I sat down, my eyes entranced by the way her hair fell down from her high ponytail. I wanted to wrap my hand in it and tug on it until she turned around. I wanted her to face me so I could—

Well, shit, I didn’t know why I wanted her to face me.

She moved, getting a book out of her backpack, the simple motion causing the air to stir and giving me my first scent of Dovey. She smelled sweet with a hint of spice about her, like the wild flowers that grew at our lake house in White Rock.

I stared at her so long and hard, I wondered if she could feel my gaze. Could she feel my intensity? Did she sense that her lightness was the perfect foil for my darkness?

When the bell rang and she stood, I did too. I opened my mouth to say … hell, I have no idea what I was going to say … but I didn’t. I was nervous and jittery, my confidence shot.

She flicked her eyes at me, seemingly not interested.

“I’m Cuba,” I said to her in a rush. She’d been turning to go, but paused and looked back at me.

She blinked up at me, blushed, and then smiled. “Dovey,” she said, hitching her book bag up on her shoulder.

We stood there and she gave me an expectant look, and I fidgeted, realizing it was my turn to talk.

But I had nothing. The guy who’d been with so many girls I’d lost count; the guy who didn’t care about love or relationships or all that mushy stuff. I just stood there like a total idiot. And because I felt panic rising, I ducked my head and walked around her. Pretty much snubbing her. God, I’m an ass. I had no clue how to treat a nice girl.

“Dream bigger than your fears.”

–Cuba

THE NEXT DAY, I walked in the cafeteria for lunch, and Dovey was the first thing I saw, sitting alone at one of round tables in the back.

I stopped and stared, remembering a sickeningly sweet dream I’d had the night before about her. How could I get this girl out of my head?

Maybe I just needed to go for it with her.

I mean, it was obvious I had a thing for her. And fuck it—I was tired of running from my feelings. Maybe, just maybe this one time, I could be responsible and really just … put someone else first.

With clammy hands and sweat popping out, I walked to her. She didn’t even notice me as I stood right in front of her. Maybe this wasn’t a good idea. I’d only screw it up in the end.

Yet …

Did I want to wonder about what might have been? Life doesn’t give you do-overs. Luke Skywalker didn’t get one when he blew up the Death Star. He’d had one shot, and he’d nailed it.

Yeah.

I took a deep breath and sat down directly across from her.

“I had a dream about you. A good one,” I said, right as she took a giant bite from what I think was a peanut butter sandwich. A glob of strawberry jam slid out of the corner of her mouth, and she wiped it off and looked up. To be honest, she kinda glared at me.

“Yeah? Is that so?” she said, arching a brow.

I nodded.

She talked around her chews. “What’s the joke? Did Spider put you up to this?”

What? Why would Spider put me up to something? I didn’t even like that asshole.

I shrugged. “No joke. I dreamed about you.”

“Do tell,” she said, eyeing my black knit shirt, her gaze lingering over my chest. Some of my confidence came back. Thank God. I was starting to wonder where the hell my balls were.

I leaned in. “You may not know this, but my mother’s a gypsy. She tells me what my dreams mean.”

“Really?” she said. “I thought your mother was Brazilian. Aren’t gypsies Romanian?”

“My father’s side is Romanian.”

“Nope.” She packed her lunch up. “Your dad is Archie Hudson, owner of the Dallas Mavericks, and as American as apple pie.”

“True. But I did have a dream about you.”

She made a scoffing sound. “Hello, I’ve been here since freshman year, and this is the first time you’ve noticed me? Face it, I’m not part of your little group over there.” She pointed out the cheerleaders and jocks at a table in the back. “Not buying it.”

Then she got out her math homework and ran a quick finger down the page like she was checking over it.

She was ignoring me. When most girls would have be falling all over me.

“So what clique do you belong to?” I asked, eyeing the empty seats around her.

“The non-conformist one. I don’t fit in with the Goths or the geeks or the choir people or the skaters or the druggies. You get the picture. I like being alone.” She shifted her body out of the chair and stood. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a math class to get to.”

I stood too. “Wait.”

“Why?”

“You didn’t ask about the dream. Don’t you want to know?” And then out of nowhere, I felt myself blushing, and she saw it too, because she went still, taking in my fire-engine-red face.

After one more searching glance, she settled back on the hard chair. “Dream, huh.”

I sat back down. “And by the way, I’ve noticed you even before our class this year. You’re different.” My voice went low. “And I saw you dance.”

“When?”

“Back in the fall. The football field has a clear view into the windows of the Symthe Dance building. You have ballet practice there every day from two to five, and I had practice at three. It was bound to happen.”

She crossed her arms, but I saw a glint of something in her eye, as if I’d intrigued her. “Did you like what you saw?”

“I got tackled by a lineman called Tank while I stood there watching you. He hit me so hard, I had to go to the doctor and get checked out.”

Her mouth parted. “Because you were so enamored with seeing me dance?” she said.

“Yep.”

She grinned. “Maybe you still have that concussion.”

“My head is clear as a bell, Dovey.” I winked at her, relaxing for the first time since I’d sat down. She was funny, and I liked how she was kinda distrustful of me. Because it meant she was smart too. And sexy. And her eyes were the most beautiful color of blue. And her skin was silky and pale, unlike my own darker complexion.

Her full lips curved up in a little smile, and right then, I wanted my hands on her. I ran my eyes over her grey tunic, imagining her tits and how small they’d be, yet they’d fit perfectly in the palm of my hand. I bet her nipples were red and if I sucked on them—