“You can, but I’m not.”

   “But you just told him—”

   “Jake, Logan’s mind works like a five-year-old’s. He wouldn’t take no for an answer, but I doubt he’d even remember if I were there or not.”

   He moves closer to me—so close I can smell him. “But what if I want you there? What if it’s me who’s asking, and you know I’ll remember if you’re there or not?” He places his hands on my waist and presses me against the dryer.

   The atmosphere has suddenly switched.

   Goose bumps from his touch break through my skin, and my breathing accelerates. It’s been so long since he’s touched me like this, and I need him to do . . . something, so my body doesn’t hate me.

   I lean into him slightly, my breasts lifting, and he knows it’s an invitation. He dips his head to my shoulder, his lips on the bare skin. Moving so slowly and softly it’s painful, his tongue slips out a tiny bit and moves higher up my neck to my jaw and ear. “I heard you last night,” he whispers.

   He moves his tongue lower, back down my neck to my collarbone. He bends over me so he can kiss the swell of my breasts. His hands go lower down my waist to my hips and thighs, until they meet at the bottom of my dress. Slowly and softly like his tongue, he moves his hands back up the bare skin of my thighs under the dress. It’s so erotic, and I’m so turned on, but I haven’t made a sound.

   Then he cups my ass gently, and I almost cry out with need. He slowly moves his fingers just under the material of my lace panties, and he groans when his hands hold my bare ass. His mouth is on my breasts, slowly kissing me everywhere. I’m panting, my mouth dry and eyes closed, feeling everything at once. God, I want him so fucking bad . . . The thought makes me moan out loud.

   He uses his teeth to pull my dress and bra down so my breasts are hanging out over them. His eyes are filled with lust as he stares up at me. He groans once, his eyes rolling back. Then my nipple is in his mouth, and he’s grabbing my ass more tightly. He’s sucking and licking like he can’t get enough, and I want him inside me.

   He pulls down my panties. They drop to the floor, and I can feel the coldness of the air on my wet heat. He puts his hands on my waist and lifts me onto the dryer, his mouth not leaving my breasts. His palms on my inner thighs, he spreads my legs for him. He stands in between them, and I can feel his hardness through his sweats. We grind against each other, my head thrown back and my chest lifted for him to devour.

   His mouth leaves my breasts and goes lower. He kisses my stomach through the material of my dress. I know what he wants to do, and I want him to do it so bad, but . . . I grab his head in my hands and tell him, “Not now, Jake. Not like this.” His mouth returns to my breasts, then he pulls back. I whimper, and he puts his fingers inside me. He moves them in and out, circling around, and I’m moaning, so fucking close.

   I can feel the build-up. I know I’m being loud, but I don’t care. He looks at me and laughs, because he knows I’m a screamer. But I cut him off by pulling his sweats down just enough so I can grab his huge, rock-hard dick in my hands. I stroke him up and down, and he moves in and out. I’m so wet and turned on, and he knows I’m about to come because his fingers work faster. I feel him harden slightly more before we both go over the edge. We breathe into each other, waiting to come down from this amazing feeling. We hold on until the buzz fades.

   We never even kissed. We have never kissed.

   When we’re finally calm, Jake says, “I missed you so fucking much.”

FORTY-ONE

JAKE

       I persuaded Kayla to come to the party with me. I’m so glad, because tonight I want her with me. I want to be able to hold her and let everyone know that she’s mine. She’s wearing a short green dress and those cowboy boots, and it’s hot as hell. We almost didn’t make it here. She had to keep tearing my hands off her.

       When we get to the frat house, there are hundreds of people already there. I have my girl under my arm, and she seems happy, which makes me happy. We sit down with our friends in front of the karaoke stage, laughing because the people who think they are good actually suck. It’s hilarious. She’s on my lap, drinking her third or fourth beer, and she’s giggling while watching someone onstage. My hands are on her bare legs, and her arms are wrapped around my neck. I rub my nose along her jaw, and she shivers every time I do it. I love it.

   “Hi, Jake.”

   Oh fuck. I don’t even look up because I know who it is. I grip Kayla more tightly. She’s trying to hold back a laugh, and I can feel her body shaking with the effort.

   “Hi, Lacey,” she says, her voice syrupy sweet.

   “It’s Casey,” she snaps.

   I flinch and Kayla feels it. She giggles again. I close my eyes, freaking out, because Casey is mental. I know I’m a macho asshole, but I can admit that I’m scared when she’s, like, within a five-billion-yard radius. Kayla reaches up and strokes my head like a baby, which actually helps. My hands try to creep higher up her bare thigh, but she swats them away.

   Casey hangs out with us for ten full minutes, pretending we’re best friends. I keep my eyes closed and my head buried in Kayla’s neck. Then Casey leaves, and I can breathe again.

   “She seemed nice,” Matt, one of Logan’s frat brothers, comments. Everyone stifles a laugh.

   “Yeah,” Kayla says. “Her face and conversation say ‘I’m nice enough,’ but her eyes say ‘I have eight dead bodies in the basement!’”

   Everyone cracks up, and I kiss her on the temple like I used to. I missed her so much. I never want to be apart from her again.

   Some guy is waving at me from across the room. I have no idea who he is, so I just smile. He looks at me awkwardly then eyes Kayla on my lap. “You know him?” I ask her.

   She looks up and smiles when she sees him. “I’ll be right back,” she says, getting up and walking over to him. He eyes her as she walks toward him. I almost stand up, but Logan reaches for my arm and pulls me back down. Who is this kid, and how does he know my girl?

   I shake my head and nudge Logan with my knee. I’m about a ten on the buzzed scale and about a five on the wasted. I jerk my head, and Logan looks over at them. He smiles. I want to punch his smug face.

   “That’s Phil or Will . . . Something like that,” Logan says.

   “And?” I ask, wanting more information.

   “And that’s all you get. Why? You jealous?”

   I look at him. “Quit being an asshole—you know I’m jealous. Who is he?”

   “You’re not allowed to be jealous, because, from what I know, she’s not your girl, is she?” he asks, his eyebrows raised, begging me to say something stupid, like declare my love for her or something. He’s not getting it—not today.