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Ohgodohgodohgod.

“Elena,” he said, sounding horrified.

His use of my full name told me just how badly I’d fucked up. I’dkissedJake. His eyes were wide as he wiped his mouth, as though he wanted to erase the kiss from his body and memory. “We can’t.”

“I-I’m sorry,” I whispered. “I shouldn’t —” Tears burned in the back of my throat, but I couldn’t cry in front of Jake. “I have to go,” I muttered, turning and sprinting back toward the kitchen.

“Lena, wait!”

But I didn’t wait. I ran.

That was the last time I saw Jake Carson.

“I’m ready,” I say quietly, yanking myself out of the hazy nightmare.

I’m not sure how polite to be to Jake, all things considered. My sixteenth birthday is ancient history — he probably doesn’t even remember it. I know he thinks he’s doing me a favor by offering himself up as my chaperone.

On the other hand, he’s participating in Raf’s plan to control me for the rest of my life, so my feelings toward him aren’t super warm. At least, theyshouldn’tbe.

“Diviertete y ten cuidado,” says my mom as I wrestle my suitcase over the threshold.

I roll my eyes.Have fun and be careful.Mom’s been saying the exact same thing to me since I was twelve. “Always am, Mamá.”

“No te preocupes, Juana,” says Jake, reaching down and grabbing my suitcase by the handle. He also takes the garment bag I have slung over the arm of the couch.

Mamá beams at him.

I bite the tip of my tongue to hold back a grin at Jake telling my mother not to worry. He’s always made an effort to speak Spanish at my house since my mom’s self-conscious about her English. It started with a few broken lines that she would patiently correct, and now he’s actually decent.

Suddenly, it hits me how much Jake was over here. He spent more time at my house than he did at home.

I follow Jake out to his Jeep. He doesn’t even glance toward the house next door. Another family lives there now, but the house is exactly the same. I climb into the front seat as he loads my suitcase in the back, trying to relax.

I’m doing okay until Jake slides in beside me, filling the inside of the Jeep with his familiar scent. Jake smells like clean laundry and some delicious aftershave he wears, but there’s also a warm spicy scent that is unique to him.

“You didn’t have to do this,” I tell him quietly. This is my last chance to bail.

“Do what?” he asks, looking confused.

“Give up your weekend to go to a wedding for people you barely know. I shouldn’t have let Raf rope you into this.”

“He didn’t,” says Jake, flashing that easy smile that makes me weak in the knees and draping a hand over the steering wheel.

I shoot him a disbelieving look, and he chuckles. The sound rumbles through my whole body, warming my insides.

Shit. Apparently, six years and a traumatic brain injury aren’t enough to make a person immune to attraction. Jakestillmakes me all tingly and stupid inside.

“Like I said, it’ll be fun. Open bar. Good food.Dancing.” He looks over at me and lifts an eyebrow. “I know how much you lovedancing.”

My lips twist into a smile despite my best efforts. I’ve been dancing since I was three. I was training to start my career as a professional ballet dancer when the accident brought my dream to a grinding halt.

For a while, no one knew if I’d ever walk again — let alone dance. Traumatic brain injuries can cause a lot of crazy symptoms, and some can linger for years.

A year after my TBI, I was still struggling with balance, which meant a career as a prima ballerina was out. So I transferred to the Boston Conservatory at Berklee to study contemporary dance.

“And Idoknow Carmen,” Jake adds. “You two were thick as thieves when we were younger.”

I raise my eyebrows. I’d been looking forward to Carmen’s wedding for the better part of a year, but with Jake, I don’t know how to act. He might not remember my sweet sixteen, but I sure as hell do. I’m not that girl anymore, but I still feel the sting of his rejection and the heat of embarrassment as though it were yesterday.