The Dream Thief Read Online Free PDF Page A

with our appetites.
    My mind had traveled so much territory since the last word was spoken that I had some serious backtracking to do to get with the program. Right. Warning him. "You try it. Explain to this cute little waitress who is ogling you, that should she ever be so lucky as to receive a dream from the Merchant, she should run fast and far."
    He chewed, slowly, his eyes on the waitress in a way I didn't fully like. "I see your point. Just thinking about what to say makes all the words go fuzzy."
    "We're not allowed to warn people."
    Being fused to Will was a big problem, but I was beginning to realize the extent of another one. Ten years of hate and thoughts of revenge had dissipated completely. When I'd confessed my guilty secret to Will—that my father was already dying before the crash that killed him—all of that hatred either vanished into some depository for ugly feelings in the sky, or turned inward on myself.
    I was the responsible party. If anybody could be blamed, it was me.
    Meanwhile, Will, who had loved me in one way or another since we were kids, now saw me clearly for the heartless bitch I had become. The expression on his face, in his eyes, a mix of grief and disgust, was devastating. And when he found out exactly what I had set loose in my house, well, that would be the end of all hope that I could ever make things right between us.
    "Jesse. Could you stop drifting off and just stay with this problem for a minute?"
    I brought my attention back to where it didn't want to be. To those strong man's hands, with the grease staining the fingernails and the calluses of hard work and the bruises where my fingers had dug into his flesh during the—whatever had just happened. The changeable eyes, blue-grey in the dim light of the diner, the marks down his cheek where I'd scratched him yesterday when he saved me from drowning. To his mouth, which had been a boy's ten years ago, slightly bowed and soft, now a straight line of determination. His jaw had squared. And his voice—well, that was the greatest torment of all.
    "Do you have furniture up at the house? Towels? Food?"
    "Wait—what?" I stared at him in shock and dismay. Not now, not yet .
    "We have to sleep somewhere. We need a base camp."
    "What's wrong with your place?"
    "It's too small. One bedroom."
    "I can sleep on the couch."
    "Aren't you doing work on your house? To get it ready to sell?"
    Work, yes. Sell? Not so much. "It's sort of out of the way."
    "At the moment, I think that's a good thing. Look, Jesse—if we go to my place, people will see us. People will talk. People will make assumptions."
    God forbid anybody should think we were together. He went on, driving the nails into my heart, one by one.
    "Just in case you hadn't figured it out, I don't really want to be in the same town with you, and it's pretty clear you feel that way about me. The house gives us each a room of our own and we can avoid each other."
    I kept my eyes on my hands, poking at the bruises to see how much they hurt. They hurt plenty. "No furniture. No food. The lights and water work. That's the extent of it."
    "Fine. Tomorrow we'll stop by Goodwill and get some basics. You have money?"
    "Some."
    "Good, because I’m not paying to furnish your house."'
    "I know what," I said, manufacturing a bright enthusiasm that didn't fool either of us. "Let's camp. You have a tent—"
    "I'm not sharing a tent with you."
    "Fine. You camp—"
    He sat back in the booth and gave me a long, level look. "What's in the house that you don't want me to see? And there's no point in lying, because I can feel the secret. Like a gas bubble, right here." He put one hand just below his rib cage, which was exactly where I was feeling the secret, and it did feel like a gas bubble.
    "If you already know, why do you need me to tell you?"
    "Because I can't read what the secret is, only that you have one. And even if I could, you're working awfully damn hard to keep me out of