Page 8 of One Last Time

Noah put the car in park while I fidgeted with my house key.

“So I’ll pick you up tomorrow to head to the beach house?”

I almost rolled my eyes and said,No, silly, I’ll be riding with Lee,before remembering that wasn’t how this went anymore. Not because of Noah, but because Lee had a girlfriend to ride shotgun now, in my place.

As if reading my mind, Noah added, “My parents are gonna be driving Lee and Rachel. I was gonna take the bike.”

I grimaced, but it was more playful than anything else. “Oh, come on, you know I hate that two-wheeled death trap.”

“And youreallyhate having an excuse to cuddle up close to me…,” Noah murmured, the smirk I knew so well tugging at the corner of his mouth as he leaned across the center console toward me.

“Loathe it,” I confirmed. “Utterly and completely.”

He turned his head, his lips brushing over my jaw, making me gasp. My eyes fluttered at the sensation, my skin tingling where his mouth moved lightly up toward my ear. “So I’ll pick you up at nine?”

I nodded, twisting to catch his mouth with mine. I’d never tire of this, I decided.Never.(And if I joined him at Harvard, I’d never have to be away from this feeling….)

Reluctantly, I pulled away eventually. “Are you comingin?”

“Nah. I know Lee was heading home after taking Rachel back to her place, and I’d feel like a terrible son if I left my parents alone with him right now. Even if I’m on his side.”

I couldn’t resist a smirk of my own, and I pushed his shoulder lightly. “Look at you, Noah Flynn, all grown up, making these mature decisions.”

Would I change this much after a year at college, too?

Would Lee?

His cheeks turned a faint shade of pink. “Yeah, yeah, Shelly, get over it. Say hi to your dad and Brad for me.”

“Will do.”

We kissed again—this one notquiteas long as the last—before I got out of the car.

I let myself in, Noah idling by the sidewalk in his car until I turned to wave him off, then called out that I was home.

“We’re in here,” I heard Dad call from the kitchen, where I found him and Brad playing a game of Uno.

“Room for one more?”

“Sure,” Brad said, drawing the word out into about four syllables—making me immediately suspicious. “Come deal yourself in, Elle.”

They waited patiently as I dropped my purse, joined them on the other side of the table, and picked up some cards from the pile in the center.

“It’s my turn,” Brad announced. “And then it’ll be your go.”

“Okay.”

He slammed down a card. “Pick up four! Change to…green!”

I groaned, dropping my cards facedown. “Oh, man, come on! You’ve gotta be kidding me!”

“Them’s the rules,” Dad said. “Sorry, bud.”

He didn’t sound in theleastbit sorry that I’d swanned in at just the right moment to spare him from picking up four more cards when he was down to three.

He high-fived Brad under the table, the two of them snickering as I collected another four cards and searched for a green card. Which I absolutely did not have. I had to pick up three more from the pile before I got one I could play.

“Today is not my day,” I muttered, lamenting the sheer number of cards I now held.