“I came to talk to you about college. I’m ready to make a decision.”

I nodded, leaning against the wall with my arms crossed. There was no fucking way she was leaving, no matter what her dad wanted. She hadn’t even left the neighborhood for a sleepover without her family. Was it sick that I liked her frightened? Sheltered? Closed-off? Because it meant having more of her, and less competition.

Yes, fucker. It is wrong on every single level, a voice in me confirmed.

Still, it wasn’t any less true. I thought Trent was insane for even suggesting an out-of-state college, not to mention pushing it down her throat about a week before she had to make a decision.

“So?” she asked. “What do you think?”

“UCLA online.”

Were we actually talking colleges right now? Our shit was faker than a Hooters waitress’ tits.

“They have a good creative writing program,” I continued. “Plus, you won’t have to leave, so you’ll be here with Racer, Edie, and your dad.”

And me.

She nodded, turning toward a window, placing her fingertips on the glass, staring out. She’d just slapped me, after accusing me of being a manwhore. But the truth was, I needed more than a crumb of jealousy to keep me going. I’d been shut down one too many times, and I needed her to throw me a bone with at least a bit of meat before I reassured her that, yes, I was the same pathetic bastard who had loved her from day one. That I wished I weren’t, but I was hers, whether I liked it or not. And fuck knows I didn’t like it anymore. Not for a while now.

“You’re drunk,” she accused.

I may have had a whiskey brain, but my dick, for all intents and purposes, was sober as a priest and admiring my best friend’s feisty nature.

“Okay, Saint Luna,” I threw Daria’s nickname for her in her face.

“Maybe you have an underdeveloped frontal lobe. That’s why you take so many risks.”

She was babbling. She hardly ever talked, let alone about fucking lobes or whatever it was.

“Thanks for the medical assessment, but I don’t think there’s one thing about me that’s underdeveloped. Of course, you would rather slap me around than find out, wouldn’t you? Anything but allowing yourself to fucking feel.”

My good-natured smile was on full display as I advanced to the door. I didn’t stop on the threshold like I’d wanted. The beer, or the joint, or whatever the fuck it was, took charge and told me Luna could use a taste of her own medicine. I breezed right back down to the party, my cheek still stinging from her slap.

Come after me, my heart begged. I need you. Mom feels like shit. I don’t know how long she’s got. I need you.

I looked behind me. Luna wasn’t there.

I grabbed Arabella’s ass as soon as I reached the kitchen, dragging her toward me and slamming my groin against hers. I was rock hard, mainly because Luna had touched me, but as I smirked down at Arabella, I realized that for tonight, she’d do.

“Someone’s ready for round two,” she hummed.

I leaned down for a pucker, showing PDA for the first time since…ever. I didn’t kiss girls in public. It was one of the many things I didn’t do in public to be considerate of a girl who couldn’t bring herself to tell me how the fuck she felt about me.

Vaughn and Hunter were right. I was possessed, and it didn’t matter that I’d grown up with her. I needed to come to terms with the fact that it was possible Luna and I weren’t going to happen.

I closed my eyes, and Arabella did the rest of the job. Our open-mouthed kiss was drowned out by the sounds of her squeaking friends, deafening music, and the squealing of Luna’s sneakers as she pushed past people on her way to the door.

I recognized the sound of her running away from me like it was my first language.

And I vowed, that night, to stop doing the chasing.

Stupid, stupid, stupid.

I slapped my forehead as I dashed out of Vaughn’s house, so embarrassed I wanted to throw up.

It wasn’t supposed to go down this way.

I was supposed to muster up the courage to go there and tell him I wanted to stay in California. So I could be near. Near him. And Rosie. And everyone I cared about.

I’d been waiting for him to bring it up all summer, but every time we talked about my college plans, Knight yawned his way into another what-are-we-eating question. There was an air of dismissal about his behavior that rubbed me the wrong way. Almost as if I was asking him if he thought I should become a space cowboy or unicorn vet—like the option of my going elsewhere for higher education was so farfetched, giving it thought was ridiculous.