The door to the club opened, bringing in a whoosh of freezing air. Goose bumps rose on Spencer’s bare arms, but it wasn’t entirely from the cold. Aria’s texts drifted into her mind.
“I’m okay,” she said quietly. But as she looked around the club, a spear of despair ripped through her. It was at a place just like this where the girl Spencer thought was Courtney said she was actually Spencer’s long-lost best friend. Then, Real Ali admitted that she’d known for a long time that she and Spencer were actually half sisters, but she’d never known how to tell Spencer back when they were friends.
Ali had made so many promises. We’ll start fresh. I’ll be the sister you always wanted. Of course Spencer had fallen for it. She’d longed for a sister who truly cared about her ever since she could remember. Someone with whom she had something in common, someone with whom she’d share secrets and have fun. With Ali last year, she felt like she’d hit the jackpot—until Real Ali revealed her true identity and tried to kill her, that is.
Letting go of the dream had been hard; its dark cloud had followed her everywhere. It stung, even when she saw girls who were obviously sisters giggling together at the bar or renting a two-person kayak. After she’d shared a drink with Tabitha in the bathroom, she returned to their table. Her friends had scattered—Aria was arguing with Noel at the bar, Hanna stood by the telescope on the other side of the restaurant, and Emily was nowhere to be seen. After a while, someone tapped her arm, and she turned. It was Tabitha again.
“Sorry to bug you, but I just have to ask.” Tabitha perched on the edge of the table. “Don’t you think we look similar?”
Spencer stared at her, a nervous swoop running through her body. “I don’t think so.”
“Well, I do.” Tabitha grinned. “I think we look just like long-lost sisters.”
Spencer shot to her feet so fast the chair underneath her tipped over. Tabitha remained where she was, a Cheshire-cat grin on her face. Why would she say that? Could she know? The story of Mrs. DiLaurentis’s scandalous love affair with Mr. Hastings was something that hadn’t been released to the public. Spencer wasn’t even sure if the police knew about it.
The rattling sound of a martini shaker startled her from the memory. She glanced around Shampoo. “Jesus,” she whispered to herself. Hadn’t she vowed not to think about Jamaica tonight?
The DJ put on a fast, electronic song, and Spencer stood and grabbed Zach’s hand. “Let’s dance.”
Zach raised his eyebrows, looking amused. “Yes, ma’am.”
The dance floor was packed with sweaty bodies, but Spencer didn’t care. She led Zach to the middle of the room and started to sway. Zach gyrated, too, shutting his eyes and feeling the music with his body. Unlike most guys, who shuffled back and forth like Frankenstein’s monster, Zach danced like a pro. He didn’t freak when other guys bumped him, either, but just shrugged and went with it. He opened his clear, blue eyes, met Spencer’s longing stare, and winked.
Spencer threw her head back and laughed. He was the sexiest guy she’d ever met. The voltage between them was cranked up as high as it could go.
She leaned into his ear. “This is awesome.”
“I know,” Zach answered. “You’re a great dancer.”
“So are you.”
The beat slowed down, and Zach and Spencer moved closer and closer to one another until their hips touched. Spencer’s heart clanged in her chest like the clapper in a bell. When she opened her eyes, all she could see were Zach’s beautiful lips. He opened his eyes and gazed at her, too. She moved an inch closer. Zach edged in, too. Here goes . . .
Taking a deep breath, Spencer grabbed the back of his neck and planted her lips on Zach’s. He smelled like a spicy face cream and tasted like sugar and lime. His lips were stiff for a moment, but then they opened and let her in. Spencer’s stomach did somersaults. Electricity snapped off her skin. She raked her hands through Zach’s soft hair, wishing they could fall into bed.
But then Zach pulled away. The strobe light danced across his face. He looked confused. Upset. Spencer took a few steps back, too, heat immediately rising to her cheeks. It felt like everyone was looking at her, laughing at her.
Zach grabbed Spencer’s arm and pulled her into a sitting area just off the dance floor. He settled down on the plushy velvet couch under billowing canopies. It was the sort of place couples tumbled into to make out, but suddenly the moment felt charged in all the wrong ways.
“I think you’ve misunderstood,” Zach said. “Maybe I’ve misled you.”
“It’s fine,” Spencer snapped, staring pointedly at the glowing disco ball in the center of the dance floor. “So what is it? Do you have a girlfriend or something? Are you freaked out that our parents are dating?”
“It’s not any of that.” Zach shut his eyes. “Actually, Spencer . . . I think I’m g*y.”
Spencer’s jaw dropped. She stared at Zach’s thick eyebrows and strong shoulders, not believing it. He didn’t look g*y. He liked baseball. And beer. And he’d seemed to like her.
“I didn’t mean to give you the wrong idea.” Zach grabbed Spencer’s hands and squeezed them hard. “I’ve been having so much fun with you, and I don’t want anything between us to end. It’s just . . . no one knows. Especially not my dad.”
The song morphed into a sped-up mix from something by the Glee cast, and a bunch of girls screamed. Spencer stared at Zach’s soft, slender hands in hers. Something inside her turned over.