Christie Ridgway - Make Me Lose Control

She took one small step inside. “I live back that way.” She made a vague gesture. “You?”

“Promise you won’t tell?” he asked, though he didn’t sound too worried either way.

“Sure.”

“We local kids, you know, full-timers on the mountain, we have a few places, hideouts I’d guess you’d call them, where we go to chill. This is one of them.”

Hideouts. London nodded, pretending a teen-only retreat wasn’t completely beyond her previous sheltered—okay, freak—existence. “Just you tonight?”

“I had to get away from the parental units for a little while. They can be a pain in the ass, right?”

“Right.” London dug her toe into the worn carpeting. “My mother’s dead.” Her hand clapped over her mouth. What was wrong with her?

“God.” He twitched, then was silent a moment. “God, I’m sorry.”

“No. It’s okay. I...” Miserably embarrassed, she stepped back again.

“Don’t go,” Colton said. “I shouldn’t have...”

His discomfort only made her feel worse. “It’s okay.”

“Come back in, I don’t bite. You probably need a little downtime, too.”

Dueling desires warred within her. To go, to stay, to allow him to bite her. Goose bumps burst in hot prickles all over her skin at the thought. Biting! She’d never even been kissed. Yeah, at fifteen, she was unkissed.

Total freak.

“So, you go to school down the hill or something?”

Down the hill encompassed every place that wasn’t the surrounding mountains. London had learned that from Shay. “No,” she said, coming inside so she could make her own slide along the wall. They were propped on opposite sides of the small structure, London situated closest to the still-open door. “I’m sort of being homeschooled at the moment. I have a live-in tutor.”

Colton released a low whistle as he drew up his knees and draped his wrists over them. In the low illumination from the flashlight, she stared at his hands. They were long-fingered and bony-looking. Not like a skeleton, just...bony like a boy’s hands. Like a boy’s hands should be.

“How’s that?” he asked. “A live-in tutor? No dozing off during class, I suppose.”

“No.” If pressed, she’d probably admit she liked Shay. Yes, there was the dusting and the vacuuming and the Western civ book, but the woman had also been tolerant of her name experiments—which seemed even stupider now that Colton Halliday said he liked London .

Shay paid attention, too. She was the only one to ever notice that when it came to bubbling test answers, London had a peculiar technique. The first time she’d turned in a score sheet, Shay had taken one look at the paper then tossed it back. “Love the long-stemmed rose,” she’d said drily, noting the pattern London had made with her No. 2 . “Now put your efforts into answers, not illustrations.”

“Finals are coming up at the high school,” Colton said. “That’s what my parents are on my case about. Studying. Hell, I can’t wait for summer.”

“What will you do then?”

“Hang with friends, swim, hike. I have a part-time job scooping ice cream, too. Gotta save for college...only a year away.”

Meaning he was going to be a senior next year. That seemed way older than her.

“What about you, England?”

“I’m—” She stopped herself from blurting out fifteen .

“Hey, I thought you liked London?”

His grin glowed again, seeming to light up the whole room. “I like ‘England,’ too, since I came up with it. My special name for you.”

Another riot of goose bumps bloomed over her body. “That’s all right, I guess.” It was better than all right!

“So...are you going to be around this summer?”

She shrugged, trying to play it casual. “Sure.”

“Then maybe we’ll see each other again.” Colton rose to his feet. “I gotta go now. Chemistry homework due tomorrow.”

London stood, too, pressing her shoulder blades against the wall to hold herself up because her knees felt wobbly as he drew near. “See you around, then,” she said as he passed through the doorway.

“Yeah, see you.” He turned, walking backward as he looked at her, the moonlight silvering his hair. “How old are you, England?”

“Seventeen,” she replied, without a single betraying quaver in her voice. It didn’t matter that it was a lie; it was her next foray into the life she’d been waiting to begin.

Fifteen-year-old London, who’d lost her mother and only just met her father, was an outcast, that freak she’d always felt like. But London, nicknamed “England” by a handsome, soon-to-be high school senior, was the master of her fate and the captain of her soul.

And surely, surely seventeen.

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