“Did you finally trade it in for a bicycle?” I tease.
He chuckles as he pulls away from my neck. “It’s getting outfitted with a bike rack. Don’t know if you heard, but Nev got Dad to buy her a bike.”
I smile.
“Plus”—his voice is both sweet and coarse—“I can’t have my girlfriend turning down rides with me because her bike doesn’t fit in my trunk.”
My pulse roars in my ears.Who is this boy?“Stop. You’re going to ruin me for all other men.”
He shoots me that perfect, half-tipped grin of his. He thinks it’s a joke, but it’s not.
My stomach suddenly growls so loudly, it drowns out the music. Ten pulls me down from my perch and tugs me toward the stovetop to stir our meal again. I’m surprised my legs hold me up since they feel like Twizzlers.
“Can’t believe you cooked for me. Can’t believe you cook period.” I sniff the pot’s simmering contents.
“Osso buco alla Milanese with homemade fettucine,” he announces.
“Are you for real?”
“I can’t sing for my life, but I can cook. Or so I’m told.”
I smile stupidly up at him. And then I don’t smile anymore because I feel like crying all over again. I thread my hands through his spiky hair and drag his head back down to mine. Before my lips touch his, I say, “Thank you for tonight… and for staying… and for not making me choose.”
“Choose?”
“Between your mom and you.”
His expression turns a little grave, but then he kisses the corner of my lips. “I like you more than I hate her. Go figure. I just hope that someday, you’ll like me better than her.”
My heart squeezes and squeezes. What I feel for Ten is so different from what I feel for Mona.
He whispers, “I shouldn’t have brought her up.”
But he did. And now all I can think about is her. “Ten…”
“Here and now. Let’s just enjoy the here and now.”
“Okay,” I whisper, as he drags his lips over mine.
If he can push Mona out of this moment, then so can I.
But I can’t.
How can a stranger hold so much power over me?
This perfect evening with Ten becomes bittersweet, because it feels like borrowed time.
Here and now, I remind myself.Here and now.
48
The Clashing Stones
As Mom and I walk into the Landmark Hotel the next morning, I check my appearance on my phone’s camera app, afraid I might be glowing like a white shirt under blue light. Besides pink cheeks and a hickey that I’ve camouflaged with concealer, I look normal. Okay, that’s a lie. My eyes are so shiny they seem greener, and the dimple on my chin looks more pronounced.
“Sorry I agreed to this brunch without asking you,” Mom says softly.
“It’s fine, Mom.” In truth, I’m crazy nervous. I haven’t told her about Ten. Did Ten tell his dad about me?
