Dream Boy by Mary Crockett, Madelyn Rosenberg Read Free Book Online Page B

which ran low but which still had that comforting rushing sound. The leaves were turning, and a few had already fallen into the water and been trapped by the rocks. On the other side of the bank, the branch from a willow tree had fallen onto the roof of the pump house; it looked like an ugly green wig.
    “Well, however I got here, I’m here now,” he said. To prove it, he took my hand and raised it to his cheek. He gave me one of those soulful, smoldering looks that only happen on TV. I could feel a slight stubble beneath my fingertips. And I started not to care so much where he came from; I only cared that he was here, that he was, at that very moment, lowering his lips toward mine for what I could only assume would be the most surreal kiss of all time.
    Our lips touched. It was good. More than “good,” which doesn’t have nearly enough syllables. It was poet-good. Rock-star-good. Biker-revolutionary-underwear-model-good.
    “Thanks,” he whispered. He drew back and looked deep into my eyes. Then he kissed me again.
    “But I didn’t, I didn’t…”
    And then I closed my eyes and stopped thinking about all of the things I didn’t. I started thinking about the things that I did.

Chapter 9
    I wasn’t cold anymore. Martin’s lips lit something inside me and I felt only heat. When we kissed, it was as if I’d known him forever. But there was an itch I couldn’t quite reach, somewhere on my spine, maybe, reminding me that I hadn’t. I’d known him for thirty minutes, not counting dream time, and I wasn’t sure how to count that anyway.
    I could hear a rational voice whispering: Be careful, Annabelle.
    But I’d been careful forever and where had it gotten me? A life sentence in my hometown. Plus six months with Daniel Kowalski for bad behavior.
    Martin’s hands ran up and down my back. I could feel his fingers making little swirls on my skin that matched the swirling in my brain. Somewhere through that swirl, I felt my insides tilt and I thought about how he’d been on the boat—so intense and sexy and sweet. It was like he was programmed for this. A prepackaged romantic dream.
    He lifted his lips from mine. “I’m not programmed…”
    I looked up, dazed.
    “…and I’m not packaged,” he finished.
    “But you are a—you’re a dream, right?”
    He didn’t seem sure how to answer.
    “Was,” he said finally.
    “That’s the same thing.”
    “Not even close.”
    “But you were a dream.” A superhot dream, I thought, remembering the way the muscles in his back flexed when he dove into the water.
    He grinned and gave a slow, sexy nod, and I knew he knew what I was thinking. My cheeks grew warm. “I thought you weren’t going to get into my head,” I said.
    “It’s hard not to when we’re close.” He dropped his hands to his sides and took a small step back.
    I looked up. The morning light had an uncertainty to it, as if even the sky hadn’t made up its mind about what kind of day it was going to be.
    “My mom’s probably wondering where I am,” I said finally. “We should go back.”
    “Okay.”
    We turned together and walked away from the rushing water, without skipping even one rock. At the edge of our driveway, he took my hand again. “So, should I meet your mom?”
    “You’ve had a lot of experience meeting parents, then?”
    “Nope. None.”
    I started laughing, that nervous laugh that comes out when your body can’t think of anything else to do. “Sorry,” I said. “It’s just… this feels like a dream.”
    “I’ve been in your dreams, Annabelle,” he said. “And this isn’t like one at all.”
    “What do you mean?”
    “Well, for one thing, you weren’t so worried in your dream. For another,” he leaned over and whispered, “if this had been a dream, we would have gone swimming.”
    He was right on both points. “What would you even say to my mother, if you met her?”
    “That I’m new here?” he considered. “It’s true. As far as it goes.”
    I was