My pulse is pounding like a million pairs of stilettos clicking against a marble floor. A few feet away, the bonfire is flirting with the endless sky and Peyton is chatting with a really cute guy. I've got two on my hands as well, but I can barely focus on what they're saying. What Peyton doesn't know is that I dragged her butt out here not just to get her mind off Lucas, but for my own selfish means, too. The past few weeks have been insanely hard, so I figured I'd get us as far away from Tree Hill and its very own soap opera as possible. If not for Peyton's sake, then at least for my own sanity.

"You've got a really great smile," one of the guys says, nodding to himself as if he's approving of his own comment.

"Yeah, you're really pretty," the other beefhead chips in.

Too pretty to entertain your lame asses. "I'm also really thirsty. Do you think you can get me a drink?"

I watch as they scurry off before skirting around to the other side of the bonfire. Peyton has her back to me and from this angle, the flames are throwing shadows on her, bringing out the gentle outlines of her slim body. She's wearing one of my short denim skirts and the bottom of her tank top barely meets the top of the skirt, revealing a sliver of skin. Oh god, why am I noticing this again?

I grab a bottle of beer from the cooler next to my feet and take a sip. The cool liquid washes through my body, stilling the heat wave now coursing through my veins. My heart's still thumping away, though. When I thought of this fabulous plan two weeks ago, I had the big picture in sight: Tell Peyton about all the crazy things I've been feeling lately—before my self-control snaps and I end up jumping her in the hallway at school. Now that I'm here, I have no freakin' clue what to do. I can't just throw it in her face. She'll panic and I'll end up losing my best friend.

Stepping closer to Peyton, I start eavesdropping on their conversation.

"A bunch of us are planning to check out this old house tomorrow night. It's supposed to be haunted." Oh come on, P. Sawyer, don't tell me you're falling for that.

"Don't tell me you really think it's haunted," Peyton remarks incredulously. That's my girl.

"Nah, but it'll be fun. After we scope out the place we're gonna head down to a club. You should come."

Peyton hesitates. "I don't know. I'm here with my friend … Haunted houses aren't really her thing."

Hold up, I think I've got a light bulb moment. I sidle up to Peyton and wrap my arm around her shoulders.

"Actually, it sounds fun. Count us in."

"Really?" Peyton stares back at me.

"Sure, why not? As long as your friends are as cute as you." I flash the guy a flirty smile.

--

Finally. Peyton rolls over onto her side, still breathing steadily. I slip out of the cramped bed and tiptoe out of the room. My back hurts from keeping it ramrod straight, hugging the edge of the bed so I wouldn't come into contact with Peyton's bare limbs. I've got amazing discipline, really. So I can't resist buying a Jimmy Choo or two, whatever. I should be given a medal for losing this many nights' worth of beauty sleep just to avoid touching Peyton. God, the bags under my eyes are monsters. I'm going to have to load up the concealer tomorrow.

I shuffle into the living-room. Peyton's purse is just where she left it. I pick it up and start rummaging until I find a crumpled piece of paper. Gotcha, Beach Boy.

Cell phone in hand, I begin dialling the numbers on the paper.