Sara Shepard - Ruthless

“Oh, I didn’t end up settling in Rhode Island, though I would have driven from there to see you.” Ezra dipped a nugget in barbecue sauce and popped it in his mouth. “I stayed there for a little while, but then I moved to New York City.”

“Oh!” Aria couldn’t temper her excitement. “Do you like it there? I applied to a bunch of schools in New York.”

“I love it.” Ezra got a dreamy look on his face. “I have this tiny apartment in the West Village. Every night I watch the cars stream up Sixth Avenue. I love the energy. The creativity. Being around so many different people at once.”

“That’s exactly how I feel about New York, too,” Aria gushed, loving how she and Ezra were always on the same wavelength.

“I could absolutely see you living there.” Ezra took Aria’s hands. Touching him felt like walking into an old, cozy house. “Maybe you could come and visit me sometime. Look at those colleges you applied to.”

Aria stared down at his big hands in hers, utterly speechless. She half expected to hear the far-off giggle she associated with A, but all she heard were tweeting birds and the rushing stream.

She must have been silent for a beat or so too long, because Ezra pulled his hands away. “God. I’m an idiot. You don’t have a boyfriend, do you?”

“No!” Aria shook her head emphatically. “Well, I mean, I don’t now . I did, though, while you were gone. It’s not like I knew you were coming back.” She let out a self-conscious laugh.

“Let me guess. Noel Kahn?”

Aria’s mouth dropped open. “How did you know?”

Ezra chuckled. “He had it bad for you in English class.”

“We didn’t have that much in common, though,” Aria said quietly, staring at a silvery fish swimming below them in the stream. “And . . . you don’t have a girlfriend, right?”

A smile spread across Ezra’s face. He cupped Aria’s chin in his hands. “Of course I don’t. Why else would I come to see you?”

Aria smiled shyly. “How long are you staying?”

“How long do you want me to stay?”

Forever , Aria wanted to say.

“I’m bunking with a friend outside town. He says I can stay as long as I like.” Ezra pushed a piece of Aria’s hair behind her ears. “Tell me everything about what’s going on with you. How’s your family? They split up, right? How’s that going? And what did you mean in your email when you said you felt lonely? Are you okay?”

Aria pressed her hand to her chest, touched by his interest and concern. “I’m fine,” she said, suddenly meaning it. “Actually, I’d rather hear about you first. What are you doing in New York? Going to grad school? Do you have a job? I bet it’s something fabulous.”

Ezra’s throat bobbed. “Well, I did have a job at a nonprofit for a while, but then I was laid off. So after that . . .” A bloom of red appeared on his cheeks. “I did some writing. And, well, I wrote a novel.”

“A novel ?” Aria’s jaw dropped. “As in a complete, start-to-finish book ?”

Ezra laughed bashfully. “That’s right. But I don’t know how good it is.”

“I’m sure it’s amazing!” Aria clapped. “What’s it about? When’s it going to be published?”

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.” Ezra glanced at his backpack, which sat behind them on the rock. “But if you’re interested, I have the manuscript. . . .”

“Of course I’m interested!” Aria said. “I’d love to see it!”

Ezra pressed his lips together, as if weighing the decision. “No agents are representing me yet. It might never even get published. The book industry is a little harder to crack than I thought.” He let out a bitter laugh Aria had never heard before.

“Am I going to have to tackle you to see this thing?” Aria teased.

“Okay, okay.” Ezra undid the straps on his backpack and pulled out a sheaf of dog-eared papers held together by a blue rubber band. The front page said See Me After Class, by Ezra Fitz in boldface.

“I can’t believe you wrote this,” Aria whispered reverently. “Is it about a teacher?”

Ezra grinned mysteriously. “Maybe.” He pushed the pages toward her. “Do you want to read it?”

“Yes!” Aria flipped through the ruffled pages. “I know I’m going to love it. And . . . thank you.” She looked up at him, feeling a rush of emotion. “For everything. Coming back. This picnic . . .”

Aria trailed off, and they stared at each other for a few long beats. Then, Ezra inched forward on the rock until their bodies were touching. As soon as he wrapped his arms around Aria’s waist and touched his lips to hers, she felt a whoosh of pleasure. The kiss deepened, and Ezra shrugged out of his jacket, tossing it on a rock next to them. Aria slithered out of her pea coat.

“Ahem,” someone whispered.

Ezra and Aria pulled apart, breathing hard. A group of old women, clad in hiking gear and fanny packs and carrying walking sticks, had emerged from around the bend and were staring at them with disgusted looks on their faces.

“Sorry!” Ezra called out, quickly buttoning up his shirt.

The women sniffed and headed toward the B&B, balancing expertly on the rocks. Ezra shot Aria a mortified look and covered his mouth with his hand. “That was like being caught by my grandma,” he whispered.

“Or the school librarian,” Aria giggled.

Ezra gathered her in his arms and looked deep into her eyes. “Let’s hope we get caught lots more times.”

Aria felt a swirl of complete and utter happiness. Then, she leaned forward and kissed Ezra softly on the lips. “I couldn’t agree more.”

Later that same afternoon, Spencer pulled her Mercedes coupe into her family’s driveway after a long study session at the Rosewood Public Library. “ But screw your courage to the sticking place, and we’ll not fail ,” she recited. It was from the speech where Lady Macbeth convinces her husband to kill Duncan, the king. “ When Duncan is asleep, whereto the rather shall his day’s hard journey . . . ”

Then her mind went blank. What came after that?

She shifted into park. This was infuriating. She’d mastered all the lines of The Taming of the Shrew in tenth grade when she was studying for the PSATs, volunteering for the Rosewood soup kitchen, playing field hockey, and juggling six honors classes. As much as she loathed giving Beau the satisfaction of coaching her tomorrow, maybe she needed it.

Inhaling a chakra-cleansing, yoga-fire breath, she pulled her Madewell duffel coat around her and grabbed her gold Dior handbag from the passenger seat, a gift she’d gotten herself for getting into Princeton. When she slipped out of the car, she nearly collided with a black Range Rover parked off to the left. She scowled at its shiny chrome wheels, souped-up navigation console, and cheery bumper sticker on the back that proclaimed proud parent of a st. agnes honor student. Mr. Pennythistle owned a fleet of vehicles, but a Range Rover wasn’t one of them. Which meant there were visitors.

When she opened the front door, a soft voice floated out from the den, followed by a girlish peal of laughter. Spencer suppressed a groan. Amelia had certainly taken Mrs. Hastings’s “Make yourself at home” directive very seriously. She’d had friends over almost every single day, each of the guests geekier than the last.

Spencer stomped down the hall, making as much noise as she could so that Amelia would know she was coming. Sure enough, when she passed the large room, which held a giant-screen TV and comfy wraparound couches, Amelia glanced up. She was holding a shiny black flute on her lap—the ultimate dork accessory. Ten other girls sat around the room, instruments in each of their hands, too. Losers.