The Year I Became Isabella Anders (Sunnyvale, #1)(28)

“That’s your question. Really?” I frown disappointedly. “I have to say, after all that build up, I thought you’d ask me something way more intense and awkward.”

His brow cocks. “Like what? If you’re a virgin or something?”

My cheeks flush, and I hate that he can see it. “No, that’s not what I was thinking at all.”

He grazes his finger across my cheek. “I forgot how cute you are when you blush.”

The movement is so quick I barely register it, but my heart accelerates, my pulse pounding against my wrist, my neck . . . everywhere.

My body is a damn betrayer, though, and my mind is yelling at me to be pissed off at him. He’s talking about the past, back when we used to hang out, and he has no right to talk about those moments he decided to pretend never happened.

“You’ve never seen me blush before,” I lie, my voice a little shaky. I run my fingers over my hair, smoothing it into place. “And I decided to change my look. It’s not a big deal.”

“There has to be a reason behind it, especially since I know you hate dresses and makeup and all that girly shit.”

“I’ve never hated girly shit. I was just confused . . . back then.” Back when you stabbed me in the heart. “And I’m not that girly.” I lift my feet and tap my boots together. “See. Totally not girly shoes.”

He bites back a smile. “Still, you’re way different, and usually there’s a reason why someone does a complete flip of the switch.”

I arch my brows. “You mean, like you?”

He grimaces. “Yeah, I guess so.”

I consider his question, but the idea of telling him what I discovered about myself and my family while I was on the trip terrifies me. “I’ll show you mine if you show me yours.”

His lips quirk, and his eyes darken. “What exactly are you talking about, Isa? Because when you say shit like that to me, my mind automatically goes right to the gutter.” His gaze sweeps up and down my body, causing me to shiver. “But I’m more than happy to show you mine.”

I roll my eyes and shove him, but laugh. “Don’t be gross.”

“Hey, you’re the one who said it,” he says with a grin.

“I meant I’ll tell you why I changed if you tell me why you changed.”

He considers what I said, but not for very long. “All right, keep your secrets then.”

“Okay, I will.” I’m only a tiny bit sad he didn’t tell me, because I’m curious why he decided to go from jock to this laid-back, I-don’t-give-a-shit-about-anything version of Kai. But mainly, I’m glad, because I don’t want to tell him my secret.

He juts out his lip, pouting again. “You’re really not going to tell me?”

“You know that doesn’t work on me, right?” I push to my feet, brushing the dirt off the backs of my legs. “I gave you a chance to know, but you didn’t want to take it.”

He rises to his feet and stretches out his arms.

I try not to stare as his shorts ride lower, but I stare a little. Unlike Kyler, Kai isn’t muscly. Toned, yes. Lean, absolutely.

“Well, maybe I’ll change my mind,” Kai says, crossing his arms over his chest and stealing my view from me. “Maybe I’ll decide to tell you all my secrets, and then you’ll have to tell me yours.”

“When that happens, then that happens.” I give a nonchalant shrug.

“Okay, well . . .” He struggles for words, seeming a little unsure of my blasé attitude.

I smile, like a full on, evil villain, I-just-kicked-your-ass smile. He’s so used to getting his way, and I can tell it’s driving him crazy that I’m not caving to his charming smiles and adorable pouts.

“Smile all you want. Just know that I have tricks up my sleeve. I’ll get you to tell me when you least expect it.”

I raise my hands in front of me and dramatically gasp. “Oh no. Whatever should I do? Kai Meyers has got tricks up his sleeve and he’s going to use them on me.” I lower my hands as he glares at me. “You forget I know the side of you that had magic tricks up his sleeve and dreamt of being a magician.”

“You promised you’d never say anything about that,” he warns, aiming a finger at me. “And that was, like, when I was twelve. I outgrew that fucking weird phase.”

“For your information, I liked that phase,” I say, reaching for my suitcases. “You may think it’s weird because it’s different, but different is so much better than normal.” When he gives me a confusedly intrigued look, I ask, “Why are you looking at me like that?”

He shrugs, scuffing his boots against the concrete. “It’s nothing.”

“It’s something.” I tug on the bags and start dragging them up the stairs. “You’re looking at me like I’m . . . I don’t know, funny or something. And I wasn’t trying to be funny.”

“It’s not that.” He snatches a bag from my hand. “I was just thinking how you still sound like . . . you.”

“I am still me. Just in different clothes. So, stop being weird.” I move to grab my bag back, but he dodges out of my reach and somehow manages to steal the other one from me.

“Isa, for God’s sake, let me try to be a gentleman,” he says, heading for the backdoor with my bags.