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Hunter watched this feat with a bemused expression on his face. “You know that’s just Diet Coke, right?”
“Maybe I’m just warming up,” she said.
And then she kissed him.
She caught him by surprise—but that didn’t last long. His lips parted for hers, and her fingers tangled in his hair, holding him close. Hands caught her waist, strong and sure through the thin chiffon.
She could swear she saw starbursts, like that night on the bridge. Wind in her hair, fire on her lips, the ground beneath her feet, parquet over concrete stretching into the earth below. And water—water everywhere. The first flare of sweat on her skin, the taste of Hunter on her lips, the ice in the cup hanging from her fingers.
Ice. She felt that same cord of power she had felt with Nick’s wind in the driveway.
Chris.
She jerked back from Hunter.
His breathing sounded a bit quick, his cheeks flushed. The entire front of her body felt warm.
Just how closely had she been pressed up against him?
“So, Bex,” said Quinn, her voice kind of strangled, “most people wait until they’re in a room—or at least in the dark—”
“I’m sorry,” said Hunter. His eyes were wide.
He was sorry? She’d practically mauled him in front of the whole gym. At least most of the people around them seemed to be following their cue. Not that she wanted to watch half her classmates make out, but it was better than them watching her.
She remembered that connection she’d felt, the ice in her cup. Had Chris done something? Had his brothers?
Becca looked for him in that darkened corner. Would he be making out with Monica, striking her back for the little show she’d just put on with Hunter?
No, but Chris was leaning close, brushing hair away from Monica’s ear to whisper something—then looking very deliberately in Becca’s direction.
Monica giggled and clung to him. They walked away from the bleachers and disappeared into the crowd.
Becca swallowed.
This was stupid. She wasn’t some wallflower to be mocked—she was here with Hunter.
Hunter, who was stroking a thumb across her cheek now, leaning in to brush his lips across hers very gently. “Don’t do that again,” he murmured, and she heard a smile in his voice.
“Why?” she whispered back, feeling her heart leaping around her chest. “Don’t tell me you’re scared of kissing me now.”
He hesitated, then laughed against her lips. “Your kisses just might be addictive.” Then he caught her hand and spun her into the music.
She wondered if someone had spiked the soda. Her body felt weightless yet strong. She kept up with Quinn, dancing with her friend when the boys ran out of stamina.
“Becca.”
The voice spoke from over her shoulder, perfectly timed for that break between songs. She couldn’t tell whether it was Hunter or Rafe since the crowd was so loud, but she was glad of the distraction. Her perfectly curled tendrils had dampened with sweat, and hair clung to her neck in places. She could use a soda.
So she turned, ready for just about anyone.
Except Drew McKay.
Drew’s face was still bruised from the beating Gabriel had given him, a dark wash of shadow across one cheek and around one eye. He’d paid good money for that suit, but it seemed to hang from his frame awkwardly, as if he’d lost some weight or some muscle or just couldn’t be bothered to button it right. He looked pathetic.
“Gee,” she said loudly, over the music of the new song. “That black eye looks really painful.”
He fidgeted for a second. “Becca, I need to talk to you.”
