Not the version of him I made up in my head, this is Luca, right here, right now.
And his tongue tastes like beer, and still, I melt into him like I’ve been waiting my whole life for this exact brand of disaster.
His hands find my waist and pull me into him like gravity is a joke and he’s the only force keeping me grounded. His lips getbolder, hungrier. We’re not just kissing anymore—we’remaking out. Fully. Deeply. Stupidly.
His weight settles over me, and I swear I feel every muscle he’s ever flexed at the gym. And something else, too. Yeah.That.
A half-strangled moan escapes my mouth—definitely not on purpose—and I watch his eyes flicker like I flipped a switch in him.
“Emma…” he groans, his voice all raspy and wrecked, one hand sliding across my stomach. He sounds freaked out. Or turned on. Or both. Probably both.
His lips never leave mine.
“I know…” I breathe against his mouth. Because Ido. I’ve known since the first time he talked to me outside the art room at Willow High that I wantedthis.
Him.
His hand slips under my shirt, inching higher, slow and shaky. When his fingers brush just under my bra, his eyes lift to mine, asking silently if it’s okay.
I nod, tiny and shaky, but fully sure.
And then?—
BAM.
The door swings open like a horror movie jump scare, and both of us freeze in place like mannequins.
“Lauren!” I practically scream when I realize it’s my sister.
Her eyes lock with mine for one horrible second—and then she bolts.
Ugh.
She was probably looking for me, overwhelmed by the party, maybe spiraling. We just found out she’s on the autism spectrum, and parties like this are a total sensory nightmare for her.
And I was in here… playing tonsil hockey with the guy who makes my brain go fuzzy.
I push myself up, breathless and sweaty. “I should…” I gesture toward the door, heart still racing. “She might need me.”
Luca backs away instantly, hands up like he’s just been caught with a felony. “Yeah, totally. Go. You should go,” he says, adjusting his clothes.
His jeans look like they’refighting for their life.
I smooth my hair and glance at the mirror behind the door. My reflection’s a mess—flushed cheeks, swollen lips, eyes dazed—and behind me, Luca’s watching me through the reflection, dragging a hand through his hair like he doesn’t know what to say.
So, I turn around, walk back to him, and press one last kiss on his lips. “I can’t stop kissing you,” I whisper.
“Then don’t,” he says, eyes locked on my mouth like it’s the last slice of pizza on the planet.
“But I gotta check on my sister,” I murmur, heart tugging in two different directions.
He nods and gives me a quick, reluctant kiss, like he’s afraid that if he kisses me too long, he won’t let me leave. “Go,” he says. “Before I lock the door and keep you here forever.”
The second I step into my house; I move with purpose.
The library.
It’s tucked just beyond the glass-walled living room, where the Atlantic stretches wide and restless, like a living creature that never sleeps. My shelves lined with first editions and relics from places I’ve escaped to, only to come back here.
