“Remember how when we were little?” I whisper. “You’d chase me around before midnight.” “Eight!” the television blares. “Seven!” Lo’s fingers comb into my hair as he holds my face. “You always ran out of breath.” I smile. “I wanted you to catch me.” His amber eyes dance along my features, like he’s engraining every detail. “I thought so.” “Five!” “Catch me,” I whisper. “Four!” “I already have,” he murmurs.
