Page 14

I love the blush that blooms on her cheeks when Sunny joins me in the closet. I know technically I’m the guilty party here. Sunny caught me skulking around in her closet, after all. But I can’t help it. Teasing her is as close to flirting as I’m legally allowed, and this discovery is a gold mine.

I just found a poster of Micah Watson plastered on the wall in Sunny’s closet.

It’s not a wholesome poster, either. It’s from the early days of our first series—one of those sweaty, bare-chested shots that we were compelled to pose for before either of us knew we had the power to say no. It’s all oiled-up muscles, low-slung jeans, and bedroom eyes that would make my brothers gang up on me. And they have ganged up on me for stuff like this.

The poster itself makes me uncomfortable. Coming face-to-pectorals with Micah in Sunny’s closet was a jump-scare, for sure. But it also brought back the feelings that surfaced out on the patio a few minutes ago when that goofball Eric showed up: Possessiveness, jealousy, and a dash of irritation. I know I’m not entitled to any of those feelings, so I’m stuffing them deep and covering them up with a heavy layer of flirtatious teasing. My reasons for coming into Sunny’s room were innocent, at least.

Geez, you can’t even think that with a straight face, Anders.

Okay, I wanted to snoop. There, I owned it.

Sunny steps next to me and her gaze follows mine. I can’t stop watching her. Tendrils of her dark hair have escaped her messy bun and are resting on her pink cheeks. I can smell her lemon Skittles smell. We’re way too close to each other in this tiny closet.

When she finally tracks the thing that grabbed my attention—the scandalous, sweaty artistic masterpiece featuring my co-worker—she laughs so loud that the sound of it fills the small space. Not the reaction I expected. I’m relieved, but sort of confused.

She’s out of breath when she says, “Oh, that? I forgot that was there. Mercer put it up as a joke during our senior year. Don’t read too much into it, buddy.” She tucks her loose hair back into her bun, like brushing off men is a daily affair for her. Maybe it is.

But then she gasps and mutters an old-timey curse that startles a laugh out of me. She pulls the door shut behind us so fast it makes her clothes flutter in the wind it creates.

“What—”

“Shh!”

“Okay, I haven’t been shushed in about twenty years,” I say at full volume.

“Then you’re overdue,” she sasses under her breath. Her wide, brown eyes blink up at me behind her glasses. We are really close now that the door is closed.

“Why did you shut us in here?” I can feel myself smirking down at her. I wish I could stop it, but I want to do a lot more than smile at her. Look at me, exerting self-control.

“My mom. I heard her coming. I’m not allowed to have boys up here,” she hisses in a rush .

Now I’m really chuckling. “I’m sorry. I don’t want to get you in trouble. Let me just jump on my bike and head back to the middle school. I’ll see you in P.E.”

“My mom has rules, wisenheimer. Strict rules.” She shoves my chest playfully. “She’s old fashioned.”

I snatch her hand and hold it in place. She isn’t going anywhere with that sassy mouth. “Then she must hate your taste in wall art.”

Her breaths are short and shallow, and her pink lips part when she gazes up at me. “I wouldn’t blame her. Micah and his oiled-up, salacious body and those come-hither eyes,” she whispers, like anyone will hear us buried in this closet.

Something boils up inside of me at her words. I don’t like this one bit, but I just shake my head. “The words you use, Sunflower,” I say through a sigh.

“You make me nervous. That’s when the nerd words come out.” Her small fingers curl around mine, making my heart jump.

“Why do I make you nervous?” I squeeze her fingers.

She squeezes back. “You don’t need to ask. You know.”

“You make me nervous, too.”

Her dark brown eyes widen. She licks her bottom lip, and it juts into a pout. She is trying to kill me. “Malarkey,” she whispers.

Deceased . I am deceased.

I inch toward her until my chest presses against her, our clasped hands the only thing between us. “You and your scandalous glasses, geriatric vocabulary, and… kissable lips.”

She sucks in a breath and her dark eyes bore into mine. “ Anders .” The word is barely audible.

Blink once if you want me to kiss you.

She blinks.

I don't have to be told twice.

I cover her lips with mine and she squeaks—just a tiny squeak, like I surprised her—then she melts against me. I grab her hip with my free hand and pull her even closer. Her clothes are kind of soaked, and I’m warming her up. Doing my duty. She whimpers against my mouth and the sound undoes me. She is way too innocent, way too good, for someone like me.

What are you doing, Anders?

We can’t do this. I’m going to ruin everything. It kills me, but I draw back.

My movement does something to Sunny. One of her hands winds into my hair and the other makes a fist in my t-shirt and she pulls me to her like I’m in trouble. And I am. Her kisses are wild and urgent now, and I’m having a hard time remembering why I started to back away. Her lips are so soft. She feels right. How can something this good ruin anything?

I’m giving in.

She must sense my surrender, because cautious, demure Sunny is gone. This new, crazed version of her yanks me deeper into the closet until we tumble into the wall, surrounded by her dresses and the smell of her perfume. I find the soft spot under her jaw and kiss a line down her throat. She shudders, pulling me closer with the hand that is tangled in my hair.

“I haven’t given you your birthday gift,” I mumble against her skin between kisses—my weak effort at distraction.

I feel her laugh under my lips more than hear it. “Is that not what this is?” Her fingers stroke through the hair at the base of my neck, sending chills down my arms.

Focus, Anders. “Nope. I have something fun for you. Two things, actually.”

Her lips find my earlobe. “This is fun.” Her sigh tickles my hair.

Okay, this has to stop. I can handle uptight, librarian Sunny. Holding her off was painful, but possible. Manageable. But kiss-crazed, wild Sunny? I am powerless against her. I’m losing control of myself, and that’s more dangerous than anything. I have to do something.

“Can I give it to you? ”

“You didn’t need to do anything.” She sighs against my neck.

I pull away, holding her at arm’s length for safety. Her innocent eyes are killing me, half-lidded and staring up behind her glasses. She’s still breathing heavily, and it makes me want to steal her breath some more.

I shake my head to clear it. “One of the things is outside, but I have one right here.”

“Ooo, outside gift and inside gift,” her velvety voice murmurs. She is absolutely not the same woman who blushed over this bare-chested poster five minutes ago. “Inside gift first.”

I wrangle my phone out of my back pocket and my stomach lurches when I see that the screen is bright. Apparently, I’m four minutes and seventeen seconds into a phone call—with Oliver. Dang .

I jam my finger onto the little red phone icon to end the call. The phone buzzes in my hand immediately. It’s Oliver calling, of course. That’ll be a fun conversation we can have later. I swipe to reject the call and open my browser to find her gift.

Meanwhile, she drags her fingers down my forearms, tracing invisible lines and making me lose my mind. Wild Sunny is dangerous.

“You can’t do that.” I shake my head. My fingers stumble over my phone screen, making a mess of what I’m trying to do.

“Why not?” She isn’t stopping.

“Because I’ll do something stupid and get us both in trouble. And you’ll never get your birthday gifts.” I hold her hand in place over my wrist.

“You’re right. We better do the outside gift first, then. I can’t make any guarantees about my behavior. I need some fresh air.” She sighs. “And a slap in the face,” she adds, under her breath.

I chuckle. Her hair is messy, and her lips are swollen. I’m loving this unhinged version of her. I straighten her glasses. “Who could blame you” — I gesture toward my body — “when you’re faced with all of this? ”

She shoves my shoulder. “All right, that does it. Get out of my closet, Anders Beck.”

She reaches for the knob, but the door doesn’t budge. She rattles the handle, but still nothing.

“Oh crap. Crappity, crap, crap,” she grinds out, twisting the knob. It turns, but the door won’t open. She rattles and shakes the thing. No dice. “Crap on a cracker.”

I’m not the smartest man, but I sense that this is the wrong moment to laugh. “Locked?”

“Yep. The stupid thing always sticks from this side. I can't believe I forgot.” Her head drops in defeat. “We need to call someone to come let us out. Ugh.”

“I think I’d rather take off the doorknob than do that. You have a screwdriver or something?”

“Do I look like someone who keeps a screwdriver on her person?”

This time I do laugh, but I try to soften the blow by kissing the back of her hand. She’s kind of irresistible. “Okay. Who’s the least embarrassing person we can call?”

She taps her index finger on her chin and her eyes flit to the ceiling. “My mom, I guess.”

“Nope. Next.” Like I need her no-boys-allowed mom grilling me. Sarah seems nice, but I’d like to start out on her good side.

“I’m serious.” She holds a hand out for my phone. “The others will tease me without mercy. They’re also rats, so they’ll wait to do it when you’re not around.” She types the number and presses the phone to her ear.

We wait in silence while the phone rings, but the call goes to voicemail. “She’s not answering. Maybe… Mercer? Or Indie? Indie would probably pick up.”

I shrug. “Whatever it takes to get us out of this closet.”

Indie picks up, and after some solid teasing and laughter, promises to come open the door. She’s definitely letting us sweat it out in here, because no less than eight minutes later we hear footsteps on the stairs—a lot of footsteps. It sounds like Indie invited a herd of cows into Sunny’s bedroom. Awesome. There are a lot of whispering and hushed giggles coming through the door. The knob rattles and the door swings open.

On the other side of the door, Sunny’s room is crowded with her entire family—Indie, Joe, Sarah, Willow, Sage, Goldie, Mercer, with Imogen holding Sarah’s hand. Her face says she is excited to catch her dad doing something silly. It’s a lot of bodies in a tiny bedroom, and every one of them is grinning at us.

“Well, well, well,” Mercer crows, in a tone that sounds eerily similar to mine. If I didn’t know my parents so well, I’d swear we share DNA.

The rest of the family is chuckling and dishing out pot shots over the top of each other. My face is on fire. I can’t even look at Sarah. I can’t handle another disappointed mother in my life. I would pose for a horde of paparazzi in my boxer shorts over this. Why do I feel so exposed?

A quiet, forgotten voice in the back of my mind answers, You’re being your old self again .

Nuh-uh , I tell the voice. We were just fooling around in here. It’s no big deal. Nothing serious. Never serious.

Exactly , the voice taunts.

No. This is different. She’s not just a pretty face—a distractingly pretty face. She’s more.

But are you really taking her to meet your family, Indiana Jones? the voice goads, sounding an awful lot like Oliver. Great, now he’s worming into my subconscious.

“Mind your beeswax!” I spit out. Audibly. Using my idiot vocal chords.

Every face swings my direction and I laugh, like I wasn’t just having a conversation with myself that ended in an argument. Mind your beeswax?! Sunny’s old lady-isms are rubbing off on me .

I push out a dramatic sigh. “Not you. Me. Being locked in a closet messes with a guy’s head.” I chuckle. “Anyway, who wants to see what I brought for Sunny’s birthday?”