Eric’s answers were coming more slowly, as if he were now shifting them through a sieve, thinking about what to say, and how to phrase it. Thinking about all the implications of recent events. That comforted Amber. He wasn’t taking lightly what she’d told him. He was giving what she’d done due consideration; whatever understanding he reached, she’d know it was truer than his initial glib ‘so what?’. Her heart beat harder as he approached. But I want to matter to you. I don't want to be a game piece. Less than a week ago, she’d have told him without a moment’s hesitation that he was no game piece; that he meant so much more. Now she didn’t know how to begin to tell him how much more. Didn’t know how not to fear what would happen if she did.

Having nothing but words, Amber spoke. “You do. You’re not,” she said, quiet. He wasn’t. She’d never meant him to be. If she’d used him against Thirteen, it had only been to prove a point.

Hugging was so much better. Words had been failing them left and right, but like this, they could say so much more. Amber sighed, relaxing at last. It was the first time they’d touched since she’d told him, They call me Cutthroat Bitch. Amber drew her arms around his shoulders, resting the side of her face against his, and closed her eyes. Eric felt so damn good against her. Solid and firm and here.

She was so dumb with him. Did idiot things she didn’t even want to, just to see his reaction. Got all insecure. God knew why she so hated the idea of not being with him; if she weren’t, she wouldn’t be this way. She was grateful he couldn’t see her expression, the way they were standing. “I was being stupid.” Amber held him tighter, one arm across his back, the other round his waist. She never wanted to test him like this again, because one day, she might—it might not be this easy to solve. “I’m scared I’ll find your limit.” The point where she went too far. As much as she wanted, needed, to know where that limit lay, she didn’t want to risk crossing it.