Promise Me

Amber lets out a breath and hands her ticket to the valet. “I’m okay. Just got overheated in there and”—her eyes dart away—“a little queasy. This is what I get for eating day-old pizza for lunch.”

“I’m sorry,” Kendall says.

She waves away her sister’s concern. “I’ll be okay. I wanted to tell you I’m heading home. There’s no reason to cut your night short, though, if you’ve got another way home.” Her gaze jumps to me.

“I can drive you both,” I offer, because I hate the idea of Kendall slipping away from me with all the unanswered questions like a roadblock between us. All I know for sure is she’s definitely not sticking around. They may not be the closest siblings on the planet, but she’s not staying while Amber heads off on her own, looking like death.

“No.”

The word comes out in stereo from both sisters, loud enough to be heard over the purr of Sally’s Jaguar pulling to the curb.

Amber offers a wobbly smile. “I know it’s only a couple miles, but I don’t know if my stomach’s going to cooperate for the entire drive. I really, really don’t want to be the girl who throws up in front of Vaughn Shaughnessy.”

“You wouldn’t be the first—”

“I’ll drive us home,” Kendall insists. She’s in guardian angel mode as she walks to the driver’s side and holds out a tip for the valet. But this time it’s her sister she’s looking after.

I help Amber into the passenger seat, close the door, and then lean in the lowered window. “Feel better soon.”

“I will,” she promises.

I glance over at Kendall. “Good night.”

“’Night,” she says around a small, apologetic smile before pulling away.

I stand there, rooted to my spot, watching the car’s taillights disappear into the stream of traffic on Sunset. I’m not sure what just happened between us, but one thing is crystal clear. Kendall’s not playing hard to get.

She is hard to get.

Chapter Nine

Kendall

“Ohmigod! This is excellent,” Brit says, her face filling the screen of my phone. “I’m proud of you, K. Last time we talked I wasn’t sure you’d put yourself out there.”

“I don’t know what I’m doing,” I tell her, more confused than ever about Vaughn. Sunlight streams into the kitchen. Flour, butter, sugar, blueberries, and my secret crumbly topping make a mess of the counter.

“What you’re doing is moving on, and the next time Vaughn touches your face or slides his fingertips anywhere on you, you’re going to kiss the bejesus out of him. Got it?”

“It’s not that—”

“Easy? Yes it is.” Her argument is easier to swallow with the compassion in her big brown eyes. “You’re single, K. He’s single. There is no reason not to have a summer fling. Take it from an expert, he is into you.” Her eyes soften even more. “It’s time you let yourself off the hook for what happened with Mason.”

She’s been telling me this for years, but no one can absolve me but me. Memories and feelings, good and bad, are a powerful bitch to deal with.

I continue to plate the blueberry muffins I baked this morning when I couldn’t sleep, caught up in thoughts of Vaughn’s hands on me.

I want them on me again.

Everywhere. My body is on fire just thinking about him holding my waist while we danced. Goosebumps rise on my skin when I relive the sensation of his fingers grazing my neck as he sought the pendant practically nestled between my breasts.

“You’re blushing,” Brit says. “Hallelujah, there is a guy out there who can steal your resolve.”

He’s a thief of more than that, stealing my decision, my composure, and what I thought was best for me. Still. I’m just here for the summer, and I’ve never been the kind of girl to have a fling. Throwing caution to the wind comes at a cost, I’ve learned. A high one, and I’ve already incurred and inflicted more than I can handle in one lifetime.

“Maybe…” I relive his touch, his smile, our rapport… “Maybe there is.” Temptation, for the first time ever, lives next door, and whenever I look into his eyes, nothing is normal for me.

The oven timer dings, signaling the next batch of muffins is done. “I say you take some of those muffins over to him this morning,” Brit suggests.