the hem of his shirt, eager to explore the glorious muscles underneath. Ryan follows my lead and picks up the pace. Cooler air pricks at my back as he sweeps an arm beneath me and pulls my tank over my head.

Ryan pauses for a second. His hesitant eyes meet mine and I quickly reclaim his lips. He responds, but barely. He’s thinking again and if he follows his thoughts, then I’ll lose my chance at higher.

I trail my hand down his spine—a light

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circle lower, Ryan moans and rejoins the

game. My mouth slants up under his kiss.

I love the sound of his moan. I love how his hands memorize the small of my back and dare lower to my thighs. I love how we’ve both moved beyond coherent thought. I love

floating.

We roll and I help Ryan lose his shirt. In seconds, our legs tangle. My hands curl into his muscles as Ryan generously trails hot kisses along the nape of my neck. He grows bold, inching my bra strap off my shoulder. I reward bold.

We lose control—quickly, so fast we’ve

broken beyond floating to flying. I inhale and all I smell is Ryan: the sweet scent of summer rain. I’m so giddy I could almost laugh—I’m finally high. Higher than I’ve ever been

without drugs, higher than I’ve ever been with another guy, higher than…

Ryan’s hand slides to cradle my face, his warm palm touching my cheek. His head

follows and we both gasp for air as he rests his forehead against mine. He’s pausing and I don’t like pausing. Pausing means thinking.

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explore; his lips still exert gentle pressure against my skin. Maybe he’s not pausing.

Maybe he’s…what? What is he doing? His

body says one thing, but his mouth says

another.

“No talking.” I don’t want talking. I want higher. I want further.

Ryan brushes the hair away from my face

and my heart flutters. “I like you,” he says in my ear. “I like you, Beth.”

All movement stops as the corners of my

lips tug up for a shy smile. He likes me. He likes me and I like him and…All the air rushes out of my body, leaving my lungs in a painful struggle for air. My fingers curl into fists and I push at Ryan’s chest. “Let me go.”

Instead his hold on me tightens. His eyes clear of their haze and dart over my face, searching for the problem. “What’s wrong?”

“Let me go!” I scream and he immediately

releases me. On my hands and knees, I wrestle away from him…away from me…just away.

I’m stupid. So stupid. Ryan doesn’t like me. He doesn’t. How could I let my emotions get

involved? Why couldn’t I just use him for higher?

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I grab my shirt and bolt for the door.

From behind me, I hear the hay crunch as Ryan battles his impaired state to stand. “Beth—

wait! I’m sorry! Please.”

At the door, I hesitate. The other guys, the ones I’ve used to feel something physical, they’ve never apologized. They’ve never asked me to stay. I risk a glance over my shoulder and my stomach twists when I see the agony etched on his face.

Ryan holds a hand out to me. “Please. Talk to me.”

Talking—it’s what got me into this situation.

It’s what turned what should have been nothing into something. Part of me begs to stay—to talk. Instead, I flee into the dark night. Staying will hurt and running is my only option.

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Ryan

WE WON TODAY and I have no idea how.

Throughout the game, the sun hurt my eyes.

My head pounded in an annoying painful

rhythm. Twice, I puked between innings.

Playing with a hangover took hell to another level. Even now, I fight the urge to pull the Jeep over on the side of the road, let my head hit the steering wheel, and rest, but I can’t.

I like her. I really like Beth. The moment she smiled at me in the Jeep after we drove through the creek, I knew. Yeah, she’s hard-core, but at the same time, she’s not. Last night, her walls cracked.

Holding her while we danced, I saw her—

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listened to her ramble about her life: Isaiah, Noah, Echo, and beaches. By listening, I found a person loyal to those she loves. It was the first unedited glimpse into a girl that holds everything inside.

I’m falling for her. Hard. And I messed

everything up the moment I touched her. How could I be so stupid?

The evening sunlight filters through the

thick trees lining Scott Risk’s long driveway. I replay the words I’ll say when Scott answers his door. I don’t have much of an excuse to see Beth. The truth won’t help: Hi. I took your niece out last night, got drunk, made out with her until she bolted from the barn, and I’d appreciate the opportunity to apologize to her and convince her to give me a shot.

Yeah. I see that conversation going well.

Bent forward with her head in her hands,

Beth sits on the front porch stairs. My stomach drops to the floorboard of the Jeep. I did this to her. Beth peeks at me through her hair as I park in front of the garage. She straightens and wraps her arms around her stomach.

“Hey,” I say as I approach. “How do you

feel?”

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“Like shit.” She’s barefoot and wears a

deep purple cotton shirt that hugs her waist and a pair of overly ripped jeans. Her shirt slips off her shoulder, exposing her black bra strap. I force my eyes to glance away. I became way too familiar with that tantalizing bra last night.

I stop at the foot of the stairs and shove my hands into my pockets. Does she feel like shit because she’s also hungover, or because she regrets making out with me? “My head’s

hammered all day.”

Beth slowly sucks in air and releases it, blowing a few strands of her hair from her face. “What do you want?”

“You left in a rush last night.” Images of our night together flash in my mind. Her hands tugging off my shirt, hot on my skin, messing through my hair. I remember my lips on her neck and the sweet taste of her skin. The curve of her body against my hands. Her fingernails teasing my back. “I wanted to make sure

you’re okay.”

“I’m fine,” she says.

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night, we weren’t really on a date. It was an agreement. She wasn’t my girlfriend who I slowly worked through the bases with. She wasn’t a girl I took to dinner a couple of times and kissed a little too much for too long. With Beth, I crossed lines a real man wouldn’t cross.

“I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

Her glare makes me feel like I’m standing in front of a firing squad, awaiting my sentence.

“For…” What am I sorry for? Taking off her shirt? Kissing her until I thought I was going to lose my mind? Touching her? Feeling her? Of all the things I may be sorry for in my life, I’m honestly not sorry for any of that. “For taking advantage of you.”

The right corner of her mouth struggles up, then down, then slowly back up. “We didn’t have sex last night.”

Heat runs up my neck and I focus on my

shoes. “I know.”

Part of me is thankful she left when she did.

The moment my lips found her body, we

quickly became an erupting volcano. Hot and fast. Very fast. Fast enough that I would have given her my virginity.

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“Then what are you apologizing for?”