I stay painfully still as I hold my hair up, letting her secure the necklace. The thing about Sebastian being a stubborn bastard is that I’m beginning to realize he may be right. Every time he touches me, it’s a little less awful. It’s not always a big thing. Usually, they’re little grazes, light touches. In Dr. Ross’s class, he almost always spends her lectures playing with my hair, running his fingers through it, winding it around a wrist, sweeping it back off my neck. Sometimes, it’s enough to make me shiver at the feel of it, sparks flying across my nerves like pyrotechnics.
“Thanks,” I say, fiddling with the cord. I take a moment to come to terms with the fact that a pair of dog tags doesn’t exactly go with the ensemble. With a tight inhale, I lift them over my head, feeling uncomfortable as I tuck them into my bag.
Vandy waves off my gratitude. “I should be thanking you. We all should. Bass has really been different since you came along. Less frantic and reckless all the time.”
I feel doubtful about that, but maybe his friends don’t realize just how much Sebastian trying to get with me was also reckless, in its own way. “He still races and stuff,” I argue.
She gives me a look. “Well, yeah. Bass is gonna Bass. But he’s also not coming back to school every weekend with a split lip and two black eyes. Or impulse buying a bunch of useless crap. Or getting trashed every Monday night with Carlton and his buddies. Or going out of his way to get shoved in the hall. I mean,” her expression turns thoughtful as she peeks out her curtains at the driveway below. “Some of that is the concussion. He really is trying to be better, so he can get back to playing. But there’s a difference between the way he was white-knuckling it before and how he’s acting now. He actually seems… settled. Happy.”
“That might not have anything to do with me,” I insist, even though a part of me hopes I’m wrong. I want to be the one to make him better, the way he makes me better. The way he can touch me and wait for it to be bearable so I can actually enjoy it. The way I was able to let Vandy’s fingertips brush my neck before and not have a complete meltdown about it.
She just shakes her head. “Trust me, it does. You’re dating now, right? Like for real together?”
I feel myself flush at my stuttered confession, “Uh, yeah, we’re… together. Whatever that means around here.”
Vandy laughs. “Why? What does it mean where you come from?”
“A lot of sex, fighting, and statistically, an unplanned pregnancy?”
She pulls a face. “Well, for the record, anyone can get condoms at the health counselor’s office. Preston’s never been conservative where sex-ed is concerned. But usually, dating at Preston involves a lot of secrecy, because our parents are the biggest drama llamas of all. At least you and Bass don’t have to worry about that.”
Great, something else to worry about. “Yeah, I’m sure his rich parents will be thrilled to learn he’s dating Cliff trash.”
“Hey,” she says, frowning. “Don’t talk about yourself like that. And I’ve never known the Wilcoxes to interfere in their kids’ lives like that. They’re pretty hands-off.”
“That’s good to know.” The last thing I need is some ornery rich parent all up on my shit about their precious son. “So, any other tips for this dinner tonight?” I ask, nerves flaring up again.
She flaps a hand. “No, you’ll be fine. But word to the wise? Take your change of clothes with you, just in case.” She gives me a wink.
“Okay,” I say slowly, gathering my things. Just in case. Whatever that means. “I should probably go wait for him outside. The muffler on that Shelby is so loud we’ll be able to hear it two blocks away.”
When we get on the porch, the sound of a ball bouncing on the driveway greets us. Emory and Reyn are running around the driveway’s basketball court playing one-on-one. Emory glances over his shoulder at us, pausing for a double take when he sees me dressed up. It gives Reyn the opportunity to knock the orange ball out of his hands, but then he stops in his tracks, eyes fixed on the driveway. I turn to see what he’s looking at and notice a sleek silver car idling behind Emory’s big truck.
“The fuck is that?” Reyn says, no longer interested in the game. His eyes are glued to the car. “Is that a 911? If that bullshit HOA is on my nuts again, so fucking help me…”
But when the driver’s side door opens, the first thing I see is that trademark blond hair. Bass steps into the light, and he’s almost unrecognizable. He’s wearing a dark gray V-neck sweater with a white collared shirt underneath. My eyes travel down to the well-fitted dark jeans and brown lace-up shoes. It’s all topped off with a black wool coat.
“Damn,” Vandy mutters, voicing exactly what’s lodged in the back of my throat. Prep school Sebastian is pretty. Greasy, unkempt, race car-driving Sebastian is undeniably hot. But this? Date Sebastian? He’s so handsome it fucking hurts.
Micha is going to die.
“Man, where did you get that car?” Emory asks, as both boys approach him—well, approach his car. Sebastian lets them pass, eyes zeroed in on me. Despite the cold, I feel hot, prickly, overwhelmed. He strolls up, gaze raking over me. “Hey V,” he says without looking at her.
“Bass,” she says, sounding a little flustered herself. “I’ve never seen you looking so…”
“Appropriate?”
She gives a wry chuckle. “Sure, we can go with that.”
“You ready?” he asks, bending to pick up my bag for me. “I’m afraid if we wait any longer, McAllister’s drool is going to fuck with the paint on the car.”
He holds out his hand and I take it, glancing over at Vandy once more. “Thanks, again.”
She nods and mouths, “Call me later.”
Bass walks me to the car and opens the door for me. Once I’m inside, he crosses the front of the car, says something to the guys, and bumps their fists. I don’t miss something passing from Sebastian’s hand to Emory’s. Whatever it is, Emory gives a salute and they wander back down the driveway.
When we’re both inside, I ask, “What’s with the car? Where’s the Shelby?”
Sebastian’s jaw moves as he smacks on a piece of gum. “I ran home to get a change of clothes for tonight and figured my other car would be more suitable for the occasion. You know, less noise, a little more comfortable.”
I run my hand down the soft leather. “It’s gorgeous.”
“Nah,” he replies, reaching out to run a warm hand down my thigh, “you’re gorgeous. Fuck, Sugar, how the hell am I going to make it through dinner when you’re going to be sitting next to me like that?”
I breathe through the spike of anxiety that ebbs at his touch, but it’s a brief, mild thing. I don’t tell him, because his ego is already the size of the moon, but the feeling is entirely mutual. “Guess this night is going to be a challenge for both of us.”
“You have no idea,” he replies, pressing a button to start the ignition.
I look over at him in his nice, crisp clothes, hair flawless, jaw clean-shaven, and can’t help but ask, “Hey, could you do me a favor?”