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Why is he here, in my house, looking at probably the worst photo of me ever taken?
“I was sick that day,” I feel the need to say. “That’s why my hair isn’t done, and I look like a hot mess.”
“Nah, you look cute.” A ghost of a smile touches his lips as he gives a sidelong glance at me.
I crinkle my nose. “Cute isn’t necessarily a good thing.”
He twists to face me, looking entirely amused. “Oh yeah? How do you figure?”
I shrug. “Cute’s what you call the nerdy girl who snorts when she laughs and does awkward things like stammer around guys. But she’s sweet and polite and makes people feel good so they refer to her as cute, like she’s a bunny or something.”
His amusement nearly doubles. “I’m guessing you’ve been called cute a lot.”
“All the time. It’s like my nickname.”
His smile breaks through. It’d be a good look for him if I didn’t feel like he was secretly laughing at me. “Did you ever consider that maybe people call you cute because you’re cute.”
“But what is cute even?”
“You don’t know the definition,” he teases. “Come on, Zhara, I thought you were super smart.” When I frown, he tugs on a strand of my hair. “In my opinion, cute is another word for someone who’s pretty, like in a girl next-door sort of way.”
My heart flutters as he tucks a strand of my hair behind my ear. “And that’s a good thing?”
He wavers. “That all sort of depends.”
“On what?”
“On if I’m still talking to the Zhara I was talking to last night—the one who wants to do adventurous things and change. Because I’m thinking that Zhara secretly wants to be called sexy.” When my cheeks flush, he chuckles. “It’s not a bad word.” Then his tongue slips from his mouth to wet his lips. “Sexy, sexy, sexy, seeexxxy—”
“Zhara, who was at the door?”
Benton and I jump as Loki walks into the foyer with a cup of coffee in his hand and a perplexed look on his face. Loki takes one look at Benton and then his gaze shifts to me, his eyes silently saying: okay, explain.
“Loki, this is Benton. I go—or well, went—to school with him,” I explain, my nerves raveling in my stomach, more than likely because I’ve never had a guy over at my house. Seriously, how lame am I? “But he wasn’t who was at the door. Our new neighbor was.”
“New neighbor?” A furrow creases at Loki’s brow. “I didn’t realize anyone was selling their house.”
“Yeah, I know. I guess it was some sort of sporadic move or something,” I tell him. “He wanted to live here, so he stopped at the Marellies house, knocked on the door, and made them an offer.”
“Really? Out of all the houses in town?” Loki taps his finger against the side of the mug, deliberating something. Then he lifts the mug to his lips to take a sip, his attention zoning in on Benton. “So you’re a friend of Zhara’s?” he asks after he takes a drink.
I’ll admit, I’m a little—okay, a lot—shocked when Benton easily nods.
“Yeah, we’ve known each other for a while,” he replies without missing a beat.
And that, people, is how you lie.
Well, I guess technically it’s not a lie since Benton and I have known each other for a while. We’ve just never spoken until a couple of days ago.
Loki discreetly eyes Benton over. I wonder what he thinks of his rough exterior. If he’s judging him. Five years ago, Loki was a lot like Benton, well in the sense that he went to a lot of parties and smoked a lot of weed. That Loki would’ve been fine with me hanging out with Benton. But the buttoned up, replacement father figure standing in front of me, looks a bit apprehensive.
“This is my older brother, Loki,” I tell Benton, trying to break the silence.
Benton nods, an understanding look crossing his expression, as he probably puts two and two together that Loki is—or well, used to—be my guardian.
“It’s nice to meet you, man.” Benton sticks out his hand, shocking both Loki and myself.
Fortunately, Loki recovers from his shock quickly and shakes Benton’s hand. “Likewise.” They let go of hands and Loki looks at me. “You’re still taking Nik to practice, right?”
“Oh, yeah, of course… Benton was just… Um…” My mind blanks out as I struggle to conjure up with a lie.
“I just stopped by to pick up my jacket,” Benton chimes in like a pro liar. “She borrowed it the other night.”
“The other night?” Loki questions, glancing from Benton to me.
“He gave me a ride home from cheerleading camp,” I manage a decent lie and mentally give myself a pat on the back.
“But why did you need a jacket at all?” Loki wonders suspiciously. “It’s been at least eighty degrees for the past couple of weeks.”
“I run hotter than most people and have to blast my air conditioner all the time,” Benton explains. “People as tiny as Zhara can’t handle it.” He throws me a grin.
I grin back, but inside I’m like, holy crap, Benton can lie.
“Yeah, she needs to put some more meat on her bones,” Loki agrees, apparently buying Benton’s bull crap.
I feel sort of bad for lying to him, but not enough to tell him the truth. While I know I’m eighteen, I’m not about to confess to Loki that instead of hanging out at Taylor’s place on Friday night, which is what I told him I was doing, I was locked in the bathroom with Benton and that I lost my shirt.
“Well, okay then.” Loki turns to me. “Make sure to leave by ten, so you can stop at the store?”
I nod and give him a thumbs up. “I’ll leave on the dot.”
He smiles. “Thanks. And make sure to set the alarm before you go.” He backs toward the kitchen. “It was nice meeting you, Benton.” He gives a nod and then walks out of the room.
The breath that puffs from my lips is embarrassingly loud. “Oh my gosh, I’m the worst liar ever.”
Benton wavers, musing over something. “I wouldn’t say the worst liar ever.” A grin breaks through. “You do get pretty squirrely, though. Seriously, I could feel you about to jump out of your skin.”
“I hate lying,” I admit. “I’m not very good at it.”
“You didn’t do too bad.”
“Maybe, but only because I was rolling off what you said.”
“Yeah, so? That could be a good thing.”
My brows dip. “You think it’s a good thing that we lie well together?”
He wavers, his gaze skimming the room before landing back on me. “Can I talk to you for a second in your room.” I don’t know what sort of face I make, but he amusedly adds. “Or we can talk in the garage. I just need someplace private.”
“Um, sure.” I consider the best place to take him and then, even though it makes me nervous, I motion for him to follow me as I head up the stairs for my room. “We can just go into my room. It’s probably the most private place in the house.”
“Cool.” His boots softly thud against the stairs as he follows me to my bedroom.
My fingers tremble a little as I open the door and step back to let him go in first. When he walks through the doorway, his eyes roam my pink walls, the frilly pillows on my bed, and the photos taped to my vanity.
“You know, this is exactly how I pictured your room looking,” he muses as he sinks down on the bed.
My heart thunders in my chest. Benton is sitting on my bed, right beside Mr. Sparkles, the stuffed animal unicorn my dad gave me for my seventh birthday. “Really?”
He nods, picking up Mr. Sparkles and starts fiddling with his horn. “Yeah, really.” He looks me over and sinks his teeth into his bottom lip. “You’ve always seemed like a pink and glittery kind of girl.”
I scrunch up my nose. “Sometimes I wish I wasn’t,” I mumble.
Benton’s stare practically burns a hole through me, but I refuse to lock gazes with him. I feel so silly that he knew my room would be painted pink and splashed with glittery, girly things. It’s probab
ly what everyone expects.
Expects. Expects. Expects.
“Can I ask you something?” he says, yanking me out of my thoughts.
I nod, still lingering in the doorway, too much of a chicken to go sit on the bed with him. “Sure.”
He momentarily chews on his lip, mulling something over, before pushing to his feet. Then he crosses the room toward me, taking slow, but calculated steps. His gaze is fused to mine and he’s still biting on his lip. He looks so sexy. Not cute. Sexy. Dangerously sexy. My heart nearly jumps out of my chest. Since when do I think dangerous is sexy? I used to disagree with Taylor when she said Benton was hot. When did that change? Or did it ever change? Maybe I was lying to myself, trying to pretend to be someone I’m not.
He continues to reduce the space between us until a sliver of space is left between our bodies. Then he stops moving and his hands come down on the door, trapping me between his arms. His tongue slips out to wet his lips and my breath lodges in my throat.
“I’ve been thinking a lot about something,” he says, his voice low and husky.
I swallow hard, part of me wanting to push him away. But the other part—the much stronger part—begs me to stay put. “Oh yeah… About what…” I can’t stop staring at his lips.
Instead of answering, he leans in to kiss me.
A Proposal
My eyes shut and I hold my breath, waiting eagerly for his lips to brush mine. I wait. And wait. And wait.
What on earth…
