Page 48 of Even in the Rain

The water makes a soft rippling sound as he glides his hand farther along the tank to touch another star.

“Whoa.” His smile quirks and the dimple… that damn dimple appears. “This lil’ dude is moving… Holy crap, he’s pretty fast.”

I get off my bed and walk over to see which one caught his attention. “That’s a comet starfish,” I tell him. “It’s pretty rare to see a red one like this. Usually they’re gray or kind of purple.” And then, more softly, I add, “Her name’s Betty.”

Seb turns to look at me. “Did you just say her name is Betty?”

God, why did I tell him that? If he thought I was weird before, he’ll think I’m a total wack-job, now.

“Yeah,” I say. “I thought she sort of looked like a Betty, I guess.”

He laughs and his face is so close to mine I feel his warm breath brush my cheek. It smells like Gatorade and mint.

“Betty the Starfish…” he muses, and then lets out a low chuckle, which thankfully, doesn’t sound mocking in any way. He glides the pad of his finger gently across one of Betty’s arms. “Hey there Betty, how’s it hangin’ girl?”

And this time, I’m the one who laughs. “Are you trying to work your charms on Betty, JB?”

“Damn straight. I think she likes me… Check out how she’s snuggling right up to me.”

“Traitor,” I mumble at Betty, and Sebastian laughs.

He withdraws his hand, still so careful. “I can’t believe you have starfish in your room.” But he says it in more of an awestruck way than a weirded out way. And why whywhydoes he have to go surprising me with glimpses of sweetness every time I’m annoyed with him for something? Why does he have to seem so genuine, instead of totally fake and superficial?

I don’t know how to act around a guy who’s like this.

He glances around my room again, more slowly than his initial perusal. “Your room is really cool.”

See? He sounds so sincere when he isn’t cracking jokes.

“Uh, thanks, I guess?”

He walks around the room, taking everything in, studying the space like he’s genuinely fascinated with everything around him. The room seems so much smaller with his six-foot-two, football-playing body in it. The air feels denser, too, like it’s a little harder to breathe.

He leans across my rose-pink comforter and picks up my book, then sits down on the bed and studies it. And it seems so surreal watching Sebastian Murdoch. Sitting on my bed. In my room. Looking at my stuff.

“So, what are you reading?” he asks, turning it over.

“It’s a fantasy,” I tell him.

“Book three…” he mumbles, reading the cover. He looks up at me, eyebrows arched. “You read the other two before this?”

“Uh, yeah… That’s kind of the idea with a series.”

“Wow.” He nods slowly, like he’s genuinely impressed. “You must really like reading.”

I shrug. “If it’s a good book, yeah.”

He places it back on the bed, still looking around. His thumb is tapping against his thigh, the way it often seems to. Then his gaze lands on the puffer fish stuffy he got me and his eyes light up. “Hey!” He grabs her and turns her over in his hands. “You kept it.”

Did he really think I would throw her away?

“Did you name her, too?”

“Carmine,” I say, and he smiles again.

“Good strong fish name,” he says, tossing her in the air a couple of times like a football.

“Hey,” he says suddenly, placing Carmine back on the bed beside my pillow. “You feel like going out somewhere?”

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