“Yeah?” he said.

A slow song came on the radio, and Weston clasped his hands behind me.

I looked up at him. “I feel bad that you didn’t get to finish your last prom.”

“Don’t. This is better. We should have come straight here after the Grand March.”

I wasn’t going to tell him that I felt the same way. Instead, I rested my cheek against his chest, letting myself relax for the first time that night. No one was watching, and no one was judging or plotting or thinking up rumors to spread. It was just us, in our space, just the way our story had begun.

He touched his lips to my ear. “Nothing Brady said was true.”

“I know,” I said, breathing out the words.

There was no one here to tell him where to keep his hands or not to kiss me too long. I liked that about our private prom, too. His mouth traveled down my neck, and he pulled at the collar of my shirt to taste my shoulder. I reached my fingers into his hair and looked up into his eyes as he pulled away. He stared down at me with such intensity as he held me so close to him that I fell from being lost in the moment to jumping off the ledge.

Another song started, and we swayed back and forth. It didn’t matter if I was any good at dancing or if I was too close or if I stepped on his toes. It was such a relief, so liberating. An upbeat song came on, and Weston began hopping around, shaking his head. I watched him for a few moments, an eyebrow raised, and then I joined in, lifting my hands above my head while shaking my hair and hopping in a circle. We were free and happy. He accepted me like no one else. He always had. His chuckles and my giggling filled the room. Just a few times had I laughed that hard or for that long, and all of them had been with Weston. So far, he was my best day, my favorite night out, and everything in between.

Once it was over, we were breathless, puffing, with ridiculous grins on our faces.

A familiar slow song began to play, and Weston held out his arms. “The best part about this? I don’t have to worry about anyone cutting in.”

“I wouldn’t want to dance with anyone else but you.”

Weston loosened his tie, and I helped him pull it over his head. That small movement began an avalanche of soft kisses, and strong hands grabbed at my skin, becoming more intense, more like need. I walked backward to the couch, pulling him with me, while his mouth smiled against mine. We sat together on the worn cushions we’d occupied so many times before, but this time was different, and we both knew it.

It was such a cliché—the predictable sex on prom night—but I had already given him my virginity. During this flutter of time in our lives, there were so many firsts and lasts that it all seemed to blur together. Eighteen was all about existing only for the present because we didn’t know if the next time we opened our eyes would be the moment our youth was over. For that reason, we would break rules, make mistakes, intentionally take a wrong turn. We were living in the last days of vindication. One day, when we looked back on these pages, if it hurt to look, we could say we were just kids.

That was what I told myself when Weston lifted my shirt over my head. For a moment, I held my breath and tightly closed my eyes. My heart thundered in my chest, but I forced myself to be present, to no longer live my life with my head down.

The first thing I saw when I opened my eyes again was the pure adoration in Weston’s eyes. That look promised that no matter what happened between that moment and the rest of our lives, I would never forget the way I felt in this second of infinity.

“You’re so beautiful.” He stumbled over the words, so caught up in undressing me.

His touch was reverent, making me feel like his most precious possession in the world. After eighteen years of wanting to be free, all I could think about was belonging to the man pulling at me like he needed me to breathe. So many thoughts and emotions fought with each other inside my head, all leading toward the same desire.

I couldn’t speak. I didn’t know what to say anyway. All I knew was that the night was ours, and he was mine.

Reaching out, I touched his chest and felt his exquisitely sculpted body flex underneath my palm. I wanted his shirt off, too. My fingers were clumsy as I fumbled with the buttons. As I unfastened each section, I kissed a line down his chest. Taking each side of the shirt in my hands, I tugged it down his arms, and Weston maneuvered them from the sleeves as he kept his eyes locked on mine.

He thought I was beautiful, but he was perfection.

“Lie back for me.” His request sounded almost like he was pleading.

Easing back onto the couch, my breath caught as he moved over me. The warmth of his body covered mine, causing my legs to tremble. If this were all that happened, it would be enough.

This is just the beginning though. With that thought, I shivered again.

Weston pressed a kiss to the side of my face, his warm breath tickling my ear. “Nothing in my life will ever be this damn sweet,” he said just before he let his weight press against me.

Chapter Seven

THE WEEK OF GRADUATION, the halls of Blackwell High were full of whispers speculating why Weston had attacked Brady during prom. Some said I had been cheating on Weston with Brady, some said Brady had tried to cut in and Weston had gone into a jealous rage, and some had actually gotten a bit closer to the truth.

Frankie had cleared my schedule at Dairy Queen until summer break, and because baseball was over, Weston had requested that we carpool to school for the week.

I heard his red Chevy grumbling from the street before I’d made it all the way down the stairs. I opened the door to see him jogging to the front steps, and he playfully tackled me to the hardwood floor in the foyer.

“What on earth?” Julianne said with a giggle, looking down on us.

Bending over at the waist, Weston was shaking with laughter, his feet on each side of me, as he held on to my upper arms. “I didn’t mean to knock you over!” he said. He lifted me to my feet and then pecked my cheek, still chuckling.

“Good morning to you, too,” I said, leaning into his kiss.

Julianne watched us for a moment, feigning disapproval. “C’mon. Biscuits and gravy in the kitchen.”

“Yes!” Weston said, dragging me down the hall.

His mood had been all over the place since prom. The night before, on the phone, he had been quiet and a little sullen when we talked about the fall semester. Now, he was nearly manic.

Julianne cut two biscuits for Weston and me and then doused them in gravy. When she set the plates in front of us, Weston dug in.