But she doesn’t. It’s like I’m not even here.

I mean, what did she think was going to happen? I was ambushed, and we’re not dating. That pizza was the first time we’d spent any time together amicably.

I grab my test and pencil and swing around to her table, taking the seat across from her. This isn’t my lab table, but oh well. “I don’t apologize,” I tell her. “So you may as well exhale, because it’s not happening. We’re both leaving, there’s no commitment, and you knew the score.”

She stares at her test, writing and checking boxes as if I’m not talking.

I narrow my eyes. What the hell does she want from me? Fight with me. Do something!

But I don’t know how to battle this Olivia. She won’t talk.

I stare at my test, the teacher starting the timer on the projector and flashing the screen on the whiteboard.

“I gave you my virginity,” I whisper.

Her pencil pauses.

“I’ve had opportunities, Liv.” I swallow, coming as close to an apology as I can manage. “I didn’t hesitate with you.”

I search for her eyes, but she still won’t look at me.

“I never wanted you to stop,” I tell her.

I want more. I want it again.

I want more right now.

My head spins with all the secluded spots we could find in this school, but I know she won’t forgive me that quickly.

Ronald Baxter takes the seat next to me, and Liv finally looks up, meeting my eyes. Her gaze falls to my mouth, and I think she might brush her foot over mine under the table or something, but she takes my test, turns on the Bunsen burner, and I watch wide-eyed as she lights the corner, the papers going up in smoke.

I see Ronald freeze out of the corner of my eye, watching.

“You left me in the rain,” she says quietly, the white papers turning black, curling and peeling. “You left me behind in the rain while you drove off with that prick.”

I stare wide-eyed as my test turns to ash.

“No commitment works for me, but you damn well better be where you say you’re going to be,” she bites out.

And before I can even worry about what Ronald is making of what she’s saying, she dumps my test into the sink, and walks away, taking her papers with her.

Shit.

I flex my jaw, watching as she says something to the teacher and then leaves the room. I flip on the faucet, putting out the fire, and snarl at Ronald to mind his own business.

Okay. So, she’s not going to forgive me quickly.

Fine.

But she will forgive me. She just really won’t like how far I’m willing to go to force it.

I swipe Ronald’s test, ignoring his look, and erase his name, writing my own. The first four questions are already done. Thanks, Ronny.

• • •

Callum stares into my eyes, swinging me around the dance floor and moving like water. He’s perfect. His dark blond hair is swept up, off his forehead, and hugs his ears. His flawless skin and bright smile. His hazel eyes and how he rises several inches above me—in control, dominant, my protector. Everything my family wants for me, but nothing about it feels right. If he were Liv, I’d be pulling him in close. Wrapping my arms around him like a steel band and reveling in the promise of his mouth.

I catch sight of us in the mirrors that cover three of the four walls, windows covering the last one. We’re both still in our uniforms, his white button-down untucked, and his tie loose, while my saddle shoes lie underneath the row of chairs against the wall of the studio, the heels on my feet required for our lesson.

“Bigger steps!” Ms. Broderick, the instructor, chants. “Keep your head up!”

She walks around as the couples move. We’ve practiced the waltz for the ball so much that there’s no way we can get it wrong now, and she should just let us leave. I hate how he’s looking at me. Not leering so much as challenging me. He knows something, and I’m waiting for the shoe to drop.

“I think you’d get tired of my shit,” I say as we spin.

“Keep your head left!” Broderick shouts for the millionth time.

I face left. “You can get from anyone what you’re hoping to get from me.”

“Getting it isn’t the challenge,” he replies. “Getting it from you will be so much sweeter.”

A spark lights up his eyes, the words coming off as more of a promise. Like it’s inevitable, because he always wins, and he’s not afraid of a little hard work.

Honestly, he is pretty perfect. Direct, and he doesn’t treat me like a delicate flower. I’ve always appreciated that. Most women would find him overwhelming. Brusque, even. They need to be seduced. They need to be romanced.

They need to be lied to.

He doesn’t do that.

“Why not tell me to take a hike?” he asks. “Anyone could escort you to the ball, and you couldn’t care less if it were me.”

No, but… It’s not like I have anyone else in mind either. I want to go to the ball. It’s a family tradition, and it’s my night. I want it.

I can’t walk out on that stage alone, can I?

“I’m worried there’s something in you that I don’t yet see,” I tell him plainly. “Maybe I’ll still see it.”

A smile grazes his lips. He appreciates my candor, too.

“Feel the music!” the teacher calls out, stopping Amy and her escort and straightening their shoulders.

The chandeliers sparkle above us, and I look away, facing left again as we twirl. The last of the sun glows against the orange wall, the light slowly moving down, down, down as the clouds roll in and thunder cracks.

But instead of staying at home as recommended tonight due to the storm coming, there’s a party at the lighthouse. I’m supposed to meet my mother as soon as dance class is over, but the lighthouse is across the tracks, and it’s been a long week, busy ignoring Liv as much as she’s been ignoring me.

And stupidly thinking she’d give up and come chasing me when she wanted more.

But she didn’t, and I’ve let her stew long enough. She’s going to look at me tonight.

“My father sleeps with his stepdaughter,” Callum says in a low voice.

I meet his eyes.

“What do you think of that?” he asks.

My pulse quickens. Macon had outed the Ames’ and my family at Night Tide, and while anyone who’d heard had apparently done us the service of not bringing that shit up again, Callum is clearly still thinking about it.

What do I think of that? Honestly, I wasn’t surprised. About any of it.

“I think we’re dogs,” I tell him. “And I think perfectly tailored suits and European cars hide it really well.”

St. Carmen looks good. I look good. And people judge you differently when your lawn is manicured. When you shop at the best stores. When you’re picked up in Town Cars.

“But we’re still dogs,” I murmur.

He moves his hand on my waist, circling his arm around me, and pulls me into him. I stop breathing. He holds me tight against his chest, his breath on my forehead. “That’s why I don’t get tired of your shit,” he whispers down on me. “Or of never getting any reciprocation from you.”

I grip his shoulders, about to push away as we stop dancing.