Trade Me (Cyclone #1)(43)

“Yeah?” She glances my way dubiously, and when she sees me watching her, quickly turns back to the street. “Tell me, Blake. What are the chances that you’ll stay here? That we can kiss now and not break up later?”

The truth is, I’m only here until I get a grip on my problem. My dad needs me. The instant I’m capable of walking away, I will.

I shake my head.

“Exactly,” she says. “That’s what I would put our chances at. Approximately zero. I freaked out on you. But I had a good reason.”

She turns onto the street where I’m staying. She doesn’t say anything and I don’t either. She pulls up in front of the house, and finally I turn to her. She’s not looking at me; she’s staring down. Her hands tangle on the black leather wrapping the wheel. Her hair is loose around her face, obscuring her from my sight.

I open the door and step out into the night. Her head is bowed; she doesn’t look at me as I walk around to her side of the car and open her door. She turns, looking up at me.

She’s told me why she can’t kiss me; she hasn’t said why she did it in the first place. She doesn’t have to. I can see it in the way her eyes refuse to leave mine. I can see it in the way her lips press together, and then slowly, her tongue darts out, wetting them. I can see it in the darkness of her eyes.

Hell, I tasted it on her the other day.

“It’s okay,” I say. “I get it. Hell, I’m terrified for you.”

I can hear her breath in the silence of the night. She looks down and then away. Her hand clenches, and then she undoes the seatbelt. She stands, even though that puts her right next to me. I can feel the heat of her, so close I could touch her.

I don’t.

There’s never anything like real stars around here. Just a few of the brightest constellations and the lights of planes overhead. Still, she tilts her head up, looking into the night sky.

“I don’t know why anyone thinks that looking at the stars is so romantic,” she says. “Have they ever read Greek mythology? It’s all the same story—God sees mortal, God desires mortal, mortal suffers gruesome fate and is rewarded with an eternity of pain in the cosmos.” She shrugs.

“You could always make up your own stories.”

But she’s already shaking her head. “No. Those stories are written in the stars already, Blake. They’re written in stardust millions of years old. I don’t think I get to change them.”

“Then I’m thankful for light pollution,” I say.

She makes a little noise, something close to a laugh, and it sets off a cascade of desire in me.

You’d think I would be spoiled after a lifetime of getting anything I’ve ever wanted. Maybe I am. But I’ve spent a year wanting, a year yearning for something that deep down, I’m afraid I’m never going to get. This new, frustrating level of want is right up my alley.

And at least wanting Tina won’t kill me.

“You’re a lot more decent than I thought you would be,” she says.

I want to hold her right now, to put my arms around her and tell her it will be all right. But I can’t even tell myself that.

And so instead, I run my thumb down her cheek. I know I shouldn’t touch her. I know I shouldn’t think this. I know that I shouldn’t let my hand rest on her lips.

But I do.

“Good night, Tina,” I say. “Don’t look at the stars.”

“I won’t,” she says. “They don’t mean anything anyway.”

TINA

Blake looks tired when he slips into the seat next to me in the theater seating for our class. The little things bring me to that conclusion. After a few weeks of our trade, his usual attire—business slacks and a button-down shirt—no longer look so crisp. The cuffs aren’t perfectly ironed. His hair lies flatter against his head, and he doesn’t smile at me in that same cocky way. Instead, he slouches in the seat next to me.

If this attraction were just a matter of social programming, those small changes would break down the desire that I feel. Now that he’s not sending off those same power signals, I shouldn’t want him so much.

Instead, the moment feels intimate, like I’ve caught him off his guard. Like we’re both off guard, floundering, reaching for each other.

I glance over at him. “Hi, Blake.”

His eyes meet mine. God, I can’t stop thinking about kissing him. About his hands on my body, about the heat that sparked up between us. It’s been two days since I kissed him, two days during which I’ve tried to draw the line back to where it was before I crossed it. Two days in which I’ve tried to pretend that this—whatever this is—is not happening.

“Tina.” He takes out a pen, some paper.

No matter what I told him, no matter what I said, I know I’m in trouble.

I need to build a wall between us, a wall that shields me from hope. Right now, my fantasies are whispering. What if I just…let it happen? What if the stars are wrong? What if it doesn’t end?

Every little girl dreams of a prince to take her away from the drudgery of life, someone who will sweep her off her feet and take care of her. It’s something that comes from that first swell of Disney music that we hear as children. And the truth is, Blake would be such a prince. He’s sweet. He’s caring. He looks at me like there’s nobody else in the world. And he kisses like…