“Nathan!” Mom screeches, slapping him on the chest.

   He grabs her in his arms and kisses her—like, full-on making out. It’s not the first time I’ve seen them do that, but still . . . gross!

   “All right, guys, I’ll leave you to it,” I say and head out to her room. I knock on the door.

   “Jake?”

   “Yeah, it’s me.”

   “Come in.”

   “Who were you expect—” I cut myself off when I see what she’s wearing. She’s freshly showered and in her pajamas—bright-red boy shorts and a matching tank.

   Instant semi.

   “Well, I didn’t really want anyone else seeing me like this.” She motions up and down her body. Damn right, no one else will see her like that!

   She moves to her dresser and fishes through a little wooden box. I lie down on her bed. She turns around and sees me there. She looks confused, eyebrows drawn together, thinking . . . or remembering?

   Then it hits me. I’m lying on the bed that she’s probably had sex with James on hundreds of times.

   I jump up and make some lame grunting noise. When I look at her, she’s glaring at me with a “What the fuck?” look on her face.

   “What’s wrong?” she asks.

   My jaw hurts from clenching it at the thought of her and James together. “I just don’t really feel like lying on the same bed that you and that asshole ex of yours had—”

   “Oh!” she gasps, surprised. “We never—I mean, he never . . . Well, not that . . . Oh, God!”

   “You’ve never had sex on this bed?” I ask incredulously.

   “No, we never even fooled around on it, I promise. You’re safe.” She laughs.

   “Thank God,” I sigh in relief and lie back down. “Then why were you looking at me like that?”

   “I’ve never seen a boy on my bed before. It was just . . . I don’t know.” She blushes and looks at the floor.

   “Come here.” I motion next to me. She lies down on her side and moves my right arm so she can nestle in the crook. I stay on my back, her head resting on my chest. A comfortable silence fills the room.

   I’m almost asleep when I feel her hands move, her breath blowing out as she sighs. My other hand is resting on my stomach, and she moves hers so that our fingertips are touching. She spreads her fingers and pushes her palm against mine. We look at our hands. Our skin is only lightly grazing—a soft touch, yet it feels so intimate, like we’re more than what we are. I know I want to be more—more than this.

   I intertwine my fingers with hers and touch something I haven’t felt before. I pull our hands closer in and look. She’s wearing a diamond ring and a wedding band on her ring finger and another wedding band on her right thumb. “Are these your parents’ rings?” I ask quietly.

   “Huh? Oh yeah, they are. I probably shouldn’t be wearing them—like it’s disrespectful or something. But it makes me feel closer to them.”

   “It’s not disrespectful at all, Kayla,” I whisper, kissing her hair. “If anything, it’s beautiful. Those rings are a symbol of their love, and so are you. I bet when they put those rings on each other’s fingers, they didn’t have a clue they’d create someone as special as you.”

   She smiles sadly. “Have I told you how they met?”

   I shake my head.

   “Mom was twenty-one, and Dad was eighteen. He worked part-time delivering flowers. One day he delivered some to Mom, and she signed for them. But they weren’t for her. When she read the card and realized he had delivered them to the wrong address, she rang the company. Dad had to pick them up and redeliver them to the right address, but not before getting her number. That night, he called her and they spent hours on the phone, talking about anything and everything. Mom actually had a boyfriend at the time, but apparently he was an asshole. He worked the night shift, so she set her alarm for the morning. Around the time she knew he got home, she called him and broke up with him. Two weeks later, Dad pretty much moved in with her. They fell in love instantly, Jake. It was like he went to the wrong address on purpose.

   “Mom used to always tell the story when I was little. My friends’ parents would read The Little Mermaid and Snow White to them, but my parents told me my very own fairy tale. That’s what Mom called it—their fairy tale. I believe in it, too—that instant, intense love. It’s fate.”

   She sits up to look at me. Tears brimming in her eyes, she tries to talk through the lump in her throat. “I believe in happily-ever-after.” She looks at me with so much emotion, I hope to hell that I’m reading her right—that the look she’s giving me is telling me everything I want to know. She believes in fate, in love—in us, forever.

   She stands up and walks to the window. This room never had windows before—it was just storage. Dad must have had them installed. She opens the curtains and stifles a laugh. “Have you seen this yet?” she asks, turning around to face me.

   I try to figure out which way we’re facing. I come up behind her and look outside. Her window faces the window in my room. The garage is detached from the house, but not by much. I could easily climb out my window and jump the space between the two roofs. “My dad totally did this on purpose.”

   “Your dad is so my fave person over thirty-five.”

TWENTY-THREE

MIKAYLA

   I turn away from the window, and he is right there. My chest presses against his. When I look up, he’s staring at me, his eyes filled with desire.

   “You know,” he says, placing his hands on my waist and shifting us slightly to my left. “We never really talked about what happened the other morning.”

   My eyes move away from him. I can’t face him anymore.

   He takes one step forward and pins me against the wall, lifting my chin with his finger so I have no choice but to look at him. He raises an eyebrow.

   I squeak.

   He smiles. “Kayla,” he whispers. His head falls to my shoulder and his lips lightly graze my skin. He opens his mouth and his tongue slightly darts out to touch me. My skin breaks out in goose bumps, and I shiver—but not from cold. His hands are on my waist again, his thumbs moving up and down on my stomach, just under my top. I close my eyes and take a deep breath, biting my bottom lip to stop myself from pressing my mouth against his.

   When I open my eyes, he’s watching me. He pushes himself against me, and I can feel how much he wants this—how much he wants me. He kisses me along my neck to my jaw and near my mouth, but he stops himself from kissing my lips. He groans as his hands dip into my shorts and under my panties, gripping my bare ass.