The Replaced(40)

It was a small paperback that I recognized right away, a book I’d seen in school probably, but that I’d also heard Tyler mention: Slaughterhouse-Five. I had no idea what it was about, but without thinking, I shoved it in my back pocket.

“Oh, shoot,” Natty said, pausing when Simon and I were already on the porch. “I left the backpack.”

We definitely couldn’t leave the backpack behind. It had our fake IDs, some cash, and a few other things Simon thought we might need if our vehicle was discovered and we had to make a run for it. “I’ll be right back,” Natty said as she disappeared back into the library.

Outside, it was still daylight, but according to my new pink wristwatch, we were down to our last thirty-six minutes. Totally manageable.

Nervous to be alone with Simon again, especially after what had just happened back there, I cleared my throat, then crossed and uncrossed my arms. “Look,” I started, meaning to bury the hatchet once and for all. “I’m sorry about that. Back there. With the book . . .”

“I guess we’ll have to work on that temper of yours.” Simon was lounging with his back against one of the tall pillars of the porch, and watching me closely.

I meant to tell him he had it all wrong, that I’d have to find some other ways to tap into this weird ability of mine because I couldn’t walk around being all wound up all the time, but I never got the chance because that’s when I spied the patrol car. Not that it was hard to see, coming right down the street the way it was.

I had no way of knowing if they were looking for us because of the incident at the bowling alley, or if the librarian actually had heard the commotion downstairs and called the cops, or if it was just a giant coincidence, and these guys were on their way to someplace else entirely. But panic set in, making it damn near impossible to breathe.

Simon and I were sitting ducks. We had no place to go, and whoever was in that car would easily spot us.

So, I did the only thing I could come up with.

“Follow my lead,” I gasped as I launched myself at Simon. I wrapped my arms around his neck and crushed myself against him. I pressed my lips to his, pretty much demanding that he kiss me back.

I thought he might protest, maybe even ask what the hell I was doing since he hadn’t seen the cop car the way I had. But he didn’t. He was either smart enough to recognize I had a plan, or he was completely willing to disregard the fact that I’d just assaulted him with a book, and he let me kiss him.

But I was the one who was really taken by surprise.

Simon’s lips were a million times softer than I expected they’d be, even though I told myself I’d never thought of them at all. And there was this brief moment, just the shortest of pauses, during which I swear I felt his breath catch in the back of his throat, right before his entire body relaxed and one of his arms slipped around my waist. That was when he tugged me even closer to him.

When his lips parted, and his tongue brushed mine, I nearly abandoned my plan altogether—to hell with saving our asses!

Simon totally should’ve known better. Everyone knew the first rule of fake kissing: no tongue.

But my instincts for self-preservation kicked in, and I knew there was no backing out now. Not without knowing for sure if we were still being watched or not. The only chance we stood of pulling this off was to fully-totally-absolutely commit.

We had to become one of those couples I’d always rolled my eyes at in the school hallways—the ones who went at it so unabashedly, they made you wish you could stab your own mind’s eye out.

Slipping my hand from the back of his neck, I tested the feel of his skin, tracing the line of his jaw, which was slightly, but not totally, stubbled. I ran the pad of my thumb over it, and breathed in the scent of him—something like leather and cigarette smoke from the bowling alley and the onion-y taste of his breath.

Simon explored as well, letting his tongue trace the inside edge of my lower lip.

I trembled, which had nothing at all to do with the way his fingers feathered along my spine, or the way his teeth grazed my lip, or the feel of his body pressed against mine, and I swore I heard him let out a low, breathy chuckle. Part of me wanted to stomp on his foot for being so bigheaded, but I was too busy trying to play the hero, so instead I kept up the performance of two teens who couldn’t keep their hands off each other.

I pressed my palm flat against his chest, mapping the hard lines and lean muscles, probing and testing. The swirling in my stomach was surely a bad reaction to the fried foods I’d choked down at the bowling alley, and definitely not at all to Simon.

“Ehem!” Natty shouted, a sound that was so obviously not her clearing her throat that I probably would’ve laughed if I wasn’t already dying of embarrassment over the part where she’d caught the two of us kissing. “You two need some privacy?” Even without looking at her, I knew she meant the thing where I was still draped all over Simon.

“Are they gone?” I asked against Simon’s teeth, while Simon kept his arm secured around my waist.

Natty sounded uncertain when she answered, “Are who gone? I have no idea who you’re talking about.”

“The cops.” But from Natty’s bewildered tone I already had my answer, and I shoved away from Simon.

I told myself that it was normal to feel a little tingly, my head just a tad—a tad!—fuzzy, after such close contact. It would be weird if I didn’t feel that way.