I’m a straight-up psycho.

Arden leans back against the door, giving me a long hard look. His eyes focus on me as if he were seeing me for the first time. “Not because I kissed you? I’m not sure what you’re asking.”

I throw my hands up in the air, mainly because I still don’t know what I’m asking. “Did you mean to kiss me, Arden? Or are you apologizing for that too?” My instincts tell me to open the door and run before I embarrass myself further.

His mouth falls open, and he gives a dazed look. “You’re serious?”

I nod, aware that I’m holding my breath.

He closes his eyes and exhales. “Oh, I definitely meant to. I’ll never be sorry for kissing you.” And just like that, he’s on my side of the truck, pulling me into the crook of his arm. He rests his chin on the top of my head. “I’m just sorry it happened like that. That it will always be tainted with my dad going ape shit right afterward.”

“And the part about being your girlfriend?”

“I was getting around to asking.”

“Liar.”

He laughs into my hair. “Haven’t you figured out that I’m afraid of you? I’ve been alluding to this for days now. You either suck at taking hints or you’ve been avoiding it. And I need to know which one.”

“I thought you just wanted it for show. Not, you know, for real.” Which is the truth. I thought he just wanted to give in to the rumors and let everyone think that they were right about us so we had a valid reason to hang out with each other. Now that they were actually right about us … How do I feel about it?

“Well, it is partly for show. To show everyone that you’re not freaking available.” He pulls away completely then. “Wait a minute. Is this your way of rejecting me? You’re not going to be my girlfriend?”

My hand has a mind of its own as it pulls his face closer to mine. I indulge myself by taking in a deep breath of his masculine scent. “I am so your girlfriend.” And then I kiss him. Arden Moss. But he’s no longer the Arden Moss. He’s my Arden Moss.

His response is hungry but not feral. He doesn’t do anything I’d imagined Previous Arden would do to his oh-so-willing victims. He doesn’t try to cop a feel. He doesn’t put his hands up my shirt or down my jeans. He just holds me. Holds me, and kisses me like I’m the thing he’s been craving since life began.

*   *   *

School becomes exciting in a weird sort of way. We thought by acting like a couple, everyone would just stop staring. But they don’t. We turn heads, Arden and I, as we make our way from class to class holding hands. Arden makes it a point to kiss me as he drops me off at calculus—a class we don’t have together. I make it a point to stand on my tiptoes and accept his lips. Screw the Public Eye. What harm am I doing? If anything, I’m acting more normal than I was when it looked like I was rejecting my Arden Moss.

He walks me to all my classes. We enjoy scandalizing our classmates as much as we enjoy the kissing. After the day is done, we go to the media center to drop off my borrowed laptop. It feels good to hand it over to Mrs. Goodwin and say, “I’m turning this in. I don’t need it anymore.” I’ve decided to tell Julio that the school upgraded—that way he won’t question where the new one came from.

Mrs. Goodwin is shocked. Maybe she’s shocked that I’m turning it in. Maybe she’s shocked that Arden Moss is holding my backpack open in order to do so. Maybe she’s shocked that I’m wearing a laced-up bodice shirt and wedges instead of a T-shirt and tennis shoes.

Maybe she should get over it.

“Uh, thank you, Carly,” she says.

“I have a new laptop,” I can’t help but tell her.

Arden grins at me. I grin back. Life is good.

*   *   *

“So, the point of mudding is to get your truck stuck?”

Arden rejects my proposal with a scoff. He changes gears and mashes the gas again. The tires spin and spin but we don’t move forward. Mud shoots everywhere. The woods around us are no longer visible through the red clay caked onto all the windows and windshield. “We’re not stuck. And point? There’s no point to mudding. It’s just fun.”

But by the tone of his voice, it doesn’t sound like he’s having fun. It sounds like he might be a bit frustrated. Which is why I shouldn’t say, “It’s like the road took a crap on us.” But I do.

He flashes me a disgruntled look. “A little dirt never hurt anyone. Matter of fact, I’m pretty sure dried mud is what keeps this truck in one piece.”

Switching us into reverse, he braces his arm on the back of my seat and turns around, I guess to get a better view of us not going anywhere. “How often do you get stuck?”

“We’re not stuck. This is just a puddle for ol’ Betty.”

“My. God. You named your truck?”

Again with the gear changing. I love the natural bulge of his biceps when he’s grasping the steering wheel. But not as much as I love the natural bulge of his biceps when they’re wrapped around me.

“She’s not just a truck.”

“Oh, but she is.”

“And we’re not stuck.”

“But say we are. Then what—”

“We absolutely, positively are not stuck, are we, Betty?” He pets the dashboard before revving the gas again but to no avail. Then his butt rings. He pulls himself up enough to dig in his back pocket for his phone. “Yeah, man?” he answers.