Is my best friend going to kiss me?
Now?Here?On these dirty subway stairs?
But then he bursts out laughing. In my face.
“No way, I’m talking about abet.” He raises his eyebrows, all teasing. “Why would you even think that?”
“Clarify next time!” My face will forever be permanently flushed, I just know it. “You’re the one who’s standing way too close to me.”
He backs away, peers around the corner of the platform, then slides back around the wall.
“I have an idea,” he says, a mischievous expression forming behind his eyes.
My gaze jumps to Vicky, but she only shrugs. Patrick’s antics are a staple in this friendship. I have to admit, it keeps me on my toes.
“I bet youfive bucks,” Patrick begins, all dramatic, “that you won’t go up and ask that guy if you can kiss him.”
The space between my brows pinches. “What are you—? What guy?”
Patrick chucks a thumb behind him. “That sleeping dude right there.”
I peer over his shoulder. A guy our age is sitting on an empty bench, eyes closed, hoodie yanked over his tousled blond hair. He’s wearing these browline glasses that are more stylish than nerdy, and he’s got a duffel bag slung over his shoulder, like he’s headed on a trip. If he goes to our school, I don’t recognize him. And I would have. If he did go to Eagle Gate High, that is. Because he’s . . . not bad looking. From this distance, anyway.
But—no. Patrick has lost his mind.
“For five bucks? Absolutely not.”
Patrick smirks, adjusting his backward cap. “Fine, you wanna raise the stakes? I’ll give you fifty bucks right now if you can get him to kiss you.”
My gaze ticks back to the sleeping boy. He looks harmless. And who knows? What if this is my ultimate swoonworthy meet-cute? And on my eighteenth birthday! Doesn’t everyone want aSixteen Candlesmoment? Sure, I’m two years late, but who cares?
Destiny is in my hands. I’ll gather up the nerve to go over and ask if he’ll kiss me, and then he’ll look into my eyes like he’s never seen anyone on this earthly plane who possesses more beauty than the girl standing before him. We’ll kiss, fall in love, and whenever anyone asks how we met, he’ll chuckle and say,It was so sweet! If Sara hadn’t had the guts to kiss me, who knows what would have happened?
Butdo Ihave the guts to do all that?
Patrick cocks a brow. “I knew you couldn’t—”
Before he can even finish his sentence, I whirl on my heel and march toward the boy.
My heartbeat thuds rapidly in my chest as I pause in front of him. He’s still asleep. Heat blooms up my neck and into my cheeks. I’m grateful there’s no reflective surfaces around, because I’mpositiveI resemble an overripe strawberry. It feels like I’ve arrived at the top of a roller coaster, anticipating the moment when my stomach flips like a pancake and adrenaline races down my spine.
My gaze drops to the floor. Wait! We’re wearing matching Sambas, white with burgundy stripes. What are the odds? That has to mean something, right? Matching shoes equals . . . soulmates? Either way, this is absolutely meet-cute material.
I take one itty-bitty step closer. The thudding in my chest accelerates and—what am Ithinking?I can’t do this!
As I’m turning away, I spot Patrick and Vicky watching me with rapt anticipation. Patrick whisper-yells, “You’re gonna lose, chicken!”while Vicky clasps her hands and mouths,You can do it, Sara!
I pull a deep breath into my lungs. There’s no way I’m losing Patrick’s bet. I’m not going to let him think I’m some coward who can’t even approach a boy. I’d never live that down. Vicky’s right—Igotthis. I’ll just wake him up. That’s not hard, is it? Step one: wake him up. Step two—
Well, we’ll get there.
I face him again. Golden strands of hair fall around his face, which is a very nice face. I haven’t spent much time admiring boy bone structure, but maybe I should. That could become my new hobby. Appreciating a good face. He’s got an angular jaw, thick eyebrows, and soft-looking skin. Headphones cover his ears—which I hadn’t noticed before, since his hoodie’s partially obstructing them—and I wonder what he’s listening to.
He’s kind of cute.
Okay, I can do this. I’m the one who wanted to romanticize my life, and isn’t this one way to do it?
I crouch a tiny bit, leveling myself with the bench, and move closer. I’m just going to tap him on the shoulder and—
