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“Agh!” I shriek, and I reel my hand out instinctively, slamming it into Aaron’s forehead and snapping his head back. He bangs it against the tub, and the sound echoes through the bathroom.

“Ow,” he comments.

“H-how could you?” I demand, knocking my fists against his knees until he loosens them. I begin my panicky escape onto the floor towel outside the tub.

“Why did you just slam my head into your tub?” he wheezes, his eyes spinning.

“You kissed me!”

Massaging his head, Aaron frowns at the agitated bathwater, like he’s recalling the last ten seconds. “I’ve been itching to kiss you for a while, so I’d probably remember doing it.”

“But…but I felt…and your arms were…” I stumble through the words, trying to navigate what just happened. The quickened breaths, his arms pushing up my back, his bare chest flush with mine…

I look at Aaron’s chest, fully concealed by his overalls.

Then the kiss was just another memory?

Which means I nearly concussed Aaron Beckham against my tub for no reason?

“Oh no,” I croak, raising my hands apologetically, humiliation coursing through me in shock waves. “I’m so sorry…I think I had a flashback and thought it was real. I’m so sorry—”

Aaron laughs so hard that his head flies back and smashes the tub a second time.

“Stop!” I shriek, leaning over and seizing his lengthy arm, then giving it a vicious tug to heave him up. “You’ll crack your skull, and then we’ll both have amnesia! How am I supposed to regain my memories when you don’t even have yours?”

Aaron is laughing so hard he’s hardly making noise, his chest racked with violent shudders. He allows me to haul him into a standing position, though, and water pours off his paint-smeared clothes. His cheeks are rose pink—a contrast to his usual black-and-white scheme—and he’s sparkling under the golden lighting as vibrantly as he did under the pale blue of the swimming pool. There’s a fleck of teal paint on his temple, just below his bandanna, and I’m…

Very attracted to him.

I knew this, obviously, because I have the power of sight, and it’s one of the most exasperating parts of this situation. So I don’t know why this thought whacks me as hard as it does. Only that I’ve never seen him so gleeful, so unrestrained. So genuine. He’s not even angry that I dragged him into the bathtub and then nearly shattered his skull.

“I’m…towel,” I choke out, swiveling toward the closet and wrenching out the longest towel I can find. I thrust it at him, before claiming another and wrapping myself in it like a burrito. Aaron discards his clothes, so I rotate on my heel and start striding from the room, heart pulsing in my ears.

“You must be feeling better, since you can walk again,” Aaron says brightly.

I realize then just how far my body has come over the last half hour. I was so weak mere minutes ago, but the adrenaline of the situation coupled with the lingering heat of the water helped alleviate my pain. I can still feel it—I always will—but it’s more muted than earlier. Because of him.

“Thank you,” I whisper, my eyes falling to the tile. “For being here.”

I hear wet, heavy thuds as his soaked clothes fall to the floor. “I’ll be here whenever you need me, Riley,” he says softly.

“You don’t have to—”

“I want to.” His voice firms with resolve. “If I have to ditch bed at four in the morning, or drive through an ice storm, or fly across the country, or swim to shore, I’ll be here. So call me every time. I’ll find a way to you. Always.” He falters, then sighs with annoyance. “I just wish I could be here to catch you before you hit the ground.”

My hands tremble around my towel as I hug it to me. The longer I stand here, the more heat begins to seep from my body, and the deeper I ache. I don’t notice it fully, though, because Aaron Beckham is doing that thing again where he makes me feel valuable. Like I’m a catch and not a curse.

“I want to kiss you,” I breathe.

I hate that it’s true. That after a couple of measly days around him, after promising myself that I wouldn’t fall for his manipulation following everything he did to Logan, I have. Fast. And hard. It’s pathetic. This is the same person who drove my brother away from a successful future by giving him a taste of rebellion. If not for him, Logan would be preparing to enter sophomore year in an established university, his room and board and schooling all paid for, playing his favorite sport. He wouldn’t be stuck at a community college and working as a student assistant to help him pay for his classes. He would be on the golf course every day, happy.

So, why? Why am I so weak to Aaron Beckham?

“What?” Aaron steps around my front before I can escape the bathroom, twisting a finger in his ear. The towel is knotted at his waist, and despite its length, it only conceals him halfway down his shins, leaving his upper half pale, flat, and exposed. Seeing him like this knots my stomach.

“Nothing,” I say quickly, closing my towel tighter around myself. It’s the same length as his, but mine fits me more like a dress.