Page 17 of Wrong For Me

Rose

That reckless feeling is coursing through my veins again as I lead Leo away from the table. This is so not like me, heading off alone with a guy I’ve barely spoken a handful of sentences to. I know at any minute the girls and River will show up and my brother is going to bepissed. But I can count on Will to keep him from following us. If nothing else, our cousin is a hell of a lot bigger than Riv.

“Careful,” Leo whispers through the darkness. “This isn’t actually much of a beach—it’s more rocks than anything else.” He tugs on my hand. “In fact, why don’t you let me lead, okay?”

That’s not something I have much practice with—letting a guy lead. I pretty much insist on control whenever I’m dealing with someone of the opposite sex. Letting go with a guy, any guy, is not exactly in my comfort zone. And I definitely have my reasons for that.

So why does it feel so easy to hand over the lead to Leo? It’s pitch dark out here, the lake to our left, the lights and sounds of the pizza joint diminishing behind us. I should feel more alert, more on edge.

But that thrum of recklessness just doesn’t seem to want to go away tonight.

He leads me over to a little outcropping of rocks with a flat enough top for sitting on. It’s not a big space, so when he pulls me down to sit I’m practically on top of him, close enough for the whole length of my leg to press against his.

I never would have described myself as a leg girl—I mean, is that even a thing? I know my cousin Everly has a thing for a guy’s forearms, and I’ve always been partial to a nicely shaped ass on a man. But a leg? I never would have thought the mere press of his limb against mine could feel so good.

Maybe Will had been right—it’s been an awfully long time since I’ve gotten laid.

“Oh,” I say, suddenly distracted from that muscular limb when a cloud shifts in the sky, revealing a swath of bright stars in the inky black night. “They’re so pretty.”

“Aren’t they?” Leo asks in a low voice, his head tilted up to the heavens. “You never see stars like that where I’m from. Too much light, too much pollution.”

“You aren’t from here?”

“Nah. Bodhi and I are working construction on a casino in Lake Tahoe this summer. The festival’s just a side gig. We’ll be back home in LA in a few months.” He looks over at me. “What about you?”

“I live in LA, too,” I whisper. Our gazes lock and I wonder if he’s thinking the same thing I am—there’s a chance we could see each other after this weekend is up.

“Not many stars in LA,” he murmurs.

I swallow. I hate bringing up any mention of my family’s wealth—and multiple properties definitely screams wealthy—but it’s not like this guy hasn’t figured it out, right?

“We have a place in Tennessee, too,” I murmur. “In the mountains.” I nod up at the sky. “You can see stars like that there.”

He’s quiet, and I wonder if I messed up, mentioning it. “You should eat this,” he finally says, holding out one of the plates. “Before it gets cold.”

“I actually love cold pizza,” I say, taking the plate.

“Me too,” he admits. “But only in the morning. Cold pizza at night is just gross.”

I laugh. “Is that an official rule or something?”

“Oh, hell, yeah,” he says firmly. “An important rule, in fact. Right up there with pouring your milk before the cereal and putting your ketchup next to the fries, instead of on top of them.”

I hold up a hand. “Okay, we’ll get to the fry thing in a second, but the cereal? Seriously, Leo? You pour the milk first?”

“I do. It’s the only way.”

I gape at him in horror. “That’ssociopathic.”

He bursts out in a laugh. “Dramatic, much?”

“I speak the truth,” I insist. “Cereal obviously goes first, then milk.”

“If you pour the milk over the cereal it just gets soggy,” he insists. “If you pour the milk first, the cereal kind of floats on top. And then you can dip your spoon down to add some milk to each bite.”

I shake my head. “Insanity.”

“Come on—”