Don't own it.

I really didn't like this, but I was a never-ending plane flight, and unfortunately there was no cutie next to me, only my dad.

And someone get me to 210 reviews on In the Air and 50 reviews for The It Couple. It's weird, but it's literally impossible for me to write a good chapter if the total number of reviews isn't, like, regular. I must be OCD or something, but I just can't do it, lol.

Review? ;)

—

In Sharpay Evans' reputable opinion (an opinion which included six cars, one jet, three boats, eight horses, three Italian villas, six beach houses on the Cote D'Ivoire, and Karl Lagerfeld's personal cell phone number) you could get almost anything you wanted if you provided one basic explanation:

"It's for charity."

When her father questioned the validity of purchasing a new Mercedes C-Class for malnourished children in Ethiopia, Sharpay Evans would sigh morosely and say, "Daddy, having a new car will get me to my daily Charity Youth Group meetings so much faster, and according to various studies, a child dies every three seconds from starvation, and in my new Mercedes, I could save at least one hundred children just by zooming through peak hour traffic. It's for charity, Daddy!"

When her mother tittered impatiently at the thought of procuring yet another condo on the Mediterranean coast, Sharpay Evans would roll her eyes expertly and say, "Mother, really, you're so selfish. Those condos aren't for us. They're for the National Italian Charity Association, because they don't have any official headquarters and it's the least I can do to lend them our holiday houses. It's for charity, Mother!"

When the pilot of her Boeing 707 commented that perhaps flying to Paris every weekend wasn't exactly doing the environment any favors, Sharpay Evans would let one perfectly practiced sob leak out from her cloudy hazel eyes and whisper, "Captain Crawford, Paris, while not only being the birthplace to Her Holiness herself, Coco Chanel, also has one of the worst rich-poor status divisions anywhere in the world. It's the least I can do really, to dedicate my weekends to teaching homeless and disadvantaged children to read and serve hot dinners at the soup kitchen. It's for charity, Captain Crawford!"

It was a fail-safe method to get anything you wanted. All it took was one crystalline tear sliding elegantly down her cheek and barely audible plea of, "It's for charity!" and it was pretty much guaranteed that Sharpay Evans would get anything, absolutely anything, her stone cold heart desired.

Which was why it shocked her to the very pit of her soul when Troy Bolton refused to help her plight for disaster-stricken orphan children in Darfur.

"It's for charity, Bolton!" she cried desperately for the fifth time in as many seconds. "Charity!"

Troy blinked, his lips growing thin. "No."

"You're dead inside, Bolton," the drama queen sniffed. "How does that not work on you? Dying children—starving, disease-ridden—" She looked up again, her hazel eyes pleading. "Please? Why won't you do it? Give me one good reason and I'll leave you alone, I promise!"

"One reason?"

"One reason."

"BECAUSE I'M NOT GOING TO AUCTION MYSELF OFF TO THE ENTIRE FEMALE POPULATION OF EAST HIGH, EVANS."

"Apart from that," Sharpay said brightly, as if that tiny detail had completely slipped her mind. "Apart from that, it's fine, right? And besides, I'm pretty sure Kelly Freeman's a lesbian, so it's not like the entire female population of East High is going to bid on you. And let's just say half of them have boyfriends, and a few aren't allowed to date, and a couple would never bid on you because they're too shy or scared, and plus geeks only date geeks, so only the cheerleaders would want to bid on you—and look, some don't even like you." She fixed her companion with a disdainful look. "So really, only about ten girls would want to bid on you. God, you're so up yourself."

Troy made a face. "You're forgetting Heidi Spencer, aren't you?" he shuddered, referring to the blonde sophomore who had appointed herself his ultimate fangirl, personal cheerleader and 'spirit-lifter', and founder, president and treasurer of the only Troy Bolton fan club in the school that quite possibly broke ten state laws against stalking. "Because you know she's going to show up and bid ten thousand dollars on me and then I'll be forced to spend an entire evening with her, discussing whether my eyes are actually cobalt or cerulean!"

"Oh, Heidi's really nice," Sharpay said innocently. "So maybe she likes you a little and doodles 'Heidi and Troy forever' all over her notebooks—"

"She hired a Blimp and a jet that skywrites 'I love Troy' every day at eight thirty in the morning!" Troy protested.

"—and maybe she got you a bunch of flowers on Valentine's Day—"

"We got a day off school because she flooded the entire east wing with roses!"

"—and maybe she likes to spend a little time at your house—"

"My mom's given her her own towel rack in my bathroom!"

"—and maybe she's already thought a little about your kids together—"

"She's started a college fund for our firstborn!"

"—but it's only because she cares," Sharpay finished. "Besides," she whined. "I already put your name on the poster."

Troy looked at his companion with something between disbelief and horror, something that was becoming more and more common the more time he spent with Sharpay Evans. "I'm not doing it," he said flatly. "And you're only doing it because you don't want your first charity fundraiser as social chair to be a complete failure."

"So?" Sharpay pouted. "I still care about the kids in—" she trailed off, thinking.

"Darfur," Troy supplied with an eye roll.

"That's what I said," the blonde girl said. "Look, just do the auction, please? We'll raise so much money and it's for charity after all." Sharpay paused for a moment and smiled wolfishly. "Plus, Gabriella might bid on you."

Troy choked on his breath. "Oh," he folded his arms, reddening steadily. "Really? Why would that—why would it make a difference?"

"Because you're in lo-o-o-ve with her," Sharpay sing-songed. "You want to ma-a-a-rry-y her. You want to have her ba-a-a-abies."

"I don't like her," Troy coughed out, so unconvincingly that even Ms. Darbus snorted with laughter from the front of the room. "I don't!" he insisted, turning to his guilty-looking blonde companion. "Have you told everyone about my non-existent crush on my best friend?"

Sharpay tittered impatiently. "No-o-o," she said slowly. "I made the janitor promise he couldn't tell his wife."

Troy connected his forehead with the table.

"Oh, come on," Sharpay flicked the basketball captain's shoulder rudely. "Everyone knows your story. You can't even try to deny it. Boy and girl meet at ski lodge. Boy and girl sing. Boy and girl fall in love. Boy really wants to get lucky with girl, but girl leaves. Boy is sad. But, hold the phone! Girl transfers to boy's school. Boy is happy. Boy and girl are idiots and—" her face darkened considerably, "steal the lead roles of the school musical from the Evans twins who should've really gotten the roles but couldn't because of an unjust opinion from an unprofessional source, but the Evans twins reigned supreme anyway and KILLED BOY AND GIRL IN THE SLEEP WITH A CHAINSAW—"

Troy lifted his head from the table. "I'm sure that's what happened—in Saw VII: The Revenge of Sharpay."

Sharpay sighed and reluctantly continued to tell the 'real' story. "Boy and girl get lead roles in school musical. Boy and girl are about to get together about five times but it never happens because the first time, boy was stupid and accidentally told girl's mom she looked like a hooker—"

"That was an accident," Troy said huffily. "I told Maria she was very pretty and could pass as Gabriella's sister."

"Or a waitress at Hooters."

"It was a compliment!"

"The second time, boy was stupid and fell off the tree as he was climbing into girl's balcony and broke his leg."

"It was an old tree and the branches were flimsy," Troy said defensively. "Anyone could have fallen off. It was very dangerous."

"The third time, boy was stupid and fell off the balcony."

"I didn't fall off. I tumbled lightly."

"The fourth time, boy was stupid and took girl to ask her out in front of a confetti machine."

"Like I knew it was going to blow up."

"The fifth time, boy was stupid and was sticking marshmallows up his nose when girl was trying to ask him out."

"Well, I—" Troy trailed off. "Okay, I don't have an excuse for that. But it was Chad's idea. We wanted to see how many would fit."

"But the gist of the story is boy is stupid, girl is shy, and neither is ever going to ask the other out because—I have no idea!" Sharpay twisted her face into what closely resembled a smile. "Like I said, everyone knows your story. Everyone knows that you guys are like made for each other. How can you see how to shoot three-point touchdowns, but you can't see that?"

Troy looked unimpressed with her speech. He opened his mouth to retort, but the cheerful entrance of a certain raven-haired scholastic decathalon member distracted him for a full ten seconds, before realizing gazing dreamily at his non-crush wasn't doing anything to help his case. "Shut up," he snapped at Sharpay's smirking figure.

"I didn't say anything," the blonde girl said smugly, before swiveling around to greet Gabriella, pouting. "Gabriella, Troy doesn't care about orphans in Darfur."

Gabriella's brow furrowed and she slipped into the seat beside Troy. "Oh, are you talking about the auction?" she asked, smiling. "Because I think Heidi Spencer had a heart attack in the east wing and EMT had to come."

"Oh, dear God," Troy moaned, slumping in his seat. "She's going to tattoo my face onto her arm, isn't she? Evans, this is exactly why I didn't want to do it."

"Oh, but you should," Gabriella jumped in, clutching his arm. She stared at him, eyes liquid. "It's for charity, remember? Imagine how much money we could raise, and how many kids in Darfur we could save!"

Troy sighed, trying to summon all his willpower to refuse the girl in front of him. "Um," he stalled, mentally ruing the day he decided to fall in love with Gabriella Montez. "Well, okay. If it'll make you happy."

"Oh, thank you!" Gabriella leapt out of her seat, flinging her arms around her best friend. Sharpay Evans, who had been silent for the last few minutes, didn't miss the faint smile on his face.

In Sharpay Evans' reputable opinion (an opinion which included six cars, one jet, three boats, eight horses, three Italian villas, six beach houses on the Cote D'Ivoire, and Karl Lagerfeld's personal cell phone number) you could get almost anything you wanted from Troy Bolton if you provided one basic explanation:

"Well, it's for Gabriella."

—

It never failed to amaze Chad Danforth to what a great extent Troy Bolton could screw up.

"Wait, so you agreed to be auctioned off?" Chad could feel a chili fry lodge itself in his throat. "As in, you could've said no—but you said yes?"

Troy shrunk in his seat as he spied Heidi Spencer surrounded by a crowd of sophomores, (loudly) declaring her love for yours truly. "You don't get it, man," he protested. "Gabriella was looking at me!"

Chad stopped chewing. "—she was looking at you," he repeated flatly. "She was looking at you, so you decided to kill yourself? Because you know that's what's gonna happen! Heidi Spencer is going to bid on you and then she'll kill you! And she'll want to discuss whether your eyes are actually cobalt or cerulean!"

Troy groaned. "I know!"

Chad shook his head miserably. "You're whipped, man. You need to ask Gabriella out pronto. You can't keep putting your life in danger here. You need to be in a real relationship and get some control!" He pretended to think for a moment. "Like me," he gestured grandly at himself. "I am a real man in a real relationship and I keep my girlfriend in line!"

Taylor McKessie scowled at him from the other end of the lunch table. "Eat your vegetables, Chad."

"Yes, ma'am."

Troy paused as Chad dutifully scooped up a forkful of carrots. "You were saying?" he said, mouth twitching.

Chad sighed. "Look, everyone knows your story," he said, mouth full. He picked up his plastic fork and spoon. "Fork and spoon are best friends. Fork and spoon want to have dirty utensil sex. But fork and spoon are held apart by the restraints of their—forkiness and spooniness, even though everyone knows that fork and spoon belong together." He put down his utensils when Taylor admonished him that forks and spoons were for eating and not playing. "But you get my drift," Chad continued. "Ask her out already."

"So you really think she likes me?" Troy said slowly.

Chad rolled his eyes. "Hel-lo? Did you not hear about fork and spoon?" He waved his fork and spoon irritably. "So, what are you going to do tonight?"

"What do you mean?"

"Well, you're not just going to let Heidi Spencer bid on you, right?" Chad looked aghast. "Because she will bid on you. And you will die."

Troy thought for a moment. "How about this," he proposed. "You bid on me. When she bids on you, you'll bid against her. You'll outbid her."

Chad nodded. "Okay," he said thoughtfully. "That's a good plan. That's a great plan. How do I get my money back?"

"You don't. It goes to charity."

Chad stuffed another forkful of carrots into his mouth. "Let's keep thinking."

—

Gabriella Montez wasn't a selfish person by any means. She was all for charity. She sponsored three Ethiopian children and regularly gave to natural disaster relief efforts. She helped out at the soup kitchen whenever she could. When she passed a homeless man, she always gave them all the change in her purse.

But a blonde, 100-pound sophomore by the name of Heidi Spencer managed to convince her to rue the day she ever convinced Troy Bolton to help disaster-stricken orphans in Darfur.

"So, are you and Troy, like, really close?" Heidi flipped a page in her notepad and smiled winningly at Gabriella. "What do you think his favorite shade of red is? I was thinking crimson, but it might be rose. How about white? What shade of white do you think he likes?"

Gabriella clenched her teeth together. "I'm fairly sure he likes blue and yellow," she said sweetly.

Heidi paused. "But those are West High's colors."

"Oh," Gabriella waved a hand vaguely. "But he really digs them. Like whenever a girl shows up to his house in a blue and yellow outfit with a 'Go West High' banner, it really impresses him."

Heidi smiled hugely, obviously mistaking molars for charisma. "Oh, Gabriella, I know you and I are going to be the best of friends. I mean, you're Troy's best friend and I'll be his girlfriend and we're going to have to spend a lot of time together. Hey, what color do you think Troy's eyes are, cobalt or cerulean?"

Gabriella raised an eyebrow. "You're going to be his girlfriend?" she said dryly.

"Well, sure!" Heidi said brightly. "After I buy him at tonight's auction, we'll be together forever!" She paused and smiled again, the effort looking like it would crack her jaw. "To be honest, I don't know how you can handle being around him all the time and not, like, totally fall in love with him."

Gabriella flushed.

"Because, like, some people were saying how you two were going to get together but you didn't," Heidi looked at her sympathetically, "and it must be because of how in love with me he is."

"Yeah," Gabriella said slowly. "That must be it." She cleared her throat nervously, feeling heat rise in her collar. "But, um, how are you so sure that you'll be able to buy him? I mean, a lot of girls would want to bid on him, right?" She chewed on her lip, mentally calculating exactly how much money she had in her bank and frowning when she realized she'd spent it all at the mall on the weekend when Sharpay convinced her that no girl's wardrobe was complete without a brightly colored pair of hideously expensive legwarmers.

"Well, yeah," Heidi said happily. "But my dad is the executive producer of this huge reality show in Beverly Hills, and we have loads of money."

Gabriella forced the corners of her mouth to twitch upwards. Perhaps her mother could lend her some money—

"Oh," Heidi shuddered with excitement. "Do you think maybe he'll take me to his castle in Mexico?"

"He doesn't have a castle in Mexico."

"He did in 'Endless Love'!"

Gabriella raised an eyebrow.

"Oh, right," Heidi smiled yet again. "I made that one up. It's called fanfiction."

—

"How much?"

Chad let a one dollar bill drop from his hands. "Six hundred and three dollars and twenty-five cents."

"Six hundred and three dollars?" Troy burst out. "Only?"

"And twenty five cents," Chad reminded his friend.

"That's all we got?" Troy looked positively horrified. "Of all our friends, parents, relatives and neighbors we could find, that's how much money we could find? Oh my God, I'm dead."

"Okay, look, don't panic, alright?" Chad said, strangely calm. "That's still a lot of money and who knows, maybe Heidi doesn't have that much money. Maybe she didn't think it'd be much competition. Maybe—oh, who are we kidding, you're dead." He paused. "But if you want my personal opinion, your eyes are more cerulean than cobalt."

There was a long silence as both pondered what death by Heidi Spencer would feel like.

"Do you wanna rob a bank?"

—

"Welcome to the First Annual Charity Auction Fundraiser!" Sharpay announced grandly into the microphone, banging her gavel on the pulpit repeatedly. She surveyed the packed gym satisfactorily. "All proceeds from tonight's fundraiser—which, FYI, will no doubt break the East High record so up yours Class of 2007—will go to the disaster-stricken orphans in—"

"—Darfur," Ryan whispered dutifully beside her.

"—in Darfur, where relief is greatly required." A smattering of applause echoed in the gym and Sharpay smiled broadly. "Our first item up for auction is—" An enthusiastic drum roll rippled through the crowd and Ryan pulled apart a pink, sequined curtain to reveal four tuxedo-ed freshmen each holding a violin like it was the coolest thing in the world. "A stunning night away with members of the school orchestra at the local violin emporium," Sharpay read off her card. "Bidding starts at fifteen dollars. Anyone?"

Crickets chirped in the background.

Someone coughed in the very back.

A girl raised her hand meekly in the front row. "I've got three dollars and an ice-cream coupon?" she offered feebly.

"Sold!"

—

Gabriella Montez pushed her mashed potatoes around on her plate tiredly. So far that night, she'd finished her homework, filed her nails, cleaned her room, watched the news, fed the cat, comforted the cat while it vomited, gone to the grocery store to compare tins of cat food and regret the day she ever bought a cat. And it was still only seven o'clock, and there was nothing left to distract her while the charity auction was going on, and her best friend was currently being sold off to a giggly sophomore, while really, she was in love with him.

Life was so not fair.

"Gabriella, is something wrong?" her mother asked, eyeing her full plate.

Yes, I'm in love with my best friend and I'm too chicken to tell him.

"No," Gabriella sighed. "I just don't think I'm very hungry."

"Are you sick?"

Yes, sick with love.

"What did you do today?

I scrounged around our house for money because I want to buy Troy at the charity auction because I'm secretly in love with him and he doesn't know, but it turns out we've only got twenty dollars in the house right now, and I can't possibly buy him with twenty dollars, are you crazy? So I'm sitting here, moping, because I don't have enough money or guts to tell him how I really feel.

"Gabriella, are you being rude to me in your head?"

"No," Gabriella sighed. "What did you do today, Mom?"

"Well, remember that old rocking chair of Grandma's? Well, I finally sold it today."

Gabriella forced a smile. "That's great."

"And it fetched quite a bit of money, actually. Oh and today, there was a huge case—"

Gabriella shot up. "What?"

Her mother looked confused. "What what?"

"The money," Gabriella burst out frantically, leaping out of her chair. "Where is it? Did you get a check?"

"Well, it's on the kitchen bench. What's going on, Gabriella?"

But Gabriella was already out of the door.

—

"And next up!" Sharpay waited as someone riffed out an incredibly long and complicated drum roll. "Okay, shut up now, Drum Guy. Next up, one of East High's most eligible bachelors—" she paused for a moment as Ryan helpfully stuck a pair of earplugs in her ears. "Troy Bolton!"

Thunderous applause and shrieking ensued as Ryan whipped away the pink curtain to reveal Troy standing very awkwardly with his hands in his pockets, completely red from the neck upwards. Chad, Zeke and Jason surrounded him, dressed in protective gear and wielding baseball bats, creating a physical barrier between man and rabid fangirls. A pair of lacy, pink underwear landed on the end of Jason's baseball bat, who screamed and dropped his weapon like a hot potato.

Sharpay hammered on her gavel for a full minute. "Let's start the bidding," she announced.

"Five!"

"Fifteen!"

"Twenty!"

"Thirty!"

"THREE HUNDRED!"

The gym went silent and all heads turned toward Heidi Spencer in the front row, clutching her father's checkbook triumphantly.

"Three hundred anyone?" Sharpay surveyed the throng of people.

Troy shoved Chad pointedly. "Three fifty!" Chad countered, to a chorus of 'ooh' from the crowd.

"Four hundred!" a red-head girl called out bravely

"FIVE HUNDRED!" Heidi shrieked, stifling the pack once and for all.

"Five fifty!" Chad called out.

"Six hundred!"

Troy looked at Chad desperately. "Six hundred and three dollars and twenty-five cents?" Chad stood up weakly. "No? Okay." He sat back down again, and Troy looked close to throwing up.

"Seven hundred," Heidi said victoriously. There was a smug smile on her face.

"Seven hundred," Sharpay repeated loudly. "Going once—going twice—"

"FIVE THOUSAND DOLLARS!"

A collective gasp rippled through the gym.

Sharpay rolled her eyes. "Troy," she snapped shortly at the bidder. "You can't bid on yourself."

Troy sat back down. "But why not?" he half-whined.

With another eye roll, Sharpay picked up her over-sized gavel again. "Going once—going twice—"

Suddenly, out of nowhere there was a burst of wind and a thundering of footsteps. "Seven hun—seven hundred dollars!" came a breathless gasp. Dozens of heads swiveled to look at who had placed the new bid. Troy stood up in his seat, frowning at the familiar voice. "—Gabriella?"

"Okay, is this school retarded?" Sharpay looked annoyed. "One, you can not bid on yourself. Two, you can't bid the same number as someone else. It's not that hard, people!"

"Oh," Gabriella looked flustered as she tried to catch her breath. "Um, seven hundred and fifty then." She sidled across to sit on one of the bleachers, pointedly refusing to acknowledge Troy's confused gaze and Heidi's murderous one.

"Nine hundred," Heidi hissed.

"Ten hundred."

"Eleven hundred."

"Twelve."

"Thirteen."

"Fourteen."

"Fifteen."

"Sixteen."

"Hang on, can I interrupt?" Sharpay held up her hand. "Not that I'm not glad you guys are making this the most successful charity fundraiser in the history of East High, but—" she looked directly at Gabriella. "Do you even have that much money?"

"Um," Gabriella fidgeted. "Yes."

"Carry on, then."

"Twenty hundred."

"Twenty-one."

Troy looked from girl to girl, as Gabriella and Heidi volleyed price numbers, one after the other, as if he were watching a tennis match. In the back of his head, a persistent question niggled his brain: Why was Gabriella here? And bidding on him?

"Thirty-eight."

"Thirty-nine."

Heidi sucked in a breath, her face white with anger. "Ten thousand," she said stiffly. "Ten grand. Beat that."

"Eleven grand."

"Twelve grand."

"Thirteen grand."

Chad leant over to whisper in his ear. "Gabriella doesn't have that much money, does she?"

"Nope."

"So why—?"

"I have no idea."

"Fifty grand!"

Gabriella looked like she wanted to burst into tears and punch something in the face. "Troy," she said in a voice barely above a whisper. The gym was silent. "You're my best friend." She stole a glance at Heidi. "And fifty-one grand by the way."

"Fifty-two!"

"But since the musical, I've had these feelings—fifty-three."

"Fifty-four!"

Troy stared dumbstruck at Gabriella, trying to summon up enough brainpower to remember how to breathe. "And I've tried to tell you," she continued desperately, as the whole gym watched on, mouths agape. "But the first time I tried, you told my mom she had a nice rack and should be a waitress at Hooters and the second time, you fell off my balcony." She paused. "Fifty-five thousand."

Heidi looked completely and totally mortified that her thunder and Troy's attention was being stolen away from her. "Sixty grand!" she squealed.

"I just," Gabriella trailed off slowly, looking pained. "I just needed to tell you. Before I lost my nerve. Seventy grand."

"Eighty grand!"

"And that's—" she swallowed, and finally looked up, to let his cobalt-or-cerulean eyes connect with hers. "That's I love you. That's what I needed to tell you." She tore her eyes away and stood up slowly. "Eighty grand," she said finally and smiled genuinely at Heidi. "I guess you win." Without looking back, she walked out of the gym, her footsteps thudding softly on the floor.

There was a long silence in the gym, most of the crowd never having the opportunity to hear such a dramatic confession of love before. Troy looked at loss at words, his first and most important priority being to remember to open his mouth occasionally to let oxygen seep in.

Finally, Sharpay smacked her gavel lightly. "Um," she said slowly. "Eighty grand? Anyone? Going once—going twice—?"

Heidi stood up indignantly. "Wait, does this mean I actually have to pay eighty thousand dollars?"

"You will if you want an evening with Troy," Sharpay said, eyebrows raised.

"But I don't have eighty thousand dollars!"

Troy jumped out of his seat. "Wait," he bellowed, leaping out of his chair. "Gabriella!" he called, shooting for the gym exit. "Wait, Gabriella!"

"Dude," Chad snorted. "Delayed reaction, much?"

—

Troy snaked his way around the empty corridors of East High, eyes peeled for Gabriella's diminutive figure. "Gabriella!" he called. "Gabriella!" He caught sight of the staircase leading into the rooftop garden and darted up the steps, taking them two at a time. As he neared the top, he slowly started to smile.

Gabriella was leaning against one of the railings, her arms tucked tightly around each other. He ambled to stand next to her. "What's a pretty girl like you doing up here all by herself?" he said, fully serious.

He could hear the smile in her voice. "To kill myself," she said flatly.

"Oh, what's the matter?" he questioned nonchalantly.

She turned around to look at him, her eyes cloudy. "Well, for one, I nearly blew eighty thousand dollars."

Troy leaned forward eagerly. "And—" he pressed.

"I told my best friend I loved him."

"And what did he say?"

Her eyes fluttered shut for a moment before she turned away from him, the moonlight catching in her hair. "Why don't you tell me?" she whispered.

He reached out and caught her hand in his, lightly dragging her near him. He pressed his forehead against hers, slowly feeling the lines in her temple relax. "Well, he's thinking," he paused, pretending to think. Gabriella laughed softly, wrapping her arms around his neck, inching her mouth nearer to his.

"What's he thinking?" she murmured, her breath hot against his face.

He smiled and drew her closer to him, their eyes never leaving each other. "He's thinking if she knows whether his eyes are cobalt or cerulean."

—