Page 34 of The Life and (Medieval) Times of Kit Sweetly

He catches me as I fall and helps me stand up. “You okay?”

Our faces are inches apart. All I’d have to do is lean in a little closer. And then we might be kissing.

Or he might run away screaming because I’ve totally broken an Unbreakable Rule.

The noise of the party and the cheers of the Serving Wenches and cooks break into our bubble.

I pull away hastily. “Totally fine. You had an eyelash on your cheek.”

Jett laughs. “Most graceful eyelash removal ever.”

“Shut up,” I say, finding my footing again. Both literally and in the shifting landscape that is my friendship with Jett. I just have to remember that for him, everything is the same. Nothing is shifting. And he’s not into me like that. The thought of us kissing would probably horrify him or something.

I slam the rest of the punch and look away.

“Want to get out of here?” asks Jett.

“Don’t you want to go inside?”

“Do you?”

Inside means seeing Dalton and Jessica or running into Len and having him lecture me about my debut as a Knight. My head’s starting to hurt, and I can’t stomach the idea of more booze. Plus, some part of me knows I need to sort through about a dozen things, starting with the news that the Castle might be closing and ending with the fact that I almost just kissed my best friend.

“Not particularly. Can you take me back to Layla’s? I’m spending the night there tonight. You can stay too if you want.”

Jett offers me his arm and we walk to his bike. I text Layla to meet us at her house, and Jett hands me the extra helmet he keeps on the back of his seat.

“Hang on,” he says as he fires up the bike.

I wrap my arms around his waist and snuggle my head into the hollow between his shoulder blades. Tonight, Jett smells like well-worn leather and lavender soap.

Stupid, sexy best friend.

15

THE SUN STABS AT ME AS I ROLL OVER ON SUNDAY morning. Jett and I lie together in a tangle of blankets on the pullout couch in Layla’s pool cabana. I’m wearing the pajamas I packed for my sleepover. Jett is shirtless but wearing jeans and socks.

I sit up, and a groan escapes my lips. The blue-and-red punch broke my brain, and I’ll never be the same again.

“Good morning.” Jett smiles a sweet, sleepy smile as he rolls over to look at me.

I mumble a good morning and go back to contemplating the insides of my eyelids.

The night comes back to me in snatches. We took a ride on Jett’s bike; made it back to Layla’s; she and her pink-haired friend joined us soon after that; there was dancing, swimming, and then …

Oh my God. My eyes fly open and I turn gently onto my side.

“Did I throw up on your motorcycle?”

Jett sits up. I try not to look at his flat stomach or the ridges of his shoulder muscles. How does a guy whose main hobbies include watching documentaries and playing the trumpet get shoulders like that? And what would it feel like to run my fingers over them?

“And my shirt. After we went swimming, you were insistent we should go for a ride.”

“But then I barfed.”

“Then you barfed,” confirms Jett. “And I helped you get to bed.”

I bury my face in my hands. Kill me now.