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When 17-year-old Arbor Hayes' best friend turns up alive after a mysterious six-month disappearance, she must piece together the fragments of her story to make sense of what happened. But as clues e...
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By the time Smith is done with his workout, I'm already at his locker, repeatedly checking the time and pacing back and forth. When he sees me, a lazy smile stretches across his face and it sends my stomach straight to my toes.
He leans in for a kiss and the close proximity makes me forget why I'm waiting in the first place. He murmurs a good morning as his warm hazel gaze takes me in.
I let his kiss unravel the bundle of nerves squirming in my gut and I try not to dwell on the other night, when I told him I loved him and he walked away. "How are you?"
"Better, now that I'm with you."
Some of the tension melts away. He's not acting strange or uncomfortable about what I'd said. The reckless confession I should have kept to myself. Maybe I'm making a bigger deal about this than I should? It's not like I've never acted unreasonable before, or gotten paranoid over things beyond my control. Honestly, by those standards, this is basically nothing. Nothing at all.
I swallow back the nervousness and roll my eyes. Pretend like nothing's wrong. "You think your cheesy lines are gonna work on me?"
"What—they don't?"
"They do." I catch my bottom lip between my teeth and try not to grin. It doesn't work.
He kisses me again, and this time it's slower. Softer. When the tang from his morning coffee hits my tongue, I know without question I'll never get enough. Of how he tastes, the way he smells. How his heart feels when it's beating this close to mine.
The noisy hallway disappears, taking the students and classrooms with it, and for one incredible moment, we're the only two people in the world. More than anything, I wish we were.
But we're not.
First period is starting soon and I need to speak with him about last night and my odd visit with Emma. The message I'm supposed to pass on, the one from her to him. "Can we go somewhere private?"
His brows rise as he teasingly surveys the crowded hallway. "I thought you'd never ask."
A soft groan rumbles in my throat. How does he always do this to me? One lingering look, one suggestive remark, and I'm a walking hormone. "I'm serious, Smith. We need to talk."
He tosses his car keys in his locker and we slip into an empty classroom. The overhead lights are off, but the morning sun gleams through the windows, bathing the room in its hazy amber rays.
Smith slides onto a tabletop, his legs spread wide to bring me in close, his fingers capturing the curves of my waist. His voice is soft, concerned. "What's going on?"
I stare at his neck, at the pulse thrumming beneath his silky brown skin. Avoid his eyes. "Emma came over last night. She wanted me to tell you she hasn't forgotten you. She'll call as soon as her parents give back her phone."
