“I never thought you were,” I tell him, but he’s already shaking his head.

“No, but … when I saw you that morning after …” Neither of us needs to say it: we both know exactly what he’s talking about. After I slept with Creed. “I knew I wasn’t trying hard enough. Marnye,” Zack continues, grabbing my wrist and pulling me into his lap. The boys do that a lot, and I let them because I like it. I really, really do. “You’ve been asking me lately about college and my plans for the future. But you know what? You are my plan for the future. You’re what I want.”

“Zack,” I start, but he lifts his fingers up and brushes them down the side of my face. His heart is racing as fast as mine. I can see it in the thundering of the pulse point in his throat.

“It’s true. You said it yourself: we have everything. We want for nothing. But that’s not true. The only thing I’ve ever really wanted with a passion is you.” He pulls my face close and then kisses me with the scent of sweet grapes on his breath, his tongue tasting me as carefully as I sampled that chocolate earlier. And the sounds he makes are so dark and tinged with need that I wonder if he finds me as decadent as I did our dessert.

We start to kiss, my hands winding around his neck, fingers playing with the fine, soft hairs at the base of his scalp. I’m essentially straddling him now, and I realize how short my dress is. It’s already riding up, and I shiver as a cool breeze sweeps across the lake and gives me goose bumps.

“Let’s go back to the car,” he whispers, and I nod, sliding off so he can stand up. The first thing he does is give me his letterman jacket. It’s huge on me, but I love swimming in all that Zack-scented fabric. “It’s as long as your damn dress,” he murmurs, but in a very appreciative sort of way.

We pack up the remainder of our picnic, and take the short winding path back to the car.

Zack slides into the passenger seat and pulls me onto his lap, closing the doors of his orange McLaren, and trapping us in our own private little bubble. He sweeps his arms around me, and I revel in the feeling of strength, of being protected.

“Oh, Marnye,” he murmurs, putting one of his big hands on the back of my head and pulling me in for a kiss. The way Zack Brooks kisses is so different from the other boys, slow and sensual and romantic in a way that can’t be faked. He really believes in that kind of stuff, that fuck-the-rest-of-the-world, sun-is-always-shining, pink-clouds-are-in-the-sky sort of romance. Soulmates. Together forever. Young love.

I groan as Zack sucks on my bottom lip, the faintest brush of his stubble on his face tickling me as he moves his mouth along the line of my jaw, and down my throat, paying special attention to the racing of my pulse. Between my thighs, I can feel him growing hard in his jeans, his letterman jacket swimming on my shoulders, decorated for both varsity football and track and field.

He pushes my dress up my legs and cups my ass.

“Let’s go back to the academy,” he whispers, pulling me against him. It feels so good, I don’t want to stop. But he’s right. I’m not ready to have sex in a sportscar next to the lake. That’s a bit next level for a noob like me.

“Okay,” I reply, voice shaky, already wondering if I’m crazy.

I’ve only had sex twice, and until a month a half ago, I was still a virgin.

Am I really going to go home with a second guy?

I ask myself why it matters so much. I care about Creed, and I care about Zack. If there was a gun to my head right now, I’m not sure that I could choose between them, so what’s wrong with going back to his dorm? I … love him.

My body flushes with heat, and I push the door open, letting Zack climb out so he can get in the driver’s seat. I don’t tell him about the thought that I just had. I don’t even think about.

The sex … I can handle.

I’m not sure if I’m ready for the rest of it.

Zack and I stand in silence in the elevator in Tower Three, him with his arms crossed over his broad chest, his pants, um, bulging in a certain special spot. He looks up at the ceiling and exhales, and I can’t stop a giggle from escaping.

“What?” he asks, lifting a brow at me. He looks almost as nervous as I do.

“Just … us.” I lift my head up and chew on my lip for a moment, glancing sideways at my reflection I the mirrored wall. I hardly recognize myself, with that short rose-gold hair. The only damage from the Harpies’ attack was that it’s a bit shorter on the sides than it was before. Miranda cleaned it all up, so there wouldn’t be any patchy spots, and I have to say, it honestly looks better than it did before. “Me and you. We’re so nervous.”

He laughs then, and swipes a big hand down his face.

“That’s true,” he admits as the door opens and we step into the hall. I wait anxiously as Zack unlocks the door to his dorm and steps aside, so I can go in. He doesn’t bother to turn the lights on, instead moving over to the living room window and tosses aside the curtains. The sun is sinking behind the horizon, but there’s still plenty of orange-gold light to see by.

“You … you’re not a virgin, are you?” I ask in a whisper, wondering with a small twinge of jealousy what might’ve happened if he hadn’t walked away from me in middle school, if he’d stuck around and our relationship had bloomed from the seed of that first kiss. Then again, maybe he wasn’t ready? Maybe I wasn’t?

“N-no.” Zack pauses and turns to look at me, exhaling sharply. “But I’m clean. I …” He scowls briefly and moves over to the kitchenette area, taking a manila folder off the stone countertop and handing it over to me. “Zayd and Tristan heard me talking about having tests done, and they fucking copied me.”

“Oh, so you thought of it first?” I tease as I flip open the folder and scan the pages inside. My cheeks heat up as I close it and hand it back. This is all so very adult. What happened between me and Creed was a little … messier.

“Pretty much,” Zack teases, tossing the folder aside, and stepping forward. He puts his hands on either side of my hips and pins me against the counter with his body. His sporty smell is all around me, an aphrodisiac that lures me into boldness. “Is there anything else you want to know about … any past girlfriends? Because I only want to say it once, and then I want to move on. Fuck them all. They’re nothing compared to you.”

“Don’t demean other women like that,” I whisper, swallowing hard. “Saying things like you’re not like other girls is a tool of the patriarchy. Actually, did you know that in the 1920s—”

“Oh, fuck yeah, keep talking history and politics,” Zack murmurs, undulating his hips against me, so I can feel his hard-on through his jeans. “It’s hot as hell.”

“Liar,” I whisper, but then he reaches down and takes my hand, putting it on his crotch. His eyes are molten when I look up and into them.

“Does that feel like a lie?” he asks, and I almost excuse myself to the bathroom to squeal. Several times this year, I’ve woken up, looked around, and wondered whose life this is. It’s surreal.

“How many girls have you slept with?” I ask, and Zack pauses, like he has to think for a moment.

“Five.”

I cringe, and he shrugs his broad shoulders.

“Before this is all over, you might have five guys under your belt, Marnye.” He cups the side of my face and rubs a thumb up the side of my jaw. He’s right though. What morality dais do I have to stand on and judge him? What even is morality anyway? And is that really a debate I want to have with myself while my hand is cupping Zack Brooks’ crotch? No. Nope. Definitely not. “Anything else? Names? Circumstances?”

“No.” I shake my head vehemently. “No, that’s enough. Thank you.”

“Can I focus on making love to you now?” he asks, and my face flushes.

“Making love?” I squeak as Zack sweeps me up into his muscular arms and carries me into his bedroom. He opens his curtains, so we can see the sunset, and then chucks his shirt. His body is a freaking wonderland. Broad shoulders, trim waist, those perfect ‘V’ muscles on his hips. I’m practically drooling as I look him over. The only thing I’m not a huge fan of is the infinity tattoo on his right hip.

“Making love, Marnye. I told you before and I’ll say it again. I’m not fucking ashamed of it. I love you.”

“Stop it, Zack,” I whisper, but he doesn’t seem to have any intention of doing that. He kicks off his shoes and socks, and then yanks my flats off, tossing them against the wall. The letterman jacket he leaves on me.