Page 35 of The Score

Fuck. With her plastered to my side, it's a risky question to ask.

Except the kiss we shared is all the answer I need. Her reaction to it. Regardless of anything else, that is what I need to remember today.ExceptPen and I are still cuddling.

My skin becomes hypersensitive everywhere we touch.

"Does this ruin your perfect future wedding?" she asks.

Fuck. I was caressing her shoulder, too.

Definitely couple-y.

Careful, Leon Karlsen.

I casually take my hand away. I interlock my fingers under my head. She doesn't move away, and I don't ask her to.

"What do you mean?" I lock my eyes on a light green plastic star.

"Those rings are meant for someone you're marrying for love— I mean, they were meant for the love of your life."

I bite back a groan. I want to caress her shoulder again. To comfort her. I don't let myself.

She still doesn't move away. Still dangerous.

Only seven to eight hours of finding my way through all of it. I can do it. What did she call it? Just biology?

Yeah, that. Probably that.

For good measure, I won't ask risky questions again. They might take me down a path that no one can come back from. Lines exist— invisible, sometimes, but they're there— and I cannot cross them.

"I don't know, Pen. The love of my life hasn't materialized yet. It's you who's here. It's you who I'm marrying first."

You're my best friend.

"I'm so glad you're not trying to be romantic about this."

I snort. "Of course I'm not. We're friends, and you hate that stuff."

"Right." She pats my chest in a condescending manner. "Thank you, I guess."

"Look at it this way," I say. "I never imagined giving those rings to anyone else, so I didn't connect it to falling in love with someone. They're family heirlooms I didn't know about. I haven't had a chance to romanticize them yet."

Pen shifts so she can look at me. One of her legs begins to hook around mine. My body wakes up— but so does she. The mildest reaction widens her eyes. She pulls away, all the way.

"Sorry—" she says. "You're just so warm— anyway. Rings? Romanticizing things? You were saying?"

If shock tightens her voice, that's just biology, too.

With my free hand, I run my fingers down my beard. "I was saying, these rings get to be yours. Like a friendship bracelet."

"What?" She laughs.

Her room is far enough from her parents' that we don't need to whisper, but she doesn't let out her laugh at full potency, either.

I smirk. "I said I'm marrying you as a friend. Those rings are yours— as a friend."

"Friendship rings, rather than bracelets."

"There you go."