Tyler and I made it back to Harbor Village just in time for dessert—sweets from the mobile ice cream cart in Tinder Park. Everywhere else in town was closed, or nearly closing, but that didn't matter. Even though Tinder wasn't quite as fancy as Central Park, the sky, the trees, the openness, it all made me feel the same. I had to experience it one last time before the night was through...

I bought us each a frozen yogurt, which we enjoyed from a park bench, watching the ducks do lazy laps in the pond down the hill. Above, the sun was long gone, replaced by the same navy map we had walked beneath in New York. There was a breeze now and then, but the promise of summer kept me warmer here than it had in the Big Apple. That, and the solidness of Tyler's arm again mine.

"Thanks for taking me out." I scraped my spoon around the cup's edges, saving the middle parts for last. "It's kind of sad, but I haven't had this much fun in a really long time."

Tyler grinned. "Well, get ready. We can do it all the time when you move to New York."

I felt a tug on my heart, responding to the ache with a smile—and silence. I was getting it all wrong—but the ducks had it right, they knew how to make it work, how to come together. A bright pair wheeled in the sky, revolving around each other in a graceful, descending arc, alighting gently on the pond's smooth, dark surface. I wasn't sure if ducks had mates for life, but the two certainly seemed like a close pair, gliding through the water side by side...

"It was a good first date, right?" Tyler stared down at his own cup, a frown masking his bashfulness. His face was pink and it wasn't from the cold.

Meanwhile, my spoon was stuck in my mouth. I left it where it was, eyes wide as I gripped the handle. In all the excitement, I forgot what tonight really signified—two people coming together, who were awfully used to going things alone. New York had pulled us together, and it could be the one thing that tore us apart.

I swallowed, removing the spoon. "I'd be lying if I said it wasn't the best date I've ever had—or that I don't wanna do it again. Did you mean what you said, back in New York? About... you and me?"

"Every word. Was it too much?"

I shook my head. "Everything I needed to hear, you said it." He said it all.

Smiling, Tyler took a big bite of his yogurt and leaned forward. I met him halfway, tasting him, the yogurt, and everything in between... But it was getting late. As much as I wanted to, we couldn't stay for much longer.

We rose from the bench, Tyler pausing at my feet to tie his shoelaces. He tickled me on his way up and didn't remove his hands until we were standing at my car, in the deserted parking lot. Thirty minutes to curfew, ten of which I fully intended to spend fogging up the windows in the backseat.

I sat in Tyler's lap, one hand on the headrest, the other tangled in his soft brown waves. I had kissed him a million times today, but enough was never enough. With every kiss, I dreamed of the next, and the moments in between. Every once in a while, he paused to remind me that I was beautiful, or that I meant the world to him. I knew that whatever I said would never measure up to Tyler's real worth, so I threw caution to the wind—and unzipped his jeans.

I think he surprised us both when he stopped me.

"What are you doing?"

"I thought you wanted me."

"I do. Ali, I want you—more than anything. But not here. Our first time should be amazing."

This is amazing. You're amazing. We're amazing together. That's what I wanted to say, but before I could tell him, yellow headlights were washing over the parking lot. Wary of more iPhones and cameras, we scrambled for our clothes, panicking the closer the lights came. In our haste, I ended up in his T-shirt, Tyler slipping into my hoodie.

The car pulled up beside us. We both froze.

"Tyler, I hate your fans."

"Don't worry. I hate them too."

I was still in his lap when he leaned over, pressing the button to lower the windows...

Half-rolled tinted windows revealed Tyler's manager, Astrid, glaring from the backseat of a town car.

"I've been trying to reach you for hours, Tyler. Why aren't you answering your phone?"

"I dunno, A, probably because I'm a little busy." Tyler's eyes were narrow. His hands were still on my waist—I felt the irritation in his fingers. Every time he spoke to Astrid, they squeezed. "How the fuck did you know I was here? Black-fucking-magic?"

"Nothing so elaborate. I installed GPS on your phone."

"You did what?" I was butting in. I didn't care.

Astrid ignored me completely, her pencil-lined brows as tightly knit as her bright red lips. "Tyler, dear, I thought we agreed in New York—no more running off where security can't save you. Get in, you need your rest. We've got a very important Skype session tomorrow—8 A.M, sharp. It's the label—they want a progress report. You have some decisions to make."

"Tell the label they can wait. I've got school—"

"No, you don't. Now lose the girl and get in the car." And before Tyler could argue, Astrid raised her window.

***

For the first time since I had picked up smoking, I finally had a reason to quit. Tyler mouthed off if he got in my car and it smelled like cigarettes, and he was not opposed to going through my things. I could hide my Marlboro's in odd places and disguise my breath with mints and gum, but he was worse than Sherlock—he could find the tiniest speck of ash on my clothing without even trying. So I quit smoking—and Tyler officially became my new bad habit. With his arm slung around my neck, his fingers laced through mine, it was easy to mistake a kiss for a cigarette. But even Tyler's nicotine-lips couldn't fix the problem that was Robin Easton.

Friday, the afternoon following our trip to NYC, his crazy ex surprised me at the lunch table. Tyler rarely ate in the cafeteria because he hated when people took pictures while he was eating, and Quinn was somewhere out of sight, making out with Declan—which she seemed to be doing quite a bit lately. We hadn't even graduated and already my friendships were changing. So I was alone.

"Why so sad, Aaliyah?" Robin dropped into the chair across from me. My entire table was empty, but somehow her ego managed to fill every seat.

"I'm not sad, this is just what I look like around you. What do you want, Robin?"

"Um, justice? Some asshole nearly burned down my house, which means my parents had to come home early. Not only did they find out about the fire, they busted me for the party too. They took everything from me—my car, my phone, my nanny—"

"You have a nanny?"

"My credit cards, my steam-room privileges at the country club—"

"How old are you?"

"Don't you get it? My parents are insane, Aaliyah, and they're only getting crazier." But she was the one waving her hands around like a lunatic. Whatever her problems were, apparently, they were genetic. Robin made a big show of centering herself, glossing her desperation with honesty. "The only thing that can possibly make this situation any better is Tyler. And his credit card."

"Meaning?"

"Ummm, I need Tyler? And his credit card?"

"You are shameless."

"Like the show?"

"Worse. And they kill people. Y'know what? I think now it's time for me to give you some dating advice. Tyler's changed; I think something happened to him while he was in New York. He's not the same guy we knew before he left—he's different. And he's not looking to be manipulated—not by you, or me, or anyone. Except his manager—who is just as crazy as you by the way. But, whatever."

"Whatever? What-ever?" Robin smacked the table, causing my tray to jump. "You don't understand! I'm basically poor, Aaliyah! I get you're a little salty about the video, but I assure you, my only intention was to show you the real Tyler. You say you don't recognize him anymore, but the truth is you never knew him. You should be thanking me. Besides, all's fair in love and war."

"These conversations are getting old." I sighed. "Look, I don't know what else to tell you. For now, we're just friends, maybe that will change—but you don't get to decide that. That's between him and me and sometimes the paparazzi. So just—lay off, alright? Whatever Tyler wants, he's not buying it from you or for you. Okay, Robin?"

Robin drummed her nude, stiletto nails on the tabletop. "Let me guess—because he's already spending all that money on you. What do you care I'm flat broke and carless? With a guy like Tyler, you don't have to worry about that ever again. So, tell me, grand sum, how much has our little Tyler spent?"

"On what?"

"On you—big bills or small, bitch? The money he spends—it's how he shows affection—especially when he's feeling guilty about something. He was so-o-o-o-o torn up over wanting to break up with me for groupie sluts that he took me on a trip to Italy first. So, where's he taken you?"

I straightened in my chair, gripping the sides of my food tray, avoiding her cherry smirk at all costs. "I don't care about his money. That's not why I'm seeing him."

"Well, you're not seeing the truth either. He's keeping secrets from you, Aaliyah—he's never honest with anyone. Ask me how I know, and I'll tell you it's because I'm the one who really understands Tyler. You think he throws all that money around because he loves you back? Please. I'm not sure if you've noticed this, but Tyler is kind of a dick. I think he gets it from his father."

I raised my fingers to my temples. Every conversation with Robin was so draining—because she was a vampire, and because it was hard to separate her lies from her truth. That was what made her so dangerous.

"Y'know Robin, you could be a psychology major—if you don't end up on Snapped first. Your potential is almost as astounding as your delusions. Honestly! You have, like, scary intuition. And you're smart, you could put that to so much better use than—this. I do get it—you and Tyler were a thing—and maybe you did love him, but you're not showing that anymore. Torturing me is not the way to his heart—and neither is sleeping with Eric."

"Oh, cue the violins, Mary Sue. Seriously, I was starting to fall asleep." She snorted, amused by my indignation. "My god, you and your tawdry little values—you are such the cliché." She laughed out right. "You know nothing about sex. I wonder if that's why Eric cheated on you so many times. We used to laugh at how boring you were."

Ding-ding-ding.

The knockout punch.

I could have said a million things to hurt her back, to damage her as much as she felt like destroying me, but while her mouth was practically unhinged with the truth, mine was stuck like glue. Burning with Othello's rage, I couldn't speak.

Robin rose from the table, bright-eyed and rosy-cheeked, refreshed—like a witch who feeds on your soul for eternal youth and beauty. Eric was no better. The two of them together were snakes in the grass. You didn't notice the danger until you were bitten.

"Good luck at the talent show, Aa-li-yah. Let's hope your routine is better than your luck with boys."

It was, and that was the problem.

***