Brandon swallows a laugh. “You a good dancer,Pen?”
“I’m terrible,” she saysproudly.
“I can make up for it. Go withme.”
My friend blinks, taken aback. “Um… are youserious?”
I bite mycheek.
“I thought I had a date, but Tyler refused to takeme.”
Tyler flips off Brandon with asmirk.
“Okay. Sure, I’d love to.” Pen regains her composure, glancing toward Tyler and me. “See, children? It’s not thathard.”
With a wink, she and Brandon set off down the hall. I’m flushed when I turn back to Tyler, tilting my chin up to meet his amused chocolateeyes.
“Wow. I’m not sure what happened,” Icomment.
“Meeither.”
He rummages in his locker for books. HisGatsbypaperback falls out of the locker, and we both bend to grab it. My head hits his, and I groan, rubbing the spot as Istraighten.
“You okay?” he asks. “Knowledge isdangerous.”
“Not the worst excuse to avoid studying but maybe not a doctrine to live your lifeby.”
Tyler grins as he brushes the hair back from my forehead, inspecting the spot where our headsclunked.
It stopshurting.
Suddenly I’m thinking about how we’re a foot apart and what he’d do if I stretched up onto my toes to kiss him right here. Whether he’d pull back with a warning look or exercise his right as prince of the entire damned place and press me into the lockers like he didn’t give a fuck who waswatching.
“So, I know you said you don’t dance,” I say, “but you’ve already broken thatrule—”
“I’m not asking you to prom,Six.”
Disappointment floods me. “This wasn’t a fishing expedition for a corsage. I just figured it could be fun to go as friends. Now that we’re friendsagain.”
Tyler turns away, shutting his locker with a click before rounding on me. “I don’t dodances.”
“Right.” I look past him. “Guess I’ll see youlater.”
His mouth twitches. “Not so fast. Walk me toclass.”
I shift my bag over my shoulder, and when I drop my hand, his fingers brushmine.
Every inch of me should not betingling.
I match my steps to his, not wanting to miss thattouch.
“So, I tried the guitar after you left,” Tylercomments.
I’m distracted when his thumb starts lightly stroking the back of myhand.
“The neck’s perfect,” he goes on. “Twenty-four frets. It’s adream.”
“When can I see you play it? I mean, hear you playit?”