Six Months Later by Natalie D. Richards Page A

going there. Do Not Pass go; do not collect two-hundred dollars.
    Blake pulls back with a little humming sound. “Tomorrow. Breakfast. I’ll pick you up, and this time, I want to go somewhere and eat at a table. Thirty whole minutes with my girlfriend. Not too much to ask, is it?”
    He cocks his head, giving me a million-dollar smile. I remind myself he is the guy I’ve always wanted. And if I don’t resolve my crazy memory stuff, I’m going to push him away right about the time I realize how and why we ended up together.
    I squeeze his hand. “No, it’s not. Breakfast sounds perfect.”
    “Seven thirty.”
    “I’ll be ready. Promise.”
    He nods and steps away, saluting me before he heads past me and out the doors. I see Adam leaning against the lockers, watching him go. Watching maybe everything that just happened.
    I try to leave, but I feel frozen to the floor. Adam’s eyes find mine across the hall, and there’s a name for the look he’s wearing. I’d call it jealous as hell.
    ***
    It wasn’t easy finding Adam Reed’s address. I don’t know what I expected, but whatever the image I dreamed up in my head was, it wasn’t this. I once told Mags that Adam was probably a spoiled little rich boy, playing the bad kid to get daddy’s attention. Looking at the sad, cramped town house in front of me makes me feel cruel and stupid for saying that.
    This isn’t one of those swanky apartments you see on CW dramas—slick, modern lofts with community pools and weekly scandals. We don’t have those kinds of complexes in Ridgeview. We hardly have apartments at all, and the ones we do have are the kind nobody wants to think about.
    This row of town houses sits behind the abandoned strip mall two blocks from Maggie’s house. There are no welcome mats or fitness centers. Or grass, for that matter. The entire place looks tired, from the peeling paint on the identical front doors to the rusting Buick in the corner of the parking lot.
    I put my keys in my pocket and step over the cracks in the pavement on my way to his front door. I hate this place already. It pulls at the fabric of my comfort, tearing the seams until I can see slivers of a life I didn’t think was possible in my cute little town.
    I square my shoulders and lift my fist, knocking three times. Inside, someone hollers Adam’s name. I hear a cough next, a horrible, wet rattle. Two doors down, a young mother heads for her car with a crying baby in tow.
    I glance down at the cigarette butts on the edge of the sidewalk because I don’t want to look. I feel like a spoiled, ungrateful brat who doesn’t belong here.
    The door swings open, and there he is, this darkly beautiful and apparently tragic boy. He doesn’t look happy to see me.
    “What do you want, Chloe?”
    “I need to talk to you.”
    “Talk to Blake,” he says.
    Holy crap, he was jealous. And I don’t get it. I just don’t. But I like it. Some very twisted part of me wants him to be jealous.
    I want him to want me. Because some part of me clearly wants him.
    “Can I come in?” I ask, my voice too high and small.
    “In here?” he asks, like I’m completely crazy for asking.
    “Or we could walk,” I say, though my voice trails off when I glance around at the broken bottles and total absence of pretty.
    “It’s cold, Chloe.”
    “I know. I know that, but I really need to talk to you.”
    And I do. I’ve got questions burning up in my throat. I can feel them wanting to bubble out of me. Questions about the list. About the study group. About me and him and this thing that is so obviously happening between us.
    He slides out of the doorway, close enough that I’m forced to look up to keep my eyes on his face. He’s wearing a guarded look now, tilting his head at me.
    “You think Blake would really want you here, Chloe?”
    I feel breathless. Like something’s squeezing hard around my ribs. He looks so angry. And even guilty in a way.
    I can’t take seeing him like this. I have to