Forget why we’re here. Forget she’s not mine. Forget my own name. “Hi,” she whispers, like we’re sharing a legitimate moment. And then, we are. I reach up and brush back a strand of hair that’s escaped her braid. When my knuckles graze her neck, she shivers. “You good, Mills?” Because I’m not. In fact, I’m starting to suspect Amelia is going to ruin me. But I sure am enjoying the ride.
