Matt's hand gripped her arm. "Bridget, wait."

She froze but didn't turn around. She didn't want to see Alexa standing there behind him. "What? What is it? Don't you have better things to do?"

"I'm sorry, Bridge. I didn't mean to get you in trouble."

Alexa emitted a noise that sounded startlingly like a dog's growl. With a sigh, Bridget turned around. She didn't get the territorial display. It wasn't exactly a secret that Alexa had dumped Matt before the start of the school year, effectively making him the most sought-after high school bachelor in town. So why Alexa cared about Bridget was beyond her understanding. Wasn't she dating some college douchebag anyway?

The green eyes narrowed on Bridget. "What are you staring at?"

Could she be any more of a Mean Girls stereotype? Unbelievable. Bridget rolled her eyes. "A harpy, apparently."

"A what?"

"Seriously, crack a book once in awhile." Bridget shook free of Matt's grip and stalked down the street before Alexa could get in one of her standby "You're ugly" or "You're lame" comebacks.

"Jesus, Bridge," Hector panted, trotting up alongside. "Why not just commit hari-kari on the front lawn? That was social suicide back there."

Like she had a social life. "Don't care."

"Bridget, slow down." Peter, with his overloaded backpack plus the four textbooks cradled in his arms, struggled after them.

"Maybe if you weren't taking twenty classes so you can graduate early, you could actually keep up."

Peter's eyes welled up. Ugh, why was everyone such a pain in the ass today?

A car horn made her jump. Matt's truck pulled alongside, pacing her.

"Bridge," Matt said through the open window. "Can I give you a ride home?"

"Nope."

"Please?" He smiled, exposing perfect rows of sparkling white teeth.

Bridget stopped and Matt slammed on the brakes. "Why don't you drive Alexa home? You guys looked pretty cute and cuddly back there."

Matt flinched. "There's nothing going on between Alexa and me."

Bridget shrugged, trying to look casual. "Don't care."

"Liar," Hector said under his breath.

"Come on, let me give you a ride home." Matt leaned over to the passenger window. "Please?"

Bridget thought of Alexa and set her jaw. "What part of 'no' do you not understand?"

"Bridge," Hector whispered from behind her. "Let the man drive you home. Maybe he'll give me a lift too."

"Walking to the library," she said out of the corner of her mouth, "is the only exercise you get."

"I have a bad back."

"You have a lazy ass."

Hector rested his chin on her shoulder. "Do it for me, lady."

"Well?" Matt asked.

Yep, this clinched it. The day was made of fail.

"Fine. But my friends need a ride to the library."

Matt's face lit up, then clouded again immediately as Peter went straight to the passenger door, yanked it open, and started to climb in.

"Dude," Matt said, giving Peter a frat-boy-in-training staredown. "No."

Hector grabbed his friend by the backpack and dragged Peter to the truck bed. "This way, lover boy. Haven't you always wanted to ride in the back of a truck?"

Bridget stared out the window and tried to ignore Matt's fidgeting while they waited for the light to change. In thirty seconds he had adjusted his rearview mirror, turned on the radio, checked his cell phone, readjusted the mirror, and changed the radio station. Twice. Now Coldplay was blasting through the subwoofers. Really? Coldplay? Holy crap, this was her own personal nightmare: trapped in a pickup truck with Matt Quinn and Coldplay. Add some spiders and a porcelain doll or two, and she'd be curled up on the floor of the cab in the fetal position.

"I'm sorry, okay?"

She refused to look at him. "There are a lot of things I can forgive, but bad taste in music isn't one of them."

"Coldplay?"

Bridget wrinkled her nose.

"Will you forgive me if I change the station?"

"I'll try."

Matt switched to the local indie station as the light changed. "Perfect. So you forgive me for getting you grounded. Awesome."

Bridget swore under her breath. She had walked right into that one.

"You know," he said, turning onto Sunset Boulevard. "You know, if you weren't so much trouble, I wouldn't worry about you."

"If I weren't so much trouble?"

"Yeah."

"And how would you know anything about my life?"

Matt shrugged.

"Because unless you've been talking to the two dorks in the back of your truck, I'm guessing you don't know jack about it."

"I've heard about where you go on the weekends. Clubs and stuff."

Clubs and stuff? She and Hector hit the occasional concert south of Market or in Berkeley, but it was hardly "stuff"-and not on her mom's radar. What the hell was he talking about?

Bridget shifted her hips to face him and immediately noticed the flush spreading up his neck. Suddenly she knew exactly who had been spreading the rumors about her. Bridget dug her fingernails into the faux leather seat. That bitch.

"For your information, the only words Alexa Darlington's spoken to me since the sixth grade are the ones you witnessed this afternoon, and as far as her or you knowing anything about my life, let's just say you're both clueless, okay?"

"But that's what I mean."

"Right. I'm sure you'd be perfectly happy if I spent my time beerbonging it at the football team's latest blowout. Or perhaps you'd prefer it if I just partied with Kappa Sig like your ex-girlfriend? You'd be comfortable with that, right? Because that's the world you know? As long as I'm letting some college sophomore ply me with Keystone, it's all good."

Matt's tanned face flushed a deep shade of scarlet, and Bridget knew she'd hit close to home. But she didn't care. She was tired of everyone sticking their noses in her business. She'd done fine for years without Matt Quinn in her life, and just because her dad was dead didn't mean she needed any help from Mr. Perfect Grades, Perfect Body, Starting Pitcher, no matter how cute he looked when he smiled.

How cute he looked when he smiled? Whoa, did she really just think that?

A movement from the flatbed caught her eye, and she saw Peter's face plastered against the cab's window, his quick breaths fogging up the glass. Peter always seemed to be watching her these days. It was getting a little creepy.

Matt slammed on the brakes, and Bridget snickered as Hector rolled into Peter. Matt rapped his knuckles against the cab window. "Library."

The shock absorbers bounced as two bodies scrambled over the tailgate-first Hector's fumbling, then Peter's slow, careful tread. Peter's face was at her window instantly, trying to ask a question through the glass, but Matt didn't wait; he peeled away from the curb with an ear-shattering tire squeal.

As they drove in silence, Bridget stole a glance at Matt. His mouth was clamped tight, the muscles of his jawline bulging out from below his sculpted cheek, and his eyebrows were scrunched low. He ran his hand through his sandy blond hair, and the longish strands stood up straight for a split second before flopping down over his ear.

"I worked with your brother yesterday," Matt said, switching gears.

Bridget softened. Sammy was her Achilles heel.

Her brother was hardly an athlete and cared about sports about as much as Bridget cared about Latin class. But Sammy got teased mercilessly about being horrible at sports, and Bridget had comforted the devastated eight-year-old on more than one occasion. Enter Matt Quinn to the rescue.

"He's getting a lot better," Matt continued. "You know, I think once he gets over his fear of the ball, he could be pretty good."

"Yeah?" Bridget said, despite herself.

"Totally." Matt turned to her with a grin. "His timing is pretty impressive."

Bridget couldn't help smiling. Anything that might help Sammy get along better at school made her happy. "Thank you."

Matt slowed down for the stop sign. "No problem. I like Sammy."

Bridget laughed. "You and I might be the only two people on the planet who do."

They smiled at each other, and Bridget couldn't suppress the warmth spreading over her. There was something so familiar about Matt. Homey. Comfortable. Something that reminded her of a happier time in her life.

A honk from the car behind them snapped Matt's attention back to the road, and he accelerated through the intersection. As they drove in silence, the radio DJ bumped out of a commercial break into the next song, and Coldplay blared through the speakers once more.

Without thinking, Bridget reached to change the station. At the same time, Matt's hand shot forward and his fingers grazed the top of hers. Bridget was surprised how soft his fingers felt; she'd assumed a pitcher would have rough, calloused hands. Matt let his fingertips linger, and even though Bridget's first instinct was to pull back, she didn't.

What the hell was wrong with her? Bridget shook herself and whipped her hand away from the radio. Matt's hand fell to his lap.

"Why are you so difficult?" he blurted out.

"Me?"

"Yeah. You know, I've tried really hard to be your friend since I moved back to San Francisco. But you're so prickly all the time. Always looking for a fight."

"I am not!"

"See?"

Bridget threw up her hands. "What?"

That look of concern crept back into Matt's face. "You weren't like that when we were kids. You were more fun. You used to smile. And laugh."

His words struck a chord. At one point in time there'd been a happy, laughing Bridget Liu, content to wear her school uniform and play peekaboo with her baby brother, or hide-and-seek with the son of her dad's best friend. But somewhere along the line, that Bridget had been lost, masked by a hard, sarcastic shell complete with steel-toed boots and a don't-mess-with-me scowl.

Bridget sighed. She was so tired. Tired of fighting with everyone. Tired of having no one to confide in. Hector wasn't exactly a confidant, and Peter would only get two seconds into a serious conversation about her feelings before the words "I love you" came spilling out of his mouth. Her dad had been her best friend. Now that he was gone and her mom had a revolving door of boyfriends, it was like she had no one to talk to.

She glanced sidelong at her chauffeur. Maybe Matt understood? They'd been close once, a long time ago, and in a way, he'd also lost a parent. Although in his case it was to a dot-com millionaire who moved his mom to Dubai. Still, they must have been close since he'd lived with her for all those years after his parents divorced. When she left, it must have felt like she'd been ripped from his life too. Just like her dad.

The truck slowed as Matt pulled into her driveway.

"Are you going to Winter Formal?"

His question caught her so off guard, she burst out laughing.

"What's so funny?"

"I don't do dances."

"Why not?"

"Well, the lameness factor for starters."

"You ever been?"

"Hell, no."

"Then you can't judge."

Bridget shook her head. "Dude, are you applying for my mom's job?"

Matt ignored the jab. "You should go."

"To Winter Formal?"

"Yeah. You should go with me."

Did he just invite himself to her school dance? "No way."

"Are you afraid?"