“What’s that?” I leaned in closer to get a better look. It was small and kind of abstract-looking, painted in brushstrokes of red, orange, and yellow.
“What do you think it is?” Callum’s finger tapped above the painting.
“A phoenix,” I said, brushing my thumb across it.
“Not just a phoenix. A phoenix rising.” He lifted the helmet and slid it over my head.
“Are you getting all symbolic on me again?” I smiled at him as he fitted the chin strap on me.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” His eyes flickered to mine and he winked.
“Look at us, all in love and stuff.” I looked down at him fastening my chin strap and waved between the two of us.
He laughed. “And stuff.”
“In love or not, you know what they say—long-distance relationships never work.” I tried to hold a straight face.
He made his own version of a straight face. “I know.”
“And you know what else they say?” I sighed like the sun had stopped shining. “High school romances never last.”
He sighed with me. “I know. We’re totally doomed.” His second sigh was a bit overdone. “Now get over here and kiss me, already.” Callum’s fingers stayed on my chin, tilting it closer.
Just when I could feel the warmth of his breath on my lips, our helmets clanked together, which made us laugh. When we tried moving in again, same result. Kissing in helmets was challenging.
“How about this?” I suggested. “You come in from the left. I’ll come in from the right.”
“See what a brilliant brain I’m protecting?” Callum flicked the side of my helmet as he came in from the left. At the same time, I moved in from the right.
Finally, our lips made it to each other. His hands stayed on my face, and he didn’t stop kissing me until I felt dizzy. It only took a few seconds for that effect to set in, though.
“Damn, look at how tragic we are,” he whispered against my lips before pressing one more featherlight kiss into them.
“Let’s get out of here.” My eyes closed, trying to hang on to this moment.
He turned the key in the ignition. The motorcycle sputtered to life. “Ready when you are. But you might want to crawl behind me.”
“Sounds nice, but I don’t think so.” I turned the key back over, and the engine died. Then I pulled my own set of keys from my pocket. “My turn to drive.”
Half his face pulled up in a grimace. “You’ve been driving for how long now?”
“One month.”
Full-on grimace now. “And that thing actually passed inspection?”
I kissed him on the cheek and slid off his lap. He followed right behind me. “Come on,” I said, linking my pinkie with his. “Trust me.”
Bringing a book to life is a team effort, and I’m exceedingly grateful for the people who made this one possible.
First, to my editor, Phoebe Yeh, who is the kind of mentor a writer can only dream of working with. Your belief in me means more than I can convey. I’m lucky to have you, and have learned so much. Thank you for your guidance and patience.
To my agent, Jane Dystel, who took a chance on a writer just thinking about spreading her wings so many years ago. I’ve always known you’re on my side, and your dedication and loyalty have been unwavering.
To all of my readers. If you’ve read just one or each and every one, I love you all. Your emails, messages, reviews, and comments mean more than this writer could ever put into words. You breathe life into my stories, making me better with each book because I never want to let you down. Thank you for your loyalty and kindness.
To my dad and mom, who were the first to read and believe in my stories. A child couldn’t hope for better parents. Thank you for all the ways you’ve helped make this dream a viable career. I love you both.
To my daughter, who makes me a better person because I want to be the kind of mother she deserves. Your laughter fills my world with joy. You are my light and life.
And last, to my husband. You remind me every day why the best decision I ever made was saying I do on June 12, 2003. In our next life, I’ll be waiting.
Nicole Williams is the New York Times bestselling author of Crash, Clash, Crush, and numerous other titles. She pulled from her own experiences of attending summer camps to craft Phoenix’s story—although she left out her memories of dead fish hidden in sleeping bags.
Nicole loves reading and writing books about star-crossed lovers and happy endings, but believes some of the best stories are the ones we create every day. Nicole lives with her family in the Evergreen State, where there’s an abundance of lakes to swim in and trails to jog on. Visit Nicole on Twitter @nwilliamsbooks or on her blog at nicoleawilliams.blogspot.com.
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Nicole Williams, Trusting You and Other Lies
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