By Brandilyn Collins
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A year ago Leslie could have convinced herself this was a practical joke. Lots of people knew she and Paige had just moved here. Any number of her friends could have staged this prank. After all, she hadn’t locked her car. But after the events of last summer, Leslie Brymes was no longer the naïve twenty-year-old she had been. Life — even in quiet Kanner Lake — had proved it could explode with the vengeance of a volcano. Leslie eyed the cataleptic figure and felt the tumble of rocks in her chest.
Who was that? She ventured three steps, watching the form materialize into full view. The person didn’t move. Over his head — hers? — draped a green towel. Fear spritzed Leslie’s nerves, followed by quick denial. It was just Paige playing a joke. Somehow she’d proved Wonder Woman enough to beat it out the back and slide into the car before Leslie stepped through the front door . . Three thoughts hit Leslie in rapid succession. Paige didn’t play jokes. Her towels were blue. And she never could have made it out here in time.
Paige stood before her, clad in black jeans — and the teal sweater Leslie wanted to wear. Set off by the top, Paige’s vivid blue-green eyes were stunning. Even with no makeup and her brown hair uncombed, the girl looked gorgeous. Leslie thrust a hand on her hip. “You rat. ” Paige shrugged. “I didn’t. But you can have it. ” Leslie’s turban slipped again. She gave up and pulled it off. Wet hair slapped against the back of her neck. The cold sensation shot a frisson between her shoulder blades. Ooh.