Still, I can’t help but wonder:why me?What about this made him think of me? I steal a glance at him out of the corner of my eye as we walk side by side.
“You’ll have a lot of fans now,” I murmur, taking a sip of my lemonade.
Vincent laughs. “What?”
I lift a shoulder, pretending not to care. “I’m just saying, after tonight, the whole school’s going to want to hang out with you. You guys were amazing—and you were spectacular. I bet half the girls are already lining up to go out with you. We even got stuck in the parking lot for half an hour because you spent ten minutes explaining to Katie Doherty the difference between a Fender Stratocaster and a Gibson Les Paul. I’m glad she finally got it, but—”
“Jealous looks good on you, Marshall,” he cuts in, his voice dropping low enough to make my cheeks burn.
“I’m not jealous.”I am.
He grins, leaning just a little closer. “I’m fine if you are, you know? I’m your Vincent. I belong to you.”
I hope so, my friend. But I keep my thoughts for myself.
“You’re making fun of me or something?” I bite back a laugh.
His smile’s infuriatingly smug. “Is it working?”
Without warning, I flick some of my lemonade at him. “Maybe a tiny little bit,” I grin.
“Oh, yeah?”
I shrug, feigning innocence. “It was just a joke. Don’t be touchy.” I start backing away.
Vincent drops his backpack in the sand and takes off after me. I set my CD and phone down before sprinting across the beach, trying to escape from him. “Can’t we declare a truce?” I call over my shoulder.
He’s laughing as he closes in. “You never give me a break!”
“I’m a woman!” I declare dramatically.
He bursts out laughing. “Perfect! Then act like a woman with good manners and stop running—you’re too fast for me! I can’t keep up!”
“Never!”
“Please! If you don’t stop, I think I’ll have a drop in blood pressure—or vomit my spleen!”
I skid to a halt, laughing. “Vomit your spleen?I’ve never even seen that onGrey’s Anatomy. You’d be the first human in history to vomit up an actual organ.”
Excitement buzzes through me as Vincent closes the distance between us.
“What if you did, and I filmed it?” I tease. “We’d go viral, make a fortune on YouTub—hey! What are we doing?”
Because suddenly, he scoops me up into his arms, bridal style, and starts striding toward the waves.
I loop my arms around his neck, clinging to him, my lemonade bottle forgotten in the sand. His smile softens, that sweet smile that always disarms me. “We’re making up for the time we lost this summer.”
“And how exactly?”
“Like this,” he whispers—then bolts forward, carrying me straight into the surf before plunging us both into the water.
I tighten my grip around him, and when we surface, wrap my legs around his hips. He holds me easily, like he was meant to.
“That was fun,” he murmurs, eyes locked on mine.
The intensity in his gaze makes my heart feel like it might shatter from the pressure. I nod, breathless. “Yeah...”
His T-shirt and jacket cling to his chest, soaked through, and wet curls plaster against his forehead. He looks impossibly handsome, too close, too real. Heat blooms low in my stomach, and I can’t stop thinking about how tightly my legs are around him.
