If Noah were still alive, I can’t think of a single scenario that would end with me at a party in the Downs.

“Frankie?”

I know that voice.…

Marco.

My eyes fly open. He’s standing on the sidewalk in front of the fender, less than two feet away from me. His black shirt clings to his arms and chest, outlining his muscles. He really is gorgeous.

“What are you doing here?” He asks the question as if I don’t belong at the party, which immediately annoys me.

“I was invited.” I press my hands against the hood of the car to brace myself.

“Are you alone?” He looks around. “Where are your friends?”

“Cruz is inside.” I point at the house and realize too late that my aim is way off, and I’m pointing at the street. So much for acting cool.

A smile tugs at the corners of my lips, and I burst out laughing. I can’t help it. Trying to act cool in front of a hot guy while I’m wearing ratty jeans and my eighth-grade soccer sneakers is ridiculous.

“You came with Cruz?” Marco cusses under his breath.

“I met up with her at the party.” Now he’s pissing me off. “What’s your problem?”

“You’re drunk and she let you come outside alone.” His jaw twitches.

“Ugh…” I fall back against the hood for a second. “She doesn’t even know I’m out here.” I push myself back up, my legs dangling over the front bumper. “And I’m not drunk. I only had a few shots.” I hold up two fingers in the shape of a V. “Girl Scout promise, or two-thirds of it, anyway.”

Marco steps closer, and we’re practically nose-to-nose. “Can you be more specific? Because you look pretty wasted, Angel.” He closes his hand over my fingers and lowers my arm. My skin burns beneath his touch, and when my palm grazes the hood of the car, the nerve endings tingle.

How many shots did I drink? I lost count. “Five or six. And stop calling me that.”

“Why?”

I push the hair out of my face and tuck it roughly behind my ear. He knows what happened. Everyone does. “I’m sure you heard that I got kicked out of my old school. I’m about as far away from being an angel as you can get.”

“So you made some mistakes.” Marco jams his hands in the pockets of his low-riding jeans, his eyes trained on the ground. “Compared to the crap I’ve done, you’re a saint.”

The pain and regret in his voice tug at my heart. He’s hurting, and I want to make the pain go away.

For both of us.

“I don’t believe that,” I say softly.

Marco’s eyes widen, and I stare back at him. Big mistake. Heat radiates from his body—a body insanely close to mine—and suddenly I feel exposed. I cover my face with my hands and take a deep breath.

Why did I drink so much?

“What’s wrong? Did something happen in there?” He sounds worried.

“No,” I say from behind my hands.

“If nothing happened, why won’t you look at me?”

Because you’ll know exactly what I’m feeling.

He touches my wrists and curls his fingers around them, moving my hands away from my face. Marco’s eyes drill into me, and my heart crashes against my ribs.

“I’m just … uncomfortable.” I motion between us. “I’m not used to this.”

Marco looks confused for a second and steps back. “You mean me. I make you uncomfortable. Is that it? I’m a thug from the Downs. We’re all alone and it’s dark. I get it.”

“I’m not scared of you.”

“Yeah, I can tell.” He sounds hurt.

“I’m not.” I start to slide off the hood, but Marco leans over and boxes me in with his arms. Our lips are inches apart.

If I lean forward the tiniest bit …

His eyes drift down to my lips and then my neck. “So this doesn’t bother you?”

It does. But not for the reason he thinks.

I’ve never wanted to kiss anyone as much I want to kiss Marco right now. I want to know what it feels like to have his arms wrapped around me.

Forcing myself to look into his dark eyes, I call his bluff. “Nope.”

Marco doesn’t move. He’s sizing me up, deciding whether or not he believes my lie. If my heart beats any louder, he’ll know.

“Prove it.” A slow smile spreads across his lips. “Kiss me.”

I wait for him to laugh. When he doesn’t, I lay on the sarcasm. “After all the girls you’ve hooked up with, I wouldn’t want to be a disappointment.”

He doesn’t break eye contact, and with just inches between us, the intensity is nerve-racking. “There’s nothing disappointing about you, Frankie.”

Marco’s voice is full of need and desire—the same things I’m feeling. I try to memorize the way each word sounded so I can remember them later when I’m alone, when he isn’t staring at me like kissing me is more important than breathing.

The possibility hangs between us.

I want to know what his lips feel like against mine.

Just once.

Would the kiss be fast and hungry or slow and deliberate?

The old Frankie never acted on her feelings. She never kissed a guy first. Instead, she waited for him to make the first move.

But I’m not the old Frankie, and I’m tired of waiting.

I lean forward and press my mouth against Marco’s. The moment our lips touch, heat sears through my veins. He hooks his arm around my back and pulls me toward him.

My hands find his chest, fists clutching at his shirt. I can’t get close enough.

Marco slides his tongue in my mouth, and there’s nothing but hunger right now. Him and me. I swear, nothing has ever felt this good. He trails his fingers up my neck and into my hair.

My breath hitches, and his iron grip tightens around my back. I tug on his bottom lip, and he moans. “Frankie.”

The moment my name leaves his lips, I come apart.

This is more than a kiss—too much more. I need to stop.

I break away first, and Marco stares at me glassy-eyed, his fingers still tangled in my hair.

This can’t happen. Not with a guy who takes me apart with a kiss. I don’t want to get attached to anybody now that I know how quickly someone can be taken away. I haven’t even recovered my memories from the night Noah died. I need to be stronger, not more vulnerable. But I’m not admitting that to Marco.