Page 2 of Jagged Line Paradise

And I’m not like him. Where Andrés is dark and mysterious and sexy, I’m squirrelly and awkward and just a little weird. He says that’s what he likes about me—that I’m different than the other lowlifes in this town. I don’t know if that’s true, but I don’t question him about it, either.

I believe him.

I believe him because of the way he looks at me.

Truth is all in the eyes.

I close my eyes, make a silent wish that he and I will stay here in this paradise together forever, and I blow out the candle. His face turns to shadow as the candlelight goes out, and in the darkness, I see his truth. My lungs beg for air as he gives me a sideways grin and the hooped lip ring on the left side of his bottom lip curls up with his smirk.

Holy wow.

That sinful smirk plays crazy tricks on my out-of-control teenage hormones. The look alone could nearly have me convinced that he likes me as more than just a friend. I know that rumor had spread like wildfire at school, especially those last few weeks before graduation. But there are also other rumors about Andrés and what he does behind the bleachers with those two scary goth chicks every Tuesday night.

I know where Andrés is every Tuesday night, so I don’t think that rumor is true. Probably not...hopefully not. We meet here on the bluff every night at seven to watch the sunset. We’re often out here for hours past sundown, talking about nothing and everything all at once. So, if he’s doing what they said he was doing with those two girls, then he’s out pretty damn late on Tuesdays.

“What did you wish for?” he asks, picking the candle from the cupcake and licking the frosting off the end.

I’m momentarily distracted by the way he sucks the end of it into his mouth. My heart skips a beat and butterflies flap their wings like crazy as my mind drifts. I shouldn’t be thinking about my best friend’s tongue licking frosting off things…and places.

I shake my head and take the cupcake from his hand, working to peel the wrapper off as I turn forward to look at the mountain sunset. “You know I can’t tell you that. Then it won’t come true.”

He moves to sit beside me, hip to hip, with our legs dangling over the edge. He sets the candle down on the dirt beside him and pulls the hood of his sweatshirt up before shoving his hands into the pockets. I don’t know why he wears hoodies in the summer—it’s scorching hot until nightfall—but it’s kind of a signature look for him.

“But if you tell me what you wished for,” he says, “then I could make it come true.”

“Really?” I lick blue frosting off my finger before I set the cupcake wrapper beside me. “What if I wished for a million dollars?”

“Then I’d get it for you.”

“How?”

He chuckles. “I don’t know. But I’d figure it out if that’s what you wanted.”

I swallow hard though I haven’t even taken a bite of the cake yet. “You really have to stop being so nice to me.” I take a dramatically large bite of mostly frosting and say the next part with a full mouth and good humor. “You’re gonna spoil me.”

Andrés nudges his shoulder against mine. “You can’t spoil someone who’s already spoiled, brat.”

The way he calls me brat makes my spine tingle and I don’t know why. I’m glad the sun is falling behind the mountain line and darkness creeps in to hide my flushed cheeks.

“Did you make this?” I ask, glancing over at him to find him watching me, his eyes on my mouth as my tongue swipes frosting from my bottom lip.

His eyes lift to meet mine and he smiles. “I did. Are you impressed?”

“I am. You wanna bite?” I hold out the remaining half of the cupcake in offering.

His thick, dark eyebrows knit together as he looks at it. “Yeah. Sure.” He leans in and takes a bite from the side at a strange angle and his lips brush against the top of my finger.

It makes me flinch, but not in a bad way. It’s because of the way my stomach tightens at his touch. Touch isn’t foreign between us, it’s always been there—hugs and side jabs and the occasional playful wrestle. It’s just that things have felt different lately.

Good different.

Scary different.

“Did your mom come home last night?” he asks, licking his finger.

I sigh. “Nope. Haven’t seen her since Monday. She’s on another bender with her new flavor of the week.”

“She’s such a bitch.” It doesn’t bother me that he says that. He says it all the time and it’s true. “You’d think she’d give a shit with all the bodies turning up. I just can’t fucking understand why she’s okay letting you stay alone in that fucking trailer at night.”

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