was looking at me. Or, at least, he seemed to be looking at me.
I turned back around, my heart pounding.
Everyone has that one crush, the guy they can’t stop thinking about even though it’s totally hopeless. Stephen Keyes was mine. He was nineteen—two years older than me—and utterly gorgeous with jet-black hair and caramel-colored eyes. We grew up in the same neighborhood, him two doors down from me. He mowed lawns in the summer. I watched from my bedroom window.
It was such a cliché, really. The weird, unpopular chick with the massive crush on the hot, older jock.
As far as I knew, Stephen was supposed to be at university in California, two thousand miles away. I’d even watched his parents help him pack up his car when he left town at the end of August. I wondered why he was back only a couple of months later.
Suddenly he wasn’t just lingering at the edge of the dance floor looking distant and delectable. He was standing right next to me. Carly watched, her eyes widening as Stephen leaned close enough for me to hear him over the loud throb of the music.
“Can I talk to you?” he asked.
“Me?”
He nodded and smiled. And I, the girl who shunned and mocked romance in all its forms—movies, books, real life—went weak for a hot guy I had a crush on. Whenever I’d really liked somebody in the past—which, not including Stephen, had been only twice before in my entire life—it hadn’t ended in true love. The two other boys I’d fallen for hadn’t liked me in return and I’d ended up ignored, brokenhearted and humiliated both times.
However, that hadn’t stopped me from liking Stephen. A lot.
Stephen didn’t wait for my reply. Instead, he walked away, weaving through the labyrinth of sweaty dancers.
Something wicked this way comes.
The line from Macbeth, our current read in English class, flitted through my head. The quote suited Stephen perfectly. He might be the boy next door, but to me he was also wicked. And dangerous.
I didn’t do dangerous. Not anymore. Even little dangerous things tended to lead to big trouble. Six months ago, I’d been busted for shoplifting—my dumb way of psychologically dealing with my parents’ divorce—although I wasn’t arrested for it, thank God. I’d learned my lesson in a very big way that sticking your hands in dangerous places would get them chopped off.
“Go,” Carly urged. “This is so awesome!”
She wasn’t much help. Carly would storm headfirst into danger if she thought it might mean that she’d have a good time. When she was a kid she’d stuck her hand in a beehive because she wanted to taste the honey. It hadn’t turned out so well, of course, but I had to admire her for … well, going for it, despite all the signs not to. She didn’t second-guess herself. She didn’t regret anything she tried—even the crazy stuff.
With a last look at Carly, I followed Stephen off the dance floor. I was insanely curious what he wanted to speak to me about. I mean, despite us living very close to each other, he didn’t even know me.
He led the way up a spiral staircase to the second-floor lounge, which was surrounded by glass walls with thin, swirling frosted patterns on the otherwise clear surface. Up here, away from the crowd and deejay and loudspeakers, I could actually hear myself think. The lounge had a couple of pool tables and red couches and chairs. Stephen leaned against one of the couches and studied me. He wore a black button-down shirt and dark jeans. His hair was slicked back off his handsome face. My stomach fluttered.
“So …” I began when he didn’t say anything. “Do you come here often?”
Oh, God. I was normally proud of my smooth comebacks, my witty one-liners, and that was what came out of my mouth? I wanted a do-over.
Stephen grinned, showing straight white teeth. “I’m here every single night, lately. Even weekdays.”
“Every night? Really?” I twisted my hair. “Cool.”
Cool? Really? I was not handling this well at all. My brain and my voice weren’t working in sync.
“Um, what are you doing in Trinity?” I asked. “I thought you were in university now.”
He shrugged a shoulder. “I’m taking a bit of a break, trying to decide what I really want to do with my life. Thought I’d come back here for a while.”
I just nodded and tried very hard not to say “cool” again.
“You come here every Friday, right, Samantha?”
A flush of pleasure went through me. I was totally okay with friends calling me Sam, but I liked hearing him say my full name.
“Usually.”
“You like it here?”
I looked around. There weren’t many people in the lounge tonight. It was the first time I’d even come up here, myself. A couple on the far couch glanced over at us every so often as if curious why Stephen Keyes was talking to me. The majority of kids were downstairs on the large dance floor and at the bar area, both visible through the glass wall that circled the lounge. I could even see the top of Carly’s blond head from where I stood.
“Yeah, it’s okay,” I said.
“Just okay?”
I shrugged and rubbed my dry lips together, turning to face him. My lip gloss from earlier was long gone. “Some nights are better than others.”
Stephen reached out a hand. “Come here.”
If he hadn’t made it sound like a charming invitation, I might have resisted. But I walked closer to him, until I was a few feet away. There was something strange in his gaze as he studied me. I couldn’t put my finger on it, but a chill slid down my spine.
I cleared my throat. “You said you wanted to talk to me about something?”
“So you’re the special one, are you?”
That was the last thing I expected him to say. “Special?”
“That’s what she said. That’s why she wants me to do this. I normally wouldn’t, since you’re so young.”
She? She who? I frowned at him. “I’m seventeen.”
“Exactly. That’s young.”
“No, it’s not.”
“Trust me, Samantha. It is.”
He slid his arm around my waist so that his hand rested at the small of my back, and he drew me closer to him. His touch sank into me, cool against my hot skin.
It was suddenly difficult for me to breathe. “Who said I’m special?”
He didn’t answer. When I looked up at him I realized he was leaning closer to me, closer and closer, and then his lips brushed against mine. I gasped and he pulled back a little.
“Is
