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“But don’t you think it’d be more of a loss if we didn’t even try?” His eyes stared expectantly at me, and the energy, the buzz between us was so tangible that it hummed through me. Like Reed and I had our own kind of white noise. It was almost too much.

I backed up. “Just give me a second to think.” I turned away from him only to realize he could still see me in the mirror.

Dang it.

He leaned to the side in plain view behind me. “Still thinking?”

“Trying to.”

“About what?”

“About what”? “Well, for starters, how this is a recipe for disaster.”

He ran a hand through his hair. “Look, I’m a Fulton. You’re a Crowley. But we used to be friends, remember? And if we become more than that, I promise I’ll still always be a pain in the ass who annoys you because I like making your nose crinkle.”

“My nose does not crinkle—”

“And you’ll always pretend to hate me because it’s easier than the truth.”

The weight on my chest squeezed a bit harder. “What truth?”

But I knew the answer before he spoke it.

Part of me may have always known it.

“The truth about how you feel about me.” His fingers found mine, spreading a warmth throughout my arm. “And how I feel about you.”

I turned around to face him, releasing his fingers. “How can you be so sure about this?”

Because right now, I wasn’t.

Right now, this—“us”—scared the crap out of me.

And yet…

“I’m not.” He swallowed.

“So then why should we try?”

“Because I’m running out of excuses not to. Aren’t you?”

The weight on my chest grew wings, and the warmth in my arm spread to my cheeks. Yes. Yes, I am.

He smiled. “Do you remember the last time we came here?”

“I remember.” I reached up and bopped his nose. “Sorry I made your nose bleed.”

He laughed. “If…if I kiss you again, are you going to hit me like you did that night?”

I took a step backward again, my heart thumping wildly. “The only reason you kissed me was because you made a bet with my next-door neighbor, Drew—”

“I told you already a million times. The only bets I ever made with Drew were on Yankees games.” He closed the space between us, and my breath caught in my throat. “I kissed you the summer after seventh grade because I wanted to. Because I knew we were moving, and I didn’t know if I’d have another chance.”

Oh.

“But you were right to hit me,” he said.

“I was?”