“Hey!” I yelled.
His gaze instantly came to my window. I flattened myself on the seat cushion and put a pillow over my face.
“Well, that was stupid, dummy. He already saw you,” I said into the pillow. I sat up again. But Lucian was nowhere to be seen.
The cherry tree outside my window shuddered, and I heard a grunt.
“What the—”
There was something in the tree. No. Not something, someone. I blinked several times and wondered if I needed a new glasses prescription, because it looked like Lucian Rollins was climbing my tree. He shimmied up the trunk and gave the branch that skimmed over the porch roof a testing bounce.
Oh my God. Oh my God. Oh my God. A hot, popular junior had just climbed my tree because I’d yelled at him.
It was with a heady mix of horror and excitement that I watched him scale the branch before nimbly jumping onto the roof.
I slid off the cushion and backed toward the middle of my room as Lucian Rollins threw a leg over my windowsill and climbed inside.
Oh my God. Oh my God. Oh my God. Lucian Rollins was in my bedroom. Shit! Lucian Rollins was in my bedroom!
I glanced around, hoping my room wasn’t totally embarrassing. Thank God Mom had insisted on giving me a room makeover for my twelfth birthday. My doll house and hammock full of stuffed animals had been replaced with floor-to-ceiling bookcases my dad had installed. The pale pink walls had been covered with a moody blue paint.
But I’d just dumped two loads of clean laundry in a haphazard pile on the floor in front of the closet because Mom needed the laundry basket. I’d also emptied the contents of my backpack at the foot of my bed because I couldn’t find my favorite berry-pink highlighter that I reserved for only the most important class notes.
Dear lord. I had a favorite highlighter, and this past fall, Lucian had broken the school’s passing record on the football field.
My uninvited guest said nothing as I panicked silently.
Lucian picked up my book, flipped it over, and read the back. He raised a mocking eyebrow.
I crossed to him and snatched it out of his hand. “Why are you in my room?” I demanded, finally finding my voice.
“Mostly considering apologizing for the rock,” he said, his voice low and smooth.
“Mostly?”
He shrugged and began to wander the room. “I’ve never been inside your house before. I wanted to see what it was like.”
“You could have used the front door,” I pointed out. If I were a cheerleader, I’d know how to flirt. I’d have showered and be wearing matching pajamas and lip gloss. I’d toss my hair without hurting my neck, and he’d feel compelled to kiss me.
But I wasn’t a cheerleader. I was me, and I had no idea how to talk to my hot neighbor crush.
He paused at my desk and flipped through my CDs. His lips curved in a smirk. “Destiny’s Child and Enrique Iglesias.”
“You can’t just break into my house and judge my taste in music.”
“I’m not judging. I’m…intrigued.”
He was even cuter up close.
Wait. No, not cute. Gorgeous.
His hair was thick and dark and curled a little at the ends. He had a straight nose and high cheekbones that were so defined, Mrs. Clawser chose him as the model for portrait drawing in art class. Becky Bunton said Lucian had taken his shirt off and Mrs. Clawser had to stand in front of her hot flash fan for ten straight minutes.
Of course, Becky also claimed that her uncle invented JanSport book bags, so you had to take her claims with a grain of salt.
Lucian was tall with an athletic build that filled out his worn jeans and a long-sleeve Knockemout football shirt in a way that leaned more toward man than boy.
Was it getting hot in here? Did I need a hot flash fan?
I hadn’t had sex yet. I wanted my first time to be with someone who made me feel like a heroine in a book. Someone who could sweep me off my feet and make me feel special and good, not sweaty and awkward in the back seat of an ancient Toyota like Becky’s first time.
Lucian, with his muscly forearms and romantic hair, would make a girl feel that way. Special. Important.
How was I supposed to date boys in my own league when presented with this specimen? My dating options were restricted to the lower tier of high school guys. Like a member of the stage crew or maybe one of the slower boys on the track team.
But none of them measured up to my gorgeous next-door neighbor.
It wasn’t just his looks. Lucian moved through the halls of Knockemout High with a knowing confidence that the crowds would part around him. I, on the other hand, scurried from gap to gap, staring at the backs and shoulders of the entire student body.