“I don’t think he lied. He probably thought it was just seniors.”

“I wasn’t even here last year and I know that it’s not.”

“I don’t know, then.”

“Whatever. I’m gonna take a nap.”

He falls asleep quickly.

I grab my phone out of my purse and type How to choose between two guys into Google.

I’ve heard that Google searches are how the NSA and CIA and all those federal organizations track people. They supposedly create major profiles on each one of us. Because, apparently, what we search can tell them a lot about us.

So now, more than likely, what I just typed is currently on a screen at the NSA. Agents are huddling around some dude’s computer laughing at me and saying, Did you see what she just typed? They’ll mark my profile as mentally unstable and if I fly commercial, I’ll probably get strip-searched and have my shoes confiscated.

I breeze through a few articles anyway.

On one blog I find something interesting way down in the comments. A girl asked if she should choose the guy that is in love with her, or the guy she’s in love with. Which is an interesting way to put it. Unfortunately, the people that replied to her question were very mixed on who she should chose—which is not much help.

Then I find a Cosmo article. Cosmo is like a relationship bible. Like Vogue is for fashion. This article makes me feel lots better. It says that it’s okay to date more than one guy at a time and that if you can’t choose, it’s probably because you’re not ready to choose.

And I think Cosmo is right.

I’m not ready to chose.

My phone vibrates in my hand. It’s Cooper.

Oh, shit. I forgot to press the button when we left campus.

“Since you answered, I’m assuming you haven’t been kidnapped?”

“That’s correct. Sorry. I forgot to press the button thing when I left.”

“Where the hell are you? Actually, don’t answer that. I already know. You are moving quickly, probably by train, about 20 miles from here. Garrett just called and told me that. Yelled at me because I didn’t know where you were.”

“Oh, I’m sorry. I’m on the train with Dallas. We’re going to New York City. It’s Riley’s birthday, so I’m going to stay at his house.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because you’re not my keeper.”

“The hell I’m not, Keatyn. You can’t just leave without telling me. Shit. Excuse me just a minute.”

I hear a chair scratch across the floor and Cooper say, “Miss Clarke, can I help you?”

I hear her reply. “I just came to see if you wanted to hang out today. Maybe go see a movie. Have a drink. I’m bored.”

“You’re not old enough to drink and I’m busy. Goodbye.”

Then I hear a door shut. “You need to check in with me always or you won’t be going anywhere without me again. We clear?”

“I’m sorry. I’ve got a lot on my mind.”

“Boys are the least of your problems.”

“Thank you for reminding me,” I say sarcastically. “You know what? I’m not coming back until Sunday. Why don’t you take a couple days off.” Then I say “go get laid” under my breath.

“I heard that.”

“Maybe I wanted you to hear that.”

“I was planning to take you to the gun range today.”

“You should go yourself. Practice.”

“When you’re done with the play, we’re getting serious about your training, understand?” he says gruffly.

“Yeah, I understand.”

Dawson meets us at the door and carries my bag up the stairs. He stops at a door and says, “This is my room.”

“It looks perfect, not like your room at school.”

“Ha, yeah. I'm rarely here. I'm either at school or at the beach. I'd live at the beach all day, every day if I could.”

“Yeah, me too. I bet you’d like California’s beaches. The waves get big. The sunsets are amazing.”

“Think me and your ex would get along?”

“I don’t know. Probably. He's pretty chill most the time. Smokes a lot. Well, he used to.”

“Did you do that with him a lot?”

“I didn’t think so at the time but looking back, we did a lot.”

“Have you talked to him lately?”

“Actually, I did last week. I realized that he’s my root. He apologized for the cabana thing. Explained it.”

“Root?”

“Root of my problem. I thought that everything went back to him. But I realized that everything goes back to me and how I react when something happens.”

He gives me his sexiest grin, pulls me inside his room, and locks the door. “People do make mistakes, you know. You're about to make one right now.”

“I am?”

He unzips the back of my dress. It falls to the floor. Thank goodness I wore good underwear. I almost didn't, just so I wouldn't do this.

Not that it would have stopped him.

He stands back and stares at my black and white polka dot bra and panties. “That’s so sexy. Did you wear that just for me?”

“I was gonna wear something ugly, so I would be too embarrassed to let you see.”

He strips off my bra, pushes me on his bed, and kisses my stomach. “You didn’t want to do this?”

Riley pounds on the door.

“Text him,” Dawson says, unzipping his pants. “We’re gonna need a minute.”

I try to text Riley. But what am I supposed to say? That he’s giving me a tour of his room?

Me: Busy. Stall, please.

I drop my phone to the floor as Dawson kisses me.

Riley bangs on the door a few minutes later as I’m putting my dress back on. “Time to party!” he yells.

“I was wrong,” Dawson says. “No way that was a mistake.”

“Maybe it was one of those good mistakes. Like when you pay for a single dip cone, but you get a double.”

“I think you are going to have a good-mistake-laden weekend.”

“Do you think this is skanky of me? Doing it with you when I’m seeing you both?”

He tilts his head at me. “We don't have to if you don't want to. I'm sorry I unzipped your dress.”

“You don’t look very sorry.”

He chuckles. “Yeah, I’m not really.”

“Dawson, you know how you asked me to wear your jersey for the game on Friday?”

“Yeah.”

“You told me it was for seniors only. It’s for varsity starters.”

“Yeah, I know. I got it confused with Senior night. It’s coming up too.”

“Aiden asked me to the banquet. I told him yes.”

“So you’re wearing my shirt, escorting me onto the field, but you’re going to the banquet afterwards with him?”

“Yeah.”

“You can’t. That’s not the tradition.”

“You got the tradition wrong and you’ve been to the banquet for the last three years. I’m new. How would I know what the tradition is?”

He squints his eyes at me. I can tell he wants to argue, but if he does, he knows he’ll sound like a liar.

Instead, he says, “Whatever.”

Does he make you hot?

1am

We have fun celebrating Riley’s birthday. We start with dinner at a sports bar he loves, where he gets his photo taken with the scantily clad waitresses. Then we have a very competitive bowling tournament, which the birthday boy wins. Then back to their house for cake and ice cream. It’s really fun and not at all what I expected. Apparently, he’s been having the same party since he was twelve.

I’m lying in Dawson’s bed, having just finished my second mistake of the day.

“I was talking to my dad about love last night. He says that love isn’t always an instant thing. That sometimes it grows. He says that trust is the most important thing. I trust you probably more than anyone else. And seriously, Keatie, I can't imagine it being better than this. Can you?”

“I don't know. I think it probably feels pretty good with everyone. Just different.”

He runs a finger across my stomach. “Pretty good, yes. Amazing, no. But we have all night. I’m going to have to prove it to you.”

“How are you going to do that?”

Dawson runs his tongue slowly across my collarbone. "Maybe I should torture you with my tongue."

I laugh. "Riley threatened to do that the first time we hung out."

“Well, ya know, us Johnson boys, we got it going on.”

He runs his tongue down my side. It tickles. I pull away slightly, but he does it again, slower. It tickles even more and makes me really horny.

He looks up lazily at me. Rolls on top of me. I can feel that bigness against my skin. Usually as soon as he's hard again, he'd be in me, so I’m surprised when he continues with his tongue.

Up the middle of my stomach, up my neck, under my chin, and to my lips. I have my hips raised up to him. I even reach for it.

He goes, “Un uh, not yet. I want you crazy for me.”

And I do about go crazy while he tortures me with his tongue. And now I know why it’s torture. He's using his tongue everywhere but where I want it to be. Mostly, he’s been running it down my stomach, up the insides of my thighs, and just when I'm thinking, finally, he stops and kisses up my sides again.

I let out a sad little sigh.

He grins at me. Continues.

“Dawes, oh my god, please.”

He barely gets his fingers inside me, and I'm moaning, apparently a little too loudly because he tosses a pillow on top of my head. I grab it and moan into it. I've never been loud like this before. Honestly, it’s never felt like this before.

“Oh, that felt so good,” I say breathlessly as he pulls the pillow off my face, kisses me deeply, and pulls my legs around his waist.

And then I need the pillow again.

The bed is creaking. He's tightly holding my hips and slamming into me. Like, way harder than he ever has before, and oh my god.

And when I say oh my god, it is literally a prayer of thanks.

But then just when I think he's going to finish, he slows way down, and then pretty much stops.

"What's wrong? I ask.

He leans down and whispers, “I don't want to be done yet."

"Can you do that?"

"I just did. Roll over,” he tells me.

I hesitate. I've never rolled over before.

But I do, a little nervously. He pulls me up unto my hands and knees, and then he's back at it. I have a brief flash of self-consciousness, wondering if there could be some cellulite on my ass that I never noticed. But when he grabs my hips and continues the fast frenzy, I could care less about cellulite.

It feels so good that I have to put my face into the pillow again.

Finally he does that thing where he stops, holds his breath, and I know I'm not supposed to move. Then he starts to collapse on top of me, grabs my waist, and pulls us both over on our sides. He moves my messed up hair off my neck and places little kisses down the side of it.

I laugh. "That was . . . I want to say amazing, but . . . it was better than that."

"Was it orgasmic?” he says with a laugh.

I breathe in, then breathe out a deep contented sigh. “Actually, I think it was. I’ve always enjoyed it a lot. But, um, never like that."

“Really? I’ve never made you before?”

“Have I ever sounded like that before?”

“Actually, no. That was hot. I thought you needed a little extra wooing."

"I thought we decided sex wasn't part of the wooing process."

“Yeah, you're right. Open the drawer on my nightstand."

I lean over, open it, and see a little present.

I get a grin on my face. "What's this?"

He grins back. "Open it and see."

I take the lid off the box. Inside is a pale pink seashell. “Is this the shell we found that day at the Hamptons?”

"Yeah, I kept it, but it kinda smelled, so there's this lady that cleans them, polishes them, and then paints the gold around the edges."

"It’s beautiful."

"I heard Braxton invite you to the beach this summer. I hope you decide to come.”

I don't know what is wrong with me, but tears start leaking out of my eyes.

"What's wrong? If you tell me you feel guilty, I might start crying."

I laugh as I wipe away the tears. “It’s an emotional roller coaster."

“I’m sure you being here all weekend is killing him."

“Maybe.”

“I think he's going to ask you out when we get back. I think you should say yes.”

"Why!? You don't want me anymore!?"

"Uh, no." He gives me a long sweet kiss. "I needed to see with Whitney, and you probably need to see if he really touches your soul. I’m confident that it isn’t going to go well. So go out with him. Get over it. Then come back to me.”

I lay my head on his shoulder and wonder how I could ever leave in the first place.

Sunday, October 30th

My little snuggle bunny.

9am

There’s a loud bang on the door. “Breakfast in ten."

I open my eyes. I'm exactly where I was when I fell asleep. Snuggled up in Dawson's arms, my head on his chest. I savor the feel of it. The way he smells.

"How's my little snuggle bunny?"