Page 42 of Never Kiss and Tell

“You were in the car?”

I nod, the familiar scar on my side burning from the memory. “He hit the driver’s door, right where Dad was. He died on impact. The car rolled a couple times and collided with a tree on my side.”

“Were you hurt?” Charlie asks, his voice deeper than usual and his eyes almost black in the pale gleam of the streetlights.

I stop on the sidewalk outside our shared house and lift my shirt over my right side. His eyes coast down my body, landing on the light pink imperfection on my skin. “The door collapsed on me and something cut me. Two weeks in the hospital and two months with no school work.”

Charlie doesn’t say anything while he unlocks the gate and leads me inside. I’m so thankful to be home that I could fall asleep in the courtyard. As long as I’m off my feet.

“Show me another star.” Charlie’s voice is gentler than I’m used to. It makes me uncomfortable after dealing with hisattitude for so long.

I suppress a smile and point to another cluster. “Andromeda. My mom loved the one. Of course,” I point to a different area. “The Big Dipper and the Little Dipper. Dad always used to call my brother the big dip and me the little dip.”

“I can see where you get your sense of humor from,” Charlie says dryly.

“You could do with some humor, Charlie.” I climb the steps to my side and wince, my cramps intensifying.

“What’s wrong?” Charlie asks, his expression unreadable as he starts toward me.

“Nothing. Just cramps.”

“Why did you agree to work?”

I eye him like he’s lost his mind. “Charlie, that’s not how periods work.”

He looks confused, but I don’t have time to explain any further. “I’m going to fall into a coma for ten hours,” I say, unlocking my door. “You have a fun night doing whatever vampires do.” Something stops me, though and I turn back to him, still standing in the courtyard. “I guess Lionel was right. You aren’t that bad. You can be nice when you aren’t focused on being a flaming asshole.”

I walk inside, but I definitely caught that grin right before I turned away.

Bailey

I’ve never really cared to listen when people told me summers in the south were hot and humid. I just thought they were being dramatic. Now, I know what they really meant. Summers in the south are like an excerpt from a sick play calledA Day in Hell. I had exited the back door moments before, planning to take a trip to Jackson Square, because I read that there is a large art show. I immediately ran inside and changed from my jeans and a shirt to shorts and a tank top so that my skin didn’t melt off.

I know Charlie is off work today, too, so I’m hoping that by using the other gate, he won’t see me trying to sneak out and interrogate me on where I’m going. He seems to have this weird idea that I’m going to be kidnapped at any second, like some high-priced artifact.

So, I grab my old leather backpack and throw a couple bottles of water inside, along with a snack and quietly tiptoe out of the house. I’m just locking the gate back up when asound behind me catches me off guard.

“Thinking of running, Bailey?”

I jump, letting out a yelp and spinning around to find Charlie leaning against the hood of an old truck. I don’t recognize it, so it must not be his. He’s covered in grease up to his elbows, but surprisingly his white shirt is still clean. I try not to stare, but the thick veins that coil up his arm have my stomach in knots and my underwear damp.

“Is that a turn on for you? Grease?”

I roll my eyes and step away from the gate, staying out of reach.

“I’m going to Jackson Square because there’s an art show.”

He gives me a stern expression, much like my dad would have. “By yourself?”

I purse my lips. “Yeah. Too bad you have to work on your truck or I’d totallynotask you to go with me.”

I start off down the street, but I make it about two steps before he’s tugging my arm back to him.

“Too bad you have to go inside and wash your arm off. My bad.” He wipes his hand up my arm, smearing a dark layer of grease up to my shoulder and tingles straight to my core.

“You dick,” I grumble and Charlie chuckles.

“Front door’s unlocked,” he says, gesturing behind me.

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