Free One Week (Stolen Kiss #0.5) by Shana Norris

I was supposed to be.
    I pulled my phone from my pocket and saw it was flashing. I pressed the button and opened an email from Avery James, my ex-best friend.
    Hannah,
    How is your summer going so far? Zac and I miss you, and we hope you’re doing okay.
    I hope to hear from you soon. Call me or text me or email. I just want to know that you’re okay.
    Hugs,
    Avery
    I didn’t understand why she had been sending me an email every week since school let out. We had been best friends as kids, until that summer after seventh grade when she betrayed me. I had told her about my crush on our other friend, Elliott, and then Avery went behind my back and kissed him. From that day forward, I knew I could never trust anyone, and that it would always be better to keep my secrets hidden to protect myself. Avery and I had barely talked until this past year, and then I hired her to steal my boyfriend, Zac Greeley, so I wouldn’t have to break up with him. Now it was like Avery thought we could be friends again, but she was wrong. I didn’t want to talk to her, or anyone from Willowbrook over the summer.
    I hit the delete button, as I’d done with all the other emails she’d sent me. My phone buzzed in my hand, and for a moment, I thought it was another email from Avery, but no, it was a text message from Natalie.
    Hey, girl! Living it up N Paris?? How hot R the guys? I hope UR up & not N bed already. Can’t remember how many hours ahead U R.
    I had never told Natalie that I changed my mind about going to Paris. Even though Natalie was one of my closest friends, I couldn’t bring myself to trust her. I had learned my lesson with Avery. Don’t let anyone get too close, and they won’t be able to hurt you.
    I typed a reply.
    Paris is great! Hot French guys everywhere. Going out tonight with guy named Pierre. Long hair, tattoos, kind of quiet, but really hot. Hope to learn the proper way to French kiss. ;) Au revoir!

Chapter Five

Chapter Five
    T he only way I was going to learn how to get around Asheville was to go out and explore it for myself. I couldn’t rely on Aunt Lydia or Ashton for rides, and I was determined not to end up like I had the night before: stuck someplace and waiting to be rescued. I hated feeling like a damsel in distress. Jude had already helped me twice already, and it would not happen again.
    Armed with the GPS app on my phone, I set out to explore Aunt Lydia’s neighborhood.
    Once again, I was struck by how similar to each other the homes looked, and how much they reminded me of my old neighborhood in Willowbrook, where I had grown up with my old friends: across the street from Avery and next door to Elliott. In the summer, we would spend every afternoon riding our bikes or pretending to camp under the big tree in Elliott’s backyard. My room had been my own, the walls covered with my drawings and notes from Avery and Elliott.
    Then my dad’s bank went national and everything changed.
    I caught sight of a shirt hanging from the same tree at that corner house again, and I slowed to a stop to study it. It could have been a shirt that was hung and forgotten, maybe leftover from a yard sale. But I could have sworn that the shirt I’d seen before was red plaid. That day, a blue button-up shirt hung from the tree branch, the sleeves flapping back and forth in the wind.
    My gaze focused just beyond the tree and I saw a familiar dusty gray truck parked in the driveway of the house. The hood was up and as I watched, a figure emerged from the other side of the truck, wiping his hands on a dirty rag.
    Jude Westmore. Shirtless.
    Lightly muscled arms led up to a pair of broad shoulders that met a chiseled chest and abs. He had the kind of tan you got from working outside in the sun. The tattoo on his arm was a band, some kind of tribal design that wrapped around a nicely shaped bicep.
    I leaned forward, my hands gripping the steering wheel until my fingers started to tingle.
    BEEP!
    I jumped back, slamming the back of