HEARTFELT CONFESSIONS

GAGE

Fear. I know it well.

Sometimes it presents itself to me in different forms: an icy grip on my neck, heart palpitations, the burn of bile on my tongue, a short-lived panic that suffuses heat to my head. Right now, I’m experiencing all the above.

Teague’s helmet slams against the ice in a single freeze-frame, and then he goes absolutely still. My world goes even stiller.

My gaze quickly pivots to Cali, and there’s a slash of fear on her face, ripping through her composure as if it’s as flimsy as paper mâché. My throat protests the weight of a scream, but Cali’s pained cry ends up defiling the ambience of the arena. A banshee wail—an omen of something far darker than just death.

“Teague!”

I throw my gloves off and take the lead in skating over to him as fast as I can, not even incapacitated by the anxiety sloshing around in my stomach.

Cali’s right on my heels, and I scramble over to Teague’s lifeless body, trying to assess him without moving him.

Come on, Teague.

Multiple sets of unwelcome eyes drag over us, unwilling to lend a helping hand, only willing to exude sympathy.

No, no, no. This isn’t happening. I’m not going to fail him like I did my brother. Realistically, somewhere deep in my subconscious, I know that the

worst injury he could sustain is a gnarly concussion, but all I can think about is the possibility that he might not wake up, however irrational that thought may be. I underestimated my brother’s illness, and his condition only deescalated. What if I underestimate this?

“Come on, buddy. Open those eyes for me,” I whisper, waiting a few minutes to see if he comes to on his own, and I’m just about to scream for an ambulance when Teague groggily peels his eyes open with a groan.

“Did I make it?” he croaks.

I’m nearly to the point of tears, but not so far gone I forget to smile, and my lungs rattle with a bottled exhale, shooting out into the fifty-degree atmosphere like a gradually vanishing contrail. I know he’s asking about the goal, but all I say is, “Yeah, buddy. You made it.”

Cali’s a hysterical mess, and maybe it’s because my mind is in fix-it mode, but all I can focus on is alleviating her stress. I’m not granted a moment to lose it, even though that was singlehandedly one of the scariest things I’ve ever witnessed.

Yeah, I’m a hockey player who’s been injured a few times, but watching it happen to someone else you care about—someone who’s just a kid—

makes it all the more terrifying.

I squeeze Teague gingerly, then let Cali bear hug him, and I swear she squishes him so tightly his spine almost pops.

My head is still reeling, my adrenaline has yet to come down from its massive spike, and my heart is on its own goddamn warpath with the way it’s pounding against my ribs. I walk over to the edge of the rink—too riled up to skate that far of a distance safely—and I steady myself on the plexiglass.

Even though my body’s not in any danger, it tenses in preparation for the nonexistent threat, all my senses being whaled on from every direction.

My thoughts pinball around my skull, and I abandon my effort to go in search of a medic by simply just yelling for one, unsure if I’m stable enough to navigate the freezing corridors in the state I’m in. My vision wobbles and strains, and insuppressible nausea burbles deep in my gut.

I’m still terrified. I can’t—I can’t put into words what just happened. I thought I was about to relive the moment my brother passed away. Nobody in my life, except for Teague and Cali, has ever meant as much to me as my brother did. And when people mean something to you, the hurt and pain they experience affect you in the same way.

My brother’s memory had been shoved down below the depths of my subconscious, never to buoy to the top for the rest of my existence. But in this moment, everything comes flooding back to the surface, drowning me in anger, guilt, sorrow, and regret. Drowning me in all those unresolved emotions I tried to quell beneath a storm-aggravated ocean.

A medic—who the arena keeps stationed here for Reapers practices—

comes sprinting over to me with a first aid kit, and I walk him over to Teague and Cali, praying that Teague’s injuries are minimal.

Cali gives the medic room to work, and she joins me a few feet away as I stare blankly at the little boy in front of me, who’s putting on a brave face even after the horrifying experience he just had.

Fuck. Why wasn’t I watching him more closely? I could’ve caught him before he fell. I could’ve prevented this from ever happening.

“Gage, you’re shaking,” Cali says quietly beside me, worry crumpling her features.

“What?” I look down at my pale hands, which are shaking rabbit-fast, and I will them to stop, but it’s like my control’s been capsized.

She wastes no time enclosing them in her own hands, warming my frigid skin, and immediately, the tremors end. I blink a few times and pinpoint my glossy gaze on our layered fingers, still trying to wrap my head around how quickly Cali’s touch calmed me, and now I’m mirroring her puzzled expression with one of my own.

“You freaked out as soon as Teague hit the ice.”

“I…”

It hurts to breathe. Why does it hurt to breathe?

I’m trying to get my brain and tongue to cooperate with one another, but the words never budge from my mouth. Nothing’s physically restricting me from saying anything, yet I’m struggling with a speechlessness that’s foreign to me. My throat makes this pathetic gurgling noise in lieu of an actual response.

“Okay, let’s sit down,” she coaxes, guiding me to the side opening of the rink. I practically have to puppeteer my limbs to keep them from buckling underneath me.

We take a seat on the curb, and her concern has somehow grown tenfold over the minute it took for us to get here. Her face is veiled in shadows cast by the harsh lighting, and her teeth print impressions into her bottom lip.

She hasn’t let go of my hand since she grabbed it.

Her big, frisbee-sized eyes adhere to me. “Are you okay?”

Please say something. I’m fine. I’m good. Say anything, you idiot!

I moderate my voice as best as I can given my lack of breath. “I’m okay.”

And like some weird fucking placebo effect, I force myself to believe it until my physical symptoms almost all wane, leaving me with the searing reminder of Teague’s accident instead of the searing hole in my belly.

Oxygen returns to my chest, the heat in my temples recedes, and control reaffirms its iron reign.

She doesn’t stop examining my face, and her fingers only slip from mine so she can caress my cheek. “Gage, what happened out there?”

I’m done hiding my past from her. It’s time to tell her everything. She deserves it. I deserve it.

“I haven’t told you the full story about my brother,” I admit, partially hating myself for not telling her my brother’s story sooner, partially hating the way hurt dampens her eyes. She’s patient with me while I choke down the rest of my qualms and free a long-hidden truth from a lockbox of trauma.

She slowly lowers her palm back onto my folded hands for moral support. If I thought mentioning him at the hospital was bad, this is going to be torture.

“His name was Trip, and he was my best friend. We used to do everything together as kids. We’d go on adventures down near the creek behind our house, we’d spend sleepless nights reading ghost stories to each other, we’d bake the most disgusting creations in the oven while my parents failed to supervise us.” A laugh wrests itself from me—a laugh I didn’t think I’d be capable of given this fucked-up trip down memory lane.

“He was, um, born with a heart defect. To be more specific, he had something called aortic stenosis, which basically meant that his aortic valve was too small. In order for his blood to flow properly, his heart had to work ten times harder to push blood out to the rest of his body. And over time, his heart grew weaker from the stress. The doctors told us he would be able to live a long, normal life as long as he received constant treatment, but my parents…”

I can’t even say it. For a split second, I’m controlled by my fear again, watching helplessly as it tears at my insides and rips me asunder, letting me

bleed out from pulled-apart muscle. The moisture in my eyes triples, but I don’t blink, because I don’t want to let a tear fall.

“I’m here, Gage. It’s okay. I’m right here,” she murmurs, salving my newly opened wound with her soft voice, sidling up against my body and keeping our laced hands close to her heart.

Aside from Fulton, I’ve never told anyone else about Trip. I never talked about him because I didn’t want to share him with anyone. I didn’t want people to know him because I barely knew him. I didn’t get seventy-some-odd years to know him or see what kind of man he grew into.

I’m close to running away from this conversation, to hiding from that pitiful look in Cali’s eyes. But the moment I feel the beat of her heart, it neutralizes that terror inside me. I know I should want to bury that memory, but this is the first time in forever that I don’t punish it—or myself—for existing.

I square my shoulders and take a breath, comforted by the feel of our skin touching and by the lullaby her heart plays just for me. She gives me strength that I never would’ve found anywhere else. She gives me more support than my parents ever did.

“My parents are terrible, money-hungry fuckers who never gave a shit about me or my brother,” I growl, feeling unchecked anger wring the last remnants of grief from my body. “They knew how sick my brother was, and they didn’t do anything to help him. It wasn’t a matter of money or resources or time. It was a matter of fucking love. And in the end, Trip suffered because of my parents’ neglect.”

“I’m so sorry, Gage.”

“I could’ve saved him. If I’d just taken matters into my own hands, he still would be here today.”

I’ve tried so hard to be okay. I’ve tried so hard to stop punishing myself, but the truth is, if I don’t punish myself, I’ll grow to accept what happened to Trip…and that’s something I could never bring myself to do. The warning signs were all there. There was a sufficient amount of time for treatment to be done. This wasn’t some out-of-the-blue illness that appeared overnight. I was a kid, yeah, but all I had to do was go to someone— anyone

—and ask for help.

I can’t believe I just thought he’d be okay. I was so fucking stupid. I was his big brother. I was supposed to look out for him, and I didn’t. He

relied on me to keep him safe. That was my one job. That was my purpose in life.

“Hey.” Cali’s cheeks tuck into a frown—a sight that I hate every time I bear witness to it—and she rubs circles over the back of my knuckles. Her touch isn’t the electrifying firework show it usually is, though. It’s so inexplicably cold that it doesn’t even feel like she’s there.

“None of it was your fault. None of it, okay? Please tell me you know that.” A rare desperation rides on the heel of her words, and although her assurance is gentle in delivery, the weight of it bludgeons me.

“I was supposed to be his protector.”

“You were a kid, Gage. A kid. You did everything you could to protect him.”

I try to pull my hand away from her, but she doesn’t let me. I don’t care that I was just a kid. I could’ve done so much more to keep him here. When I remember my brother, I don’t look back fondly on the moments we shared together. I don’t celebrate his life. Instead, a forecast of depression and survivor’s guilt threatens to drown me in the same way my brother’s fate befell him.

“That doesn’t mean shit, Cali. You were a kid taking care of your mother, and she’s still here,” I snap.

Cali flinches slightly, as if my words burned her. “That’s different. You were so much younger —”

My lip curls back from my teeth in a snarl, and the volume of our private conversation seems to carry in the open-ended space. “How is it any different?”

My first mistake was assuming Cali would back down from our altercation. Her irises dip into a darker shade of blue—one more reflective of a deep-water trench than of the ocean’s glistening surface. “I get that you blame yourself, Gage. I get it, I do. But take it from someone who’s punished themselves their whole life—it’s not worth it. That self-destructive cycle will ruin you. You are the last person to blame in this situation. You were the only person who truly cared for your brother, and even though he’s not here anymore, you filled his last moments with the love your parents were never willing to give him. You were there for him through it all. Do you know how lucky Trip was to have you as his best friend? He was so fucking lucky, and if he was here today, I bet you he’d say the exact same thing.”

I don’t…nobody’s ever said anything like that to me before. I stare at her with beads of moisture smeared over my lower lashes, with my words stuck between my teeth like grade A chewing gum.

“Please don’t live the rest of your life blaming yourself for something out of your control,” she implores, sounding like a broken record that I’ve played many times before. And finally, the connection of our palms spark with heat, her once-frosted fingertips now leaving thermal prints over my skin.

I want to break down in her arms, want to uncork years of sadness and let it flood out of me until my body’s nothing but a dehydrated husk. But I refrain, still unsure of where our relationship lies.

“When Teague fell out there, it took me back to the helplessness I felt when my brother died. If something happened to Teague and I failed to save him…it would break me,” I explain, welcoming back the quiver in my voice, as well as the emotion no longer silenced by deafening indignation.

I never really understood why I was so drawn to Cali—aside from her being beautiful and terrible for my ego—but I feel like I understand now.

The way Cali treats her brother is the way I wish my parents had treated Trip. She cares about the things Teague’s passionate about, she cares about how he’s feeling, she cares about how she can be a better sister. She’s always there for him when he needs her. If my parents had even showed an ounce of what Cali practices in her heart, Trip would still be here today.

Both she and Teague fill the hole in my heart that was left by my brother. They’re the first people to have ever made me okay with revisiting Trip’s memory. I hadn’t realized how dark my life had been before they shared their light with me.

She wraps me in a hug that would’ve knocked me on my ass if I wasn’t already sitting down, and she slots her nose into my neck. “Thank you for looking out for Teague,” she whispers. “And thank you for telling me about your brother.”

With the volume of her curls tied up, I settle for stroking her back, clamping my eyes shut, and finally letting a single tear sluice down my cheek.

Thank you for being the girl to heal me.

OceanofPDF.com

16

FRIENDS WITH A CAPITAL “FAKE”

CALISTA

It’s been a week since Teague’s accident on the ice, and thankfully, he made a full recovery. He only had a minor concussion that gave him a few bothersome headaches, but that was the extent of the pain. In fact, he’s super pumped over sustaining his first hockey-related injury. Dear God. Hockey’s a violent sport, right? I’m probably going to see so many more injuries in the future.

The whole week, I haven’t been able to stop thinking about what Gage told me. I can’t imagine going through that type of pain. That would be like if I lost Teague…like when I lose my mother. The more I uncover about him, the more he astounds me. He’s so much more than the surface-level jerk I met at the rink.

I feel honored that he trusted me enough to tell me about his brother.

And as much as I know that conversation needed to be had between us, I wasn’t ready for the consequences it brought in its wake. We’re closer. So much closer than we’ve ever been, and that terrifies me.

So I do what I always do when I face discomfort: I throw myself into my work, hoping that all my problems will just disappear so I never have to confront them.

Both Gage and I have been busy this week with our own stuff, so it’s given me some space to try and put a name to what I feel when I’m around him.

Spoiler alert: I haven’t. In fact, I think I’ve made myself more confused.

“Incredible work today, guys,” I praise, finishing off our lesson with a group clap like we always do at the end of class.

After only a few years of teaching, it still amazes me how powerful the human body is. How fluid and nimble our limbs can be, how our muscles strengthen under duress, how dancers are able to balance their entire body weight on the balls of their toes.

As the class disperses amongst animated chatter, one of my students jogs over to me, catching me mid-pack.

“Hey, Cali. Can I, uh, ask you for some help on one of the sequences we went over today?”

I glance up to lock eyes with Aeris, the brightest-eyed and most enthusiastic student I’ve ever had, and a shy smile is fleshed out on her face. She’s really come into herself these past few weeks, growing more confident in her movements even when she doesn’t get the steps completely right. And she’s always willing to learn and improve, which is a gift that a lot of dancers don’t always have.

“Of course.” I rise up from my squat and shepherd her over to an unoccupied square of floor. I’ve already taken off my heels, and I’m too exhausted to put them back on.

Aeris, still in her stilettos, starts the sequence from a wide stance with her fists on her hips. “Okay, I know that we do the hip stuff here.” She demonstrates with two one-sided twists of her hips, flinging her arm across her body at the same time.

“Then we do the head roll,” she recalls, coming back to the middle. She rolls her head and pelvis in tandem with one another, whipping her messily secured ponytail around and tapping her hands against her waist to an invisible rhythm.

“And then we go to the floor.”

With parallel feet, she keeps her thighs closed as she descends, finally dropping to the ground and opening her legs, bouncing a few times with the stability that her heels give her.

“But I get lost on how we do that spinny thing and end up with our leg over our head.”

“Gotcha,” I say, nodding. I mirror her position, falling easily into the stretch since my muscles are still lax and warm. “Once you’re here, you’re gonna turn clockwise onto your butt, making sure you use the outside of your thigh to cushion your landing.”

I ease into the spinning motion she was talking about, using the momentum from the spin to turn me all the way back to the front. “Then you swing your weight to the right, letting your left hip come off the ground. When you swing your arm along with it, it’ll help balance you.”

I do as I say, keeping my right arm straight to balance my weight. “And the momentum from this pose will allow you to swing to the other side.

You’re gonna fold your left leg underneath you—still landing on the outside of your thigh—and then you’re gonna bring your left side flush against the ground so you can extend your right leg over your head.”

My leg flies up over my head as I point my toes, elongating the line.

The top of my thigh brushes my head from years of flexibility training, putting me in a sort of single-legged half-splits.

“Ohhh, that makes a lot of sense,” Aeris muses, observing me with an intent gaze, her brow pinched, and her fist placed against her mouth like the thinker statue.

I abandon the pose, giving my muscles a much-needed rest. “Yep. It’s a lot easier once you break everything down slowly and go step by step.”

“Thank you. So much. For all your help and belief in me.”

Heat swamps my cheeks, probably lifting a cardinal red to my skin.

“You’re an incredible dancer, Aeris. You dance with this authenticity that comes from raw emotion. You’re so in tune with every little feeling, good and bad, that it comes across clearly in your movements. That’s something you can’t teach. I’d give anything for that kind of talent.”

“You know, in the beginning, I didn’t think I could do it.” There’s a genuineness that rings true in her tone, and poor Aeris looks like she actually might burst into sobs. “But with your guidance, I feel so much more empowered now. I feel the most confident I’ve ever felt in my body, and I never thought I’d get to that point in my life.”

“That’s what heel dancing is all about—finding your inner power. You did this all on your own, Aeris, and I couldn’t be prouder of you,” I reply, having to somehow suck the happy tears back in.

“Th-that’s the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to me,” she hiccups, moisture glazing over her bourbon eyes. “Can I hug you? I’m going to hug you.”

Even though she warned me beforehand, I don’t have any time to brace myself before her arms maul me in a death-gripping hug, causing my voice to mutate into dog chew toy levels of squeakiness.

“No…problem,” I wheeze. This girl’s a pint-sized powerhouse. And wow, she gives some of the best hugs I’ve ever received. Minus the rib crushing part.

She gives me a last little squeeze, and I pat her back in response. I’m not used to someone outside of my inner circle showing me this much kindness.

“Um, I don’t want to freak you out or anything, but I think you have a Peeping Tom,” she whispers, alerting every single mental siren in my brain and making them go off in a hair-raising screech.

Since my back is turned to her line of sight, I whip around and ready my hands in case I have to jab some pervert’s balls, but the only pervert I see is Gage standing by the front desk with some kind of fluffy basket hanging from his hands.

We might’ve had a heart to heart, but that doesn’t mean I’m going to treat him any differently. Banter is what makes our friendship… friendly. If it veers into other territories, I’m doomed.

“Oh, that’s not a Peeping Tom. That’s just the piece of trash I took out earlier that seems to have blown back in,” I mutter, narrowing my eyes at him from across the dance floor. He’s still grinning at me, so either he needs a new contact prescription, or he’s just being his infuriating self.

Speaking of infuriating, that’s exactly what I’ll be when I’m picking out Gage’s scandalous little costume for his end of the bet. I love my brother, but scoring the winning goal of a hockey game seems like something few players achieve during their career.

I’ll never get Gage’s number tattooed on me. Ever. But I will, however, enjoy a raunchy dance performed by the Reapers’ goalie in stilettos and a disturbingly small crop top.

Aeris gets this terrifying aww expression on her face. “I didn’t know you knew Gage.”

“Unfortunately.” I have no idea why he’s just shown up at my studio looking all… lovey dovey…but this is the last place he needs to be. And that’s the last look he needs to have! We’re just two business partners who kiss sometimes. I have to stay focused on my other obligations right now—

not skipping into the sunset and living out some fantasy life.

The animosity welting me like an oppressive ray of sun fades to a curious buzz. “Wait a second, how do you know him?”

“He’s my boyfriend’s teammate,” she admits with a bashful smile.

“So he’s definitely not here for you then?”

She shakes her head. “He’s never looked that happy to see me. And he’s definitely never brought me a basket of candy.”

He brought me a basket of candy? Is he clinically insane? Wait a second, of course he is. Why am I even asking myself that?

Aeris nudges me with her elbow. “Oh my God. Are you two…?”

“Nope! Definitely not. I honestly don’t know why he’s here. I’ll just go and get him to leave. Yeah, he’s probably here for another dancer,” I prattle, speed-walking straight over to him without giving Aeris a chance to interrogate me further.

The nerve this man has!

Since there are still plenty of onlookers roaming around the studio, I sink my claws into his arm and yank him into a private section of the building—or I guess less of a private section and more of a glorified janitor’s closet. Once the door snicks shut behind us, I tug on the pull chain of the lightbulb, dousing the small space in light.

“What are you doing here?” I hiss, keeping my voice low even with the added privacy of the closed door.

“Don’t sound too happy to see me,” he drawls with that irresistible, rumbling bass that makes me squeeze my legs together.

“You’re just—you—you’re out in the open!” I gesticulate with my arms wildly.

“This is a free country.”

A warning growl ripples in my throat. “Gage…”

He holds his hands up in mock surrender. “Okay, okay. I should’ve called ahead of time, but I needed to come see you.”

“Needed?”

“Wanted…badly. Wanted very badly.”

It used to be so easy to stay mad at him, but now, with his big, verdant eyes staring at me like I’m sunshine in a fucking bottle, I can’t. Gage is the least subtle person about his emotions, and if cartoon love hearts could bulge out of his sockets, they would.

A core-melting smile, a poorly hidden blush, body language that’s not only exceedingly close to me but that’s also more than ready to make up for lost time.

I’m not breaking the law by talking to him. I’m not going to be executed for fraternizing with the enemy. I’m just afraid that if someone sees us

together, speculation about Gage’s love life is going to happen—thank you, stupid superstar status of his. And if people start spreading rumors, it’ll push him to want something real even more.

It’s not just about focusing my efforts elsewhere, it’s also about fearing the inevitable. When things get real, that’s when loss does too. I’ve dealt with enough loss for a lifetime.

I don’t want to break his heart. I don’t want him to break my heart.

I don’t mean to sigh so exasperatedly, but it kind of just trickles out of my mouth.

“Hey.” He sweeps me into his big arms, dispelling the racing thoughts from my mind with each inhalation of his forest-thick cologne, and the warmth radiating off his body cocoons me tighter than any fleece blanket I own. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to complicate things. I just…wanted to ask you something.”

“You don’t have to be sorry. I’m the one who overreacted,” I explain, shivering when I feel him press his lips to the crown of my head. I want to bask in that feeling—and I can’t let myself.

I pull away abruptly, masquerading my disappointment with a half-smile. “Gage, you know we’re just friends, right? Friends with benefits.

That’s all.”

There’s a minuscule shift in his expression, but it’s so well-modulated that I can’t place the meaning behind it. “Right. No, I know,” he says, turning his attention to the full basket still dangling from his arm. “I wanted to give you something. And ask you something.”

He presents the basket in front of me, and maybe I’m the one who needs a better prescription, because it’s not just candy that sits in the faux black fur. There’s a box of ghost Peeps, a tube of candy corn, pumpkin Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups, a cauldron-shaped mug, an autumn-scented candle, a plush bat, and fuzzy, skull-printed socks.

With a staggered breath, a strange feeling manifests in my gut. “Gage, what is all of this?”

“It’s a boo basket,” he answers matter-of-factly.

“A what?”

“You know, a boo basket. It’s, uh, you put things in it and give it to…

your friends.”

I squint my eyes at him. “Uh-huh. Really?”

He hooks his finger in the collar of his shirt and pulls. “Yes, ma’am.”

“So you’re gonna give every one of your teammates one of these baskets?” I pry, standing up on my tiptoes to look him dead in the eyes and gain as much intimidating leverage as my five-foot-seven body can manage.

He snorts. “Everyone except for Dilbert.”

“You know, I’m starting to think you and Dilbert have a love-hate relationship going on,” I tease.

Gage grabs my jaw, forcing me to lower to my heels as his gaze broods with a darkness that frightens me as much as it turns me on. “What did I say about having another man’s name in your mouth?”

I call his bluff. “What are you going to do, Gage? You gonna fuck it out of me in a disgusting janitor’s closet?”

His fingers release my jaw, and although darkness still clouds his eyes, his voice has lost the envious compulsion it was under. “No, Cali. Because you deserve so much more than a quickie in a closet.”

My mouth seems to fall open, which is funny because I have nothing to say. See? Just friends isn’t a concept that exists in Gage’s brain. You’re telling me that he’s this friendly with every person in his life?

He sets the basket on the ground, rubbing his hands together and preparing for what looks to be a big speech. I hope it’s not the speech I think it is.

“What I really came over here to ask you is if you’d go to a Halloween party with me,” he finally confesses.

Oh.

“That’s it?” I ask.

“That’s it.”

“Wouldn’t a text have sufficed?”

“Would you have answered?”

Good point, Gage.

I must not be concealing my skepticism well enough because Gage continues with his proposition, looking sweatier and more nervous as he goes on. “We’re throwing a party at the house, and I’d really like for you to come. With me.”

I contemplate my answer, weighing the very unbalanced scales of consequences in my head. Go to the party with Gage, get blackout drunk—

or maybe just drunk—and have fun after a shitty and depressing week. Or stay at home with Teague while harrowing images of my hospitalized mother circulate in my mind. Seems like the answer should be obvious.

“Just as friends, though. Right?” I caution.

“Just as friends,” he echoes rather convincingly.

He’s acting…suspicious. I don’t want to regret going, but I also don’t want to regret not going. It’s going to be an unsupervised party with an overflow of alcohol and maybe a handful of illegal substances. What’s the worst that could go wrong?

I slide my hands a bit self-consciously down my dance attire. “I don’t have a costume.”

Gage slaps on an award-winning smirk, catalyzing that unshakable desire in my belly.

“Don’t worry. I’ve already taken care of it.”

OceanofPDF.com

17