I was reading on my bed when my bedroom door burst open. Clay bounded in, kicking the door closed behind him. It had been two weeks since the day at the arcade. Keeping my feelings at bay had become an increasingly challenging task. Not only was Clay thoughtful, he was goofy and fun. And have I mentioned extremely hot?

Another thing I'd discovered about Clay: he was very touchy-feely. He was always resting his head on my shoulder or throwing his legs over mine. He'd even gotten into the sublime habit of stroking my hair whenever we watched movies alone together—always in my bed. The first time it happened, I was so shocked I jerked my head away, which I instantly regretted. Especially seeing how freaked out Clay became, apologizing profusely. "I wasn't... I wasn't even thinking. It just kind of happened. I fidget a lot and... and it-it was just there. And I'm so sorry."

I grabbed his hands. "I'm sorry. I just wasn't expecting it." I studied his face. "But it was nice. You could totally do it again. You know, like, if you wanted."

Clay scrunched his face, still apprehensive. "That wouldn't be weird?"

"I mean, only if we let it be weird." Just to make him feel better about it, I added, "And it's not like I'm into you or anything. It's just a friend thing. Carrie does it all the time."

"Um, okay." Clay put his arm around me, and I nestled my head into the crook of his neck as he raked his fingers across my scalp. It was the most amazing sensation. Made all the better because it was Clay.

By the end of every movie, we were cuddling, with one of us having our arms wrapped around the other. And, of course, Clay's fingers running through my hair.

Clay toed off his Nikes and laid down next to me with his head at the opposite end of the bed, propping himself on the mound of crumpled blankets I kicked off this morning.

"Hey," I said, turning my attention back to the dreadfully boring novel I was reading for class.

Clay nudged my elbow with his socked foot. I glanced down to see that he was wearing the novelty Superman socks with the cape on the back that I joked about when we went shopping last weekend. I called them godawful monstrosities and questioned the sanity of anyone who would purchase them. Clay took that as a challenge and bought them on the spot with a spiteful grin that frankly got me a little too excited.

Clay continued to prod me, clearly seeking attention.

I stuck my finger between the pages to keep my place and held the book up to show him. "I have to finish reading this. I'm supposed to write an essay on its symbolism."

"How the hell do you already have an essay? Your school only started back like a week ago."

"I take AP classes. And this is due in two days. So, please let me concentrate."

"That's forty-eight whole hours." Clay dropped his head back against the blankets with a loud sigh. "You can knock that out in no time. Hell, I'll even help."

"I'm only halfway through, and it's really not grabbing me, so my mind keeps drifting off, and I end up having to reread entire pages."

"I'm so bored," Clay whined, rubbing on my leg. He seemed fascinated by my leg hair, sifting his fingers through it very distractingly. I wondered if he knew what that did to me. The way it sent shivers up my spine and blood rushing south. I shifted my hips slightly, hoping my shorts wouldn't give away my secret.

I cleared my throat. "You're not a toddler. Entertain yourself."

"Come on, Em."

"You have other friends. What are they doing?"

"I don't like them as much you."

That gave me a special kind of thrill that only Clay seemed to evoke. But I couldn't take the words too seriously. It would only lead to more disappointment.

I raised the book to block my view of him. I hoped he would take the hint.

A moment later, something cold slid across my ankle. I thought I'd imagined it until I felt it again. I dropped the book against my chest and glared at Clay, whose arms were folded behind his head, his biceps flexing with the effort.

"Is something wrong?" Clay asked, a devious twinkle in his eye.

"What did you just do?"

He raised his brows, trying for a look of innocence. "What do you mean?"

I narrowed my eyes suspiciously before returning to my studying. I scanned the pages, looking for the spot where I'd left off.

Then I felt it again. My eyes snapped up in time to see Clay adjusting the hem of his shirt.

"Whatever you're doing—" I gritted my teeth "—stop it!"

Grinning mischievously, Clay shook his head. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"I'm not kidding, Clay. Cut it out."

"I'm not kidding, Emmett." Clay mocked my serious tone. "You're delirious."

I rolled my eyes, once again focusing on the book. I groaned. "You made me lose my place. Again!"

"Maybe you just need a break."

When the cold thing stroked the bottom of my foot, it hit a ticklish spot and my whole leg spasmed. I tossed the book aside and launched at Clay, intent on finding whatever tool he was using to mess with me.

I dug around in the covers, to no avail, all while Clay giggled with delight. "Your mind is clearly playing tricks on you, Em. I'm really worried about you."

I remembered Clay fussing with his shirt earlier. "You've got it on you, don't you?"

"Got what?" Clay raised his hands, as if surrendering. "I think you're losing it, dude."

I pushed Clay's shirt up. Nothing but tantalizing toned muscles flexing beneath his suntanned skin with every laugh.

I looked Clay over. "What did you do with it, Clay?"

"I don't have anything," Clay said, feigning innocence. The look in his eyes told a different story.

"Are you gonna make me strip-search you?"

Clay beamed with devilish glee, holding his arms out wide. "Do what you've gotta do."

I slid my hands along Clay's sides to make sure he wasn't concealing it beside him. Coming up empty-handed, I moved on to a pat down.

Clay laughed, enjoying my frustration way too much. "I always thought it took buying dinner and flowers to get this kind of action."

I pressed my lips together, sharply exhaling through my nostrils. Angry—and a little turned on—I grabbed the blanket under Clay and yanked it with all my might, sending Clay toppling over the edge.

However, Clay grabbed my arm and brought me down, too. We ended up in a heap on the floor, twisted up in the blanket. Somehow, Clay was partially on top of me.

Clay threw his leg over me to straddle my waist. If he moved a couple inches south, he'd know exactly how I felt about him. He grabbed my wrists and pinned them above my head.

"Just tell me what you were doing," I pleaded.

Clay leaned down, his face drifting extremely close to mine. So close I could feel his warm breath against my lips. With a hint of a grin, he released his hold on me and reached under the bed to retrieve something. He brought it out and held it between our faces. It was a pen. A simple, stupid pen. I had been using it earlier to mark passages for my essay before I lost track of it.

Clay smugly raised his eyebrows, placing his hands on the floor on either side of my head. "I told you I didn't have anything on me. You knocked it out of my hand when your leg jumped."

My head dropped to the floor with a thud. "Fuck you."

Bubbly laughter erupted out of Clay. It was an infectious sound that got me laughing, too.

As my laughter died down, I said, "I hate you."

"You say that a lot, but I don't think you really mean it." Clay scrunched his nose adorably.

"Yeah, maybe," I said.

Not thinking, I lowered my arms and rested my hands on Clay's thighs. In the words of Queen Gertrude, "The lady doth protest too much, methinks." The lady in question being me in this scenario. If only I could tell him just how much I didn't hate him. How opposite those words were to the truth.

With a huge dopey grin plastered across his face, Clay's brown eyes examined my features, hanging on my lips.

Suddenly, the door flew open. Clay rolled off of me as my mother stepped into the room. He grunted as his back hit against the bedrail.

"I heard a crash," she said. "Is everyone alright?"

I craned my neck, looking at her upside down. "We're fine. We fell off the bed."

"We... W-We were just wrestling," Clay stammered, sounding nervous and guilty. "Sorry."

Mom looked between us, then shook her head. She undoubtedly thought we were idiots. "Just be more careful."

After she left, I raised myself up on my elbows to look at him. "Wrestling?"

"I mean, we were. Kinda." Clay leaned back against the edge of the bed, very deliberately staring at the floor next to me. It was like he couldn't bring himself to see my face.

"Okay." I sat up and loosened the blanket's grip on my legs so I could slide out. I groaned at the sight of the blue pen marks on my ankle and snatched my book off the floor where it had fallen.

Fixing the pillows back the way they were, I returned to my former spot, flipping through the pages to find where I left off.

Clay took his time getting up. He straightened his clothes and looked around the room, examining it as if he might find something he'd never seen before.

My eyes kept flickering over to him, distracted by the way he shifted his weight from one foot to the other. He seemed uncomfortable now.

I finally turned to face him. "Just give me one hour to get at least some of this thing read, then we'll do something fun. I promise."

Clay nodded, much less enthusiastic than before. "Yeah. Sure."

"You can watch TV or something." I grabbed the remote off the bookshelf at the foot of my bed and held it out to Clay.

Clay slowly moved toward the bed, chewing on his bottom lip. He sat on the edge beside me, taking the remote. With careful and hesitant movements, like a skittish animal, he scooted closer until his shoulder pressed against mine.

After a few minutes, Clay's tense muscles relaxed, returning to his normal, carefree self. He adjusted his position so that he could rest his head on my pillow while he stared at the television. It wasn't long before he fell asleep, his head lulling onto my shoulder.