Then my heart skips. I see him. Emerson. He’s over by one of the trucks, drinking beer, laughing at something one of the other guys has said. He’s wearing jeans and a dark hoodie, but even in the fading light, I can recognize those broad shoulders and the angle of his jaw; the dark hair curling at the nape of his neck.

I remember what Emerson’s hair felt like under my fingertips. A shiver runs through me.

He looks up.

I freeze, unable to look away. The music drifts out into the night, wistful chords on the wind. About wanting someone, feeling so apart from the rest of the world. The moment stretches between us, unbearably tense. Part of me wants to turn and run back to the house, but the other part… It wants to run right to him. Into his arms.

Then he breaks away from his friends, and slowly walks towards me.

“Hey. Again.” I gulp, nervous, as he comes to a stop a few feet away from me. His expression is inscrutable, eyes burning into me. “I promise, I’m not stalking you. I was just, walking. I saw the fire, and…” I gulp, lost for words.

How can he do this: make me forget everything but the sexy curve of his lips? I stare at them, my stomach twisting into knots as I wait for a response.

Emerson finally clears his throat. “I’m sorry.” he says in a low, throaty voice that sends sparks shooting down my body.

“For what?” I pause, confused.

“What happened, the other day,” he explains. He looks away, shoulders hunched. “I didn’t know what to say to you, in the store. I was out of line. I should never have…” he swallows, glancing back at me. For a moment, his face is unguarded, vulnerable. Ashamed. “I’ll understand if you don’t want to see me again,” he adds quickly, looking at the ground again. “I just wanted to come over and say… Well, I’m sorry. You deserve better than getting mauled by a f**k-up like me.”

He meets my eyes again, full of regret. Then he turns and walks away.

Confusion crashes through me. He’s the one who’s sorry?

“Wait!” I call, and start after him. Emerson doesn’t slow, so I grab his arm and pull him around to face me. “What are you talking about?” I demand, “You’re not a f**k up, and you didn’t maul me. Why would you say that?”

Emerson blinks at me slowly through his long, dark lashes. “But, what happened, on the porch…”

“I wanted it!” The words tumble out, and even though I blush to hear them, so blatant and true, I don’t stop. The guilty expression on his face is cutting right through me, and I can’t bear to have him think what we did was wrong. “I was there too, remember? I kissed you back!” I exclaim, still holding onto him. “I could have stopped you, any time I wanted, but I didn’t. I wanted it. I wanted you!”

Emerson’s expression slowly changes as my words sink in. The dark shadow in his eyes melts away, and then he’s looking at me with an intensity I’ve never seen before, like I’m something precious and pure.

“I thought… you must hate me,” Emerson mutters again, still not certain. “The way you took off like that…”

“Only because your sister pretty much saw me naked!” I exclaim.

His expression softens into a small grin. “Half-naked.”

“Like that’s any better.” I laugh, and just like that, the tension and uncertainty between us melts away.

We both catch our breath, and suddenly, I realize that although we’re right by the party—the fire blazing, music playing loud—nobody is even looking in our direction. We’re alone, in the middle of a crowd.

Together.

It’s like Emerson reads my mind. He glances around, and then looks back at me. “Do you want a drink?” he asks, “Or…”

“Or…?” I wait. My pulse is kicking, playing out a nervous symphony in my veins.

Emerson gives me a slow smile. “Or, we could go somewhere.”

There’s no mistaking the look in his eyes. My breath catches, but even as the voice in my head screams out, “Yes!” I have to force myself to stop and think a minute.

You know what’ll happen if you go with him. You know where those kisses will lead.

I feel the shiver of danger, but I can’t look away. My blood is running wild through my body, and already I can feel his hands on me, the memory of their sweet caress.

I nod.

Emerson leads me out past the party, towards the dark shadow of the dunes. I walk beside him, but I can feel the heat of his body blazing just inches away from me.

“Are you cold?” Emerson asks, frowning. “Here.” He unzips his hoodie and pulls it off, draping it carefully around my shoulders.

I breathe in the clean, soapy scent of the fabric, of him, all my senses overcome. His hand stays on my shoulder, and then he pulls me in against him. I stay locked under the safe embrace of his arm until we’re further down the beach, and the noise of the party is distant echoes.

“How’s your mom?” I ask quietly.

He tenses beside me. “I don’t know,” he admits. “Doing better, I think. She won’t talk about it. I just hope, this time…” he lets out a wistful sigh, then shakes his head, as if to shake off the dream. “It’s stupid, I know.”

“Hope is never stupid.”

I feel him shrug, still defensive, so I stop and turn to him. Emerson looks uncertain as I step forwards and slip my arms around his waist, resting my head against his chest as I pull him into the hug I’ve been aching to give him.