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THE SUMMER OF LOVE

Hugh

AUGUST 23, 2003

F ROM THE MOMENT I LOCKED EYES ON L IZZIE Y OUNG ALL THE WAY BACK IN FIRST class, I felt connected to her in a way I had never experienced with anyone else.

At the time, I didn’t understand the infatuation, nor had I any inkling of how deep the roots of my feelings for this girl would go. Young and green, I went into it blindly, falling hard and fast for the girl with the lonesome, pale eyes.

Throughout the years, we had become closer than close and forged a bond that time only seemed to deepen and intensify. When Liz agreed to be mine the summer before sixth class, I thought I had peaked in life.

When her sister died and Liz’s bipolar symptoms worsened right along with the grief she was drowning in, it didn’t break us. Instead of us drifting apart like she did with everyone else, we grew closer. Because despite withdrawing from life and locking everyone out of her world, she left a key out for me.

When puberty hit us both like a wrecking ball and I was thrown into the world of Tommen two years before she could join me, we didn’t let it separate us. Despite most of the lads at school insisting I would grow bored of Liz and move on, the opposite occurred.

Because the older we got, the more drastically our bodies changed, and our hormones raged. My infatuation with the girl only strengthened to the point where I was scarcely holding on to my self-control. I wanted her badly , and with the feeling reciprocated by Liz, I was running out of steam when it came to slamming on the brakes during intimacy.

I knew once I turned sixteen in October, I would be taking on a job as a part-time lifeguard, a role I had already been headhunted for by Kim, the manager of the hotel’s leisure center, and wouldn’t have as much free time as before. Because of this, I’d made sure to spend every spare second of summer break with Liz.

The phrase “summer of love” had taken on a whole new meaning this summer, and Liz and I were teetering dangerously close to the point of no return.

I’d learned more about the female anatomy this summer than I had in almost sixteen years, and holy fuck, did I have an amazing teacher. I had eight months on Liz in the age department, but she took the lead under the covers and checkmated me every single time.

Because of my competitive streak and intense desire to succeed at all things in life, whenever Liz and I messed around, I committed to memory every one of her lust-filled commands and breathy instructions, determined to not only accomplish competency in the art of seduction but to thoroughly master and excel in it.

Liz wasn’t shy about telling me what did and didn’t work for her, and I was grateful for her honesty because who the hell else was going to show me? Liz was the only girl I’d been with or intended to be with, and it was important to me that I knew how to please her.

Feely always complained about my unquenchable thirst for knowledge, methodical attention to detail, and desire to attain a level of excellency in all areas of my life that bordered on obsession—Feely’s words not mine—but my girlfriend made no such complaints.

Instead of razzing me over my perfectionist tendencies like Feely and the lads did, Liz wholeheartedly encouraged this quality and showered me with praise whenever I stepped it up another notch and ticked a new box.

If Mam knew a tenth of what Liz and I had gotten up to this summer, she would have locked me up until I turned eighteen, and if Mike ever got wind of all the places I’d kissed and touched his daughter, well, I might as well start digging my own grave.

Honest to God, we were holding on to our virginities by a thread, and Liz’s master idea of us trying “everything but sex” only made the ten months to her sixteenth birthday feel like sixteen years .

Tonight’s end-of-summer bash had been organized by the upcoming sixth years and held at fellow teammate and sixth year Terrance Crean’s house. His parents ran an equestrian center from their property and holy shit was his home fancy. It didn’t come close to being in the same league as Old Hall House—nowhere did—but it was impressive and reeked of wealth.

Even though we were only going into fourth year and tonight’s party was strictly for fifth and sixth years only, our positions on the senior rugby panel secured us an invite.

Because of bullshit school politics and hierarchy, the lads on the rugby team’s senior panel were almost always invited to attend house parties and events, along with their better halves.

Because Johnny was still holidaying in the South of France with his parents and Feely was balls-deep in harvest season on the farm, Gibs and I were left to fly the flag tonight. Unfortunately, he had decided to bring the curly-haired demon as his date, which did nothing to help me relax. Because a hyper Claire and a hyper and drunk Gibsie made for trouble.

“I can’t believe school is right around the corner,” Gibs complained. Sprawled out on a sun lounger in Crean’s back garden, my old pal chugged on his beverage of choice—tequila. “Where the hell did the summer go?”

“Don’t worry about where the summer went, lad,” I mused from my perch on a matching sun lounger, while I sipped on what might have been my seventh pint glass of the weird, green shit the sixth-year girls called Fat Frog. Aside from vodka, I had no idea what they used to brew the snot-green concoction, but it tasted delicious—and went straight to the head. “Worry about leaving Claire unsupervised with a dozen or so horses nearby.”

“Ah, Christ on a bike,” Gibsie groaned, rolling off the sun lounger and racing off. “I told your sister to steer clear of the stables.”

“Giddy up like your Shergar, lad,” I called over my shoulder, words slurring from the alcohol that was hitting the spot.

Chuckling to myself, I drained what was left in my glass, leaned over, and set it down on the patio. Knowing Claire and Gibs, I was about to witness an even greater escape than Tito and Ossie’s in the film Into the West .

“I need you,” a familiar voice whispered in my ear then. “Right now.” Dropping onto my lap, Liz hooked an arm around my neck and tongued my ear. “Badly.”

“Christ, Liz,” I groaned, instantly hardening when she rocked her ass on my lap. “I’ll lose it right here.”

“That’s what I want.” Her lips trailed over my jaw, peck after seductive peck, until her tongue traced my bottom lip. “So, lose it, baby.” The scent of alcohol on her breath was almost as strong as mine. “In me.”

Jesus .

This girl was hellbent on killing me.

“We’re drunk.”

“I don’t care.”

“I do,” I slurred—or at least the sober version of me did. Meanwhile the drunk version of me, a.k.a. the current version, wanted to bury myself inside this girl and never come out. “Baby, don’t tempt me.”

“Be tempted,” she encouraged, sliding her fingers inside the buttons of my shirt. “Fuck me.”

Fuck her?

Christ .

“You want me to fuck you here?” I strangled out, expecting her to realize how crazy that sounded and come to her senses. “You want our first time to be at a house party?”

Of course , Liz had to nod. Worse, she hitched a leg over me and straddled my lap. “I can feel you,” she moaned against my lips. “You’re hard for me.” Her tongue snaked out and licked mine, while she arched her hips against me and rocked. “Have me.”

“We’re not having sex,” I protested, lips colliding with hers while my dick wept in protest. “Not until your birthday.”

“We’ll see,” she replied, fisting my hair in challenge and sealing her mouth to mine.