I rushed away from him, my body on fire, and disappeared into the crowd.

It immediately became quieter as I stepped into the hotel. The only sound other than the amiable banter of the desk assistant and the classical music tinkling over the PA was the sound of my heels clicking against the hardwood floor.

I found the ballroom and waited at the entrance as a smiling attendant ticked my name off the list.

A crisply dressed young man parted the rope at the entrance.

"Right this way, madam," he said, ushering me into the room. I searched the crowd for Ellis. He wasn’t hard to find, right in the center of a group, as usual, nattering away next to Marty, poised, looking comfortable in his crowd. He hadn't noticed me, so I approached quietly, hoping to surprise him.

"You should never have started up with her anyway," I overheard Marty say, "she's white trash. Real white trash."

"Don't talk about her that way," I heard Ellis grumble. "I just don't know what to do with her. Every time I take her somewhere she looks like she wants to run away. Every time we go to a soirée or a nice place for lunch or whatever, I get the feeling she'd be more comfortable at a Waffle House."

That got a good laugh from the crowd.

"What is that I've heard about her stepbrother?" a woman hissed, her voice a scandalous whisper, "that they were, uh, involved together?"

"Oh lord," I heard an older woman say, in a nasally, whiny cackle. "Her stepbrother. That's so trashy. Like a smutty novel." I heard her shrill laugh again. Then she changed the subject, turning to talk to someone else. "Hamilton, darling, have that Mexican fellow bring us more hors d'ouevres."

My heart sank. I'd done my best to fit in, and to do the right thing, especially tonight. I shrank back into the crowd, then turned and made my way back to the bar as fast as I could.

Jackson was nowhere to be seen. There was tall couple standing at the bar where he had been.

I grimly made my way back to the ballroom. But at the last minute I decided I couldn't go back there and veered into a hallway. I wandered through halls and up stairs until I found a second-story balcony overlooking a street.

I found a maintenance man leaning against a railing, smoking.

"Bum a smoke?" I asked.

He looked at me with surprise, then a second later, silently tapped a Marlboro into my hand.

"Thanks," I said as I leaned forward and the man lit it for me. I hadn't smoked in years, probably since I was in junior high, but I knew it would calm me down.

"Not my crowd down there," I said by way of explanation. The man nodded, looking at me flintily. We stood silently on the balcony. I leaned against the railing and looked down at the passersby on the street below, watching them come and go.

I thought about Jackson.

And then, miraculously, I saw his familiar figure walking on the sidewalk in front of me.

"Jackson!" I screamed. He kept walking. He was talking into his iPhone, lost in a conversation with someone. "Jackson!" I yelled again.  But he disappeared into the crowd.

My heart was pounding. I reached down and pulled off my heels. If I let him get too far I would never see him again.

I ran pell-mell down the stairs.

"Pardon me, excuse me," I recited breathlessly as I pushed partygoers out of the way. I somehow made it through the room, and then I stepped outside in my bare feet onto the dirty, cold, slushy sidewalk.

The sidewalk was crowded with people bundled up against the evening chill, lost in conversation. My heart sank. I'd never see him again.

I started running down the sidewalk anyway.  But only a few seconds later I heard a voice behind me.

"Mia!"

I whirled around breathlessly. Jackson was jogging through the crowd towards me. "What are you doing running around barefoot?" His eyes flashed when they met mine.

"I--"

"Come on," he urged, “let's get you inside.”  He then picked me up off the ground. I almost squealed in surprise as he lifted my body like I was as light as a pillow; I settled into his arms, my heart pounding. He carried me down a side street and a few seconds later we came to a small apartment building.

"You live here?"

"Yeah, this is where they put up the senior ski instructors." I stepped off the cold concrete onto a warm wood floor. Jackson's place was clean and sparse, with bright white walls and a wooden ceiling. It was a tiny studio; the bed was placed next to a stacked washer-dryer and a kitchenette. He pulled out a chair at the kitchen table for me, and I sat down, brushing the grime off the soles of my feet with my hands.

I confronted him before he even had a chance to sit down next to me.

"Why did you leave us? I hate you."

"Mia." His eyes grew wide, and he leaned forward to touch my knee. "Why are you so angry? I've been sending you guys money for the last five years."

"What?" We hadn't received a single cent. "You're a fucking liar. We never got anything." Jackson looked confused.

"I've been sending it to your address in Snaketown. Every Friday when I get paid." I sat there, trying to hold in the hurt. Why did he have to lie to me, on top of everything?

"Darrell told me that you had disappeared, and that you never wanted to see me and mom again."

"What? Why would he say that? He told me that you and your mom hated me for leaving, that you guys never wanted to talk to me again, but I've been sending you money anyway. I swear to God, I go to the post office to mail you guys a check right after I make my deposit at the bank."

It dawned on us both at that moment what had been happening—Darrell, my mother’s loser boyfriend, was pocketing the money.

"That fucking bastard," Jackson hissed, "I'll kill him."

"No," I admonished, reaching out to touch him. "Come here."

Jackson took me in his arms and I settled against his body, hot blood coursing through me, so happy to have finally found him again, to be able to touch him again.

"Why did you leave so suddenly?" I asked with my head resting on his chest.  "You never even said goodbye."

"There were people from Aspen recruiting at Mad River. They only bring the best of the best out here. Their first choice got injured, so they took me at the last minute. It was the opportunity of a lifetime.  They called me that day, and I had to go. " His hand affectionately rubbed my back, sending warmth blooming through my chest. "And I was scared, scared of..."

Of what happened--how we had kissed, and that night the next week when we had given in and fooled around. We lived in a small town, and if word had gotten out, it would have been a real scandal.

Then I stood up, straddled his lap, and kissed him hard on the lips.

I felt Jackson's body stiffen in surprise, and then he relaxed, his lips moving with mine.

Then he pushed me away.

"We shouldn't do this," Jackson breathed, holding me away from him, his hand pressing against my ribs as I tried to pull him in.

"I've wanted to for so long," I whimpered, leaning forward to kiss him again. Then I took one of his big hands in mine and moved it to my breast. I looked into his eyes pleadingly, unable to turn away.

Then he swept me up in his arms and carried me to the bed.

He laid on top of me, his strong arms gripping my shoulders as our lips met again, heat growing in the space between us. Every time we kissed I felt a shiver of electricity corkscrew through my body. His lips traced a searing line from my earlobe down to my sensitive neck, plunging downwards until he was kissing the hot, flushed skin between my breasts.