Page 72 of Everything You Hate
“What did she bet?”
“That you’d crack me open like a clam and I wouldn’t mind.”
“Do you?” I ask a bit too breathlessly. “Mind?”
“I hate it.”
Oh. Of course he does. Why had I thought he’d feel any differently just because of last night?
I try to draw away, but he holds me still and lowers his mouth to mine. “But I hate everything, Hollywood.”
Then he kisses me.
Right there, in front of his entire family and half the town, with the bonfire throwing sparks into the dark and the waves crashing behind us, Dean Kinsella kisses me like he means it.
And I kiss him back. Because I do.
Someone whistles. I think it’s Knox. Or maybe Colter. Someone else—Piper, maybe—says, “Finally,” loud enough to beheard over the fire. Dean doesn’t break the kiss. His hand slides from my cheek to the back of my neck, fingers threading into my hair, and he holds me there like he’s afraid I’ll float away.
When he finally pulls back, his eyes are dark, and his breathing is rough.
“There,” he says. Quiet. Just for me. “Now they’ll stop texting about it.”
“They’ll text more.”
“Probably.”
He releases me, but doesn’t let go of my hand. He leads me toward the fire.
“I thought this wasn’t a date.”
“It’s not. I don’t date.” His hand tightens around mine in direct contrast to his words. “It’s a bonfire. You’re a guest. I’m being polite.”
“Polite.”
“Exceptionally.”
The fire pops, sending a shower of sparks into the dark. Someone whoops. Hazel shrieks with delight as Colter lifts her onto his shoulders and spins her in a circle, her pigtails flying, Radar barking circles around them.
Knox reappears with two fresh beers and hands one to Dean. “So. Scarlett. Dean says you’re the reason the island’s crawling with metal detectors.”
“Knox.” Once again, Dean’s voice carries a warning.
“What? It’s a valid question. I flew in and the harbor looks like spring break. Bev at the gift shop said they sold out of ‘I Dig Port Haven’ t-shirts. There’s a waiting list.”
I wince. “That’s on me. The treasure hunt posts got bigger than I expected.”
“Bigger than Malcolm expected too, I bet.” Knox’s smile doesn’t reach his eyes. “Guy’s been trying to monetize that storyfor decades. Never quite landed it. Then you show up, and suddenly he’s got the audience he’s always wanted.”
He doesn’t seem to be blaming me like some others, but my chest still tightens.
I have upended all of their lives. Even Knox’s, and he’s been states away.
Bodhi drifts into the circle then, beer in hand, and the temperature shifts a degree. He looks at Dean’s hand wrapped around mine, then at Dean, and says nothing, which is somehow worse than if he’d said something.
“Don’t,” Dean tells him.
“Didn’t say a word.”
