Page 36 of Kane

But friends? I am not certain the word fits, but I don’t know what else I would call us. Acquaintances is too formal.

Ryder’s lips twitch in the corners.

“You’re not that old, Kane.”

“I’m definitely older than you,” I note bitterly.

“Ryder smirks. “Yeah, and? What does that have to do with anything?” He licks his lips, and I note the determination on his face. “I’m an adult.”

His answer stokes a fire in me. It almost feels like he’s trying to placate me, but on the other hand, it feels defensive.

“I know that,” I say carefully. “I just meant—”

Ryder looks at me, and I realize he’s waiting for me to finish. I sigh.

“I’m not really good at this sort of thing,” I say honestly.

“What thing?” he asks, shifting his position. His fingers and knee rub against mine, and the touch is more soothing than it should be. It settles something in me.

“This.” I point between us. “Friendship. I don’t… really have friends.”

“Really?” he asks, almost dumbfounded.

“You look shocked.”

Ryder sighs. “No, I just… assumed someone as cool as you would definitely have friends, unlike me.”

It’s the way he says the words. Self-deprecating, like he doesn’t realize how pure and perfect he is.

There are a hundred things I could say to him. But all I settle on is, “You think I’m cool?”

Ryder smirks. “Maybe.”

I glance at his lips, that unrelenting desire to feel them. To touch them, is like a fire I can not deny.

“I would be lucky to call someone like you a friend,” I say softly.

Ryder scoots closer to me in his chair, and I settle my hand on my knee under the table. My fingers brush his, deliberately. Desperately.

I need to touch him, if only to know he’s real. To sate my craving for his warm, smooth flesh against mine.

It’s not what I want, far from it, but it’s all I can manage to reach for, knowing more may never come. No matter how cool Ryder thinks I am, he doesn’t know me. He doesn’t know my darkness or my pain.

But I wish he could.

Ryder’s fingers gently rub mine under the table, and I am frozen in place. He doesn’t look at me, but rather at the gleaming silver surface. At his reflection.

I watch him as he speaks.

“I think I’d like that,” he says, his voice shaking a bit. Almost as if he’s nervous. Without thinking, I twist my fingers between his and gently squeeze his hand. Ryder looks up at me, surprise evident in his eyes. But he doesn’t let go.

And neither do I.

It’s then I notice how close he truly is.

“I think I’d like to be your friend,” he says softly.

He smells like coffee and cinnamon, and temptation.