It’s just … I really need to talk to you.” I’m at church, sitting directly behind Aubrey, whispering into her ear. Her father, Pastor Simpson, has just finished his sermon; I watch as he briskly walks up the aisle past us. Now the worship team take their places onstage and are about to sing their last sappy inspirational song. “Everyone, please rise!” commands the leader. “Let’s praise the Lord together!” Carson is next to me, right behind Kat. Immediately, he bolts up from his chair and joins in, belting out the chorus, “Jesus, you’re all I need!” “Aubrey, please don’t ignore me,” I say. Her hair brushes against my cheek. God, she smells good. I glance down and remember kissing the curve of her collarbone that fatal afternoon in the woods at the youth retreat. “I’m sorry about the night at the Red Room. The song—it was a mistake.” Slowly, she turns around. Her face is flushed. I’m hoping it’s because she feels the same chemistry as I do, but I doubt it.
