He eyed me for a few, seeming to roll the idea around in his brain. "How about with four-inch s.l.u.t heels instead?"

Brief hesitation. I'd have to borrow them from his ex-girlfriend, but okay. "Deal," I said. He was just testing me anyway.

His face softened a tiny bit, because he knew how much I despised that whole hideous cop wannabe get-up. And he also knew I wouldn't be caught dead in The Big a.s.s Pants with four-inch s.l.u.t heels. Can you imagine?

"What is it about, then? I don't get it."

I uttered a sound of frustration because I didn't know how exactly to explain it. "It's about...us," I said.

"What does our relationship have to do with theirs?" His brows furrowed.

I spread my arms. "Everything?" Duh. "She's your mom, Dyl. And-I mean, don't you think it's the least bit strange that they're sleeping together?"

He shrugged one shoulder. "Why would I? They're adults. It's what adults do when they're in love with each other."

My eyes widened. "Holy-you think they're in love?"

He huffed. "They're sleeping together, aren't they?"

I had to reel this convo back in d.a.m.n quick and regain some self-control. There's sleeping together, and then there's sleeping together. Two very different animals, people. This whole ordeal was getting more convoluted by the second. I shoved all ten fingers into the front of my hair and held them there. "I...I don't know if they slept together. I mean, not definitively."

"Huh?"

Now I sounded like an idiot. "I'm just saying I wasn't in the room, thank G.o.d. She did spend the night, granted, but that doesn't necessarily mean-"

"Hold up." He lifted one palm as his expression morphed into incredulity. "You don't even know if they're having s.e.x, and you're still all self-righteous and disapproving?" He shook his head around, as if to clear it. "What's up with that, Lila?"

"It's not about them having s.e.x!" I yelled, a little louder than I'd intended. "Not totally, at least." Shudder. "The point is, you're my boyfriend! He's my dad! She's your mom! Any of this ringing an alarm bell?"

"No! I'm not an imbecile. I get what you're saying. I just don't understand why it's such an issue."

"Not an issue?!" Now I was yelling, and I didn't care because Dylan was bringing true life and meaning to the word obtuse, at least by my estimation. Why did guys always seem so "no big deal-ish" about stuff that really mattered, and yet they could stare into a car engine for three weeks straight without blinking? So frustrating. "If they do love each other, like you say, what happens to our relationship if they get married?"

He jolted. "That's what you're stressing about?"

I hiked my chin. "Well, yeah. What else?"

A silent moment stretched.

Dylan's eyebrows raised.

And right after that is when he busted into laughter.

Yep. Big, honking laughter. At me.

It began as one of those startled bursts, but pretty soon it had digressed into full-on belly guffaws, complete with tears rolling from the corners of his eyes and a couple of inadvertent snorts. He even leaned his seat back until he was almost lying down, probably to relieve the gut-cramping from his uncontrollable howling during the biggest, most traumatic fight of my life. Freakin' guys.

My face flared with heat.

Now I was really p.i.s.sed off.

"Stop it!" I said, pushing at him. "Stop laughing!"

He didn't.

"Dylan! G.o.d!" I wrenched open my door and stomped across the parking area to the rock wall that jutted straight up. I leaned against it, crossed my arms, and decided stupid relationship articles in teen magazines didn't take into account boyfriends who launched into ma.s.sive hyena-esque laughing fits at their girlfriends' expense. So I started crying. Screw that dumb article.

After a minute, Dylan's door opened and closed. He crossed over toward me, hands stuffed into the front pockets of his jeans. When he saw my tears, it didn't seem like he thought I was being manipulative or annoying (freakin' magazine. That subscription would be cancelled immediately). In fact, his expression morphed from rollicking humor to sympathy.

"Aw, Lila. I'm sorry I laughed. I just don't share your worries about our parents dating, okay? People date."

"Whatever," I muttered.

"Come here." He pulled me into his arms, and I went reluctantly at first. But then I smelled his woodsy scent and felt the warmth of his muscles, so I wrapped my arms around his body and buried my face in his chest. I was soaking the front of his T-shirt, but tough nuggets. It felt good to be hugging instead of yelling.

He just held me like that, resting his cheek on the top of my head, until I'd stopped crying and started hiccuping.

Uncontrollably, in case you wondered. Lovely, I know.

Worse, in my infinite how-to-be-hot wisdom (or the lack thereof), I decided to try and speak during the aforementioned hiccups. "I"-hic!-"don't think your mom"-hic!-"isn't good eno"-hic!-"enough for my dad, Dy"-hic! hic!-"Dylan. It's just hard for"-hic!-"me, and I don't want to"-hic!- "To what?"

"To"-HIC!-"lose you."

Holy craaaaaap, had I actually said that? I felt so emotionally naked right then, and I just wanted to hoof it into the hills, like a s.h.a.ggy mountain goat, and hide.

Dylan, in his infinite guyishness, didn't seem bothered by my lameoid, borderline codependent admission, though. Instead, he slipped his hands around to cup my face and tilt it up toward him, then he kissed me. Softly at first, but more intensely after that, until everything around us disappeared.

When we pulled apart, the hiccups were miraculously gone, and I have to say, the "hot kiss remedy" is much more enjoyable than hanging upside down while trying to drink water from the far side of a cup.

"Lila," Dylan said.

I sniffed, smearing my nose on the back of my hand. (I know, I know, another real date-getter. I grew up with five guys, okay? Granted, my three oldest brothers are grown up and out of the house, with Luke soon to follow, but cut me some slack-habits are hard to break.) "What?"

"You're not going to lose me," Dylan said.

I peered up at him through wet eyelashes. "I'm...not?"

He shook his head. "That's what you don't get. This isn't about me or you. You're opposed to our parents possibly getting serious." He rolled his shoulder. "I'm not. We're just talking things out."

"Oh." But...but...how could he not be opposed?

One corner of his mouth curved up into a smile. "If you say your hissy fit isn't about my mom, I believe you. Especially after that uniform pants and s.l.u.t heels deal, which I will hold you to." His eyes gleamed as he, no doubt, pictured it. "But I had to tell you how I was feeling. It's what couples do."

"I know. But we're fine?"

"Yes. Although you should cut your dad some slack in the relationship department. Everyone deserves someone."

"I get that." I cast him another glance, not wanting to be needy, but I had to be totally sure. "We're okay, though? I mean, really okay?"

He nodded. "You have some whacked-out worries, no doubt. But where else am I going to find a girl as adorably snarky and low maintenance as you?"

Relief washed through me, followed by the rocky detritus of shame. "I'm so sorry."

"I am, too."

I slid my palms up his chest. "I love your mom, Dyl. She's really cool."

"She is." He tucked in his chin. "But?"

"I just-" I bit the corner of my lip.

"Tell me."

"My mom died a long time ago, and it's always been just us guys. Well, and me. I've never really known my dad with a girlfriend. It's...weird."

"Maybe he was waiting until you were older?"

"Could be." I considered that. "Anyway, it would be weird anyway, no matter who he picked. But it's weirder because of us and the fact that the girlfriend in question is your mom. But not because I don't like her or think she's good enough. It's because I...like you."

He kissed me on the forehead, then took my hand and led me toward the car. "I understand."

"Riiiiight."

"I do. I'm not as clueless as you think. But don't stress so much. They've only been dating for a couple of months. I know my mother. Trust me, they're not going to get married any time soon."

"H-how can you be so sure?"

"After my parents' awful divorce, Mom's in no hurry to rush back into wifehood again. She's happy the way things are."

Happy? Uh-oh. A new horrible thought seeped into my brain, and I stumbled to a stop.

Dylan c.o.c.ked his head to the side. "What now?"

"W-what if they break up?" I wadded the neckline of my T-shirt in one fist and searched his face for rea.s.surance. "What if they break up, Dyl, and your mom doesn't want you to see me anymore because it's awkward for her to-"

"Lila!" he barked.

I clamped my mouth shut.

He shook his head, smiling like I was some freakish specimen he should put into a large jar with Formaldehyde for further scientific study and evaluation. "Enough with the negativity, okay? Can you stop thinking so much? Please?"

Bewildered, I asked, "How can I just stop thinking?"

He shrugged. "I don't know. Pretend you're a guy."

Made sense in a eerie kind of way. I know my slack-jawed brother, Luke the Puke, didn't spend a whole lot of time thinking deep thoughts. Or any thoughts. He'd rather just belch and scratch himself.

We started toward the car again. "Just let them do their thing. We'll do our thing. It's not the end of the world if our parents date."

I crinkled my nose. "Even if they sleep together?"

He held up a finger. "We have no definitive proof that such activity is occurring."

"Yeah, but still."

He sighed. "Yes, Lila, it's not our place to worry even if they start having wild jungle s.e.x-"

"Stop!" I covered my ears. "I get it."

"Good. Finally."

Thoroughly nauseated, I tossed him the keys. "You drive."

"Really?"

I nodded. "I have too much swirling around in my head. More now, thanks to that last horrific comment of yours. And I promised my dad I'd pay attention on the road whenever I got behind the wheel."

He clamped his palm closed around the keys. "Sweet."

We got in the car and snapped our seat belts tight. Dylan fired up the engine and maneuvered the car into merging position.

I bit down on my tongue. The "don't think" directive? Yeah, not quite working yet-big shocker. I drummed my fingers on my lips, watching him watch the traffic whiz by. It felt like my insides were inflating like a balloon with too much air. "Can I just ask you one thing before I embark on the whole 'stop thinking' plan?"

He sighed. "Okay. But one."

"Just play along. And don't get mad."

He bulged his eyes at me.

I cleared my throat. "Let's say your mom and my dad do end up getting married eventually." I paused, waiting for him to get what I was implying. He didn't. "Could happen, right?"

"Okay, sure. Your point?"

"What do you mean? That'll make us step-siblings."

He blinked, unconcerned. "So?"

d.a.m.n, guys really didn't think so much. "So, what do we do about our relationship then? To make it less...weird?"

"Why would it be weird? We're practically adults."

"It just would."

He pulled onto the highway, then flashed me an evil grin. "Well, then, I guess we'll have to move to one of them states where it's okay to date your sister, Daisy Lou," he teased in a doofus accent.

Still, it cheered me. "You are one sick, twisted puppy, Dylan Sebring. Totally, completely-"

"Irresistible."