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Betsie Larkin’s voice made every trance track epic, and I loved that Andy Moor tune she was singing on: “Love Again.”
“What?” I let out a short laugh. “Why are you smiling at me like that?”
“No reason.” He rubbed my hip. “You’re just so… beautiful. I could stare at you all day.”
Flashbacks of erotic memories flickered in my mind as I closed my eyes and enjoyed his touch. Being up on that cliff with him that night had been too amazing to describe. That was the furthest we had ever gone with each other on a physical level, and sadly, it was our last intimate encounter together. Part of me wished it had never happened, because it only made me want him more.
“Your therapist emailed me,” I blurted out at random.
“Did you respond?”
“No, but I didn’t delete his email, either.”
“You should talk to him.”
“No lectures tonight, remember?”
I guess I had set myself up for that.
“All right, all right.”
Snuggling closer, I let out a contented sigh.
“Close your eyes, angel,” Noah warmly murmured.
Being in his arms felt like Heaven. I didn’t want to wake up and find him gone in the morning. Having lost the battle to stay awake, I eventually faded. I dreamed of the ocean, and Sirens, and shipwrecked sailors that night.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
ARIA
Mondays always sucked. But on this day, I wanted to bang my head against my locker when I realized I had left my social studies project on my desk… in my bedroom. I had spent a week and a half researching socioeconomic disparities in education, and I was supposed to give a presentation that day. If I didn’t get my ass home, Ms. Conrad was going to give me a zero—no excuses. There was no point in calling Noah or Vanessa because they were both at work, so Ryan gave me a lift during lunch.
We drove over to the house together. He waited for me in the driveway while I stepped inside to get what I needed.
Halfway down the hall, I suddenly stopped dead in my tracks.
Oh God, oh God, oh God…
Vanessa and Noah were home. Judging by the shameless moaning and groaning, they were really going at it upstairs. Cursing myself in my head, I wanted to run out the door, but I couldn’t; my project was worth fifty percent of my final grade.
Don’t self-sabotage, Aria.
F it.
Wiping my burning tears, I ran out of the house.Screw the grade,I thought.
Ryan noticed I was upset as soon as I got in the car.
“Hey,” he said. “Are you all right?”
“I’m fine.” I avoided his eyes, strapping on my seat belt.
“Wow, your dad’s car is sick! The license plate is kind of, um…” He laughed.
I did not know what he was talking about until I looked at the vehicle parked in front of us. It was a yellow Mustang with the following license plate: COM N 4U.
I realized three facts right there:
