When Bex spun effortlessly and skated backward past the crowd of guys that stood laughing and showing off at the edge of the rink, every single one of them turned to stare at her. Her red scarf waved in the wind as she smiled. “So which one do you want?”
“No thanks.” I shrugged. “Trying to give them up.”
I mean, sure, they looked nice, cute, and completely harmless, but if there’s one thing we Gallagher Girls know, it’s that looks can totally be deceiving.
“Come on, Cam,” Bex pleaded. “How about the tall one?”
“Nope.”
“The short one?”
“No thank you,” I said with a shake of my head.
“The one with . . .” Bex didn’t finish. Her eyes went wide and she stared past me, but my mind was thinking back to a chilly November night in Washington, D.C., and a steamy summer afternoon on a rooftop in Boston, as the two scariest moments of my life flashed before my eyes.
I felt my heart begin to pound. “What is it?” I scanned the crowd, trying to catch a glimpse of what Bex had seen.
“Cam. . .” Bex started.
I spun around on the ice, waiting for Bex’s mother, for her father, for some of my guards to register the same shock I saw in my best friend’s eyes, but their faces were blank.
“Bex,” I snapped, “what is it?”
“It’s nothing. It’s just . . . Tell me this, Cam. . .” Her smile was pure evil, and she spoke so slowly that I sort of wanted to hurt her. “Just tell me . . . are you sure you’ve given up all boys?”
