“Oh God, Kaye,” Sawyer said, guttural and appreciative.

“Ms. Howard!” Grace called. “I can’t sleep because Kaye and Sawyer are having sex.”

As a wooooooo echoed through the van, Sawyer straightened slowly so he wouldn’t knock me onto the floor with a sudden movement. He pulled off his shirt and tossed it over the back of the seat at Grace.

“It’s not a rock concert,” Ellen said. “Geez.” The shirt came sailing back to land on Sawyer’s head.

“We want the shorts,” Grace yawned.

Sawyer put his shirt back on—but not before I passed my hand down his bare back.

And he felt it. With the shirt over his head but not yet pulled down to cover his back, he looked over his shoulder at me. Our eyes met as the van passed under a light on the interstate. A shadow descended over his face when we drove away from that light and approached the next. Then his blue eyes lit up again.

I moved my hand down his arm and felt chill bumps.

He pulled his shirt the rest of the way on. “Your turn,” he said, shifting in his seat.

“Here.” I fished around in my bag and pulled out the pillow I brought on long trips. He propped it behind his back against the wall of the van. With one of his legs extended along the seat, he pulled me by the hips until I settled back against him.

His hands gripped my shoulders and massaged. Now I understood why he’d groaned under my touch. Aidan had never bothered to give me a sexy rub like this (and in his defense, I’d never given him one, either). Sawyer turned me to water under his fingers. I nearly groaned but stopped myself so Grace wouldn’t holler any more orgasm jokes across the van. My groan came out as a squeak.

“And you said I was tense.” Sawyer’s voice was a low rumble in my ear. “What’s this knot right here?” He kneaded a spot in my neck.

“Ah,” I gasped.

“Put your head down,” he said gently, his hands working their way up my neck, then down into the neckline of my cheerleading top. “I wish I could take this off.”

“That could be arranged,” I murmured as if I were Grace, or Tia.

My face flushed hot. He’d only made a joke. Maybe he hadn’t even meant anything risqué, and I’d ruined the mood by going too far. I wondered if he could feel my neck and shoulders tensing up again.

He placed one kiss on the back of my neck, at the lowest dip of my neckline.

I shivered.

And then he passed one arm around my chest, drawing me even farther against him until I relaxed into him, and he eased back against the pillow.

The heat of his body soaked into me. He took one deep breath. My body rose and fell with his. He nestled his arm under my breasts, his hand resting protectively across my hip.

In the silence that came after, I didn’t know what to say.

Finally I gave voice to what had been bothering me from lunchtime until he sat down with me in the van. I said quietly, “Aidan did tell me he wanted to talk about student council at lunch. You were there. You heard him.”

“What did he really want to talk about?” Sawyer asked, his words vibrating through me.

“He wants to make sure I don’t go out with you.”

“Hm,” Sawyer half laughed.

I waited for him to ask me out, or to tell me the idea of us going out was ridiculous, but he did neither. He only flattened his palm on my hip, then gripped me more firmly, which sent a jolt of electricity down my leg.

I said, “And he wanted to know what I got on my paper for Mr. Frank.”

“Was he impressed?”

“He said you wrote it for me.”

“He is an asshole,” Sawyer said, “and he knows how to push your buttons. More importantly, was your mom impressed?” At some point during that horrible morning, I’d moaned to him about accidentally telling my mother what I’d done. Even if I pulled off a feat by scoring well on the paper, she’d still know I’d forgotten to write it until the last second—that is, failed.

And that’s exactly how she’d reacted when I told her what my grade was. “No,” I said, “she wasn’t impressed. She’s making me stay home tomorrow to write the next one.”

“It’s not due for two weeks.”

“I know.”

“We haven’t even worked on the notes or the outline in class yet.”

“Doesn’t matter.”

“How can you be in trouble when you’re perfect?”

I nodded, careful not to bump his chin with the back of my head. “It’s a question for the ages.”

“Most importantly,” he said, his breath tickling my earlobe and sending a fresh chill across my skin, “are you impressed with yourself?”

“No,” I admitted, “and I know that’s stupid. Ms. Malone will tell me this when I meet with her about handling stress. I’ve already heard it in self-esteem lectures, especially for girls only. I just can’t shake it, though. When I don’t accomplish something, I know it’s my fault. When I do make good, I feel like I don’t deserve it.”

“I know that,” he said, “but why do you feel that way?”

I shrugged automatically, then hoped I hadn’t elbowed him. He put one hand up to rub my shoulders again, very gently.

I said, “People give me stuff because of what I’ve already done, or because of who my mother is.”

“That’s definitely not true,” he said. “People don’t want dipshits leading the student council. Well, scratch that. We elected Aidan president. But people definitely don’t want an ugly, unpopular head cheerleader. When the school voted for you, nobody was thinking, ‘Kaye’s mom runs a bank.’ They were thinking, ‘Kaye has a firm ass.’ ”