“Si-Silas.”

His grin is so wicked, so gorgeous. I just stare at him. I could stare at him all day.

“Feel free to say that while you come, too.”

And that’s it for me. I feel it building the second before it hits, like I can almost see the shadow of a wave cresting just behind me, and then it crashes over my head and I am . . .

drowning and

dying and

breathing and

perfect . . .

Everything is absolutely perfect.

Silas’s lips touch mine, surprisingly soft, and I sink into him, boneless and exhausted and too undone to be embarrassed. My skin is buzzing, and my hearing is off, like I’m underwater. I can feel the delay between my thoughts and my movements, like my body short-circuited and is still trying to reboot.

“I was right,” he breathes against my lips. “Hottest f**king thing I’ve ever seen.”

He kisses me again, and that’s when I realize . . . this isn’t over. I’ve just had an incredibly intimate, incredibly vulnerable encounter with a relative stranger, in a bathroom, of all places, and though I had a (rather wonderful) moment, he didn’t. And this was all just prelude.

Which is terrifying because that prelude was the scariest and most erotic moment of my life, and I might not survive more. And though I definitely wanted what just happened, my brain is still too fuzzy and disjointed for me to figure out what else I want.

He slides his hand out from under me, and I realize that we’re both still fully clothed. Other than my soaked panties and unbuttoned shorts, you can’t tell we’ve been doing anything more than kissing.

There’s something even sexier about that, but at the same time, it wakes me up to a twisting sensation in my gut, something I recognize all too easily as guilt.

It’s not like I’m against sex or anything.

But like this? When it’s this . . . impersonal? I have no clue what I’m doing. It’s as if I woke up today and completely forgot who I was, who I’ve spent my whole life becoming. And I don’t know whether to be angry at myself for that or for feeling guilty about doing what I want. What feels right.

When is it okay for want to overpower common sense? And how do I know if this is just some phase, some rebellion? Or if it’s me finally waking up, letting go of expectations and responsibilities and rules?

How do I know what to trust—what I feel or what I think?

I’m scared that whatever I decide, I’ll end up regretting it.

I’m still straddling Silas when I ask, “You said you and Stella hooked up last year. That’s what this is . . . right?”

He kisses me on the shoulder and helps me stand. “My room is right across the hall. Let’s go over there.”

He pulls open the door, but I plant my feet.

“This is just a hookup.”

I don’t phrase it like a question, but from the wary look he shoots me, we both know it is.

“What do you want it to be?”

I frown. “I’m not sure.” I’m not really the one-night-stand kind of person, but I also can’t picture myself having a relationship with Silas. I like him and the way he makes me feel, but that’s not near enough to build a relationship on.

A holding cell meet-up and a few hot minutes in the bathroom is not exactly how I pictured my next romantic encounter.

“Can’t we just leave it at that? Figure it out later?”

“No. I can’t.”

He leaves the door to cross over to me. He scoops my thick hair up and pulls it over one shoulder. Then he trails a finger down my cheek, and I’m relieved to note it’s not the hand he recently had buried in my shorts.

“I think you’re great, Dylan.” He doesn’t use any stupid nicknames. I guess that’s another perk of the activity we’ve just done. “I like you. I like making you come. That’s all I know right now.”

I will not blush. I will not blush. I will not—

Damn that cocky smile.

I wish that were enough. I wish I could be fine with just worrying about right now.

“I don’t ask questions to be a pain, Silas. I ask questions because I’m the kind of person who needs answers. I just am.”

“What answer do you want? A relationship? Because that’s not really something I do.”

I don’t think that’s what I want. But I don’t like that it’s not even a consideration.

“How do you know? Do you have trust issues? Or you get bored easily? Or you’ve just never tried?”

He drops his hand away from my face.

“Dylan, I’m not sure what I want from you, but it isn’t to be my shrink.”

“I’m not trying to be your shrink. I’m just trying to get us on the same page.”

“We were on the same page when you were straddling me. Let’s go back to that.”

“Silas.” I know even as I say it that I sound like I’m reprimanding him. Like I’m already some angry girlfriend. And it’s ridiculous because I’m actually tempted. God, as frustrated and wary as I feel, I’m so tempted.

“Okay. Here are the answers I have for you, Dylan. Yes, I like you . . . enough to bail you out of jail when I knew next to nothing about you. Maybe it’s just a hookup. Maybe we’ll see each other again. I don’t know. I don’t make promises because I’m not good at keeping them. You’re either okay with that or you’re not. And if you’re not, that’s whatever . . . fine. But I can’t guarantee you anything. And if you’re thinking of me as some project you can fix or change . . . don’t. That’s what I know.”

“Thank you. That, um . . . that helps.” And makes me feel a little sick to my stomach all at the same time. It’s all well and good to act impulsively, to live in the moment, but I don’t exactly have any experience dealing with what comes after.

“Should I go find Matt and take you two home?”

“No.” I shake my head, my lips pursed tightly together. His eyebrows arch, and he curls a hand around the back of my neck. His mouth dips down close to mine, but I sidestep him and move toward the door. “I don’t need you to take me home. But I think it’s probably not a good idea for me to go into your bedroom. I’m in a weird place mentally right now, and I’m not sure I trust my decision making at the moment.”