Kael nodded again and then . . . nothing. I should have been used to the barriers he put up, the distance between us, but he had let down his guard since coming to the party, so much so that I was beginning to forget it had even existed. But there it was, brewing next to me.

And that was why I didn’t like dating. Or whatever this was.

I knew I was being ridiculous. I mean, it had been only about twenty minutes since I’d decided to admit to myself that I was more than just attracted to him. I was completely fascinated. Enamored. We had been standing side by side in the kitchen and I could feel that heat of his. It didn’t matter that we weren’t touching. I could feel myself being drawn toward him. It was strong, this pull. Almost animal in its intensity. I lost myself in the physical for a moment, and then my brain took over and started to dissect the reasons he wouldn’t like me, or why this couldn’t—wouldn’t—work. I was such a romantic.

I looked around the room, to friendly Mendoza pouring Austin and the ruffly brunette a shot. To the three guys sitting on the floor, and the voices coming from the kitchen. Everyone was alive in their own way, talking, listening, drinking, laughing, playing with their phones. Everyone except the one person I really wanted to connect with.

My frustration grew and grew inside my head, and by the time Austin and the girl were making out (which took less than five more minutes) I couldn’t sit there anymore. I needed some air.

I got up from the couch, and if Kael noticed, he didn’t care to show it.

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

I sat down on my mom’s swing, feeling the heaviness of the situation with Kael. Not for the first time, I thought of it as a mood swing. My own little joke. Only it wasn’t funny.

I’d lost track of the number of times I’d made my way out to the porch at this house. If I was feeling anxious and alone, if I wanted to think something through or just daydream, I’d head to the swing. I was out there a lot after my mom left; sometimes I thought maybe she would be sitting there. And when Dad was talking about shipping Austin off to live with our porn-king uncle, you’d find me on the swing. There was something soothing about the gentle back and forth as the seat pushed into its arc and then returned. I could be close to full-on panic, but after a few minutes on the swing, my breathing would slow, and I’d feel myself calm down. Most of the time, anyway.