Any Way the Wind Blows (Simon Snow, #3)

by Rainbow Rowell

My thigh is resting on his, and he’s tucked his knee up between my legs. I’m stroking his hair. It’s still wet. He smells so good, and it isn’t just soap—it’s Baz. He smells cold and clean. Like running water. Like damp wood. He doesn’t smell like anything living, but he doesn’t smell like anything dead either. I’ll never get enough of it. My lungs won’t hold on to it—they betray me every time I exhale. Baz scratches between my wings like he’s scratching a dog between its ears. It sends a shiver down my spine. I try to move closer. Our chins bump. “I’m done with Smith-Richards,” I say. “Good,” Baz says. His voice is soft. “But what will we tell Lady Ruth?” “We’ll talk about it tomorrow.” I nod. I’ll worry about it tomorrow. All of it: Smith. Jamie. Me. The thing Baz isn’t telling me. The bed feels good. Feels clean. “I like these sheets.” “Me, too.” Baz scratches my back. “Good job, Snow.” “I like finding you here,” I say. Very quietly. I can hear him breathing. “I could always be here,” he says. Very, very quietly. I nod my head again. Our noses bump. Baz works his left hand under my neck, pressing and holding me there. I want to kiss him—but I don’t want to barrel through this moment. I think this might be a moment. And I don’t want to knock over whatever it is we’re building. Here in the dark. “Baz . . .” “Hmm.” “Is this what people do?” “What do you mean, Snow?” “I’m not sure . . .” He tightens his grip on the back of my neck. His fingers are cold. My fingers are cold,...