Brooke Davis, you're a genius. A certified genius.

I can't believe I'm trudging through a dingy little house, completely ruining my brand new pair of wedges while a group of giggling girls and leering guys stumbles around making stupid remarks.

My foot catches on a piece of wood and I groan inwardly. Maybe I shouldn't have been so quick to set up this whole thing. Not only is the heat making my hair frizz, but I'm getting so peeved that I'm losing track of tonight's goal.

Just keep moving. We'll be in and out in no time, and hopefully Peyton won't be as freaked out as my worrying brain tells me she's going to be. I trip over another piece of wood and this time, I let out a curse.

"Hey, I'm sorry about this," Peyton says, laying her hand on my arm. "I didn't think it'd be so nasty."

In that one second that she touches me, I feel as if her hand is leaving a searing imprint on my skin. Shockwaves shoot straight to my gut and I feel somewhere between ill and elated. "It's not your fault. I agreed to come on this little trip." Because I'm a total dumbass, I think to myself. This house is nowhere near haunted. It's just a dirty pile of dust, wood and body odour. How am I supposed to seduce Peyton while smelling like Eau de Old People?

The light from the torches that the guys are carrying starts to fade a little, so we hurry after them. I'm going to be barefoot by the time we get out of this wreck. As we make our way down a wide corridor, I remember what Matt, the beach boy, told me. I can see the old oil painting hanging on the wall and beyond that, a series of doors. Just as we had agreed, Matt stops the procession.

"Okay, how about a dare?" He rubs his hands together as if he came up with this plan all by himself. "We go into these rooms alone—or if you're a wuss, in pairs—and we'll see who lasts the longest."

"Dude, if this is your big masterplan to make out with Maddy, just say so," one of the guys says dryly.

"Shut up, dipshit. We'll see how long you last. People have died in here."

"Oh Maddy, protect me!"

They snigger and shove each other around before finally entering the rooms. How come I've never noticed how lame boys can be? I can't believe I'm saying this, considering my track record, but if there's only one reason to swear off boys, this would be it. I roll my eyes and push a door open.

Inside, it's a little creepier than I thought it would be. It's incredibly small and strangely free of dust bunnies, but the furniture is ancient and creaking. So much for setting the mood.

Peyton slowly seats herself on the massive bed. Without warning, it caves under her weight and the centre drops out from underneath her. She lets out a shriek and bolts off it, tripping over herself and landing in my arms. She starts laughing.

All I can do is smile weakly when I think of what I'm about to do.

--

"I don't think we can go to the club looking like this."

Brooke frowns at the dust on my jacket. "Guess not. I can barely walk in these things anymore. Good thing Daddy let me have his credit card."

We're sitting on the floor, careful not to touch anything with our hands. This room actually smells a little better than the rest of the house.

"So how long do we have to stay in here?" I ask.

"Um, I think I heard Matt say about half an hour."

Half an hour. Okay. Half an hour on the floor of a dilapidated house with no light and no breeze. Fine, I can deal. I'll just focus on my breathing and not think of the beams collapsing or the floorboards giving way. Nope. Mind over matter. Claustrophobia is just me being irrational.

"Or at least that's all we're going to go for. I'm not staying in this place any longer than that," Brooke adds.

Is it me or is it really hot in here? My jacket feels a little tight. I shrug it off and drop it into my lap.

"Um, as long as we're here … I think I need to tell you something, Peyton."

I look up at Brooke. Her eyes are almost glittering in the dark. I can feel the tension emanating from her body. Her lips are drawn into a tight line and she's struggling to hold my gaze. Oh god, maybe I can't deal after all.

--

Concentrate. Just look her in the eye and tell her. Be honest. She's your best friend; she's not going to push you away and run screaming. I had no idea it could be this hard to keep my eyes on her face. All she's wearing now is a sheer tank top. I've seen her in nothing but a bra, but now, this delicate piece of fabric is shaving inches off my self-restraint. My heart gives an exaggerated thump.

"Well, I …"

"Brooke, what is it?"

I shake my head in an attempt to stall and to clear the tantalizing images from my mind.

"I really don't know how to say this. I don't want to scare you, but I can't keep it to myself any longer."

Peyton turns to me, concern registering in her hazel eyes. She takes both my hands in hers and does that thing where she silently pushes me to just spit it out. Her thumb begins rubbing the top of my hand and my words slide back down my throat. The heat is unbearable. Coupled with the warmth of her body, I feel like crying out for mercy. Still keeping mum, she drops my hands and places her right hand on my thigh. So not helping, P. Sawyer.

We're sitting here, face to face, just me and my best friend. Peyton Sawyer, my best friend. The girl I've always loved but never thought I would ever want, not like this, not in this maddening, inexorable, can't-think-can't-talk, god-I-just-want-to-touch-you-right-there way. My blood is fuelled by lust, rushing through every inch of my body like a forest fire, completely destroying any semblance of rational thought or sanity. It's disconnecting my brain from the rest of my body. I don't even know where we are anymore, or what I planned to say. But deep inside me, all I can feel is three words fighting to be released. Three words that will tell her everything. Three words that will convey how much my body aches for the tips of her fingers, how much pain and pleasure have twisted into an inseparable mess and how she's the only one who can amplify that, make it hurt and please at the same time.

I meet her gaze dead-on. I summon everything I have. And I say it.

"I want you."