I realize after a second I’m still frozen in place, so I stroll over to my phone and lower the volume until it fades into the background. I turn to him. “I didn’t hear you.”

He’s still wearing that hint of a crooked smile. “Decided to give your furniture a break.”

I quirk an eyebrow, my heart skipping a beat as I take in his words. “Did you just make a joke?”

His face stills for a moment, eyes flicking away, as though registering something, before settling back on me. “I guess I did.”

I feel myself smile, take a step toward him. “I like it.”

This time it’s his brow that shoots up. “Yeah? I have more.” His expression gets thoughtful again, eyes narrowing. “Your nightstand came on to me a little too strong last night. Think I’m going to have to break things off.”

I snort out a laugh, a jolt coursing through me as I try to absorb this new side of him. “We’ll have to work on it a little.”

His smile widens just enough to let me know he’s pleased by my reaction, and it squeezes my heart. I cock my head to one side, squinting as I inspect him closer. How does he even know what it means to come on to someone? To break things off?

“You seem different tonight.” My voice is soft, still lost in my thoughts.

It’s the same thing I’d noticed when he showed up last night, a distinct change in his demeanor. I still see it now, in the relaxed way his broad shoulders sit, the expressiveness of those vibrant eyes, the almost informal body language. Whatever it is, it was subtler yesterday; only obvious to someone looking close enough, as I had been. But now, it’s enhanced tenfold somehow, and I don’t know what to make of it.

He smoothly pushes his weight off the dresser with his hip, then shifts his gaze toward the unlit fireplace. As he nips at his bottom lip, he runs a hand through his tousled hair. “I feel different.”

“How’s that?” I settle into the rocking chair, tucking one foot beneath me.

“I don’t know.” He shrugs—another gesture I’ve never seen from him before—making his way to the loveseat and lowering himself down. It takes him a minute to answer, and I don’t think I’ve ever seen him look so lost in thought before. Finally, he lets out a long, low sigh before turning his head to me. “In every sense of the word.”

I want to ask what he means, but I get the impression he might not even understand it himself. “And what do you think? Does it scare you?”

“No. Not anymore. Now, it feels almost,” he shakes his head, “familiar.”

Our gazes stay locked, mine completely enthralled by the way the green blaze of his eyes so wholly overshadows the darkness now. He leans forward, resting his forearms on his thighs, his chin angled to the right as he watches me. We seem to do a lot of that, watching each other, and I always wonder if he feels it like I do, this pull. This tug between us, like a warm, soft line of thread linking me to him.

As usual, I’m the first to break our staring contest. “So . . .” I stand and walk toward my nightstand, where the plastic bags sit. “I got you something.”

I take a seat right beside him, close enough that our legs touch, and try to act casual—like I don’t feel the heat of his body burning through his jeans, rubbing against the bare skin of my thigh. I ignore the way his body stiffens at my nearness, muscles pulling taut. I keep my eyes down, on the box in my hand, as I fumble to open it.

The lid finally pops up, revealing two rings. One is dainty, a silver band designed to appear like two vines twisting into one another, with a black, oval stone sitting in its center. The other is more masculine, a thick, stainless steel band with a simple, black design etched into the sides. That one has a dark rectangular stone at its center.

“These,” I say, “are rings.” I take the dainty one and am about to slip it onto my middle finger, when I pause, lifting my head to look at him.

He’s not looking at the rings, but at me. His brows are drawn, but his eyes are tender, almost sad, and I can’t place the expression at all. “You got me something,” he says, as if to himself.

“I know it seems silly,” I rush to elaborate, feeling the need to explain my gift choice, “but it’s not just any ring. It’s a mood ring.”

“A what?”

I grin, my excitement growing at the thought of showing him what it does. “A mood ring. I figured with you being so new to emotions and all, this might be fun.” With my free hand, I pluck the more masculine looking ring from the box and hand it to him. “I hope it fits.”

Gently taking the ring from me, he holds it level with his eyes, rotating the item in his fingers for inspection. “What does it do, exactly?”

“Here, we’ll start with mine. Watch the stone.” I slide it down my finger, then hold up my hand in front of us, so we can both see it equally. We stare as the stone’s black color turns cloudy. Specks of a bright, sky blue swirl in the middle of it until the blue takes over completely. Déjà vu? I can’t help but be reminded of the way his eyes swirl from black to green.

“What does it mean?” he asks.

“I have no idea,” I admit, chuckling softly. “I’ve never actually worn one of these things. Oh, it comes with a chart!” I sound way more excited than I probably should be, considering it’s just a silly toy, but I can’t help it. It’s like his raw curiosity is contagious, sparking my own interest in the smallest things.

I untuck a small, folded paper from the bottom of the box and hold it up before us, scanning down the color schemes until I see an explanation for bright blue. I read it aloud. “Bright blue means you are doing something stimulating or something that makes you excited.”

He shifts his head back toward me, a small smile playing at his lips. “And are you?” His voice is quiet, almost a whisper, yet every syllable of that freaking low hum seeps inside my body, loud and clear. “Stimulated, I mean?”

Oh, like he had to clarify.

Damn color chart. Suddenly flustered by being at the receiving end of his undivided attention, especially with the way our thighs still brush together from any slightest movement, I scoff and roll my eyes.

“It’s not real,” I explain. “The store clerk told me this whole thing is based on your body temperature. Apparently, the average person’s body temp will turn the ring green. It gets into the blues the hotter the body is. Obviously, my body heats up around you because you’re so hot.” Did I seriously just say that? “Not like, hot, hot. I mean, not that you aren’t that kind of hot . . .”

Jesus. I glance away and bite down on my lip, scrambling for any way to seem less like I’m, once again, hitting on him. Then I realize maybe I’m safe; maybe he doesn’t even know the double meaning of that particular word. I mean, he didn’t even know what a handshake was, right? Wary, I slowly turn my head back toward him, lifting my chin. I’m really hoping to find a confused look on his face. Unfortunately, what I find is anything but.

He’s definitely smiling now, the ridiculously cute dimple in full effect. The simple curve of his full lips is easy and honest, genuine. Bringing my gaze upward, I’m surprised when his eyes don’t match such a pure smile. No, there’s nothing pure about the dangerous, almost daring, spark dancing in the green flames. I don’t know if it’s my stubbornness, my desire to take on the unspoken challenge—whatever the hell that is—but I can’t look away.

“Go on.” The huskiness behind the gentle command slides down my skin like warm, thick honey. “You were telling me how hot I make you.” The corner of his lips hooks up again, smooth and slow.

“What?” I murmur, dazed-like, until I snap myself out of his spell and shake my head. Dammit. He knows exactly what he’s doing. “Stop that.”

“Stop what?”

My eyes narrow. “You know what.”

If I’m being honest with myself, I don’t totally know why I’m complaining. It’s not as though I don’t like the reactions he causes in my body, the quickening of my pulse, the warm sensations spiking low in my stomach—amongst other places. But I’ve never seen him blatantly flirt with me either, and there are too many sides to him for me to make sense of. In fact, that wasn’t just flirting. It was one step away from dirty-talk territory.

How exactly does one talk dirty with Death, anyway?

Shaking it off before my imagination can run wild with that one, I clear my throat. “Your turn. Put it on,” I urge, mindlessly tapping his knee with my hand. I know I just told him to shut up, but I can’t resist when I casually say, “Let’s see if you’re as hot as I am.”

His gaze lights up when it flicks to mine, but then he goes serious as he focuses on the ring in his hand. He slides it over his middle finger, like mine, but it won’t budge past the middle knuckle. His eyes are curious when he looks back at me, waiting for something to happen.

I nod toward his hand. “Keep your eyes on the ring. The stone.”

He obliges, and I have to lean closer to see the change this time. It’s so subtle as the black in his stone becomes the darkest possible shade of blue. He presses his lips together. “Do I want to know?”

I laugh softly, then glance down at the color chart to read it aloud. “Dark blue indicates romance or passion. Something electric is in the air if you see dark blue.”