suddenly awkward because he’s looking at me too intently for a boy who’s never said more than a few words to me before yesterday. I muster up the courage to ask him about that. Why now? Why me? I open my mouth, but am silenced by his arm around my shoulder, a strong hand pulling me into him.
“I missed you last night,” he says right into my ear, with a secret, sexy voice that should have every cell in my body jumping up and down. “Where were you?”
“I had …” Movie night with Mom. “Something else to do.”
A flicker of distaste crosses his expression as he considers what could possibly have been more important than his game, and his gaze shifts in the direction where Levi had been. “Out with your parolee?”
“I was not with him.”
“Good thing, ’cause they’re saying he was there and was having a deep and heated conversation with Olivia before she died.”
Really? “Who said that?”
He eyes me. “Ready to defend him?”
“Just trying to find out what happened last night.”
He relaxes his hand on my back, sliding it down, the touch too familiar and unsettling. “Good thing you weren’t with him.”
I look up at him, my throat dry. “Why is that good?”
“I can take my shot with you,” he says with a wink.
I don’t answer, not sure what to say.
“And I never miss a shot,” he adds. “Listen, I know it’s not going to be really fun under the circumstances and all, but a bunch of kids are getting together at my house tonight. Will you come?”
The invitation throws me for so many reasons. My first instinct is to say no, of course. My mom and parties? Not happening. But then I remember that I’m staying at Molly’s and her mom is … normal.
“I’m hanging out with my friend Molly tonight,” I say. And boy, would she love an invitation.
I know he’s flipping through whatever he knows about Molly and deciding if she merits an invite. Whatever he says, it’s going to make it or break it with this guy. I don’t care how cute he is, how popular, how crushworthy. If he says—
“Bring her along.” He underscores the perfect answer with the perfect smile. “I want to be sure you show up this time.”
“Okay.”
He leans forward and surprises me with a soft kiss on the forehead. “See you tonight, Fifth.”
God, I hate that nickname even more than I hate Mack. Can’t these guys call me by my name? But I see Molly watching impatiently and I’m eager to deliver the news that we’ve been invited to a party at Josh’s house, so I just nod and smile. “See you tonight.”
It’s hard to imagine Molly’s room any messier, but getting ready for a party where we want to fit in and yet look like we really don’t care takes a lot of work. We’ve got her music playing loudly, and she’s kicking discarded tops around the floor to make space as she models wedges and skinny jeans.
“Yes?” she asks.
“Maybe a little too dressy.” I glance down at my own jeans—well, a pair I’ve borrowed from her—and a simple navy T-shirt, also borrowed.
“Only ’cause you’re in sneakers and you don’t want me to dress up.”
“Only ’cause I can’t fit in your tiny shoes. I’m fine in these.” I lean back on her desk chair and wiggle my worn Nikes.
“We could swing by your house and—”
“No!” There’s no way in heaven or hell I’m going home to get clothes or shoes. “And alert the worry police? Once she’s done fainting and listing all the things that can and will go wrong at a house party, she’ll follow us there.”
Molly giggles as if I’m actually kidding. “You must get so sick of that, Kenz.”
“You have no idea.”
The door pops open with a loud noise. “Are you guys deaf?” Molly’s twelve-year-old brother screams at us. “We’re eating!”
“Get out of here, Hunter!” Molly lunges at him. “We’re changing clothes, you freakazoid!” She slams the door in his face. “Oh my God, I hate him.”
But I know better. There’s no hate in the Russell family. There’s noise and laughter and friendly teasing and a lot of love.
A few minutes later, I can practically taste all that stuff as I sit in the chair usually reserved for Blake, Molly’s eighteen-year-old brother, who left for Ohio State this fall. Of course, he was friends with Conner, so I’m always relieved when he’s not here. I don’t like to imagine what Conner would be like now,