“Good night,” I say from the top step so we’re face to face.
He gives me a kiss. “I meant what I said.”
“About what?”
“Loving you.”
My heart thuds hearing it again. The first time, I nearly melted in his bed—it’s just as good the second.
“I meant it, too.”
I hate leaving him, but I do, easing into my house and quietly closing the door. I wait for a beat, watching until he’s back at his house. It may have taken thirteen years, but Finn Holloway finally gave me his heart.
I ignore my alarm not once but twice, burying my head under my pillow. That’s two nights in a row that I’ve stayed up later than I should. It’s the chime of a text, followed by two more, that finally drags me awake. I grab my phone and blink at the screen.
F: Last night was great.
F: You’re great.
F: Surprise me any time you want.
I smile at the phone, feeling my skin heat. Being with Finn was amazing, but he needs to own his part in getting me over there.
K: Keep leaving me naughty presents and I’ll keep showing them to you.
Little dots hover at the bottom as he types his response. I hop out of bed and head to the bathroom. He must be getting ready too, because the dots vanish. I quickly wash my face and change for school. My phone chimes as I’m putting on my shoes.
F: Naughty presents?
K: Sneaking in my room. Leaving me sexy lingerie?
I tuck my phone in my pocket and grab my backpack and head downstairs. I grab a doughnut out of the box and a cup of coffee, then head outside.
Finn’s waiting for me, his forehead creased.
“Hey,” I say, swallowing a bite of doughnut. Now that football is over, he rides with Ozzy and I to school. “What’s wrong?”
“Kenley, I didn’t leave you that lingerie.”
“You left me cookies? And that box of candy? And a DVD of Goonies?” I’m terrified he’ll say no.
“I did give you those things, but,” he swallows, confusion clouding his eyes, “I wouldn’t leave you something like that—something so intimate. Not where your mom could find it, or fuck, that presumptuous.”
My heart pounds, first slowly, then increasing.
“Maybe it was Ezra?” he suggests.
I shake my head.
“Ezra and I haven’t, you know,” I look into his worried eyes, “that yet.”
“It’s not Ozzy’s style,” he says.
No. Ozzy’s idea of a sexy outfit is me wearing his ratty Nirvana T-shirt with nothing underneath. I’m familiar with the fantasy.
Only one other person has sent me something and left it in my room.
The coffee cup trembles in my hand, then tumbles to the ground, shattering when it hits the pavement. A moment later the doughnut comes back up and I vomit in my mother’s bushes.