One Night (Friends #0.5) by Monica Murphy

slapped my hand away? Talk about mortifying…
    “You like them?”
    I glance over in his direction to find him watching me yet again. This guy likes to stare, but it’s not creepy. No more like it’s kind of hot because with the way he’s intently staring at me, I feel like I’m the only girl in his universe. “They’re amazing,” I admit when I realize he’s waiting for an answer.
    He stares up at the ceiling once more. “They’re also in our movie screening room. Something about the material helps with acoustics. Back when the house was being built, my mother had a moment of supposed good-mom feelings and decided my room needed stars in the ceiling too.” He hesitates, then murmurs in a higher pitched voice, “Nothing but the best for my baby boy.”
    My heart actually aches at all the sarcasm and bitterness I hear in his tone. He doesn’t like his mother. That much is clear, just by that one sentence. “You’re their only child?”
    “I have a sister. She’s thirty-two, married with three kids and miserable.” His gaze remains fixed on the stars twinkling down upon us. “I’m the let’s-see-if-we-can-save-our-marriage-baby. My sister was fifteen when I was born and she’s resented the hell out of me ever since.”
    “Your family sounds…” My voice drifts because what can I say? They sound miserable? Awful? Rude?
    “Fucked up? Yeah, we are.” He chuckles, but there’s no humor there. “We’re the classic case of money doesn’t always make you happier. I know that sort of thing pisses people off, so let’s not talk about it.”
    “Talk about what? The fact that you’re richer than anyone else at our school, yet you’re miserable and your family sucks?” When he frowns at me I sit up and start gesturing with my hands, jabbing my finger at him like I’m a nut job. I’m thinking the beer is making me bold. “I don’t feel sorry for you. You can have whatever you want. Buy whatever you want, go to the college of your dreams and sleep in a room with fake stars twinkling above your head every single night. Your life is everyone’s dream come true.”
    He slowly shakes his head, his gaze growing darker. He almost looks…disappointed? In me? “Now you’re all pissed off. I told you we shouldn’t talk about it.”
    “Whatever. I’m not falling for your poor little rich boy routine.” I wave a hand, dismissing his words and he laughs. Actually laughs, the sound full bodied and rich and wonderful. His laugh does something to my insides. Twists them up and reminds me that I’m totally overstepping my boundaries with Jordan Tuttle while sitting on his giant bed in his giant room. Oh, and I can’t forget that we’re all alone and there’s this weird crackling energy brewing between us. Chemistry? Is that what it feels like?
    No freaking way. Not me and Tuttle.
    “You really think I’m a poor little rich boy?” he asks with a frown.
    I point at him, ready to blurt out a big hell yes, when he snatches my hand and curls his fingers around mine. His thumb skims across my palm slowly and tingles scatter over my skin, making me hyper aware of his proximity.
    “Aren’t you?” I sound breathless. My heart is racing from his touch and he glances down at our linked hands, which of course allows me to see just how thick his eyelashes are. But what’s worse? The eyelashes or his beautiful blue eyes?
    Kill me now. He is too gorgeous for words.
    “Yeah. I guess I am.” His gaze lifts to mine and lingers. “So you don’t feel sorry for me?”
    “Who in their right mind ever feels sorry for you?” I laugh nervously, but the sound dies in my throat when he gently tugs on my hand so I have no choice but to move closer to him.
    “Is this the beer talking, Mandy?” His voice is low, his gaze locked on mine and I swallow hard, almost too scared to speak.
    Frowning, I let my gaze roam over his face. He has great skin, the bastard. Not a zit in sight. I’m still recovering from the honker I