Chase insists on one more research session for our big paper, which I reluctantly agree to if we can do it at his house right after school. We finally settle on a day when he doesn’t have practice, and I don’t have work.
Chase turns the music up loud in his Maserati, and I’m relieved I don’t have to make conversation. I’ve felt even more awkward around him since the kissing incident, but he’s no different around me. It’s like it never happened at all. I envy his ability to shut off whatever it was that drew us together. Time does nothing to dampen my body’s irrational response to his nearness.
As soon as we pull onto Chase’s street, I’m intimidated by the giant houses. I knew he had money, but I expected a regular subdivision like the one I grew up in. But no. Chase’s house could warrant its own zip code. His driveway winds around and up a hill, and he turns off his old-school rap when we pass through the gate.
“So, Blue Sky,” he says, grinning sideways at me, “You ever been to this side of the tracks?”
I smile despite my nervousness. “I didn’t know Faulkner had tracks.”
“Welcome tomi casa,” he says, swinging into a garage that houses eight cars.
He leads me inside and gets me a bottle of tea from the fridge before we head up the wide, winding staircase to the second story. I want a tour of the house, but I only catch a glimpse of a giant living room with a crystal chandelier hanging from the high ceiling, luxury leather furniture set around the room. I can’t help but wonder if this house is as haunted by his mother’s ghost as our house in Connecticut was haunted by the memories of Dad.
I push the thought away and decide I don’t need a tour.
In his room, Chase throws his stuff over a chair and turns on his laptop. For someone who lives in such a big house, his room is strangely normal. A bed, a desk, laptop, TV with a few video games, a pair of beat up sneakers lying near the bed.
“Dad’s at work.” He grins at me, looking me up and down in a way that makes me warm and shivery at once. “In case you thought this arrangement was going to get you out of being alone with me.”
“We should probably get started,” I say, trying to move to safer topics.
“A girl who doesn’t waste any time—I like that,” he says, winking at me. He sprawls out on the bed and says, “I’m all yours, baby. Come and take me.”
I put a hand on my hip and give him a look, shaking a finger at him. “Girlfriend.”
He bounces up, laughing, and throws his arm around my neck. “I’m joking, Juice Girl,” he says, kissing the side of my head. “You should have seen your face.”
I push away from him and turn to the laptop, flustered despite myself. It would be so much easier if he was a jerk all the time. If I didn’t want to sigh with longing every time his arm brushes mine and I feel that current of electricity shoot from his skin all through my body.
After a few hours, he stretches and says, “I think we got it. Thanks for the help.”
“I would have helped more if you didn’t have the irrational need to control the keyboard at all times.”
“Can’t have you stumbling on anything I might have searched in my past,” he says, putting a hand over his heart. “I can’t be held accountable for what I’ve looked at on sleepless nights.”
“Um, gross.”
“Hey,” he says. “I’m a guy. I have basic needs.”
“Porn is not a basic need.”
He laughs and starts to get up, then pauses and gives me a wink. “Need any help with your algebra tonight?”
“Not funny.”
“What can I say, I’m irresistible,” he says, holding up both hands. “I don’t blame you for laying one on me.”
“If I’m not mistaken, there were two people involved in that kiss,” I say. “Both times.”
Chase swings up out of his chair and crosses the room to open the door. “Oh well, I guess I can’t keep you forever,” he says, but his voice is different, reserved now.
Okay, then. I guess it’s okay to joke about our recent kiss, but this summer is off limits. He makes the rules, and I have no choice in the matter.
In the car, he drives down a back drive, past a house almost as big as his. “That’s Elaine’s house,” he says, turning down the radio. “Lindsey lives up ahead. Everyone else out this way goes to Willow Heights.”
“Why don’t you?” I ask before realizing how rude that sounds.
“I wanted to play at the best school,” he says. “They’d never admit it, but our football team is better.”