Chapter 1

1

Jill

I’m standing outside the school and everyone is crowded around talking about homecoming. Actually, it’s the only thing anyone talks about anymore.

In just over a week, we will embark on the biggest night of our lives.

So far.

Hair will be styled. Push-up bras will be worn. Pictures will be taken.

Couples who can’t make it to prom are planning to go all the way.

I haven’t been asked to the big dance yet.

Okay, technically, I have been avoiding anyone who might ask me, because there is only one person I want to go with. There is only one boy I’ve dreamed of picking me up in his truck, corsage in hand, ever since I was a little girl.

Zach O’Meara.

I almost melt down onto the steps of Juniper High School’s main building, wanting to sink into his name like a hot bubble bath. If I was home right now, I would probably be doodling his name in my notebook margins or staring at the eleven billion pictures we’ve taken together over the years.

See, Zach is my best friend, Harper’s, twin brother.

But it’s not one of those big, groundbreaking secrets that could ruin my friendship with Harper if she finds out I’ve been pining for her twin brother since we were children. No, my best friend is well aware that I would sacrifice a limb for one of Zach’s smiles. However, besides my mother, Harper is the only one in the world who knows about my mega crush—and she has been sworn to secrecy.

“You’re being obvious,” Harper mutters in my ear now, briefly breaking from the group discussion about who the quarterback is going to ask to homecoming. “I mean, you could at least pretend you’re interested in the conversation.”

“I am interested,” I insist, proving it by nodding at my closest classmate. “Everyone wants to know who Miguel is going to ask. But it’s also the same thing we’ve been discussing for a month.”

“Yeah, well. He hasn’t asked anyone yet. People are getting antsy.” Harper gives me a pointed look. “Have you been avoiding him?”

I wince. “Maybe a little.”

And by little, I mean I’ve been sneaking through campus in a hoodie and sunglasses and refusing to text Miguel back. Not to mention avoiding my locker like the plague.

“Jesus, Jill, you could do worse than the hottest guy in school.” She sighs. “You can’t keep waiting around for my brother to ask you.”

I’m still stuck on her claim that Miguel is the hottest guy in school. Yes, he’s attractive. Being the star quarterback doesn’t hurt. Every senior in our grade has some kind of fixation on him, whether it’s a crush or hero envy. But he’s not my type. Not at all.

Zach is my type.

Although, there is no one like him. So maybe that’s not the correct term.

Zach O’Meara is my person. My it. My dream man.

As if my mental swooning has drawn him forth, the man himself strides around the side of the building and everything stutters into slow motion. The conversation turns to static around me and my palms start to sweat. One might think I would be used to Zach’s effect on me by now. I’ve spent the night at his house hundreds of times. He was there when I got my first period at Harper’s thirteenth birthday party, sitting with me while I sobbed on the stairs, rubbing my back with one hand, Googling what to do with the other. He carried me off the field freshman year when I sprained my ankle cheerleading during a football game.

He’s been my hero since I can remember.

But he couldn’t be less interested in me romantically.

I’m just his sister’s friend. Nothing more.

He’s almost reached the group now and I’m trying not to stare, but failing. Miserably.

Looks-wise, Zach is the opposite of Miguel.

Where Miguel is all lithe muscles, trim frame and boyish good looks, Zach is a big, beautiful bear of a man. He’s not soft and cuddly, though. He plays defensive lineman on the football team and no one gets through him. Strapping doesn’t begin to describe him, either. He is muscular, thick, impenetrable. Hefty. Just brushing six foot three. He carries extra weight and the way it is distributed literally keeps me awake at night. Just daydreaming of those generous thighs and the hard mound of his stomach pinning me down.

I’d never get away.

I’d never want to.

“Hey, Harps,” Zach rumbles when he reaches us, his green eyes ticking from his sister over to me. “Jilly Beans.”

“Oh hey, Zach,” I breathe, twisting my long blonde hair around my finger.

Oh God, stop doing that.

He’s going to know you’re in love with him.

“How was practice?” I blurt, lovingly tracing his blunt, grass-stained fingers with my eyes. “All set for the East Hills game tomorrow?”

He nods once. “Yeah.”

Did I mention Zach is a man of few words?

It’s just another thing I love about him. He doesn’t waste his breath unless what he’s saying is truly important. Necessary. Meanwhile I’m a total rambler. That’s probably why he never hangs out for very long anymore when I come over. He’s escaping.

“Everyone is still talking about who is going to ask who to the homecoming dance,” I say to him, despite my self-directed command not to word vomit in front of Zach. “Heavy speculation on the wrestling team going in one big bro herd. Their girlfriends are not pleased. They might even ask other guys, so extra chaperones have been hired in case homecoming turns into like, one big, jealousy-fueled wrestle match for honor? Have you…what about you? Are you going? Have you asked anyone?” I suck down oxygen at the end of all that because I have once again forgotten to breathe.

It’s the Zach Effect.

How come the other girls seem immune?

Don’t they have eyes?

“I’m skipping it,” Zach says, still watching me closely. Probably because I’m pale from lack of oxygen. “Have you been asked yet?”

I laugh and playfully bat his perfect, perfect arm. “Your question implies that I will definitely be asked.”

“Yeah, I know. You will.”

“Will I?”

His dark brows draw together slightly. And Zach is so stoic, that shift of his features is the equivalent of him looking at me like I’m insane.

“I mean…” I adjust my backpack and he automatically takes it from me, throwing it over his giant shoulder. “Thank you. Um. There might be a-a few people who could potentially ask, but I don’t know. Maybe I’ll skip it, too.”

Those brows draw a fraction of a centimeter closer together. “You’re the head cheerleader. Of course you’re going to the homecoming dance.”

Ask me. Ask me, please.

I’ll never wish for anything ever again.

I shrug, casually. As if my whole world isn’t hanging in the balance. “It’s not like the squad is performing at the dance. It’s not mandatory.”

“You know what I mean. You’re…”

Silly.

Frivolous.

Girly.

The kind of chick who has been planning her ensemble since middle school.

Ugh. I totally am all of those things, aren’t I?

Zach would probably rather gnaw his legs off than have to listen to me all night. He’s not just the best defensive lineman in the county, he’s also super smart. Studious. I’m a B student with good hair who luckily happens to have a flawless toe touch. Zach has never had a girlfriend, but if he did, I bet they would go to an art exhibit on the night of homecoming and never give all the pomp and circumstance a second thought. Zach is meant for amazing things. Things way beyond high school glory.

Maybe he recognizes that I’m not?

I have to work really hard for those Bs. Especially in math.

I’m only the head cheerleader for one more year…and then what?

Whatever Zach was going to say is interrupted when Harper slides her arm through mine. “Ready to go, Z-man?”

He stares at me for another couple seconds, then grunts.

Turns and stalks toward the parking lot.

Harper snickers at her brother’s back and hauls me along, though my legs feel like they’re stuck in mud. If Zach was ever going to ask me, I just gave him a huge opening and he didn’t walk through it. Time to face facts. I’m not going to homecoming with Zach O’Meara. And that means…I’m not going to homecoming at all. Maybe it’s dramatic, but I don’t want to sacrifice my dream or substitute it in my head for something else. I’m sure I’ll find somewhere to wear my strapless emerald green gown. Like a ball. Or a costume party.

Harper hips bumps me. “Chin up, Harding.”

“It’s up,” I say, forcing a smile.

We pile into the front cab of Zach’s truck, Harper in the middle, me crammed up against the passenger door. On the ride home, I pretend to stare out the window at the farmland spread out for miles, but I’m busy inhaling his scent of oatmeal soap and fresh grass.

As has been our routine since Zach got his driver’s license and used five years of paper route money to buy this truck, I’m dropped off outside of my house first.

“See you tomorrow, Harps,” I say, as cheerfully as possible, though for some reason Zach is frowning at me from the driver’s seat. “Night, Zach.”

He makes a sound in his throat.

“I’ll text you,” Harper sings, scrolling through her phone.

I wait for Zach to give me his speech. The same one he gives me every time he drops me off. The one that makes me feel safe and cared for, even if he’s just being polite.

“Lock the door,” he says. “Stay inside until your parents get home.”

My heart lifts. “’kay.”

I close the passenger door and jog up the driveway, kneeling down on the porch to take the key from my backpack, before letting myself in. When I have a foot over the threshold, the truck still doesn’t pull away. He always waits until I’m inside with the door closed.

Just being polite.