I pulled my hood all the way down to cover my burning face.

Normally, he was the poster child for cocky. The whole cliché of the rowdy badass the HotHoles were feeding All Saints High about themselves. Their subjects and minions ate that shit up and came back for seconds. Perhaps I was at fault for not caring for that type of thing, but I never got the power trip and ‘grownup’ vibe the HotHoles were sporting. Part of the reason I noticed Dean in the first place was because he didn’t take himself too seriously, and wasn’t as brooding and douchebaggy as the rest. Ever since he started to date Millie—which wasn’t that long ago—he always tried to catch a word with me. At first, he assured me that he wasn’t touching her. After I told him that he should touch her, he got really mad. Nowadays, he was going out with her and acting like it—kissing her, God, I heard them just the other day—even though his eyes were on me. Always on me.

“I, ah…” I zoned out, the rusty wheels in my brain reeling, searching for a potential lie. My alibi was sound. I did need to go someplace. But I didn’t share it with people, much less fellow students, and definitely not the dude I had a huge crush on. Dean wasn’t a guy to back down, though. I had to say something—anything—so I opted for the truth. “I have a doctor’s appointment.”

Chancing a look up, I saw recognition and calm washing over his face. He shoved his hands into his pockets. “Something wrong?”

Yes. My whole life is wrong.

“No, it’s nothing like that.” I tucked a lock of hair behind my ear under the hoodie. “Sometimes I just need to…” shut the hell up, the voice told me. Feeling small and vulnerable wasn’t my jam.

“To…?” He dipped his chin down, egging me on. And it was a crying shame that chemistry was an unexplainable string that pulled and bound two people together. Because that was how I felt at that moment. Chained. The way he looked at me, like I was the center of the world, bothered me. Flattered me. Possessed me. God, I had to say something fast to make him shut up and leave me alone. No matter how embarrassing the truth may have been.

“To get a chest massage.” I had to get all the mucus out of my airways, but that wasn’t something I was eager to share with him. I quirked a brow and shoved my fists into my pockets. “You know, just keeping it sexy, and stuff.”

My eyes were securely covered by the hoodie, but it still wasn’t enough. Nothing was enough next to him. Even with three layers of clothes, I had always felt naked.

Chest massages were a weekly occurrence. Sometimes I had to go to the clinic. Sometimes a nurse would come to me. And even though Millie didn’t say a thing about my illness to her boyfriend, I knew that if he really stuck around, he’d find out eventually.

Shouldering my way past Dean, I marched to the main entrance of the manor. There was a flagstone walkway leading straight to the gate, but I liked to take the long way, through Vicious’s massive pool and Dean’s-eyes-green-lawn. To walk on its edge. To feel alive.

I heard Dean’s steps jogging after me. Without looking back, I knew that he was sporting that smile that made me angry for some reason.

“Chest massage, huh?” He sounded cunning. “A lot of guys would love to help you with that.”

“Thank you, Dean, for the creepy comment.”

“What’s creepy in pointing out that guys wanna touch your tits?”

“The fact that it’s my sister’s boyfriend who is telling me this. It is also slightly inappropriate. And by slightly, I mean extremely.”

“Never said I wanted to do it myself.” He tsked, adding, “Why the fuck would you need a chest massage, anyway? You get a boob job or something?”

I paused by the deep end of the pool, turned around, and held his gaze in a way that felt too intimate. We were face to face. Body to body. The wind was cold but gracious. I took a step back. From that angle, Vicious could see us from his bedroom window. The last thing I needed was to arm him with more ammo against Millie, so he could tell her he saw me flirting with her boyfriend. I needed to make sure she was protected, no matter what.

“I have an illness,” I said, the words falling out of my mouth before I could stop them. His eyes darkened, leaking suspicion and disbelief to the rest of his face.

“What illness?” he demanded, looking confused, annoyed, and…hurt? Maybe.

“Cystic fibrosis. It’s a lung disease.”

“Curable?” He pressed, his voice hard. His brows dropped like a stone. It was almost like he was accusing me of something.