Page 64 of Lance

“How old wereyou?”

“Eleven.”

I shake my head, looking down at the picture again. “I’m impressed, but I guess I shouldn’t besurprised.”

“This is what I want to do, you know,” she says softly. So softly I barely hearher.

“What do you want todo?”

She gestures at the table. “This. Art. If I could pick any career in the world, I would be a professionalillustrator.”

“Comics?”

She shakes her head. “Maybe. Probably not.” She swallows. “More like illustrations. Forbooks.”

“I think that sounds fantastic,” I tell her. “You’d obviously be reallygood—”

She’s laughing softly and the sound is bitter. “My mother would disownme.”

“What? You’re always saying how she wants you to be successful. You would be good at this,Willa.”

She takes the drawing from me, setting it on the table. “She would consider it a waste of my intellect. I’m supposed to be a scientist. A great researcher. My mother thinks I’m going to change the world.” She makes a snorting sound. “She practically had a heart attack when I told her I was considering becoming a physician. Apparently a medical doctor isn’t nearly importantenough.”

She sounds so bitter and sad that I try to make a joke to lighten the mood. “My mother would have a heart attack if I told her I was going to try to be a doctor,” I say, nudging her shoulder. “But that’s only because she’d be so shocked I had an actual, you know,goal.”

“You have goals,” Willa says immediately, her voice sharp. “Don’t sell yourselfshort.”

“The only goal I’ve ever had is to have a successful rock band,” I tell her and she crosses her arms across her chest, lookingannoyed.

“Just because they aren’t academic goals doesn’t mean they aren’timportant.”

“Hey.” I reach down and nudge her chin so she’s looking at me. “You could take that same advice when it comes to yourdrawing.”

She looks up at me for a long moment before her face softens. “Thanks.”

“You’rewelcome.”

I realize, belatedly, that my finger is still below her chin, lightly grazing her skin. But I don’t let it drop. “Willa.”

I figure she’ll blush or look away or do something else shy and adorable. So it’s pretty shocking when, instead, she rises up on her tiptoes and presses her lips againstmine.

It’s a gentle kiss, almost innocent. But it has my heart suddenly racing, all the blood rushing away from my brain. I cup her face with both hands and when she whimpers I want todie.

“I want to be with you,” she whispers against my mouth, running her hands up into my hair. Her nails scratch my scalp a little bit and my befuddled brain wonders why on earth that should feel so amazing. “I’ve wanted it for a longtime.”

This could be it. I could sweep her up in my arms and take her to bed and it would probably be incredible and amazing. And then, in the morning, I would feel like shit. And not because of her brother, not because she’s inexperienced and young. I would feel like shit because I would know that she deserved better than me. Because I would know that, no matter how hard I might try, I would probably only hurt her in theend.

But even knowing that, I don’t think I can fight this. I’ve never been really well known for my willpower. And Willa—God, Willa feels good under myhands.

“Say something,” she whispers, her voice bordering on desperate. “I need to know—do you feel this way?” She sounds like my answer has the power to make or destroy her. And that somehow gives me the strength to release her, to take a step back. Her face immediately crumbles. “Lance?”

“Of course I want you,” I say quickly, closing my eyes so I don’t have to see the hurt on her face. “You have no idea,Willa.”

“Then why—why did you stop? Why won’t you look atme?”

“Because this isn’t a goodidea.”

“Whynot?”