Crave (Harlequin Teen)

anyone in the eyes, I could almost forget that I wasn’t quite normal.
    At least I could pretend that I was.
    But I should have known the happiness wouldn’t last forever.
    At the beginning of September, Greg was my date for the homecoming dance after the game. The homecoming dance was a fundraiser jointly held by the Charmers and the cheerleaders, our team directors’ annual futile attempt at forcing the two squads to bond. Greg’s mother had made me a custom mum that had to weigh at least twenty pounds, and I couldn’t stop grinning with pride at how good my boyfriend looked in his matching mini mum attached to a garter around his left bicep. Even if I didn’t get to actually dance with him much because I was too busy working the concession stand with other Charmers most of the night.
    When I did get a break, dancing with Greg proved to be…interesting. At five-eleven, he wasn’t too much taller than my own height of five-five. This would have been great for soul-deep eye gazing. Except obviously I couldn’t do that. So I had to be careful while dancing with him. Every time we’d danced together that evening, I’d nearly slipped and looked directly into his eyes instead of at his nose.
    By the final slow dance of the night, I was more than a little frustrated. That’s when the doubt started to creep in. And the questions.
    It had been five months since I’d made direct eye contact with any male. The weird incident with the three boys in freshman algebra seemed like a dream now, or a nightmare faintly remembered. What if I was remembering it as much worse than the situation actually had been? After five months, anyone’s memory could blow something small out of proportion.
    Not to mention, those algebra boys had been virtual strangers. I knew Greg. The entire time we’d been dating, he’d never been anything but sweet. He was nice to others, too, holding doors for strangers even when he thought I wasn’t around or looking. He was a preacher’s kid, the oldest of five, and regularly babysat his younger siblings so his parents could go out on dates or hold religious events. He even cleaned up other people’s trash on the sidewalk outside the movie theater sometimes. Greg was a total Boy Scout through and through. I’d never known a nicer guy.
    And after five long months, I was sick and tired of having to avoid eye contact with people. Especially Greg, who knew so much about me, yet I still couldn’t seem to really connect with him. Compared to Greg, I felt closer to Tristan, whom I still hadn’t had a conversation with in years outside of that one dream. And I knew why. It was because of my stupid eyes. I’d made eye contact with Tristan lots of times before I’d gotten sick last year. I couldn’t remember ever meeting Greg’s. I wanted to be truly normal again. Surely it was safe to stop staring at people’s noses and try making eye contact with Greg to start with. Then if nothing bad happened…who knew? Maybe it would be proof that I was taking after the Clann side of the family instead.
    Better to be a witch than a vampire.
    My gaze inched up to Greg’s mouth. Then his nose. Could I really do this? My hands shook, so I gripped the folds of his shirt at the small of his back.
    And then I looked at him. Really looked at him, making direct eye contact with soft brown eyes I’d grown to care about but only dared to sneak indirect peeks at till now. I felt the zing from the connection our gazes made, and held my breath.
    Greg stumbled and stopped dancing. But he didn’t let go of me.
    “What?” I whispered. Should I look away now? No, I’d wait a few seconds longer. It was so nice, maybe too nice, to make eye contact with someone again. And yet incredibly intimate, as if I were baring my soul to him. As if he’d be able to see everything I felt. And didn’t feel.
    “You’ve never looked at me like this before. Not since we first met,” he murmured, his voice husky. His eyebrows drew together into a frown.
    “I can stop if you like.”
    He gave a slow shake of his head, never breaking our stare. His arms held me tighter. “No, don’t. I like it. You should do it more often.”
    He wasn’t freaked out. Relief escaped me in a shaky laugh. “Okay.”
    “Wow, you’re beautiful. I feel like the luckiest guy here.”
    “And you’re sweet.”
    He sighed without smiling, a rarity for him. “I’d rather you said something else.”
    “Such as?” I teased.
    “Oh, like whether you