We were lying in Dean’s bed, having just exhausted ourselves in the approved-of manner. I was feeling sex-dazed and sleepy. It was, as usual, late for me (after midnight). At Dean’s, I always make a bid to get to bed early, and it never works.
I smirked at Dean. But then he looked at me in a funny way and before I could get much further than raising an interrogative brow, he said, “I love you, Lily.”
My skin went hot and I thought, Say it again. I said, “I love you too.” I felt flooded with a rich, sad tenderness, as if I might cry. Then I added, “But you can say it again.”
So he said, again, “I love you.”
I rubbed my cheek against his shoulder, and he stroked my hair. “I love you, too. But you knew that, right?” I mean, it was pretty obvious how much I dote on him. “Didn’t you?”