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Immediately, I go into complete shock.

It’s as if my whole body is rendered completely motionless by the realization of what’s happening. But who can blame me? This isn’t exactly what I had expected to come out of being trapped in a store closet together.

Brutally murdering each other, maybe, but him kissing me?

I’m actually surprised I’m able to sustain consciousness. This is the guy who’s dating my worst enemy. The guy who’s been determined to make my life a living hell these past few weeks. The guy who’s made it unmistakably clear that he hates me.

And now his lips are pressed against mine.

Suddenly, something makes me snap out of my daydream. Of course, the rational thing to do would be to push Connor away from me as quickly as possible, and demand to know the reasoning behind his impossibly confusing behavior. One minute he can’t stand my presence, the other he can’t stand the distance between our lips. Trying to understand him is an unattainable feat in itself.

For some reason, though, I don’t go for the rational option. I don’t know what comes over me, but it’s enough to overpower the part of my brain that’s screaming at me to push him away right now. Instead of doing that... I kiss him back.

I’m fully aware it’s wrong, but my body seems to think otherwise. There’s something about the sensation and taste of Connor’s lips against mine that prevents me from pulling away. His scent and proximity are intoxicating, almost addicting. My hands stretch around the back of his neck, pulling him closer. Some kind of alter-ego seems to have taken over; shy, naïve Georgie wouldn’t even know what to do during this sort of kiss, let alone have the courage to take the lead. It’s not long before the sense of hesitance has vanished completely and we’re both on the verge of breathlessness, not being able to get enough of each other.

This is a lot different to how I kiss Nathan.

With him, it’s shy, sweet exchanges that do absolutely nothing to raise my heart rate. But this... well, this is in a whole different league. There’s some kind of raw passion between Connor and I that’s sparking at an alarming rate.

Half of my brain is shouting “what the hell are you doing?” but the other half is too preoccupied with how silky soft Connor’s hair feels as I run my fingers through it. All I can think about is how this boy must use some damn good hair products.

It amazes me how something so completely and utterly wrong can feel so good. I don’t know what it is, but there’s something about kissing Connor that makes me forget myself. Shy, awkward Georgie fades into the background, while a more confident version of myself (that I didn’t know existed) leaps into the drivers’ seat of my brain.

Without warning, the darkness that I’ve become accustomed to transforms into illumination. I open my eyes to see we’ve been plunged into light by the light bulb hanging limply above us. The power’s back on. As if suddenly coming to my senses, I push Connor away, shuffling backwards to put a reasonable amount of distance between us. My heart’s beating a million times a minute and I can’t help but let my eyes widen at what’s just gone on.

Connor, too, looks incredibly flustered. His cheeks are tinged slightly pink and his hair’s ruffled – courtesy of my wandering hands. For a moment we’re frozen, just staring at each other in awe, wondering if that really did just happen.

Except it did.

Oh my God.

“Um,” I start, surprised at how shaky my voice sounds, “that–”

“Look, the door’s open,” Connor states, before I can say anything more. I’m effectively silenced by how quickly he seems to have regained his composure. He runs a hand through his hair and easily pulls himself into a standing position. Sure enough, behind him, the door has opened a crack as a result of the previous code I punched in.

Without making eye contact, he spins around, starting for the exit. “Wait, Connor,” I say. Surely he’s not just going to leave the room like nothing’s happened? Obviously, mood swings are his forte, but I didn’t think even he’d be capable of dismissing something as heated as that.

However, he either doesn’t hear my voice or ignores me (I have an inkling it might be the latter). He just pulls open the door and leaves the room without so much as a glance in my direction. For a moment, I stand alone amongst the shelves, my breathing refusing to return to a normal rate. My head is reeling with the events of the past two minutes, and I run a nervous hand through my hair.

Just when I thought things couldn’t possibly get more complicated... they have.

I guess I didn’t really help matters. A simple shove to get Connor away from me would’ve at least made it clear that there’s nothing remotely romantic between us (nor will there ever be). But the way I kissed him back (not to mention how heated it had been getting) probably wasn’t the best way to get the “I don’t like you in that way” message across.

And then there’s the matter of Nathan. I can’t bear to imagine his crushed expression if he found out what I just did.

I’m a terrible person.

From the front of the restaurant, the sound of my dad’s voice jerks me back into reality. I hasten out of the room after Connor, determined to catch him and attempt to clear up some of the mystery that’s shrouding our relationship. There’s no way I’m letting him slip back into apathy after a kiss like that. We need to sort out whatever is going on between us once and for all.

As I round the corner, I catch sight of Dad behind the counter, nodding his head as he listens to something Connor’s saying. For less than a second, a shot of involuntary worry goes through me, but then it occurs to me that there’s no way in hell he’d be spilling the details of our steamy make-out session to my father (and now his boss).

Unless he actually wants to be fired, not to mention mortified into the next century.

Now’s my chance, I tell myself. However, before I can even navigate my way around the tables and reach the counter, they’re already exchanging goodbyes and Connor’s heading for the door.

“Where’s he going?” I say to Dad, cursing internally when I realize how oddly squeaky my voice sounds.

He peers at me curiously for a second before speaking. “It’s the end of his shift. Why?”

“I need to speak to him,” I murmur, twisting on my heel and starting for the door that Connor just exited out of. There is no way I’m letting this opportunity slip through my fingers. I can’t take another few weeks questioning why the hell Connor kissed me, not to mention why I kissed him back.

“Georgie, your shift’s not over!” Dad calls, his voice tinged with irritation. “Come on, I need help here!”

I know I shouldn’t, but I ignore him. All I can think about is catching Connor before he gets in his car... once he drives off, who knows when my next chance to speak to him is going to be? He avoids me almost constantly, especially after our argument.

“Georgie!”

“Sorry!” I call back feebly. “I have to do something!” Before he has the chance to say anything more – or fire me – I push open the door and rush out into the bitter evening air.

I drag my feet to a halt, taking a moment to scan the parking lot. It’s only about half-full, but the darkness of the sky makes it more difficult to identify the cars that reside in each space. My eyes skim over each one until they catch on the familiar blue exterior of Connor’s Ford – and the guy approaching it.

“Connor!” I say, dashing over. The cold air catches in the back of my throat but I ignore it, my priority being preventing him from getting in his car and driving off before I can say anything.

Connor, who is standing by the drivers’ side of his car, turns his head slowly upon hearing my voice. Obviously, he doesn’t exactly look overjoyed to see me – but then I don’t think seeing me running towards them, breathless and slightly deranged, is anybody’s fantasy. “What?” he snaps, frowning.

“We need to talk.” I come to a halt before him, taking a deep breath in an attempt to calm myself.

“No, we don’t.” He pulls a set of keys from his jacket pocket and presses sharply down on the one that belongs to the car. Beside him, it unlocks with a brief click.

“Connor,” I interject, as he goes to open the door, “you can’t avoid this forever. What happened back there... I don’t even... what was that?”

“I need to get home.” He pulls the handle, causing the door to swing open too.

“What the hell is going on here, Connor?” I blurt out, surprising the both of us with the volume of my voice. Across from me, he freezes, no longer poised to climb into the car. At least I’ve finally caught his attention. For a moment we stare at each other, an eerie silence setting in. Then, I speak. “Can you just explain it to me? I thought you hated me, but back there...”

“Just forget about it.”

“I can’t!” I yell. “Why are you acting like this? What have I done to you?”

There’s a pause. Is this it? Is this finally the moment of the big revelation where I get to find out the reasoning behind Connor’s cruel behavior ever since he got here?

Maybe it would’ve been, if my dad hadn’t chosen this exact moment to come barging out of the restaurant, shouting my name and demanding that I get back to work.

Groaning internally, I spin around to face him. I wonder if it’s just my unluckiness, or whether he has a talent for picking exactly the wrong moment to do things. Fair enough, it’s not exactly “employee of the month” behavior to rush out of the workplace for personal business, but doesn’t he realize the situation? Surely there must be some clause in my contract that allows me to deal with my practically bi-polar ex-best friend.

Apparently not.

“Georgie, I need you to help clear tables!” Dad shouts. “Get back in here! Can’t you call Connor later, or something?”

Are you serious? I want to scream. I’ve got more chance of being struck by lightning in the next five seconds that Connor picking up a call from me. Does Dad realize how hard it is to get two words out of him in person? Well, no, since he’s obviously not the one who’s done something unspeakably bad (although what, I’m still clueless about) and is Connor’s newest mortal enemy.

Oh sure, calling him seems like a great idea.

“I’ll be back in a minute!”

However, by the time I return my attention to the dark-haired guy I was originally talking to, any chance of finally shedding some light on my mystery offense has vanished. He’s already climbed into the drivers’ seat and has slammed the door behind him.

“Wait!” I say, even though the chances of him actually doing so are pretty much zero.

The engine revs up, and – after a brief, longing glance up at me that lasts no more than a second – the vehicle starts reversing out of the parking space. And then, in a matter of seconds, he’s driven away.

My chance is gone. Thanks a lot, Dad.

***

Two hours later, I’m internally fretting and standing on the porch of Connor’s house.

Their door looms over me, somehow managing to look threatening (even though it’s almost an exact replica of the one on my own house). I still haven’t quite worked up the courage to ring the bell, but I know I have to at least try this.

There’s no way Connor and I can go back to ignoring each other after today.

Should I really be doing this? I take a deep breath and try to calm my jittery nerves. Sneaking another quick glance at the driveway, I check Connor’s car hasn’t made an unnoticed reappearance in the past thirty seconds. It’s empty. Still, this doesn’t mean the guy in question isn’t home – it could be parked in the garage or, if he’s consciously trying to throw me off, parked somewhere else.

Before I can question myself any further, I press the doorbell.

It’s about twenty seconds before Julie comes to the door, in a mist of strong floral perfume and a long, flowing skirt. Her expectant gaze scans over me for a moment before a look of realization crosses her features. The way she beams at me gives the impression that I’m one of the people she’d most want to find standing on her doorstep (which, I have to admit, is kind of weird). “Georgie!”

“Hi,” I say sheepishly, clearing my throat. “Um, is Connor in?”

“Afraid not,” she answers, shaking her head. “Although I don’t suppose he’ll be too long. You’re welcome to come in and wait, if you want.”

I sigh. I should’ve expected it, really. It’s not as if showing up at his house is suddenly going to put Connor in the talking mood. Maybe he’s gone somewhere to process this evening’s events. Or maybe – which is the scenario I’m not too fond of imagining – he’s pushing thoughts of me out of his mind by sticking his tongue down Charlotte’s throat. “No, that’s okay, I guess I’ll just... see him tomorrow, maybe...”

“Well, okay, but you’re going to miss out on my famous hot chocolate...”

“No way,” I counter, my eyes widening at the memory, “you still make that?”

She nods triumphantly.

“Okay, okay. Now I have to wait.”

I traipse after her into the kitchen, although I know the place so well I could find it in my sleep. As I walk through the house, a wave of memories washes over me – but instead of being innocent recollections from my childhood, all I can think of is what happened here the night of Connor’s party.

Not to mention the morning after.

Taking a seat on one of the stools at the counter, I survey the room. It’s got a homely feel to it, but then so does every other room in the Murphys’ house. For some reason, the insignificant details seem to stand out to me the most – the well-thumbed recipe books stacked on top of the microwave, the framed photos of various family members adorning the walls and the cluster of Connor’s old drawings pinned neatly to the fridge.

Drawings, I realize, that I was probably there to witness him create.

“So what brings you over here?” Julie asks, retrieving a packet of cocoa from one of the cupboards. “I haven’t seen you guys together much lately.”

“Um...” I drum my fingers on the smooth counter surface, trying to conjure up a response. “I just... wanted to go over some stuff for this paired assignment we have to do.”

“Oh, really? What subject?”

“English Lit.” I say the first thing that comes into my head, hoping Julie doesn’t start to get too interested and ask any further questions. Basic lying I can handle, but if it comes to making up details of a fictitious school project on the spot... well, that’s a little too difficult.

And would probably result in me saying something along the lines of “We have to um, research... English Lit.”

Thankfully, spooning out heaps of cocoa into mugs ranks higher on Julie’s ‘level of interest’ scale than my weak attempts at lying, and it’s not long before the subject changes to something else. “And you and Connor are working together now, huh?” she says, raising a knowing eyebrow at me. “How’s that working out?”

“Oh, fine.” I wonder if her definition of ‘fine’ includes making out in a store closet. “We get pretty busy, so it’s nice to have the extra help.”

“Well, I’m glad he’s finally making himself useful. You know, as soon as I mentioned volunteer work he was off that couch like a shot. Managed to find a job that same day. I guess the thought of not getting paid was enough to scare him.”

I laugh politely. “Yeah.”

My eyes drift around the room again as the two of us lapse into silence. The window above the kitchen sink particularly catches my attention, probably because it reveals a clear view of their spacious back yard. It’s then, as I notice that in eight years it’s still eerily the same, that another memory hits me. The pretend wedding in the garden, the bridesmaid dress, the Haribo rings...

“There you go.”

I blink in surprise as Julie appears in my line of sight, placing a steaming mug of cocoa in front of me. Almost immediately the aroma hits my nostrils and I take a deep breath in, as if trying to inhale as much as I can. Both hands close over the mug and I smile gratefully at Julie. “Thanks.”

“It’s no problem,” she says, with a slightly rueful smile of her own. “You know, I miss having you round here.”

My excitement is justified when I take my first sip of the hot chocolate; it’s like heaven in a cup. In fact, from this point onwards, it becomes hard to put it down. Half of me wonders whether it’s drugged up – there’s no way a simple drink like this should be so addictive.

I’m about halfway through when the sound of the doorbell makes me jump slightly. Immediately, my stomach starts doing somersaults when I think about what Connor’s reaction will be when he walks in and sees me in his kitchen. Will he actually agree to talk? Or will he keep up his indifference even with his mom in the room? Suddenly, another thought occurs to me. If it is him arriving home, wouldn’t he just let himself in? Even so, I can’t think of anyone else who would be calling in at this time.

“I’ll be right back,” Julie says, before hurrying out into the hall.

I stay stock still in my seat, hoping to catch some of the conversation that’s going on by the front door. At least that way if it is Connor, I have a slither of mental preparation time to reduce the chances of me passing out from nerves when he walks into the room. Unfortunately, though, the house’s sound proofing appears to be up to scratch, and all I can hear is muffled snippets of Julie’s loud, joyful tone.

Which is maybe why, when the person walks into the kitchen, I immediately feel sick to my stomach.

“Oh!” Although Charlotte’s tone is predominantly surprised, I can easily pick up the undertone of irritation at my presence. “Georgie... you’re here too.”

My gaze (which, I hope, doesn’t betray my emotions and look too horror-struck) sweeps over the petite figure that somehow manages to look threatening even from the doorway. Dressed in a neat purple pea coat (probably an expensive designer label I’ve never heard of) and tight jeans, she manages to look effortlessly fashionable without even trying.