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“Well, when you put it like that…” I mutter. It does sound nuts hearing it said out loud. As if something so made up says anything about a person’s character.
Emma blurts out in sudden rage, “It’s not as if a credit score is real! Down with banks!”
Rebecca and I both cast a glance at Emma.
“Okay, Emma,” Rebecca says, pressing a soothing hand to our friend’s shoulder. “You’ve been spending too much time up on the mountain again. How about you and Eli take a vacation among other humans sometime?”
Emma laughs, and then Rebecca turns to me. “But she’s correct. Down with all of that. The boy likes you, and you’re crazy about him. Give it a shot.”
I don’t notice until it is too late that Emma and Rebecca are steering us past the Victorian apartment building where Presley and Grace used to live. A chain-link fence surrounds it, keeping the public away while the Wood brothers work on restoring it.
As we come around the corner lined with overgrown hedges, I run straight into a brick wall that was never there before.
“Holy shit!” I gasp.
Except it’s not a brick wall. It’s just some man’s chest that feels like a brick wall.
CHAPTERTHREE
Harley
“Charlotte?”
Her face bumps straight into the white tank I’m wearing under my hoodie, and her lipstick leaves a pretty rad pink smear on it. I’ll probably make out with it later.
“Whoa, I didn’t see you there. Are you okay?”
I reach for her, but she nervously dodges my contact.
“I’m fine, you’re fine!” she chirps, giving me her winning smile.
She doesn’t look fine underneath that smile. “Are you sure you’re okay?”
“Why wouldn’t I be?”
I unthinkingly sweep my hand in the air over my face. “You just look a little splotchy.”
That was probably not the best thing to say.
“Gee, thanks. I’ll make sure I do a better job of blending my highlights tomorrow,” Charlotte replies with a snort.
Her friends are watching us from a short distance away, and I feel all kinds of self-conscious.
“No, it’s not your makeup. Have you been crying?”
“No!” Charlotte exclaims at the same time that her friends both chime in, “Yes!”
Charlotte looks so sad, and I hate that.
“Do you want to talk about it over lunch?” I ask her.
“I already had lu—” she starts, then trails off when the friend with the long, straight hair nudges her.
“I mean,” Charlotte restarts, “I…wouldn’t even know where to begin.”
“Come on,” I say, motioning toward the construction site at the old Victorian.
“Are you sure it’s safe?”
