“Hey, you,” Macy chirps, saving me from my self-consciousness, wrapping me in one of her quick hugs before turning back to Marcus. She bounces on the balls of her feet. “So. We were thinking about seeing that new horror movie. You know—the one with the creepy doll that terrorizes her entire family?”
“I heard it has tons of jump scares.” Marcus grins. “What do you think?”
I glance at Easton. I can’t help but notice how the blue of his shirt brings out the blue of his eyes. Le Sigh.
“You good with that?” I ask him.
He nods. “Since I’m not the one who has to hold Macy’s hand when she freaks.”
Macy nudges him with her shoulder, bumping his closer toward me. “You can holdherhand instead.”
Easton’s gaze darts to mine.
Tension fills the air.
For a split second, his eyes fall to my chest. Stomach.
My stomach flutters.
Butterflies? Could it be?
“Let’s get the tickets before all the good seats are gone,” I proclaim, breaking our contact and ignoring Macy’s matchmaking scheming. “I hate sitting near the front.”
Easton agrees. “Same.”
Together the four of us make our way to the ticket counter, where three very bored-looking teenagers stand behind touch screens, not looking up as we approach. Macy generously pays for everyone—compliments of her parents—while we wait.
Easton leans in closer, close enough that I can feel his warm breath against my ear. “You owe me one.”
I glance at him, puzzled. “Owe you? For what?”
Easton falls into step beside me, our arms accidentally brushing.
I ignore the spark.
“I’ve lost count of all the things you’ve roped me into at this point. Showing up tonight. Prom. Decorating.” Itsoundslike he’s teasing? “Now we’re on a date.”
“I had no part in this,” I whisper at him. “I was just as roped in as you were. So technically this doesn’t count. You could have said you were busy.”
“This counts,” he insists, glancing up at the theater menu for snacks, ordering a large popcorn, candy, and two large soft drinks.
“It doesn’t.” I shake my head. “You won’t convince me otherwise.”
He turns to face me while he digs in his wallet and pulls out cash to pay for our food. “Why are you so stubborn?”
My mouth opens. Closes.
I flounder like a guppy. “I’m not?”
Easton laughs, taking the soda while I grab everything else. Popcorn. Napkins. Stick two straws in our soft drinks.
We walk side by side.
“I, uh—told my mom about prom last night.”
It didn’t occur to me that he would have to tell his parents he’s going to the dance. Not just any dance—PROM. I mean, it’s a big deal. Of course he’d need to tell them. I highly doubt he’s going to go shopping for his own outfit.
“You did?”
