Cross Me Off Your List (23 page)

While Noah grabs the last of his things that
he didn’t want their staff hauling for him, Nat takes about thirty
selfies with me and picks out the perfect one for me to post on
Instagram.

“Tag your stylist,” Nat says. “Say something
about how I admire his amazing work. No, don’t. Say that I’m your
favorite diva and you’re going to miss hanging out with me daily
and that–”

Benji clears his throat in the doorway. “Nat,
seriously? Let her caption her own pictures,” he says. “If she
thinks you’re that amazing, she’ll say it herself.”

“You’re just jealous,” Nat says. “You can’t
stand the thought of me ending up with some hot, brilliant stylist
because then I wouldn’t have time to obsess over you.”

With that, Nat gets up and, with all the
priss in the world, struts across the room. He stops, looks Benji
up and down, and says, “You know you want me,” before walking out
the door.

Nat can’t end up with Alston, if he’s even
gay. I’m still holding on to hope for Winterini to be a real thing.
The ‘WTF’ look on Benji’s face doesn’t really encourage my
Winterini desires, but damn it, I’m going to dream. Forget Saturn
bromances. Jenji and TiTo can die. I’m shipping Winterini forever,
and that doesn’t include Noah. He shall forever be
bromance-less.

A little while later, I join Tank, Benji, and
the Winters brothers downstairs behind the hotel. We settle into a
black limo and head north to take me home. Benji and Nat argue
about music for most of the ride while I text Noah all of the
pictures I have from this week that I agreed not to post until
their vacation week was over. I’m excited that I can document my
bucket list on Instagram once I get home.

Camera crews and paparazzi line the sides of
my street when we get back to my house. They snap pictures from a
distance with their zoom lenses as the guys help me carry
everything into the house.

Tank and Benji are the first ones back into
the limo after a quick goodbye.

“I know you want to kiss my brother and have
one of those sweet, mushy goodbyes,” Nat says, reaching for both of
my hands. “But I will always love you, even if he’s a jerk and
never talks to you again. Don’t forget that. And when you’re a
famous designer with all of your awesome clothes, remember me for
your hair and makeup team because I will be perfect for that job.
And I’ll bring Benji with me and make him be a model for you
because we both know this Saturn thing isn’t going to last
forever.”

“Nat,” Noah snaps.

Nat glances back at his brother. “Okay, fine.
See you soon. Promise,” he says. Then he kisses each of my cheeks
and struts back over to the limo. He props his hand on his hip and
blows a kiss to the cameras before getting into the car.

“I guess this is it,” Noah says, scanning the
neighborhood and the paparazzi.

“You want to step inside?” I ask.

“Please,” he says.

We walk down the hallway to my dad’s office
because it doesn’t have windows.

“So, um, I’m not good with goodbyes,” he
says. “And I don’t really want it to be a goodbye. I don’t know
what you want from me or if you even want anything, but I was kind
of hoping we could keep this thing going. You know, whatever this
thing is.”

“Well, you can’t really take French angelfish
apart, right?” I ask.

“Exactly,” he says. He leans forward,
pressing me back into my dad’s desk, and tangles his fingers
through my hair as his lips engage with mine.

I could stand right here forever kissing this
beautiful boy, but he pulls away and stares at the floor.

“So what does this mean for us?” he asks my
flip flops.

I hesitate, but I tell him the truth. “I
don’t like the whole Saturn girlfriend thing,” I admit. “There’s so
much pressure and chaos, and it just feels like once that label is
on it, everything is tainted.”

“No label,” Noah says. He finally looks at
me. “We can be unofficially official. We’ll make our own rules, do
things how we want, and I won’t be a jackass this time.”

As I walk him back to the door, I make the
decision to walk with him to the vehicle instead of slipping back
inside. Screw the paparazzi.

“What do you want me to tell people in
interviews?” Noah asks. “I know I’m going to get slammed with
questions about this week.”

“Say whatever you want,” I tell him, leaning
into him and trapping him between the limo and me.

“I think we should just keep them guessing,”
Noah says. “Starting now.”

And in the midst of a thousand camera
flashes, Noah Winters kisses me, and I feel like I could seriously
roar.

Thank you so much for reading Cross Me Off
Your List! As an indie author, I depend heavily on my readers for
word of mouth, so if you enjoyed this book, please consider leaving
a review. It doesn’t have to be a book report. Short and simple is
just fine and greatly appreciated!

I owe thanks to the people who helped me
find an anchor while battling a hurricane. You guys helped me find
my voice.

*Rachel Schmermund, for your everlasting
friendship no matter the distance, for going to see Katy Perry with
me in 2009, and for always telling me that I have to keep writing
in moments of hopelessness. I'm blessed to have you, BFF. <3
<3 <3

*Kristalyn Thornock, for putting up with the
insanity of text messages I sent you while writing this book, for
listening to all the stupid drama (because really, some of it was
unnecessarily stupid!), for having my back, and for reminding me
that I had to finish this book because you have to read it.
Sometimes I really needed that extra push.

*Isabella, for being my real life Saturnite
queen, for reading random snippets and reassuring me that I'm going
in the right direction with this series, for letting me bounce
ideas off of you, for being the keeper of all the Saturn secrets,
and for coming up with the ship name of Winterini because Marisol
and I were so terribly stuck!

*The many bloggers, authors, promoters, and
readers who constantly share my links, pimp my books, and share
their excitement for my next release. You guys are amazing. Thank
you a million times over. All of you!

*Katy Perry, for "Roar." I heard this song
for the first time right before I published American Girl on
Saturn, and I didn't know how much I needed that song in that
moment.

*M and C, for giving me hope. Even now, you
keep me going.

*And always - Emily Godwin. I don't know
what to say that I haven't said in all of my other acknowledgments,
so Emily told me to just say that she's "fucking fabulous." (She
is. I'll admit it.) Thank you for being the inspiration behind
Enchanted Emily and the much loved Aralie Branson. Every time a
reader says Aralie is his/her favorite, they're basically saying
how awesome you are. <3

Nikki Godwin is a YA/NA/LGBT author. She
can't live without Mountain Dew, black eyeliner, and music by
Hawthorne Heights. When not writing, she internet-stalks her
favorite bands and keeps tabs on surf competitions. Her favorite
surfer is Gabriel Medina. If you ever get her started on surfing or
music, she'll never shut up. You've been warned.