Free The Darkest Secret: A New Adult Romance Novel by Jessica Pine

dark in the shade and I can see her eyes through the big, tinted lenses.
    "A date?" she asks, with the trace of a smile.
    "A drink."
    "Sounds like a date to me."
    I laugh, not quite sure what's going on here. She's a movie star's kid. She can't possibly be flirting with me.
    "You're putting words in my mouth. It could just be a drink."
    "Do you ask men out for drinks?" she asks. I think she is flirting with me.. Wow. Her sunglasses have slipped down her nose and her eyes are full of mischief. The tip of her tongue pokes out from between her teeth.
    "I've arranged to meet male friends for drinks, yes," I say, carefully.
    She starts shaking with badly concealed laughter. I'm fucking this up so bad.
    "So," she says. "Would you go back to the gatehouse, for example, and say 'Cory, I would like to take you out for a drink'?"
    "No," I say. "When you say it like that you make it sound really gay."
    "It would be really gay. You would be asking him out for a drink in a date kind of way. The way you asked me out for a drink. And I'm pretty sure I'm not a man and you're not gay, so doesn't that make it a date?"
    I sigh.
    "You're determined to make me suffer one way or another, aren't you?"
    She shrugs.
    "It's kind of what I do." She settles back on the lounger and lights a cigarette. "Where would you take me? Where do you usually go for drinks?"
    That's a laugh. I think of the mysterious watery fruit punch at the CYO.
    "I don't," I say.
    "You don't drink? After all that?"
    "No, I do. I just don't get much out of sitting around with other men drinking beer. I prefer hanging out with women - that way I get to dance."
    "You dance?"
    "When I can. My Pops says it’s the Argentine in me dying to get out - I guess I'm sentimental that way."
    Her body moves face me. I have her full attention. "Why sentimental?" she says.
    "National weakness, I guess. Tangos are sentimental songs - criollos pining for the land of their grandparents, all that shit. The men are super macho, mothers are always saints. There's always love and loss at the heart of the tango."
    She smiles shyly. "I always thought it was...kind of hot."
    "The dance is, sure. But the traditional songs are pure soap opera. I guess it's one of the reasons I slacked off in Spanish, that and being lazy. When you understand what the lyrics mean they just become...I don't know..."
    "Banal," she says.
    "Maybe. Is that the word I'm looking for?"
    "Probably," says Amber. "It means cliché. Or maybe something that's even more worn out than that. Kind of like the things your grandma shares on Facebook, you know?"
    I laugh. "Yeah, that's it. That's perfect. That's just how it is."
    "Is that what you want to do?" she asks. "To dance?"
    I shake my head.
    "No. It's just for fun. The world of competitive dancers is way too crazy for me. What about you?"
    "Me? I can't dance, if that's what you're asking."
    "I wasn't, but now I'm curious. Why can't you dance?"
    "Why can't you swim?"
    She makes me laugh. "I never learned."
    "Same here," she says, taking out another cigarette. Her glasses have slid down onto the end of her nose. "Maybe we should teach each other a thing or two."
    I glance at the oval of clear, blue water. She sees my expression and sighs. "It's not that hard," she says.
    "It is."
    "It's not. You just have to learn how to float."
    "The only thing I'll learn is how to sink."
    Amber laughs.
    "That's the art of floating, dummy. You just have to forget how to sink."
    She makes it sound so easy, but I've been sitting here for too long. If I stay here much longer they'll want to know what's up.
    "I have to go."
    "That's a shame. I kind of like your company."
    "Me too." I reach out a hand and she takes it. Her skin is smooth and still greasy with sunblock. Her fingers seem very small in mine. She's looking at me with something like expectation, but I don't dare move closer. I still remember the way she went flying from my touch the first time we met.
    "Can you get back here?" she asks. "When your