Although I had planned on just leaving Bryce a simple text message, upon settling myself in bed I actually decided to call him instead.

He picks up on the second ring, and his voice floods the speaker right away.

"Hey, Blossom. How are you?" he asks me, and I grin at the sound.

I decide to switch the phone on to speakerphone, setting it down on my bed beside me before grabbing the bag with my dress in it from where I had dropped it on the floor.

"Hi. I'm good, thanks. What about you?" I ask, pulling the red dress out of the bag.

I unfold it in my hands before draping the glimmering article of clothing across my lap. I feel giddy as I stand up from my seat, taking the dress and phone with me as I head to my closet.

I set my phone down on top of one of the shelves before grabbing an empty hanger, hanging the dress up on one of the rails.

"Great, now that I'm hearing your voice. What do you want to do tomorrow?" he asks me, and I'm glad that he can't see my face because I'm grinning like a complete maniac right now.

"Whatever you want. I'm okay with anything," I answer, biting down on the inside of my cheek.

"Don't say that. I'm sure you wouldn't agree with most of the things I'd like to do to you," he says lowly, before clearing his throat.

His words send a shiver right down my spine and I find myself involuntarily leaning against the doorway to keep stable.

I let out a shaky breath, grabbing my phone and heading back into my bedroom, closing the closet door shut behind me.

I take a seat down on my bed, folding my legs beneath myself as Bryce continues, suggesting, "How about you come over and we cook dinner? I could pick you up."

I giggle at the idea. "I suck at cooking, Bryce. I'll accidentally end up burning down your house," I tell him, and he chuckles.

I can picture him with his eyes shut, shaking his head at me as he always does when I say something that he finds amusing.

"Then let's turn it into a cooking lesson. I could pick you up at four," he says, and I bite my lip to hold back a little bit of my smile.

I look over to the clock on my nightstand where I see that the time reads 3:22 PM.

A though strikes me, and I look down at my phone. I stare blankly at Bryce's name for a few silent moments before I ask, "Bryce?"

"Yeah Blossom?" he replies to me right away, and I find myself subconsciously twirling a strand of hair around one of my fingers.

"Are you busy tonight?" I ask him shyly, and he's completely quiet for a moment.

"No. You want me to pick you up in ten?" he asks me, and I blush as how easily he can read me, even through the phone.

I find myself nodding my head, but I quickly realize that I'm a total idiot as he can't see me.

"Yeah," I whisper, before pressing my face into my hands.

I probably seem so incredibly clingy right now, but I don't even really care because all I want is to see him.

Bryce laughs, and I instantly regret everything. Thankfully, he quickly ends my embarrassment by saying, "I'll see you in a few minutes. Bye, Blossom."

Perfect. I'm smiling like a psychopath once again.

"Bye, Bryce," I reply, before hanging up the call.

I feel like I'm floating as I leap up from my bed, a sudden extra spring to my step.

I go to examine myself in the mirror, wondering if I look presentable enough to be hanging out with him. I know that he'll promise me that I look nice no matter what I'm wearing or what I've done with my hair but I still want him to like it.

The black dress that I wore to the mall earlier is simple, but I like it enough to not bother changing.

I do want to adjust my hair though, and so I grab a scrunchie off the top of my desk, pulling my hair up into a high ponytail.

I smile at my reflection for a moment before grabbing a denim jacket from off the back of my desk chair, heading into the hallway and skipping downstairs.

It's only been a couple minutes, so I don't know what I was expecting as I peaked out the window by the front door.

Of course, Bryce's truck isn't there yet, but I slip my feet into a pair of flats nonetheless.

Doing so felt like one step closer to leaving the house, and it seemed to cause me to recognize that I should still probably ask my parents for permission to ditch whatever dinner plans they had for us tonight.

I'm sure they were just going to cook something here, but I still walk into the living room to double-check.

There, I find Charlie and both of my parents sitting down and watching a football game.

When I enter the room, I feel all three sets of eyes on me.

To my surprise, my mom is actually the first one to speak, asking, "Where are you off to, Lexi?"

I cross my arms, feeling a little timid now. I take a deep breath to build confidence before responding, "Bryce's house, if that's okay. I was going to stay for dinner."

My mom's immediate reaction is to turn to my brother.

"Are you going as well, Charlie?" she asks him, and he laughs, taking a sip out of the can of beer in his hand.

"Nah. I wasn't invited, but I wouldn't want to ruin their alone time anyway," Charlie says with a small, cocky smile on his face.

I snap my head around to look at him, narrowing my eyes as a way to silently demand that he shuts up.

My dad's eyebrows shoot up at this, and he doesn't even attempt to hide it.

As if on cue, the doorbell rings, and he stands up from his seat, walking straight past me and into the foyer.

"It's just Bryce, Dad," I tell him, following him as he walks quickly down the hall.

He's fast to unlock the door and pull it open, revealing Bryce standing there with his hands in his pockets.

He's wearing a white T-shirt and black jeans, and I catch how my dad's eyes dart straight to Bryce's tattoos.

"Your parents let you do that to your body?" my dad asks, and Bryce blinks a few times before nodding his head slowly.

"Yes, sir. He did," Bryce replies cautiously, and my dad seems confused by how calmly he's reacting.

They stare at each other for a minute, my dad's eyes squinting a tad bit, but he's the one to break the ice.

"Have her back by ten," he instructs Bryce, who smiles in response.

I move forward to stand beside my dad now, directly in Bryce's line of vision.

His eyes light up the instant he sees me, and I give him a shy smile in response.

"Will do, Mr. Brooks," he says, and in one swift motion, he grabs my hand, tugs me out onto the front porch after him, and then slams the door shut behind us.

"I'm so sorry about him. My parents are really judgemental," I apologize, keeping my fingers linked through Bryce's as we walk down the steps and onto the driveway.

He didn't take his truck, I quickly realize, as I spot a shiny white BMW parked on the street right in front of my lawn.

Bryce gives my hand a squeeze before dropping it, opening up the passenger side door for me. I thank him with a small smile, closing the door behind me as he walks around to the other side of the vehicle, climbing into his seat and starting up the engine.

"No worries. They're just protective," Bryce says, giving me a reassuring smile before he pulls the car out onto the street.

I smile back at him even though his eyes are on the road, watching him intently like a complete creep the whole drive to his house.

"Is your dad here this week?" I ask as I hop out of the car.

Bryce waits for me to walk around and meet him, and he links our fingers again, holding my hand as we walk all the way up the stairs.

I see that he's completely disregarding our little chat in the dorms on that trip last month.

"He's gone this week and the next, actually. I guess I have no choice but to go to the dance unless I'd like to spend my birthday alone," he snorts, unlocking the front door for us to step inside.

I'm immediately greeted with the warm scent of cinnamon, and I realize that there's a candle lit on the mantle in the living room.

I never really took Bryce for the kind of guy that's a fan of candles, but I've learnt to realize that I know very little about Bryce Bradshaw.

I kick my shoes off before slipping out of my jacket. Bryce quickly takes it from me, walking to hang it up in the closet before planting himself in front of me.

"It's crazy that you're going to be eighteen in thirteen days, huh?" I ask him, and he gives me a grin before gesturing for me to follow him towards the kitchen.

"Yeah. I always thought that I'd be hardcore partying on my eighteenth birthday, but instead I'm apparently going to a shitty dance for a holiday I don't give a fuck about," he smiles, and I watch as he pulls out a stool at the island, patting the top to tell me to sit down.

I do as he suggests, and he takes a seat beside me, leaning his elbow against the counter as he turns to look at me.

"It'll be fun, Bryce. I swear," I tell him, but he rolls his eyes at me with a doubting smile playing across his face.

"You're too optimistic. The whole night is going to be a swarm of horny teenagers grinding on each other. That's it," he states, and I give him a weak smile.

It's hard for me to think two weeks in advance when the looming threat of exams this week is still very present.

I find myself biting my lip, deep in thought about how stressed I am about what my grades will be. I really want to do well on my last year of high school, but at the same time, saying that I'm just worried would be an understatement.

My trance is broken by Bryce's hand on the top of my thigh.

I look towards him and our eyes lock for a moment, making my heart totally stop.

I told him that I didn't want him to touch me like this anymore.

Even though I obviously do want his hands on me, I know that those thoughts of mine are wrong. I can't get attached to him, as strong as my feelings for him are.

As much as I adore that smile of his, and as much as I long to wake up in his arms again, I just don't think that it's a good idea.

When I glance down at his hand on me, he seems to realize what he's done as he quickly pries his fingers away, instead letting his hand rest on the marble countertop.

"I'm sorry," he mutters, looking away from me now.

I watch as his confident manner seems to drop as I'm sure all the memories from that night come rushing back to him.

Bryce suddenly clears his throat, standing up from his seat and walking over towards the fridge. He grips the handles of both the French doors before pulling them open, revealing rows of fully-stocked shelves.

His eyes roam the fridge and he bites his lip in thought before turning back to me.

"What do you want to cook?" he asks me, and I decide to stand up and join him to get a look at the food.

"What do you have the ingredients for?" I ask him, and he leans against one of the doors to turn and look at me.

"I went grocery shopping yesterday so I pretty much have everything we'd need to cook whatever . . . How about chicken piccata?" he asks me, and I blink at him a few times.

When he sees my confused expression as of to what the dish he's talking about actually is, he grins, beginning to unload food from the fridge.

First he grabs a package of chicken breasts from the door, setting it down on the counter. He then shuts the the doors, walking over to the island and reaching into the bottom cupboard to pull out a cutting board before grabbing a knife from a drawer behind him.

"Baby— shit, sorry— Blossom, can you grab the sea salt and pepper from the cupboard?" he asks me, pointing to a cupboard two over from the fridge.

I nod to him, deciding to make myself helpful by doing what he asked. I grab the box of salt and small glass container of pepper from where they're resting right at the front of the cupboard, and when I turn around I see Bryce expertly cutting up the chicken.

When I set what he asked for down, he gives me a grateful smile. He uses his elbow to turn on the sink before washing his hands, drying them off on his jeans before seasoning the two pieces of chicken.

He then turns to the stove, placing a large skillet down on one of the burners before switching it on and turning to me with a content look on his face.

"You want to do the next part?" he asks me, and hesitantly, I nod at him. He chuckles, but takes my hand, walking me back over to the fridge.

I end up measuring out the butter and olive oil into the pan as he directs, before we move on to dipping the chicken in flour. He demonstrated with the first piece before dropping it into the pan, and I follow his movements.

We high-five after that, resulting in flour falling off our hands and onto our clothes which just makes us both laugh.

The recipe got a little more complicated from there, but I did manage to not cause the house to burn down.

Bryce put together most of the sauce, but he let me do the finishing touches by whisking the last bit of butter in. His hands are on my waist as he stands behind me, his back pressed against mine until he wraps his fingers around my wrist, stopping my stirring.

He takes the whisk from my hand and drops it into the sink before he steps away from me, setting the two plates of chicken down beside the stove.

I try to take a step back but I end up crashing into Bryce's back instead as he keeps me pinned in place.

He hits a button that shuts off the stove before he grabs the handle of the pan, lifting it up to then pour the sauce evenly over both plates of chicken. The fettuccine noodles still simmering on the stove are drained, and a hearty scoop of noodles is placed on each plate and then drizzled with more of the creamy sauce. He then sets the pan down on a cold burner before he reaches into a drawer, grabbing two forks and two knives.

He pushes the plates of food to where we were seated beforehand, laying the utensils in place as well before he looks down at me once again.

"Nicely done," he tells me, tilting my head up with the tip of his pointer finger.

I giggle, shaking my head at him as I say, "You did the majority of the work, though."

He tilts his head to the side, a small smile at the corner of the lips.

"Well, at least you didn't start a fire," he teases, and we both end up laughing hard.

When we finally catch our breath, he grabs two glasses from the cupboard before walking over to the refrigerator.

"What would you like to drink?" he asks me, and I walk up behind him, pressing one of my hands against his back.

This seems to startle him, and for a moment I'm scared that he's going to drop the no-doubt expensive glasses in his hands until he settles.

"I'm good with water," I tell him, and he nods at me, closing the door.

I walk over to take a seat at my spot as Bryce fills our glasses using the dispenser on the front of the fridge. He sits down to join me, setting one glass down in front of me and one in front of himself.

We sit there for a moment, staring at each other, before Bryce looks back down to our food.

"Eat up. Food's getting cold," he instructs, and I nod, cutting off a piece of the chicken.

I know Bryce's eyes are on me as I raise the piece of food to my mouth, but I don't even care as bite into the chicken.

I chew slowly, completely surprised by how absolutely delicious this tastes. My eyes must be wide because Bryce chuckles, eating a bite of his food as well.

"I think that this is the best thing that I've ever tasted," I comment after I finally swallow, and Bryce looks to the side, away from his food and towards me.

"Good to hear," he smiles, and I can't help but to smile back as I cut into my food again.

We end up eating in complete silence, and both of us end up finishing our entire plates.

I try to help him with dishes but he insists on doing them himself. I watch him carefully all the way until he shuts the dishwasher, drying off his hands on a towel before walking over to me.

To my surprise, he scoops me up into his arms and ends up carrying me out of the kitchen and into the hallway, heading for the staircase.

I squeal as he walks up the steps, the fear of him dropping me causing me to wrap my legs tighter around his waist.

Bryce laughs at me as we reach the upstairs hallway, not even putting me down until we reach his bedroom. There, he drops me onto his bed, standing there to stare down at me for a moment.

My heart is racing as he stands there, crossing his arms as his eyes bore into mine.

His gaze travels up and down my body, before he turns on his heel and walks straight into his closet.

"Seriously, Bryce?" I ask aloud with a sigh despite the fact that I can no longer see where he's at.

Reluctantly, I stand up to follow him, but I just end up even more confused as I walk into the closet to find him pushing dress shirts on hangers all to one side of the metal bar that they're hung upon.

Once he reveals a fairly large space of wall, he presses his palms on the surface, feeling around for a moment until he finds a particular spot.

And then a hidden door swings open, revealing a dark room.

"Holy crap!" I blurt out, and Bryce turns around with a grin on his face.

"Come on. I want to show you something," he tells me, and just like that I hurry towards him, eager to follow him inside.