“He's going tonight because I am.”

Poppy beamed. “So tell me again how operation “Win Sebastian” is never going to happen?” She hopped off the bed. “Now I’ve more of a reason to get you all dolled up. Come on.”

Two hours later, Shawn, Poppy, Sophia and I headed to the party. Poppy really was good. My black, straight hair now had a wave—falling in soft curls around my face. She lengthened my lashes with mascara, tinted my cheeks, my eyelids and my lips. Hip-hugging faded blue jeans, black leather boots—with a matching belt—and a halter top in emerald-green satin with a very low neckline were the clothes she selected for me and I had to say, I really liked it.

“I can’t believe you aren’t wearing black.” Sophia sounded almost in awe.

“I will concede Poppy may have been onto something with losing the black.”

We arrived at the party. Damian’s parents were off skiing and apparently they had no problem with him having what they thought were a few friends over. Clearly Damian and I had different definitions for how many people constituted “a few”. We climbed from the car and Sophia touched my arm. “There's Tyler. I’ll see you guys later.”

And off she went. Sophia was in love again. Grinning to myself, I wondered how long it would last this time. Upon entering, I immediately saw Kira with Mica. I moved through the crowd hoping they wouldn't see me because, as rumor would have it, when Kira drank she tended to get even nastier than she was when sober. Poppy, Shawn and I mingled inside for a bit, but then I just wanted some fresh air, so I headed outside to the fire pit.

I didn’t see Bastian and was tempted to text him, but what exactly would I say? Instead, I took a seat by the fire and quickly became mesmerized by the flames dancing against the darkening sky.

Not much time had passed, when I heard the sound of someone approaching. My breath caught in my throat at the sight of Bastian moving across the lawn to me. As if on cue, my body responded to his nearness: tingles, sweaty palms and a pounding in my chest.

He swept his gaze over me from head to toe and back again. “You're beautiful.”

At the compliment, I lowered my head, suddenly feeling rather shy.

He crouched down in front of me and reached for my chin, straightening my head so I was looking into his eyes before saying, “It's really crowded here. Do you want to leave?”

Leave with him? Hell, yeah. Shyness took a back seat to excitement. “I have to tell Poppy.”

He reached for my hand and linked our fingers. My pulse pounded in my throat over that act but with how easily he offered it, I wondered if it meant to him what it did to me. “Let’s go find her.”

Poppy and Shawn were just making their way outside when they stopped in mid-step at the sight of Bastian and me walking hand in hand toward the house, because they knew all too well that hand holding was not an everyday occurrence for me.

As soon as we reached them, I made the introductions. “Poppy, Shawn, this is Bastian.”

Shawn and Bastian shook hands as Poppy unconsciously fluffed her hair. Because she knew me so well, she spoke up before I could. “There are too many “populars” here, so Shawn and I were going to ditch. Do you mind, Lark?”

“No, not at all.”

“Okay, well, you have the house key, right? So I’ll see you at home.”

Turning to Bastian, I asked, “Give me a second?”

“Sure.”

Playfully nudging Poppy along, we separated ourselves from the guys. “Thanks for that.”

“No problem, but I want to hear all the details, every single one,” she said excitedly.

“You bet.”

She looked past me to where Shawn and Bastian were talking. “He really is incredible.” Her gaze returned to mine, “You two look really good together.”

“He makes my heart pound nearly out of my chest.”

“That’s good, really good.”

“I know.”

“Okay, let’s not keep our guys waiting.”

“He isn’t mine, Poppy.”

She pulled me toward Shawn and Bastian, “You sure about that?”

“Okay, we’ll see you later. Come on, Shawn, I’m hungry.” Her words were barely out of her mouth before she started leading Shawn back up to the house.

“Poppy’s not very subtle.” My focus moved from her retreating form to Bastian only to find he was already looking at me. He held out his hand.

“Are you ready?”

I didn’t hesitate to slip my hand into his. He asked, “Are you okay with riding on the back of my bike?”

“Absolutely.”

We made our way to the front of the house, but my feet didn't quite feel like they were touching the ground. I couldn’t believe I was leaving with Bastian Ross and if this was a dream, I wasn’t about to pinch myself.

Chapter Three

We reached Bastian’s bike and he lifted a helmet to place on my head before reaching for a leather jacket and holding it up to me.

“You should wear this.”

His scent surrounded me as soon as I slipped my arms into it. My knees went weak, again. If I continued to hang with Bastian, I was going to need knee replacement surgery.

He pulled an elastic from his pocket and tied his hair back into a ponytail before settling on his bike to hold it steady for me. I climbed on, wrapped my arms around his hard, flat stomach and felt the shudder that went through him in response. The bike roared to life. “Hold on, Lark.” The reality of riding with Bastian was so much better than I imagined.

We drove around for a while before we parked behind an auto body garage. I hadn't even gotten the chance to pull my helmet off, when he stepped up in front of me and did it for me. His finger lingered on my cheek a moment, but the tender look in his eyes as he did so had me feeling all gooey inside. He hung the helmet on his bike's handlebars then directed me toward the entrance.

“Where are we?” I asked.

“I work here.” He unlocked the door and waited for me to precede him before he hit the switch which immediately flooded the space with light. There were four car bays, two of which contained cars. The cement floors were stained with oil and other auto fluids. Large red tool chests lined the front wall of the garage and the wires and hoses, for the various compressors and lifts, that hung from the ceiling formed an intricate web-like maze. My eyes landed on an old black muscle car in the bay closest to us. The lines were beautiful.

“What a great car,” I said.

“A ‘67 Chevy Impala.”

“Nice.”

My attention shifted from the car to him; there was a devilish look on his face, “What were you laughing about that first day in English?”

“Oh, no, you first. Why did you switch schools?”

He feigned frustration, but I didn't miss the humor in his eyes. “I used to go to a private prep school, but switched to public. My parents are large contributors to the school I was attending and they used their influence to control my teachers and to try to control me. Needless to say, they weren't happy when I upped and moved schools, but because I'm eighteen, they couldn't stop me. To them, it's just one more bad choice, in a long line of bad choices, that I've made.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Well, it is what it is.”

“I'm guessing by bad choices you mean your tattoos?”

“Yes, they hate them.”

My gaze moved to his arms and the swirls of colors and images that covered them. “I love them.”

He touched my chin with his finger and lifted my face to his. “So, what were you laughing about that first day in English?”

“I was laughing at what you would think if you knew what I was thinking.”

A slight smile touched his lips, “And what were you thinking?”

I couldn’t say it; it was too embarrassing. “I can’t.”

“We had a deal.”

“It’s too embarrassing, but I will say part of it was related to you being...beautiful.”