I’m definitely in trouble.

“An intervention? Was that real?”

“They’re reading me letters after dinner.” We entered the hot kitchen and Eliza pushed the door until it quietly clicked closed.

“Gotta let the guys know the sitch is under control,” she stated.

“Definitely.”

She shook her hair into a loose ponytail, heading towards the fridge. I pulled my foot back to stretch my quad. That helped bring me back to the present moment, and out of thinking about what we could do with no one around to watch us.

Sneaking around with Eliza made the OCs’ kitchen feel even bigger than usual—with hyperawareness of all the places we could get into trouble together. But her proximity also made the space feel much smaller.

The paradoxes of the female kind.

Eliza dug out the frozen pizza from the slews of ice cream, frozen hamburgers, and leftover cupcakes.

“I was wondering if you were going to text me. Forty-eight hours is a long time.”

“It is a long time.” I leaned against the wall. She didn’t seem upset.

“That’s probably the point of it, though, right? To try to wear the girl down until she thinks you won’t call her and then when you do, she’s overjoyed?”

“Something like that.” Something most girls don’t realize is that guys can play hard-to-get too, and it’s almost always on purpose.

“Too bad your grand plan got ruined,” she said. “Guess now we’ll never know if I’ve thought about you as much as you’ve apparently thought about me?”

Eliza slid the pizza onto a pan and into the oven. “Can you get that please?” She pointed to a pitcher on the top shelf.

“My pleasure.” Five or so inches taller than her, I was happy to help. The smell of cheesy tomatoes spread through the room, but she’d taken out the first pizza already to keep it from burning.

Eliza pressed her stomach flat against the sink, watching the pitcher fill. I moved to stand behind her.

When she turned around, we collided against each other and she let out a surprised gasp. “Well played, sir.”

“Thank you.” I trailed my fingers down her arms. Like the night before, her feelings were clearly displayed across her face.

I pressed my lips against her nose, pausing there. Teasing her with how close we were to kissing again. Then I remembered that Eliza knew how to play this game too.

“Nick?” she whispered, “If you want me to remember you when I’m eighty, you’re going to have to do better than that.”

“Are there other guys I’m competing with for that memory slot, sweetheart?”

“Maybe there are.” She lightly bit her lip. Was that move in the Girl Code too? How did every girl know how to do that so attractively?

“I accept your challenge,” I said. The pitcher began to overflow with water, and I reached behind her to rescue it. Her slippers slid on the hardwood floor as she adjusted to how close I was—stopping me from erasing all the distance.