“Get out of the window without falling?” she whispers. “I snuck out my window at home all summer to see my boyfriend.”

“And what exactly were you doing with your boyfriend in the middle of the night?”

She smiles and blushes. “Well, you know. Mostly, we just made out, but toward the end of the summer we started having sex. Well, we did it a few times anyway. It was so awkward. But we were both virgins, so I wasn’t really expecting much.”

“Well, when you do it again, hopefully it will be with someone more experienced. I liked it. A lot.”

“Like tonight? Do you think that stuff goes on at this party? I really have no idea what to expect.”

“I would guess it’s like any party. Drugs. Alcohol. Hooking up.”

“I can’t get drunk. I’m not much of a drinker, and I’ve never smoked or done any drugs before.”

“Only have two drinks, then. If you get all drunk, stupid, and loud, you won’t get invited back.”

“We want invited back. They’re hot!”

“Shhh! Exactly. And we need to be quiet.”

We sneak over to the Hawthorne dorm and find window number two open as planned. We slide in and go up to the plan B room.

Isn’t Plan B like the morning after pill?

Yikes. Hope that isn’t indicative of how the night will go.

The door to 38B is wide open, and there are about twenty people crammed into the room. Well, twenty-two now.

Tyrese is standing by the door. He says, “Keatyn, baby, who’s your friend?”

I introduce him to Katie, and leave them to talk. If I have learned one thing from my mom, it’s how to work a party. Never stay up front. The good stuff is always in the back. And always make a full sweep of the room before you stop to chat.

I’m specifically looking for something to drink and for Riley. Instead, I get to the back of the room and find an entire keg of beer, with Dawson pumping it.

He sees me and says, “Damn. I didn’t know this was a pajama party. I like seeing what you wear to bed. Want me to take my clothes off and show you what I wear?”

I’m wearing a pair of fuchsia and black striped Juicy Couture sleep shorts, a little white tank top, and black Koolaburra boots.

And I’m kinda bad, but I’m still wearing my leopard-print bra underneath.

And I was wrong. Very wrong. No one else is in pajamas. They are still all decked out. Whitney especially.

Nothing like being a fashion disaster at my first party. I should have called Kym for advice on what to wear. I look like a middle-schooler going to her first pajama party. I’m such an idiot. I should know better than this. L.A. is the capital of dressed-up casual.

But screw it. The way Dawson is staring at my tank top, I don’t think he cares what I have on. And for some reason, having this gorgeous guy stare at my chest when I look ridiculous makes me feel bold.

I take a step closer to him, grab the beer out of his hand, and take a big drink. “I never said this is what I wear to bed.”

“You really shouldn’t flirt with me. I told my brother that if he didn’t get busy with you, I would.”

“I’m not flirting with you, and I don’t wanna get busy with you.”

“Oh, yeah, you do. You just won’t admit it yet.”

“Where is your brother anyway?”

“Hasn’t shown up. Loser probably fell asleep and is busy having some little boy wet dream about you.” He grabs my waist, much like his brother did earlier, and pulls me toward him. “How about I show you?”

I take a long, slow drink of his beer. Trying to cool him down. But it doesn’t work, because he’s peeking down my tank top, eyeing my bra, then putting his hand up to touch it.

And, yeah, you know who chooses this exact moment to wander up to the keg.

The Hottie.

In the flesh.

“Stop that!” I tell Dawson, smacking his hand away.

He releases me from his grip and says, “S’up, Aiden?”

Aiden scowls at him. “You’re never gonna get Whitney back doing shit like that. She’s giving you the death stare.”

We all turn and look at Whitney at the same time, but it’s clear she isn’t giving Dawson the death stare. She’s giving it to me.

Shit.

Dawson looks like a little boy who got caught with his hand in the cookie jar. I almost feel sorry for him.

Aiden turns to me and demands, “Come with me.”

He pulls me down on a futon next to him. On the other end of it is a couple furiously making out.

“What are you doing at this party?”

Just who does he think he is? “I was invited. Dawson invited Riley and me, and then Tyrese told me to bring my roommate.”

“I don’t think Riley is even here.”

“I know. I haven’t seen him yet.”

“So, you like beer?”

“Yeah, it’s fine. I’d rather have a bottle, like a Corona or something, but it’s whatever.”

“I’ll see I have it next time.”

“You’ll have it? You act like this is your party.”

“Well, that’s because it is. My room. My party.”

“Well big shot, if that’s the case, what do you have besides beer?”

“You do drugs?”

“No! Do you?”

“No, I’m not into that shit, but plenty of people here are.” He nods his head toward Whitney, who snorts cocaine out of her fingernail and then starts making out with Jake. “I just smoke some.”

“Yeah, me too.”

He flashes me a grin. “Tell you what. Come across the hall to Bryce’s room. That’s where we keep the good stuff. I’ll make you a drink.”

He leads me out of the party and across the hall, opens the door to an empty dorm room, turns on a lamp, then gently pushes me up against the door and kisses me.

Again, it’s a slow, soft, amazing kiss. The kind of kiss that makes me feel like he’s kissing my soul.

Oh my gosh. What the heck does that even mean? Kissing my soul? I’m seriously losing it here.

It’s official. Almost getting kidnapped has affected me. I definitely have some sort of post-traumatic stress thing, and the symptoms must include having irrational thoughts about Hottie Gods.

Aiden’s hands are very appropriately placed around my waist and are not moving.

Damn it, man.

Move your hands.

Kiss me with your tongue.

Take my shirt off.

Attack me already. Please! I can’t take it anymore.

But I don’t say any of that. I just savor each and every slow, amazing, and tongue-free kiss.

Maybe he was born without a tongue, I think for a brief second, but then I realize that I am dumb because he wouldn’t be able to talk if he had been, now would he?

He stops kissing me and looks deep into my eyes. I seriously should have guzzled a few shots the second I got here.

But I had no idea he would be here!

The way he’s looking at me is sorta unnerving but, at the same time, like the kiss, it electrifies me. His face is close to mine, but not so much that he is, like, blurry to look at. I figure if he can stare at me, then I can stare back.

And I take in every curve and angle of his face.

The way his jawline is flexing slightly. How his eyelashes are a dark, dark brown and curl upward. How he has a sexy teeny freckle just to the side of his left cheek. How his textbook lips are the exact color of the pale pink roses Tommy gave Mom for their anniversary, and how the sides of his mouth are turning up, starting to smile at me. He blinks slowly. When his eyes open, I study the emerald green of his irises, how they have little flecks of blue in them and maybe even a little gold around the edges. I feel like time is standing still again.

He slides his hands up into my hair and leans in to kiss me again. My body is trying to be good, but I can’t stop it from leaning into him. Melding to his body. I could stay this way forever.

He stops kissing me, looks deeply into my eyes again, and tells me he loves me.

Oh, wait.

He didn’t say that.

I just thought that.

Well, I thought his eyes told me that.

Shut up! It’s what it felt like.

And what the hell is with the going so slow? Does he not want to make out with me? Is he gay?

Finally he says, “You should probably go back and check on your friend. Those guys will get her drunk and take advantage of her.”

“We didn’t drink before we came. She can’t be drunk yet, and you promised me a drink.”

“Also, I don’t want people to notice we’ve been gone very long. They’ll think we’re having sex. We don’t want to ruin your reputation on your second day.”

“I think maybe you just don’t want to be alone with me. I don’t understand. You act like you’re all into me, but then we barely kiss.”

I get irritated and frustrated by this, but no way am I going to be the one to move things along.

And I thought he was a player.

So why isn’t he trying to play me? To use me? To take advantage of me?

I shoulda pretended to be drunk, maybe?

He doesn’t really say anything to me, just shakes his head and says, “You just don’t get it, do you?”

And I’m thinking, no, I’m obviously not getting it tonight.

“Apparently not,” I say. Then I storm past him, across the hall, and back into the party.

But I don’t really feel like partying anymore. I want to go home and cry. And what the hell don’t I get?! I mean, besides a good make-out session with the God of all Hotties.

I look around for Katie, find her swigging whiskey straight from the bottle and sitting on Tyrese’s lap.

They start to make out.

Oh, sure.

Dawson gets up off his chair, practically knocking the girl that was sitting on his lap onto the floor, stalks over toward me, grabs me, and pulls me into a kiss. A big, sloppy, wet kiss. An all-sorts-of-tongue kiss. A kiss I was totally not prepared for and am not enjoying in the least.

I pull away from him and run out the door.

Then I sit out in the hall and start to cry a little.

What am I doing here? I just want to go home. But I can’t. Maybe not ever.

Aiden slides down next to me. “Why are you crying?”

“Because he ruined my lips.” Oh. Why did I say that?

“How so?”

And I can’t lie to this boy. “They don’t taste like you anymore. They taste like whiskey and cigarettes. He’s a horrible kisser.”

“He’s drunk and sloppy.”

“You’re not.”

“Let’s get your friend, and I’ll walk you both home.” He seems like such a gentleman.

Or does he want to get me back to my room? Sneak in with me? No. We were already alone. And he didn’t try anything. I don’t think he likes me.

He just wants me gone.

I guess he figured it out quick, like he said.

“You don’t have to do that. I can get us home. Plus, I get it. You already figured it out, right?”

“Figured what out?”

“You know. What you were saying about the one.”

“You’re so cute, and you’re making no sense. Come here.”

And I do. Straight to his lips. And get another long, slow, delicious kiss.

“Better?”

“Much better.”

Kissed so many boys.

4am.

Katie is asleep and snoring lightly. I can’t sleep.

Every time I close my eyes, I keep reliving my kisses with Aiden.

I’m usually not this kind of girl. The kind of girl to think she’s in love with someone the second she meets them.

Yes, I know I say that I fell in love at first sight with Brooklyn but, the truth is, I was barely fifteen and didn’t know any better. What I had was a huge crush on him. The crush turned to love somewhere in the two years that we were friends. For someone that had traveled the world, my world got very small when I went to high school. Brooklyn always reminded me that there was more to life than the perfect outfit. He and Damian have always been very positive influences in my life.

And I know I told Cush that I loved him at my party. But he bought me boots! The. Perfect. Boots. And I maybe got a little caught up in the moment. Cush is sexy and sweet and it’s easy to let yourself get caught up in moments with him. I should know. I lost my virginity to him in one of those moments. And I miss him. I do.

But.

Aiden.

Aiden is nothing like Brooklyn. Nothing like Cush.

I don’t even really know him.

Yet I feel like I’ve known him forever.

Part of me—probably the part of me that likes to cry at cheesy romance movies—hopes it’s true. Hopes it was love at first sight. That something so amazing could really happen to me.

Then there’s the other part of me. The cynic. She thinks that I must be having some sort of emotional crisis from almost getting kidnapped and that’s what is causing me to think irrationally about him.

I mean, I have to be a little bit scarred from all this, don’t I?

But then there’s the part of me that wants to bolt open my window and sing love songs with the birds chirping outside.

But I also feel like I’m in mourning. Mourning that I ended things with B and that I confused the issue even more by sleeping with him before I left. There’s part of me that’s mourning what could have been with Cush. And there’s another part of me in mourning because I miss my family. Because I don’t know when I’ll get to see them again. About how I’m here all alone.

But.

Aiden.

No matter what my brain is telling me, my heart knows.