Erin Watt - One Small Thing - the gripping new page-turner essential for summer reading 2018!

My heart flips over and I’m so dumbstruck I can’t summon a witty reply.

He ducks his head in embarrassment. “Too corny?”

I find my voice. “Too amazing. My head is so big right now I don’t think this house can contain me.”

“Then let’s get out of here.”

“Really?” My eyes grow wide. “Where?”

“Just outside. I like it outside.”

“Me, too.”

He holds out his hand. Mine slips easily into his. His long fingers curl around the back of my hand. Against my palm, there are hard calluses. We leave the shot glasses on the kitchen counter we pass. I don’t need the alcohol now. I’m holding hands with the hottest guy on the planet, and I feel like I’m floating on air.

We maneuver through the crowd. Some people stare. I lift my head. Yeah, I’m with this hottie.

Outside, the noise thins out and so do the people. He leads me down the deck and toward a small shed.

“Do you keep the bodies in there?” I joke.

He halts suddenly. “You have a dark humor, don’t you?”

The remark makes me think of the hysterical laughter that burbled in my throat during Rachel’s funeral. How I covered my face to keep it from spilling out and everyone thought I was sobbing. It wasn’t so much dark humor as a defense mechanism.

“I’d rather laugh than cry,” I admit. “I cry too easily. It’s one thing I hate about myself.”

He lowers himself onto the grass. “That’s not a bad philosophy—the laughing over crying thing.”

“I wish I had more control over my tears. It’s frustrating when I’m mad but everyone thinks I’m sad.” I drop to the ground beside him, wondering why I’m spilling these things to him. I shut up then, and listen to the crickets sing as the faint music in the house plays in the background.

“You have a name?” he teases.

“I’m Beth.”

He rakes a hand through his messy hair. My gaze doesn’t miss the way his biceps flex from that action. He’s got incredible arms. Sculpted.

“I’m Chase.” He tilts his head toward me. “And I still feel like you’re too good to be sitting out here with me.”

“You aren’t holding me down,” I point out. “Are you telling me to leave?”

“No. I don’t want that.” He exhales again and his perfect body is momentarily framed by the thin cotton of his T-shirt.

Gosh, he’s gorgeous.

“It’s beautiful out here, isn’t it?”

I glance up at the night sky and then at Chase’s upturned face. It’s so cloudy you can barely make out the moon, let alone the stars. “I guess?” He’s beautiful. The sky? Not so much.

He chuckles to himself. “It could be raining buckets and I’d be happy.”

“Me, too.” Because I’m with you , I think. I haven’t felt this at peace with myself for weeks, maybe months. The fight with my mom seems like a long-ago bad memory.

His hand is pressed against the ground between us. I edge mine closer to his until our pinkies touch.

“Your fingers are long.”

He turns his head away from the sky to peer at our fingers. “Maybe yours are really short.”

“I have normal-sized hands.”

“Let’s see.” He slides his hand over mine and my fingers disappear under his.

My heart begins to beat wildly and my mouth goes dry. Body parts start tingling in places I didn’t know could tingle.

“Are you going to kiss me?” I blurt out.

His lips curve into that gorgeous smile of his. “Yeah. I think so. You okay with that?”

I nod.

“It’s been a long time for me,” he admits.

His honesty catches me off guard. “Me, too.”

“Good.” He tucks my hair behind my ear. He moves closer. “Then we can mess up together. Tell me if I do something wrong.”

He palms my cheek, strokes it gently. Ever so slowly, his lips meet mine.

3

Chase rolls onto his side. He reaches for something on the nightstand of the bedroom we wound up in. I hear the hiss of a lighter. The scent of smoke soon fills my nostrils as I lie there, staring at the ceiling. Taking a deep drag, he shifts onto his back and does the same. The crisp cotton sheet covers his lower body. His chest is bare.

Me, I threw my clothes on the moment it was over. Second thoughts are chased by third thoughts chased by so many thoughts that I’m paralyzed. What do I do now?

What have I done, period? My entire body is hot with embarrassment and my heart is pounding harder than the bass line that’s still shaking the house.

Chase takes another drag on his cigarette. He’s acting like what we just did was no big deal. But maybe it’s not to him. It probably isn’t. He probably has sex with hundreds of girls at parties.

I didn’t tell him I was a virgin.

I—

“I have to go,” I blurt out, shooting to my feet.

He doesn’t say a word. Doesn’t meet my gaze. I’m glad, because I don’t particularly want him to see the shame swimming in my eyes.

It’s not until I’m about to turn the doorknob that he speaks.

“Where’s your phone?”

My head swivels toward him, and, finally, our gazes collide. His expression reveals nothing. His chest still has a slight sheen of sweat on it from... I tear my eyes away.

“It’s in my purse,” I mumble. “Why?”

“Take it out.”

I’m helpless to say no when it comes to this guy. Face burning, I fish my phone out of my bag and wait.

He rattles off a number.

I stare at him, still feeling dazed. And my body, despite being sore, is responding to the sight of his abs.

“Put that number in your phone.” His voice is rough. “Text me when you get back to your friend’s place so I know you made it back okay.”

I keep staring.

“Beth,” he prompts, and I finally manage to find my voice.

“Give me the number again,” I whisper.

He repeats the digits and I dutifully type them into my phone.

“And, yeah, call me if you ever need me,” he says gruffly.

I nod, but I think we both know that aside from the one text I’ll send from Scarlett’s, I will never, ever, ever use his number again.

4

Tuesday is the first day of school. The first day of my last year, and I should be rejoicing. One year is all I have left under this roof. One year until I’m in college, the college I want to attend, free from my parents’ constant, watchful control.

Their eyes are pinned on me right now. They have questions. I can feel a heaviness in the air. Mom’s disappointment mixed with Dad’s frustration and resentment have formed a black thundercloud that clings to the ceiling and walls like smoke after a pan fire.

I try to act normally, as if I didn’t do things last night I sorely regret. Things I’ve lied about to Scarlett, to my parents, to myself. Since I opened my eyes this morning, I’ve been forcing myself not to think about Chase. But it’s so hard not to. And when the thoughts of him do surface, I feel like sobbing.

I had sex for the first time yesterday. I wanted to, and I enjoyed it. I really did—at the time. But it didn’t take very long for the glow to fade. For the thrill of doing something new and exciting and rebellious to be replaced with bone-deep shame.

My first time was with a stranger. It was a one-night stand.

What the hell do I do with that? I can’t even begin to process it, and I wish my parents would stop staring at me. I’m afraid if they stare long enough, they’ll be able to read my thoughts.

“Did you have a nice time at Scarlett’s?” Mom asks, breaking the silence.

The sound of her voice brings a phantom pain to my cheek. She hit me yesterday. She’s acting like she doesn’t remember. Or maybe she’s just trying to forget. Or hoping I’ll forget. Fat chance.