The kiss is perfect and sweet, everything I always thought it would be. We’re smiling as we pull apart, his eyes a little glazed over.
“Love a girl who knows what she wants,” he murmurs.
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
So I get bolder. Why the hell not?
“I want to go upstairs with you.”
“Yeah?” he asks, surprised and, if I’m not mistaken, enthusiastic.
“Yes. Do you want that?”
“Yeah. Yes. Definitely yes.”
I reach up and pull him down for another kiss, then I take his hand in mine and lead him away. I make it only a couple steps before I smell that familiar smell…
Watermelon-scented vapor.
I stumble, a hoard of memories hitting me straight in the chest.
“What’s wrong?” Ellie asks, stopping behind me.
“Do you smell watermelon?”
He furrows his brow and looks around, makes a show of smelling the air. “No. What? No.”
“No?”
He’s confused but takes a moment to breathe in yet again.
“Maybe I do. Sort of? I’m not sure. Why does it matter?”
That takes me aback. Whywouldit matter?
“It doesn’t. Sorry—let’s go.”
I shake my head and try to get back into the moment. I reach down,grab his hand, and lead him through the crowded party. Halfway up the stairs, I make the mistake of glancing out at the sea of partiers, and my gaze locks on a cherubic, baby-faced Catherine Aarons staring directly at me.
No, I remind myself, ignoring the pang of guilt.Not Catherine Aarons. Not yet.
Maybe not ever.
Her name’s Catherine Davis. She doesn’t know me. I don’t know her.
I’m not doing anything wrong.
Pushing past the moment, I continue up the stairs. Every time I glance back at Ellie, his eyes are more and more glazed with lust.
I pull him into the first open door I find. Some frat guy’s room.Sorry, dude.
I lock the door behind us and don’t hesitate to pull him down onto the bed so he’s on top. We make out—he’s a little clumsy, uncoordinated, but still perfect.
He pulls back when I take his shirt off.
“I’ve never—” He breaks off awkwardly.
