Under the Lights

“I’ll stop.” She’s silent. And then fingertips, soft and cool as they sweep through my hair, rest on the base of my neck. “No,” she says, softer now, her touch tingling my skin. “Please don’t.”

Oh God. The prickle of heat blazes brighter, lower, and there isn’t any ignoring what it means. I don’t understand how, or why, but I am turned-on beyond belief.

By a girl.

And I really, really don’t want to stop flirting with her.

“I should go,” I say, forcing myself to stand. “We’re drunk, and…” I don’t know how to finish that sentence. I’m not even really drunk. Neither is she. But I don’t want to start anything I don’t know how to finish. Hell, something I don’t even know how to start. What could even happen? My mother would go ballistic. My fanbase would revolt like crazy. I don’t even know which of us Jade would kill first. And Zander…

Her jaw ticks, and I realize I’ve definitely said the wrong thing. “Yeah, okay. Have a good night, then.” She jumps up and starts to stalk back to Josh’s house, and even though I know I should let her, I can’t let the night end like that.

“Bri, wait.”

She turns back, silently.

“It’s not…I mean, it’s not you, or that I don’t want… It’s…ugh.” I’m not making sense, which is to be expected since it doesn’t really make sense in my brain, either. “I’m with Zander, and your mom is my publicist, and things are just crazy.” I take another deep breath of cleansing salt air. The look on her face — a combination of hurt and anger — is clawing at my gut, and I know I have to say what I’m really feeling, even if it’s too weird to process. “But…I’m not trying to confuse you.” I drop my voice to a near-whisper, even though no one else from the party has trickled onto the beach. “I’m confused. About you, and how I feel, and why for some reason I am still thinking about the fact that you called me smart and talented and gorgeous.”

For a second, her full lips curve into a smile, and I think, I love your mouth. Never have I looked at someone and thought, I love your mouth.

But I do love hers. Then the smile vanishes, and she says, “You’re right. You should go. Or I should go. Going should happen.”

I smile sheepishly. “Yeah, exactly.” Hopefully both of us will think more clearly in the morning, because this is a train wreck waiting to happen on infinity levels. “We’ll talk soon, or something.”

“Yes. Definitely. G’night, Park.” She wraps her fingers in the chain of her necklace and takes off, leaving me staring after her, trembling, every inch of my skin on fire.

Chapter Thirteen

Josh

I feel like shit when I wake up in the morning, or maybe it’s afternoon. It takes a minute of squinting to see the numbers on my clock, but no, it’s only ten thirty. My instinct is to go back to sleep, but my mouth feels like I’ve chewed off the ashy end of a cigarette. After a minute, I know nothing’s happening until I get a bottle of water.

Halfway to the kitchen, I freeze. There’s a voice floating out of my kitchen. I’m pretty sure I didn’t nail anyone last night, thanks to Chuck the Walking Cockblock, so who the hell is in my house?

I edge closer and hear, “I’m sorry, A. I was just having a really crappy day. It wasn’t anything.” She pauses, presumably waiting for a response, and when I hear none, I realize I’m eavesdropping on Vanessa talking to Ally on the phone.

Right. I completely forgot I let K-drama stay here last night. I’ve never seen her get too drunk to drive herself home, but she was definitely in no condition by the end of the party last night; she’s a shitty enough driver sober.

I walk into the kitchen just as she’s hanging up. Her back is to me, her elbows resting on the granite countertop of the island, and she’s wearing the clothes I lent her last night — an old Clippers T-shirt and a pair of boxers. I don’t usually give a crap about legs unless they’re wrapped around my neck, but I have to admit, hers are pretty nice.

She turns and casts an irritated glare at me. “Must you be such a creeper?”

“For your information,” I say, sailing past her to the fridge, “you’re in my kitchen, in my clothes, at ten thirty on a Saturday morning. If anyone’s the creeper…”

“It’s too early for this.” She rolls her eyes, then nods at the cappuccino maker. “How do you make that thing work?”

“Fuck if I know.” I nab a bottle of water and take a huge gulp, swishing it around my teeth. “Ally used to be here to do it by now.”

“And of course you still haven’t bothered to learn,” she mutters.

“Hey, you wanna do it? Be my guest.”

She scowls but makes no move toward it. I snort. Why am I not surprised?

“Do you have anything a little…simpler?” she asks impatiently.

“Not in here.” I love the look of the machine, but I think coffee tastes like ass. Even when Ally used to make it, it was usually just for herself. Anyway, it’s bad for the pearly whites. “There’s a Keurig in the guest house, though.”