And I want you to. And I want you to. And I want you to.

No matter how many times I said the words in my head, they did not sound any less stupid. It was indefensible, really. I couldn't claim that he'd kissed me, or that I'd been an unwilling participant. I hated Jace Hartley, and yet I'd asked—no, demanded—that he kiss me.

And oh, wow, kiss me he did.

If there was one thing Hartley was good at—being the bane of my existence and perpetual pain in my ass—it was that. I felt it through inch of my body, that kiss.

Some dark, dangerous part of me wanted to do it again. That same part asked me what could've happened—what I might've allowed to happen—if Knight wasn't so appalled by the selection of a fedora.

Like, yes, Knight, fedoras suck, but I also bought him Dora the Explorer underwear, so how was it a fedora that tipped him over the edge?

And, well, he was wearing it tipped over his forehead dramatically as he regarded Jace and I with the calculating gaze of a monocle (and most likely, fedora) wearing supervillain. He seemed just about ready to cackle.

"Hello, Hartley. I've heard much about you. Lena is rather obsessed," Knight said.

"Am not."

Jace still looked dazed and confused. It seemed he was going to stay that way for a while.

"She is," said Knight in a conspiratorial whisper, as if I wasn't right there and couldn't hear him with perfect clarity. The fedora was doing something to his personality, because he did all of this while twirling an imaginary moustache and flourishing his hands dramatically. "But I didn't know if it was in a genuine hatred way or in an I-want-to-jump-his-bones-but-I'm-in-denial way. I guess I got my answer."

I regretted the fedora.

Hartley remained confused. "Uh, roommate?" He made a less-than-subtle pass with his eyes around the room. "What, needed help with the rent?"

Knight shrugged. "It's more of a charity thing."

"Lena is charitable?"

"More like a spinster in need of a friend."

"Oh, that checks."

I glared at them both. "No, Knight was homeless and I kindly offered him a mattress in my closet. It's a long story."

"Your closet?" Hartley said. "What, didn't want to give up one of the spare bedrooms."

"Oh, no, I'm more... her secret mistress," Knight explained. "Smuggled in."

Hartley's brows furrowed. "So, your parents don't know?"

"They do not," I confirmed.

"She's scared they'll kick me out," Knight whispered conspiratorially. "And then she'll be a lonely spinster again."

"Not true!" I said in a sing-song voice. "I have friends."

"She's in denial about that too."

Hartley seemed greatly amused by Knight. Of course he was. "I place bets she will stay in denial," Hartley told him.

"Bad bet, I would not take that action. Because I know you're right," Knight said.

"Um, stop talking about me like I'm not standing right here," I demanded.

"Sorry," said Knight, though he did not sound particularly apologetic. "It's just that denial seems to be a state that you live in. Like, you told me that you didn't want to bang Jace Hartley, but it kind of seems like you want to bang Jace Hartley."

Jace just shrugged.

I mimed violent gagging, and Jace and Knight stared at me with expressions of disbelief (Knight) and amusement (Hartley). I did not enjoy the camaraderie between them. Knight was my friend, and he was required to stay firmly aboard the hating-Hartley train with me, instead of jumping ship like the rest of my traitorous brainwashed Jace-loving friends.

If Jace and Knight became friends, I promised myself to move to Ibiza, and make loyal friends who had never heard of the vile Jace Hartley.

"I do not want to make out with Jace Hartley!" I insisted, miming another explosive puking episode for good measure.

"So, what, that—" Knight smashed his hands together in a vulgar yet vague imitation of my make out with Hartley "—was what? Suffocation technique? Hoping he'd choke on your tongue?"

I felt sick. Hartley laughed. I glared at him.

"What?" he said defensively. "I am sure that was, uh, what you were trying to do. Next time, a garrotte would suffice."

I made a face at him. He poked me in the ribs. I punched his arm.

"Do you guys always flirt this much or is this a, like, good-natured post make out thing?" Knight asked.

"We are not flirting."

"We always flirt this much."

I hit Jace again for good measure.

"You're very easy to get a rise out of, I'm sorry," said Jace.

"Did you say she's easy to get a ride out of?" Knight asked innocently. "Because the past ten minutes would suggest so, yes."

I decided I no longer had a strong anti-murder morality policy. The only question, really, was who to kill first? Usually I'd be firmly on the Hartley-must-die side, but Knight was truly impressing me with the strong case he was mounting. Knight was so insufferable sometimes; I was surprised he had survived this long. I had almost killed him four times already.

It reminded me of what Jace had said, at the beginning of the end. There's no other girl on this planet like you, Montez. Probably because if anyone else was this insufferable, they would've been murdered by now.

I internally admitted that I appreciated the additional comment, because I would hate to think I had not-like-other-girls energy. Instead, I was just annoying. Awesome.

"I am not easy to get a ride out of!" I said shrilly. "Not that that would be a problem, because we have a strict no slut shaming policy in this household!"

Jace, unfortunately, did not seem similarly angry. Instead, he, rather disgustingly, remained a vessel of amused camaraderie. It seemed Jace and Cole were headed straight for being formal bros.

Ibiza, here I come.

"I'm sure you're not easy," said Jace soothingly, seeing the seething anger in my expression. "I mean, it took me, what, over a decade?"

Knight had made himself comfortable in my discarded beanbag. He was also my sunglasses. The combination of a fedora and retro sunnies was startlingly dramatic. Then again, so was Knight.

Knight seemed to be enjoying his role as devil's advocate. I was going to make him eat that fedora. "Maybe it took you a decade, but she also hated—" at my look, he revised "—hates you. Like, passionately. And she still hooked up with you."

"I am going to passionately punch you."

"Is that before or after you passionately stick your tongue down Hartley's throat?"

I made a soft disapproving noise. "After," I said through gritted teeth. "Because it's never happening again."

"To be fair, you've been saying it was never going to happen for a decade," Hartley unhelpfully supplied. "So, like, you have a track record of slipping off the wagon."

Knight pointed at Jace, as if his point was proven.

"Well, I just didn't know why McKenna liked you," I shot back. "Confirmed it wasn't your kissing skills, so I guess I don't have to be curious anymore. She just lacks taste, poor girl."

I stared him down, my eyes narrowed. I might hate him, but my ego still needed a gentle stroking.

"Didn't seem like you were having a bad time," Jace shot back.

"Maybe you're just not used to knowing when girls fake it."

"Wow," said Hartley. Every inch of his body was taut, tense. "Low blow."

There was a loud crackle as Knight munched on a chip from Jace's platter. We both turned to face him. He raised an eyebrow. "There was definitely a blowing joke in there somewhere," was his comment, to which both Jace and I scrunched our noses in disgust. Knight shrugged and gestured for us to continue.

Jace immediately obliged. "I mean, really Lena, if it was all that bad, you had all the opportunity to push me off, didn't you? You asked for more, actually, if I recall correctly."

Show me too much. Show me extreme. Jace didn't recall incorrectly, I suppose. I just didn't really know how to respond.

Knight bit down on a carrot as he watched us, eyes wide.

"Well, if I'm going to make a mistake, I may as well do it thoroughly. And it's not like you didn't oblige," I said defensively.

"True, but I'm also not the one calling it a mistake."

The room went still. I stared at Jace, whose eyes were wide, glimmering with regret, and something else I couldn't name. He definitely thought admitting this was a mistake. His words reverberated through my head like an echo in a cavernous abyss. I'm also not the one calling it a mistake.

They were words of frustration, words said in the heat of an argument. I also knew, from far too much experience to be healthy, that words said in those moments often held a truth one never intended to admit.

We were both silent, and unmoving. Jace was always in motion—his body was built for it, to run and jump and catch and kick, but even in the quiet moments, he was still moving in a languid, casual fashion—so the juxtaposition of this complete stillness was almost suffocating in its unfamiliarity. Not calling it a mistake. I didn't know how to respond.

"Oh shit," said Knight quietly, ripping open a bag of chips. "Woah."

"Shut up, Knight," I snapped. He obliged, returning to eating his chips.

Jace's chest rose and fell lightly, barely there. But I focussed on it—the sign that he was real, that this was the Jace Hartley I'd fallen into hate with, who I'd loathed since kindergarten. That this was not some alternate dimension where Hartley wasn't awful and I somehow, someway, wanted him to kiss me.

It would be far, far easier if this wasn't real.

"So, you don't regret it?" I asked.

Hartley ran a hand through his hair. Once again, he was standing near a window. The sun on Hartley's hair, his skin, turning him to gold, was an unfairly mesmerising sight.

Could I get my mum to sue the sun? Write a petition to the local council? Personally ask the sun to, like, stop?

Dear big ball of space gas,

I'm trying to continue hating my nemesis, kindly stop making him look unfairly good. Zero golden hues for him, please and thank you.

Hartley shrugged. "It made you shut up for a good five minutes, so I'd count it as a success, really."

I decided to believe his justification. Because it was easier, one hundred times easier, than believing the tone in his voice when he told me he was not the one calling it a mistake.

"And obviously I'm the best hook up of your life," I said, flipping my hair behind my shoulder. It was also easier to make light of it, to joke. To pretend as if I hadn't begged him for more, hadn't wanted him so desperately I briefly wished I'd left Knight on the streets so we were uninterrupted.

Jace smiled, and I cursed that the familiar flash of annoyance and rage that his general happiness and joy elicited had morphed, become annoyance and rage and butterflies.

At least it was still a fun ratio of 2-1, with negative feelings towards Hartley still confidently winning out.

Because, well, that was easier.

"Best hook up?" Jace said with scepticism. "I don't know about that."

"Oh, who is beating me?" I snapped. "If it's McKenna, I'm okay with that. If it's anyone else, you're simply wrong and lacking taste."

"Hands down, best hook up, Ms Abernathy," said Jace.

Oh, god. I keeled over with laughter, grabbing Jace's arm to steady myself. Daria had told me about Ms Abernathy, the ninety year old woman from the nursing home they volunteered at who had dubbed Jace her boyfriend. Apparently, they were very good friends. Apparently, she'd also planted one on him when he was leaning down to reattach her broach.

"That was definitely assault," I said, giggling. "You were assaulted by a ninety-year-old."

Jace was smiling softly at me. My hand was still on his arm, but I didn't know how to let go without shattering the tentative peace. "How dare you, Montez. How dare you disparage the tenderest, most romantic moment of my life? The love between Ms Abernathy and I was... was pure." The end of his sentence was cut off as he struggled to contain his laughter.

But I was already bent over double again, my stomach aching as I laughed.

When the sheen of tears in my eyes cleared, I looked up at Knight, he was still watching us, his head cocked with curiosity. I let go of Jace's arm; he didn't comment.

"So, you guys do flirt all the time," he commented nonchalantly.

Jace threw a pillow at him.