Deadly Little Games Read Online Free PDF Page B

finally.
    “Good, because you’re the one that I miss.”
    “But I’m right here.”
    I move onto his lap again, my legs crossed behind his back. I close my eyes and picture us on his motorcycle, riding down the sunny beach strip, the seat pressing against the backs of my thighs and urging me closer to him.
    We kiss for several minutes, until I feel him pull away once more. “I think I should probably go,” he says.
    “Why?” I ask, giving him some space. I move off his lap and get up from the bed. “What’s wrong?”
    “I should be asking you the same.”
    I shake my head, feeling a lump form in my throat.
    Ben looks away, clearly disappointed, as if he knows I’m keeping secrets. “On second thought, why don’t you go to Michigan with your mom? Some time away might be good for you. It might be good for both of us.”
    “Wait, what are you saying?”
    “I’m saying that I have to go.” He stands and pulls on his jacket.
    “Ben—no. Let’s talk about this.”
    “Maybe tomorrow,” he says, visibly shaken.
    I’m shaken, too, not quite sure what just happened. Or how I can undo it.

A FTER THE INCIDENT with Ben, I head over to Kimmie’s to cry on her shoulder. We’re sitting in her bedroom, amid rolls of pink taffeta and leopard-print spandex, as she works on one of her latest designs. It’s Kimmie’s goal in life to have her own clothing line one day. She’s even taken some weekend workshops at the Fashion Institute in an effort to develop her inner fashionista.
    “I call this dress Ballerina Meets Bad Girl,” she says, tearing the hem of a skirt to give it a tattered edge. “Your honest opinion: do you think a whip is too much as an accessory? Because a whip would look totally cute if it had a pink handle.”
    “Maybe just a smidge,” I say, flopping back on her bed, accidentally landing on a bag of feathers.
    “You’re really upset, aren’t you?” She sets down her pinking shears.
    “How can I not be?”
    “Right,” she says, handing me a tissue. “But I vaguely recall mentioning something about how honesty is your only real choice where Ben’s concerned.”
    “Maybe now’s not the best time to be saying, ‘I told you so.’ Plus, it’s not like I intentionally lied to him. I mean, yes, Ben’s my boyfriend, but I’m still my own person. Aren’t I allowed to keep anything to myself?”
    “Not when you’re fantasizing about your ex while dating a mind reader.”
    “He’s not exactly a mind reader,” I say, correcting her. “And I’m not exactly fantasizing.”
    “Okay, then, having kinky thoughts.” She rolls her eyes, as if annoyed that I’m nitpicking over words. “Try to think of Ben’s gift as a small sacrifice. I mean, let’s face it, the boy does look pretty smokin’ on that motorcycle of his.”
    “That’s totally beside the point,” I say, still unable to disagree.
    “You need to see things from his perspective,” she continues, “because this must be really hard for him. There are just some things you don’t want to know about your main squeezie. Like, I once dated this guy who said that he sometimes liked to floss his teeth and examine the findings under a microscope. Now, tell me, did I seriously need to know that?”
    “Did I seriously need to know it?” I ask, all but gagging at the image. “But I don’t think Ben’s power is all that random. I mean, some of what he senses can be sort of unpredictable.”
    “No pun intended,” she jokes.
    “But for the most part, it’s the intense stuff—the stuff at the forefront of people’s minds.”
    “The stuff we like to hide,” Kimmie says.
    I nod, grateful for her friendship, and for the fact that I never feel like I have to hide anything with her. She and I have been through it all: from Barbie-and-Ken breakups and hard-wire braces to the time when Billy Horton, my longtime crush and first-time kiss, told the entire freshman class that said kiss tasted like sweaty socks.
    “Do you think