“And that’s another thing. Lately, it’s like I can’t say anything without you contradicting it.”

“I don’t—oh. Sorry.”

Ryan ran a hand over his hair, ruffling it. “I love you,” he said at last. “You know that. But it’s . . . it’s like we’re speaking two different languages most of the time. Harper.” He tugged on my hand. “If there’s something going on with you, you can tell me, okay?”

For a second, I really thought about telling him. I wasn’t sure how I was going to spin it, exactly, but there had to be something I could say. Some way of letting him know it definitely wasn’t him, it was me. And then a funny expression crossed his face. “Is it David Stark?”

Maybe it was because the question was so unexpected, or maybe because it was David Stark—in a way—but whatever the reason, my reaction was . . . not great.

I made this kind of spluttering sound that was kind of like a laugh, but mostly involved me nearly spitting all over Ryan. “W-what? What would David Stark have to do with anything?”

“You guys seemed pretty . . . intense yesterday,” Ryan said, dropping my hand.

“Yeah, we were intensely arguing over him writing that stupid article,” I said even as I had a sudden vision of me and David, laughing in his car. Hugging. God, we had hugged.

Now Ryan was frowning. “But you’re always arguing with him. Or talking about him. Or competing with him. And sometimes I wonder how you can be so obsessed with someone you supposedly hate.”

“I’m not obsessed,” I corrected before I could stop myself, and his mouth tightened. “Forget it,” I said quickly, rising up on my knees to scoot closer to him. “I promise you, David Stark is . . . nothing to me.” And he wasn’t. I mean, he may have been some future-telling guy I was supposed to protect, possibly unto death, but other than that . . .

Ryan seemed less than convinced, so I leaned forward and pressed my lips to his. He hesitated for a second, but then, finally, he kissed me back. As his hand slid up to tangle in my hair, I moved forward, still on my knees. Ryan’s other arm tightened around my waist, and I sank into the kiss, trying for a few seconds to turn my mind off.

It was nice. I know you’re probably supposed to use words like “hot” or “amazing” to describe your boyfriend kissing you, and we’ve had plenty of make-outs I could describe that way, but “nice” was good, too. Comforting. Stable.

When we pulled apart, Ryan had that happy, glazed look that told me all thoughts of David Stark and my ninja moves and basically anything else had been obliterated.