I open the door wider and move aside. Zane slides past me, then turns around to face me. We stand there in the foyer, caught in an uncomfortable silence.

He goes to grab my hand, but I pull away from him. He raises his eyebrows as I hastily back away.

I don't know how to explain to him how I'm feeling, that if he touched me he'd break the dam of overwhelming emotions I am so desperately trying to control right now. And this was not the time to lose it, not with Mom in the next room.

Speaking of...

Mom appears, saving me in the nick of time. She rushes over to give Zane a hug, and is it weird to be jealous of my own mother? Also, I have the sudden urge to blurt out, "He's seen me naked!"

I don't, thank G.o.d. I clap a hand over my mouth and follow them into the sitting room. They sit on the couch and I fall into an armchair. Dazed, I watch as Mom babbles at him, making him look at the pictures, and telling funny stories about their European adventures.

Zane is so nice to her! Patient and charming, he jokes with her about his own experiences traveling. Every so often he'll glance over at me, amused and questioning. I avoid his gaze but sneak looks at him whenever his attention is elsewhere.

I trace the perfection of his features with my eyes: his elegant forehead, dark eyebrows over intense dark eyes, straight nose...that s.e.xy beautifully sculpted mouth. The exquisite curve of his cheekbones. That strong square jaw, unshaven...

Hey, I just realized-Zane's stubble is much lighter than the hair on his head. Hm, so is the fine hairs on his arms. I never noticed before...does he dye his hair? I wonder if it's the same red gold color as his dad's. Or maybe he's just one of those people whose body hair comes in light? I knew a girl who was an exotic mix of Hawaiian, Filipino, and German. Her hair and skin were dark, but she had a light blonde mustache. You could totally see it in the sun.

Anyway. I make a mental note to ask him about it later. Not that it's a big deal to me. I dye my hair all the time, after all.

Bill comes into the room, and he and Zane start talking about work stuff. Mom excuses herself to go check on dinner. I fidget uncomfortably in my chair, torn between wanting to escape to my bedroom, or throw myself into Zane's arms.

"Violet?"

"Huh?"

Mom is standing in front of me, and by the look on her face, I must have been really out of it. Sheepishly, I jump to attention.

"What's going on with you, today?" she asks, peering at me closely. She reaches out to feel my forehead with the back of her hand. "Are you okay?"

Don't look at Zane. Do not look at him. "Yeah," I mutter distractedly, rubbing my sweaty palms down the front of my dress. "Yeah, I, uh, you know...p.e.n.i.s."

"Excuse me?"

My horrified eyes meet Mom's. "Oh, my G.o.d! What did I just say? I meant to say p.e.n.i.s!"

Could Mom look any more terrified? I don't think so. "You did say 'p.e.n.i.s,'" she points out.

I slap a mortified hand over my mouth. "Oh, no."

Is it too much to hope that Zane and his father didn't hear that little p.e.n.i.s exchange? Yeah, of course. I am not going to look over there. I am going to ignore that m.u.f.fled cough/laugh sound coming from Zane's direction.

"I'm going to help you in the kitchen," I tell Mom miserably.

She eyes me warily. "I think you'd better."

Once inside, she interrogates me mercilessly. I am forced to tell her that Lauren made me watch a dirty movie the other night-and now she thinks my best friend is some kind of pervert with a secret brother. I wonder why I always make her my scapegoat. I guess that's what best friends are for, right?

Mom wants us to eat at the little kitchen table, since she deems the one in the dining room too big and formal for just the four of us. I set the table, and put the food in serving dishes, and I honestly could not tell you what we are having for dinner.

I thought sitting temptingly close next to Zane would be bad, but sitting across from him is worse, because now I have to look at him. I poke at my asparagus as Mom prattles on happily about the wedding.

"Well most of the guests have RSVP'd, and it looks like we're going to have about two hundred," Mom is saying. She shakes her head. "And that's mostly from my side. It's a shame you don't have any family besides Zane. I'm glad most of your friends from work can make it."

Bill hunches his shoulders and stabs at his roast beef. "They're more like acquaintances than friends," he mutters. You can totally tell he only invited them because Mom must've hounded him into it.

"Zane, when are you going back to L.A.?" she asks, and my ears perk up, waiting for his response.

"Tonight. I'm all packed up," he says.

"Oh, that's a shame you have to go so soon after we just got back." Mom sighs. "You'll be able to come back for our engagement party, right?"

Zane flashes her his killer smile. "Wouldn't miss it for the world."

He glances over at me and catches me gaping at him. I hastily look away, slamming my hand down on the table. My fingers. .h.i.t the edge of my spoon that's balanced on the plate, catapulting a blob of mashed potatoes into the air. It lands with a splat on Bill's shoulder. He doesn't even notice.

While I'm wiping the mashed potato blob off his shirt, Mom turns to Zane again. "So, did you and Violet see a lot of each other while Bill and I were gone?"

Eek!

Zane manages to catch my panicked gaze, and his eyes sparkle with mischievous malice. "Oh, a fair amount, wouldn't you say, Violet?"

I grit my teeth and rub harder at the damp spot on poor Bill's shoulder.

"That's good. I'm glad you two are getting to know each other."

"Oh, yeah," Zane says and smirks at me. "I had her for dinner once. Best meal of my life."

Oh, my G.o.d! "Really?!" I snap, glaring at him.

I feel like I might burst into flames. How could he say that, with that smile on his face?! And look at the suggestive way he's slowly chewing his asparagus.

Oh, G.o.d, they're gonna know what we did! They...

"I think you got it out, Violet," Bill's voice interrupts my frenzied thoughts. He tries to pull away from my vice grip on his sleeve.

"Don't say things like that!" I blurt out, accidentally glaring at Bill. "I mean-uh, sorry!"

By some miracle, Mom is completely oblivious to Zane's double meaning dirty talk. "I was almost worried that you guys wouldn't get along," she laughs.

Zane chuckles along with her. "Well, Lily, we did have a b.u.mpy ride in the beginning, but now Violet's like the little sister I never wanted."

I kick him under the table. Hard.

"Ouch!" Mom yelps, and looks down. "Violet! Did you just kick me?"

I gulp, eyes widening guiltily, meanwhile Zane-the jacka.s.s-is making m.u.f.fled sounds behind his fist. "No!" I deny, and cut my gaze to Bill, silently implicating him.

It only goes downhill from there. After dinner, I yank Zane by the front of his shirt into the bathroom. I just shut the door when he shoves me against it, trapping me with his body.

"Are we doing it in a bathroom?" He grins down at me. "Violet, I'm shocked."

"Oh, shut up!" I place both hands on his chest and try to push him back. He doesn't budge. "How could you have said those things in front of my mom, you pervert?! What if she had caught on?"

Zane just shakes his head. He braces a hand against the door, above my head. "Oh, come on. Parents only hear what they want to. Your mom's so distracted by the wedding plans, I could do this in front of her, and she wouldn't even notice."

He presses closer, trailing kisses down my neck. I shiver uncontrollably.

And just like that, we're making out wildly against the doorway. In the bathroom.

I can't help it-Zane does something amazing with his hand, and I moan loudly.

"Ssh!" He laughs and presses a finger over my lips. I freeze under him.

Suddenly, there is a knock on the door.

"Violet? Is that you in there?"

Mom!

I stare helplessly at Zane. Oh, c.r.a.p!

"Uh, no, it's me, Lily," Zane answers, saving me. "I'm just having some problems with my...zipper."

I snort loudly. Zane, his dark eyes dancing, covers my mouth. We both snicker at Mom's silence.

"Oh," she finally says in a subdued way. "Well, let me know if you need any help. Oh-no, I didn't mean it like that! I just meant if you-oh, no. Okay, I'm going to go! Well, good luck!"

Zane rests his forehead against mine, trying hard not to laugh. "Okay! Thank you!" he manages to say.

We both collapse in laughter. Zane's hand is still over my mouth, so I bite it. He winces and pulls away with a little smirk.

"You go out first," I whisper as he b.u.t.tons up his shirt. "And don't say anything dirty again!"

"Don't run from me again." He says it teasingly, but his dark eyes are deadly serious.

He bends down to give me one last kiss, then picks me up and moves me away from the door.

When he's successfully escaped, I shut the door and lean against it once more. I let my head fall back, laughing incredulously to myself. My bones are like mush--whether from the near miss, or Zane's kisses, I couldn't say.

But that half-painful, half-ecstatic soaring and diving feeling?

What can I blame that on?

Chapter 16.

It sucks that Zane is an hour and a half away in L.A., but we are always on the phone with each other, and he drives down to see me whenever he can. We still have to sneak around because I'm paranoid we'll run into my mom-which is why we avoid the local spots. I'm torn between wanting to show Zane off to people I know, and wanting to keep him my own smug little secret. He doesn't seem to mind either way. We go to movies in different towns, have dinner at restaurants so exclusive and fancy, I'm certain no one I know can afford them.

Oh, and here's something that really annoys me: everywhere we go, girls are constantly hitting on him! Blatantly, and right in front of me-when, clearly, we are together. Zane reacts with a practiced friendliness that suggests it happens to him all the time. I, however, don't handle it nearly as well as he does. Yeah, it turns out I'm a jealous freak who has no problem telling a b she needs to back the h.e.l.l off. Zane thinks it's funny, but it really bothers me. Who knows how many girls are all over him when he's home in L.A.? Does he flirt back? I obsess over it, but I can't bring myself to ask him about it, or ask him to define our relationship. I'm afraid of what he'll say.

I like the times we just hang out at the beach at night best. We talk about everything and anything. I tell him about my boring day at school, he tells me about a complex project he's working on.

That's what we're doing right now. Hanging out at the beach.

"Okay, are you sure you want to see this?"

I sit on my knees, facing Zane. His profile is to me, he's sprawled in the sand leaning on his elbows and watching the waves crash to sh.o.r.e. The breeze blows gently through his short dark hair, but tosses my locks mercilessly about.

"I am dying to see a picture of you as an adorable ten year old girl," Zane says mock solemnly. "Come, on, let's see it."

"Okay." I'm clutching the picture in my hand. "You're going to laugh, so I forgive you in advance."

I thrust the picture at his chest. He takes it and squints at it in the softening light. Then his eyes widen. "Holy s.h.i.t," he breathes. "Is this the girl that ate you?"

"Ha, no. You're funny." I s.n.a.t.c.h my picture back. "So I was super fat. It's my father's fault. He never hugged me."

"So, what, you ate him?"

I punch him in the shoulder. "You are so mean."

He laughs, and grabs my hand. "Okay, I'm sorry. Can I see it again? I promise I'll be good."

"You'd better," I huff.

I hand the picture back to him, and he studies it carefully. I don't really mind his teasing-heck, I know I was a brick house. But showing him my fat ten year old self feels kind of like a confession. Will he look at me differently now?

"You were cute," Zane says finally, handing it back to me.

"I was not," I correct him. "I looked weird. I had that light blonde hair with this skin color, and the funny-shaped eyes. I looked like an alien. A fat blonde alien."

"Nah. You were exotic."

I roll my eyes. "Okay. So, what did you look like as a kid?"

Zane sits up, bringing his long legs up and resting his arms on his knees. "Ah, you know, about the same as I do now, except shorter. And adorable, of course."

"Yeah? I bet you were a little brat."

"Me? Nah, I was a good kid. When I was, I don't know-five, maybe-I used to tell everyone I was Chinese."

"What?" I start laughing. "Why?"