And right into a warm, solid figure.

There’s a loud smack as we collide. I trip back and into the screen door, banging my elbow against the metal and dropping one of the speakers onto the cement.

“Shit, are you okay?” Conner rushes to my aid, but all that does is make me snap back upright and target him with a warning look. “Sorry.” He backs up with his hands surrendered in front of him. “I was just seeing if you were okay.”

As the porch light shines down on him, I can now see his features clearly. In height, he’s got me by about five inches, putting him at about six two. He has broad shoulders, well-shaped arms, sandy brown hair, and bright green eyes. Dressed in a crisp polo shirt and tan cargo shorts, with skin lacking piercings and ink, the guy screams preppy boy and not from around here, but far, far away where I’ve never been before. I’ll admit it’s got me curious because he’s different from my norm.

Is he the stars answering my wish?

Take me away from here, please.

I blink, shaking the absurd thought from my mind. “I’m fine,” I tell Conner as I lean against the door, hugging the speaker to my chest.

A lopsided grin tugs at his lips as he lowers his hands to his sides. “Zack told me to stay over here and make sure you didn’t need any help bringing the speakers over.”

I look down at the speaker in my arms and then at the one on the ground beside my feet. “I’m good, but thanks.”

“I can carry one for you if you want,” he offers, reaching for the speaker in my arms.

I hesitate, but then hand it over anyway. “Thank you.”

He takes the speaker from me and then moves for the one I dropped. Once he gets both of them situated in his arms, he smiles at me again, this time in a much flirtier manner. “I take thank you payments in the form of walks to the next door neighbor’s house.”

The cautious girl in me frowns.

But the dreamer girl’s heart skips a beat.

Leaving me both nervous and confused.

“I don’t even know you.” I fold my arms across my chest, very aware that I’m not wearing a bra and that it’s super chilly outside. But Conner isn’t looking down at my br**sts. No, his blue-eyed gaze is fixed on mine, which makes me warm up to him more.

“Of course you do.” He’s amused. “I’m Conner, remember? I introduced myself when you insinuated that I might be a creepy pervert.”

I smash my lips together so I won’t laugh at his joke. “How do you know Zack?”

His smile never falters. “We work at the same place together.”

“Which is?”

“Down at Wellings Electronics.”

“You work as a cashier with Zack?”

“More like a manager position.” He says it with a straight face, appearing to be telling the truth, but still…

“Give me one minute.” I open the screen door and run back inside, holding my breath before I barrel past the living room and up the stairs to my bedroom. I hurry and put on my jacket then grab my can of mace from my nightstand drawer. Then I slip on my flip-flops and tuck the mace into my pocket before dashing back outside.

Conner is waiting for me at the bottom of the steps when I get there, confidence written all over him.

“I can only be gone like fifteen minutes tops,” I tell him, trotting down the stairs.

“Got an early morning?” he asks as we cross the lawn and head down the sidewalk toward Zack’s house.

“No, I just don’t want to leave my younger brother home for too long.”

He stops just short of the border of Zack’s property and glances back at my house. “Oh shit. Is he there by himself?” He looks like he feels bad and it makes me like him that much more.

I keep walking, motioning for him to continue moving. “No, but I need to be around, you know?”

He nods, even though I’m not sure he gets the full meaning of what I’m saying. “All right, I’ll clock it.” He awkwardly shifts his arm so he can check the time on his watch. “We’ll make sure you’re back in fifteen.”

I smile a real smile for the first time tonight, and he grins back, making me feel all warm inside.

“You’ve got a cute smile,” he says with sincerity.

“And you’re cute, being my alarm clock,” I tease, a nervous habit of mine.

“You know I’d be flattered if it wasn’t for the fact that your voice was dripping with sarcasm.” He shoots me a playful grin as we make a right up Zack’s driveway, which is crawling with intoxicated people and reminds me so much of home that I almost back away.

Shoving back my need to flee, I say, “You should still be flattered.” I push my way through the crowd and to the side door of Zack’s house. “I usually don’t give people sarcasm.”

Conner laughs as he elbows a staggering drunk guy out of the way. “Good to know. I’ll have to think of some more lines to get you going.”

I roll my eyes, yet I’m smiling to myself as I open the screen door and hold it open for Conner to walk inside. When he steps in, his gaze swiftly scrolls up and down my body.

I’m flattered that he’s checking me out. But I’m unsure how to feel about my reaction. For most of my teenage years, I’ve never really spent too much time thinking about the opposite sex. Yes, I’ve made out with a few here and there at a couple of parties I’ve been to, but I’m still a virgin. Conner, he kind of looks like a datable guy, if I had time to date…

I have to wonder, though, if I’m just acting this way because he’s attractive, seems like a gentleman, and doesn’t look like he belongs in this neighborhood. I’ve never met anyone with all three of those characteristics, and I’ll admit it’s got me curious. Maybe this is what I’ve been waiting around for.

“Why are you staring at me like that?” Conner asks, cocking his brow at me.

I shrug and let the screen door slam shut behind us. “Do you know where Zack sets up the stereo?” I ask, avoiding his question. “Or do you need me to lead the way?”

He restrains a grin, adjusting the speakers in his arms. “I think I’m going to need you to lead the way.”

I elevate my brows at him. “I think you just want to check out my ass.”

His smile slips through. “Okay, you caught me.”

I narrow my eyes, but it’s a flirtatious gesture. Then I make my way through the sea of drunk, high, and sweaty bodies to Zack’s living room. The room is trashed, the furniture either cracked or broken, and Zack is in the corner, smoking a joint.

“You know, one of these days, your dad’s going to get upset about the mess,” I tell Zack as I approach him.

Zack’s eyes light up when he spots me emerging. He removes the joint from his lips, smoke snaking the air as he lets out a breath. Then he hands the joint to a guy next to him, who has his back to me and a hood pulled over his head.

“You know that’ll never happen,” Zack says. “It would require him coming home.”

Poor Zack. His dad is gone to who knows where for weeks at a time and it’s been that way forever. And his mom is upstairs, probably doped up on so many pills she can’t even remember her own name.

“Here, I’ll take those.” Zack takes the speakers from Conner then sets them on the floor beside the stereo where he plugs them in.

Moments later, music blasts through the room and vibrates the floor.  The party guests match the noise while the guy next to Zack wanders over to the sofa and flops down miserably.

My head begins to throb. It’s not that I hate music. I love it when it’s done correctly, like say when I’m in my room studying. But parties and music is a bad combo for me. Ever since I can remember, my mother has blared music right before she gets high and it’s like an omen for me.

Conner notes my expression and leans in.  “Let’s spend the”—he glances at his watch—“the last eleven minutes outside, okay?”

I’m not sure if this guy is for real or not but if he is, I think I might be a goner. He’s got me feeling that pull, like I do with the stars, only it’s different—less calming and more terrifyingly thrilling.

“You don’t want to stay in and party?” I question skeptically.

“Nah, not really my thing.”

I follow him back through the mob, which has gone crazy because of the music, jumping up and down and shouting with enthusiasm. By the time we make it outdoors again, my ears are ringing and my skin is damp with sweat.

“Parties aren’t really my thing either.”  I zip up my jacket as I take a seat on the steps in front of Zack’s house.

Conner sits down beside me; not too close that I feel uncomfortable, but enough that I’m aware of his close proximity. Then he stretches out his legs and rests back on his hands. “So I guess we have something in common.”

“If you don’t like parties, then why are you here?” I ask skeptically.

He shrugs. “Zack invited me at work today, and I thought I’d check it out.”

“You mean check out what a party over in The Subs is like?”

“I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t curious about what goes on over here… if it’s that different like everyone says.”

“And what’s your conclusion? Is it any different from wherever you’re from?”

“It’s definitely different.” He studies the stars while I study him. When he glances at me, I hurry and look away at the road. “So tell me about yourself, Avery.”

I pick at my fingernails. “There’s not much to tell.” I motion around us without looking up from my hands, very ashamed at the moment of where I come from and who I am. “This is about it for me.”

“Not about where you live,” he says. “I mean, about you. What kinds of stuff do you like to do?”

I’m not sure anyone’s ever asked me to talk about myself before. Usually I get asked questions like, do you know where I can buy some? Do you want a hit? What’s your drug of choice? And whenever I answer no to all three—because I refuse to do drugs—I always get the same unfathomable look.

“I don’t know.” I shrug. “I like astronomy.”

A pucker forms at Conner’s brow. “Like the study of stars?”

“Yeah, and my favorite subject in school is math, so I guess in a way I like numbers and stars. I’m in an AP math class. They’re both kind of my thing I guess. That and accounting.” It’s how I manage to pay the bills with the limited amount of cash flow we have. “You’re shocked,” I remark. “Admit it. You thought I was going to say something cliché like art or I’m in a band.”

His gaze is relentless but I refuse to look away from him. “I’ll admit it,” he says. “I’m surprised, but I wouldn’t go as far as shocked. Looks can be really misleading.”

I nod, allowing myself to check him out. Just a quick glance. Nothing that would mean too much. “They sure are, creepy pervert guy. Now it’s your turn. Tell me something you like to do.”

He contemplates my demand with a thoughtful expression. “I like working on cars.”

“Really?” It sounds like something the guys around here would say so I’m a bit surprised and kind of disappointed.

He nods then leans in, motioning me to come closer too. I find myself easily obeying him and notice right away that he doesn’t smell like smoke or booze, but like soap and aftershave. It’s an unfamiliar yet wonderfully welcoming smell and I breathe the delicious scent in.

“Can you keep a secret?” he whispers.

I nod.  “I can.”

“I have a few cars at home. Really nice ones actually,” he says. “But don’t tell anyone. I have a reputation to uphold while I’m here.”

“Why? Are you afraid they’ll”—I peek back at Zack’s house—“kidnap you and hold you for ransom for these alleged cars?” I’m only half-kidding.

His breath warms my cheek as he chuckles. “Maybe. It depends on who they are.”

“I’m not really sure,” I say then laugh, slanting away from him even though part of me doesn’t want to. “This conversation is starting to go over my head.”

“Mine, too,” he agrees, reclining back on his hands and returning his concentration to the stars. “You know, if you want, I could show you my cars sometime.”

“Is that your way of asking me out?” I ask, glancing up at the stars myself, searching for a sign amongst them that this is where I’m supposed to be. But again, all they do is sparkle. “Because you should know I’m not that into cars.”

He presses his hand to his heart, feigning being offended. “Ouch. Hit me where it counts.” He lowers his hand, grinning. “So what do you say?”

“To what?”

“To a date.”

“I don’t even know you.”

“Sure you do. I’m Conner, the not creepy pervert who works with Zack and likes cars.”

I shake my head, battling back a smile so I won’t encourage him more. “I don’t have time for dating,” I say, sounding sadder than I intended to.

“How old are you?” he wonders, eyeing me over.

“Sixteen.” I match his move and eye him back. “How old are you?”

“Sixteen.” He rubs his jawline while he muses. “Look at that. We’re meant for each other.”

“I don’t believe people are meant for each other.” I’m trying to be serious but he’s making it complicated.