Page 37 of Love so Hot

I make a face before I can stop myself. Reading? Writing? No thanks.

Lauren notices and swats my arm. "Don't be like that! It's really fun. Want me to share one?"

"Uh, sure," I say, not entirely convinced but willing to humor her.

She grins. "Remember that dream I told you about? The one with the unicorns?"

"How could I forget?" I groan. "You've only mentioned it about a million times."

Lauren laughs, the sound bright and clear in the quiet afternoon. She's still twirling her hair, and I find myself mesmerized by the motion. "Well," she continues, "I turned it into a story. Want to hear it?"

I nod, settling back against the tree trunk. "Hit me with your best unicorn action."

Lauren's eyes narrow playfully. "Why are you staring at me like that?"

Busted. I feel heat creep up my neck. "I, uh... just noticed you always twirl your hair when you laugh. It's... nice."

She stops immediately, her hand dropping to her lap. "Oh. I didn't realize?—"

"No, don't stop," I blurt out. "I mean, I like it. I like when you laugh."

Her cheeks flush pink, and for a second, I think I've royally screwed up. But then she smiles, soft and shy, and my heart does a little flip.

Suddenly, a loud buzz cuts through the air. Lauren's eyes go wide with fear. "Bee!" she yelps, practically diving into my arms.

Without thinking, I wrap my arms around her, shielding her from the angry insect. "It's okay," I murmur, trying to sound braver than I feel. "I've got you."

The bee buzzes past, but Lauren doesn't pull away. I can smell her shampoo – something floral and sweet. She feels sowarm against me, so... right. I look down, and she tilts her face up to mine.

Time seems to slow down. My heart's pounding so hard I'm sure she can hear it. Before I can chicken out, I lean in and press my lips to hers.

The kiss is brief, just a soft brush of lips, but it feels like fireworks are going off in my chest. When I pull back, Lauren's smiling, twirling her hair again. I open my mouth, not sure what I'm going to say, when?—

"What are you two doing?!"

A teacher's voice cuts through the moment like a bucket of ice water. Busted. So very, very busted.

Chapter Eighteen

Lawrence

Present

I walk through my front door, ready to face the usual silence, but—holy hell—there's Willow, looking like she just stepped off a runway. As a model, not a protester, to be clear.

"Well, damn," tumbles out of my mouth before I can catch it.

She whirls around, her face a cocktail of annoyance and... is that nerves? Her hair's still green, but darker now. Think lush forest, not neon nightmare. It tumbles over her shoulders in waves, framing her face and making those emerald peepers pop. As I stare into the color, I find it completely calming, which is a surprise for me.

"Well," she drawls, her tone screaming volumes about how much fun she had playing dress-up Barbie.

But I'm too busy short-circuiting over how knockout gorgeous she looks to care about her mood. "Willow..." My words fizzle out as I take in the rest of her. Gone are the hemp sacks she usually calls clothes. In their place? Pure elegance. Asleek black number hugs her in all the right places. This isn't my Willow—the one ready to go full Greenpeace on my ass at a moment's notice.

I close in, circling her like a shark, still trying to compute this glammed-up version of the relentless activist who's been the bane of my existence since she declared war on my pipeline project.

"Looking good," I nod, gesturing at her whole... situation. "How's it feel?"

She tucks a wayward strand behind her ear, glancing down at the fabric clinging to her curves. She heaves a sigh worthy of a telenovela star. It's like she can't decide between ripping me a new one or grudgingly admitting I might be onto something. "Well, my color was fading anyway," she confesses, that familiar spark of rebellion dimmed to a flicker. "But I wasn't about to go full corporate blonde."

---