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My shoulder brushes Jordan’s as we hike the winding trail to the zip line platform. For the better part of an hour, we debate the merits of Marvel versus DC Comics, rank the Star Wars movies from worst to best, and argue over who should’ve stepped up and made the first move at freshman orientation. In an effort to solve the many mysteries of Jordan Keller, I nudge him into a round of twenty questions.

“My turn.” I hum, tapping a finger to my lips as one of Nicole’s many petty accusations creeps out of my subconscious. “Favorite song on Guitar Hero?”

Jordan throws back his head and laughs. “I haven’t played Guitar Hero since I was twelve!”

Take that, Nicole! “Favorite song in general, then.”

Using any excuse to touch me, Jordan grips my waist, lifting me over a jagged rock outcropping. His warm palms scorch my skin through my thin T-shirt. “All of them.”

“That’s not an answer.” Our eyes lock, and his intense gaze sends a shiver through me.

Without the distracting kohl liner, I notice the flecks of green and gold swirling through his irises, and my stomach does a nosedive straight to my toes. He’s so gorgeous, I can barely breathe.

With my train of thought completely derailed, it takes half a second to remember where I was going with my question. “If you had to pick one, what would it be?”

He darts his gaze behind us, and releases me, all too aware of our audience. “What if I don’t have a favorite?”

“Everyone has—”

“Are we almost there?” Breathing heavily behind us, a sweaty, red-faced Seth Harmon plods along in his fitted cashmere sweater and dark jeans. Unlike Jordan, who wore army-green cargo pants and a tan T-shirt, Seth didn’t dress for the occasion.

Jordan grins down at me, ignoring Seth’s question for mine. “Not me.”

“Sure you do,” I tease, turning on the charm to coax an answer out of him. “What’s at the top of your playlist?”

“Hmm . . .” His dark eyes flash with a spark of humor, and a slow smile curves his lips. “‘Redhead Walking.’ R.E.M.”

Exasperated by his obvious attempt at evading the question, I shove him lightly. “I’m being serious. I know almost nothing about you. Other than your weakness for vintage clothes—and frustrating redheads.”

“True.” He angles his head toward me, and my mouth goes dry. “I do have a weakness for redheads.”

My heart races as I drift toward him as if no one else exists. Behind us, Seth snorts out a laugh, and we jump apart.

“What’s so funny?” I scowl over my shoulder. The guy looks as if he’s likely to collapse at any moment.

Seth holds up his hands and falls back a step. “Not a thing.”

Jordan grabs my hand, towing me farther up the hill and away from prying eyes.

“Favorite song . . . hmm.” He stops and shoves his hands into the pockets of his cargo pants, rocking back onto his heels. “I can only pick one?”

“Only one.” Anticipation makes me giddy as I grin up at him.

Pulling his hands from his pockets, he stares into the clear blue sky as if it holds the answers to the universe. Then he exhales a heavy breath and leans in until his nose grazes my cheek. “‘Renegade Princess.’ Sonic Youth.”

Hot tingles rush over my skin. “Are you teasing me again?”

“No.” Jordan presses his lips to my neck, and then he glances toward where Seth struggles to catch up. “Come on.”

We pick up our pace, leaving our third wheel behind. Neither of us bring up the significance of his favorite song, but I can’t ignore the connection.

“My turn.” Jordan whips around, walking backward up the trail. “Favorite ice cream.”

“Easy. Vanilla.”

He lays a hand over his heart and groans. “There’s a great big world out there, filled with Chubby Hubbies, Chunky Monkeys, and Rocky Roads, and you pick boring old vanilla? I expect better from you, princess.”

“Boring? Are you kidding?” I gape, ready to school him on the finer points of sundae making. “Vanilla is the foundation for all toppings. You can add hot fudge, caramel, strawberry, pineapple . . . basically anything. Toss in a banana and some nuts, top it with whipped cream, and it’s basically its own food pyramid.”