My heart is pounding, and I can't breathe. It's like some magical movie moment you only see in romances. Peter's face is so close. He smells amazing, and I can feel his body. His hands are on top of mine.

There's nothing particularly intimate about what's going on, but it feels so sensual that I can barely stand it.

“You do it like this,” he tells me in his deep sexy voice.

My fingers tremble as he uses my hands to make the shot. The ball goes straight. Peter lets me go and steps away. The moment is over, and my panties are wet.

Everything disappeared around us in that moment. There was no pool table. No bar. No Caleb. It was just...us.

I wonder if this is what sex with him is going to be like. I wonder if the entire world will fade away. God, I hope so. Because this is the best thing I've felt in my life, and most people would think nothing of it. People who have had dozens of flirtations and sexual encounters. To me, it was everything.

But then the moment is ruined by a request that flips my mood on its head. Peter picks up his pool cue and goes to take his shot. He doesn't even look at me as he says, “I want to see a picture of what you looked like before you lost all the weight.”

My horror reaches my face. I instantly glance at Caleb before the word, “No,” shoots from my mouth.

“Why not?” Peter chuckles. Even his handsome visage can't quell the unpleasant knots in my chest.

“Because.”

“Do you have a picture of her?” Peter takes his shot and then turns to Caleb.

“No.” Caleb shakes his head. He seems distant—disconnected from us.

“That's too bad. I would have liked to see. You'll have to show me someday,” Peter says, and then thankfully the subject is dropped, though he dredges it up again once we're in his car heading back to my apartment.

“Am I ever going to see what you used to look like?” he asks.

“No.” I fold my arms over my chest protectively. Just thinking about the girl I used to be fills me with disgust. If Peter had met her instead of me, we wouldn't be together right now.

“I don't know why you're so ashamed of it.”

“Have you ever been fat, Peter?” I practically snap at him.

“No.” He doesn't seem the least bit fazed by my agitation.

“Then you wouldn't understand.” I sigh, leaning against the door.

“What's there to understand? Who you were then made you who you are now. That can't be a bad thing.”

“But I don't want you to be disgusted by who I was then,” I mutter. “It might make you like who I am now less.”

“I highly doubt that.” He pulls into the parking lot of my apartment complex.

“I was morbidly obese. Just remembering my life back then hurts me.” Depression takes over me as I remember sitting in my room hating myself as a teenager. There were so many times I just wanted to die because I didn't think I was worth anything.

He puts the car into park and turns to me. “Hey.”

“What?” I stay pressed against the door.

“Look at me.”

I glance over at him, though I'm still frowning.

“I don't care what you looked like back then. I don't care who you were back then. I mean, I do care.” He tilts his head to the side. “At least, I'm curious about it.

“I want to know everything about you. That's part of dating someone. Learning the good, the bad, and the ugly. And I want you to know everything about me, too.”

“Well, what there is to know about you and what there is to know about me are two completely different things. I imagine you grew up in privilege. You've probably always been attractive. You likely never had to struggle for anything in your life...wealth, acceptance.”

I want to slap my hand over my mouth at how horrible that all sounded. I'm being an assuming bitch, and I don't even know how to stop it. My nastiness is a defense mechanism.

I expect him to get angry, but he doesn't. He just simply nods and says, “That's true.”

We sit in silence for several moments before he speaks again. “Come here. I want to tell you a secret.”

I look over at him, and he motions for me to come closer. When I finally move away from the door, he continues to motion until I'm practically leaning over the console. I'm not sure why he feels the need to whisper to me when we're in a car, but whatever.

He leans in close, his hot breath caressing my cheek. “I don't care who you were in the past. I like you just the way you are.”

The coldness in my heart melts. I feel his lips touch my cheek, and I know that no man has ever been more perfect for me.

I close my eyes and soak in the moment. I'm lost in a dreamlike state until his lips leave my cheek and he sits back in his seat.

“You know, it's really nice to date someone who has so many similar interests,” Peter says.

“Mhm,” I agree absentmindedly, my head still foggy from the innocent kiss.

“I'm having a 4th of July party this weekend. From my balcony, you can see all of the fireworks going off around the city. It's a splendid view,” he tells me proudly.

“I bet it is.”

“I want you to come, of course.”

“I'll be there.”

“I was thinking of inviting a few people from work,” his voice stiffens and dread assaults me.

“Not Becky, right?” I turn to him in alarm.

He chuckles. “No. Not Becky.”

I huff, sinking down a bit. “I don't know what's wrong with that girl.”

“She's something else.” Peter grins.

“She has no shame,” I mumble.

“I think she just...enjoys variety.”

“She's a cock hound,” I say what I know he was really thinking.

“A cock hound?” He guffaws, and I blush in embarrassment.

“Well that's what she is. She wanted you. She wanted Caleb. I don't think she cares, really.”

“I'm not so sure about that. Everyone has a preference.” He tilts his head to the side.

And her preference seems to lean towards handsome men. Not that I'm one to talk. But at least I wasn't just trying to sleep with Caleb and Peter. I genuinely wanted a relationship with them. I don't feel that Becky's intentions are the same, especially with her being so flighty.

“I don't like her,” I confess, though it's obvious he already knows that.

“Well, you don't have to worry. She's not going to be there,” he reassures me.

“Good.” I relax a bit. “Are you going to invite Caleb?”

“Of course. What's a party without the meathead.”

I giggle at the insult.

“I'm glad we're all friends,” I say with a sigh, thinking about how perfect my life has become.

“Me, too.” He smiles.

“I hope we stay that way for a long time.”

* * *

The week marches on.

It doesn't seem like Caleb is on board with making my great dream of all of us staying friends forever come true. While I don't put in as much effort to see him as I used to, whenever we do cross paths, the conversation is brief and he seems sullen. I'm done trying to force him to tell me what's wrong, figuring that he'll come out with it on his own eventually if he wants me to know.

For the most part, though, I don't even think about him. I'm too busy with Peter. Every day after work, we hang out in his car and talk for hours. Our co-workers know what's going on with us now, and that makes me feel a lot more secure that he's serious about our relationship.

On Friday afternoon, I go with him to the liquor store to replenish his alcohol stores for the party. While I don't typically buy liquor, I consider Smirnoff and Jose Quervo to be the good brands. After a few minutes in the store, I'm convinced that Peter shops by price tag only. He picks out bottles I've never heard of before, and nothing under $100.

“You have interesting taste,” I comment as he asks one of the store clerks to get him a bottle of Asombroso out of a glass case.

“Have you ever tasted good tequila?” He glances at me, and I can't help but feel like he's judging me.

Of course, I've never tasted a thousand dollar bottle of tequila. But apparently I'm going to tomorrow.

“It all tastes the same to me.” I shrug. “I seriously can't even tell the difference between well tequila and the good stuff.”

He draws his hand up to his chest and gasps. “You're hurting my heart, Willow. Hurting my heart.”

I roll my eyes. Oh the woes of the rich.

“I'm just playing.” Peter wrinkles his nose at me. “Really, I just buy this shit to be pretentious. I mean, I like a good tequila as much as the next guy, but I wouldn't drop mad money on a bottle unless I'm trying to impress people.”

“Why does it matter if you impress people?” I pick up a cheaper bottle and read the label. Most of the labels even look the same to me. 100% agave. Silver. Gold. Whatever. It all burns going down.

“People hold me to a certain standard,” he tells me, though it seems that saying it makes him uncomfortable. “They know what I do for a living. They expect that I live a certain way.”

“So, lavish everything.” I nod, more to myself than him.

“Yes. Don't get me wrong. I enjoy living this way. But it can be a pain in the ass sometimes.”

“I can't even imagine.” I can't. The thought of having the money that he does—enough to piss away on a thousand dollar bottle of tequila—is unfathomable. There's no doubt in my mind that I'll never amass as much wealth. But I suppose I don't have to if I'm dating someone rich.

“This looks like a dildo,” I mention when the store clerk hands the bottle over to Peter.

The clerk's mouth drops open.

Peter guffaws.

And I feel mildly embarrassed for being unable to keep that comment in. At least, Peter doesn't seem to mind my free speech.

“You'll spend the night tomorrow night?” he asks as he drops me off in front of my apartment.

“Spend the night?” My cheeks flame as I immediately picture us entwined together in his bed.

“Yeah. There's going to be a lot of drinking, and I don't want you to drive home messed up.”

As soon as I read the concern in his voice, I know we're not thinking on the same wavelength.

My God, am I some kind of pervert? He's the man, and yet it's my mind that went straight to sex.

“Oh. Of course.” I avert my gaze, feeling shameful for my lecherous thoughts.

“Good. And one more thing.” Peter reaches across me to open the glove compartment. “I got you this.” He pulls out a small black box, and my chest tightens as he hands it to me.

My fingers trace the top of the box. I'm so shocked by the gift that I can barely form words. “You didn't have to.”

“I know I didn't have to. I wanted to.” He smiles. “Open it.”

My heart is in my throat as I lift the lid from the box. This is the first gift that any man has ever given me, and that makes it even more special. As soon as the lid is removed, I gasp at what's inside. It's a silver pendant with five diamonds down the center.

“Do you like it?” he asks, his eyes fixed on my expression.

“Mhm.” I nod, hating myself for being so emotionally shaken that I can't express my full gratitude.

“Here. Allow me.” He takes the box from me to pull the necklace out of it and then unfastens the latch. I move my hair out of the way so that he can place it around my neck. “You probably can't tell because of the design, but it's supposed to be a willow leaf. When I saw it in the store, it reminded me of you, so I decided to buy it.”

Knowing that he thinks about me even when I'm not around makes the butterflies in my stomach take flight. I don't know how I ever got so lucky. He's absolutely perfect. Handsome and smart and wealthy and thoughtful.

“I don't know what to say.” I wrap my hand around the pendant, holding it to my chest.

“I'll accept a thank you.” Peter smirks.

“Thank you. Yes, thank you.” My fingers strum over the jewels, which I'm almost certain are real diamonds. “It's more than I deserve.”

He cups my chin, turning my face towards him. “Don't ever say that, Willow. You deserve everything good in the world. You're worth so much more than you give yourself credit for.”

Tears come to my eyes unbidden. I'm drowning in a sea of happiness. I just can't contain it all.

But I'm embarrassed by my reaction. Too embarrassed to let him see that he's making me fall completely apart, so I whisper another soft thank you before climbing out of his car and quickly walking away. I don't even look back, because if I look back, he'll see that I'm crying and will probably think he did something wrong. I don't want him to think that, and I can't explain myself. Not without turning into a blubbering mess.

Hot tears burn a trail down my cheeks as I reach the elevator, my hand still clutching onto the necklace as if I'm scared it will fall off if I don't hold onto it. I'm squeezing it so tightly that I can feel the stones digging into my palm and the smoothness of what's supposed to be the leaf. A willow leaf. He bought this because it made him think of me. I just can't get over it.

As soon as I get inside my apartment, I sit on the sofa and simply stare blankly at the television. Everything feels so surreal. Every intimate moment with Peter is magical. And the firework show will probably happen tomorrow night. And by firework show, I'm not talking about the gunpowder kind.

He wants me to stay the night with him, and even though he didn't make it sound like anything sexual...

I let the necklace go to stroke it some more. Maybe that's why he gave it to me. Maybe it was to warm me up for what will happen tomorrow night. If I feel closer to him, I'll be more likely to sleep with him.

He didn't need to buy me a necklace to make me want to sleep with him. I've been dreaming about it since the first time I laid eyes on him. But now the thought of it actually happening—and knowing when it's going to happen—scares me a little.

I've never been with a man before. It's a secret I don't tell anyone. And I'm afraid that I'll disappoint him. No doubt, he's slept with countless women. I'm sure a lot of them have been skilled. Will he like me less if I'm a bumbling idiot? Should I tell him beforehand that I'm a virgin? A lot of guys like that. Hell, maybe it will make him want me even more. I don't know. All I know is that sleeping with him is going to make me feel all kinds of vulnerable.

Am I really ready for that? He's slowly been winning me over. Each day with him makes us feel closer. But once we have sex, he'll have my heart on lock-down. And what's worse is that he'll have the power to shatter me completely.