My eyes meet his eyes.
“You were a jerk,” I say.
His hands move to my cheeks. “I’m sorry.”
I pull away, but I can only go an inch before I bump into lacrosse sticks, not that I really want to go any farther. “Nope. No way. You do not get to kiss me yet.”
He pouts.

He laughs and pulls out a big Ziploc bag of something dark and round. Cookies!
I lunge forward. “Are these—?”
“Chocolate with peanut butter chips,” he finishes for me.
I keep staring at his lips, but I slide open the baggie. “I love these! My mom always made these.”
“I know.”
“How do you know?”
“You told me once.”
He sits down with me and before I can get too heart fluttery he pulls out a cookie and lifts it toward my mouth, teasing me. “Do you want it?”
I open my lips. He slides the cookie in a little bit. I chomp down. It melts on my tongue. “It is sooo good.

His eyes are so beautiful and dark and they do look like that dog’s—I mean, that wolf’s. They are kind and strong and a little bit something else and I like them. I like them a lot. No, I like them way too much. Something inside me gets a little warmer, edges closer to him.
The fire crackles and I jump again, jittery, nervous, but I don’t jump away from Nick. I jump toward him. Nick in the firelight with just a blanket on is a little hard to resist, no matter how crazy he might be. His skin, deep with heat, seems to glisten. His muscles are defined and good but not all steroid bulky. He is so perfect. And beautiful. In a boy way. Not a monster way. Not a wolf way.
“Are you going to kiss me?” My words tremble into the air.
He smiles but doesn’t answer.
“I’ve never kissed a werewolf before. Are were kisses like pixie kisses? Do they do something to you? Is that why you never kissed anybody?”
He gives a little smile. “No. It’s just I never kissed anyone because I never thought I could be honest about who I am, you know? And I didn’t want anyone to get attached to me because . . .”
“Because you’re a werewolf.”
“Because I’m a werewolf,” he repeats softly. Watching his lips move makes me shiver; not in a scared way, in more of an oh-he-is-too-beautiful way.
I put my hand against his skin. It is warm. It’s always been warm. He smells so good, like woods and safety. I swallow my fear and move forward, and my lips meet his, angel-light, a tiny promise. His lips move beneath mine. His hands move to my shoulders and my mouth feels like it will burst with happiness. My whole body shakes with it.
“Wow,” I say.
“Yeah,” he says. “Wow.”
Our mouths meet again. It’s like my lips belong there . . . right there. One tiny part of me has finally found a place to fit.

You like me?” I repeat, because, well, I want to be really, really sure that I heard him right. This is not the sort of thing you want to get wrong.
He nods and says, “Very much.”
“You like me very much?”
He lets go of my hands and touches my check. “Too much.”
“Too much?” Trying to keep my voice calm, I say, “No such thing.

How does that put me in danger?” Nick asks. It’s the first question he’s asked the entire time. Devyn, however, has been Mr. Nonstop Wondering Question Guy.
“Because . . .” I don’t know how to say it, struggle for the words. “Because you and I are a thing and you’re a threat.”
“You better believe I’m a threat,” Nick growls. The entire car seems to shake with his energy. Little hairs on my arm lift and vibrate.
“He’s going macho again,” Dev says, totally nonchalantly, while he unlocks the door.
“He’s always going macho,” Is adds. “It must be the wolf thing.”
“I am not going macho. I am always macho,” Nick says, and for a moment the tension ratchets down, but then his face muscles become rigid again.

I just run faster and hit the slowest of the lead boys. I wink and race by him. He smells like onions and he has big, wet circles in the pits of his shirt. He speeds up, but can only stay with me for a tenth of a mile before he drops back. Then it’s Nick.
I cruise next to him. He’s some sort of running god, because he isn’t close to being winded. His stride is long, powerful, and quick.
“Hi.”
Why I said this, I do not know. He’s cute. Okay. I am a sucker for cute boys and he was nice to Issie. Plus, he has good hair and he isn’t as pale as most Maine males. He looks like he works in the sun, or at least has seen the sun once, maybe many weeks ago. Plus, life is all supposed to be about making love, not war. My dad listened to John Lennon; I know this stuff.
“You’re fast,” he says, easy. No huffing. No puffing. No blowing the house down.
“So are you.”
We run together, keeping pace. The only one ahead of us is Ian, who is loping around the track as if it’s nothing.
Nick shrugs at me while he runs, which is really something, because when I’m running full tilt it’s hard for me to speak, let alone break form to shrug.
“You can go faster, can’t you?” I huff out.
He just gives a little smile again and then his eyes shift into something cold, like gravestones with just the barest information about a life etched onto them.
“Zara,” he whisper-says.
I lean in closer to hear him. “What?”
My voice is not a whisper. It matches the thudding beat of my heart, the bass of the music that blares out of the speakers.
“Awesome job, new girl!” Devyn yells, clapping.