Nash sighed. “It’s my mom’s. She’s gone through three batteries in six months.”

I stifled a smile as her car light flickered. “Make that four.”

He groaned, but when I glanced at him, I found him watching me rather than the car. “So…do I get a chance to earn your trust?”

My pulse jumped. Was he serious?

I should’ve said no. I should have thanked him for helping me at Taboo, then left with him staring after me from his front yard. But I wasn’t strong enough to resist those dimples. Even knowing how many other girls had probably failed that same task.

I blame my weakness on the recent panic attack.

“How?” I asked finally, then flushed when he grinned. He’d known I’d give in.

“Come over tomorrow night?”

To his house? No way. I was weak-willed, not stupid. Not that I could make it anyway…“I work till nine on Sundays.”

“At the Ciné?”

He knows where I work. Surprise warmed me from the inside out, and I frowned in question.

“I’ve seen you there.”

“Oh.” Of course he’d seen me there. Probably on a date. “Yeah, I’ll be in the ticket booth from two on.”

“Lunch, then?”

Lunch. How much could I possibly be tempted into in a public restaurant? “Fine. But I still don’t trust you.”

He grinned and opened his door, and the overhead light flared to life. His pupils shrank to pinpoints in the sudden glare, and as my heart raced, he leaned forward like he would kiss me. Instead, his cheek brushed mine and his warm breath skimmed my ear as he whispered, “That’s half the fun.”

My breath hitched in my throat, but before I could speak, the car bobbed beneath his shifting weight and suddenly the passenger seat was empty. He closed the car door, then jogged up the driveway to slam his mother’s.

I backed away from his house in a daze, and when I parked in front of my own, I couldn’t remember a moment of the drive home.

“GOOD MORNING, KAYLEE.” Aunt Val stood at the kitchen counter, bathed in late-morning sunlight, holding a steaming mug of coffee nearly as big as her head. She wore a satin robe the exact shade of blue as her eyes, and her sleek brown waves were still tousled from sleep. But they were tousled the way hair always looks in the movies, when the star wakes up in full makeup, wearing miraculously unwrinkled pajamas.

I couldn’t pull my own fingers through my hair first thing in the morning.

My aunt’s robe and the size of her coffee cup were the only signs that she and my uncle had had a late night. Or rather, an early morning. I’d heard them come in around 2:00 a.m., stumbling down the hall, giggling like idiots.

Then I’d stuck my earbuds in my ears so I wouldn’t have to listen as he proved just how attractive he still found her, even after seventeen years of marriage. Uncle Brendon was the younger of thepair, and my aunt resented each of the four years she had on him.

The problem wasn’t that she looked her age—thanks to Botox and an obsessive workout routine, she looked thirty-five at the most—but that he looked so young for his. She jokingly called him Peter Pan, but as her big 4-0 had approached, she’d ceased finding her own joke funny.

“Cereal or waffles?” Aunt Val set her coffee on the marble countertop and pulled a box of blueberry Eggos from the freezer, holding them up for my selection. My aunt didn’t do big breakfasts. She said she couldn’t afford to eat that many calories in one meal, and she wasn’t going to cook what she couldn’t eat. But we were welcome to help ourselves to all the fat and cholesterol we wanted.

Normally Uncle Brendon served up plenty of both on Saturday mornings, but I could still hear him snoring from his bedroom, halfway across the house. She’d obviously worn him out pretty good.

I crossed the dining room into the kitchen, my fuzzy socks silent on the cold tile. “Just toast. I’m going out for lunch in a couple of hours.”

Aunt Val stuck the waffles back in the freezer and handed me a loaf of low-calorie whole wheat bread—the only kind she would buy. “With Emma?”

I shook my head and dropped two slices into the toaster, then tugged my pajama pants up and tightened the drawstring.

She arched her brows at me over her mug. “You have a date? Anyone I know?” Meaning, “Any of Sophie’s exes?”

“I doubt it.” Aunt Val was constantly disappointed that, unlike her daughter—the world’s most socially ambitious sophomore—I had no interest in student council, or the dance team, or the winter carnival–planning committee. In part, because Sophie would have made my life miserable if I’d intruded on “her” territory. But mostly because I had to work to pay for my car insurance, and I’d rather spend my rare free hours with Emma than helping the dance team coordinate their glitter gel with their sequined costumes.

While Nash would no doubt have met with Aunt Val’s hearty approval, I did not need her hovering over me when I got home, eyes glittering in anticipation of a social climb I had no interest in. I was happy hanging with Emma and whichever crowd she claimed at the moment.

“His name’s Nash.”

Aunt Val took a butter knife from the silverware drawer. “What year is he?”

I groaned inwardly. “Senior.” Here we go…

Her smile was a little too enthusiastic. “Well, that’s wonderful!”

Of course, what she really meant was “Rise from the shadows, social leper, and walk in the bright light of acceptance!” Or some crap like that. Because my aunt and overprivileged cousin only recognize two states of being: glitter and grunge. And if you weren’t glitter, well, that only left one other option…