Free A Matter of Fate by Heather Lyons

the house.”
    I let him change the conversation. “Really?”
    “Sure.” A wicked smile forms. “We won’t tell your mom, though.”
    Imagining him teaching me to surf makes the goose bumps come back. “I would love that.”
    “Then it’s a date.”
    I literally have to will myself not to swoon. As I pick at peeling paint off the railing, I ask, “Why the extra boards? I was under the impression surfers get attached to a specific board and tend to use it religiously. At least, that’s what Graham tells me.”
    “Well, if Graham says it, then it must be so.” I give him a mock-stern finger, and he laughs. “Sorry. He’s right, though. I do have a favorite board.”
    “What makes it special?”
    “My uncle took us to a surfboard maker in Hawaii several years ago for boards made to our exact specifications. We got to hang around the shop and watch the process, even help. It was pretty amazing.”
    “It must mean a lot to you, then.”
    “Yeah,” he admits, smiling a little. “To answer your other question, the extras were my uncle’s; he passed away recently, and we inherited them.”
    “I’m so sorry.” I place a hand on his arm. The tingling that comes with our touches is becoming addictive.
    Kellan stares at my hand, confusion flashing across his face. I begin to pull my hand back, worried I’d misread things, but then he places his over mine. And then, while we’re both staring at our hands, they slide and link together.
    All I can stupidly think about is how much I want this guy to kiss me, which is WRONG, because I love his brother. At least, if his brother and the guy from my dreams are the same, which I think is the case, no —know so— I have got to get a handle on myself. Ask non-kissing kinds of questions. “How do you like California so far?”
    His cocky smile returns. “I’d say it’s growing on me.”
    Okay, so I’m back to the whole kissing thing again. Must. Focus. On other. Things. “Why did you move here?”
    “The Old Man decreed it so.”
    “Who?”
    He smirks. “My dad.”
    “Why would he do that, at the beginning of your senior year?”
    “I have to admit, I questioned the logic behind suddenly moving three thousand miles away myself.”
    I think about this. “You’re from the East Coast.”
    He nods. “Maine.”
    “When I think of Maine, I think of blueberries and lobsters, not surfing.”
    “Well, it’s not like living in Hawaii full time,” he says. “But it was tolerable for our local needs when we weren’t able to travel to better breaks.”
    “On the East Coast?”
    “Anywhere,” he shrugs.
    “Let me get this right,” I say, trying to ignore how good his thumb running up and down my hand feels, but it’s a losing battle. “You go places just to surf?”
    His head tilts to the side, puzzled. “Yes?”
    “You’re lucky,” I say quietly. “I’ve hardly ever had the chance to travel. I’ve been trapped here my whole life.”
    “That’s too bad,” he murmurs, and then I hold my breath as his other hand carefully pushes wet strands away from my eyes. “There are a lot of places that help expand one’s horizons out there.”
    The butterflies in my stomach take off, making me dizzy. Or maybe they’re not butterflies—because butterflies are so delicate. These are strong feelings. Maybe they’re more like dragonflies with incandescent wings.
    We’re staring at each other now, eyes locked together, and all of those butterflies or dragonflies are insane with need. I’m tingling and nervous and giddy and terrified all at the same time.
    Is he feeling the same things I am? He’s so calm and collected, so outwardly opposite of what’s going on in me. My hands are itching, desperate to touch him, bring him closer. My heart’s racing, chanting words I’m terrified of: kissmekissmekissme As if he can hear this, Kellan gently takes my face in his hands. Then he leans forward and his lips touch mine, so softly, really, but at the massive jolt