Tair sat on his log, giving me space as I paced back and forth. He looked like the freaking prince of the forest, all tall and lithe, his dark hair long and falling down his shoulders in VR waves while tight elf leggings hugged his thigh muscles.

But the glasses. Why with the glasses? I finally cracked, scowling at him. “Can you take those off your face? They look ridiculous.”

“They’re important.” He tilted his head to the side.

Important? Those silly, old-fashioned frames? “Then wear them in actual reality.”

“If you insist.” Tair shrugged and slid the frames off. As soon as they disappeared in a puff of pixels, I realized my mistake.

I’d thought he looked perfect before. Now?

Drool. Puddles and puddles of drool.

Son of a seabiscuit.

I couldn’t look at him anymore. Instead, I went back to pacing.

There weren’t any futures where I jumped him in the next few seconds—we were still too early for that—but the wispy kisses at the edges of my vision were solidifying by the moment. How could we possibly be kissing when all I wanted to do was avoid him?

How could I work with him if that was where we were headed?

“You’re muttering about me,” Tair said, breaking my internal rant.

“I’m not.” I kicked a fake pinecone, grateful he couldn’t know the chaos churning in my head.

“You said my name.”

“I didn’t.”

“You said it more than once.”

I glared at him and his stupid pointed ears. “Maybe because you’re getting under my skin.”

“Am I?” Tair’s voice lifted. He sounded hopeful, of all things. Hopeful.

“That’s exactly why we’re screwed.”

“Both of us are playing a dangerous game,” Tair said. “But if we work togeth—”

The pinecone I’d just thrown hit him in the chest.

“Was that necessary?” He stared down at the spot like there should be a bullet hole.

“Absolutely.” And I’d do it again.

Yeesh.

Even as he stood there puzzling over me, ghosts of him stumbled around the forest. Tair takes a knife between the ribs as he lunges to protect me; he hits a concrete floor, three bullets in his chest, horror and pain painted on his face; a sword pierces his shoulder and an invisible enemy bears him down to the ground as blood pools underneath his body.

I wanted to shake him in the present. Why are you fighting people with swords, idiot? How’d you think that would end?

Even worse?

Why was his blood so red? And why did the sight of it make me feel so sick to my stomach? I should be desensitized to this nonsense by now.

“You’re shaking.” Tair stepped to me and before I could say anything, he touched my shoulder.