I bite down on my thumbnail, a nervous habit I've always had. I can't believe Sandra left me here with him. My heart is racing, and I feel like I can barely breathe.

I can't look at Derek without all of the memories I have with him flooding into my mind. All of those afternoons spent talking and making out in that beat up car.

His Honda was our safe place. I’d go wherever he took me. We just wanted to get away.

Me from my parents' fighting, and him from something, although I don't know what. He never wanted to go home. He wouldn’t tell me why.

I can feel his piercing gaze on me as I turn back toward the TV, barely breathing. A shiver runs through my body as I swallow thickly.

All of those study periods sitting next to each other, all of those late nights spent talking on the phone. It’s all coming back to me. I close my eyes slowly, concentrating on breathing.

“You wanna hit?” he asks as the sounds of Tony and Sandra running up the stairs fade into the background.

I force myself to look at him as he takes another puff of his blunt. My mouth parts to say something, but nothing comes out. This is so fucking awkward.

“No.” I breathe the word, playing with the edge of the chenille throw on the sofa. I take a deep breath and try to calm down.

“I don’t smoke. Thanks though,” I say shakily. I debate on saying something to break this tension. But I don’t know what to say. I’m sorry I left you all those years ago. It sucks. I loved the way I felt with you, but I was scared. Are you still a drug dealer? Jesus, I can’t say any of that. It’s been five years. And he isn’t bringing it up, so I’m sure as fuck not going to.

He takes another short hit and readjusts on the sofa so he's facing me.

He’s so intimidating. It’s not just his dark, sharp looks, it’s the way he carries himself.

I can hardly stand being this close to him without making a fucking fool of myself. He makes me feel weak.

Damnit! Why did I sit on the loveseat? We’re way too close. I take a deep breath to say something else. I can’t stand this tension any longer, but before I can say a single word, I get a hint of his cologne.

I read somewhere that smell carries the most memory. Polo Black by Ralph Lauren, his signature scent. Just like he used to wear in high school. It’s my favorite. I always think of him whenever I smell it.

I close my eyes and take another deep breath. God, he smells so fucking good. I can't believe just the smell of him is making me want him so much. I can practically feel his hands on my body. He held me like he owned me; he kissed me like he needed the air in my lungs to breathe. No one else has ever made me feel like that.

I open my eyes and take a glance at him.

“So how do you like school?” he asks. My heart’s beating so fucking fast, and yet he’s unaffected.

His hand rests on his jeans, and I can clearly see the outline of his hard cock. I draw in a sharp breath, looking away.

I stare down at the floor as my cheeks flame. Jesus! I'm blushing like a fucking thirteen-year-old girl. We never took it that far, but I sure as fuck wish we had. I remember grinding on top of him in the driver’s seat as he kissed my neck. The sexiest sound I've ever heard was him moaning because of my touch.

“Um, school’s good.” I clear my throat and turn to face him a little more. “It's a lot of work, but,” I force myself to look up at him and into his eyes and not back down to his dick as I continue, “I like it. And it’ll be worth it in the end.”

“You always did put all of your effort into school,” he says, smirking. He takes another drag. “That's great, though,” he adds as he exhales and blows the sweet-smelling smoke away from me. He never smoked around me back in high school. He hid a lot from me back then.

He looks sexy as fuck doing it.

I can't stop staring at his lips, remembering how soft, yet demanding they felt against mine.

“How’s, uh,” I pause as I have no idea what he’s doing now. “What do you do?” I ask him, my forehead pinching.

He takes a long drag, and exhales slowly. I waiting, watching him as he quickly licks between his thumb and pointer finger and pinches the blunt out. Oh, the things he used to do to me with that tongue, even if we only ever made out. When he’d lick and kiss my neck, it was the most intense feeling. The subtlety and gentleness were so unexpected.

The thought makes my nipples pebble, and my breath come in short pants. It's been way too long since I've gotten laid. I've been focused on school. I can't believe I'm getting turned on watching him put a joint out.

“I’m in business now,” he answers and glances up at the TV. His eyes stay focused on it even though we both know he’s not watching it.

Awkward. Did I ask the wrong question?

This time he takes a deep breath, rolling the blunt between his fingers absent-mindedly as I wonder what's going on in his head.

After a minute he huffs a short chuckle and asks, “Do you remember all of those notes we used to pass back and forth?”

A small laugh sneaks out from my lips and a blush warms my cheeks. I bite my bottom lip, stifling my smile and remembering free period. “I do. And all of those doodles you’d draw.” I can feel the grin grow on my face. I can’t help it. “I especially liked the ones of Mr. Clinko. Remember how mad he’d get when everyone would continue to talk after he told us to quiet down?”

“And that vein in his neck would start popping out. Good times,” he says, leaning back and tapping his fingers against the armrest. Him bringing that up soothes so much of the anxiety running through me. Or maybe it’s just the memory.

“We did have fun.” I give him a shy smile as I add, “You always distracted me from whatever I was supposed to be studying.”

He nods his head slightly, the trace of a smile still on his lips, and the conversation ends there. I sit silently beside him, not wanting to bring up what happened between us, or how things ended.

I pull my legs up and sit cross-legged. I should apologize. I know I should.

Out of the corner of my eye I see him run his hands through his thick dark hair. He used to do that when he was nervous or stressed.

He takes a deep breath and asks, “So what do you do for fun now?”

I laugh nervously. “Take a nap, or just veg out with Netflix. I'm pretty boring.” But you already know that.

He laughs with me. “You always were a good girl. Never wanting to go out and party.” Slowly, a grin spreads across his lips as he says, “Except for those couple of times at Lookout Hill.”

“Well, if I remember correctly, I was coerced,” I flirt back. Lookout Hill is where we first made out. Where I first felt him. It was the only place we had complete privacy. Where we could do whatever we wanted.

“Oh really? You seemed pretty willing,” he retaliates.

“Me? No! I never did anything that would get me into trouble.” I can’t look him in the eyes as I say that. I know I let him get farther than anyone else did. More than a few times, I was the one pushing. He never took advantage of me though. He never pushed me to do more than I wanted. The memory makes my heart clench.

“Well, why don't we change that?” he asks with his voice low and full of lust.

Fuck, this is bad. I know this is going to end with my regretting whatever happens. I hesitate to answer.

A deep, low chuckle fills the room and pulls me out of my inner panic.

“Relax, Emma,” he says as he holds out the half-smoked blunt. “I was thinking along the lines of taking a hit. Just try it. It’ll help you relax.”

I've never smoked before. I'll probably choke and make a fool of myself. I know all the reasons I shouldn’t smoke. I have a fucking speech memorized to tell the kids who get caught with it.

I'm chewing on my bottom lip again while he stares at me with those pale blue eyes.

“Hey,” he says as he leans over and tugs my bottom lip free from my teeth with his thumb. “Trust me, it’ll be okay.” He’s so close, too fucking close. The leather sofa groans as he runs the rough pad of his thumb along my bottom lip. He’s telling me it’ll be okay, but he doesn’t realize what this means to me.

I can’t move. I can’t breathe. He’s staring at my lips, and I want him to kiss me. But he doesn’t. Instead he moves away from me, and I instantly miss his touch.

I’d do anything to get it back.

I’m going to do bad things tonight. I can feel it. But it'll be with him.

And I really fucking want to. All those reasons I shouldn’t smoke go right out the window.

My eyes meet his. “I've never smoked before. I don't know how to,” I confess nervously.

He shrugs casually, lighting the blunt and suggests, “Just shotgun it?”

“I don't even know what that means.” I pull my knees into my chest and watch as he lights the end and breathes in the blunt; the tip burns to life. “God, I'm so sheltered,” I moan and bury my face in my knees. I'm so embarrassed. I sound like such a loser. I tuck my hair behind my ears and look back at him. I want him. No one can blame me for that.

Derek’s always had a piece of my heart, and I’m not willing to tell him no.

“That's not a bad thing. Shot gunning’s easy.” He scoots closer to me, so close the smell of his cologne is stronger than the pot. “I promise. I'll take a hit and then blow it into your mouth.”

My heart quickens thinking about his lips on mine again. I find myself staring at his lips. I nod my head slightly. The vision of him leaning over me with his hand on my hips makes me eager to accept.

“Okay, I'll try it,” I answer quickly.

He takes a quick hit, then blows it out. I feel myself pout slightly and he laughs at me, a deep sexy sound that makes me scoot a little closer to him, so my side brushes up against his. “Ready?” he asks, cocking a brow at me.

This is stupid and not going to end well. But I want to do it so badly. I want to be bad for him.

I nod my head, not trusting my voice. I'm so nervous.

He takes a long inhale of the blunt and leans in toward me. Our lips touch ever so softly. I spear my hand through his hair and wrap the other around his neck, taking advantage, but I don’t give a fuck. God, he feels so strong and warm. He feels so right. He leans into me, just like I imagined. I wish he’d push further and lay me back on the sofa. The same feelings from all those years ago flow through me as I tilt my head back, breathing in deep and holding the smoke in.

He blows the smoke from his lungs into my mouth, cupping the back of my head and leaning into me. The smoke tastes sweet in my mouth. But it’s his touch that makes it all worth it. I try to suck it down and hold it. I roll onto my side and away from his embrace as I feel a cough coming on.

Fuck! The smoke burns in my lungs. Holy fuck! It’s painful! Why do people do this?

I lie over on my side of the sofa, coughing and covering my mouth. I feel like such an idiot. As much as I'm coughing though, I can't stop smiling. I feel the blush returning to my cheeks. I cover my mouth again and sit upright, feeling foolish and naive.

The smoke hurts, but it was worth it.

“Come here,” he says softly, wrapping his muscular arms around my waist and pulling me into his lap. I’m not about to say no. He puts his lips to mine and breathes into my mouth again. I take the hit, feeling his strong hands gripping my hips to keep me in place.

This is so wrong. So bad. But I want it.

This time I don’t cough as much, and I only move my head to the side when I do. He takes the chance to kiss my neck.

Fuck. Yes!

I take a moment to just breathe, feeling almost winded. I’m lightheaded from his touch or the blunt, I don’t know which.

He takes another puff of the blunt, leaning away from me and then putting it out on the ashtray on the end table.

He blows out easily as I finally sit up.

“How was that?” he asks, smiling at me.

“That was great,” I answer somewhat sarcastically, my voice gravelly from coughing. I scoot closer into his lap though, eager for more of his touch even though the shotgun session is over.

“I've missed you, sweetheart,” he says softly as he strokes my cheek with his thumb.

I can't resist him anymore, not after hearing him call me sweetheart like he used to.

I stare at his lips, and this time I don’t fight the urge. I lean into him, my hand on his thigh, and kiss him softly on the lips. I’m hesitant. Every bit of me thinks he’s going to deny me, like I don’t deserve him and it’s all in my head. Just like all those years ago. It never felt real.

I kiss him again. I meant it to be short and sweet, but it turns into something deeper. His tongue slips between my lips, and I part them, moaning into his mouth. It’s so easy to fall back into his embrace.

I wish I’d never left.

I pull away briefly to look him in the eyes. The second our eyes meet, he pulls me back into him, wrapping his arms around me and gripping the nape of my neck and my hip, kissing me fiercely.

God, this feels so right. It's like nothing’s changed.

His tongue strokes my bottom lip, willing me to let him in.

And I do.