Page 1 of Second First Kiss

1

Kat Rhodes’s sister had disappeared off the planet. One minute she was there and the next she was gone. A never-ending theme in Kat’s life, it seemed.

She refreshed her Find My Friends app, but Tessa’s dot had mysteriously disappeared an hour ago, which meant she was not at the library prepping for her SATs and likely up to trouble. The kind of trouble Kat had once invented.

Boy trouble.

Those days were long behind her, or so she thought, until she became the keeper of a teenager. She wasn’t Tessa’s legal guardian, but she was working on it. Which was why she was at Sunrise Falls—the stomping grounds for underaged partiers in Sierra Vista—instead of at work. Embarrassingly enough, she was spying on her sister’s extracurricular activities. Activities that likely included keg stands and hooking up.

“I’m so going to get fired,” she mumbled to herself.

This was the third time she’d left work in the middle of a shift to babysit. Karma was definitely paying her back for all the trouble she’d caused when she’d been Tessa’s age. Unfortunately, Karma wasn’t paying her a salary—a problem since Kat desperately needed money. Between college loans and paying off the back property taxes on her dad’s house, which she’d taken over three years ago when he’d gotten injured and lost his job as a lumberjack, she was so in the red. Her life was always in emergency mode, like the constant flashing of the exit sign during a plane crash.

Grab the parachute and escape while you can.

Only she couldn’t escape. She and Tessa were working on building trust. Another theme in Kat’s life.

Trust was harder for Kat than love. And she wanted to trust her sister, she really did, but recent history hadn’t afforded Tessa that privilege. Three years ago, when Kat had walked away from her dream college to come home and help care for her sister, Tessa had been a sweet, rule-following, people pleaser who was more into boy bands than bad boys. Then she’d grown boobs, learned the power of a push-up bra, and attracted the interest of the baddest of bad boys, R. J. Locke, and things rapidly changed. All those people-pleasing tendencies had transferred from her family to her crush.

Checking to make sure there were no bears or coyotes in the near vicinity—Kat hated bears—she hopped out of Bette Davis, her late grandpa’s 1967 yellow Ford Fairlane, which looked like a banana on wheels. She grabbed the bolt cutters from the back seat and approached the metal gate, which was blocking her entrance to the park’s grounds. It had a chain wrapped around it, securing it shut. Screwed to the center of the imposing gate was a big, official-looking sign stating:

Federal Forest Park rules:

1.Open from dusk to dawn

Um, that wouldn’t work. It was nearly eight thirty and Kat was going into that parking lot.

2.No alcohol

According to the thumping bass in the distance that rule was broken by about a hundred underaged teens.

3.No pets

Kat looked at Tiny Dancer, her miniature pony who suffered from separation anxiety and thought he was a lawn mower. TD had shown up on her front porch one morning three summers ago in serious need of a mani-pedi and some TLC. Kat’s bleeding heart had cost her a $1,000 vet bill, three throw rugs, and her favorite leather recliner, that now had a TD-butt-sized dent in it.

“One neigh out of you and your name will be glue.”

Neigh!

“Rebel,” she mumbled.

Kat studied the rest of the rules and nearly rolled her eyes when she realized there were twelve. Including but not limited to: No fires, hunting, camping, littering, or unauthorized groups over twenty.

Geez, they might as well have listed: No fun.

12. No unauthorized motor vehicles during off hours.

That wasn’t going to work since she wasn’t about to hike in a quarter of a mile over the river and through the woods in the pitch black. Even the moon was working against her—a thin slice about as bright as a single Christmas tree light. Then again, just like she knew how to handle herself—a necessity when you grow up the poor kid in town with parents who couldn’t be bothered—she also knew the importance of self-reliance.

She gave one last look at the sign and its bolded All violators will be prosecuted to the full extent of the law and shrugged off the warning. Sometimes bending a little rule, or twelve, was the right thing to do. And catching her sister in the act was the right thing to do. Too much was at stake for Tessa to be out partying on a school night.

“Buckle up,” she told Tiny Dancer. “Things are about to get interesting.”

Holding the bolt cutters, she was ready to slice through the metal when she realized someone else had already broken rule twelve, since the chain was, in fact, cut.

“I guess we’re only violating the entry part in this impromptu B&E.”

Neigh.

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