Read Online Heat of the Moment by Lauren Barnholdt - Free Book Online Page B

are awesome together.” She puts her hand on my arm, like she’s worried about me. “I just hope you guys can work this out. I know he really cares about you.”
    No, I want to yell. He doesn’t just care about me. He loves me! We’re about to have sex! And besides, it’s none of her business. Why does Derrick have to tell her everything? And when did they have time to talk? Is that who she was talking to on the phone? And if so, why hasn’t Derrick called me ?
    â€œThanks,” I say tightly.
    â€œSo are you going to come to my party tonight?” she says. “You totally have to. It’s going to be so fun. We’ll drink in my room, then maybe move it down to the beach?”
    â€œSure,” I say. “Sounds great.”
    â€œGood.” Her phone rings again, and she looks down at the screen. “I have to take this. Text me later.” She turns and walks away, her hair bouncing behind her.
    â€œYou can come out now,” I yell to Beckett once I see Juliana disappear down the sidewalk, heading back toward the hotel. “She’s gone.”
    â€œWhy didn’t you tell her I was here?” he says. “Now if she finds out, she’s going to know you lied.”
    â€œBecause,” I say. “She would have told Derrick. And she’s not going to find out.”
    â€œBut if Julia does find out—”
    â€œHer name is Juliana,” I say, rolling my eyes. “You really need to get better with names.”
    â€œI’m very good with names,” he says as we step back out onto the sidewalk. The sun warms my skin, and I turn my face up toward the sky, enjoying the way the heat feelsagainst my cheeks. “In case you haven’t noticed, I have an amazing memory. I’m in all AP classes.”
    â€œIt’s impossible to be in all AP classes,” I say. “The school only offers three of them. And you’re not good with names, you don’t even know mine.”
    â€œOf course I know your name,” he says. “It’s Pink.”
    â€œMy real name,” I say, even though I know he knows what I’m talking about.
    He turns around in the middle of the sidewalk and stands in front of me, blocking me from moving forward. That same flush goes through me, the one that went through me this morning when he was standing so close to me near the car.
    â€œI know your name,” he says softly. “It’s Lyla.”
    â€œYou just know because you checked the tag of my suitcase,” I say. I’m staring at his chest, because for some reason I don’t want to look into his eyes. It’s this weird unexplainable thing, like if I look into his eyes something . . . unstoppable is going to happen. Not that looking at his chest is much better. It’s hard and muscular and I can’t help but imagine what it would be like to reach out and slide my hands up under his shirt.
    â€œNo,” he says. His voice is still soft, and it’s lost its usual cockiness. “I knew before that.”
    â€œOh.” I swallow. My heart is hammering in my chest. “Then why did you ask me what my name was?”
    â€œBecause I felt like messing with you.” His voice is back to his normal, cocky tone, and just like that, the spell is broken. I shake my head, then move around him and keep walking.
    â€œOh, what, you’re mad now?” he asks, following me.
    â€œNo,” I say. “In order to be mad at someone, you have to actually care about what they think of you, or what they’ve done to you. And I don’t. Besides, if I was going to be mad at you, it wouldn’t be because you gave me some dumb nickname and pretended you didn’t know who I was. It would be because you sent me that note on the plane and then almost got me in trouble with Juliana.”
    â€œYou got yourself in trouble with Juliana. And besides, I thought you said she wasn’t going to find out