Falling for the Ghost of You(35)

I don't, out of fear that yes, Zane would take one look at my naked body, shrug, and turn around again. Also, I would never actually do something like that. This goes way beyond my expertise. Hell, Matt—my first and only boyfriend—never even got my shirt all the way off. Zane is a man, and I know for a fact that he's gotten more than a few girls—women's—shirts off. And more.

I am way out of my depth here. Still, I can't leave him with the last word.

"I think I'll walk around naked for a while," I snap as I stomp past him. "You should probably stay in your room. I wouldn't want to offend you."

I sneak a look at him out of the corner of my eye, and I could swear I see a hint of a smile. I don't stop to make sure, heading straight to my room.

Breathing unsteadily, I don't bother to get dressed as I grab my cell phone and start tapping in a phone number. Yes, I'm angry-dialing, similar to drunk-dialing, but not as stupid because I'm able to hang up before I complete the call when I realize it's almost one in the morning. Tomorrow, then.



It's our last night together.

I'm in the kitchen, boiling noodles for the spaghetti I'm making for dinner tonight. I'm only half paying attention to what I'm doing, so I have serious concerns for how it will turn out.

Where is Zane? What if he decides to stay out all night? I debate whether or not I should call him, and wisely decide I'd better not.

I stir the noodles around so they don't get burned to the bottom, then nervously pace back and forth. This is my last chance. After tonight, I can kiss my chances goodbye, instead of kissing Zane. Once our parents get back, Zane will go back to L.A. And I'll hardly have a chance—or excuse—to see him.

That's why I brought out the big guns. It took me three hours to get ready tonight, and that was with Lauren's help (after I promised I would keep her updated with texts). This outfit is new—just got it today, in fact. The shirt is sexy and red, made out of a gauzy material, with a deep v-shaped neckline. The front of it is held together by tiny hooks that show little gaps of skin when I lean forward. A floaty black miniskirt and high heels complete my hot-or-is-she-trying-too-hard look. I've kept my makeup minimal, just some lip gloss and eyeliner, and my hair is product-free, long and curling down my back.

So what took me so long to get dressed? Choosing my underwear! Because I am determined that somebody is going to be seeing it tonight. I just hope that—

"What are you making?"

I scream, my hands flying up—which is very unfortunate, since I'm holding a colander full of noodles.

Oh, crap!

Miraculously, Zane somehow catches the colander and most of its contents, save for a few stray noodles, which rightfully land on me. Guess what? They're scalding hot!

I shriek and fling the strands off me and into the sink. Humiliating? I think so.

Zane is trying not to laugh as he sets the colander on the counter. He takes in my appearance, slowly scanning me from head to toe before speaking. "What's up, Violet?"

"Um...nothing." I busy myself with brushing sticky bits of noodles on my shirt. "Uh, actually, are you going out tonight? Because I have a date coming over. For dinner. I'm making spaghetti. For this guy—his name is Mark."

Zane stares at me for a couple of seconds. "You're having a guy come here?"

I nod nervously, running my hands down my short skirt. "Yes. For dinner—spaghetti." I gesture lamely to the meatballs simmering in pasta sauce on the stove.

He leans against the counter and crosses his muscled arms over his chest. "Actually, I think I'll be staying in all night."

"What? Why?"

"Because no way in hell am I leaving you alone with some horny jackass—especially looking like that."

My mouth falls open in outrage. "Like what?!"

"You know like what." He gestures angrily at me. "He'll take one look, and be all over you. Then I'd have to beat his ass into the ground."

"Uh, no you don't! I can take care of myself, and I really don't need you interfering!"

"Interfering?" I flinch back as Zane explodes in exasperation. "Violet, you’re god damned seventeen years old! You think I’m going to sit back and do nothing while some punk takes advantage of you."

I slam a sassy hand on one hip. "Who says I won't be taking advantage of him?"

Zane stares at me like I just grew another head. He shakes his head slightly. "You don't mean that," he says quietly.

I glare at him. "Yes, I do. God, you're such a hypocrite! You used to have a different girl over here every night, screwing their tiny brains out. I know—the walls here are very thin and sounds are really amplified, you know! So don't you dare lecture me!"