“Yeah, the famous football team statistician Gray Peters. You just sit on the bench and crunch numbers, calculate the odds, you know.”

He laughed and took another sip. “You’re funny, Sydney Fu.”

We both started laughing, and I spotted a guitar in the corner. “You play?” I grabbed the guitar off its stand and handed it to Peters. He nodded, took it out of my hand, and began strumming.

It was a song I recognized, and he botched one of the notes. “That’s an E not an F, Peters.” I crossed over to his bed and sat leaning against the wall next to him.

Peters allowed me to move his fingers across the fret board, but he wasn’t paying attention. He was searing my face off with a heavy, heated stare. At that moment, I felt brave. I had him in a corner, and I could leave now or take this a step further. Should I take this a step further? It was now or never with Gray Peters. I knew that much.

“Tell me three things that are true about you, Sydney Fu, car thief and jokester. Just three things.” His voice was low and husky in my ear, and I dropped my hand from the guitar, resting it on his lap.

“I’m eighteen.” I stood, walked over the door, and pushed it closed.

“I hate wearing dresses.” I pulled my dress over my head, and he swallowed, taking in my frame. “And I hate cuddling.”

Before I knew it, Peters plowed through the dancing crowd, heading straight for me with fierce determination. I held my breath, watching, but two blondes made it to me first.

“Sanwicha Hamm?” Tina’s voice cut into my ear as she stepped in front of me. Tiffany joined her side, and they gave me another onceover.

Peters stopped just behind them. He crossed his arms over his fleece-clad chest but didn’t say a word. His eyes flickered with irritation, but surprisingly not at me. He was staring at the Tiffany.

“What are you doing here?” Tiffany said, lifting her hand to touch the strap of my cheap dress. “Here to profess your undying love for Jack Porter, I presume. Well, I think it’s a little too late for that. Theresa’s already boning him in one of the rooms.”

My heart sank so low I was sure it slipped out of me and landed on the sticky hardwood floor.

What have I done?

“Which room?” I said coolly, looking past them at Peters. I couldn’t interpret the expression on his face as he glanced between two-thirds of the Shrieking T’s and myself.

“This party’s invite only,” Tiffany answered, pointing to the front door. “You need to leave.”

“I invited her.” Peters’s cool voice interrupted my racing heart. “Sanwicha is on the guest list.” He reached between them and grabbed my hand.

Chapter Twenty-Six

“What are you doing?” Sydney yelled as I pulled her down the crowded hallway.

I began opening every door on our way down, looking for Jack. “You said you were looking for Jack, Sydney. So let’s look for Jack. You want to interrupt his good time, so let’s make this thing official and embarrass him,” I growled out just as her hand slipped through my grip.

“Stop!” she yelled and leaned back against the hallway wall. “Just stop, Peters. I just need to find Jack. He’s not answering my calls. I know he’s somewhere with Theresa.” Sydney closed her eyes and took a deep breath. “I’ll be out of here in ten minutes. Just let me look around. Then you can go back to hating me and wishing I’d die from a compact disc laceration.”

Fuck me.

When I saw Sydney leaning against my living room wall, a million emotions ripped through my body. She was annoying. She was manipulative. She was my enemy. But she was my enemy. When the Shrieking T’s began to circle her like vultures, I had to intervene.

Unshed tears appeared at the corners of her eyes, and I instinctively laid a forearm next to her head and cupped the side of her face. “Don’t cry… just don’t.”

“I’m not.”

I brushed my thumb under her eyes, wiping away the evidence, but she didn’t flinch. She let me smooth her hair from her forehead, and I felt her soften under my touch. “I could never hate you, Sydney. We fight. That’s what we do. I make empty threats from the back of the bus after waking up with glitter in my eye and a thong on my head.”

Eyes still closed, she smiled just slightly. Just enough to give me hope.

“I know you talked to Coach. You got me out of punishment because you fessed up, and thank you for the money. I’m not rich, and my parents do work hard… This is how we play, Sydney. It’s Porter and Peters at one another’s throats.” I stroked my thumb from her face to throat, and she exhaled, slightly parting her lips. They looked soft and smooth and dewy. I desperately wanted to pull them into mine and taste her.

“I could never hate you, Sydney,” I repeated myself, now entranced.

“Trust me. If you don’t hate me now, you’re going to hate me soon enough,” she whispered, her chest heaving into mine on each breath. “I’m a terrible person, and it’s all coming to a head tomorrow.” She looked up at me with her big, brown Bambi eyes. “Jack loves Allison. They’re supposed to be each other’s firsts. Not Theresa. Allison.”

I knew Sydney had a soft side. She was all spikes and acid on the outside, but inside she was vulnerable. If it took every last fiber of my being, I’d break down that guarded heart, swinging elbows just to get in. “Let’s find him, then… together. I like a happy ending as much as the next guy.”

She laughed softly. “I bet you do, Peters.”

I winked and grabbed her hand, pulling her down the hallway.

I have a lock on my door, so you’d have to be a magician to gain access. Chance was in his room, making out with some redhead. “Get the fuck out!” he screamed, tossing a video game cartridge at my head. Fernando’s room was clear. No one was stupid enough to mess around in there.

When we couldn’t find them in the den or the kitchen or the living room, I knew there was one place left—the garage.

“It’s freezing in here,” Sydney said, squeezing my hand tightly. “I guess they left the house.”

When she dropped my hand, I felt like I was missing a limb. Like an important piece of me had just vanished, and I formed a fist, holding on to her warmth. Sydney walked around the garage in a daze and stopped by the Porsche. “Suddenly, I have hankering for tacos,” she said quietly, running her hand along the open roof edge.

“Yeah. Still working on the smell.” I grabbed two beers from the garage fridge. “Beer?” I asked, already tossing it at her head.

With ninja reflexes, Sydney grabbed the can midair, popped open the top, and perched against the hood. I stayed on the other side of the car, admiring the curve of her back. When I noticed her legs quivering against the cool metal, I removed my fleece, throwing it at her from behind.

She snatched it as it slid past, folded it, and laid it next to her. “You don’t want me to wear this, Peters.” She smoothed the fabric with her hand. “I’m serious. My life is over tomorrow. Sydney Porter will be banished from campus. A mob of angry villagers will have stormed my dorm room with torches in their hands, chanting, ‘Hand over the witch.’

“And Allison.” She paused, drawing in a deep breath. “Allison will gladly open the door and point to me huddled in the corner. She’ll say, ‘Try not to splatter blood on my prom corsages, will you?’”

“Now don’t you think that’s a little dramatic?” Rounding the Porsche, I unfolded the fleece and spread it over her. “Even for you?” I tucked the sides under her legs to keep her warm.

“No.” She shook her head and lifted her beer to her lips. “Because no matter what happens, I’m the one who loses. There are no winners in this game, Peters.” She took a sip and slowly wiped her mouth with the back of her hand.