AFTER I’VE MADE my purchase and we’re about to leave, Kirstin brings me my coat. Crew takes it from her and helps me slip it on, his hands going to my hair, fingers brushing against my nape when he pulls it out from beneath my collar. His fingers continue slipping through the strands, stroking through my hair, and I glance up at him, unable to look away from his heavy gaze.
“Didn’t want it to get caught,” he murmurs, and I nod in agreement, unable to find any words.
So I remain quiet. Lost in thought. At the realization that this isn’t some fantasy that I conjured up in my brain like I did last night. He’s actually here, standing in front of me, watching me carefully. As carefully as I watch him.
Can he feel it? The attraction between us? The chemistry? Or is it all one- sided? Am I just a silly little girl with a crush on a guy who has zero interest in me? Is he only humoring me? Toying with me?
Crew came here, to this exhibit, to seek me out. There’s no other reason for his appearance than his wanting to see me.
Me.
He escorts me out of the gallery, his hand at the small of my back, guiding me to the curb. He looks both ways before he takes my hand and leads me across the street, heading toward a black Mercedes sedan that sits idling at
the curb. A man in a black suit climbs out of the driver’s side, a pleasant smile on his face.
“You found a guest, Mr. Lancaster.”
“I did,” Crew answers. “Wren, this is Peter.”
“Nice to meet you,” I say to Peter. He’s an older gentleman with salt and pepper hair and warm brown eyes.
“Miss.” Peter tips his head toward me before he reaches for the handle and opens the back door for us. I slip inside first, Crew following after me and the door shuts, enclosing us in complete silence. The only sound I can hear is the soft purr of the idling engine and my rapidly beating heart.
“Where do you want to go to lunch?” Crew asks, his voice quiet. Making me shiver.
“I don’t know.” I shrug one shoulder, my stomach suddenly protesting. I can’t remember the last time I ate anything.
“Are you hungry?”
It’s the way he stares at my lips that makes me say, “Absolutely starving.” “Me too.” His smile is slow.
So is mine.
After we do a little research on our phones, we settle on a restaurant not too far from the gallery that serves breakfast and lunch. The front of Two Hands Restaurant is painted a bright, cheerful blue and when we walk inside, I’m captivated by the light, airy design. It’s all white or pale wood, the brick walls white-washed, the giant light fixtures hanging from the ceiling constructed of metal wire.
The hostess leads us to the only open spot in the restaurant—a cramped table for two in front of the windows, overlooking the street. When we settle in our seats, Crew’s knees bump against mine, making me flush all over.
“How tall are you?” I ask once the hostess leaves us with menus.
He frowns. “Why do you ask?” “Oh. You just, uh, bumped into me.” “Sorry.”
“I didn’t mind,” I admit, my cheeks catching on fire, which is so stupid. “You have long legs.”
“I’m six-two.”
I knew he was tall. I’m only five-five.
“All the Lancasters are tall,” he continues. “Mostly blond. Blue eyes. We all look pretty much the same.”
If all the Lancaster men are as handsome as Crew, then they must be devastating.
Our server appears, overly cheerful as she asks us for our drink order. Her hair is dyed a vivid pink, cut into a severe bob, and she’s wearing pink glasses that match. She’s adorable.
“Just water,” I tell her with a faint smile. “Same,” Crew adds.
“Great. I’ll be back in a minute to take your order.” She takes off and I watch her go, noting how confident she seems. You’d have to be to have hair that color.
“Do you like girls with pink hair?” I ask Crew.
He levels that icy blue gaze on me. “I prefer brunettes.” “Really.”
Crew nods. “With green eyes and an appreciation for art.”
“You’re just saying that.” I grab my menu and hold it up in front of me, trying to concentrate on what I’m reading, but the words just go blurry. I can feel him watching me, not saying a word, and it completely unnerves me. Finally, I drop my menu. “What?”
“Do you really think ‘I’m just saying that’ when I followed you to the gallery? You think that was actually a coincidence?”
I blink at him, captivated by his intensity. “No.” He goes quiet until I can’t take it anymore. “Why are you here anyway?”
“Why do you think?” “You’re stalking me?”
He laughs, the sound rough, and with little humor. It ends as quickly as it started. “No.”
Feels like it, though I don’t say so. “You said you were going to keep tabs on me after what I—saw.”
“That was just an excuse.”
“Then why? I don’t get it. I’m nothing special.” When I spot the incredulous look on his face, I keep talking. “No, really I’m not. I’m naïve and sheltered, and ridiculed at school for my beliefs. People don’t like you when you make them uncomfortable.”
“You think you make people uncomfortable?”
I nod. “I know I do. They don’t like the ring and what it stands for.” I hold up my hand for him to see it. This stupid ring that’s starting to feel more and more like a burden, especially after what I did last night.
Shame washes over me at the memories. “I think you’re brave.”
“Or stupid.”
“Not stupid, Birdy. Never stupid.”
“Do you ever feel trapped? Like there’s all this expectation on you to do all of these—things, sometimes things you don’t even want to do. People want you to act a certain way too. They never let you handle things on your own. As if they don’t think you’re capable of anything.” I press my lips together, suddenly wondering if I said too much.
“All the time,” he drawls. “As the baby of the family, my father wants to keep me on a short leash.”
“As the only child, my father does the same.”
“Yet he barely acknowledges me. Half the time, I think he forgets I even exist,” he continues.
“I wish my father forgot I existed sometimes.” A sigh leaves me. “I don’t know what it’s like, to be my own person.”
“I think you’re trying to be exactly that right now,” he says. His words give me hope. “You really think so?”
“Definitely. You’re stronger than you think. You just need to stretch your wings, and eventually fly.” He settles his hand over mine, rubbing his thumb across my knuckles, electricity sparking where we touch. “When do you turn eighteen?”
“Christmas Day,” I admit.
“Coming up then.” He doesn’t remove his hand from mine, and I like that. His possessive touch, the way he’s studying me. “Are you doing anything special?”
“I was going to have a party the day after,” I admit. “Where?”
“At my parents’ apartment. But I don’t know.” I shrug. “I don’t have any friends.”
“Yeah, you do.”
“None of them are real.”
He’s quiet for a moment, and I take his silence as agreement. Until he says, “I’m your friend.”
Until this very moment, I would’ve never described Crew Lancaster as my
friend.
“Are you really?” I whisper.
“I’m whatever you want me to be.” He curls his fingers around mine and lifts our linked hands, bringing them to his mouth, where he brushes the softest kiss against my knuckles.
I feel that touch all the way to my soul, settling deep in my bones. I lean toward him, my lips parting, my mouth dry, wishing I could find the words to explain how he makes me feel.
Like anything is possible.
“You should have the party,” he says.
Pulling my hand from his grip, I settle back in my seat. “I don’t think so. I’m going to cancel it.”
“Maybe you should let me take you out for your birthday.” He settles his hand over mine once more, as if he can’t stop touching me.
Why is he being so nice? Why does he suddenly care? It’s like he knew what I was doing last night. Touching myself while thinking of him, and now he’s here, and I don’t understand his mood change.
I wonder if he has ulterior motives…
“You want to take me out for my birthday? Why?” My voice squeaks, and I press my lips together.
The server appears, interrupting us, and Crew lets go of my hand. I sink it into my lap, clutching my hands together, nerves eating at me as the server mentions a few specials while I frantically scan the menu items.
“What would you like?” she chirps at me.
Slightly panicked, I order a salad, earning an incredulous look from Crew before he orders a cheeseburger and fries.
My stomach cramps at the thought of eating a burger, and I immediately regret my choice. But I’m not changing it.
No way can I eat a burger and fries in front of him.
When the server leaves, the conversation turns lighter. We talk about school. Art. The places we’ve been, the things we’ve seen. He discusses his brothers. His sister. I tell him about my parents, but I don’t go into too much depth. I don’t want him to know how lately, our relationship feels fractured. I don’t like how it makes me feel.
By the time our meals arrive, I’m starving, and I stare at my salad in dismay, the scent of Crew’s lunch wafting toward me, making my stomach growl. I watch as he brings the burger to his mouth and takes a big bite, my gaze lingering on his lips. How he chews. Swallows. Grabs a couple of fries and dips them in ketchup before he drops them into his mouth.
I stab my fork in the bowl of salad like I’m trying to murder lettuce and kale, shoveling it in, frustration rippling through me as I eat, wishing there were at least pieces of chicken in it. It’s good, but I bet I’ll end up hungry again within the hour.
“You’re watching me eat as if you want to steal the burger out of my hands,” Crew says at one point, amusement in his voice.
“It looks delicious,” I admit.
“Why didn’t you order one?” He takes another bite. “I don’t eat a lot of red meat,” I admit, which is true.
“Why not?” His gaze narrows. “You don’t think you’re fat, do you?”
I shake my head. Shrug. “Maybe? I don’t know. I need to watch my weight.”
“You’ve got big tits, Bird. That’s it. And a nice ass.” He drops the crude compliments so easily, making me blush.
“They’re too big,” I whisper, briefly glancing down at my chest.
“No, they’re definitely not.” He’s staring at them, then blinks, as if shaking himself out of a trance. He holds the burger toward me. “Want a bite?”
I’m dying for a bite. I nod, and he feeds it to me, placing the burger in front of my mouth as I sink my teeth into it. The moment the flavors burst on my tongue, I’m moaning, savoring it as I chew slowly and eventually swallow.
Crew is staring at me, his lips parted. The half-eaten burger still clutched in his hand. “You’re sexy when you eat.”
My blush deepens. “I’m sure I look like a pig.”
“You definitely don’t.” He drops the burger on his plate and pushes it toward me. “Have some fries.”
We share his plate, clearing everything in minutes, the salad long forgotten. When the server stops by, Crew orders more fries and lets me eat most of them, watching me with an amused look on his face the entire time.
Like I entertain him, which is both thrilling and scary. I don’t know what we’re doing, but I’ve decided to stop wondering about his motives and just go with it.
“You never did answer my question,” I say to him as I’m still devouring fries.
He frowns. “What question?”
“Why you want to take me out for my birthday.” I sip from my water glass. “You barely know me.”
“I’m getting to know you.”
“And sometimes you still act as if you don’t like me.” “Right back at you.” He smiles.
Ugh, he’s too pretty when he does that.
“I just don’t go out for my birthday with some random boy,” I say, my voice small.
“I’m not just some random boy, as you call me. We’ve known each other for a while,” he says, as if that makes all the sense in the world for him wanting to take me out.
“And you’ve treated me terribly since day one,” I remind him.
“Yet here you are, sitting in a restaurant having lunch with me.” The smile is still there, and I’m tempted to slap it off his face.
Or kiss it off.
Okay fine, more like kiss it off.
Clearing my throat, I decide to be brave for once in my life.
“Do you like me now, Crew? Or is this some sort of secret trick you’re going to pull on me? Is Ezra lurking around the corner, filming us together? Or maybe it’s Malcolm. He seems to dislike me more.”
Anger flushes his face and his eyes burn as he glares at me. “No one is secretly filming us. Don’t put me on the same level as Larsen.”
“I’m not, it’s just…” My voice drifts and I stare out the window for a moment. “I don’t know if I should trust your motives.”
That’s as real and as raw as I can get. Being with Crew is exciting, but it’s also…
Scary.
For all sorts of reasons. Good and bad.
When I return my attention to him, I find he’s watching me, his expression serious. He’s quiet for so long, I start to wiggle in my seat.
“You should trust me,” he finally says. “I like you, Birdy. And I don’t go chasing after random girls in art galleries on a Saturday morning. That’s not my style.”
I dip my head, unable to stop the smile from spreading across my face. A thousand butterflies just hatched in my stomach, their fluttering wings making me giddy.
“I have a question for you,” he says, right when I shove the last fry in my mouth.
I pause in my chewing, swallowing before I say, “Whenever you start a sentence like that, it always ends up being an uncomfortable subject for me.”
“We’re getting to know each other, remember? I’m curious about you.”
“Okay.” I drag the word out.
“About the ring. How that came about.” His gaze drops to my hand. “The purity ball or whatever it’s called. Why did you go?”
“It’s a long story.”
“I’ve got all afternoon to listen.” He leans back in his chair, making himself comfortable.
God, he’s so annoying sometimes. Always asking me about stuff I don’t want to talk about.
Yet here I am, ready to tell him all about it.
“It started before the ring. I did something that—scared my parents when I was twelve,” I admit.
His gaze flickers with interest. “What happened?”
“I got my first phone and I immediately joined a bunch of forums that focused on stuff I was interested in. Mostly boy bands.”
“One Direction?”
I nod. “It’s a rite of passage for preteen girls around my age.”
“I was always partial to Harry,” he teases. At my surprised look, he continues, “I have a sister, I know about One Direction.”
“Everyone loves Harry. I liked Niall. But anyway.” I wave a hand. “I spent a lot of time on these forums and I met a boy on there. He was fifteen.”
“That should’ve been your first clue something was up. What fifteen-year- old dude goes on those forums to talk about One Direction?” Crew rolls his eyes.
“I was only twelve. I didn’t know.” I shrug, feeling defensive. “Anyway, we started talking. A lot. He asked me for a photo and I sent him one. He shared his photo with me. Lots of photos. He was really cute. Sweet. He seemed to understand me, when no one else really ever has.”
I go quiet, the memories painful. I was gullible. Completely innocent. I believed in him so strongly, I thought we could be together. He would be my boyfriend.
“What happened?” Crew asks quietly.
“He wanted to meet me. In Central Park on a beautiful spring day, so I agreed.” I press my lips together, my gaze growing distant. “I took my friends though. They wouldn’t let me go alone.”
“You have good friends.”
“Had. We all went our separate ways when I got into Lancaster.” A sigh leaves me. “He never showed, and I was just…devastated. We waited at the park for hours, until it started getting dark. My friends comforted me, but I cried standing in the middle of Central Park, believing I’d been dumped. The moment I got home and finally checked the forum, I had a bunch of direct messages from him, yelling at me in all caps that he actually went to the park. He even saw me, but he was angry because I brought my friends. He just wanted me there alone, he said.”
“If he was fifteen, he wouldn’t have cared,” Crew observes.
“Exactly. And he wasn’t fifteen. He was thirty-nine. Married with a couple of kids. The photos he shared with me were of his oldest son.” My appetite leaves me and I shove the plate away. “I was so humiliated.”
“How did you find out he was a perverted dad looking to get with a little girl?” Crew’s expression is thunderous.
“After the missed meeting, I couldn’t stop crying, and I was so depressed. I stopped talking to him as much, and he kept trying to get me to meet up with him, but I refused. I thought he would just trick me again and not show up. I’m so glad I didn’t go.” A shuddery breath leaves me. “My parents were aware that I was upset, but I wouldn’t tell them anything. My father eventually did a search of my phone and found out about the relationship I had with the boy. He’s the one who discovered who he really was by hiring a private investigator. It was so embarrassing.”
“What happened after that?”
“Turns out the guy talked to other girls my age and even met with a few of them—and raped them.”
“Holy shit.” Crew actually appears surprised.
I nod. “I know. I was lucky. Once that all went down, my parents—my father—went into total protection mode. He wouldn’t let me go anywhere alone. I had to report where I was at all times. They put a tracker on my phone. They wouldn’t let me spend the night at my friends’ houses. I was on complete lockdown,” I explain.
“Sounds awful.”
“It was, and I was so scared all the time. I didn’t trust myself, or my judgment. I was tricked by that guy, and it hurt. My parents made me apply to Lancaster, even though I didn’t want to go there. I wanted to stay with my friends and go to the same high school as they did, but my parents wanted me safe. My father didn’t trust me.”
“Do you feel safe at Lancaster?”
“Lately, no. I was oblivious to what was really going on the last three years, so I guess I did feel safe. Ignorance is bliss, I guess? Right before I turned fifteen, my father came to me, explaining the purity ball and how it works. What it stood for. He wanted me to make a promise to myself, and swear that I wouldn’t get involved sexually with any boy until I got married. I think he was worried I’d make bad decisions I’d end up regretting. Like— before.”
“That’s…kind of heavy,” Crew says. “And you shouldn’t have to pay for that one mistake you made for the rest of your life.”
He’s right. I know he is. “At the time, it was exactly what I needed. What I firmly believed in. I thought I still did, but now…I don’t know.”
Crew frowns. “What do you mean?”
“I’m almost eighteen. And as you already know, I’ve never been kissed. I can’t go through life completely sheltered, can I? I need to experiment. Meet guys. Go on dates. Kiss them. Let them touch me. Right?”
