“My favorite.”
I roll my eyes. “Everything’s your favorite nowadays, as long as it’s in your belly.”
Beck’s gotten really tall over the summer—way taller than most boys our age. He says it’s from my mom’s cooking.
He rubs his stomach. “I’m a man, Pres. A man needs to eat a lot to have enough fuel to work on the ranch.”
I laugh. “You’re getting ahead of yourself, a little bit, don’t ya think? You’re thirteen, Beckett. Not thirty.”
“Close enough.” He smirks.
“Have you ever kissed a girl? With tongue?”
He sputters a little from my abrupt change in topic. “Why do you ask?”
I shrug. “I dunno. Most of my friends are kissin’ boys already. I guess I wanted to see what all the fuss is about.”
He props a boot against the wall and leans back. “Well, I couldn’t tell ya because I haven’t done it. You’re the only girl I ever spend time with.”
My toes curl inside my boots. I didn’t think Beck had kissed another girl, because like he said, he’s always with me, but it could’ve happened at school or something. I see how some of the girls look at him. Okay, most of the girls.
“Well, then we should kiss and see what’s so special about it.”
“W-What?” He pulls the hat over his head again. “Uh… I don’t think that’s such a good idea, Pres.”
I tap my toe in irritation. “Well, why not?”
“You’re my best friend, Presley. Friends don’t go around kissing each other.”
“What the heck is wrong with you, Beckett?” I throw my hands up. “Why have you been actin’ so strange lately?”
He hooks his thumbs into the pockets of his jeans and rocks back on his heels. “What do you mean?”
“We’ve been friends for eight years, and you’ve never been this way before. Every time I want to hold your hand, or hug you, or go swimmin’—things we’ve always done—you act weird like I gross you out or something.”
“You definitely don’t gross me out,” he mumbles.
“Well, then what’s the problem? Is this because I got my period? Because I’m gettin’ boobs?”
His head snaps up. “What? No.”
Great, now he’s staring at my boobs. They’re probably not big enough for him—I’m only in an A-cup. I know they’ll probably get bigger, but my friend, Nicky, is our age, and she’s already wearing a C-cup. I bet he likes her boobs.
“Do you think I’m ugly?” I press. “Do I smell bad? Why don’t you want to kiss me, Beckett?”
“It’s none of those things!” he shouts. “I like you, okay? Are you happy now?”
“Well, of course, you like me. I’m your best friend.”
“No, Pres,” he groans. “I mean, I like you, like you.”
Oh.
“Really?”
“Yeah, really.” He gulps.
I smile. “Well, then we should definitely kiss.”
His jaw drops. “Are you serious?”
“Yes, I’m bein’ serious.” I step into him and pull off his hat, tossing it to the side. Beckett’s eyes widen as I tug on his flannel shirt, so he has to bend over a bit. “Now kiss me, you idiot.”
I wet my lips when he stares at them.
“Pres, I don’t k—”
Beck doesn’t get to finish what he was saying because I press my mouth against his. He’s frozen for just a moment, but then his lips soften, and he starts kissing me back. I’m a little startled when his tongue goes inside my mouth—it feels kind of weird—but not gross, I don’t think. I mirror his movements, and before I know it, we’re full-on French kissing.
Holy crap! Beck Armstrong’s tongue is in my mouth!
I can’t help it; I start to giggle, which causes him to pull away.
“Am I doin’ it wrong?”
I shake my head. “Nuh-uh. Did it seem weird to you?”
He thinks about it for a second. “Not even a little. You?”
“Nope. So, do you wanna be my boyfriend then? Because I want to do that a lot more, and we should probably be boyfriend, girlfriend if we’re gonna be kissin’ all the time.”
Beck’s eyes bulge. “Do you wanna be my girlfriend?”
“Of course I do.” I give him a duh look. Sheesh, boys are really stupid sometimes.
He nervously rubs the back of his neck. “We have an hour before dinner’s ready. Do you wanna make out some more?”
I give him the biggest smile I can manage. “Okay!
Chapter Six
Presley
“This the right place?”
I glance up at the old farmhouse I spent the first half of my life in. “Yes, it is. Thank you again for taking me all this way.”
I take out enough money for the meter, plus a generous tip. This poor guy is going to have a three-hour drive back, and it’s already after ten.
He smiles as I hand him the cash. “Have a good night.”
“Thank you. Drive safe.” I take a deep breath and get out of the cab.
As the taxi pulls around to head back down the long drive, its headlights flash right at my parents’ bedroom window. It’s just after ten, which in New York, the night’s just getting started, but on a ranch, it might as well be last call. For as long as I can remember, my parents were up before sunrise, getting a head start on the day. I suppose it doesn’t matter if the car’s bright lights woke them because I don’t have a key to get inside, so I’d have to wake them anyway.
Right before my foot hits the first step, the porch light flicks on. I freeze, mentally preparing myself for what’s about to happen. Too bad no amount of preparation could control the flood of emotions that hit me the second I see my father’s face through the screen door. God, he looks so much older.
“Can I help you, miss? If you’re lookin’ for Clayton, I’m sorry to say, you’ve got the wrong driveway. It’s the next one over.”
For a split second, I feel like I’m sixteen again, repulsed by the fact that my father assumes I’m one of my brother’s many girlfriends. I swear, that boy will never settle down.
Here we go.
“No, Daddy, it’s me.” I make my way up the stairs to the front porch.
“Presley?” He quickly pushes the screen door open and steps outside. “What are you doing here? Why didn’t you tell us you were comin’?” He looks over his shoulder. “Annie, get out here! Presley’s here.”
My mother arrives just as I’m removing my hat. She slams a hand over her mouth to stifle her gasp as I turn my face into the light. My eyes move over to my dad, where equal parts rage and confusion twist his features.
“Presley Anne, what on God’s green earth happened to you? Did you get in some sort of accident?” My father steps forward and reaches for my hand. Out of habit, I instantly recoil, taking a step back. I don’t miss the hurt and disbelief in his eyes when I do.
I hang my head in shame. I hate that I’m so jumpy around men—I’ve been this way for years—but ever since Sebastian first... well, let’s just say I’ve learned to shy away from the opposite sex. Especially men who are as imposing as my father is.