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Kai:so we have the same genitalia, then?
I burst out laughing—and then I remember it’s gone 2.am., and I clamp a hand over my mouth.
Kai:what’s your favourite drink?
Me:easy. Milk
Kai:I’m not angry; I’m just disappointed
Me:What’s yours? The blood of orphans?
Kai:damn, how’d you guess?
Kai:Mango Rubicon. Favorite movie?
Me:Labyrinth
Kai:dreadful.Back to the Futureis much better
And on it goes. I don’t even realise how much time passes until the sky starts to lighten. His favourite TV show isBreaking Bad, whereas mine isThe Office USA; his favourite time of day is twilight, whereas mine is night; his guilty pleasure is reading romance novels, whereas mine is buying men’s oversized hoodies. Despite our differences, we also have similarities: we gush over Kings of Leon and share our preferences of the summer months, and we both agree the cinema is much better than a home TV.
By the time I climb into bed, the grin I’ve been wearing all night falters.
Because Kai doesn’t want to meet.
I wonder if he thinks I’ll be disappointed, or if he’s ashamed of facing me after he’s given more of himself to me than he has to anyone else.
Chapter Five
I’m Breathless From his Touch
Yesterday, after my dad and I finished our first bughouse, we had plenty leftover supplies and a lot of time to kill, so we made two more.
It seemed like a wonderful idea at the time, until I had to haul the extra two with me on the bus to school. The driver glares at the twigs and crumbs of bark on the floor, but what is she going to do about it? If she kicks me off the bus, I’ll have her shamed for being anti-eco-friendly.
I ignore the glances and the snickers and I make my way to the small patch of woodland behind the school. This is the rendezvous for smoking pot and drinking; beer bottles are scattered about, and joint ends litter the ground. But this is also the only place on campus with the most abundance of wildlife.
The only snag? I need to drape one high enough to prevent it being sabotaged.
And I’m too short.
‘Need a hand?’
I whirl.
Chase leans against a tree, his hands stuffed into his pockets. He gives me a slow smile and gestures to the bughouses. ‘Did you make those?’
I can’t tell if he’s mocking me or if he’s genuinely interested, but it doesn’t matter, because I’m alone with Chase in the woods and all I can think is how I want him to pin me against a tree.
He stares at me expectantly. He’s still waiting for me to answer.
I clear my throat and manage to find my voice. ‘Yeah.’
‘Yeah, you need a hand, or yeah, you made them?’
‘Both?’ I hedge.
He shrugs off the tree and ambles over. He towers above me, the top of my head barely reaching his shoulder, and God, he smells good, and God, he looks so good in that tie. I haven’t noticed how long and spidery his lashes are until he looks down at me. Sun filters through the branches and catches his cheekbone—
