“You’re being fucking weird.”
I freeze at my locker, my hand still death-gripping the combination lock like it’s the only thing keeping me tethered to reality. Of course Luca found me. I’ve been dodging him for three days straight—ducking behind vending machines, taking alternative routes to class, eating lunch in the library like some kind of social pariah.
But Luca Reyes doesn’t get dodged. Not by anyone, and definitely not by his pathetically lovesick best friend who’s been mentally replaying their kiss on an endless loop.
“I’m not weird,” I say without turning around. “I’m busy.”
“Busy.” His voice is flat. “Right. That’s why you literally army-crawled under the bleachers yesterday when you saw me coming.”
Shit. He noticed that.
“I dropped something.”
“Your dignity?”
I finally turn around, and immediately regret it. Because Luca looks like he rolled out of a magazine shoot—hair perfectly messy, that stupid black henley that should be illegal, and those dark eyes that see way too much. Meanwhile, I look like I’ve been hiding in supply closets for seventy-two hours. Which, to be fair, I have.
“What do you want, Luca?”
“A conversation. You know, those things friends usually have.”
Friends. The word hits like a slap. “We’re fine.”
“Are we?” He steps closer, and I can smell his cologne. The same one that was all over me during that kiss. “Because you’ve been acting like I have the plague.”
“I’ve been busy with debate prep.”
“Bullshit.”
“Model UN—”
“Noah.” His voice cuts through my lies like a knife. “Stop.”
I grab a random textbook from my locker, just to have something to do with my hands. “Look, can we not do this here?”
“Do what? Talk like normal human beings?”
“Talk about…” I gesture vaguely between us, hoping he’ll fill in the blanks so I don’t have to say the words out loud.
“About the party?”
My stomach flips. “It was just a game.”
Luca goes very still. “Just a game.”
“Yeah. Spin the bottle. People kiss. It’s not… it doesn’t mean anything.”
The silence stretches between us like a tightrope. Students flow around us—laughing, shouting, slamming lockers—but it feels like we’re in some kind of vacuum. Just me, Luca, and the massive lie I just told.
“Interesting,” he says finally. “Because the way you kissed me back felt pretty fucking meaningful.”
My face erupts in flames. “I was drunk.”
“You had one sip of blue punch.”
“I was… caught up in the moment.”
“For fifteen seconds?”
“It wasn’t fifteen seconds.”
“I counted.”
Of course he counted. Because Luca Reyes is the kind of person who pays attention to details, who remembers everything, who probably knows exactly how many times I’ve stared at his mouth during lunch this week.
“Whatever,” I mutter. “It was just a kiss.”
His jaw tightens. “Just a kiss.”
“Yeah.”
“So if I kissed you right now, it would be just a kiss too?”
My brain short-circuits. “What?”
“You heard me.” He steps closer, close enough that I can see the gold flecks in his eyes. “If it doesn’t mean anything, then it shouldn’t matter.”
“Luca—”
“Unless you’re lying.”
“I’m not—”
“Prove it.”
We’re staring at each other now, and I can feel my carefully constructed walls crumbling. This is exactly what I was trying to avoid. The intensity, the way he looks at me like I’m the only person in the hallway, the dangerous possibility that maybe—just maybe—that kiss meant something to him too.
“I can’t,” I whisper.
“Can’t what?”
“Can’t prove it. Can’t pretend it didn’t matter. Can’t keep lying about it.”
Something shifts in his expression. Relief, maybe. Or vindication.
“Noah—”
“But I also can’t do this.” I slam my locker shut. “I can’t sit here and dissect every second of that kiss like it’s some kind of breakthrough moment when we both know it’s not.”
“How do you know what I know?”
“Because you’re you.” The words tumble out before I can stop them. “You’re Luca fucking Reyes. You kiss people all the time. It’s like… it’s like breathing for you. And I’m just…” I gesture at myself helplessly. “I’m me.”
“And what’s wrong with being you?”
Everything, I want to say. You’re popular and confident and perfect, and I’m the debate nerd who’s been pathetically in love with you since freshman year. You have options. I have fantasies and homework assignments.
“Nothing,” I lie. “But we’re friends. And I don’t want to mess that up over some stupid party game.”
Luca studies my face for a long moment. “So that’s it? We pretend it never happened?”
“That’s it.”
“Even though you’re lying through your teeth right now?”
“I’m not—”
“Even though you’ve been avoiding me like I’ve got some kind of contagious disease?”
“I told you, I’ve been busy—”
“Even though you’re standing there looking like you want to either kiss me or run away?”
My mouth falls open. “I don’t—”
“Which one is it, Noah?”
The question hangs in the air between us, loaded with possibility and terror. Because the honest answer is both. I want to kiss him so badly it’s physically painful, and I want to run away before I can fuck this up any worse than I already have.
But before I can answer, the warning bell rings.
“I have to get to class,” I mumble, already backing away.
“This conversation isn’t over.”
“Yes, it is.”
I turn and walk away as fast as I can without actually running. My heart is hammering against my ribs, and my hands are shaking, and I can feel Luca’s eyes on my back until I disappear around the corner.
I make it exactly three steps before I see him.
Jace Morrison, leaning against the wall by the science lab like he’s been waiting for a show. His smirk is sharp enough to cut glass, and his eyes are bright with the kind of malicious glee that makes my stomach drop.