“Um, hey,” I said, summoning all of my nerve. “Do… do you think you can give me a ride home when you take your friends?”

He turned to look at me. “Yeah, of course. There’ll be room in my car.”

“Great. Thank you. My ride is leaving and… well, let me text her.”

I replied to Chloe and shoved my phone into my pocket. I turned back to Cash, and he smiled.

And kissed me again.

I gave Cash directions to my place after he drove his drunk friends home about an hour later. It was with some regret that I watched my house draw nearer. I didn’t want the night to end. I didn’t want to be away from Cash.

Everything about Cash made me melt. The smell of his cologne. The way he said my name. The constant spark in his green eyes. And knowing that no girl had gotten this far with him—knowing that I had kissed Mr. Unattainable and that he’d called me amazing—made me feel special and real and giddy.

We’d spent only a few hours together, but I already felt so connected to Cash. Being myself with him, relaxing around him, came so easily. More easily than it did with anyone else.

We made out in his car for a few minutes after we pulled into my driveway. Slow and easy. He didn’t push me further than I wanted, and I was grateful. I was still getting over Randy, after all. I didn’t want to rush anything new.

But then he was pulling away from me. His thumb traced along my lower lip as he said, “You should go inside. You don’t want to worry your parents.”

“Just my dad,” I murmured, wanting to keep kissing him but knowing he was right. If Dad woke up and found the door still unlocked, waiting for me, he’d be angry. I was already an hour past curfew—banking on the fact that he’d go to bed early and never know the difference.

“Give me your phone,” I said.

Cash handed me his cell phone, an old-school Nokia like they’d had when I was in sixth grade. I couldn’t help smiling as I programmed my number in for him. He grinned at me when I handed it back, and he kissed me one last time. Quick. Smooth. Leaving me longing for more.

“I’ll turn on the headlights so you can see to get in,” he said.

“Thank you.”

The lights flicked on, illuminating the driveway and glaring off the back of Dad’s van.

“Football fans, huh?” Cash said.

“Oh, yeah,” I said. “Well, you know. My brother used to play, and they supported Randy, of course.”

I wasn’t thinking about the rivalry then. I wasn’t thinking about sports at all. It was summer. I was free from it all. Or so I thought. But Cash’s face darkened just a little at the mention of football, and I quickly realized my mistake.

“Give me a call,” I said, reaching for the door handle. “I had a great time tonight. Really.”

He turned to face me, and I thought his eyes still looked a little guarded. Or maybe he was just tired. Or maybe I was, and my vision wasn’t what it usually is. Because his voice sounded normal.

“I had a great time, too,” he said. “Good night, Lissa.”

“Good night.”

I climbed out of his car and ran up the sidewalk. I stopped on the porch and watched as Cash’s car disappeared around the corner. When the last glow of his taillights had gone, I walked inside.

But the joy of that night faded pretty fast.

Even after everything I thought we shared, Cash never called me. I waited for three weeks, and not a peep. Not even a text message. It was like that night had never happened—and sometimes I wondered if maybe it hadn’t. If I’d imagined it. Dreamed it up as a way to get over Randy. Like an idiot, I hadn’t gotten Cash’s number for myself.

Not that it would have mattered. He’d rejected me. That much was clear.

In the long run, though, it was for the best. At the start of August, Randy crashed his Cougar. Despite that night with Cash, I was still in love with Randy, and I was just so happy he hadn’t gotten hurt that when he called me to apologize for our fight, I ran back to him.

And I was lucky, too. Because we’d both realized that breaking up was the biggest mistake ever. So we got back together that night, and I decided to put Cash behind me.

Easier said than done.

Isn’t that how it always works?

chapter eight

I was really excited for my date with Randy that Friday night, until I opened the front door and got a good look at his face.

“Oh, God. Randy, what happened?” I asked, grabbing his arm and pulling him into the bathroom. He sat on the edge of the sink while I opened the medicine cabinet and located my extensively stocked first-aid kit.

“I’m fine, really,” he said, putting a hand to the thin cut running along his left cheekbone. “Kyle threw a rock at me in the parking lot after practice. I think he meant to hit the back of my head, but I turned around and—”

“Kyle, the soccer goalie?”

Randy nodded as I cleaned a little dried blood off his cheek with a washrag. “Asshole,” he hissed. “I planned to come over here right after I showered and changed. I didn’t get blood on my shirt, did I?”

“I don’t think so. It’s not a deep cut. Here, this might sting a bit.” I dabbed peroxide along his cheekbone with a cotton ball.

“Well, at least it makes me look all rugged and sexy,” he said with a grin when I’d finished cleaning up the little cut.

“Yeah,” I said, pressing a Spider-Man Band-Aid onto his cheek. “Real sexy.”

He laughed, but I didn’t. Randy was hurt. Not severely, but he’d spilled blood because of this stupid, ridiculous feud. How many more boys would suffer because of this rivalry?

None, I decided. Because the strike started tonight. Officially.

“Ready to go?” Randy asked, squeezing my hand as he slid off the sink. “The movie starts in half an hour, and we still have to drive out to Oak Hill. I figured we’d eat dinner afterward.”

“Sure. Let’s go,” I said once I’d put away the first-aid kit. I was already impressed. He’d actually taken the time to plan out the date and everything.

He smiled and put an arm around my shoulders, leading me toward the front door. “I’m surprising you, by the way. You’re going to love the restaurant.”

I flinched. “You know I hate surprises.”

“Trust me. You’ll love this one,” he said, opening the car door for me. “I hate to brag, but I did awesome tonight.”

To tell you the truth, he really had done a great job. Instead of taking me to see some gory action movie, like I’d expected, he actually picked a romantic comedy. Granted, the movie as a whole kind of sucked, but the fact that he’d tried that hard really said something.

To top it off, he even took me to Giovanni’s, an expensive little Italian restaurant a few blocks from the theater. Despite his insistence on surprising me (surprises always made me uneasy), it was the nicest date Randy had taken me on since we’d started dating last year.

And not a soccer player in sight to ruin the evening.

After dinner, Randy took me back to his house, just like he’d planned. It was only ten thirty and I didn’t have to be home until midnight, so we had plenty of time to do whatever we wanted.

Of course, I knew what Randy wanted to do.

We walked up to his room and just sat on his bed for a while, talking about how bad the movie had been.

“But the actress—she was pretty hot,” he said. “That shower sex scene was… wow.”

I rolled my eyes. Tonight, after such a great date, I was totally loosened up. “She had a butt double. You know, where someone stands in as the actress’s butt? It wasn’t even edited well.”

Randy grinned at me. “Jealous?”

“Of her butt double? No.”

He leaned forward, putting his hands flat on the bed, one on either side of my waist. “You’re really hot when you’re jealous,” he told me. “But there’s no need to be. Because, to tell you the truth, you know what I was thinking during that scene?”