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gazing at me intently as he lay on the bed.
    He
sat up. Then rubbed the back of his neck. “You coming back?”
    I
shook my head. I felt uncomfortable and shy and beyond guilty. Before the interruption
I’d been under a magical spell, nothing but joyful at his miraculous revelation
that he had been thinking about me. And I’d been breathless and enraptured to hear
anything else he had to reveal. But the spell had (thankfully) been broken by
Delia’s innocent intrusion, and now I felt out of sorts and beyond guilty that
I had been so thrilled by his words and hungry stare.
      “I should be going,” I choked out.
    “No,”
he said, groaning in dismay. “Stay a second, Brooke. Please. I want to talk to
you.”
    “Please
don’t,” I begged. “I need to go home.”
    He
winced.
    Slowly
he tilted his head. “Because of what I said?”
    He
asked it as though he was trying to understand the sudden change in my
behavior, since a moment ago I had been sitting with him, calmly carrying on a
conversation like a normal human being, yet now I was an agitated lunatic,
clawing at the door.
    “Well,
yeah … I guess. Please, can we go?” I implored with my back to the door, but my
hand sweating on the knob.
    “Brooke,
I didn’t mean to scare you, or make you uncomfortable.”
    “I
know that,” I said honestly. “Can we PLEASE go?”
    He
squeezed his eyes shut, then exhaled with resign. “Okay.”
    He
gave me another tiny glance, then with another sigh, he grabbed his car keys.
    I
had his bedroom door yanked open and was out it in record speed.
    The
house was dark and quiet. Everyone had gone to bed. We walked out to his car in
awkward silence and he gently opened the car door for me, his hungry eyes
intently on me, but not saying a word.
    When
we got to my house I was ready to spring out of his car, but he gently reminded
me to take his Spanish notes. He silently handed them across the seat to me.
    “Thanks,”
I whispered.
    “You
haven’t actually looked at me since our kiss on the bus—well, almost kiss.”
    My
face flushed. “Right.”
    He
tilted his head. “We’re going to have to talk about it sometime, Brooke.”
    “No,
actually we don’t have to talk about it—ever.”
      I quickly shut the car door, then ran to
my house without looking back.

 
 
 
 
    CHAPTER 8

 
 
    I should have mentioned Laurie to him. I
should have flat-out called him out on it—he has a girlfriend, so he had
no right to be looking at me like that.
    Of
course all that seemed obvious to me—now. Now that I was away from hot dreamy
Drew. Away from his intoxicating scent and stare. But at the time, when I was
with him, having him gaze at me the way he kept doing, I could barely breathe,
let alone think straight.
    But
now it seemed obvious—I should have called him out. Laurie’s my friend …
and his girlfriend . There was no need
for us to have discussions about “thinking” about each other. We just shouldn’t
be doing it.
    I
rolled over in my bed, wishing so bad I could get his stare out of my head, and
the way he had looked and sounded when he told me, “I’ve been thinking a lot
about you Brooke.”
    When
I finally slept, I dreamed about being on the bus with him, how it felt to
wake-up kissing him. The dream was steamy, steamy, STEAMY —and sure didn’t help me get over him.
    Sadly,
quite the opposite.

 
 
 
 
    CHAPTER 9

 
 
    The
rest of the week was really hard for me. The year before I loved to be around
Drew as much as possible. We laughed, and talked and had fun. But these days I
felt really uncomfortable around him—especially since Laurie was always
with him, or tried to be with him
anyway, but he usually found excuses to avoid her. Meanwhile, I tried to find
excuses to avoid him .
    It
was awkward!
    I
didn’t actually directly talk to Drew after that night at his house, but I’d
often catch his eyes on me—even when Laurie was gabbing away to him,
trying her sultry best to keep his