faces for?”
I bow my head over my food and swallow hard. My appetite is all gone. Then I look up again because I swear I feel a gaze on me, and sure enough, it’s Ash, staring right at me, his eyes bright.
He flinches when our eyes meet, and he turns away.
He’s acting so weird, honest.
“Coming to Rafe’s party on Saturday?” Tessa points a fry at Zane. “Say yes.”
“Yes.” He grins. “It’s gonna be awesome. Everyone will be there and it’s gonna rock ’cause his parents are out of town.”
“Alcohol?” Tessa asks.
Zane’s grin widens. “Didn’t I say it’s gonna be awesome? Dylan will be late but he’s coming, too, and Ash...”
“Who cares if Dylan’s coming?” Tessa frowns and stuffs her mouth with burger.
Zane shakes his head and grabs his coke. “What’s the deal with you and Dylan? I swear I don’t get you, fuckers. You either love or hate each other, and I don’t know which it is.”
“Hate,” Tessa says around the burger. “All out hate.”
Zane snorts. “And why would you hate him?”
Tessa shrugs and swallows. “Why not?”
“Right, what’s there not to hate?” I say under my breath. Dylan is tall and handsome, built like a god, his blond hair mussed. When he grins, he has a dimple. A very sexy dimple. Girls swoon over him all the time.
Come to think about it, maybe this is what Tessa hates about him. Makes sense.
I only need to shove them together so they kiss. I have this weird notion in my head that when you kiss someone you know immediately if he’s the one for you. Like a magical connection unfurling through the kiss.
Maybe I’m the one watching too many soap operas.
“Hey, Ash!” Zane twists around in his seat and waves.
Ash, who’s standing up from his table, lifts a hand. His gaze flicks toward me, and he suddenly beams a megawatt grin at me and winks.
Leaving me speechless.
Okay. What was that?
“Ash is coming to the party, too,” Zane says, turning back toward us. “I think he needs some cheering up.”
“What he needs is a kick in the nuts,” Tessa says cheerfully, and I laugh, giddy—because he grinned at me, and he winked.
Am I going crazy? Shouldn’t I be mad at him for ignoring me before? But my face is hot and I can’t stop smiling.
This boy confuses me so much.
“What has the fucker done now?” Zane asks.
“Acting weird,” Tessa says.
Zane doesn’t comment, digging into his spaghetti. And it strikes me that he’s acting weird, too. As if he knows Ash is not himself, as if he knows why —and doesn’t want to share.
The party is already in full swing when Tess and I arrive. It’s still relatively warm and the windows are open, punk rock music spilling into the garden and yard. If it gets any louder, I bet the police will cruise by to have a look.
Well, this is Rafe’s house, alright. That’s his kind of music. I hope it’s not the only music he’ll play tonight.
I also hope for one more thing: Ash. I hope to see him, hope he flashes that huge grin at me again, that he winks... That he returns to me. I miss my best friend.
Yeah, that’s the reason I want to see him. Just that. Not to inhale his spicy scent, or watch the play of muscles on his broad chest, or see the way his pale eyes darken when he’s happy.
Whoa. Is this what being drunk feels like? My thoughts are spiraling out of control.
“There’s Rafe!” Tessa drags me through the garden gate into the crowded yard. There are torches stuck in the ground, their flames wavering in the breeze, casting dancing shadows. Tall oaks line the back of the yard.
There’s a whiff of magic on the air, the subtle shift of summer slipping into winter. A scent of change.
I spot Dylan from afar. He’s easy to find: smack in the center of a group of giggling fangirls. The boy was made to be a star. I wonder if he’s giving away signed photos of himself.
Nah. There’d be a line snaking all the way out into the street.
I think I can
I bow my head over my food and swallow hard. My appetite is all gone. Then I look up again because I swear I feel a gaze on me, and sure enough, it’s Ash, staring right at me, his eyes bright.
He flinches when our eyes meet, and he turns away.
He’s acting so weird, honest.
“Coming to Rafe’s party on Saturday?” Tessa points a fry at Zane. “Say yes.”
“Yes.” He grins. “It’s gonna be awesome. Everyone will be there and it’s gonna rock ’cause his parents are out of town.”
“Alcohol?” Tessa asks.
Zane’s grin widens. “Didn’t I say it’s gonna be awesome? Dylan will be late but he’s coming, too, and Ash...”
“Who cares if Dylan’s coming?” Tessa frowns and stuffs her mouth with burger.
Zane shakes his head and grabs his coke. “What’s the deal with you and Dylan? I swear I don’t get you, fuckers. You either love or hate each other, and I don’t know which it is.”
“Hate,” Tessa says around the burger. “All out hate.”
Zane snorts. “And why would you hate him?”
Tessa shrugs and swallows. “Why not?”
“Right, what’s there not to hate?” I say under my breath. Dylan is tall and handsome, built like a god, his blond hair mussed. When he grins, he has a dimple. A very sexy dimple. Girls swoon over him all the time.
Come to think about it, maybe this is what Tessa hates about him. Makes sense.
I only need to shove them together so they kiss. I have this weird notion in my head that when you kiss someone you know immediately if he’s the one for you. Like a magical connection unfurling through the kiss.
Maybe I’m the one watching too many soap operas.
“Hey, Ash!” Zane twists around in his seat and waves.
Ash, who’s standing up from his table, lifts a hand. His gaze flicks toward me, and he suddenly beams a megawatt grin at me and winks.
Leaving me speechless.
Okay. What was that?
“Ash is coming to the party, too,” Zane says, turning back toward us. “I think he needs some cheering up.”
“What he needs is a kick in the nuts,” Tessa says cheerfully, and I laugh, giddy—because he grinned at me, and he winked.
Am I going crazy? Shouldn’t I be mad at him for ignoring me before? But my face is hot and I can’t stop smiling.
This boy confuses me so much.
“What has the fucker done now?” Zane asks.
“Acting weird,” Tessa says.
Zane doesn’t comment, digging into his spaghetti. And it strikes me that he’s acting weird, too. As if he knows Ash is not himself, as if he knows why —and doesn’t want to share.
The party is already in full swing when Tess and I arrive. It’s still relatively warm and the windows are open, punk rock music spilling into the garden and yard. If it gets any louder, I bet the police will cruise by to have a look.
Well, this is Rafe’s house, alright. That’s his kind of music. I hope it’s not the only music he’ll play tonight.
I also hope for one more thing: Ash. I hope to see him, hope he flashes that huge grin at me again, that he winks... That he returns to me. I miss my best friend.
Yeah, that’s the reason I want to see him. Just that. Not to inhale his spicy scent, or watch the play of muscles on his broad chest, or see the way his pale eyes darken when he’s happy.
Whoa. Is this what being drunk feels like? My thoughts are spiraling out of control.
“There’s Rafe!” Tessa drags me through the garden gate into the crowded yard. There are torches stuck in the ground, their flames wavering in the breeze, casting dancing shadows. Tall oaks line the back of the yard.
There’s a whiff of magic on the air, the subtle shift of summer slipping into winter. A scent of change.
I spot Dylan from afar. He’s easy to find: smack in the center of a group of giggling fangirls. The boy was made to be a star. I wonder if he’s giving away signed photos of himself.
Nah. There’d be a line snaking all the way out into the street.
I think I can
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