Today has been epically exhausting. Between platonic dates, panic attacks and lessons in emotional history, the last thing I feel like is a party. Not even the idea of corn chips has me enthused tonight.

"I know it's been a tough day," Cass says, dragging me up Chloe Schilz's front steps. "But that's exactly why you need to be here with us tonight. You need friends and fun and a chance to let your hair down. And your parents agree with me."

"As I tried to tell all three of you, I could happily have let my hair down on the couch in my PJs with a whole lot of Netflix."

"Pfft. And waste the amazing job I've done on your smoky eyes – I think not."

As I close the Schilzs' front door, my poor smoky eyes are accosted by Bethany Cartwright and Davey Porter mauling each other against the wall in the hallway. I don't even know where to begin with that one. All I can say is 'called it', 'I told you so', and 'I'm pretty sure Bethany owes me some kind of apology'.

Whatever.

We find our friends in the back garden, sitting on the low sandstone wall that borders the sunken fire pit. Cass heads straight for her reserved seat on Chomper's lap. Trav pats the space on the wall beside him.

"Come sit with me Burton. Claudia here is telling me about this great new app she's signed up for. What was it called again Claudia – DateRate?"

"DateMate," corrects the pretty Eurasian girl sitting on Trav's other side. "I swear my whole school's gone nuts for it. Even my boyfriend signed up and he's, like, the least romantic person ever. He's taking me rock climbing and then to high tea tomorrow – I can't wait."

Seriously, this stupid app has a life of its own.

"Claudia, which room did you put my jacket in?"

"Hang on babe, I'm coming," she gives us a little wave as she walks towards the house.

"Are you okay?" Trav takes the opportunity to quietly ask me.

"I'm good. Tired. A bit shaky. But good. You were right, there was an innocent explanation. We talked. Really talked. I think maybe things are going to change for the better. At least, we're going to try."

"That's great news Franks. I'm really happy for you." He puts his arm around my shoulder and pulls me towards him, kissing me on the forehead before pulling me into a friendly hug. He smells like lemons and freshly washed sheets and I take a deep breath through my nose before I can stop myself.

"Did you just sniff me?" he asks with a chuckle.

"No, of course I didn't. (Deny, deny, deny).

"You totally did. You sniffed me."

"Alright, I did. But only to check that you remembered to put deodorant on."

"You are totally full of it, Burton. Admit it. You think I smell good."

"Fine. You smell good. Now can we please change the subject?"

"You're cute when you're flustered." He grins his wonky Riordan grin and my fluster amplifies.

I roll my eyes at him. His roll right back.

"Francesca, can I talk to you for a minute?

Praise be to whoever, I'm saved from the Riordan charm offensive by a Felix Darver-shaped bell.

Wait. What? Felix is talking to me. Yay, Felix is talking to me. If there's one thing I could really use tonight it's some good, old fashioned distraction. My eyes drop to his lips in anticipation. Yup, still there, still infinitely kissable.

"Sure, let's 'talk'." I smirk at the euphemism.

Felix leads me towards a two-person swing chair at the back of the garden. He's wearing the black denim jacket again, this time over a white tee-shirt. He looks really, really good.

I sit. He doesn't. The pained expression on his face tells me that excellent kissing may be off the menu this evening.

Crap.

"Look Francesca, I wanted to apologise for blanking you the past few weeks. I was mad and I thought... well, it probably doesn't matter what I thought now."

Felix runs an agitated hand through his dark hair and I realise that he's anxious. It occurs to me that maybe Trav was right and that he's seen our party activities in a different way than I have. In the newly found light of my ability to discuss all the feelings, I wonder how I feel about that?

As he paces before me, I take the opportunity to properly look at Felix. To recognise him as being more than just sleepy eyes and ready-made distraction. Felix Darver is a decent guy. I've always known that. He's loyal to his mates and sweet to his kid sister and makes his teachers laugh even when he's blatantly bending the rules. If (and this is a big 'if') I was ever going to contemplate being more than just kissing with someone, I could do far worse than Felix.

Today, both Trav and my Dad challenged me to give people the benefit of the doubt. If I'm honest, I had trouble doing that even before my Dad's affair. I've always been a hedge-my-emotional-bets kind of girl. Maybe (and I can't believe that I'm saying this) it's time to take a risk.

"I've met someone Frankie, and I really like her."

Or maybe not.

"You have? That's great." I try to sound enthusiastic and supportive. I'm pretty sure I fail.

"Yeah. Through that DateMate app," he says sheepishly. "My mates and I signed up as a joke and I met Hannah."

I swear on all the things, that app is ruining my life. I'm officially the fake co-CEO of an alarmingly real dating empire, that is definitely, positively, most certainly out to get me.

"Anyway. I've never really known where you and I stand and I'm pretty sure that I was always more into the idea of 'us' than you were but I wanted to tell you about Hannah before you found out from someone else."

"Thanks Felix, I appreciate it," I say, careful to keep my tone light and carefree.

And then he's gone.

Have you ever had a non-boyfriend break up with you? It actually sucks quite a bit. Felix Darver is not the love of my life. But maybe, if I'd let him be, he could have been more than just excellent kissing. And maybe that would have been quite nice. Now I'll never know. Because I'm a commitment-phobe who agreed to become a digital matchmaker and inadvertently introduced him to a Hannah.

I head back to the fire and find Trav sitting alone.

"Where is everyone?" I ask.

"Hunting and gathering, mainly. Chloe's brother offered to do a snacks and bottle shop run. Not sure where Chomp and Cassie have gone but I'm assuming they took my 'get a room' suggestion seriously."

"Eww."

"You're one to talk, Burton. Enjoy your little trip up the garden path with Darver, did you?"

"Not really," I tell him honestly. "Felix met someone else."

"Shit, Franks, I'm sorry."

"Yeah, me too."

We sit there in comfortable silence for a while, each lost in our own thoughts.

I watch a bug crawling around the fire pit wall, seemingly oblivious to the imminent danger of the radiant heat or the flames. It's a sad night when you realise that a bug is braver than you are.

Trav nudges me with his shoulder.

"Do you remember in Year 9 when I asked you if you wanted to go and see a movie and you invited all your friends to come too?"

"Yes," I say. "We saw that infantile comedy and all the boys loved it and all the girls thought it was terrible."

"Yeah, well, when I asked you out, I'd actually meant it to be just you and me."

"What, as in a date?" My voice reflects my shock.

"Yeah, as in a date."

I'm suddenly hyper aware of all the points where our bodies are touching – thighs, hips, arms.

"But... I invited all those other people and you never said anything."

"I sort of assumed that was your way of letting me down gently."

"No... I... Wait. I don't get it, why would you ask me out on a date?"

"Seriously Frankie?" He swivels his body around to face me. "You don't believe in making any of this easy, do you? I asked you out because I liked you. I'd had a massive crush on you for most of the year."

"You what?" I stare at him, bug-eyed (but not bug-brave).

"OMG, you should see your face," he's laughing at me now. "You look completely horrified. Way to stab a guy right in the ego Burton."

"No... I... Not horrified, just shocked. Seriously, I had no idea."

"You must have been the only person in our entire year level who didn't. I wasn't exactly subtle."

He swings one leg over the wall so he's straddling it and taps me on the knee to indicate that I should do the same. We're now facing each other with nowhere to hide.

"I'm not exactly perceptive," I remind him.

"You are though, that's the thing. You notice all sorts of little details about other people. It's just when it comes to how people feel about you that you seem to be a tad clueless."

My little bug friend is veering dangerously close to the fire. He's determined though, scurrying along without hesitation. Brave little fucker that one. Me? I always hesitate.

"I liked you too." I spew the words out before I can re-think them.

"You did?" He gives me that half smile and shy eyes that sprain a muscle in my heart.

"Yeah, I did. But I just assumed it was one-sided."

"Why would you assume that?"

"I don't know." I shrug.

We're both silent for a moment. I think about Trav at 14, all new found height and gangly limbs and a face that was just starting to come into its own. He wasn't yet the great golden Travers Riordan, slayer of hearts and captain of things – he was just Trav, the boy from my science class who I had a massive crush on.

"Franks?"

"Yeah."

"I'm going to kiss you now."

And he does.

If you'd asked me six weeks ago what sort of kisser Travers Riordan would be, I probably would have said 'boring' or 'bland' or 'predictable'. He is none of those things.

As soon as his lips meet mine – warm, steady and sure – my body goes into instant overdrive and the endless noise in my head quiets. His tongue slips between my teeth and I whimper involuntarily. Seven trillion nerve endings simultaneously leap to attention, screaming 'this one, this one, this one' at the top of their non-existent voices. My pulse thunders in my ears.

We kiss for so long that my lips feel bruised. It's the best feeling in the world. His hands tangle hard in my hair. Mine have a mind of their own, trailing down his biceps, up his thighs and across the impressive boy muscles in his chest and abdomen. He smiles against my mouth as I find a ticklish spot on his side and then squirms as I keep tickling.

"Cut it out, Burton" he growls.

"Bite me," I say, automatically.

"Don't tempt me," he says softly, in a tone that makes me want to find a room with a bed and debate the finer details of whether handsy is too handsy.

I'm about to suggest just that when he breaks the kiss and leans his forehead against mine.

And then he says four little words that kill the mood faster than a bucket of iced water.

"I could love you."