run. “I want to hear you say that was some major bullshit.” Giving chase, Smith hits me again. “I’m not stopping until you say it, Lennie.”
“Fine!” I spin around, putting my hands in the air to signal my surrender. “I was feeling sorry for myself and it was bullshit. Are you happy now?”
Smith pauses with another giant clump of earth waiting in his fist. Letting the dirt trickle to the ground, he nods. “Totally happy.”
“Great,” I grumble as I run my fingers through my hair, trying to shake all the dirt free.
“Of course, you had to find the dirtiest way possible to make your point.”
He grins, totally unrepentant. “I work with what I got.”
“Jerk,” I respond, the word coming out gentle, maybe even affectionate. Some subtle shift just happened between me and Smith, one I’m gonna need a little more time to fully understand. But already I know enough to tell that I like it. “We should go,” I say, reminding myself of Larry waiting only a few houses away.
I spin to head for the Jeep, but before I even make it two steps Smith snags the hem of my shirt and reels me in until the back of my shoes hit the tips of his. His knuckles graze the sensitive bare skin at the base of my spine. It’s only the slightest of connections and yet my neurons race up my spine to my brain screaming TOUCH TOUCH TOUCH. I feel his breath, warm against the back of my neck. “I should’ve said it earlier, but thank you. For the wish. For Dyl. For—”
I whirl around, needing to see his mouth moving and these hushed and humble words flowing out of it, just so that I know for sure that I’m not imagining this. But as soon as I face him he goes silent and almost glares at me in this smoldering way, which is annoying but also sort of hot, which also makes it even more annoying . . . and hot. It’s a vicious cycle.
Dumb, I know. Stupid that I have to keep reminding myself that having my hand permanently connected to Smith’s would be a bad thing. And when he acts protective and nice and actually worried about me . . . well, that makes it so much worse. If I don’t get away from him pronto, the next thing you know I’ll be cutting off my hand and giving it to him, insisting that he needs it more than me.
And yet I can’t seem to stop myself from crossing the few inches of distance between us and giving Smith a “you’re welcome” kiss.
Actually, I’m not even sure if it qualifies as a kiss. It’s a brush of lips against his rough cheek, so short that I barely connect with the warmth of his skin beneath the dark stubble. And then I am stumbling backward, as if he’d pushed me away, but it’s only my own mortification chasing me, while Smith follows, reaching out, and I reflexively give him my own hand in return, our fingertips brush—
Remembering, I snatch my hand away again.
Smith’s outheld hand falls as if it’s suddenly made of lead. “I wasn’t—” He gives a sharp shake of his head. “Never mind.”
And just like that, I can feel all the progress we made crumbling away.
“Right. Yeah.” My head pumps up and down a few times in enthusiastic agreement. “Larry’s probably wondering what happened to me,” I say, unable to deal with this moment.
Smith nods, then turns, strides across the grass, and gets back into the Cherokee without another word. And I am left feeling like I somehow lost the one thing about this whole situation that didn’t totally suck.
And that sucks even worse.
HELL
Michaela’s driveway is still packed with cars, but other than that, nothing looks weird or out of place. “Who’s that?” Smith asks as we pull to a stop.
A tall skinny guy plays basketball on the half-size court on the side of the house. And he’s good—no, he’s amazing. Sinking every basket, dribbling and running the ball like he was made to do it. The sun high above us makes his wild red hair look like it’s alive.
That’s when I realize who he is. And I remember another wish.
Seanie O’Hara standing in front of me, so short that the top of his head just barely reached my chin. I remember he had to sorta lean back to look up into my eyes, before he said, “I wish I was a little bit