Page 22

Crazy. That’s me. Crazy impulsive. Crazy forgetful. Crazy distracted.

Crazy for him.

I think I love him.

“Did you have a good time tonight?” Forcing my thoughts in another direction, I hook my foot behind my other knee and turn in my seat to face him.

“I always have a good time when I’m with you.” The way his thumb skates over my knuckles feels so good.

“But you don’t like my friends, do you?”

“I think they’re a bunch of shallow assholes, but they’re your friends so . . .” His shoulder lifts carelessly.

“I don’t like them very much lately either.”

“Then why’d we go tonight?”

“I’m asking myself that same question.” I’ve known most of them since I was small, but the more time I spend with them, the more I don’t get them. Shallow is right. “She kept asking me if you were a model. Hadley,” I add as his brows knit. Urgh, Clara. Keep the conversation linear, not leapy, would you?

“And what did you tell her?”

“I said for her to get her own boyfriend.” I mentally kick myself as his mouth curls.

He hasn’t asked to date date me. Hadley was probably right when she said I was just a rich piece of ass keeping him entertained for the summer, that guys only like me for my tits.

“Is that what I am?” His tone is low and teasing, and when I try to pull away his fingers tighten.

“It’s just a figure of speech,” I answer softly. “I know we haven’t said we’re exclusive or anything.”

“We’d better be.” There’s a delicious grit in his tone, and as he glances my way, his eyes seem to glitter gold in the streetlight.

“I haven’t . . .” My eyes drop to my phone, glowing and open on my lap. “I really like you, but I know when the summer ends—” At the sound of the turning signal, my head jerks up. We’re pulling off the road.

“What are you doing?” My heart gives a leap, mostly thanks to his expression.

“Sounds like you need a reminder.”

The engine dies, and the car falls quiet.

In the darkness, his eyes rake over me, slow and heavy. Just like the feeling between my legs. The click of his seat belt, and my face is in his hands. His nose brushes playfully against mine, and pressed close this way, his features are hazy and sort of indistinct. My feelings for him, however, are at the absolute opposite end of the scale.

“I fucking love your freckles.” His thumbs glide over my cheeks. “One of these days,” he whispers, threading my hair behind my ears, “I’m gonna strip you bare and kiss every single one.”

“Sounds ambitious.” Lord, please. I need that to happen before I die.

“It’s more like a promise. I don’t want you going on dates with other boys. Got it?”

There is no playing this cool as I nod, trying in vain not to smile like an idiot.

“You’re mine, Clara. All for me.”

My heart. No one in my history ever really claimed me. Just my grandma, but thoughts of the very dearly departed aren’t for now. Not when all I can think about is him touching me.

“I think you should kiss your boyfriend.” He angles his head, and his fair hair falls across his brow.

“Maybe I will.” I try to move in but can’t because of the way he’s holding me.

“You are so fuckin’ beautiful.” The pad of his thumb presses my bottom lip, and his eyes turn inky as my tongue darts out to meet it. “God, Clara.” That low, rumbling sound vibrates through to my bones. “I want you so bad.” And then we’re kissing, his lips tasting and teasing, his tongue savoring my mouth like I’m the most delicious dish.