The Year I Became Isabella Anders (Sunnyvale, #1)

“So, was the trip everything you hoped it would be and more?” he asks lightly.

I get whiplash from his sudden shift to formality, but whatever. “Yeah, it was pretty great. I seriously wish I could’ve stayed longer.” Forever maybe.

“Where did you even go? You said overseas, but that could be a ton of places.”

“That’s because we went a ton of places.” A smile touches my lips as I remember all the places I saw, all the people I met, how great I felt while on that trip. “But my favorite was probably Scotland.”

He goes all bug-eyed. “Holy shit, you went to Scotland? I thought when you said you were going with your grandma that you’d go somewhere cliché like Paris.”

“I did go to Paris too, with my grandmother and my cousin, Indigo, along with an entire old folks home,” I say, shooting him a smile when he raises his brows like what the hell? “And FYI, Paris is awesome, and so are old people.”

“Maybe it was just you that made the trip and Paris cool,” he teases with a cocky grin.

I stick my finger into my mouth and pretend to gag. “That line was sooo cheesy.”

“So what? Admit it. You missed my cheesiness.”

“Never.”

“Not at all?” He fakes a pout. “Wow, way to crush my ego.”

I want to tell him no, but can’t bring myself to do so. Deep down, I might have missed it just a bit. “Your ego needs crushing.”

He beams. “I knew you missed me.”

I roll my eyes. “Cocky much?”

“I’m cocky all the time.” He pauses, studying me in a way that makes me squirm. “You know, I don’t think I believe you that Paris was awesome. I think I need proof.” He makes grabby hands. “Let me see some pics so I can decide for myself.”

“I already sent you one,” I remind him. “You didn’t seem that thrilled about it.”

“I was too thrilled,” he says. “You looked so content in that photo. It made me want to be there with you. I even made it my screensaver.”

I resist another eye roll. “You so did not.”

“I did too.” He traces an x across his heart with his finger. “But I lost my phone, so I need new one.”

“Are you being seriously? Because sometimes I can’t tell.”

“You think I’d lie to you?” he questions, jutting out his lip. When I stare at him, unimpressed, he sighs. “Look, I promise I’m not lying. I was at a party when you sent me the photo. I looked at it and remember thinking how great of a photo it was. Totally screensaver worthy. So that’s what I did with it. Then I went back to the party, totally planning on texting you back and telling you how awesome of a photo is was. But then I got drunk and lost my phone.” He shrugs. “Sorry. I really did like the photo.”

He seems like he’s being genuine, but considering our past, trusting Kai is complicated. I attempt to get a read on him, but he’s doing that smoldering stare thing that makes him hard to read.

“Are you being serious right now about wanting to see all of my photos?” I ask. “Or is this like the time you asked to see my sketches then when I showed them to you, you told me you were just kidding and looked at me like I was a spazz.”

“I never said I was joking around, and I don’t think you’re a spazz,” he says, sounding appalled. “I said I was just teasing you.”

“There’s a difference?” I ask flatly.

He shakes his head, his lips twitching. “Isa, there’s a huge-ass difference between joking around with someone and teasing them.”

“Yeah, teasing’s way, way worse.”

“No, it isn’t,” he insists. “Teasing is a compliment. It means I like you enough to tease you.”

“Well, if that’s the case, then you must like me a freaking ton. Because you pretty much use all of your teasing energy on me. With everyone else, it’s all,” I flutter my eyelashes, “look into my eyes and swoon.”

“First of all,” he aims a finger at me, fighting back a laugh, “I never flutter my eyelashes.”

“You might not think you do, but I’ve totally seen you do it before.” I feel oddly gratified that I’m finally getting the upper hand in our conversation. Usually, he always gets me so flustered that I give up. But this time, he’s the one getting all squirrely.

“Name one time,” he says, his eyes burning with fierce determination.

“How about at Hannah’s seventeenth birthday party?” I cross my arms and smirk as he grows fidgety. “You were trying to get her attention while she was swimming and you knelt down on the side of the pool, leaned in, and did this,” I bat my eyelashes, “while whispering something to her. God knows what the hell you said, but it made her giggle, and you acted like a cocky asshole for the rest of the day.”