“I’m waiting for Morgan,” I said without looking at him, afraid my face would betray me.
“Yeah, you say that every time. And every time, she’s not here.”
“My house has five people in it right now. Maybe I like the quiet.” I threw him a glance.
“Didn’t they teach you that lying is wrong? Even to yourself?”
Sixteen-year-old Elliott was exactly what you’d expect. Gorgeous, even in his awkward phase. Perfect teeth. Perfect smile. Great at every sport. Girls followed him everywhere—or so Morgan said. And he was arrogant. God, was he arrogant. I hated it. I envied it. I couldn't imagine having that kind of confidence in anything.
“You’re right,” I said. “I even have a picture of you on my wall.” He smirked until I added, “I use it for darts. Ten points if I hit the pupils.”
He went silent. Elliott was never silent. He was already looking at me when I turned, his beauty almost offensive. Nobody should have been allowed to be that beautiful.
“You’re impossible,” he whispered.
“Elliott Christopher James, speechless? Someone alert the press.” My smile spread.
“You know my middle name? Stalker.”
He had no idea. In my head, I was president and CEO of theI Heart Elliott James Club. Morgan probably knew, but she’d never said a word—that was why she was my best friend. If he ever found out, I’d have died of mortification.
“Know thy enemy,” I said, deadpan. I had no clue where I’d heard the phrase, but I ran with it.
“Well, in that case, what’s your middle name?”
I groaned. “No. Nobody knows my middle name, and I’m keeping it that way.”
Mistake. That was the game we played—digging up secrets, using them as ammunition. We’d been sworn enemies sincewe we’d met, but now puberty was making everything feel dangerous. It upped the stakes.
Track was the only sport my parents could afford, and it was why puberty had hit me late. But that summer, my body had finally changed. Boys were looking at me differently—or somamásaid. The only boy I cared about was sitting right next to me. I loved it. I hated it.
“You’ll have to tell me something else instead,” he pressed.
I racked my brain. Anything but my middle name. If I didn't give him something, he’d sweet-talkmamá, and she’d probably hand over my birth certificate and my naked baby pictures. I couldn't risk it.
“There might be another poster on my wall,” I blurted. “Next to your dartboard picture.”
I shouldn't have looked at him, but I did. Elliott smiling was better than all the stars in the sky, and in the moonlight, sitting this close, it was unbearable.
“Spill it. Who is it?”
My brain shorted out, cell by cell. “‘Stone Cold Steve Austin.” It came out as one frantic word.
He laughed, a sound that was rich and magnetic. I didn't know what sexy sounds were yet, but his laugh became first on the list.
“Oh, Nessie. How am I going to torture you with this?”
I was staring at his lips, and suddenly, he wasn't laughing anymore. His eyes were serious, heavy. They flicked to my mouth, and then he was closer. His hand cupped my face, his thumb brushing my lip. My heart pounded so hard I could hear it in my ears.
“Ness,” he whispered.
I couldn’t move. Couldn't breathe. He smelled like summer—perfect.
“I’m going to kiss you. If you don’t want me to, you’ll have to tell me to stop.”
A squeak escaped me. I wanted to hurl myself off the roof, to bury myself under a rock. But Elliott just smiled that devastating smile, then leaned in and obliterated me for eternity.
twelve
