“Where are we going?” I yell over the music as he leads me into the house.
It’s way more crowded in here than when we first arrived. People are packed shoulder to shoulder, and the air is thick with noise and heat. If Jay wasn’t so tall, I would lose sight of him in the crowd immediately. Still, that doesn’t stop me from falling behind even though I’m trying my best to stick close.
I get stuck behind four guys in a playful shoving match, and before I can squeeze my way around, Jay doubles back. Without a word, he grabs my hand and pulls me through the group.
He leads me through the kitchen and into the hallway, and it’s so much easier now that I only have to trail behind him since he’s so big and his grasp on my hand is so firm and—
Oh my god. I’m holding Jay’s hand. We’re holding hands!
The thought hits me like the pie I took to the face or the splash of cold water when he pushed me into the pool. We’re walking through a party whileholding hands. And sure, it’s just to help me keep up with him, but it doesn’t stop me from thinking about how big and warm his hand is, how confidently and possessively he holds me, how much I like the way his fingers intertwine with my own.
Get a grip, Carina!
“Where are we going?” I ask again now that the music isn’t as loud, trying to distract myself from the fact that my body doesn’t seem to hate being this close to him.
Jay spares me a backward glance but keeps walking as he says, “Ralph’s got spare towels in the bathroom.”
He stops at a door in the hallway, trying to turn the handle but finding it locked. He drops my hand to knock on the door, and I immediately wrap my arms around myself even though I’m no longer cold. I press my arms harder against my chest, like I can stop my heart from beating as hard and loud as it is at his statement.
“We’re in here!” a girl’s voice calls from behind the door, and a few other girls chime in that they’re dealing with an emergency and to give them a few minutes.
Jay crosses his arms and leans his shoulder on the wall, facing me. “They’ll probably be a while. Ralph might have a change of clothes for you if you want.”
I push my wet hair off my shoulder and lean against the wall with him, trying to stay out of people’s way as they move through the hallway. “It’s all right, we can wait.”
Jay knew I was cold and soaking wet, so he brought us here to get me atowel.
He watches me carefully, like he’s deciding if I mean it or not, and I pray my face doesn’t betray my internal freak-out over this weird change in our relationship. From him hating me and calling me aPreston Whitmoreto saving me from being humiliated and getting me a towel because I’m cold. And he’s not even drunk! He’s completely, one hundred percent sober, and so am I, so there’s no alcohol to blame for this disorienting turn of events.
There’s an intensity in the air and something in the way he’s looking at me that makes my stomach flip with too many emotions, so I change the subject by asking, “How did you have such great aim with that potato salad? You didn’t even get a single splatter on Emmett, and he was standing right beside me.”
“I grew up throwing the ball around with my friends and even made the baseball team in ninth grade. I’ve got a good arm.”
“Were you the pitcher?”
“No, I played center field. The position demands a lot of running, and I was already conditioned from soccer.”
It makes sense he plays soccer, since he is coaching his sister’s team. And he looks athletic enough, especially right now with the way his biceps bulge as they’re pressed against his chest.
“Kalani convinced me to try out for volleyball in eighth grade, and it only took the first day, when I left covered in bruises, to realize sports aren’t really for me. I’ll stay in the art room where there aren’t projectiles flying toward my face at record speeds.”
He laughs at that. It’s a nice sound. “Well, it’s been a while since I played, so I’m glad my aim is still on point.”
“You didn’t play throughout high school?”
“Only soccer. I had to drop baseball in tenth grade because it ran at the same time as debate club.”
I study him, looking at him in a new light. “Math awards, debate team, quick problem-solving skills by starting that food fight out there.” I give him a smile like I’ve got him all figured out. “You act like a huge jerk so people don’t find out what a big softie you really are.”
He rolls his eyes, but his lips quirk up. “That doesn’t mean I’m abig softie. It means I’m smart.”
“What about the fact that you saved me from public humiliation? You hate me, you could’ve let me suffer.”
“Hate is a strong word.”
“I annoy you.”
He pauses, turning thoughtful as he considers his words. When he looks at me again, his voice is low, serious. “You sure do. You’re not just annoying, you’re annoyinglyunforgettable. Which is so much worse.”