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There’s something heated, feverish, in his gaze. And then he jumps away from me like I’m some kind of crazed stalker.

“Jesus,” he snaps. “What the hell?”

I struggle to recover, forcing everything I feel into something that resembles anger rather than agony. “I bumped into you,” I retort. “I didn’t run you over with a car. Why are you flipping out?”

I expect him to back down but he doesn’t. “And why are you out here in nothing but a towel?” he hisses.

My jaw drops and I roll my eyes. I cannot believe he’s overreacting like this. I gesture behind me. “This is a shower, Einstein. It’s what humans do to cleanse themselves.”

“Yes, I’m aware that it’s a shower,” he says. “That doesn’t explain why you think it’s okay to go wandering around outside naked.”

“I’m not naked,” I snap. “I can remove the towel if you’re unclear on the difference.”

He blanches at that. “You can’t go wandering around out here in a towel. And no one needs to see you walking through the house like that.”

I let out an irritated huff. Dan and Max aren’t even home. And he doesn’t need to make it sound like I’m inflicting some horrible, blinding vision on people by walking by with my arms and legs visible. “You’re an asshole,” I say, and I storm off before I do what I’m very inclined to: drop the towel entirely and let him contend with that horrible, blinding vision.

The door is still locked when I get upstairs. I pound on it until Ginny answers and ignore the indignant look she gives me as I dress. I only want, in this moment, to be as far from her and James as possible.

I walk on the beach, ruminating over all of it. Ginny’s anger and most of all James. He’s treating me like some kind of danger, like a small wild animal intent on causing harm. How exactly am I at fault for what happened? I didn’t pull him into me. I didn’t run my hands through his hair or grab his ass. I wasn’t the one hard enough to break cement.

I see a guy running in the distance, shirtless and barefoot. He reminds me of James and that’s all it takes to make my anger revert to the sadness it’s really been all along. All the things I cared about a few months ago - my grades and my career and my internship and Ryan - they feel like a weak substitute, something to fill the time until James Campbell shows some interest. And it’s beginning to look like he never will, ensuring a future full of weak substitutes.

The runner comes closer. He has brooding eyes and dark brows and a perfect mouth, and there is only one person alive who possesses those things in James’s precise quantities.

I brace myself for another onslaught of rejection, but instead he slows and comes to a halt a few feet in front of me, looking troubled.

“Hey,” he says. He pulls out the shirt he’d tucked into his waistband and wipes his face with it. “I’m sorry. About earlier.” He speaks haltingly.

A thousand questions fly through my mind and I’m guessing I won’t get the chance to ask more than one of them.

“Why are you treating me like this?” I ask finally. “It was already bad before we … before Ginny’s birthday. And now … ” I have to pause to avoid that tell-tale crack in my voice. “I don’t understand why you dislike me so much. I’m the same person I was five years ago and you liked me then, so what happened?”

“I don’t dislike you. Not at all. God … ” he says, rubbing a hand over his eyes. “I’ve handled this whole thing so badly.”

He sounds so tortured that my first impulse is to soothe, but I say nothing.

“I’ve wanted to apologize a thousand times,” he begins. “But there is absolutely nothing I can say, there is no apology that could ever be sufficient, so instead I’ve said nothing and that’s so much worse.”

“Apologize? For what?”

“For … what happened. I shouldn’t have … ” he falters again, as if even alluding to it is so painful he can’t bring himself to do it. “All I can do is tell you I’m sorry. I can’t tell you how much I regret it.”

I wince. I didn’t think his answer could hurt more than it already did, but I was wrong. “How flattering,” I mumble.

He rubs at the back of his neck. “I didn’t mean it like that. I just meant it was wrong and … I’ve spent so much time trying to keep you safe and that I was the one to take advantage of you like that sickens me.”

“You didn’t ‘take advantage’ of me,” I reply. “I’m not a kid.”

He flinches. “You’re 19, Elle. And I’m 25. So yeah, that’s taking advantage, whether you see it that way or not.”

“That’s ridiculous.”

“No. It’s not.” His jaw sets. “And the fact that you don’t get that drives me crazy. You’re like one of those cartoon characters walking through all these hazards, barely missing being crushed by falling rocks or whatever. You think you can walk around in that uniform, or in a fucking towel, and not attract attention? You think it’s okay for Brian to stand there with his hands all over you?”

“No … ” I begin to object.

“I’m not done,” he says. “Here’s the thing: guys are dogs. Even the good ones. Even me. Even Max and Dan. You’re this deadly combination of incredibly beautiful and incredibly sheltered and you just don’t see it.”