The Secret Life of a Dream Girl (Creative HeArts) by Tracy Deebs

mean to pry.”
    I shake my head, give him a full-wattage smile that I’m far from feeling. “You didn’t pry. I asked you first.”
    “Still, I’m sorry—”
    “No apologies.” I reach for the strawberries and this time I’m the one who pops one in his mouth. He shuts up, as I meant for him to, and just kind of blinks at me in surprise. “My mom died when I was ten, and my dad and I aren’t close. We haven’t been for a long time.”
    He’s done with the strawberry, and I can tell from the look on his face what he’s going to say before he even says it. So I slap my palm over his mouth and reiterate, “ No apologies.”
    He nods, and I pull my hand away slowly, pretending—even to myself—that I don’t notice how soft his lips are. How warm his breath is.
    “So.” I clear my throat and stare longingly at the cupcakes, wondering if shoveling down all twelve would send me into a sugar coma. At this point, it’s pretty much the best I can hope for. “It’s probably time to talk about Operation Dream Girl, before we have to head back.”
    Keegan looks like he wants to protest, but in the end, he just settles back on his elbows with a nod. “Okay. Wow me with your brilliant plan.”
    “I already told you it was a work in progress, more than an actual plan.”
    “All right, then wow me with your brilliant work in progress.”
    He’s smirking at me, and it takes every ounce of willpower I have not to be charmed all over again. If the boy only knew how smooth he was, I’d be completely superfluous in this whole situation.
    I almost tell him that, almost suggest that he just be himself with this girl and she—and her panties—would probably both fall at his feet. Something holds me back, though, and I work really hard to convince myself that I’m just being cautious. That there’s no reason to get his hopes up. Not yet, anyway.
    “Well, I’ve got a couple of different ideas,” I finally say. “First of all, what track is she in? What does she like? What does she do for fun?”
    “She’s in the music track. She’s funny and smart and cool in a not-trying-too-hard kind of way. I don’t know what she does for fun—I’m trying to figure that out.”
    “You should totally work on that, because knowing what she’s interested in will really help with the wooing.”
    He laughs, low and long, and the sound is way more infectious than it should be. Then again, it could be the way his eyes sparkle and his whole face lights up that’s so appealing. Not that it matters to me, when the whole point of this lunch is to make him appealing to someone else.
    “What’s so funny?” I ask when he’s finally stopped laughing.
    “Nothing. Just…wooing.”
    “Seriously?” I roll my eyes at him. “Are you still going on about my word choice?”
    “No, no. It’s not that. It’s just I spent some time looking up wooing last night. It turns out a lot of people use the word.”
    “I told you!”
    “And you were right. I totally bow to your expertise.” He picks up the cupcake tray I was staring at earlier, pops the top, and then holds it out to me. “So what’s the first step? Talking to her about what she likes?”
    I select a caramel-looking one, because caramel is the food of the gods, not ambrosia. Obviously. Also because it’s the cupcake with the prettiest frosting swirl on the top, and that’s important.
    “I guess. If you want to be really low-key about it, that could work.”
    “Let’s say I don’t want to be low-key. Let’s say I want to punch it up a notch. What should I do?”
    “Bring her a present. Nothing big, certainly nothing that screams I want to throw you in a pit in my basement and make a suit out of your skin —”
    “Hold on.” He sits up abruptly. “There are actual presents that scream that? I mean, besides shackles and Rohypnol?”
    “Yes, there are,” I tell him after I stop laughing. “You have to start off small. Sure, girls love presents, but you don’t want