Reason 24:

It was one teeny-tiny little kiss—
it meant ABSOLUTELY nothing,
especially to me.
And frankly, I’d rather die before I’d even
consider doing it again.

Especially with him.

Tired as I was from a sleepless night, tumult raged through my mind that night, again keeping me awake until I decided the best course of action was to resume my usual routine. I erased the events of the previous evening from my mind, at least the ones that pertained to Sterling. Of course I’d still initiate my plan to blackmail Gilbert, but I could do that on my own. Sterling Lane could choke and die on his favor for all I cared.

On Monday, I arrived at history class a full twenty minutes early, silently chiding myself for succumbing to Sterling’s destabilizing influence during the past few weeks. He’d thrown me completely off schedule. My outlines were screaming for attention, and I’d received a B on last week’s calculus exam. Me. I needed a ninety-eight or higher on the next one to conserve my A average.

I’d grown weak, letting Sterling divide me from my Rules. They were my source of strength, like Samson’s hair. I couldn’t believe I’d let myself be severed from them so completely.

It was comforting to know that once I cut him completely out of my life, everything would settle back to normal.

The morning after the incident-that-shall-not-be-mentioned, Sterling slouched through the door on par with his habit of timing his entrée with the exact moment class officially began. He paused at my desk, and I sensed genuine hesitation in the way his knee bent before he straightened it fast. It was like he wanted to keep going but changed his mind. Anything less than 100 percent confidence was unusual in him, so I looked up. He was staring back at his former chair in the corner, the expression on his face theatrically wistful, like he was mourning his best friend. But the eyes that met mine were full of mischief. By even acknowledging him, I’d played right into his hand.

He turned and stalked around my desk in a slow circle before settling into the chair behind me.

I refused to look back at him. I sat there perfectly still, my eyes glued to the board. Skin not prickling in the least, definitely not with anticipation, when his chair creaked and he shifted forward in his seat. His breath skimmed my neck, then my cheek. All the places his lips had lingered the other night.

The warmth in my stomach was a purely caloric hunger, since I’d skipped breakfast in my eagerness to get to class.

“Cole was all mysterious this morning.” He shifted closer and dropped his voice. “After a fifteen-minute whispered phone conversation conducted entirely in his closet.”

I shook my head without turning around. I didn’t dare. The whole world would know what had happened between us if I turned around. It would break me. I wasn’t sure what I would do, just that it would probably be humiliating. The knowledge that he had run those long, tan fingers all over me would quite possibly make my head explode.

“You shouldn’t be embarrassed,” he said. “It’s only a big deal if you make it one.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I told the whiteboard. I refused to turn, terrified those muddy brown eyes would slide all over me. Or that they wouldn’t.

“Even the back of your neck is blushing right now, Harper,” he whispered, still so close I could feel the heat radiating from his body. “Turn around and look at me, please. I’ll provoke you into it if you don’t.” His voice was so soft and close that his mouth had to be mere inches away.

Something brushed my earlobe. It had to be my imagination; there was no way he’d let his lips actually brush my earlobe in public. We were in the front row. We had a live and very attentive audience for this little freak show. I scooted forward in my seat, as far away from him as I could get. Silence descended. I turned my face to the side, just enough to see that he’d settled back in his seat. The empty space behind me was worse than his looming proximity had been. Had he changed his mind? Or was this part of the promised provocation—pulling away to see if I’d follow? I couldn’t give him the satisfaction of turning around, so I held perfectly still, waiting, as second after second ticked past.

I couldn’t handle it—I had to know what he was doing—was he watching me? Had his focus already shifted to something else, because I mattered that little?

I tried counting backward from one hundred. I could feel him behind me, his presence pulling on me as if he had his own gravitational field. It tugged and tugged until I couldn’t stand it any longer. I spun in my seat.

He was waiting, patient as a panther. His eyes tracked my every move.

“You know, you’re hiding a fantastic little body under that pup tent.” His words were low enough that only I could to hear.

“It’s not a pup tent.” My voice was shriller than I’d ever heard it. “It’s a dress.”

“A dress sized for a Sasquatch,” he replied mildly. “And I, for one, am a feminist. Bra burning, and all that. Here to liberate you.”

“Thank you for your concern, Sterling, but the women of my generation will craft our own model of feminism without input from self-centered, spoiled rich boys.”

“I love it when you call me that.” His chair creaked as he shifted closer, and I let myself lean closer, too. He wouldn’t dare make a move in public—or would he?

“You’re hiding one fantastic little body under that oversize inflated head of yours. Too bad I never want to see it again.” In my panic to retort, I didn’t pause to modulate my voice. The words flew out in a shriek.

Every eye in the classroom locked on me.

He cleared his throat and tipped his head toward the front of the room. Mrs. Stevens assumed her post, presiding over us, dry-erase marker in hand. She’d heard every word of what I’d just shrieked. I hung my head in shame, willing the moments to fly past as painlessly as possible, knowing that further humiliation waited mere inches behind me. And there he hovered for the rest of class, robbing me of every last drop of concentration.

When class finally ended, Sterling leaned forward in his seat. “There’s no reason to be embarrassed,” he said. “Look, I don’t care that you steal your underwear from a nursing home. We’ve got bigger fish to fry. We need to talk.”

My face burned hot enough to melt the ice caps.

The worst part was, I wasn’t sure what bothered me more—that he’d been thinking judgmental thoughts as we did all those things, while I’d been consumed with the disturbing reality of how very gorgeous he was, or that he’d chosen to share those thoughts with me in the middle of a crowded room.

My hands curled into fists, and my brain shut right down. Before I said something I’d definitely regret, I turned and walked away.

“Should I just shout the rest?” His words chased me into the hallway before soaring outward into the farthest reaches of the universe.

I froze.

“Thank you.” He approached, dropping his voice into a whisper made just for me. “I have feelings, too, you know. It’s common courtesy to at least hear me out before you storm away.”

For once, I couldn’t tell if he was teasing, and that made me more anxious than his constant barrage of banter.

“Neither of us is big on common courtesy,” I said. “But you’re absolutely inhuman if you can say those things to me after what happened.”

His expression shifted into something approximating somber. “You’re right,” he said, looking me right in the eye. “I apologize.”

The calm, open way he said it made me take a step back. Only Sterling Lane would be absolutely confident when admitting his mistakes.

“Will you walk with me, please?” He shoved his hands into his pockets and just stood there, waiting.

“Fine,” I replied.

But as we started walking down the hall, Sterling didn’t say a single thing. Instead he kept glancing sideways at me, until the silence stretched so thin I snapped.

“What did you want, Sterling?” I asked. “Don’t you have some cheerleaders to chase?”

“My tastes have shifted these days,” he replied, perking up. “You’ve raised the bar. If I don’t get at least two drinks thrown in my face for my trouble, why bother?”

“Asshole.”

“You’re usually more creative,” he said, visibly relaxing. “Guess I wore you out Saturday night—what with all the helping Cole, I mean.”

“Get to the point,” I said.

“Oh, the quills are extra sharp today,” he said, finally sounding like himself again—all smug and self-satisfied. “Like I told you, Cole was on the phone. Right after I told him I’d be at some fake study group in the library, I overheard him making plans for this afternoon—meeting in our room. So I sneaked his phone out of his bag when he was in the shower. He’d called our old pal Gilbert.”

“This is our chance,” I said, excitement mingling with dread. “Do we tell Cole that we know? Get him to help us capture a confession?”

Sterling shook his head. “Cole isn’t up for that kind of performance. We have to keep him in the dark. A grifter like Gilbert will smell play-acting a mile away. We just have to hope that whatever they discuss is incriminating.” He glanced at his watch. “Meet me in my room at four.”

“Your room?” I might have momentarily forgotten that I hated him, but I wasn’t stupid enough to trust him. “Alone?”

“Cole’s the one who chose our meeting place. That’s where he’s meeting Gil.” He gave me a tight-lipped smile. “But if that brings back too many memories, you can always bring your best friend Kendall. We all know she’s fantastic with secrets.”

“Don’t say that about Kendall.” I scowled. Sure, I made fun of her, too, but at least I did it to her face. And most of the time she laughed and fired right back.

Regardless, Sterling was right; we couldn’t risk bringing anyone else into this plan. The stakes were too high.

“This isn’t a trick, is it? To get me into your room.” My blush was likely visible from space. Not that we’d do that again, but the sheer humiliation of Cole walking in on us was more than enough to send shock waves of shame rippling through me.

“With what possible objective?” he asked, hands up in front of himself, all innocence.

“Never mind.” I didn’t trust myself to be alone with him. I took a step back, because we’d both let our personal space erode over the last few minutes.

“Don’t worry, little Harper Campbell. This isn’t some elaborate ruse to seduce you. Give me some credit. I know a girl like you would require a far more sophisticated approach.”

“What is that supposed to mean?” A little part of me was flattered that he’d given it thought. Saturday night must have affected him, too—despite his ultracool and controlled exterior. But ultimately, it didn’t matter. I couldn’t afford to let myself give in to whatever was simmering between us.

“If only I knew.” He looked me straight in the eye as he said it.

I had to get away from him and this confusing maze of a conversation. “There’s something I forgot to tell you.” I would never let Sterling have the upper hand. “I spent almost an entire night sifting through DMV records. It seems a car wasn’t the only thing Gilbert has stolen.”

Sterling tipped his head back, smiling.

“The real Gilbert is eighty-five and lives in Nevada.”

“Then I’ll bet our pasty little friend has much more to hide.”

“Exactly,” I said quietly. “I’m guessing you know a way to lift fingerprints? I grabbed Gilbert’s pen that night at dinner. I found a service that’ll run them for a fee if I can put them in this special kit.”

“I’d say we’re a pretty lethal combination.” I could feel him watching my profile, but there was no way I was turning to acknowledge that playful smile.

“That’s one way of putting it.”

Sterling chuckled as he reached out and gave my shoulder a squeeze. “Four o’clock,” he said as he turned and walked straight into the heart of the lacrosse clique, where he belonged.