Abandoning our meal, I lead Azalea over to my worn tweed couch, positioning us so damn close together that we’re almost sharing a cushion. She makes a move to scoot away from me, but I halt her movement by grasping her leg, just above her knee. She rolls her eyes before scrunching up her nose and pursing her lips, her aggravation written clearly across her face.

My cheeks split with a wide grin, because the face she’s making . . . it’s the very same one she made the day we met. “You know you’ve been sporting that same mean-ass look as long as I’ve known you, right?”

Insert eye roll number two.

“Have not.” Her tone is petulant, and I can’t help but love it.

“Yeah, you have. You screw your pretty little lips up and try so damn hard to look mean.” I laugh, thinking back to so long ago when we first met. “What you really look like, though, is a wet kitten.”

“Drake Collins, you’re an asshole. You don’t even know what you’re talking about. In fact, all you’re doin’ is trying to change the subject because you don’t remember a damn thing.”

“I remember it like it was yesterday.” It sounds like a line, but it’s the honest-to-God truth.

Azalea brushes her hair off her face and scoots a little closer to me, her eyes softening. “Tell me ’bout it?”

She thinks I don’t realize that this is all a diversion from our earlier blow-up, but I’ll let it slide. Maybe when she sees I truly do remember every little detail, it’ll open her eyes to the reality of how I feel about her. “You were standing in the field between the McGraws’ and the McAllisters’ like you fucking owned it. You had your hands on your hips and your pretty little mouth twisted up in an ugly snarl—”

“Hey! Did not!” she argues, smacking me in my chest.

“Did too.” She goes to smack me again, but this time I’m prepared, and I grab her hand before it makes contact. I don’t let it go. “Your hair was lit up by sunlight, and right then and there, I knew you were somethin’ special.”

Azalea’s looking at me like I’m batshit crazy, but I’m too far into my memories to care. I’m lost remembering the way I knew exactly who she was, no introductions needed, because Simon never shut up when we’d talk on the phone about his neighbor and her friend—his little sisters, he called ’em. I took one look at the tiny little freckle-faced redhead and dismissed her on sight. She was sweet-looking, but her friend . . . she wasn’t. Not at all.

I remember taking her in from head to toe. There wasn’t much special about her, with her chicken legs and a chest as flat as her back. But something about that angry twist of her lips and the way she stared me down drew me in. My sixteen-year-old brain was screaming for me to get to know her. And once my eyes landed on hers, I was a goddamn goner. Green as a forest, and I was lost in the trees.

Azalea nudges her shoulder into mine, breaking me from my memories. “Where did ya go?”

“Just thinking ’bout what you asked me,” I tell her honestly. I keep that day tucked away like an old polaroid in my wallet. It’s a well-worn memory.

“About when we met?”

“Mmmhmm.” Looking down at my lap, I’m surprised to see I’m still holding her hand. Even more surprised she’s letting me.

“Tell me more?” she asks, laying her head on my shoulder, cozying right up next to me so that there’s not even an inch between us.

I stroke my thumb over the soft skin of her wrist, causing her to shiver, and I fucking love it. “First words you said to me were, ‘What are you staring at, asshole?’ You were barely thirteen and so full of fire. Loved your silver tongue then, and I love it now, Little Bit.” I cringe at my word choice, hoping it doesn’t set her off again, but she just buries her head in my shoulder.

“Ugh. You were such an ass.”

“Me?”

“Yes, you. I asked what you were lookin’ at, and what’d you say?”

“I said, ‘Certainly not you, Little Bit. Move along.’ You gotta know I was only a dick because you called me an asshole.” Another thing she doesn’t know . . . I straight-up lied. I was looking at her, and I have been ever since. Because even then, as plain as could be, I knew she was my future. Her soul fucking called to mine, all kindred and shit.

“Keep telling yourself that.”

“Don’t you go actin’ like I hurt your feelings, Bit. You started it.”

“I. Did. Not.”

“You did. And after I told you to move along, you got all huffy, just like you are now. You cocked your bony little hip to the side and told me you were there first. Like that meant something.” I laugh, remembering the fierce expression on her face and how her green eyes blazed when I asked her if she wanted a prize for being there first. “You were such an angry little thing.”

She pulls back from me and tilts her head to the side, studying me. “Was not.”

“Yeah, you were. I saw you. Saw that hurt and anger you kept so hidden from everyone else.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Drake.”

“Yeah, okay. Pretend all you want, but we both know.”

“Ugh!” She stands from the couch and starts pacing, wearing a trail in my rug. “You’re so impossible.”

“Why’re you getting so mad? You asked me about when we first met, and I answered you.”

“No, you started trying to psychoanalyze me.” Her tone is accusing, and it pisses me off.

“Didn’t, but it’s nice to see some things never change.” I snort out a frustrated laugh, because damn if this isn’t just like us. We can’t make it ten minutes without fighting.

She pins me with a glare. “What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

I figure I’m already in deep, so I may as well keep right on digging. “Means you’re every bit in denial about your feelings now as you’ve always been.”

Azalea stares at me, like my words have shocked her into silence. Thank God. But the silence doesn’t last. She blinks at me a few times before lighting into me. “Now you listen here, you pig-headed asshole. I asked a simple question. You’re the one that turned it into all this. Gah. You think the whole damn world revolves around—”

Rising from the couch, I grab her by her waist and pull her small body flush against mine. She’s teetering on the edge of a full-blown hissy-fit, and I’m so not in the mood.

“What do you think you’re—” I silence her with my lips. Nipping at her bottom lip and licking away the sting, again and again until she opens up for me. Our tongues fight for control, and our kiss is punishing. She winds her arms around my neck, digging her nails into the skin there. Marking me, owning me. But Azalea Barnes has always owned me. She just doesn’t know it.

She moans and mewls into my mouth, and the sound travels straight below my belt. Judging by her sharp intake of breath, she’s all too aware.

“Drake,” she pants. “We have to stop.” I know she’s right, because if we end up in bed right now, it’ll only solidify her hair-brained idea that I only want her for sex. But still, fuck. I step away, not bothering to adjust myself. I’m one hundred percent fine with her knowing how she affects me.

“You’re right, Little Bit. You’re right.” Lowering myself back onto the couch, I tug her wrist to pull her down beside me, and she snuggles into me without argument. “That’s better. Havin’ you close keeps me happy.”

“Wanna know what makes me happy, D?” she asks, hitting me with the same puppy-dog eyes I used on her.

“What’s that?” I ask, knowing I’ll probably regret it.

“Picking the movie!” she singsongs, her mood doing a total one-eighty.

“Mmm, go on, then,” I say, handing her the remote, because let’s be real, with her in my arms, who cares what’s on the TV?