I grimace and look down. “Sorry, I didn’t mean it that way. God, I do come off as a judge-y bitch sometimes, don’t I?”

“Hey.” He reaches out and taps me under the chin to get me to look up. “I’m just messing with you. And why do you go home if you and your mom don’t get along?”

I snort. “Because she’s the master of guilt trips and it saves me money to stay with her. I actually was going to break tradition this year. I wanted to stay here and take this creative writing intensive thing, but my scholarship doesn’t cover it. I thought . . .” I stop myself and blow out a breath. “Never mind, it’s not important.”

“Sure it is. You thought what?”

I sigh. “I thought Caleb was going to ask me to move in with him tonight. Since he wouldn’t have charged me rent, I could’ve used the money I saved to sign up for that workshop. Work on my writing during the day, waitress at night. But obviously that plan’s not going to work. And the cash I saved will need to go to fixing my car. So I’m thinking it’s back home for me.”

He frowns. “The part you need for your car will probably be about four hundred bucks. I’ll make sure you don’t get charged for labor. And my brother would probably work out a payment plan with you. He does it for friends, so I can vouch for you.”

I shake my head, touched by the offer. “You, Monroe . . . Hell, I don’t even know your last name.”

“Hawkins.”

“Well, you, Monroe Hawkins, are a sweet guy.”

“Oh, God, please don’t let that rumor get out,” he says with mock horror. “And maybe this is all still a massive ploy to get you to sleep with me.”

I laugh. “Sexual favors in exchange for car repairs?”

“I’m totally not above that kind of bartering system. Let’s see, what act would be equivalent to a two-hundred-dollar labor charge? I’m thinking a blow—”

I shove his shoulder before he can finish and he rolls onto his back, chuckling.

“You’re terrible.” I straighten my bra strap, which has slid down my arm. “And believe me, I’m worth more than two hundred, mister. I’m at least in the two fifty range.”

He laughs harder.

“Because I know how to do this thing with my tongue that—”

He rolls back to his side and puts his hand out, fast as a striking snake, and covers my lips. “Please, don’t finish that. I’m lying here, trying to be a decent guy, and you’re going to paint those kinds of pictures in my head. So not fair.”

I curl my fingers around his wrist and move his hand away. “Like those pictures aren’t already in your head. I think you had me naked in your mind ten seconds after we met.”

He grins, unrepentant. “Seven seconds. And I’d feel guilty about it if you hadn’t done the same thing.”

I huff. “I did not.”

“So you just stood there and watched me walk away because you like my brand of jeans?”

I bite my lip and try to shove him again. “Shut up.”

Great, now I’m acting like a twelve-year-old.

But when I push him this time, he grabs my arm, pulling me with him, and rolls me half on top of him. I land with a soft oof. The playful mood of a few seconds ago dies on the spot. Because now I can’t concentrate. My upper body is pressing into his, and all of my mental energy diverts to mapping every hard plane beneath me. God, he’s warm. And solid. And he smells like beer and cupcakes, which somehow works. I don’t move away.

He looks up at me, his blue eyes almost silver in the moonlight. The humor has faded from his face, too. He pushes a lock of hair away from my face and tucks it behind my ear. “I want to kiss you again.”

“Yeah?” I say, my voice so soft I’m not even sure it made it all the way out of my throat.

“But I also don’t want you to worry that I’m going to push you too far. There’s no real pressure here, Nat. Yes, I like kissing you. And yes, I think you’re hot. Like unfairly hot. But I’m also having fun just hanging out with you. Honestly, it’s been a long time since I’ve done that with a girl and enjoyed it so much.”

The words send this buzzing feeling through me. A very dangerous buzzing feeling. “What, you’re more of hey, what’s up, let’s bang kind of guy?”

“Truthfully? Yeah. Though, someone should punch me in the face if I ever use a word as lame as bang. Hookups are easy. Everyone knows what’s up and has a good time. No drama.”

“I don’t hook up.”

“I know,” he says, his hand coming to rest on the small of my back. “I can respect that.”

“Really?”

“Of course. I’m a smartass, but I try not to be an asshole. And seriously, if you’re tired, you can crash at my place without stressing about what that means. I’ll take the couch. I’d much rather that than worrying about you roaming the streets until dawn or going home to that psycho roommate.”

I stare down at him. His months-past-a-haircut hair is flopped across his forehead and there’s the beginning of stubble on his cheeks. With the tattoos and the attitude he comes across tough, dangerous even, on first glance, but the way he’s looking at me right now is so genuine and sincere that my chest squeezes tight. I’ve been with Caleb for almost a year. I’ve shared things with him I’ve never told anyone else. I’ve opened myself up and tried to be everything he wanted me to. But Caleb has never looked at me like this, with such . . . care. Like I matter. Like my concerns and feelings are more important than his wants.

And all I am is a stranger to Monroe. If he shows this much kindness and protectiveness toward some girl he just met, what must he be like when he loves someone? I can’t even imagine.

“I think I’m tired,” I say. “And that bed sounds nice.”

He tilts his head, clearly surprised. “Yeah?”

“But if you really turn out to be a serial killer after all, I’m going to be so pissed.”

“Just because it’s your birthday, I’ll keep the carving knife and plastic sheets in the closet.”

I smirk and give in to my urge to touch him, tracing the curve of one dark eyebrow. “And I know you’re being noble—gold stars for you, by the way—but I think I want to kiss you again, too.”

His lips curve. “Is that right?”

“You have no idea.”

His hand slides to the back of my neck. “Well, who am I to deny a birthday girl her wish?”

I let him draw me down to him, and my lips part easily for him this time. Even in a few short hours he feels familiar in the best way possible. He feels right. The kiss is slow at first, like the lazy lake water lapping at the shore behind us—a gentle, caressing dance. His hand threads into my hair, and he’s in control, moving me where he wants me, taking the kiss deeper. And I’m falling into it, the warmth of his body, the feel of his mouth, the taste of him. I want to drown in this.

I find myself shifting more on top of him and sliding my knee upward. His free hand catches the back of my thigh and draws me onto him fully. I straddle him and don’t care that we’re in a public park. He groans into the kiss and now both his hands go to my hair. We’re drinking, drinking, drinking from each other. All the stress of my day, all the worries of tomorrow, all the concerns of a few moments ago seem to drain from me, the scary stuff sloughing off and leaving only this minute behind. This really spectacular minute.

I press myself fully against him, and my body tightens at the brush of his erection against me. I want to reach down and feel him against my palm, feel if his skin is getting as hot as mine. But I know if I do that, there’s no turning back. So I satisfy my need to touch by running my hands over his shoulders, his sides. My fingers find the edge of his T-shirt, and I let them slip beneath it and trail along the firm muscles beneath.

The groan from him this time is louder and he pulls back, his head landing against the grass. He’s out of breath. So am I.

“I think we need a time-out, princess. I’m not that noble.”