Page 77 of Borrow My Heart

Asher’s chuckle vibrated against my cheek. “Nice blanket, by the way.” He patted one of the flowers.

“Shut up.”

“Tell me about these dating rules of yours.”

“All you need to know is that I’ve broken almost all of them for you.”

“That’s because you’re a rebel,” he said.

I laughed. “Actually, it’s because I feel different around you. You make me want to be more open.”

“That’s called trust,” he said.

“Is that what that is? Huh.” I squeezed his knee. “You also make me feel slightly off-balance.”

“That’s called lust,” he whispered.

I smirked. “I could get used to it.”

“I could get used to it too.” He kissed me, one hand cradling the back of my neck. “You’re very kissable.”

“Kissable?”

“Yes, I want to kiss youall the time,” Asher said.

“Then why did you stop?”

He chuckled again and pressed his lips against mine.

Rule:Always date a boy who would sleep in a chicken coop for you.

“Can I borrow a pair of flip-flops?” Zoey asked the second she came through the door the next day. “I forgot mine.”

“We can just go back by your house on our way out of town if you want,” I said.

“Okay, fine, I lost mine. I can’t find them anywhere. And yes, I know if I cleaned my closet I would be able to find them easier.”

“I didn’t say a word.” I rolled my suitcase toward the door. “There’s a pair in my closet, top row of the shoe rack, third spaceover.”

“You have your shoe rack memorized?”

“The power of organization,” I sang as I opened the front door.

Dad came rushing down the hall in his coveralls and socks. “Don’t leave without saying bye.”

“I wasn’t leaving, just loading the car.”

He intercepted me and took over rolling my suitcase down the walkway to where Zoey had parked. “You’ll be back Monday?” he asked.

“Yes, want me to FaceTime you the fireworks show Saturday night?”

“Don’t worry about me, just enjoy yourself.”

But I did worry about him, all the time. “I’ll try,” I said.

Zoey came out holding a pair of black flip-flops. “Found them. It was hard, but I managed.”

“Funny,” I said.

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