“Nah . . . taking me skating was a pretty bad move, considering how terrible you are on the ice,” she said, tugging the open collar of my jacket. I turned toward her.
“Wren . . . the only thing I could think about all weekend was that look on your face when you left . . . how much I hurt you. I’m so sorry. I know what I did was wrong, all of it, and I wish I could change everything. You deserve better than this. I don’t expect you to just . . . trust me . . . but that’s not me anymore. I would never do anything to hurt you.”
“I know that,” she said, moving closer to me.
“Being with you is all I want,” I whispered. “Forgive me, please.” My forehead grazed the top of her head. I took in the summery scent of her hair and allowed myself to feel the barest hint of a hope.
“I do,” she whispered, bringing her face up to mine.
Our lips touched, lightly at first. When I was sure she wasn’t going to pull away, I wrapped my arms around her, felt her arms snake around me.
“Sacred Heart girls—easy access!” someone yelled.
Wren laughed into my mouth and stepped back to take in the mob scene herding up the street.
“I’m not a very good Sacred Heart rep.”
“Yeah, you are,” I said, running my fingers through the blue part of her hair.
Wren folded her arms across her chest and winced.
“Grayson, I never told you my side of Saturday.”
“You have a side?”
“Why don’t we go somewhere warmer to talk?”
Somewhere warmer was a booth in the back of our diner. Coffee for me, cocoa for Wren, and a huge slab of the World’s Best Boston Cream Pie to share.
We sat side by side, shoulders touching. She hadn’t said a word on the ride over. The miracle of her being there with me, of even talking to me, still hadn’t worn itself out, and I didn’t want to jeopardize it. I took a forkful of pie and held it up for her. She opened her mouth, sliding her lips across the fork and grinning as she tasted it—an unintentionally sexy move that left me wishing we were somewhere more private.
“So, Saturday . . . what happened?” I asked, digging the fork into the pie for a bite of my own.
Wren dabbed the corner of her mouth with a napkin. She folded a knee up onto the bench of the booth so that she faced me. Finishing my bite of pie, I gave her my full attention.
She fumbled with her coat, reached into the pocket, and pulled out her phone.
“I had a fight with Ava today.”
“About what?” I asked, alarmed. Was Ava in on this too?
“Well . . . she told Mrs. Fiore I hooked up with a guy from Saint Gabe’s during our service project. Even had people back up her story.”
“That’s a crock, right?”
She leaned on her elbow and rested her forehead into her open palm. The pie felt heavy in my gut. Her hand slid down her face before she looked at me between her fingers.
“Luke kissed me.”
“Excuse me?”
“It happened really fast. He kind of cornered me before I could stop him. . . . I wanted you to hear it from me.”
It surprised me that Luke hadn’t offered up that information himself. It would be just like him to prod me with some random text like, Wren’s lips taste like candy, bro.
“And Ava told me today that the whole thing—me being there to help out—was all just so Luke could, I don’t know, piss you off or keep tabs on you or something.”
“Classic friggin’ Dobson,” I said, mashing the edge of the pie with each word.
“Why would he do this?”
“He wants me to be, ah, active again.”
“Active? You mean . . .”
“Find hits.”
“Oh. Like Allegra,” she said into her cocoa mug, before taking a sip.
“Wren, stop.”
I reached for her hand as she put down the mug. There was a moment of hesitation on her part, her hand unyielding. Then she softened. I entwined my fingers with hers, finally relaxing, when she gave my hand a squeeze.
“Luke isn’t going to drop this, is he?” she asked.
“Probably not,” I said.
She pushed her phone toward me, showing me her message history.
You closed your eyes
.
He texted her? My throat tightened. “What does that mean?”
“It’s what he said to me after . . . he, you know . . . kissed me.”
“You closed your eyes?” I asked. It wasn’t fair of me to be angry. I knew it, but I couldn’t help it.
“Don’t even go there, Grayson. It lasted, like, a second, if that, and I shoved him away.”
“Wren . . . I didn’t mean . . .” I said, not wanting to lose her again. “It just makes me . . . want to hurt him. That’s all.”
She growled, buried her face in my shoulder. “Me too. Ava . . . ugh . . . it was like she got off on telling me how they tricked me. We have to do something.”
“I’ll take care of it.”
“Grayson, I’m sick of people . . . underestimating me. Thinking they can walk all over me because I’m not some loudmouth bitch.”
“Luke likes to mess with people. It will drive him nuts if we ignore him. Trust me.”
“He said to keep him in mind if I wanted a revenge hookup.”
I laughed. “Yeah, right. Want me to drive you to his place?”
“I’m serious. Why don’t we just . . . I don’t know, set him up somehow. . . .”
“Wren, he would see it from a mile away.”
“So that’s it, you’re just going to let him get away with it.”
“No, I don’t want you involved.”
“I already am. They used me to get to you. Luke wanted us to break up, and . . . well, we almost did, didn’t we?”
“Wren.”
She grabbed her phone, typed a message, and hit Send.
“Well, better think of something . . . fast,” she said, pushing the phone back to me, that devious smile from the ice rink crossing her lips.
Luke–Still have your property . . . want it? Wren
The die had been cast.
TWENTY-THREE
WREN
LUKE WAS TEN MINUTES LATE.
I surveyed my house, praying my mother wouldn’t look out the window. She and Dad were having a much-needed “date night in,” complete with the latest rom-com from Redbox and takeout from their favorite Spanish restaurant. And while that hadn’t been part of my plan, having them busy with their own stuff made it much easier to slip out, no questions asked. As far as they knew, I was waiting for Maddie and Zach to pick me up, not having a faux-revenge hookup with Luke at the love shack. I was grateful it hadn’t occurred to them to wonder why I’d stand outside in below-freezing weather.
The plan was simple: entice Luke to the cottage, where Grayson and Andy were waiting to talk to him, sort of like an intervention. Grayson wasn’t into it at first; he thought Luke wouldn’t fall for it. But the more we talked it out, the more he came around, thinking that maybe the element of surprise would make Luke vulnerable. And, okay, I wanted to prove that I could play this game too, to send a message. He had toyed with the wrong quiet chick.
“Wren.”
I startled. “Are you part ninja?”
Luke was in his varsity jacket and dark jeans, mane of hair loose around his face. He seemed pleased with my reaction.
“No, thought I should meet the parents and all that, so I parked.”
This was already not going the way I imagined.
“Kidding,” he said, holding out his hand. I hesitated, then put my hand in his. His fingers wrapped around mine, warming me up. Could I really do this?
“Just trying to be a gentleman,” he said, leading me up the block to his car. “For now.”