She moans against me, and I bite down the need to pull her closer. The sound is so familiar to me that ignoring it feels like ignoring my need to breathe, but I do. I have to.
I’ve traded my soul for this, and I can’t forget that. I traded my soul for twelve hours, and I’ll have to do everything perfectly if I plan to run away with more.
“What is it?” she whispers, pulling away from me. Her eyes glow under the fluorescent streetlight and I have to remind myself that this isn’t high school—isn’t prom night when I walked her home and we snuck through her bedroom window so her parents wouldn’t hear us. This isn’t even Ocala anymore—not really. This isn’t the town where we made our mark on the sidewalk and on each other. This is the reality where the ridicule became too much, and I ran. This is the reality where I drove off into the night and left her behind. This is the reality where I died.
“We should go,” I say. “Your place?”
She shrugs. “Fine, but it’s nothing like you remember.”