispers in her ear.
Dez holds her breath. God help her, she’s wet again.
“It was nothing,” she lies. “It happened once. It won’t happen again.”
She hopes she’s lying.
“Sure,” he says, breath against her neck, clouding the air with their attraction. “Just try to keep your clothes on today.”
“Try not to rip them off me.”
His eyes bore into hers. “This is only going to get more intense.”
“Are you talking about this school, or your eye contact?”
“All of it. So, you’d better decide if you can hang.”
“I can hang. Probably for longer than you.”
A smile like sudden sunlight makes Rafe look leading-man gorgeous. Too gorgeous. He’s hotter when he’s dark and domineering. “Prove it.”
They reach the ice-covered columns of Goliath’s portico, and Dez steps into dim light and relative sanctuary, stamping snow out of her boots. The stone corridor is candlelit and carpeted with Turkish rugs, lined by wooden benches, and pitch black at either end.
Dez knows by now that on the other side of the interior wall is the Vault, but what the Vault holds is still a mystery.
“Do you know who I got to work with last summer?” Rafe says, brushing snow off his shoulders.
“I give up.”
“Martin Pynch.”
Dez stares at him. Name dropping aside, it’s impressive. Dez has studied all of Pynch’s movies. She agrees with basically everyone on earth that he’s one of the great directors of their time. She can see Pynch inspiring Rafe, can even see Rafe impressing Pynch. But the way Rafe phrased it … it reminds her of what Yael said yesterday about Samantha Cisneros. Strange, both Rafe and Yael used almost precisely the same words.
Dez thinks of the tribute documentary she watched after Pynch passed away last year.
“So, you must have gotten to work with him,” she asks, “right before he died?”
Rafe nods. “Right before.”
“Is there a reason why Acheron matches students with filmmakers so late in their careers?” she asks.
“Because they have the most profound perspectives.”
Dez remembers Rafe said her package includes a summer internship. “So if I want to work with a particular director—”
Rafe nods. “All you’ve got to do is stick around. Not that it’ll be easy for you.”
