Chapter 2

Jenkins has a good sense of humor, and she rarely knows when to stop talking. But I’m used to it. She’s a chatterbox, I’m hardly the silent type myself, and we get along great. We’ve also been completely honest with each other for a long time.

“Don’t make stuff up,” I keep whispering. “Jake doesn’t look at anyone but you. I’m a witness. Want me to show you a picture? He stares at you like a hungry Baloo staring at honey!”

Trisha gets embarrassed and probably blushes—you can’t see a blush on her dark skin, but you can tell she’s pleased.

“Oh, stop it, Ash. Listen to you…”

Now is exactly the time to forget personal stuff, remember we’re in class, and listen to Mr. Shelman, which we both do. But the teacher’s monotone voice scatters my attention, and after a while I catch myself turned toward Palmer, looking at his hands. Noting to myself how strong his wrists are and how beautiful his fingers are. Long and nimble—for one long moment I’m mesmerized by how skillfully he rolls a pen between them while the teacher explains the topic.

Sometimes strange thoughts come into my head, and I’ve gotten used to that, so I don’t realize right away that I’m staring at them. Not until I suddenly run into the attentive gaze of brown eyes.

The guy’s dark eyebrow lifts in irritation, and I immediately turn away, burying my nose in the textbook.

God, I’ve lost my mind! Staring at Palmer that openly!

Trisha isn’t as lucky.

“Jenkins,” I hear, irritated, “if you don’t stop staring at me, fine, I’ll let you touch me. So which part of my anatomy are you most interested in?”