Those teal eyes turned darker and an expression that caused my blood pressure to soar, washed over his features. “I suppose I’ll take that as an answer for now.”

Considering my body flipped out whenever Bastian was near, I was surprised at how easy it was to talk to him. It was comfortable, as if we'd been friends for years. That meant something, I was sure of it, but I moved past that and asked, “Why did you bring me here?”

“It’s quiet so we can talk.” He gestured to the workbench and offered me the stool. He headed for the small refrigerator, asking from over his shoulder, “So you’re staying at your friend’s tonight?”

“I’m staying there for the next week.”

He looked surprised when he turned back to me. “Why?”

“My aunt and family went to Disney World.”

He reached for two Cokes. “And you didn’t want to go.”

“I wasn’t invited.”

It was because he was now standing right in front of me that I saw the clenching of his jaw. “They didn’t invite you to join them?”

“It was more than that. My aunt told me flat out that I wasn't welcome.”

“Bitch.”

“Yes, she is.”

He handed me my Coke. “So, I guess your home life is about as good as mine.”

“Yeah, your parents are disappointed in you and my aunt is disinterested and cruel.”

He hesitated before he asked, “Your mom and dad?”

“Mom died when I was eight, never knew my dad.”

Tenderness crept into his expression as well as the understanding that I really wanted to change the subject. He asked, “Any idea about what you want to do next year?”

“I'm hoping to go Columbia. What about you?”

“Honestly, I'm not sure, but my parents want me to go to Yale like my dad and his dad. That isn’t what I want.”

“What do you want?”

“I want to be allowed to find who I am and not be forced into a cookie cutter version of my dad.”

It would seem that Bastian was a believer of tit for tat; I offered an intimate glimpse into me so he countered with one of his own. My gaze found his arms and a smile touched my lips. “It looks to me like you're well on your way to finding yourself.”

His expression in response was wicked. “Good.”

He grew thoughtful for a moment. “Was it always like that at home—you being excluded?”

“Yeah, but there was a day when I first arrived that was the closest to a perfect day I've ever had. I felt like a kid for the first time in my life.”

Bastian watched me steadily as I spoke. “What changed?” He asked.

I played with the condensation on my can of Coke, because after all these years, remembering the look on Aunt Kim's face that night still shattered me. The realization for the little girl I had been, that my hope of finally being a part of a happy family wasn't going to happen was heartbreaking. “That night my aunt walked in on my uncle and me talking about my mom. Just like that, she changed.”

He said nothing for a minute as he seemed to consider my words. “Sounds like your aunt's jealous. She's a douche, taking her shit out on a kid.” His finger trailed down my cheek. “You okay?”

Surprise was my reaction to that simple question—that he asked and more that he seemed genuinely concerned. “I'm fine. It was a long time ago.”

He had a thought on that, I could see it burning in his eyes, but he kept it to himself and instead asked, “Do you have a free period on Monday?”

“Yeah, seventh.”

“Maybe I could meet you in the art room and you could show me some of your work.”

“I'd like that. Can I ask you something, Bastian?”

He smiled and settled on the floor: resting his back against the workbench. “Sure.”

“Why do you talk to Kira? She doesn't really seem your speed.”

“She's a friend of the family. I've known her since we were six.”

“Oh.” Well, that sucked.

He must have realized where my thoughts were taking me when he added rather softly, “She's always been self-absorbed and shallow, but it's the connection to her family my parents encourage.”

“Do they know the kind of person she is?”

“Yes.”

“Then why wish her on their child?”

“Because her parents are affluent and well-connected, and that's all that matters.” Bitterness rang in his tone.

“None of that matters. The golden rule is a life lesson people usually learn in childhood. How can they be blind to it?”

“I've no idea.” He stood. “I better get you home.”

Slipping my hand into his, I allowed him to pull me to my feet. He was so close I could feel the heat rolling off his body in waves, feel the soft tickle of his breath over my skin and could smell him: his unique masculine scent. I wanted those arms around me. I wanted him to kiss me. His fingers traced my chin and along my jaw before entangling in my hair as if to kiss me.

I couldn't say what he was thinking as he studied me so intently before he released his hold on my hair and led me from the garage. We didn't speak as we walked to his bike and as we settled onto it, he spoke only to ask for Poppy's address. When it roared to life, talking became impossible.

Like Sophia, I was falling hard, despite the fact that I didn't know Bastian. The ride seemed too short to pull up at Poppy’s house as fast as we did. When I climbed off, I expected him to drive away. He didn’t, though. He shut down his bike and climbed off after me, taking my hand again as we walked to the front door where I immediately busied myself unlocking it because I was nervous: worrying over whether or not he was going to kiss me. Inhaling deeper, I turned and met his unwavering stare. “I really had fun tonight.”

Touching my hair, taking a few strands in between his thumb and forefinger, he said, “I did too.”

Realizing I still wore his jacket, I started to take it off. Before I could, he stopped me when he whispered, “Keep it. It looks good on you.”

His fingers entwined with my own. He lifted our hands and placed a kiss in my palm. It took me a moment to realize the tightening in my chest and the chills that lit over my nerve endings in response to that intimate gesture was the result of profound pleasure, an emotion I was unaccustomed to feeling. He started back down the drive, glancing at me from over his shoulder, while I curled the hand he kissed into a fist hoping to hold the kiss there. Climbing on his bike, he started it up and looked one last time at me before he pulled away. I watched until his taillights disappeared.

Poppy waited for me at the top of the stairs. “Nice jacket.” Her eyes widened slightly when she got a good look at me, “I want all the details.”

“Just as soon as I come down from cloud nine.”

***

On Monday morning I sat in homeroom feeling a bit uncomfortable—Poppy had cut my hair on Sunday. She took four inches from the length, making it fall just past my shoulders, and she did something with the front so it fell in soft layers around my face. She also insisted I wear some of her clothes. I’d also worn Bastian's jacket, but had to leave it in my locker. As strange as it was to say, I missed having that piece of him with me—the smell of him had wrapped around me like a hug.

The staring started as I made my way down the hall to English. People generally didn't notice me—amazing what a makeover could do. Bastian was leaning up against the lockers when I turned the corner, but as soon as he saw me, he started in my direction. The look on his face, one of total male appreciation, made my toes curl. He didn't hide the very thorough perusal he gave me. “Morning.”

Such a simple word and yet there was nothing simple about how my body reacted to it: butterflies took off in my stomach and my body grew unaccountably warm. His hand came to rest on my lower back. “Shall we?”

I preceded him into class and we made our way to the back where I usually sat. Bastian took the seat next to me, but pushed it closer so we were only inches apart. The movement was not lost on the class as people turned around and gossiped as they did. Whether that was because he was sitting next to me or because of the makeover, I had no idea. He seemed completely oblivious. “How was your weekend?”