Kristi Cook Quotes

Ryder's heart beats madly against my ear as we cling to each other, holding on for dear life. Adrenaline races through my veins, making my breath come in short gasps. I can feel Ryder's fingers in my hair, his nails digging into my scalp as he presses me tightly against his body, his muscles bunched and rigid.
I know I'm supposed to hate him, but all I can think right now is how glad I am he's here--glad that I'm not alone. I've never been so scared in all my life, but I know it would be worse without him.
It's over in a matter of seconds. The freight-train roar quiets, the rain returning with a vengeance. I don't need Jim Cantore to tell me it's a rain-wrapped tornado. I've watched enough Storm Chasers to recognize it, even from my little hidey-hole under the stairs. If we had been outside, we probably wouldn't have seen it coming, not till it was too late.
Ryder releases his grip on my head, and I pull away slightly, peering up at him. His deep brown eyes are slightly wild-looking, but otherwise he looks okay. His face isn't a shade of green, at least. I lean back against him, my head resting on his shoulder now. We're still holding hands, our fingers intertwined. Somehow, it doesn't seem at all weird. It just feels…safe.
Neither of us says a word, not till the sirens are silenced a few minutes later.
"I guess we should give it a few minutes," I say, my voice slightly hoarse. "You know, just to make sure that's it. No point in going out just to clim

So," Ben says, tapping his fingers against his thighs, "Ryder's going to watch out for you during the storm, I guess. Keep an eye on your place and everything?"
"I promised her dad I would," Ryder says.
Because God knows that's the only reason he'd do something nice for me. I can't help but roll my eyes.
"Well, it's not like I'm right down the road like Ryder is, but if you need anything, just let me know, okay? I don't mind coming out there."
"Thanks, Ben," I say, patting his shoulder. "That's sweet."
And then Ryder leans over and turns on the radio, blasting a country music station loud enough to make conversation impossible.
I guess that means we're done talking, which is fine by me.

I thought we were meeting by the field house," I call out as I make my way over.
He doesn't even turn around. "Nah, I'm pretty sure I said the parking lot."
"You definitely said the field house," I argue. Why can't he ever just admit that he's wrong?
"Geez, field house, parking lot. What difference does it make?" Mason asks. "Give it a rest, why don't you."
I shoot him a glare. "Oh, hey, Mason. Remember when your hair was long and everyone thought you were a girl?"
Ryder chuckles as he releases a perfect spiral in Mason's direction. "She's got you there."
"Hey, whose side are you on, anyway?" Mason catches the ball and cradles it against his chest, then launches it toward Ben. I just stand there watching as they continue to toss it back and forth between the three of them. Haven't they had enough football for one day?
I pull out my cell to check the time. "We should probably get going."
"I guess," Ryder says with an exaggerated sigh, like I'm putting him out or something. Which is particularly annoying since he's the one who insisted on going with me.
Ben jogs up beside me, the football tucked beneath his arm. "Where are you two off to? Whoa, you're sweaty."
I fold my arms across my damp chest. "Hey, southern girls don't sweat. We glow."
Ben snorts at that. "Says who?"
"Says Ryder's mom," I say with a grin. It's one of Laura Grace's favorite sayings--one that always makes Ryder wince.
"The hardware store," Ryder

You can take the girl out of Mississippi but you can't take the Mississippi out of the girl.

My mom already controls enough in my life. What food I eat. What clothes I wear. Hell, even my underwear. You wouldn't believe the fight she put up a few years back when I wanted to switch to boxer briefs instead of regular boxers."
I swallow hard, remembering the sight of him wearing the underwear in question. Yeah, I'm glad he won that particular battle.

He takes out his cell and starts entering the address. "I was surprised to see you at Josh's party on Saturday," he says, his eyes glued to the screen.
"I don't know why. Everyone was there."
"Yeah, but you know…with Nan home and all, I just figured that you'd want to spend time with her."
"I have been spending time with Nan, thank you very much," I snap in annoyance. How dare he insinuate that I'd abandoned my sister? She's the one who made me go, who swore that it would make her somehow anxious to know I was "missing out"--her words, not mine.
"You and Patrick looked awfully cozy," Ryder says, setting Mama's note back on the counter.
So I was right--he had been watching us.
"So?"
"So, nothing." He shrugs. "Just making an observation."
"Yeah, you never just make an observation. Oh, and you and Rosie looked pretty cozy, too. I sure hope you're not leading her on. You know she likes you."
A muscle in his jaw works furiously as he shoves his cell phone back into his pocket. "That's the kind of guy you think I am? Seriously, Jem?"
I swallow hard, unable to reply. Because the truth is, I don't know.
"I'll see you later," he says, his voice cold and clipped. He turns and stalks out.

I've gotta go," I say, scowling at my phone.
"Now?" Ryder asks, tipping my chin up with one hand so that our eyes meet.
"Unfortunately. It's my mom. Lucy and Morgan are covering for me, but I've got to get back. I'm supposed to be at the drugstore."
"What are we going to tell them? Our moms, I mean?"
I shake my head. "We can't tell them anything. At least, not yet. Can you imagine the pressure they'd put on us if they knew? I mean, they already drive us nuts and they think we hate each other."
"You're right. So…we keep it a secret?"
"Not exactly. I've got to tell Lucy and Morgan. Just…not our parents, okay? Besides, think how fun it will be, sneaking around."
His eyes light with mischief. "Good point."
"Don't go getting any naughty ideas," I tease. "C'mon, walk me to my car."
He takes my hand and falls into step beside me, glancing down at me with a wicked grin.
"What?" I ask.
"Hey, you're the one who brought up 'naughty,' not me."
I poke him playfully in the ribs.
"I've got an idea," he says. "Let's pretend we've got to do a school project together. You know, say that we've been paired up against our will. We can make a big fuss about it--complain about having to spend so much time together."
"While we secretly do lots of naughty things?" I offer.
He nods. "Exactly."
I shiver, imagining the possibilities. Suddenly, I'm looking forward to those Sunday dinners at Magnolia Landing. And to Christmas

What about your Durango?"
"She's pretty banged up. Gonna need some bodywork and a whole new windshield."
"She?"
He looks at me blankly. "What?"
"You called it a 'she,'" I point out.
"Oh. Right." Color creeps into his cheeks. "Dana Durango."
"You named your car Dana?"
He just shrugs.

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So, are you going to tell me what I did to piss you off that year? Because I'm coming up totally blank."
I turn on him. "Seriously? You're coming up blank?"
"Why don't you help me out here?"
I just stare at him uncomprehendingly.
"C'mon, Jemma," he taunts. "Use your words."
I rise, my hands curled into fists by my sides. "Oh, I'll use my words all right, douchebucket. Remember the eighth-grade dance? Is that ringing any bells for you?"
He scratches his head, looking thoughtful for a moment. And then…"You mean the graduation dance? If I remember correctly, you didn't even show up."
"Is that what you think? That I didn't show up?" I almost want to laugh at the absurdity of it--Ryder trying to act like the injured party, as if I'd stood him up.
"You got a better explanation?" he asks.
"I shouldn't have to explain it to you. Jerk," I add under my breath. And then, "I'm going for a walk."
He rises, towering over me now. "So you're just going to storm off? Really, Jem?"
"Yes," I say, nodding furiously. "That's exactly what I'm going to do. How clever of you to figure it out."
I can feel Ryder's eyes boring a hole in my back as I flounce down the stairs and hurry down the drive with as much dignity as I can muster.

It's getting late. I should probably go in."
"C'mon, I'll walk you."
He holds out a hand to me. I take it, falling into step beside him--marveling at how right it feels. I glance up at him, his face illuminated by the moonlight. Something in his expression sparks a memory. Ryder at the beach, watching me when he thought I wasn't looking. Ryder at school, glancing at me from across the hall. Ryder at Magnolia Landing, sitting across the table from me at Sunday dinner, watching me eat. I always interpreted his expression as something bordering on contempt--disdain, maybe. But now…now he's looking at me with that exact same expression, and I realize that maybe I was wrong all along.
In so, so many ways.

You're just pushing your food around, aren't you? You've barely taken two bites. I thought you loved Lou's Cornish hens."
"I do. I'm sorry. All I can think about is that English project due this week." I look over at Ryder with a faux scowl. "We're already way behind--you've always got some excuse. We should probably work on it tonight."
"Probably so," Ryder says with an exasperated-sounding sigh.
"That's the third project the two of you have been paired up on," Mama says, shaking her head. "I hope you two can behave well enough to get your work done properly. No more arguing like the last time."
We'd pretended to fight over a calculus project. Yes, a calculus project. Is there really any such thing?
"We're trying really hard to behave," I say, shooting Ryder a sidelong glance. "Right?"
His cheeks pinken deliciously at the innuendo. I love it when Ryder blushes. Totally adorable.
"Right," he mumbles, his gaze fixed on his lap.
Laura Grace gives us both a pointed look. "You two better learn to get along, you hear? You're going to be spending a lot of time together for the next four years."
Four years. Just the two of us--away from our meddling mamas. I have to bite my lip to force back the smile that's threatening to give us away.
"She's right," Mama says, nodding. "The only way I'm allowing Jemma to go to NYU is if she promises not to go off campus without Ryder to escort her."
Escort me? What is it, the 1950s or somethin

I'm just glad you're okay," he said. "I heard you scream, and I ran right over."
Well, that's one way to get a guy's attention, I thought.

My gosh, that voice ... deep and soft, with the hint of an accent. British, maybe? I was definitely a sucker for accents.

After a moment or two, a strange awareness shot through me, and I looked up to see Aidan Gray slip into the seat directly across the room, facing me. Great. There went my concentration, especially since he sat there watching me, studying me like some interesting bug under a microscope.

Looks like they might cancel school on Monday. Woot!
Information like this coming from Lucy is generally pretty reliable, since she happens to live right next door to Mrs. Crawford, the principal of Magnolia Branch High.
Yay, I can sit home and watch more Weather Channel! I text back.
This is an intervention--step away from the TV! NOW!
I laugh aloud at that. It's such a typical Lucy-like thing to say.
My mom's worried about you. Wants you to pack up and come over here.
Can't. But Ryder's coming over if the storm gets bad.
Lucy's next text is just a line of googly eyes.
Not funny, I type, even though it kind of us.
You two can plan your wedding menu. Choose your linens. Stuff like that, she texts, followed by a smiley face.
I gaze at my phone with a frown. Also not funny.

He looks at me sharply. "You haven't been drinking, have you?"
He's lucky I don't slap him. "I was sitting upstairs in my room, minding my own business, when he showed up at the door. What do you think? Asshat," I add under my breath.
His brow furrows. "What was that?

Don't, Violet. I won't let you. Just ... come here." Abruptly, he (Matthew) held out his arms to me, and I allowed him to gather me in his embrace, his chin resting on the top of my head. "Got to England and have a great time with your friends, okay?" he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. "Just ... be happy.

I'm telling you, Jemma--you've got to decide what you want and go for it. You never know how much time you've got left. It's like that song--how does it go? 'We might not get tomorrow'?"
"I didn't know you listen to Pitbull," I say with a smile.
"I didn't know you did," she shoots back.
"Hey, what can I say? He's Mr. Worldwide.

Hey, what happened to the vase that's usually here on the hall table?" Ryder calls out.
I wince, remembering its fate. I'd saved the broken bits in a bag, but there's no hope for it. It's destroyed. It figures he'd notice. What is he, Colonel Mustard? In the conservatory, I want to say. With the candlestick.
"Patrick happened to it," I answer instead, joining him there in the hall. "You know, the other night. On his way back from the bathroom." I have no idea why I'm offering so many details. It's not like it's any of his business. I should have told him that we were having wild sex here in the hall and accidentally knocked it over. Would have served him right for being so nosy.

I let the curtains fall back against the glass, effectively blocking the view of my nemesis standing there beneath the twinkle lights, looking way too hot in his charcoal-colored suit.
It would be so much easier to hate him if he didn't look so good. And I want to hate him; I really do.

I didn't want you to apply just because I'm going to be in New York. Or hell, even worse, not apply because I'm going to be there. I was going to tell you in person. And then the scout shows up at the game tonight, and what was I supposed to do? My mom is freaking out; you're freaking out." He throws his hands in the air in frustration. "I've totally fucked this up."
It hits me then, the truth of the situation. He made his decision about Columbia on his own, and he wanted me to be able to do the same. Of course.
Hell, if it hadn't been for the storm bringing us together like it did, I probably would have turned down NYU rather than risk going off to New York with him, and that's the truth.
I drop my gaze to the ground and take a deep breath, cursing myself for being such an idiot.
"No, you haven't," I say at last, raising my eyes to meet his confused ones.
"Haven't what?"
"Fucked it up." I take a tentative step toward him. "I get it now. God, Ryder. Why do you have to be so perfect?"
"Perfect? I've been in love with you for so long now, and I've never managed to get it right, not once."
I have to bite my lip to keep from grinning. "News flash--I think you've finally got it this time."
His smile makes my heart leap. "Do you have any idea what was going through my head when you first told me about NYU? I couldn't believe it. It was like…like a gift fell right into my lap. Like winning the lottery. All this time I thought going off to

Where will you go if you don't get into NYU?" he asks.
"Where else?" I say. "Ole Miss, with Lucy and Morgan."
"Then Ole Miss is my backup too. Here's the thing, Jem. I'm going wherever you're going--whether it's New York or Oxford. I'm not missing my chance this time."
"Why?" The word just tumbles out of my mouth before I can stop myself. "You're going to be some kind of college superstar, whether it's the SEC or the Ivy league. You'll probably win a freaking Heisman."
"And you just might win an Oscar," he counters.
I roll my eyes. "Yeah, right. Please."
"Why not? God, Jemma, you don't even see it. How strong and smart and tenacious you are. Everything you do, you do well. I've never seen you put your mind to something and not come out on top. You win that trophy at cheer camp every single summer--what's it called, the superstar award? Only three people at the whole camp get it or something like that, right?"
"How'd you know about that?"
"Miss Shelby told my mom. I think they put it in the yearbook, too, don't they?"
"Maybe," I say with a shrug. It's not that big of a deal. It's just a cheerleading trophy.
"And how long did it take you to win your first shooting tournament after your dad bought you that gun? Six months, tops? From what I hear, you're the best shot in all of Magnolia Branch."
"Okay, that's true," I say, a smile tugging at the corners of my mouth.
He reaches for my hand. "And then there's those dresses

I do the same thing when I'm stressed out. I retreat. Cut myself off from everyone.

Sitting alone in the cafeteria would just scream I'm the new girl. Everyone stare at me while I eat.

Are you sure you'll be okay?"
"I'll be fine," I repeat, a lump forming in my throat. "Just…take care of Nan, okay?"
She releases me and steps back, wiping her eyes with the back of one hand. "Lou said she'd drop by and check on you every once in a while, but if you need anything, you know you can call me or Daddy anytime--day or night."
I just nod.
"And if there's a problem here at the house, call Ryder right away. He'll come over and--"
"But you said no boys," I argue stubbornly.
She gives me a pointed look. "Except for Ryder.

Considering the hot pocket that you run around with.

The thing is, Rosie's pretty--really pretty. Sure, she's dumb as a rock, but a lot of guys don't care about that. She could have her pick of cute boys, but instead she continues to pine away for Ryder. Quite obviously, I might add.
Sometimes I think about pulling her aside and telling her to have a little self-respect, but what's the point? She wouldn't listen. She doesn't like me very much, cousin or not. Besides, if the rumors about them hooking up are true, well…maybe there is something going on between them. How the heck would I know? And more important, why should I care?

For a moment we just sit there silently, our heads tipped back as we stare at the sky. A minute passes, maybe two. And then Ryder's hand grazes mine before settling on the ground, our pinkies touching.
I suck in a breath, my entire body going rigid. I'm wondering if he realizes it, if he even knows he's touching me, when just like that, he draws away.
Ryder clears his throat. "So…I hear you're going out with Patrick on Friday."
"And?" I ask. That brief connection that we'd shared is suddenly gone--poof, just like that.
"And what?" he answers with a shrug.
"Oh, I'm sure you've got an opinion on this--one you're just dying to share." Because Ryder has an opinion on everything.
"Well, it's just that Patrick…" He shakes his head. "Never mind. Forget I brought it up."
"No, go on. It's just that Patrick what?"
"Seriously, Jemma. It's none of my business."
"C'mon, Ryder, get it out of your system. What? Patrick is looking to get a piece? Is using me? Is planning on standing me up?" I can't help myself; the words just tumble out.
"I was going to say that I think he really likes you," he says, his voice flat.
I bite back my retort, forcing myself to take a deep, calming breath instead. That was not what I had expected him to say--not at all--and it takes me completely by surprise. Patrick really likes me? I'm not sure how I feel about that--not sure I want it to be true.
"What do you mean, he really likes me?" I ask stupidly.

Beneath the table, Ryder releases my hand and lays it open in my lap, palm up. And then I feel him tracing letters on my palm with his fingertip.
I. L. O. V. E. Y.O.U.
I can't help myself--I shiver. I shiver a lot when Ryder's around, it turns out. He seems to have that effect on me.
"Are you cold, Jemma?" Laura Grace asks me. "Ryder, go get her a sweatshirt or something. You two are done eating, anyway. Go on. Take her into the living room and light the fire."
"Nah, I'm fine," I say, just because I know the old Jemma would have argued.
"Well, go work on your project, then. It's warmer in the den."
"My room's like an oven," Ryder deadpans, and I have to stifle a laugh, pretending to cough instead.
"Take her up there, then, before she catches cold. Go. Scoot." Laura Grace waves her hands in our direction.
We rise from the table in unison, both of us trying to look as unhappy about it as possible. Silently, I follow him out. As soon as the door swings shut behind us, he reaches for my hand and pulls me close.
"Shh, listen," I say, cocking my head toward the door.
"I still can't believe it," comes Laura Grace's muffled voice. "The both of them, going off to school together, just like we always hoped they would. They'll find their way into each other's hearts eventually, just you wait and see."
I hear my mom's tinkling laughter. "I guess their plan to escape each other didn't work out so well after all, did it, now? I'm sur

Can you just imagine the two of them next year at the Phi Delta Carnation Ball?" Laura Grace asks, clapping her hands together.
Daddy looks confused. "The two of who?"
"Why, Ryder and Jemma, of course." Mama pats him on the hand. "You remember the Carnation Ball--it's the first Phi Delta party of the year. They have to go together, right, Laura Grace?"
She nods. "We've been waiting all our lives for this."
Mama finally glances my way and sees my scowl. "Aw, honey. We're just teasing, that's all."
This sort of teasing has been going on my entire life--second verse, same as the first. It's gotten real old, real fast.
"May I be excused?" I ask, pushing back from the table.
"You go on and finish your dinner," Laura Grace says, entirely unperturbed. "We'll stop teasing. I promise."
"It's okay. I'm done. It was delicious, thanks. I just need to get some air, that's all. I'm getting a bit of a headache."
Laura Grace nods. "It's this heat--way too hot for September." She waves a hand in my direction. "Go on, then. Ryder, why don't you go get Jemma some aspirin or something."
I glance over at Ryder, and our eyes meet. I shake my head, hoping he gets the message. "No, it's fine. I'm…uh…I've got some in my purse."
"Go with her, son," Mr. Marsden prods. "Be a gentleman, and get her a bottle of water to take outside with her."
Ugh. I give up. My escape plot is now ruined.
Wordlessly, Ryder rises from the table and stalks out

With a sigh of resignation, I dial Ryder's number.
Exactly seven minutes later, he knocks on the door. Ryder to the rescue. I resist the urge to look around for his white horse.
"Okay, where is he?" he asks with a frown. His hair is wet, his T-shirt clinging damply to his skin. I'd either caught him in the shower or in the pool. Probably the pool, since he smells vaguely of chlorine.
I hook a thumb toward the living room. "In there. Passed out on the couch."
He looks at me sharply. "You haven't been drinking, have you?"
He's lucky I don't slap him. "I was sitting upstairs in my room, minding my own business, when he showed up at the door. What do you think? Asshat," I add under my breath.
His brow furrows. "What was that?"
"Nothing. C'mon. Get him out of there before he makes a mess."
"What about his car?"
I shrug. "I'll drive it school tomorrow and get a ride home from Lucy or something."
"I'll drive you home," he offers. Correction: he asserts--arrogantly, as if he's used to giving orders. "We need to go get those tarps and sandbags anyway."
"How did you…?" I trail off as the answer dawns on me. "My dad e-mailed you, didn't he?"
"Called me, actually. We'll go after school tomorrow. After practice," he amends.
"Yeah. Fine, whatever." Truthfully, I wasn't looking forward to lugging sandbags by myself. I wasn't even sure how I was going to fit them in my little Fiat. Problem solved.
Now to solve my other pro

I grab one of the lanterns we've left in the mudroom and head toward my parents' room, expecting Ryder to follow.
But he pauses at the bottom of the stairs. "I guess I should…you know. The guestroom. Should be safe upstairs now."
I just stare at him, trying to decide if he's serious. But then he reaches for the banister, and I realize he is. "You don't have to," I say, my cheeks flushing hotly. "I mean…I'm fine with you down here. With me."
I can't believe I just said that. But, jeez, everything's so awkward now.
"You sure?" he asks, taking a step toward me.
I shift my weight from one foot to the other. "Yeah, I'm…you know, getting used to having you around. Anyway," I say breezily, "we might get some more severe stuff tonight. Probably shouldn't take any chances."
Oh my God, I'm practically begging him to stay with me. What is wrong with me?

Ryder turns off the radio and reaches for my camera, pointing it at me in the dark. It beeps, and a red light indicates that he's filming. "Are you scared, Jemma?"
I prop my head up on one elbow. "Yeah, I'm scared," I say, carefully weighing my words. "But…we'll be okay. This house has weathered plenty of storms through the years. It'll keep us safe."
"I hope you're right."
"Yeah, me too."
I hear him swallow hard. "I'm glad I'm here with you."
"I'm glad you are too," I say automatically. But then…I realize with a start that it's true. I am glad he's here. I feel safe with him. More relaxed than I would be otherwise. He thinks I'm distracting him, making him forget his fears. But the truth is, he's helping me just as much. Maybe more. I'm pretty sure I'd be a blubbering mess right about now if I were alone.
"Thanks, Ryder," I say, my voice thick.
"For what?"
"Everything." I squeeze my eyes shut. "Turn off the camera, okay?"
He does, setting it aside before stretching out on the far side of the bed, facing me. Our gazes meet, and my stomach flutters nervously. There's something there in his dark eyes, something I've never seen before. Vulnerability…mixed with a kind of dark, melty chocolate expression that I don't recognize.
Our hands are lying there on the bed between us, nearly touching. I lift my pinkie, brushing it against his. Chills race down my spine at the contact, my heart pounding against my ribs.
I hear his breat

Tropical storm update flashes menacingly across the television screen, and I reach for the remote, turning up the volume several notches. Tropical Storm Paloma has been officially upgraded to hurricane status, the local meteorologist announces--just a little too gleefully, if you ask me. It's currently a category one, but they expect it to strengthen to a two before making landfall.
Oh, joy.
The US model is predicting landfall just west of Pensacola, Florida, while the European model predicts Gulfport, Mississippi. Seems like a toss-up, except that they're sending Jim Cantore to Gulfport, and everyone knows what that means.
The Mississippi coast is doomed.

What happened?" he asked brusquely, interrupting me.
"What do you mean, what happened?"
"I sensed your fear, heard you call out my name."
"I ... no, I didn't." Stone Wall, I told myself. Great Wall of China, around my thoughts.
"The Great Wall of China isn't going to do it, Violet. Come on, tell me what happened.

I'm vaguely aware of the sound of approaching footsteps, but it takes me a second to make the connection--to remember why I'd come out here in the first place.
"Jemma?"
Damn. I sit up and pull the earbuds from my ears, swinging my legs over the side of the table.
"Figured I'd find you out here," Ryder says, drawing up beside me.
I decide to act surprised. "What are you doing here?"
His brow creases. "I told you I was coming, remember?"
"Oh. Right."
"By the way, you might want to call your parents and tell 'em where you are."
I shrug. "Did you see Nan?"
"Yeah. She looks okay, considering she just had brain surgery. She's awfully quiet, though."
"It's better when she's quiet," I mutter, remembering the way she yelled at me for not plumping her pillow just so after dinner. "Trust me.

God, Ryder. Why do you have to be so perfect?"
"Perfect? I've been in love with you for so long now, and I've never managed to get it right, not once."
I have to bite my lip to keep from grinning. "News flash--I think you've finally got it this time."
His smile makes my heart leap.

You think we should try sandbagging it?" I ask, tipping my head back toward the barn.
Ryder shakes his head. "I don't think it'll do much good."
"Just in front, then? The gap's pretty big under the door. It can't hurt, right?"
"I've got a few sandbags in the Durango--probably enough for the door. I'll get 'em," he offers. "You just make sure the door is latched tight."
I want to say something along the lines of, "No, I'd thought I'd just leave it flapping in the wind," but I manage to bite my tongue. What is it with him and giving orders? I mean, I get that he's the quarterback and all, but I'm not one of his teammates.
But, hey, if he wants to thump his chest and carry the heavy sandbags, I'll him do it.

It doesn't feel right. Not now."
"But you're the same, Jemma. You haven't changed. This is what you want, remember?"
"See, that's where you're wrong. I have changed. And"--I shake my head--"I don't even know what I want anymore."
He opens his mouth as if he's about to say something, but closes it just as quickly. A muscle in his haw flexes as he eyes me sharply, his brow furrowed. "I thought you were stronger than this," he says at last. "Braver." I start to protest, but he cuts me off. "When I get home, I'm going to e-mail you these video files. I don't know anything about making films, but if you need any help, well…" He shrugs. "You know my number."
With that, he turns and walks away.
I leap to the ground. "Ryder, wait!"
He stops and turns to face me. "Yeah?"
"I…about Patrick. And then…you and me. I feel awful about it. Things were so crazy during the storm, like it wasn't real life or something." I take a deep, gulping breath, my cheeks burning now. "I don't want you think that I'm, you know, some kind of--"
"Just stop right there." He holds out one hand. "I don't think anything like that, okay? It was…" He trails off, shaking his head. "Shit, Jemma. I'm not going to lie to you. It was nice. I'm glad I kissed you. I'm pretty sure I've been wanting to for…well, a long time now."
"You did a pretty good job hiding it, that's for sure."
"It's just that…well, I've had to listen to seventeen years' worth of how you're the perfec

We were born exactly six weeks apart, a perfect match, age-wise. You can imagine what it's been like since our mothers first plopped us into a crib together, rubbing their hands in conspiratorial glee as they planned our wedding. Playdates followed where the adults smiled and cooed as they watched us dig in the sandbox, where Ryder tugging on my pigtails was a sure sign of his adoration, where me throwing sand in his face only proved my devotion.
Star-crossed love? Ha! Not even close. Mostly, I try to avoid him whenever possible.

Got this out of the storage room," he says, holding it up. "Figured I'll sleep on the floor."
I can't help but roll my eyes. "The bed's huge, Ryder. I'm pretty sure you can stay safely on your own side without getting my cooties."
"That's not…it's…" His words trail off, and we just stare silently at each other across the broad expanse of bed--the bed I've suggested we share. As in, both of us. Together. All night long.
Have I lost my mind?

I dunno…After seeing him this summer at the beach, maybe Mama's onto something. I mean, let's face it--the boy's hot. You could do worse. Much worse."
"Yeah, well…there's more to it than looks," I grumble.
"Right. There's also intelligence--check. Talent--check. Character--check." She ticks each one off on her fingers. "As far as I can tell, he's got it all--the total package. I mean, okay, so he's the boy next door, and Mom and Laura Grace have been bugging you two about each other since forever. But seriously, what more do you want?

The Aidan Effect.

Ben is Ryder's cousin--second cousin, to be specific--and one of his best friends, even though they couldn't be any more different. Ben is sweet, thoughtful. Kind.
Whereas Ryder, well…I'll tell you about Ryder. He's the star quarterback of our Division 1A state-championship football team. Top student in our class, and he doesn't even have to work at it. He plays the piano like some kind of freaking prodigy, and I wouldn't be surprised if he composed sonatas or something in his spare time.
Oh, and did I mention that he's gorgeous? Of course he is. Six foot four, two hundred ten pounds of swoon-worthy good looks. Spiky dark hair, chocolate brown eyes, and full-on dimples.
And his future? Right now half the SEC is courting him hard, and the other half is wishing they were. It's a foregone conclusion that he'll play for Ole Miss--Mississippi's golden boy, kept right here at home.

So what's everyone else doing tonight?" I asked.
"Something with Jack," kate said, smiling coyly. "Clothing is optional.

It's my turn next, and I realize then that I never turned in the name of my escort--because I hadn't planned on being here. I glance around wildly for Ryder, but he's nowhere to be seen, swallowed up by the sea of people in cocktail dresses and suits.
Crap. I thought he realized that escorting me on court was part of the deal, once I'd agreed to go. I guess he'd figured it'd be easier on me, what with the whole Patrick thing, if I was alone onstage. But I don't want to be alone. I want Ryder with me. By my side, supporting me.
Always.
I finally spot him in the crowd--it's not too hard, since he's a head taller than pretty much everyone else--and our eyes meet. My stomach drops to my feet--you know, that feeling you get on a roller coaster right after you crest that first hill and start plummeting toward the ground.
Oh my God, this can't be happening. I've fallen in love with Ryder Marsden, the boy I'm supposed to hate. And it has nothing to do with his confession, his declaration that he loves me. Sure, it might have forced me to examine my feelings faster than I would have on my own, but it was there all along, taking root, growing, blossoming.
Heck, it's a full-blown garden at this point.
"Our senior maid is Miss Jemma Cafferty!" comes the principal's voice. "Jemma is a varsity cheerleader, a member of the Wheelettes social sorority, the French Honor Club, the National Honor Society, and the Peer Mentors. She's escorted tonight by…ahem, sorry.

Ryder! What's taking you so long?"
"I'm on my way!" he yells back.
It feels like forever before he pushes open the door and ducks inside. Then I see why it took him so long. He's somehow got the three cats tucked under one arm and the cake plate clutched in the other hand. No spare for a flashlight or lantern--so he accomplished this all in the dark.
"Here," he says, handing off the cake to me before releasing Kirk, Spock, and Sulu into the crate and latching the door.
"Seriously, Ryder? You brought the cake?"
He shrugs. "I was hungry."
Hmm, I guess all that kissing worked up his appetite. For cake. I'm not sure if I should be offended or not. On the plus side, he doesn't look like he's about to puke. So we're making progress as far as his fear of storms goes. I guess that's something.
"Did you happen to bring a fork?" I ask, setting the plate on the makeshift tabletop.
He produces two from his pocket, holding them up triumphantly. So we eat cake while the sirens blare. Actually, it doesn't sound that bad out there. Still, the fact that we're so calm--that Ryder's so calm--should tell you how routine this is getting. As long as we don't hear that awful freight-train sound, we're good.
"What happened to the cake?" he asks between bites. "It looks like someone mutilated it while I was gone."
"Sorry," I mutter. "Guess I did some stress bingeing. You realize you're not wearing a shirt, right?"
He glances down and shrugs, his

[The skeet tournament] It's a competition that I've entered – and won – every year since I was thirteen.
And here's the thing – it really pisses them off. All these hunting boys and their daddies show up decked out in camo gear, determined to beat the girl who has the audacity to challenge their masculinity.
And, okay, I'll admit it … I like to needle 'em just a bit. I purposely wear the girliest outfit possible – little flowery sundresses with cowboy boots, most years. Drives 'em nuts. If they're going to be beaten by a girl, they'd rather it be some tomboy wearing overalls and a flannel shirt, you know? Stupid sexist pigs.---(Jenna Cafferty)

I awake with a start, shaking the cobwebs of sleep from my mind. It's pitch-dark out, the wind howling. It takes a couple seconds to get my bearings, to realize I'm in my parents' bed, Ryder beside me, on his side, facing me. Our hands are still joined, though our fingers are slack now.
"Hey, you," he says sleepily. "That one was loud, huh?"
"What was?"
"Thunder. Rattled the windows pretty bad."
"What time is it?"
"Middle of the night, I'd say."
I could check my phone, but that would require sitting up and letting go of his hand. Right now, I don't want to do that. I'm too comfortable. "Have you gotten any sleep at all?" I ask him, my mouth dry and cottony.
"I think I drifted off for a little bit. Till…you know…the thunder started up again."
"Oh. Sorry."
"It should calm down some when the eye moves through."
"If there's still an eye by the time it gets here. The center of circulation usually starts breaking up once it goes inland." Yeah, all those hours watching the Weather Channel occasionally come in handy.
He gives my hand a gentle squeeze. "Wow, maybe you should consider studying meteorology. You know, if the whole film-school thing doesn't work out for you."
"I could double major," I shoot back.
"I bet you could."
"What are you going to study?" I ask, curious now. "I mean, besides football. You've got to major in something, don't you?"
He doesn't answer right away. I wonder what's going through hi

We were able to successfully downplay the whole going-to-the-dance-together thing to our parents. I guess our history of acting like we despise each other worked in our favor, because they actually believed that I changed my mind at the last minute and called Ryder to take me--just because he lives down the street. And then, since I didn't have an escort, Ryder offered to stand in.
Mama saw this as a perfect opportunity to remind me what a gentleman Ryder is--how selfless and generous and downright perfect he is. Only, this time, I agreed wither. Secretly, of course.

For several seconds, we stand there staring each other down. Anger radiates off the both of us in waves, crackling like electricity.
And then…he sort of staggers back. All his swagger, his bravado, crumbles away in a split second, just like that. "Why do we keep doing this? Yelling at each other like this?"
I let out my breath in a huff. "Because you always piss me off, that's why, acting all smug and superior."
"Yeah, and you always throw temper tantrums like some kind of spoiled brat. That's just who we are. We're not perfect." He takes a deep, rattling breath. "But we're good together, Jem.

You kind of caught me and Ryder texting."
"You and Ryder? Why is that a secret? Wait--do you mean you two were sexting?"
"Oh my God! No. Eww!" That's just so…tacky.

You okay?" I ask him.
He nods. "I'll live. Hey, it's your turn."
"My turn for what?"
"I told you my deepest, darkest secret." He tilts his head at me. "Now you've got to tell me one of yours."
"One of my secrets?"
"Yeah. C'mon, I know you've got a bunch of 'em."
"Oh, I do, huh?"
"You're too perfect not to be hiding something," he says, and my cheeks flood with heat.
Me, too perfect? He's got to be kidding. Only…he looks serious. And earnest. I look down at the camera in my hand, studying it, and then back up at him. I can't explain it, but I suddenly want to tell him. At least, I want to tell someone, and he's here, a captive audience. I hesitate a second or two, then blurt it out before I lose my nerve.
"I want to go to film school." I meet his gaze, his eyes round with surprise. "In New York.

Look, I'm sorry, Jemma. It took me forever to get there, what with all the flooding and everything. And then I was trying to clean stuff up and…well, I guess the time just got away from me."
I try to pull away, but he tightens his grip. "I didn't mean to scare you," he says.
"Well, you did scare me." I manage to pull one hand loose, and I use it to whack him in the chest. "Idiot!"
"I'm fine, okay? I'm here."
"I wish you weren't!" I yell, fired up now. "I wish you were lying in a ditch somewhere!" I stumble backward, my heel catching on the porch's floorboards.
"You don't mean that," Ryder says, sounding hurt.
He's right; I don't. But I don't care if I hurt his feelings. I'm too angry to care. Angry and relieved and pissed off and…and, God, I'm so glad he's okay. I thump his chest one more time in frustration, and then somehow my lips are on his--hungry and demanding and punishing all at once.
I hear him gasp in surprise. His mouth is hot, feverish even, as he kisses me back. The ground seems to tilt beneath my feet. I stagger back toward the door, dragging him with me without breaking the kiss. Ryder's tongue slips between my lips, skimming over my teeth before plunging inside. And…
Oh. My. God. No one's ever kissed me like this. No one. His hands and his tongue and his scent and his body are pressed against mine…It's making me light-headed, dizzy. Electricity seems to skitter across my skin, raising gooseflesh in its wake. I cling to h

Leaves in every shade of the autumn spectrum - red, yellow, orange, brown - littered the ground at my feet, crunching beneath my boots as I stepped out of the car and looked around.

It takes me nearly a half hour to make what should be a ten-minute trip, and by the time I pull up in front of my house, my hands are cramped from my death grip on the steering wheel.
It's not until I step out of the car, my legs feeling like they're made of Jell-O, that I notice Ryder's Durango parked in front of me.
"Where the hell have you been?" he calls out from the front porch, just as I make a mad dash to join him there. His face is red, his brow furrowed over stormy eyes. "They let us out an hour ago!"
I am really not in the mood for his crap. "Yeah, so?"
"So I was worried sick. A tornado touched down over by the Roberts' place."
"I know! I mean, I didn't know it touched down, but I was still at school when the sirens went off." I drop my ridiculously heavy backpack and shake the rain from my hair. "Is everyone okay over there?"
He runs a visibly trembling hand through his hair. "Yeah, it just tore up their fence or something. Jesus, Jemma!"
"What is wrong with you? Why are you even here?"
"I'm supposed to stay over here, remember?"
"What…now?" I look past him and notice an army-green duffel bag by the front door. He's got a key--he could've just let himself in.
"I figured now's as good a time as any. We need to put sandbags in front of the back door before it gets any worst out, and then we've got to do something about the barn. It's awful close to the creek, and the water's rising fast."
"Well, what do you prop

He's just so…so…unyielding."
"Wow, is that one of your SAT words?"
"Ha-ha, very funny. You know what I mean, though."
She shrugs. "Yeah, I know. He's always been that way. I kind of figured he'd grow out of it."
"Well, don't hold your breath. That boy's got a stick up his ass, if you ask me."
"A very attractive one at that."
"What, the stick or his ass?

"Wow, is" title="Kristi Cook Quotes: He's just so…so…unyielding."
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