Page 10 of What's in a Kiss?

I tell you this next part only because you’re physically bound to secrecy. Outside of you, I’ll never breathe this to a soul.

“What’dThe Bodyguarddo to you?” came the voice over my shoulder.

I startled and spun around. Why had Glasswell followed me outside?

“What?” I asked.

“You walked out when ‘I Will Always Love You’ came on.” He tipped his head toward the gym, the distant music playing inside. Our eyes met, and his narrowed slightly, like he was seeing something he didn’t expect. “Or maybe... you like the songtoomuch.”

I blinked at him, tongue-tied. Because Ilovethat song. When Whitney sings it. When Dolly sings it. I love it so much that I couldn’tnotdance to it in the gym. But I couldn’t dance to it, either. Because my date was dancing with Masha, and it’s not a solo number.

The thing is, I hadn’t realized any of this—not consciously—until Glasswell said those words. I’d just thought it was hot in the gym.

“What if I asked you to dance?” Glasswell said.

And now it was hot outside, too.

“Here?” I laughed and shook my head. I wasn’t going to dance with Glasswell on a curb. No matter how good he looked in a tux.

Why would the two of us dance? So he could try to out-sway me? Like he’d tried to out-everything me from the first day he showed up at our school?

“Or we could just talk,” he said, sitting down next to me. “I saw the Wednesday performance ofRomeo and Juliet.”

And there it was. The signature Glasswellian dig disguised as an innocent comment. But he’d gone out of his way to make it clear he saw theWednesdayshow, known as Ye Olde Clusterfuck among our cast and crew. It was the night the spotlight burned out in Act Two. And the Nurse’s understudy knew exactly none of her lines. And Trevor sneezed on me while parting with such sweet sorrow. And here was Glasswell, rubbing it in.

“So?” I said, not looking at him.

“So, your performance was nothing to sneeze at.”

“Puns are the lowest form of comedy.”

“Fine,” he said. “I have other notes.”

I groaned. Why was rich and fancy, son-of-a-mogul Glasswell determined to pick apart our meager high school play? Then I remembered: He almost tried out for Romeo. He’d walked into the audition, saw that he’d be playing the balcony scene opposite me—and walked right out.

Like he was too good for it.

So, of course, he had to put down the whole show.

“Too much instalove?” I deadpanned.

He shook his head, then after a moment, said: “ ‘Who ever loved that loved not at first sight?’ ”

I rolled my eyes. “What didn’t you like?”

“Act Two, Scene Two.”

The balcony scene.

“ ‘So thrive my soul—’ ” he said, quoting Romeo.

I looked up at the stars and filled in the next line without a thought. “ ‘A thousand times goodnight. A thousand times the worse to want thy light... ’ ” I trailed off when I realized that I was getting into it. I didn’t want to get into it with Glasswell.

For several moments after that, neither of us spoke.

“Olivia,” he whispered.

“What?”

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