Cross the Line (Lights Out, #1)

by Simone Soltani

Making macarons should not be this hard. They’re small and cute, and the recipe calls for super simple ingredients—it’s

Even though it took years and countless doctors to get a diagnosis of hypermobility, I knew early on that I was different from other kids.

I’ve known Oakley since before I could walk. Our families have been neighbors for longer than I’ve been alive, and he and I grew up together in the karting circuits. We’re the founding members of the Awkward White Dads Club, two mixed kids—Black in Oakley’s case; Indian in mine—with white fathers, who bonded over never quite fitting into the motorsport world thanks to the color of our skin.

And I almost ruined it all in a single moment last year when I kissed his sister.

I try not to be bitter about it, try not to let myself wish I was the sibling without chronic pain and weak connective tissue, but sometimes I taste it in the back of my throat.

Dev’s trademark grin—the one he’s never afraid to let loose—lights up the room. I swear his face was made for smiling and smiling alone, and the dark scruff on his sharp jaw only accentuates how bright it is.

Dev just has the uncanny ability to always see the bright side, no matter how dark things may seem.

Our kiss is a secret I plan to take to the grave.

It drapes a little in the center, emphasizing the soft slope of her chest, and while she’s not the most endowed in that department, it didn’t stop my hands from liking what they felt when I had the privilege of touching her.

She’s always been delicate in my mind, soft and gentle. But while she might look fragile, I’ve seen her killing it in the gym. If she was determined to, the girl could probably bench-press me. And she’s always determined. It isn’t to say she’s unbreakable. Her condition means she’s got a few more limitations than the average person, but underestimating her would be a mistake. She’s stronger than most people think.

Willow’s a beautiful girl, I can admit that. I can also admit that I’ve thought it for a long time. But neither of those details matter because she’s off-limits. Always has been. And the only boundaries I push are in a race car.

Oakley gets a wistful look in his eyes when I mention Dev’s older sister, just like he has for years, but he blinks it away quickly and waves me off.

Dev wasn’t kidding about the color scheme. It looks like the American flag threw up all over him and ninety-nine percent of the people here.

For a moment, I forget where we are and who’s watching when I dip my head and brush my cheek against her hair. Like an addict, I inhale, needing a hit of her vanilla sweetness. Until now, I didn’t realize just how much I’d been craving it.

“Those colors have no business together unless they’re on a flag or a Popsicle,”

“Summer is for falling in love, Willow,”

“Isn’t baking a stress reliever for you?” “Never said I was good at it.”

It’s a quiet five minutes before we pull up in front of the lilac-painted building. The name is scrawled in beautiful cursive script emblazoned across the plate-glass windows. Everything about Stella Margaux’s is a whimsical, pastel dream, from its display cases decorated to look like the macarons are floating on clouds to the Michelangelesque paintings on the ceilings.

He bought two hundred macarons because you said you liked them.

She’s only been back in my life for a matter of weeks, and yet she’s managed to brush the edges of my every thought.

We both know what we want. What we need. The only question is whether we’re reckless enough to go after it.

I was almost smacked in the face by an eagle piñata, and I’m pretty sure George Washington is doing Jell-O shots at the bar.

She’s beaming up at me now, and I swear my heart doesn’t know what to do at the sight of it. I’m down so fucking bad.

“The way that man looked at you when he opened the door? I’ve never seen anyone light up like that.”

We can let out all our long-held secrets, make all these confessions, but they don’t matter if we can’t figure out where and how things go from here.

“Easy is overrated,” she counters. “What matters is making yourselves happy.” And therein lies the problem—I don’t know how to do that.

Her grip on me loosens a little, and we shift so that we’re eye to eye. As always, there’s an undercurrent of energy between us, but it crackles now, threatening to ignite into something bigger. Brighter. An inferno that can no longer be ignored.

A hint of a smirk creeps up his face. “I have a feeling you won’t like it for long.” An hour later, I’m lying on the massage table that Mark keeps set up in his room so he can work on Dev at any time. I have to respect his preparedness, but right now, I kind of hate him for it. “Holy fuck,” I grit out. This time, Mark’s smirk makes me wonder if he’s a sadist.

“Willow, you make him want to be better. Do better. Before you came back into the picture, he was close to giving up. He’d never admit it, but he’d lost that spark.

“If you want this—if you want me,” he says, “I’ll fight for it. I’ll fight for us.”

There’s something freeing about having known him my whole life. He’s seen me at every stage—a skinned-kneed five-year-old, pimple-faced at fourteen, stumbling drunk at twenty-one. He’s seen me on the beach, getting knocked down by waves and brushing sand out of my hair. He’s seen me ten seconds after rolling out of bed, bleary-eyed and wearing hand-me-down sweatpants. I don’t need to hide a single aspect of myself from him. He’s already seen it all. And yet he’s still here, looking at me like I’m the center of his universe.

He can’t blame me for falling for his sister when he obviously fell for mine.

Willow decked out in clothes from my culture absolutely does it for me.

“Guess that means all you can do is sit there and look pretty while I wreck you.”