"Absolutely unputdownable! Roni Loren is a new favorite." ― COLLEEN HOOVER for The Ones Who Got Away

“The sexiest thing I’ve read in ages. This book is smart and tart with a whole lot of spice thrown in.” —ADRIANA ANDERS, Award-winning author of The Kink Camp Series

PROLOGUE

*Copyright 2023 Roni Loren

O’Neal Lory had been taught early on by her grandparents that one mistake could undo an entire life of right decisions. That it didn’t matter if a person had been good ninety-nine percent of the time. One misstep, one snap judgment, could derail everything. She’d been that mistake for her mother. She’d witnessed the devastating consequences of what had followed. So, O’Neal had listened. She’d taken a lot of right steps on the straight and narrow path laid out for her. Eighteen years of them, in fact. But the undeniable proof of her first stumble off that road arrived in her inbox on an otherwise unremarkable Thursday.

She was heading up the sidewalk to her grandparents’ house after school when her phone dinged with an unfamiliar sound. She frowned, confused for a moment, and then remembered she’d reserved that sound for a private email address she’d set up. She quickly grabbed her phone from her pocket, almost dropping it to the pavement in her haste. Oh God, oh God, oh God.

She wasn’t sure which result she was praying for. She opened the mail app she’d hidden two folders deep, and the university’s name glowed at her in all caps, the only new email in the box. Subject line: Application status. Her heartbeat picked up speed like she’d been caught committing a crime. Had she really done this? What had she been thinking?

She needed to drop the email into the trash, not even open it. The easiest way not to be tempted by something was to avoid the temptation altogether. Her teachers at St. Mary’s always said that. If you don’t want to eat the cake, don’t bake the cake. In fact, don’t even buy the sugar. But instead of dumping the email, she found herself tucking her phone into her backpack like it was contraband and glancing down the street to make sure her grandparents weren’t coming home early.

They could not see this email. They’d already decided where she would be attending college. That plan had been in place since she’d moved in with them her kindergarten year and had scored freak-level on her IQ tests. Wainwright Women’s College. Her application for the private religious school located thirty minutes away had been signed, sealed, and hand-delivered months ago—on paper, in person—because of course Wainwright wouldn’t do something as gauche as electronic applications. Her place at Wainwright was probably already reserved with a star next to her name. With her honors-class-loaded 4.8 GPA from St. Mary’s and her grandfather being friends with the dean, she probably could’ve drawn bunny rabbits and hearts all over her application instead of writing an essay and still would’ve gotten in.

Wainwright was where she was meant to go. That school made the most sense. She wouldn’t have to live far from home. She’d get a stellar education and spiritual guidance. And it’d be familiar—a grown-up version of her current private school. Safe. Predictable. Exceedingly proper. No one would have the gall to bring up her family history. There’d be no guys to worry about. She’d be able to focus on her studies.

Growing up, she hadn’t questioned her grandparents’ plan for her. Of course she would go to Wainwright like her grandmother had. It would be a privilege, an honor.

But…when she’d taken a tour of the campus last year, O’Neal had discovered that they didn’t have a dedicated journalism program. She’d have to be an English major. Her heart had sunk at the news. An English degree could get her on the path to being a journalist, but the curriculum focused on reading the classics, not on digging up a story. They didn’t even have a non-fiction class. And based on the pinched look the lady giving the tour had given O’Neal when she’d asked about a journalism program, she suspected that this woman thought journalism wasn’t exactly a respectable profession for a graduate of Wainwright. Too nosy. Too seedy. Too…impolite.

Her grandparents weren’t cheering on O’Neal’s choice of profession either, but they’d kept their opinions to veiled criticism. An English degree from Wainwright will give you so many options for careers. You’ll change your mind so many times before you graduate. You’d make such a wonderful college professor. Or a historian. Journalists have to be so aggressive. And it can be dangerous.

Aggressive. Dangerous. Literally the last words anyone would use to label O’Neal. Smart. Focused. Quiet. Those were the words usually used to describe her—if people bothered describing her at all. She suspected that if not for her mother being the subject of a regular rotation of cold case crime shows, no one would even spare her a second glance. She would just be that girl who regularly screws up the grading curve. Or that girl whose grandparents won’t even let her go to a school-sanctioned dance.

O’Neal checked the tree-lined street again, even though Nana and Pop wouldn’t be home for at least another hour or so, and then hustled up the front steps of the two-story Georgian she’d lived in since she was five, its flat brick front and rows of windows somehow both welcoming and fortress-like. She unlocked the front door, turned off the house alarm, and grabbed a Coke from the fridge before heading upstairs to her room. Her heart was thumping in her ears and sweat prickled her neck as she tossed her backpack onto the bed and locked her bedroom door behind her. The navy blue backpack sitting in the middle of her pale green quilt looked like a time bomb ready to go off, and she was suddenly afraid to take out her phone.

She stalled, kicking off her penny loafers and shrugging out of her school blazer. How had she put herself in this position? The night she’d created that new email address and had filled out the online application seemed like a dream now, an out-of-body body experience. She’d been riding a rare wave of self-righteous anger and had been feeling a way she’d never felt before…reckless. Daring.

It’d been all his fault.

She’d gone over to her best friend Maya’s house to hang out, wanting to maximize the last two weeks of summer before senior year started, but when she’d knocked, Maya’s older brother, Auden, had answered instead. Home from summer-session college, fresh from swimming laps in the pool, and shirtless. The sight of him half-naked and the bright smile he’d given her had sent a rush of tingly heat through O’Neal’s body that she was sure he could probably see on her face.

She hadn’t seen him in over a year because he’d stayed for the summer semester, and before that, she’d only seen him in passing. The days when he would hang out with her and Maya to play video games or watch a movie had ended once he’d entered high school and left them three years behind in middle school. The line between kids and adults had been drawn, and he’d stepped to the other side.

But the division hadn’t stopped O’Neal from noticing how the once lanky and awkward Auden had morphed into something truly beautiful. Tall with shaggy light brown hair, hazel eyes, and a swimmer’s body that made her imagine things she shouldn’t. Any romantic book she snuck onto her e-reader ended up with her casting Auden in the lead. But, of course, she hadn’t been the only one to notice. He’d gotten popular fast in high school and always had a pretty girl to hang out with, though he never seemed to have an official girlfriend. And none of the girls he dated were anything like O’Neal. Not that she would’ve had a chance with Auden anyway—even if her grandparents had allowed her to date. She was just his little sister’s BFF.

But that day at Maya’s, Auden smiled with surprise and reached out to hug her. “Hey, Shaq. Long time no see.”

O’Neal groaned at the old nickname. Auden had gone through a basketball phase before settling on swimming as his sport and had decided O’Neal’s mom had secretly named her to honor Shaquille O’Neal. Her grandparents had told her that her mother had chosen it because it was an old family name on their Irish side, but really, how could O’Neal know for sure? Her mother had died before O’Neal was old enough to have a real conversation with her.

But feeling Auden’s arms around her, his bare chest warm against her, his scent laced with chlorine and sunshine, it was too much. She had to clamp her lips together so that she wouldn’t do something embarrassing like sigh—or worse, moan. She wasn’t prepared for this. She had no armor built up for being this close to someone so…everything. Gorgeous. Hot. Male. She couldn’t find the right word for Auden Blake.

She’d spent her high school years keeping her head down, her focus on her studies, and her attention away from boys. Her grandparents had ingrained in her that her school years were for schooling and that boys at that age never made things better, only worse. One wrong guy and you could ruin your whole life—or lose your life altogether like her mom had. And really, the restrictions against dating hadn’t been that hard to abide by. The guys that went to St. Mark’s, the all-male counterpart to St. Mary’s, were…fine. Some smart. Some obnoxious. Some so rich they acted like having money was personality enough. She hadn’t found herself drawing hearts in her notebooks over any of them. But during that brief hug from Auden, she wondered if a derailment might be worth the consequences.

“Hey,” she said, breathless and realizing she’d held onto him a little too long. She quickly released him. “Didn’t know you were back.”

“Yep. Just for two weeks. But now y’all are going to have to share the pizza I know Maya will be ordering.” He tugged her ponytail playfully before stepping back, the sting of it bringing her back into her right mind. Auden was about to be a junior in college. She was starting her senior year of high school. There would be no derailing. She was a kid to him.

“That means pizzas—plural—must be ordered because you’re not good at sharing,” she said, trying to regain her composure and not look at his chest.

He smirked, a little sparkle in his eyes. “You’d be surprised. I have a roommate now. I’ve gotten good at sharing these days.”

Something in the way he said it made O’Neal feel like she was missing out on some private joke, but she returned his smirk as she stepped inside and he shut the door behind her. “Guess you’re learning something at college.”

“You mean at a lowly state school?” he said as they walked toward the kitchen, a playful note in his voice. “Where all the common heathens go?”

She frowned. “It’s not lowly. Bennette State is supposed to be a great school. My mom was taking classes there…when everything happened.”

He nodded, and she appreciated that he didn’t give her the standard sympathy look people gave her whenever the topic of her mom came up but instead let the mention glide by.

“Yeah, well, it’s not Wainwright or Wellington,” he said, pronouncing the men’s and women’s branches of the college with a faux British accent. “Which my parents regularly remind me of. Like I can help that Wellington didn’t have a swim team.” 

“But water polo…” she teased, knowing that was what his parents had kept saying he should do instead.

He sniffed and turned around, walking backward so he could face her. “Not for me. The whole scene. They wouldn’t have wanted me anyway—at least not without a monster donation from the family. My math score on the SAT was somewhere in the range of drunk monkey with a calculator.”

O’Neal laughed. “I’m sure it wasn’t that bad.”

“Bad enough. But Maya said you’re a lock to get into Wainwright, that your junior year SAT scores beat all the seniors this year. Nice job, smarty pants.” When she shrugged, trying to act like his praise didn’t send little sparks through her, he gave her a wry look. “Maya, on the other hand, is convinced she’s going to be waitlisted and that her life will pretty much be over.”

O’Neal rolled her eyes at the familiar lamenting. “Maya will get in. She’s as much of a lock as I am with all her extracurriculars.”

When they stepped into the kitchen, O’Neal had expected Maya to be waiting for them, but the sunny room was empty, and the pool glittering outside the back windows was also quiet. Auden disappeared into the laundry room for a few seconds and came back wearing a navy blue T-shirt. He went to the fridge, grabbed two cans of LaCroix, and tossed her the tangerine-flavored one, remembering her favorite. “Maya should be here any minute. She called and said she and mom lost track of time shopping.”

“Shocking,” O’Neal said with a smile.

“Yeah, they turn it into a sport. I’d rather sit through ten math classes than get stuck shopping that long.” He leaned against the kitchen island and took a sip of his grapefruit-flavored water. “So are you excited about senior year?”

She opened the can, the sound loud in the quiet kitchen, and shrugged. “Sure.”

He lifted his brows. “Wow, with that level of enthusiasm, it’s a wonder you’re not on the pep squad. Is it because you’re just ready to get it over with and get to Wainwright?”

“I’m definitely ready to get to college.” She leaned back against the counter, the can sweating against her fingertips. “But I’m in the process of readjusting my expectations about what that’s going to look like.”

“What do you mean?”

“I don’t know,” she hedged, fiddling with the tab on her can. “We went on a tour at the beginning of summer, and I found out that they don’t have a journalism program, so that kind of threw me. I guess I shouldn’t have assumed they’d have one. I’m going to have to be an English major like Maya instead.”

He frowned. “No, you don’t.”

“Uh, yeah. I do,” she said between sips of water. “Nothing else really fits what I want to do. I mean, I guess I could major in history or something. That could be—”

“No, I mean, you don’t have to do that because you don’t have to go there,” he said, his tone shockingly nonchalant.

She scoffed. “Oh, right. Yeah, I don’t have to go to the school that my grandparents have been preparing me for my whole life, the one other people would give their right arm to go to if they could.”

Auden set his drink down and eyed her, an oddly intense look on his face. “Keywords: grandparents and others. Your grandparents want you to go there. Others want to go there. But maybe…you don’t?”

She couldn’t process the question. “What do you mean?”

“You know what I mean,” he said, giving her a pointed look. “I’m not saying Wainwright isn’t a great school. I know Maya will love it because their creative writing program is supposed to be top-notch, and it looks damn fancy on a resume or whatever. But that doesn’t mean it’s the school for everyone. Just because it’s exclusive and expensive doesn’t mean it’s the right fit for you. If they don’t have your major, then go somewhere that does.”

O’Neal laughed because the idea was so ludicrous. Go somewhere that does. “I can’t just pick a random school. My grandparents are paying my way. I think the only other thing they’d accept besides Wainwright is like a nunnery or something. You do remember my grandparents, right? They won’t even let me group date or go to prom because boys and drinking and sin, oh my.”

His flat-mouthed expression said he was unimpressed with her argument. “You’re not dating anyone because you don’t want to, not because your grandparents told you not to.”

She stiffened. “What? You know how they—”

“I know you’re smart, and there are ways around rules if someone wants something badly enough,” he countered. “You’ve never wanted anyone that much, so you haven’t bothered to figure out how to break the rule.”

Her lips parted for a rebuttal but none came.

Auden gave her a knowing smile, and his gaze drifted from her face to her feet and back up, making her suddenly self-conscious of the white shorts and yellow sleeveless top she’d chosen. “Come on, O’Neal. You’re seventeen, right?”

Hearing her real name on his lips instead of Shaq made a tendril of awareness move through her. Suddenly, she felt very young next to him. “Eighteen. I was held back in kindergarten because I missed so much school that year.”

“So you’re already legally an adult and will be nineteen when you graduate,” he said matter-of-factly. “I get why your grandparents are overprotective. I know they’ve been through a lot. You’ve been through a lot.”

She looked down, hating when the subject of her mother came up.

“But you’re old enough now that they don’t get to make the decisions for you anymore if you don’t agree with them,” he went on. “You can go to school wherever the hell you want.”

She glanced up. “They won’t pay for it.”

“That’s your excuse?” He rolled his eyes. “Come on, Shaq, you’re smart as fuck.”

The word startled her. She wasn’t unaccustomed to hearing curse words. She was in high school—albeit a conservative religious one—but she couldn’t remember Auden using that kind of language with her before. It did something to her, made her feel like he was showing her a glimpse of the real him, not the one who was the polite golden son in his family, but who he was at school with his friends.

“You can probably get a free ride to go almost anywhere,” he continued. “You hold that power. You may upset your grandparents. You might piss them off. But it’s your life you’re making decisions about. When you graduate, you can do what you want. Go to the school you want. Date who you want. Maybe break a rule every now and then.” He leaned forward like he was sharing a secret. “I love my family, but believe me, living a couple of hours away and not worrying about tarnishing the family name or people talking shit about you at social events if you make a mistake…it’s a freedom you can’t even imagine.”

The picture he was painting was one she couldn’t wrap her head around. Actual freedom. No one looking over her shoulder. No one making her endlessly check-in. No one putting rules on her that didn’t apply to everyone else. It sounded equal parts terrifying and magical. But she also knew that if she left, she’d break her grandparents’ hearts—hearts that had already been shattered by her mom’s behavior and then the tragedy of losing their only daughter. “I don’t know if I could do that to my grandparents. After everything they’ve been through, they’ve worked so hard to get me here.”

  “And they have gotten you here,” he said. “But it’s not like you’re thinking of dropping out of school to go be a groupie for a rock band or something. You would only be choosing another great school to get the degree that you want.” He flicked a hand toward her. “They wouldn’t need to worry about you. It’s not like you’d go to college and go wild. You’re you.”

She straightened. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

He smiled. “Oh, don’t get your hackles up, Shaq. I’m just saying, no matter where you go, you’re the girl who’s going to do her homework and go to her classes and get the As. You’re not going to be playing beer pong and strip poker at the frat houses.” He shrugged. “Your grandparents have already done their job. They’ve raised themselves a proper young lady.”

She narrowed her eyes at the tone he’d used on those last three words. “You’re making fun of me.”

He chuckled, a soft sound that came from deep in his chest. “I like seeing you get a little mad. It’s good to get mad sometimes. But I’m really not trying to tease you.”

“Uh-huh.”

“It’s just, I know the deal,” he said, expression softening into one more serious. “All that press your mom’s murder got, the way she was painted in the media. It reflected on your grandparents, and they overcorrected with you. They wanted a different outcome, so they got really strict.”

Bitterness bubbled up in her. The killer had taken her mom’s life, but the press had added to the tragedy, destroying her reputation. “Well, I can guarantee that if someone were to kill me, it definitely wouldn’t be dubbed the Party Girl Murder like my mom’s was.”

He grimaced. “For the record, I think that name is bullshit. So what if she was seeing a few guys at the same time? Who cares? Calling her a party girl is misogynistic.”

Her gaze flicked upward, meeting his eyes.

His lips curved a little at her surprise. “Look at me, learning big words at college. But all I’m saying is that anyone with any sense can see that you’re more responsible than most adults. If there were an encyclopedia entry for Good Girl, your picture would be right there.”

She groaned, her face heating. “Speaking of misogynistic terms.”

He grinned from behind his water. “Sorry. Not Good Girl. Responsible Young Woman who is going to be successful at whichever college she chooses.”

“You make me sound like the most boring person on earth.” She tipped her head back and closed her eyes. “Maybe I am. My cold case episode would be called the Who Was She Again? Murder.”

Auden made a sound of displeasure, and O’Neal felt the air shift. She lowered her head and opened her eyes, finding him standing right in front of her. He put his hands on her shoulders. “Hey, none of that. No talking of your own murder, Ms. Morbid. And I didn’t say you were boring. You’re…”—he looked thoughtful—“stoic. My guess is that you have a whole lot going on behind the quiet. But if you keep letting other people make decisions for you, you’ll become who they want you to be. Believe me, I’ve been there.” He gave her a long look and then put his mouth next to her ear, his breath gentle against her skin. “Can I tell you a secret?”

She swallowed hard at his proximity, at the summery pool scent of him, and nodded.

The words tickled her neck as he whispered, “I’m really not that bad at math.”

Her lips parted.

He lifted his head, hands still on her shoulders and gaze sparkling. “So if who they want you to be is not who you want to be, then you’re going to have to piss some people off, Shaq. You’re going to have to surprise them.”

“Right,” she said softly. Surprise them.

“I bet you could,” he said, voice barely above a whisper.

The heat of his palms was burning into her bare shoulders, and he was close, so close. The sliver of space between them felt like it would spark if she brushed against it. Her longtime crush on him pulsed through her like a living thing. She’d never wanted to kiss someone so much in her life. What would he taste like? Would he kiss her back? Would he want more than that? Her grandparents always said kisses were dangerous invitations.

Auden held the eye contact, something new flickering in his gaze, something curious.

Her skin was warm, and she could feel things in her body tightening, tightening. She had no doubt that if she looked down, two embarrassingly obvious points would be visible against her tank top. This was what arousal felt like. Real, in-person arousal. Not the secondary kind she sometimes got from reading books or watching movies. She wet her lips, and his gaze drifted down to her mouth, lingering there before tracing back up.

Whoa. Was he actually thinking about it?

You’re going to have to surprise them. His words came back to her, daring her. When would she ever be this close to Auden again? On a surge of bravery, she grabbed his wrists, his hands still on her shoulders, and she forced herself to hold the eye contact. She lowered his hands, bringing his body closer.

“What are you doing, Shaq?” he asked, his voice low and tense.

“Something surprising.” She pushed up on her toes and pressed her mouth to his.

His wrists stiffened in her grip like he’d curled his fists, and he made a sound in the back of his throat. His lips were soft and tasted faintly of grapefruit and salt. She shifted even closer. Her chest brushed his, setting her nerve endings on fire. She had never kissed anyone and had no idea what she was doing or what to do next. All she knew was that she was kissing Auden Blake.

His lips parted hers, and the control shifted, his tongue sweeping into her mouth and gently stroking. Electricity crackled through her, and her hands went to his waist to steady herself, afraid her knees might buckle. He braced his hands on the counter on each side of her, trapping her there and deepening the kiss. She drank in the taste of him, his breath, the confident way he coaxed her tongue to move with his. She drew closer to him, needing contact everywhere. Their bodies pressed together, and his began to harden against hers—his very male body.

Oh, God. Oh, God. Oh, God. Every part of her clenched in anticipation of being touched, of being able to touch him.

But then a door slammed, and Auden broke away from the kiss instantly, taking a big step back and glancing toward the kitchen doorway like it was going to explode in their faces. He turned back to her, a slightly panicked look in his eye. “Jesus, O’Neal, I’m sorry. That shouldn’t have—”

She cleared her throat, trying to find her voice again, trying to sound confident even though her knees felt like they were about to give up their job of holding her up. “Don’t be. I started it.”

“Fuck,” he said under his breath. He raked a hand through his hair, looking ten kinds of uncomfortable, and then adjusted the front of his swim shorts to hide what she’d been feeling against her stomach. “No, that was my fault. I shouldn’t have let that happen. I—you’re a kid.”

She’d been staring at where his hand had been in stunned awe, but at the word kid, she reared up like she’d been pinched. “No, I’m not. I’m eighteen. You just said—”

“You’re in high school,” he said, cutting her off but keeping his voice low. “And I’m—”

“Two years older than me. Big deal,” she said, feeling bold.

“On the timeline, it’s two years. In real life, it’s a lot more than that.” He sighed and gave her a look she could only read as pity. “Look, Shaq, that can’t happen again. That was…a momentary lapse in judgment on my part. I’m glad you’re ready to make some bold choices. But I can’t be one of them. I’m not a boy who’s gonna hold your hand in the hallway and ask you to prom. You’ve got lots of steps left to take on paths I’ve already been down.”

Her cheeks burned, her entire being feeling stupid and chastised and childish. His words proved that he’d definitely been able to tell that she’d never kissed anyone before. He probably felt embarrassed for her. She’d never felt so silly and young.

But at the same time, a different emotion was surging up behind the embarrassment. Anger. Not really at him, but at all of it. That she was so ill-equipped for this. That she didn’t have a mom to talk her through these things. That she was eighteen years old and this had been the first time she’d kissed a boy. That she was so sheltered, she didn’t know how to interact with a guy only two years older than she was. That even if she wanted to go to prom with someone, she couldn’t because she wasn’t allowed to date or go to school dances.

She was eighteen, and all her life choices had already been decided for her. She would not be the party girl. She would not make teenage mistakes. She would always get the A. Her school would be this and her major would be that. She would be the proof that her grandparents could raise a fine young woman, no, a good girl.

She didn’t want to be a good girl. She didn’t want to be bad either or disappoint the people she loved. But in that moment, she could no longer bear the idea of going to a college that was just like her high school—insulated, protected, controlled. She didn’t want to major in English and only go to classes with other privileged, protected girls. She wanted to experience life outside the bubble. She wanted to make her own decisions. She wanted to grow the hell up.

The noise of Maya and her mother dropping shopping bags in the foyer broke O’Neal out of her whirling thoughts. Auden was staring at her, looking concerned. “Shaq, say something. I feel like such a dick.”

She reached out and squeezed his arm. “Thank you.”

“What?” His brow wrinkled.

“Even if it was a mistake, I’m glad my first kiss was with you and not some random guy. And don’t call me Shaq anymore.”

Horror flashed across his face. “Your first—Goddammit.”

She handed him her drink. “Don’t tell Maya I stopped by. I’ll call and tell her something came up. I need to go.”

Auden tried to say something else, but she was already heading for the back door.

A few hours later, her application for a new college and their journalism program was sent in and completed. There was a pit a mile deep in her stomach, and the next morning, she’d instantly doubted the move and had chalked it up to a moment of hormone-induced insanity. She’d almost let herself forget about it. She’d let the application process for Wainwright proceed as normal.

But now the response from that night’s rebellion was sitting in an inbox on her phone, and she needed to open it.

After taking another deep breath, she walked toward her bed and unzipped her backpack. The phone felt awkward in her hand, heavier somehow. She knew the email would say that she’d gotten in. But that wasn’t the question she needed answered. She’d need more than an acceptance. She needed…everything.

With shaking hands, she sat on the bed and opened the mail app. Part of her hoped the answer was a no, that the decision would be yanked from her, that fate would tell her to stay put. That would be so much easier. Yet, her heart pounded with hope.

She clicked to open the email.

On top was the school’s crest. Her eyes jumped around, skimming over random sentences and phrases.

Dear Ms. Lory,

Congratulations! You have been accepted…

…full academic scholarship

room and board included…

College of Journalism.

Response needed by…

Look forward to seeing you this fall!

The room was spinning, her phone trembling in her hands. She’d done it. She’d gotten a full ride. At a college hours from home. Journalism. At Bennette. Where her grandparents wouldn’t be over her shoulder. Where she could be somewhere that her mother had once been.

Where Auden would be a senior.

The last part made her cringe. Bennette had seemed like the best choice for a number of reasons that night. Great journalism program. Still in the state. But she couldn’t deny that Auden being there hadn’t played some role. She’d know someone.

But he’d probably think she was a total stalker. A silly little freshman chasing after a nothing kiss on a summer afternoon.

An engine cut off outside her window. Nana and Pop were home.

Her gut twisted. She couldn’t do this. This was a ludicrous idea. A selfish idea. She was going to crush them with this news.

She needed to delete the email. Decline the offer. Throw out the temptation.

She closed her eyes, breathed, thought about how she’d felt in that moment when she’d grabbed Auden and kissed him, when she’d taken control of her own life for just a blink, when she’d stepped outside of her safe world and taken a risk.

She nodded to herself, clutched her phone to her chest, and then went downstairs.

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