I unlinked our fingers to take the drink. No spillage this time. I thought she'd move her hand away once I'd separated them, but she left it there, palm up, waiting. I didn't hesitate for a second.

She tried to continue eating with her left hand, but it was clearly a struggle. I laughed quietly as I watched her. She glared at me, but a smile played on her lips. She huffed out, as if annoyed, then placed my hand on her leg and released it.

I could feel the warmth of her skin through the material of her dress. I think I moaned; I'm not sure, but she giggled quietly. Then Dad cleared his throat. I'd forgotten he was here.

He stood up, dramatically. "I'm tired," he announced. "I'm going to bed. You should show Amanda your old room and those posters of 50 Cent."

Then he was gone.

"50 cent?" She laughed.

I didn't even care. I just wanted to hear her laugh.

15

Amanda

"Why are you blushing?" I asked him.

He laughed. "I'm about to show you my room from when I was fifteen."

"Do you have pictures of naked ladies?" I teased.

"Honestly?" He put his hand on the handle and pushed down. "Most likely."

He swung the door open and I stepped in. "Well," I told him. "This is a total anti-climax. It's just an average teenage boy’s room."

"Sorry to disappoint you."

I walked around, looking for something I could make fun of, but there was nothing. Apart from the posters of rappers that were cool more than ten years ago, there wasn't much at all. Surely he had a porn stash. What fifteen-year-old boy didn't?

I walked to his bed and checked under it. Nothing.

"What are you doing?" He followed and looked under it himself.

I went to his nightstand and opened the drawer. Nothing.

"Hmm." I tapped my lip with my index finger. "If I was Logan Matthew’s porn collection, where would I hide?"

His laughter filled the room.

I stepped towards his walk-in closet.

"Where are you going?" He blocked me, with a panicked look on his face. One step closer and we'd be chest to chest.

I shrugged. "I told you, searching for your porn collection."

He let me pass. I turned the light on in the small room and looked around. He chewed his lip, his hands going in his pockets.

And then I saw it: a box on the top shelf. I smirked at him. He shook his head. A blush crept to his cheeks.

"Busted," I told him.

I got on my toes and tried to reach for it.

I sensed him before I felt him. The warmth of his hard chest against my back made me tense. "It's not what you think it is." His voice was hoarse.

"Yeah?" I asked, hoping my nerves didn't show. When any part of us connected, it was more than just physical. Or even emotional. It was a collision of comfort and unease. Gut-wrenching and heartwarming. He did this to me. We did this to each other. "So, what is it then?"

I heard his shaky breath against my ear. Then his hand settled on my hip as he pressed into me. I let out a moan. It had been a year since I’d felt a guy like this. This close. This hard. He reached up with his spare hand and pulled down the box. Then, with the hand still on my hip, he guided me to turn around. He didn't step back and away from me; in fact, he moved closer, and closer, until my body was up against the wall under the shelf. He pulled back slightly, his arm raised, gripping the bar above my head. There were no hangers on it, no clothes; the small space was empty, apart from a few boxes on the floor against the walls. The sleeve of his shirt bunched together, allowing me to see his tattoo again.

"Amanda," he whispered, then opened the box between us. Inside were dozens of pendant glass vials, like the one he’d given me that day in the rain. The day he’d promised me that we would make new memories, ones that I wasn't afraid of. He said that we'd be amazing. We really could have been.

My hand reached in for one. Each vile was in a ziplock bag with a date and location handwritten. "Every time it rained, I thought of you." He sniffed one. My eyes lifted to his. "I wanted to send you these, but I just—I don't know . . ."

"There's so many in here."

He nodded. "There are four more boxes."

"Why?"

"For the same reason you came here every other week. It made me feel closer to you. It made me miss you less."

"Why didn't you just come home then?"

He placed the box back on the shelf, and pressed his body against me. "Because I'm a coward. And an asshole. And I don't deserve to have you in my life, let alone here, in my room."

Wrapping his hand around my neck, he brought me closer to him. "Don't you dare kiss me," I told him. I wasn't ready for it. Not yet. But soon. Maybe once my head was out of the clouds and my heart could handle it.

"Okay," he agreed. Then leaned in close and brushed my lips with his.

"What are you doing?" I whispered against them. I didn't pull back. I let my heart control my head, which made my actions confusing.

"Not kissing you," he confirmed. He moved his lips away from mine, trailed them up my jaw and to my ear. He nibbled gently, just underneath it. Then his lips parted and his tongue darted out, as he moved down my neck, so fucking slowly. He paused on my shoulder, moving the strap of my dress to the side, and his teeth skimmed along my skin.

My hands flattened on his stomach. I could feel the dips of his muscles. "You said you wouldn't kiss me," I breathed out.

"I'm not." His mouth never left my shoulder.

"So what are you doing?" My voice was strained. My breathing was heavy. I squeezed my legs together.

He pulled away and looked into my eyes. "Remembering you."

My head flung back and hit the wall behind me. I heard him moan from deep in his throat, just before I felt his mouth on my neck, his tongue flicking slowly, gently against my throat. "Oh my God." I sighed. My hands moved lower on him. I couldn't control them, even if I’d tried. They passed the band of his shorts and brushed against his hard-on.

He groaned into my neck, vibrating my skin. I felt it all the way in my core.

My body felt like it was on fire, ready to combust. He removed the other strap from my shoulder and licked and sucked there, right before his hand gripped the side of my chest. His thumb skimmed across my already strained nipple. He placed his knee between my legs and separated them. It was too much. Too many things happening at once. His thumb on my nipple, his mouth on my skin, and his legs between mine—I couldn't take much more.

He pulled away abruptly, and I almost felt grateful. But he just looked at me; his eyes were the darkest I'd ever seen them. They seemed to widen slightly, like something had just dawned on him.

"Fuck," he spat through clenched teeth. I could feel the material of my dress shifting against my breasts with each breath. His eyes zoned in on my chest. In a flash, he'd removed the straps from my arms and was standing there, studying me, as if wondering what to do next. He smirked slightly. His next action had been decided. And then he did it. He yanked my dress down, just enough so that my breasts were free. His breathing was so heavy, so short. He was panting. He rubbed his hand against his dick, just once. But the image of it was enough to drive me insane.