“You’ve got a little something.” My hand reaches to the corner of her mouth to wipe away a speck of rogue sugar that landed too close to her plump lips. She lets out a small gasp, barely audible if I wasn’t so close. Her eyes never leave mine, and her body doesn’t flinch. Once the sugar is wiped away, I bring my thumb to my mouth and lick off the sweetness that was just planted on her face. “Tastes sweeter for some reason.” I shoot her my dimpled smile.

“That’s the brand,” she whispers out. “It’s sweeter than most they sell here.”

“Nah.” I shake my head in disagreement. “It’s you.”

22

Liza

Woah. Stupid heart, can you hear me? Because you’re really not helping a girl out at the moment.

I came to Hartley’s with the intention of celebrating his success. It’s a big deal to go from failing everything that’s assigned to earning a C on a pretty tough quiz. What better way to celebrate than homemade beignets? He had to go and act all hot with the little powdered sugar stunt, and now my head is all sorts of fuzzy.

Am I being too harsh with my no dating rule? Am I allowing Layne to ruin me for other guys without even realizing it?

After we gorge ourselves to the max on sugary beignet goodness, Hartley and I stay in the kitchen to talk for a while before he clears our plates.

“I want to see the all famous Hartley Knox’s bedroom,” I say.

His eyebrows shoot up in mischief, so I quickly correct myself. “Not like that.” Crossing my hands over my chest, I shake my head at the gorgeous specimen of a man standing in front of me.

“I have to warn you, Goldie. It’s a war zone.”

“It couldn’t bethatbad. It looks great here.” I turn to get a closer look at the living space, and it’s well kept with a cozy lived in vibe.

“Yeah, that’s because Vi and I share this space, and I’m forced to keep it halfway decent. My bedroom has the green light to be a pig’s sty,” he admits with a grin. The thing about Hartley is that he’s unapologetically himself, no matter what anyone thinks of him. “But, if you insist.” He walks toward a hallway and I follow behind, anxious to see another piece of him. We reach a cracked open, white, wooden door. He pushes it open with so much force that it bounces off the wall behind. Turning around to face me, he says, “That’s why they invented door stoppers.” I roll my eyes to the back of my head and laugh, stepping into the carpeted bedroom. He flips on the lights and fan, and I’m greeted by a sight that catches me by surprise.

“You build Legos?” Three shelves above his bed are filled to the brim with the most intricate Lego sets I’ve ever seen. Superhero models, cars, and model heads are only a few, but they are breathtakingly intricate, each tiny piece put together to make the massive collection.

Grabbing the base of his neck, he shrugs and rubs back and forth. “Yeah. Not many people know about it, but it keeps my hands busy.”

I walk slowly to the shelves, but I can’t reach. I crawl onto his unmade bed to gain more leverage until I’m eye-to-eye with the sets. I can see the tiny pieces joined together to make the big models. The sound of a deep breath escapes from behind me, so I whip my head around to see Hartley rocking back and forth on his heels. “What?”

“Nothing. . .” he hesitates. “It’s just you in my bedroom. I’m getting used to the sight at the moment.” His hand drags over his face while his neck cracks side-to-side. I shake my head and continue my admiration.

My fingers trail the intricate pieces linked together to make huge master pieces. “These are amazing. It’s like a form of art.”

“Nah. I wouldn’t go that far. Just something I like to do to pass the time.”

Dropping down to my knees on the cushiony bed, I slide my feet off the end and dangle them while I continue my conversation. “You’re not very good at taking compliments, are you?”

His eyes soften, relenting to how well I can read him. I’m not seeing Springs U’s top wide receiver, or the loud party animal that hits up Downtown Tap on the weekends. Instead, I see the boy who wants to do right so badly, but oftentimes puts himself to the side for others.

“Never got them as a kid, so I guess I’m not.”

Woah. That took me by surprise. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out Hartley’s family is MIA. He never has anyone cheering for him in games, except Violet of course, but he’s never mentioned them negatively.

“Why’s that?” I’m pushing my luck, but I’m craving to know the boy behind the goofy charm. With his hands stuck in his pockets, he meets me on the bed and takes a seat beside me, bumping my knee with his.

“Never met my mom. She didn’t want kids, so my valiant father offered to raise me.”

“You and your dad don’t get along?”

“He was just. . . there, not emotionally. More like a warm body that you want to shake and wake up out of a drunken haze. I never went without the things I needed. Besides having a real dad.” His tongue pops to the side of his cheek, as his eyes narrow, bringing him back to memories that are better left uncovered.

“That’s not okay, Hart.” My hand inches toward his, gently rubbing his thumb.

“It is what it is,” he says, staring at the ground. “Lots of people had it worse, so I can’t complain.”