Jess is groaning like she's in pain and rubbing her eyes while I back Bessie out of the rink's employee parking lot.

"I don't think it was as bad as you're making it. Your sister couldn't possibly have figured anything out. I think it went rather well if you don't dwell on the part where Mich.e.l.le almost blew the whole thing by decking me." He laughs.

"This is so not funny. What about the part where my not-boyfriend, Corey was holding hands with your not-girlfriend, Mich.e.l.le? That was hard to miss. Worse, I wonder how long Kika was watching me skate like that-all wrapped up snuggled and happy in your arms."

"Were you? Happy?" My throat tightens as I regret asking that.

I try to meet her gaze, but can only catch her darkened reflection in the ink-black pa.s.senger window. It's not light enough to read what she's thinking.

"Why?" she asks. Her tone has taken on a skeptical drawl. "I'll pay you even if I'm not happy, you know. My happiness was never put into the contract, okay? Where are you taking me? We still have two hours before my curfew's up. It's bad form to be home before my little sister."

"I need Band-Aids." I hold up my fingers.

She gasps. "Do you have blisters like that on both hands?"

"Yep. Those lanyard hooks from the last batch of ladybugs wouldn't hook on without a bit of brute force mixed with skin."

"Why didn't you tell me? I just thought you had really rough man-hands. It was so dark in the rink I never thought-I've been holding your hands all night. I probably made them worse."

"I do have rough, manly, and mannish, man hands. So glad you noticed," I try to joke, but my voice sounds forced.

She laughs, apparently not noticing that I'm acting like a freak.

"I'm taking you home." I wiggle my fingers. "Gran will still be awake. I'd love for you to meet her."

"No. Not your house! No way!" She grips the sides of her seat.

"Why?"

"I don't think I have it in me to...you know...pretend for another second. It takes a lot of energy for me to fake it. Seeing Kika at the rink took it all out of me. I can't possibly betray a sweet old lady after that."

"We're already here. Don't worry. You won't have to pretend anything around my Gran."

"Does she know? Did you tell her about the contract? About me?"

"I've told her I've got a crush on a girl that's playing hard to get. I'll show you my house, fix up my fingers, and then it will be time to drive you home. No biggie." I pull Bessie into our long driveway and park in front of the detached one-car garage. My house can't compete with hers, but I know that Jess doesn't register any sort of materialistic stuff as important. Another reason I like her too much.

"I don't want to go in," she whispers and meets my gaze. The front light is streaming into the cab of my car. I recognize Jess's expression. She had the same tense, yet vulnerable look on her face the first time she'd come to meet me at the sports complex.

Beautiful. Terrified. And exhausted.

If only I could erase the last two things. I seek solace in the fact that she's letting me see what she used to work very hard to hide.

"We'll keep this low key. Gran's great. You'll love her."

"And if she doesn't like me?"

"Impossible." I wink, trying to get a smile, but instead she leans her head against the seat and closes her eyes as though she wants to block me out. It's too tempting not to stare when I'm this close. And when she's not looking. "You're the kind of girl she's always hoping I'll bring home," I add. My heart catches when she smiles, eyes still closed.

"I bet you've used that line on every single girl you've had sitting in this very spot." She opens her eyes and meets my gaze. The warm evening breeze blowing in through the windows gently ruffles the curls that frame her face.

c.r.a.p, do I love those wispy curls...those blue eyes. Her.

I wish I could tell her. Instead, I smile back. My gaze wanders along the curve of her cheek and I follow it down to her neck. If only I had the right to kiss her.

Or at least, the courage.

Maybe I do.

I lean slightly forward. Her eyes are heavy, staring at my lips. She moves an inch closer to me and I hold my breath. That's when I spot the flash behind her shoulder.

"c.r.a.p!" I sit back, completely freaked out. "And c.r.a.p!"

"What?" She's looking around. Her cheeks have flooded into glowing fire. Mine are in a similar state, I'm sure.

Right now, every inch of my entire body burns with longing.

She's facing forward in her seat with her back pressed straight against it, and she won't look at me.

Did I almost kiss Jess Jordan?

Did she almost let me?!

"And c.r.a.p," I mutter again. I talk as quickly as I can, pretending the moment never happened. "Gran has been staring at us from the window this whole time. Sit tight." I open my door and leap out. "She'll never forgive me if I don't do this right." If I weren't so stressed, I'd laugh at the irony of that statement. I've never been able to do one thing right where Jess Jordan is concerned. My botched attempt at kissing her is a perfect example.

"Do what?" she asks. "What?"

I talk to her through her open window because she's still so gripped, I'm afraid she's going to deck me or scream. I wouldn't blame her for either. "I must, in the presence of a lady, act like a gentleman if my grandmother is watching." I'm afraid to look into Jess's eyes just yet so I swing her door open with a flourish, holding out my hand for her to take. "Humor me, and try to look pleased. If I mess up, Gran will grill me for weeks. But don't get used to this," I joke.

She takes my hand and shoots me the back-off glare. "If you try this again, ever in front of anyone under the age of 70, you'll need to get used to me, hurting you. This is completely embarra.s.sing, you know?"

"And super awkward. You forgot that." I grin, relaxing slightly when she laughs. I close the door behind her.

"What about the part where I don't want to go inside?"

"Too late for that. Hurry. Gran's a stickler for propriety. Any seconds that tick past the 9PM mark will be held against me."

Gran is opening the door and speaking through the screen as we make it up the front steps. "Young man, you'd better have an excuse for showing up here at this hour and with a guest. You should have called me on that cell phone of yours."

"Sorry, Gran. It was an emergency. Plus you tell me not to call while I'm driving. I needed some first aid," I say, holding up my fingers so Gran can see the blisters.

"Oh my. Well. Come on then you two. I've got a pot a tea already brewing." She drags Jess into the kitchen and I follow. "I've waited a long time for Gray to bring home a girl. You're the first," she says as she bustles around, pouring about twenty miniature cookies onto a plate and hovers the plate in front of Jess's face. "Please, have one and take a seat." She points to one of the chairs.

Jess flushes, takes one of the cookies and sits with wide eyes.

She's still sporting some very red cheeks. It's not lost on me that she's very cute with powdered sugar coating her fingers. She's also sitting in my spot at our antique, slightly battered kitchen table.

I love her in my spot.

"My, but you're a beautiful young lady." Gran smiles.

"Thanks," Jess says and eats the cookie.

"Now, where does your family live? Near here?" Gran starts in, picking up her own cookie and moving a chair closer to Jess. My stomach clenches. Why in the h.e.l.l have I brought Jess here? Gran is going to connect the dots and flip out!

Worse, she's going to blow my cover.

I cough and clear my throat. "Uh...Gran, I hate to ask for help and sound like a wimp in front of my girl but, do you think you could give me a little a.s.sistance?" Under the kitchen light, my two blisters look puny. It's pretty obvious I could handle them alone, but they're the only distraction I've got to get Gran out of gossip-granny-mode.

I blink helplessly and try my puppy-dog eyes. Gran loves it when I need her. "I can't open the cabinets and dig around very well-please?"

"Oh, my poor boy." Gran's bought it like a humming bird aiming for red. "Jess, you watch the teapot and pour when ready. We'll be right back."

Chapter Twenty-Three.

Jess I wait a good five minutes, pour the tea, drink the tea, and demolish a surprising amount of the crumbly cookies. Sitting here with warm tea swirling in my stomach has pushed me past the point of exhaustion and into a dangerous zone of near oblivion. I've almost fallen asleep twice already. I'm not going to let them return to find me head down and zonked at the table.

This means I'm going to have to move.

The clock on the microwave reads 9:30. I rearrange the remaining cookies to fill the gaping hole on the plate and head out of the kitchen.

Only another hour-and-a-half until my curfew's up. I can make it.

I head into the hallway and pause, taking in the wall photos. It's like a shrine-to Gray. I stop and stare at each and every one. There's years of cute little toddler Grays all dressed up in brand new outfits. Then kid-sized Grays holding various lunchboxes as he's heading off to his first days of school.

So cute.

Farther down the hallway toward the staircase, I come to the ice hockey photos, arranged by age, little to big. He must have started playing ice hockey around age five or six. The most recent are of Gray, as a.s.sistant coach for the junior level hockey teams at the Complex.

The last photo holds me rooted to the spot.

It's Gray, probably as a freshman as a team member of our high school's ice hockey team. Not a formal shot, but rather the fool-around-and-make-faces photo snapped by a parent. Gray's standing to the far left. He's much younger than the other players, but he has a varsity jersey. I figure he must have been good to have made varsity; but it's obvious he's the odd man...or should I say, odd boy out. The guy was puny before his growth spurt.

Stranger yet, his arm's around Coach William's shoulders and they're laughing.

I wonder what happened between Coach Williams and Gray. How I can find out? There are no ice hockey photos after that. Only shots of Gray playing inline hockey at the sports complex, and one really sweet one of him, Corey and Mich.e.l.le in front of this house.

As I turn away, black spots rush across my vision. I hold onto the wall for support. I feel like I'm about to black out. This happens often when I become this overtired. My body morphs into a two-billion pound slug and I start to collapse from the inside out. If I can't catch a nap soon, I could lose all control. I don't want to do that in front of Gray. Anyone. Hearing voices at the top of the stairs, I grip the wooden banister and start up. I'm moving slowly in case the urge to faint returns, plus, I'm not a fan of falling down stairs.

Gran's voice reaches me before I hit the landing.

"Gray Porter, you've lost your mind!"

"Okay. Maybe I have. I know I shouldn't be taking her money, that's for sure. But it's not an easy thing to bring up, and I mean to. I will."

My throat tightens when I realize this conversation is about me.

He drops his voice to a whisper, "We're starting to be real friends and I care about her. I'll figure out a way-soon."

"Oh, the poor girl. What have you gotten yourself into with all of this? Oh, the poor, poor girl. She seems so sweet. Poor little love."

My chest crushes inward like I've been hit with a bag of sand. Pity sand.

My eyes burn with unshed tears. Embarra.s.sment fills my lungs to the bursting point. Pushing back my exhaustion, I clear my throat and force my tone into one of teasing sarcasm. "You two done with the amputations?"

I'm well used to conversations dying like this in front of me. Because of me.

Gray's grandmother opens the bathroom door wide. Her soft, rounded face is flushed. Gray looks completely ill. I shoot them both a straight-faced look, daring them to discuss the contract and my fake relationship with Gray to my face.

After people have been told I'm *different', they never act the same around me. And I'm sure a girl who has to hire a boyfriend for the summer must come across as *different' to Gran. I shouldn't care...but I do.

"I...uh...finished my tea. Hope you don't mind I came looking for you," I say, surprised at how steady and bright my voice sounds. I must be on autopilot.

Gran comes out of the bathroom with Gray in tow. "No. No. I'm sorry. We got to talking and we just abandoned you, didn't we?" The woman's face is shifting to brighter red and I can read that she's wondering if I've overheard them.

I meet Gray's shuttered gold-green gaze. He moves to my side and takes up my hand as though he means to apologize. If I weren't feeling so light-headed I would have shaken it off because on principle-if his grandmother knows about the contract-there's no need to pretend he's my boyfriend anymore.

But I'm sinking, and the feel of his palm against mine is the only thing keeping me afloat. Desperate, I squeeze his hand hard. I hope he understands I'm at the edge of an abyss. "Gray, can I have a tour of your room?" My voice quavers. I point to the closed door at the end of the hallway-the one with the giant hockey stick attached to it. "I want to see your trophies and all that," I manage, hoping they won't bring it up again.

"Sure. Gran? Is it okay?"

I think Gran looks almost relieved that the crazy girl isn't going back down to the kitchen with her. "Door open. And no funny business," she says with a smile that doesn't reach her eyes. She's staring at my hand in Gray's. I can sense she's worried. Maybe about Gray, or our contract. Maybe she's wondering just what, exactly, I paid for. As if.

"Gran!" Gray sighs. "Jess has an eleven o'clock curfew. We'll listen to music and talk for an hour. Promise. Door open is no problem. I'm a gentleman."

We head into his room and I catch sight of a wall of medals and trophies out of the corner of my eye, but my real attention is riveted on the bed. His comfortable looking, neatly made bed. "Your room is so clean," I mumble.

"Easy to keep it up when I'm never in it."

"Mine's the opposite. I refuse to leave it unless forced. It's always a mess."

Gray frowns. I regret that slip of information. I release his hand and flop onto his mattress. "Do you mind?" I ask. "You said if I ever needed to nap I should tell you...and I need a nap..."

My eyes are already closed. I won't be able to move if he does mind. I've already kicked off my shoes. "I don't feel quite right, sorry."

"Did you hear what we said?" he asks. I hear him walking around the room, moving things. His pillow smells great-like him.

"I don't mind that you told her about the contract."

"Is that what you think I told her?"

"It's pretty obvious you told her the truth. What else would make her so angry and freaked? I bet she's not happy that you're a paid companion for the summer, huh?"