Page 28

“You can’t go out there like that.” He nods toward my nearly transparent swimsuit, and I’m certain I’ve turned as red as the thin fabric.

“Okay, fine.” I stand and wrap my arms around my middle, one breath away from demanding he give back my towel. But I can’t in good conscience send him into the cold night in nothing but a Speedo. “Come right back.”

“I will.” He nods one last time before disappearing into the men’s locker room.

Caleb isn’t gone for more than few minutes before I ignore his order to stay put. He’s not the boss of me, and I’m not about to sit half-naked in the pool while he’s off doing God-knows-what. How do I even know he’ll come back for me?

Halfway to the women’s locker room, cursing my “good conscience,” the sound of approaching footsteps coming from the direction of the men’s freezes me where I stand. Even in dim light I recognize the glint of Jordan Keller’s piercings as he rushes through the door.

“What the hell are you doing here?”

“Saving your ass,” he whispers, clutching my hand and dragging me back toward the exit. “Unless you’d rather I leave you here to get arrested like your boyfriend.”

Boyfriend?

“Wait . . .” I pull him to a standstill. “Caleb got arrested?”

He nods, exhaling through his nose and tightening his grip on my fingers. “And unless you wanna join him in the back of that police car, you’ll quit asking questions and follow me.”

Stunned into silence, I let him lead me into the dark locker room and through another door where the chlorine fumes are almost unbearable. We finally reach the exit, and a blast of cold air hits my damp skin as he drags me into the alley.

Jordan drops my hand the second we’re outside, as if he can’t wait to be rid of me. “Were you planning on doing it right there in the pool?”

“What?” Another cold gust hits me, and my body convulses.

He shakes his head. “You’re something else, you know that?”

“I-I didn’t do anything!” My muscles seize as another uncontrollable shiver runs through me, and I hug myself to keep warm.

With a grunt, Jordan pulls off his T-shirt and shoves it into my hands. “Put this on.”

I’d like nothing more than to refuse his unenthusiastic help, but I’m freezing, so I tug on his Led Zeppelin tee and melt into his warmth. His shirt smells like him—coffee beans and powdered sugar—and I’d kill for an extra-large white-chocolate mocha right about now. “Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me yet. We need to get out of here before we both end up in a cell right beside your boy—”

“He’s not my boyfriend!”

“I don’t give a damn what he is to you.” His bitter tone says he’s lying through his perfect teeth. “But I’d rather not end up in jail tonight, if you don’t mind.”

“Fine.” I nod and follow him around the corner to a black Jeep Wrangler.

As soon as he unlocks the doors, I scramble into the passenger seat and rub my feet against the floor mat to warm them.

“Jesus.” He gapes at my Popsicle toes. “Where are your shoes?”

“I was in the pool! My clothes and my shoes are still in the locker room. Along with my phone and keys.” My teeth chatter as I shriek at him.

“Shit.” He blows out a breath, his whole demeanor changing as his mask slips. “I’m sorry. I had no idea you were barefoot when I pulled you out of there. I was only trying to get you out before the cops got you, too.”

At least a dozen questions come to mind, like why is he helping me? And what happened to Caleb? Instead, I wait until he pulls onto Main Street and ask something else that’s been nagging at me. “How’d you know—”

“I saw you,” he cuts me off. “I was in the coffee shop when you pulled in. I watched James drag you across the street, and I figured when you went around the building and didn’t come back out, you must have gone inside.”

I study him in the wash of streetlights, and for the first time since we stepped outside, I realize I can see his eyes. The black eyeliner is gone, and instead of a spiky faux-hawk, his green-tipped dark hair tumbles over his forehead in waves. Wearing a pair of loose-fitting Levi’s and the gray thermal he’d layered beneath the T-shirt, he almost looks . . . normal. Better than normal. He’s . . . freaking hot.

“At the risk of sounding ungrateful, why do you care what happens to me?”

He darts his eyes to me, then back to the road ahead of him. “I keep asking myself that same damn question.”