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“I’m, um…” She hurriedly pulls the T-shirt back on giving me one last nice view of her breasts. “No,” she states. “Not on the first date, Hawke. I’m shy.”

And I smile as she leaves, following her with my eyes as she disappears down the hallway.

Aro

This isn’t good.

My sheets stick to my legs, and I slide my hand down, pressing between my thighs. I feel the slickness through the fabric.

I just want to crawl into his bed and wrap myself around him right now.

And that’s the worst part. That it’s not about sex. I don’t need that.

He just feels good.

Smells good, tastes good…

Looks good.

Seriously. The day I’m attracted to such an upstanding gentleman is the same day I puke money. What the hell am I going to do with a good boy?

I go still a moment, the feel of him last night drifting through my mind. How hard he was. How the muscles in his arms flexed under my palms when he rubbed himself up into me.

I close my eyes, losing my breath. Such an upstanding gentleman. Except the one place he shouldn’t be.

He’ll be hot in the bedroom.

Lucky girl, whoever she is.

I rub my thighs together, sweat covering my brow, but then I let out a hard sigh and spring up, swinging my legs over the side of the bed.

“Ugh.” I pat my hands on my cheeks, trying to snap myself out of it. I just need to get myself off. What time is it anyway?

I look around, forgetting there’s no clock in here, but I spot a small, green light and reach over to my nightstand. Flipping on the lamp, I see a cell phone on a charger, a Post-It attached.

Take care of it.

I smile. How does he know me so well already? He didn’t even ask where the other one was. He just knows everything.

But he came in here while I was asleep. I hope I wasn’t snoring.

I check the time. 8:59. I tap out a text to my sister.

Everything okay?

It’s Wedensday morning, and school hasn’t started back yet. She might still be asleep, but I doubt it. If she doesn’t get back to me within an hour, I’ll have to go there with or without Hawke’s permission.

I sit there a moment. Should I call my mom? A neighbor?

I probably should know what’s going on. See if she’s told the police the truth about what I did to my stepfather.

But I assume she did. Protecting me gets her nothing.

What’s done is done.

Exiting out of my texts, I log onto social media. My accounts have been dormant for a while, but I still like to browse.

I remember the video playing on Hawke’s phone, the way he stared at it, and the lipstick on his collar. Her lipstick.

I give in to my curiosity, typing in her name and Shelburne Falls.

That video is one of the top suggested ones for those keywords. I don’t click on it. Instead, I go to her account and scroll her posts, trying not to but looking for pictures of him. With her. Just to see what they look like together.

I’m not a stalker. I’m just curious.

I spot one of her from a few days ago, the same lipstick on her mouth that was on his shirt. I read the caption:

The water. The lake. It flows through our veins, and there’s nothing we can do about it… It’s like venom. – Karen Katchur

Oh, Jesus. “There’s less plastic in the ocean,” I grumble.

I don’t see any pictures of him with her, though, which isn’t unusual. It seems common practice to do a mass delete after a break-up. I search his profile and find him, but there are only three posts on the account.

I smile to myself. He’s not much for broadcasting every move he makes. I like that.

There’s only one picture with him in it—a wide array of kids in the photo. Dylan Trent stands on one side, Kade on the other. A small girl poses with her legs wide and hands on her hips in front of him, while Hawke holds a boy, about the same age as the little girl, upside down over his shoulder.

His hair is wet, and his chest is bare, a pool in the background, and something that feels good, like bubbles, pop under my skin. The good son and cousin to everyone, but he can be so different when he’s got you alone. Like he flips a switch.

My cheeks warm, and I shake my head. “Oh my God,” I breathe out, tossing the phone down and standing up. “What am I doing?”

I should be worried about Hugo and Reeves. About Green Street.

But I’m not. The butterflies are too nice of a distraction. I thought it was a good idea. A little something good in all the bad, but I can’t let myself think about him. It’s just physical fun. He’s nobody to me.