I push the hair out of my face and tuck it roughly behind my ear. He knows what happened. Everyone does. “I’m sure you heard that I got kicked out of my old school. I’m about as far away from being an angel as you can get.”
“So you made some mistakes.” Marco jams his hands in the pockets of his low-riding jeans, his eyes trained on the ground. “Compared to the crap I’ve done, you’re a saint.”
The pain and regret in his voice tug at my heart. He’s hurting, and I want to make the pain go away.
For both of us.
“I don’t believe that,” I say softly.
Marco’s eyes widen, and I stare back at him. Big mistake. Heat radiates from his body—a body insanely close to mine—and suddenly I feel exposed. I cover my face with my hands and take a deep breath.
Why did I drink so much?
“What’s wrong? Did something happen in there?” He sounds worried.
“No,” I say from behind my hands.
“If nothing happened, why won’t you look at me?”
Because you’ll know exactly what I’m feeling.
He touches my wrists and curls his fingers around them, moving my hands away from my face. Marco’s eyes drill into me, and my heart crashes against my ribs.
“I’m just … uncomfortable.” I motion between us. “I’m not used to this.”
Marco looks confused for a second and steps back. “You mean me. I make you uncomfortable. Is that it? I’m a thug from the Downs. We’re all alone and it’s dark. I get it.”
“I’m not scared of you.”
“Yeah, I can tell.” He sounds hurt.
“I’m not.” I start to slide off the hood, but Marco leans over and boxes me in with his arms. Our lips are inches apart.
If I lean forward the tiniest bit …
His eyes drift down to my lips and then my neck. “So this doesn’t bother you?”
It does. But not for the reason he thinks.
I’ve never wanted to kiss anyone as much I want to kiss Marco right now. I want to know what it feels like to have his arms wrapped around me.
Forcing myself to look into his dark eyes, I call his bluff. “Nope.”
Marco doesn’t move. He’s sizing me up, deciding whether or not he believes my lie. If my heart beats any louder, he’ll know.
“Prove it.” A slow smile spreads across his lips. “Kiss me.”
I wait for him to laugh. When he doesn’t, I lay on the sarcasm. “After all the girls you’ve hooked up with, I wouldn’t want to be a disappointment.”
He doesn’t break eye contact, and with just inches between us, the intensity is nerve-racking. “There’s nothing disappointing about you, Frankie.”
Marco’s voice is full of need and desire—the same things I’m feeling. I try to memorize the way each word sounded so I can remember them later when I’m alone, when he isn’t staring at me like kissing me is more important than breathing.
The possibility hangs between us.
I want to know what his lips feel like against mine.
Just once.
Would the kiss be fast and hungry or slow and deliberate?
The old Frankie never acted on her feelings. She never kissed a guy first. Instead, she waited for him to make the first move.
But I’m not the old Frankie, and I’m tired of waiting.
I lean forward and press my mouth against Marco’s. The moment our lips touch, heat sears through my veins. He hooks his arm around my back and pulls me toward him.
My hands find his chest, fists clutching at his shirt. I can’t get close enough.
Marco slides his tongue in my mouth, and there’s nothing but hunger right now. Him and me. I swear, nothing has ever felt this good. He trails his fingers up my neck and into my hair.
My breath hitches, and his iron grip tightens around my back. I tug on his bottom lip, and he moans. “Frankie.”
The moment my name leaves his lips, I come apart.
This is more than a kiss—too much more. I need to stop.
I break away first, and Marco stares at me glassy-eyed, his fingers still tangled in my hair.
This can’t happen. Not with a guy who takes me apart with a kiss. I don’t want to get attached to anybody now that I know how quickly someone can be taken away. I haven’t even recovered my memories from the night Noah died. I need to be stronger, not more vulnerable. But I’m not admitting that to Marco.
I catch my breath and erase any hint of emotion from my voice, as if the kiss had no effect on me. “Was that enough proof?”
Marco smiles like he thinks I’m teasing him. It takes every ounce of strength I have not to smile back. When he realizes I’m serious, confusion flickers in his eyes. His shoulders tense, and he becomes all hard edges and sharp corners again. “So did I measure up?” he asks.
“What are you talking about?”
“Rich girls like you only kiss guys like me because you’re curious. You want to see how a tattooed thug compares to a rich boy from Heights. I’m the guy you hook up with when you’re pissed off at Daddy or you want to make your rich private-school boyfriend jealous.” The second he says it, Marco cringes.
But the words punch holes in me like bullets. I put both hands on his chest and shove him away. “Then you have nothing to worry about, because my rich boyfriend is dead.”