His thumb brushed my lower lip. “We still on for seventh period?”

“Yeah.”

The heat in his eyes settled very comfortably in my chest, “I can't wait.”

***

I was ready to call it a day by seventh period. Clearly the rumor mill was working overtime about Bastian and me. I didn't mind my name being paired with his, but after spending the past three years nearly invisible, it was a bit overwhelming to be in the spotlight. Breathing became easier when I stepped into the safe and familiar space that was the art room.

Ms. Whitney was just leaving when I entered. She lived like a throwback to the seventies: brightly-colored flowing skirts, auburn hair parted in the middle that hung lose and curly around her shoulders and a lithe and graceful way of moving that made it seem like she floated when she walked. “Hey, Lark. I need to run this down to the office. I won't be long.”

She was gone before I could reply. Only a minute or two later, Bastian entered.

“Hi, Lark.”

“Hey. Give me a minute to collect the paintings. Why don't you sit over there by those easels?”

“Okay.” His long, strong legs carried him across the floor. Suddenly I was feeling rather warm in my sweater.

I pulled my gaze from the masterpiece currently straddling a stool and retrieved some of my work. My pulse pounded in my veins as I sorted through my paintings because I was nervous. Outside of my friends, the Wrights and Ms. Whitney, no one I knew had ever really shown an interest in my art. Even my uncle, who claimed interest, felt more like he was fulfilling an obligation when he viewed my pieces. This boy, whom I'd known for barely a week, was interested, had even requested a viewing.

One of the pieces I selected was an oil painting of a covered bridge with turbulent water churned up from a thunderstorm. Another was a sketch of an old man and a little girl playing chess in the park. I chose another painting—a particular favorite—because based on our discussion at lunch, it seemed appropriate. It depicted a field of wildflowers, but not when they were vibrant and vital, but when they had lost their luster and were just hanging on.

Placing my art on the easels for Bastian to view, I stood to the side and watched him but I couldn't read his expression. He studied them, really studied them, for a while before his gaze shifted to me. “You're incredible.”

Such simple words and so easily given and yet, for me, it was the finest compliment I had ever received.

He pointed to the field of wildflowers. “What do you call that one?”

“Mainstream.”

He reached me in two long strides. I felt my heart doing somersaults when his hands wrapped around my face. He lowered his head so that our lips were almost touching. Tracing my lower lip with the pad of his thumb, he didn't need to speak what was on his mind since I saw it burning in his eyes. Anticipation lit through me as I waited impatiently to feel his lips against mine, but a noise just outside the door pulled us apart. Ms. Whitney was back. Disappointment so profound washed over me and when I happened a glance at Bastian, he looked exactly like how I felt.

“Rain check?” he asked.

“Absolutely.”

Chapter Four

“He's picking you up in the mornings? How did that happen?” Poppy asked as we sat in her kitchen after school eating ice cream.

“I mentioned I walked to school and he actually got mad.”

“Well, it's infuriating that your aunt doesn't drive you to school. You can be damn sure that the twins will be driven in next year.”

“True, but I've grown accustomed to being the one on the outside.”

Poppy's lips curled into a snarl. “And that only makes me more angry.”

“And that's what makes you the perfect best friend: indignation on my behalf.”

Her smile in reply didn't quite reach her eyes.

“Getting angry won't change a thing, Poppy.”

“No, I know that. It's just, I was thinking about your biological father. I know you've come to terms with never knowing him, but I just wish it could be different for you.”

I wouldn't say I'd come to terms with never knowing my biological father, it was more that I'd learned not to hope or dream about it. There would always be a part of me that longed to know him even if it was just to see what characteristics of his I had inherited. But saying this to Poppy would only serve to worry her, so instead I replied, “Me too.” Changing the subject, I added, “I'm going to Reservoir with Bastian on Friday.”

“The boy moves fast, but I like him for you.”

“Why?”

“He reminds me of you. Totally together on the outside, but I would guess his home life isn't much better than yours.”

I was surprised at how accurately Poppy saw Bastian. “You're right. How did you know that?”

“I've spent enough time around you to recognize a kindred spirit.” Her smile turned coy. “Has he kissed you yet?”

I thought about our near kiss that afternoon and almost moaned. “He almost kissed me during seventh period. I had just shown him some of my work and he...” Just thinking about the look on his face when he was about to kiss me had my pulse jumping in my neck.

“He what?”

“He wrapped my face in his hands and lowered his lips so that they were almost touching mine.” I held her stare and grinned.

She was hanging on my every word. “And you of course encouraged him.”

“Yep, but then Ms. Whitney opened the door.”

Poppy dropped back down on her stool and sighed. “Man, that sucks.”

“Yeah, but after he looked at me with the hottest eyes and said ‘rain check.’”

Poppy put her hand to her forehead, “Oh, my dear God, you lucky lady.”

***

At exactly quarter past seven the following morning, the sound of Bastian's motorcycle came from down the street. I walked toward the driveway just as he pulled into it. He reached for the helmet and handed it to me when I approached.

“Good morning.” He eyed his jacket and mischief lit his eyes. “I like seeing you wear that.”

I flashed him a saucy smile. “I like wearing it.”

Mischief turned into something darker, but he said nothing as I climbed onto his bike. Minutes later we were cruising down the street.

Classes didn't start for another hour, so I wondered, as I had when he first mentioned the time he'd be coming for me, how he planned to kill the time. Just as I thought that, he pulled off the road to a scenic area along the Hudson River. Once parked, he moved me backward until I rested up against the trunk of a nearby tree. He caged me in with his big, strong body, molding my soft curves to his hard lines. Pulling his hands through my hair, he gripped it at the nape of my neck, tilting my head back and lifting my lips to his.

“Rain check?”

I didn't need to answer—my body answered for me. I melted into him. I felt his breath flutter across my skin, the sweet, spicy scent of him. My lips parted in anticipation as my eyes lifted to his heated ones. His fingers at my neck tightened slightly right before he fused his lips to mine. Desire and lust burned through me at the contact but it was the other feeling that wrapped around me like a blanket, which left me dizzy and breathless. Belonging.

Gently he skimmed his lips over mine and yet my body tensed as desire coursed through my veins. I couldn't imagine anything feeling more incredible but I was proven wrong when his tongue touched the corner of my mouth. Just the tip, soft but insistent, seconds before he ran it along the seam of my lips. I sighed and his tongue swept my mouth tasting me with a thoroughness that caused those damn knees to malfunction. Wrapping my arms around him and pulling him closer, he took the kiss deeper. Chills ran all the way down to my toes. The hand still holding my hair fisted gently, his mouth feasting, as his other hand traveled down my body leaving a trail of heat in its wake, settling at the curve of my back where he pulled me hard against him. My mind shutdown as my body took over, soaking up all the sensations that Bastian so masterfully pulled from me.