One Small Thing: the gripping new page-turner essential for summer reading 2018!

He takes it. “You look like that was the first shot you ever drank.”

I’m so glad it’s dark in here so no one can see me blushing. “Nah, I’ve drunk a few in my time,” I lie.

“Mmm-hmm,” he says before lifting the shot glass to his lips. He downs it cleanly and then tucks the empty in his front jeans pocket. My eyes wander downward and then flip back up to see him staring at me in bemusement.

“Do you know who I am?” he asks.

I run my tongue across my lower lip, wondering what I should say. Is he famous? I don’t want to seem uncool. “Of course.” I shrug as carelessly as possible. “Doesn’t everyone here?”

Something dark passes over his face. “Yeah, probably. But you’re still here talking to me. Bringing me drinks.” He taps my shot glass.

“Like I said, you looked like you needed one.”

He scrubs a hand down his face. The dark shadow is gone, only to be replaced by a weary expression. “I guess that’s true. So why are you here? Want to take a walk on the wild side?”

His last sentence is said with great scorn. Intuitively, I know that the truth is not my friend, because if I admit I came here to piss off my parents, Blue Eyes is going to disappear, and I desperately do not want that to happen.

Not because I think this is the perfect way to get back at my parents, but because there’s something interesting about him. Because I want to get to know him. Because I want him to want to get to know me.

I can’t tell him the real reason, but I can be honest, as embarrassing as it is. “Can’t a girl bring a hot guy a drink? I tried to get your attention before, but you disappeared. You were standing here by yourself and I took a chance. If that’s wild behavior in your book, then you must not get out much.”

He cocks his head. “Is that a joke?”

“Yes. But not a good one because you’re not laughing.” I stare at the shot in my hand. This has gone more terribly than I imagined.

He exhales heavily. “Because my people skills suck. Joke or not, we both know I haven’t gotten out much in the past three years.”

I have no idea what that means, but since I already pretended to know all about him, I can’t ask for an explanation. “Does that mean I should go?”

“No. You should stay.” The corner of his mouth curves up. “Not gonna lie. This is all very good for my ego.”

“It hasn’t been good for mine,” I admit, a bit testy.

The half smile turns into a full one and my breath catches at how gorgeous he is.

“I’ve never had a girl as pretty as you say so much as hello to me.”

My heart flips over and I’m so dumbstruck I can’t summon a witty reply.

He ducks his head in embarrassment. “Too corny?”

I find my voice. “Too amazing. My head is so big right now I don’t think this house can contain me.”

“Then let’s get out of here.”

“Really?” My eyes grow wide. “Where?”

“Just outside. I like it outside.”

“Me, too.”

He holds out his hand. Mine slips easily into his. His long fingers curl around the back of my hand. Against my palm, there are hard calluses. We leave the shot glasses on the kitchen counter we pass. I don’t need the alcohol now. I’m holding hands with the hottest guy on the planet, and I feel like I’m floating on air.

We maneuver through the crowd. Some people stare. I lift my head. Yeah, I’m with this hottie.

Outside, the noise thins out and so do the people. He leads me down the deck and toward a small shed.

“Do you keep the bodies in there?” I joke.

He halts suddenly. “You have a dark humor, don’t you?”

The remark makes me think of the hysterical laughter that burbled in my throat during Rachel’s funeral. How I covered my face to keep it from spilling out and everyone thought I was sobbing. It wasn’t so much dark humor as a defense mechanism.

“I’d rather laugh than cry,” I admit. “I cry too easily. It’s one thing I hate about myself.”

He lowers himself onto the grass. “That’s not a bad philosophy—the laughing over crying thing.”

“I wish I had more control over my tears. It’s frustrating when I’m mad but everyone thinks I’m sad.” I drop to the ground beside him, wondering why I’m spilling these things to him. I shut up then, and listen to the crickets sing as the faint music in the house plays in the background.

“You have a name?” he teases.

“I’m Beth.”

He rakes a hand through his messy hair. My gaze doesn’t miss the way his biceps flex from that action. He’s got incredible arms. Sculpted.

“I’m Chase.” He tilts his head toward me. “And I still feel like you’re too good to be sitting out here with me.”

“You aren’t holding me down,” I point out. “Are you telling me to leave?”

“No. I don’t want that.” He exhales again and his perfect body is momentarily framed by the thin cotton of his T-shirt.

Gosh, he’s gorgeous.

“It’s beautiful out here, isn’t it?”

I glance up at the night sky and then at Chase’s upturned face. It’s so cloudy you can barely make out the moon, let alone the stars. “I guess?” He’s beautiful. The sky? Not so much.

He chuckles to himself. “It could be raining buckets and I’d be happy.”

“Me, too.” Because I’m with you, I think. I haven’t felt this at peace with myself for weeks, maybe months. The fight with my mom seems like a long-ago bad memory.

His hand is pressed against the ground between us. I edge mine closer to his until our pinkies touch.

“Your fingers are long.”

He turns his head away from the sky to peer at our fingers. “Maybe yours are really short.”

“I have normal-sized hands.”