“You should be the one to—-why are you acting like—”
“Like you're mine?” he says, “Because you are.”
My jaw goes slack. Everything inside me goes hot and shaky.
“I’m… I'm not yours, Jordan,” I manage.
“Yes, baby,” he says simply. “You are.”
I hang up on him because I suddenly can’t breathe.
He calls back immediately. “Did you just run?”
“I have homework!” I squeak.
“You’re terrified,” he murmurs, sounding way too pleased.
“No I’m not!”
“Good,” he says. “Because I’m not going anywhere.”
I hate him. Ihatehim. And I’m completely, stupidly hooked.
By week four, I can’t pretend anymore.
The ache of missing him is constant. He’s been gone too long—and every day without him scratches something raw inside me.
So when he texts:
Cast came off a week early. I'll be in Henderson later today. Any plans?
I scream. And without thinking, I type back:
There’s a school party tonight. I didn't want to go, but maybe come with me? As… you know. A friend. Not a date. Not really. Anyway, just come.
His reply comes instantly.
Pick you up at eight. And Sabrina?
Yes?
It’s a fucking date.
My heart absolutelydetonates.
6
“He’shere!”Isayto Molly, already grabbing my bag.
My pulse kicks up hard. After four weeks of late-night calls, stupid math jokes, and hearing his voice drop to lulling whispers every time I yawned—Jordan’s finally back.
Molly winks the second I back toward the kitchen door. “Go,” she whispers, flapping her hand. “And tell that tall drink of water he owes me a week of tips for covering your shift.”
“I will,” I whisper back, even though I absolutely will not.
I pause just inside the doorway, suddenly too nervous to look out the back window to the parking lot where Jordan is waiting. I check my reflection one last time in the cracked mirror—smooth my fitted off-shoulder top, tug the hem of my short flared orange gingham skirt into place.
This is my most flattering outfit. A gift from my aunt Bea who lives in New York. Also something I’ve never actually worn before. It’s cute. Sweet. And a little frumpy for a glam party.
