Page 75 of Toxic Kiss

“You were.”

I glare at her, and she grins.

For a minute, we just sit there, shoulder to shoulder, watching the sun dip lower behind the houses. The younger kids in the neighborhood are riding bikes in the street, while someone’s dog barks at them.

This place is nothing like the home I left behind in Las Vegas.

Dad worked in construction, and Mom was a waitress in one of the fancy casino restaurants. Our house was okay, typical middle-income, a suburban box on the fringes of the strip. We had a postage-stamp backyard in an average area with minivans.

But Haven’s house is a mansion. Who needs eight bedrooms? All the houses in this gated community are just as large. One day, I’ll be famous and own a place like this.

I glance at Haven. She is…quiet. It’s weirdly nice just having her here.

“You know,” Haven says, kicking her feet lightly against the shingles, “if you fall off this roof, your mom is going to blame me.”

“It will be your fault,” I say automatically.

“Of course, you say that,” she says with a snort.

Haven is smiling at something in the distance, her chin resting on her knees. The wind pushes a loose strand of hair across her cheek, and she blows it away.

“Patrick says you’re terrible at skateboarding,” I tell her.

“Patrick lies.”

“You broke your arm.”

“That was one time, and I was trying a fancy trick.”

“You cried.”

“I did not.” She glares at me.

“He said that you cried like a baby.”

“See, now I know you’re lying. Patrick would never call me a baby.”

I smirk. “Fine, that was an exaggeration.”

“You’re such a jerk,” Haven says, nudging my shoulder with hers.

She laughs, and I find myself laughing too.

This feels normal, like we’re just…kids. Not the weird stepfamily disaster our parents created. No anger or hatred exists between us.

Her hand drops beside mine on the roof. Our fingers brush. Just barely, but an electric tingle shoots up my arm like I’ve touched a live wire.

I freeze.

What the hell? I look at her. Haven is staring down at our fingers like she feels it. Then she glances up at me, and something in my chest flips in a way I don’t like at all.

Nope.

Absolutely not.

Panic slams into my ribs, and I jerk my hand away.

“God, Haven,” I snap loudly. “Don’t touch me. I don’t want your stupid loser germs infecting me.”