"I can never show my face again!"

My mascara was smudged and my curls had tangled, leaving me looking every bit as frazzled as I felt. My hands pressed heavily into the vanity as I examined my reflection; the hair that Hartley had dragged his hands through, the jaw that he'd kissed along, the lips that he'd pressed his own against, over and over and over, the same ones that had cursed him and befouled his reputation. And now everyone knew about it.

Excusing myself to the bathroom amidst my shame wasn't the most mature and brave response to the discrediting of my reputation, but it stopped me from feeling like I would hurl on my expensive carpets.

I leant forward. "I'm going to have to move to Ibiza. Seriously. I'll hide my identity as a prostitute named Candy. I'll make bank, and I won't have to face our friends ever again."

Through the reflection, I could see Knight behind me, sitting in the bathtub with his legs crossed. "Personally, I see you as more of a Mercedes," he said.

"Thank you for the tip, I will keep that in mind."

Knight looked at me sympathetically. "It's really not that bad, you know."

I whirled around to face him, the hard stone of the countertop holding me up. "How is it not that bad?" I groaned. "It's mortifying."

"But, like, is it?" said Knight.

"But, like, yes."

Knight leaned back against the wall of the bathtub, stretching his legs to the end and making himself comfortable. I was glad to see that he was enjoying the show of my mental breakdown from a comfortable seat. "Okay, well, I look at it this way. Jace is, objectively, deeply attractive, correct?"

"I subjectively don't think he's attractive," I said. Knight shot me a deadpan look. I waved him off. "Okay, fine, yeah. He's hot. I guess. From, like, some angles. I am saying this as a friend, though, who has some objective friendship eyeballs."

Knight didn't bother to try to correct me, but the expression of disbelief effectively told me he didn't believe me. "Uh, sure. Okay. So, what, then? What's so bad about making out with an objectively attractive guy that you are now friends with?"

"But I hated him for years!" I burst out. I thought about the shocked looks on my friends' faces, the taken-aback stares, the hints of a smile that spoke of teasing and taunting to come. I was usually good at taking it; friendly bullying was my main form of interaction. But... "The things I've said about him. For my whole life. It makes me look weak."

"You are friends with him now, Lena. You like him as a person, even if you still want to pretend you don't want to do him on every surface of the house," said Knight. "No one is going to judge you too hard for hooking up with him. Because it's not weak to change your mind about a person and own up to it. That's far harder, far braver, than being stubborn, and you know it."

"But I'm so good at being stubborn."

Knight grinned. "Don't we all know it. But maybe you should think about being brave instead. You've already admitted that you like him, in a friend's kind of way. So maybe just own the fact that you made out in the heat of the moment and realise that there's nothing to be embarrassed about."

I wiped at my smudged mascara with the edge of my hand and stared at Knight with awe. "Did you just contribute some thoughtful and mature advice to this conversation?"

"Are you suggesting that this is rare from me?" said Knight with offense. "I'm deep."

"I've seen puddles in summer deeper than you."

Knight threw a bath toy at me. "Excuse me. I always contribute maturely and thoughtfully to our conversations." He picked up another bath toy and held it up to me gleefully. "Man, this is a cool rubber ducky." He looked down at the toy appreciatively. "Jonah would love this place."

"You know about his duck fetish?" I raised an eyebrow. "I'll make sure I organise a fun vacation to my bathtub for you boys."

Knight squeaked the duck in my direction. "Thank you."

There was a knock at the door. "Lena?" It was Jace.

I quickly threw some water on my face and called out. "You can come in."

The door creaked open slowly, tentatively, as if Hartley didn't know what was happening behind the door, and was deeply concerned that he would find Knight and I either making a bomb or painting each other's nails and crying. I also didn't know which prospect would frighten him more.

When he clocked Knight's languid position in the bath and my relative calm, he stepped around the door and closed it behind him. "How are you holding up?"

I shrugged. "Fine. Knight had an enlightening take on the situation."

Knight gave a mocking salute.

"Cole did?" said Jace with surprise. When Knight glared at him, he coughed hurriedly. "I mean, Cole did. That doesn't shock me... he is, uh, so wise and um. Insightful?"

"Thank you, Jace," said Knight graciously. Then he stood up and brushed at his pants. "I'm taking this as my cue to leave. It's been delightful, Montez. Next time you need help with your mental breakdown, let me know. You crazy kids have fun." He stepped out of the bathtub and sailed from the room, slamming the door shut behind him.

I turned away from Jace, unable to stand the sight of his cautious expression and sympathetic eyes. He was looking at me like I was a kicked puppy. I couldn't help but remember the look that passed across his face when Kaelin had first revealed the question; not distress, not terror, but a strange satisfaction.

Not that I blamed him; hooking up with me was clearly going to be a wonderful internship to add to his dating resume.

We didn't say anything for a moment. I examined him through the buffer of the mirror His eyes were fixated on mine in the reflection, watching my face carefully. The light made his hair look dark, dark, dark, paled his bronze skin ever so slightly. He was still devastatingly beautiful, but in this moment, his looks were not the laughing handsomeness of a sun kissed golden boy. It was more refined, sharper. All angles and striking features.

Then Jace said, "Why did you tell the truth?"

I tilted my chin up imperceptibly. "Because I'm not a liar."

Jace laughed hollowly. "You have lied to me on numerous occasions. And to teachers. And every time Daria asks you if you like the backpack she bought you."

"It is very... magical pony themed."

"That's what I mean," said Jace. He was still watching my face, searching for the chink in my meticulously assembled armour. An exterior with no weaknesses, no cracks. Icy and solid, like marble. "Don't pretend it was a moral obligation to the truth. Why didn't you lie? You could've said it was any of the other boys you've kissed. Tommy DeRiva, Reece Moore—"

"Ew, we hate Reece Moore."

"—Matt Hastings, Parker Stevens, the Duke of Welshchester or whichever aristocratic douche you went out with last week. You could've lied, and people would've believed you." He stepped closer to me. "So why didn't you."

I could feel his heat near my back, not touching, never touching, not unless I tell him to. But I could see the challenge in his eyes over my shoulder—so familiar that my heart ached, so different from the easy friendship and kind smiles, passionate and glorious and I loved it—and I had never had the strength to turn down a challenge issued by Jace Hartley. I turned around to face him.

"Why?" he whispered.

I inhaled sharply. "Because I thought you would call me out on it, and I didn't want your story to make me look like I couldn't handle it. Lying would give you the power to win. I'd rather we were both losers."

"Lena," said Jace, quietly. He was standing so close to me now, looking down the line of his nose into my eyes. "I told you that I would keep our secret. Aren't we friends, now? Why can't you believe me? Trust me?"

"I don't know," I whispered. "I've spent my whole life practising otherwise. And you know how stubborn I can be."

"I love your stubborn," said Jace, and he was so close, eyes so filled with something that asked me to believe, trust, believe, trust, and no matter how many times I tried, it seemed that I could not shake the habit of whatever it was that Jace Hartley did to me. "But I never would've told our secret. Not while you didn't want me to. I never did anything you didn't want me to."

I stepped closer to him, my hands halted on my hips, drawn to my full height. "What about every fight, every prank, every cruel, teasing word?"

Jace tilted his head. "And you say you're not a liar. Don't try to pretend that my fights, my pranks and my cruel, teasing words weren't exactly what you always wanted from me."

I opened my mouth to protest, and then closed it again. Why was it that I couldn't shake my habit of failing to trust Jace? Maybe it was because he was right. I'd always loved our fights and taunts and pranks, and it was wrong for me to pretend otherwise. Did I truly ever hate Jace Hartley, or did I just love to hate him? It was a surprising truth to realise. I was friends with Jace now, could've always been friends with him. He was sweet, considerate, caring, compassionate and funny; but he was also clever and calculating and witty and creative. He was the perfect candidate for an enemy; the only one who could ever keep up with me. Who could fire back a witty retort almost as fast as I could issue one.

Jace Hartley was, and had always been, an enemy of my own imagination.

And I was starting to think, from the look in his eyes, that I was the last one to realise it.

"I think you might be right," I said, the words surprising even myself as they fell out of my mouth.

Hartley's eyes widened imperceptivity, but he didn't react. "That's a new phrase from you. Who taught you that one?"

"I'm a big girl, Hartley. I taught myself."

He didn't deign me with a response. He just took a small box from his pocket and placed it gently in my lap.

I looked at him with confusion. "What's this?"

He smiled slightly. "You told me to get you a present, didn't you?"

"I'm just not accustomed to you listening to me," I said.

"I've always listened to every word you say," he replied.

I picked up the box gently. It was elegant, white, a small silk bow tied to the top. I opened the box, revealing a stunning silver charm bracelet. It was simple, elegant, only two charms hanging from the simple band. One was a small L, and the other a little passport. They were stunning, beautiful, and far more expensive than I would've expected.

He was silent as he clasped it around me wrist. "You told me once that it was your biggest ambition to go to Europe," he said, softly. "It just... made me think of you, Elle."

I leant forward and kissed him softly, briefly, brushing my lips against his with featherlight pressure.

He didn't say anything. Instead, he just trailed a hand over my jawline. I shivered, even though I wasn't cold. I was molten hot, lava trailing from the spot where his fingers touched me. His face was inches away from mine. "Are you drunk?"

"Not drunk enough to excuse the decision I'm about to make. Not drunk enough for any of this," I whispered. And I wasn't. The room was spinning slightly, my inhibitions were slightly lowered, but it was the kind of tipsy where I knew I would remember ever detail of this tomorrow in a sparkling array of vivid colours. He tilted his head, as if to say, not good enough. "I'm not drunk, Jace."

Jace smiled slightly. "Hey, Lena?"

"Yeah?" I said breathlessly.

His fingers came to rest underneath my chin, tilting it upwards, until his lips were brushing over mine, without closing the rest of the distance. I held so still, frozen in space and time. "You know how I asked you to trust me?"

I knew what he was asking me, the permission he was waiting for. Leaving me breathless and waiting, on tenterhooks, never giving me the opportunity to deny responsibility, to claim it was an accident or that it had just happened. I had to choose it, to want it. He wanted me to want it.

Well, since everyone knew I'd hooked up with Jace already.

"I trust you."

He crushed his lips to mine, hot and hard and heavy. So different from the first time I'd given him permission, when he was soft and cautious and gentle. This was a man possessed. And it banished every

thought

from my head.

He backed me against the vanity, his lips trailing a path down the line of my throat; open-mouthed kisses that had me simultaneously shivering and burning, my head tilted back and a small groan in the back of my throat.

I almost wished I'd drank more, because then I could blame the world tilting around me on vodka and not the earth-shattering heat of Hartley's lips on my skin. His hands came under me, lifting me onto the edge of the sink and stepping between my legs, bringing the lines of our bodies closer together. It was unbearable. It was fire.

And I knew that this time, no one would walk in.

There would be no interruptions, no one to stop us from making decisions possibly more disastrous than the ones we'd already made.

His hands came up, up, pulling in my mass of curls, the strands tangled through his fingers, his lips returning to mine, the slide of his tongue against my lower lip, the force of the kiss pushing me back against the glass mirror, but I don't care don't care don't care don't. I want more, want everything, want it again and again and again. And I can't think and I can't breathe and I can't.

I can't.

I pushed Hartley off my, sending him stumbling backwards, his eyes wild and heated and his hair messy and rumpled. "Len—"

"That is... such a bad idea," I said, catching my breath.

Jace braced himself against the wall, his hand holding him up. He was breathing heavily, his eyes languid in their perusal of me; my hair messy and lips kiss-swollen and eyes saying something very different to my mouth. "Why is it a bad idea?" he asked. "You don't hate me anymore."

Exactly, is what I didn't say.

"We're supposed to be friends," I said. "That wasn't a friends thing to do."

He didn't come any closer, but he did grin. "Okay. Tell what kind of thing means we do get to do that and then let's be that."

I laughed, and it was easy and simple and so different to the first kiss. "We can't, Jace."

"And why is that again?"

"Because..." I started. Because... why? Jace was beautiful and good at it. And I had kissed lots of boys, and it had rarely been more than a fiery burst of passion that had been rendered meaningless by sobriety and the morning sunlight. "Because... because of Callie! And... you and I... we're complicated."

"Am I changing my Facebook status?"

I kicked out at him. "Jace."

"Sorry."

I caught my breath and looked at him. The smile on his face was radiant; heartbreaking in its cheerful joy. "We are still trying to figure out how to be friends," I said. I almost kicked myself. Had reason been going around the Montez household? It seemed that Knight had passed this stupid bug to me. Which was annoying, because all I really wanted to do was pull Hartley back into my arms and have him do whatever sinful things he'd been planning. Instead, I continued, "I think it would be... well, confusing, if this was added to the mix."

Jace considered this. Without much thought, he said, "You're right."

"I am?" I might have been hoping he'd fight me on this, given me no choice but to return to his arms.

"Well, you did come in here to hide from the others over the embarrassment of kissing me the first time," he pointed out. "And now you've done it again."

I slapped my hand to my forehead. "Well, shit."

Jace smirked at me. "Don't worry, Elle, I'll keep the second one quiet. You shouldn't have to deal with the double dose of humiliation all in one night." He winked. "But I'll make sure to tell them all I've sufficiently comforted you. They all thought you'd die of regret—" Jace stepped closer to me and kissed me lightly on the forehead. "—but you can't have regretted that first kiss too much, can you?"

Jace strolled to the bathroom door, whistling a jaunty tune.

My eyes narrowed and I called after him. "You can't have regretted it all that much either."

"I never claimed otherwise."

And then he was gone, leaving me to reconcile with not only one mistake, but two. I let my head fall against the cool glass.

***

hehehehe.

how did you like that?