I think all relationships start with an invisible line, and even though we can’t see it, we all know it’s there because we can feel it. We respect that line because it keeps the bounds of the relationship intact. The line guides us within our relationships and dictates who is our friend, who is our family, who is our lover, who is someone we can or can’t trust. The line between Tor and I is somewhat unique, because it criss-crosses between family and friend, and just now it blurred into something I can’t quite describe. I’m not sure where our line is anymore, or if I even want a line at all.

I quickly change out of my prom dress, into Tor’s t-shirt, and climb into the bed I’ve slept in many times before. The purple comforter with a big gothic sugar skull on it that Tor bought for me a few years ago is still on the bed and it’s softness and familiarity calms me. He said he wanted me to have something girly, but cool, here. His house has always been like a second home for me and I stayed here a lot when my parents were on tour. Since Tor lives closer to my Dad than my grandparents do, it wasn’t unusual for me to stay with him so he could bring me to school every day. For the past two years, I’ve come here twice a week to clean and do his laundry because he usually doesn’t have time to do it himself and he pays me fifty dollars a week that I stash away for when I can have my own car. Tonight, though, I don’t really feel like I’m staying over at my father’s best friend’s house. Something feels different.

How can one little moment, one tiny touch, one quickening breath change so much?

It didn’t.

I’m being ridiculous and hyper-sensitive because Jason was nasty to me. I wanted to feel pretty – maybe even wanted and cared about – tonight and when that didn’t happen I must have just projected that onto poor Toren. No wonder he couldn’t wait to make me go to bed.

And telling him I want to put him in a box! Gawd. So awkward and borderline psychotic.

Cringing at myself, I grab my phone from the nightstand to see ten text messages. Eight are from Chloe and two are from Jason. All ten asking if I’m okay and where the hell am I? I’m surprised Jason even bothered after the way he treated me.

I text them both that I’m home and put the phone back so I can bury myself under the comforter, where I toss and turn. It’s four a.m. and I should be exhausted, but I can’t get my mind to turn off and let me sleep. It keeps shifting back to Tor and how his hand felt on my cheek, and how warm his chest felt against my hands through his thin shirt. When our bodies leaned against each other for those few moments, it was like a silent click into place. It’s exactly the type of feeling I read about in all my romance novels. This proves that crazy butterfly moment really does exist after all, and it’s not a myth.

The only problem is, it’s all wrong. Very wrong.

Toren can’t make me feel that way. He’s old. Okay, not old, but way older than me. He’s practically family. He freakin’ babysat me. He’s been to all my birthday parties and all my school events. He’s taken care of me when I was sick. He taught me how to ride a bicycle. He held me when I cried for my mom. He knows all my secrets and dreams. He’s…

… everything.

I have no idea when I finally fell asleep but I’m woken up by the scent of coffee. The clock on the wall reads seven a.m. Great. Not getting enough sleep is going to make me cranky all day.

After using the restroom and making sure I look somewhat presentable, I follow the aroma to the kitchen to find Tor standing at the kitchen window, wearing old faded jeans and no shirt. I’m surprised to see his entire back covered in tattoos now because he didn’t have all those last summer when he was in our pool. That funny feeling returns to my chest and stomach as my eyes rake over not just the new artwork, but the muscles and definition beneath the ink. When did Tor get so hot? Have I been living under a rock?

“Hi…” I finally say, stepping further into the kitchen.

He turns with a look of surprise, and I notice how his eyes quickly take in that I’m still wearing his shirt, which comes down to my thighs. I’ve dressed like this a hundred times in front of him and never felt self-conscious, but today I do. My legs feel incredibly naked and I’m so glad I shaved them yesterday before the prom.