I’d seen enough movies in my life to know exactly how this would go. Todd, being the douchebag he was, would make some kind of crack, and then Boone would utilize some of the skills he’d learned on the streets and some of the muscles he’d acquired doing manual labor to knock Todd flat.

Now there’d be a story that might even get the Verde staff to stop talking about that time last year I’d stalked a waitress here.

“Excuse me,” Boone said, and moved into Todd’s space to set my salad plate down in front of me.

“Watch it, buddy,” Todd huffed. Uh-oh. Here it comes.

But Boone just sat down at his own seat, unfolded his napkin and put it on his lap.

“What’s wrong with you, dude?” Todd said.

“I have a strange guy shouting in my face while I’m trying to eat dinner,” Boone replied evenly.

“Loser,” Todd said, and purposefully bumped the table before stomping off.

I let out a long breath.

“So that guy’s an asshole,” Boone said cheerily, as he placed the top bun on his burger and lifted it to his mouth. “Now I know why you have more fun with me than Canton boys.”

“I thought you were going to punch him or something,” I said, breathless.

He finished chewing before he said, “Why?”

Because that’s what guys like Boone did. “Because he was being slimy to me.”

“Why didn’t you punch him?”

I was taken aback. “Because…I don’t know. I don’t punch people.”

“Neither do I,” he said simply.

“But—” But what? Was I disappointed to find out my bit of rough was not actually rough?

“Bullies hit people,” he said. “My father hit people all the time. He hit me, he hit my mother. No one would help us, and my mother wouldn’t leave him. So I left. By myself.” Then he returned to eating his burger.

My eyes began to sting, and I couldn’t seem to find my tongue. “Boone—”

“I’m not telling you that to make you feel sorry for me, Hannah. I’m telling you because we were going to get there tonight anyway. You already knew I ran away from home when I was fifteen. I might as well tell you why, too.”

“I’m so sorry,” I whispered.

“Like I said, don’t be.” He dipped a french fry in some ketchup. “I turned out awesome anyway, remember?”

“Yeah.” I thought while I poured the dressing on my salad. “And here I am telling you my deep, dark secret that I’m—gasp—a horror movie blogger.”

He chuckled at that. “Yeah. You’re kind of sheltered, did you know that?”

Don’t worry, Boone. I really, really do.

---

I expected Boone to drive us to some new wilderness make out spot after dinner, but instead he took me home.

I looked out the window at the darkened house beyond. I wondered if my father had come home at last. I wondered what my mother had told him about our fight this afternoon.

“What’s wrong?” Boone asked.

I shrugged. “It’s like I told you last night, I feel like I’m two different people. The Hannah Swift I’m supposed to be is just a mask.”

He nodded toward the house. “And they make you feel like you have to wear it?”

“Yes. And I’m not sure what to do.”

“You walk away.”

“I can’t.”

He looked at me. “Why not? I did.”

This wasn’t comparable to whatever horrors he’d gone through with an abusive father, though. Dad wasn’t abusive. Just a liar. “It’s not that bad.”

“It was bad enough to leave school and go to Europe.”

True.

“Why didn’t you just stay there?” Boone asked.

“Because I wasn’t happy in Europe, either. Because I didn’t want to waste my whole trust fund.”

“Your trust fund?” He laughed. “You have a trust fund and you’re living at your parents’ house?”

Yeah, because I wanted to spend it on something that mattered. “Well, I’m getting an apartment near school again this fall.”

His mouth spread into a smile. “If you had an apartment now, I could take you there and give you that last orgasm I owe you.”

“Or we could go to your place,” I countered.

“I told you, my place is far away.” He slid his hand up my thigh.

“So is fall,” I replied, and kissed him.

Boone’s mouth opened at the touch of my lips and we fell into each other, our tongues meeting, our breaths mingling, our arms slipping around each other and holding fast. He kissed me slowly, deeply, as if he had all the time in the world to sit in his pickup and devour my mouth. I don’t know how long it lasted, but by the time he pulled back I was breathless with need.

“Take me to your place,” I whispered in his ear. “Please.”

He buried his face in my shoulder, breathing hard while he fought some kind of inner war. But I don’t know if he’d won or lost when he finally said, “Okay.”

---

Boone’s place was far away. We drove for nearly an hour, and as we came up to the exit for the bridge, I turned to him in surprise. “You live out on the island?”

“Not exactly,” he said. “Just off it.”

I had no idea what that meant until we turned down the road to the yacht club.

“You live on a boat.”

He parked, and we got out. “It’s over here,” he said, his tone gruff. Together we walked down the pier, past gleaming speedboats and stately yachts. “Don’t get too excited. It’s a piece of garbage.”

And I saw it. A little 30-footer, with a worn wood deck, splintering rails, and a mast with a few rust spots. Of course he didn’t have air-conditioning. I’d be surprised if he had working plumbing.

“Is this the boat you said you were working on?”

He nodded.

“And they’re letting you live on it?”

“Something like that.”

“What do you mean? Are you squatting?”

He sighed. “No, I’m living here officially. But I’m not particularly proud of that fact.” He climbed aboard and held his hand out to me. I joined him, feeling the boat pitch and sway beneath us.

“What do you mean? This is cool. I mean, as long as it’s seaworthy.”

He grinned at me and released the ropes. He turned on the motor and backed us out of the slip.

“What are you doing?” I said. “It’s nighttime.”

“I’m just giving us a little space. Or do you want to be in a mess of boats and yacht club members?”

“Good point.”

Boone took us down the shore a little way, to a small pier far at the end of the yacht club property, out among the reeds and scrub, where no one could possibly see us. During the day, it was probably a fishing pier. He tied us up there and cut the engine, then came around and sat by me. There was little moonlight tonight, and the lights from the distant yacht club pier cast deep shadows on this side of the rustic dock. I could barely see him, but I could feel him, the warm, muscled bulk of him right next to me, like a magnet drawing me in.

“So,” he said.

“So.”

“This is my place. What do you think?”

“Good enough,” I said, and tackled him to the deck. His hands were all over my body and mine were running up under his shirt and unbuttoning all those troublesome little buttons and cursing the day he traded in his white T-shirts. “I’m going to rip this,” I growled.

“Please don’t,” he said. “I don’t have a lot of spares.”

Finally, I undid the last button, and opened his shirt wide to reveal the planes of his beautiful chest. I could barely see him in the shadows, but I could definitely feel him, every ripple of muscle, every curve of flesh. I dragged my lips up the center of his chest, over his neck and chin, and right to his mouth. We kissed like that for quite a while, Boone lying on his back on the worn wooden deck with me straddling his hips and leaning over him. The boat rocked softly beneath us, water lapping against the wooden sides. His mouth and tongue were driving me wild, hot and urgent, teasing and nipping. I couldn’t get enough of him.

“I really—” I gasped, grinding my hips against his “—love kissing you.”

“Yeah,” was all Boone managed before he pressed his mouth against mine again. Somehow he’d gotten my jeans undone, and was running his fingers back and forth beneath the waist strings on my thong underwear.

“Take your pants off,” he said.

But I had plans. I started scooting down his body, trailing kisses as I went. I licked the edge of his Voltaire tattoo, then popped the button on his jeans and carefully pulled the fly down over his straining erection. He lifted his hips and I drew off his pants and boxers.

“Maybe it’s your turn,” I said, and took him in my mouth.

I heard his sharp intake of breath, felt his stomach muscles twitch and flex beneath my eager fingers as I went on. His hands wove into my hair, gently twisting fingers around the locks and tugging softly in time to my movements. Deep, guttural moans were erupting from Boone’s throat, nonsense mixed in with pleas and my name. “Oh, Hannah, oh, Hannah. Oh, God, please, Hannah…”

I lifted my head for a moment to smile at him, and he grabbed me and yanked me up alongside him

“No,” I whined. “I was just getting started.”

“No,” he said. “I need to kiss you.” His mouth met mine, a desperate, trembling kiss. His voice had dropped to a breath. “I need to touch you.” He pressed his forehead to mine, hard, as if he could somehow transmit whatever impossible thoughts were running through his brain. “I need to…dammit, I’m afraid of all the things I need to do with you.”

I cupped his face in my hands and kissed him. “It’s okay,” I said. “I’m here.”

Boone made a sound that was half cry, half laugh. “Yeah. The last place in the world you should be.”

“Not if it’s with you.”

His kiss was almost painful in its intensity, as if Boone could melt us together. “Don’t say that,” he begged. “This was just a game in a bar…”

I laughed. “I never had sex on a boat.”

Boone sighed in defeat, then smiled at me. “I never did give you that third orgasm.”

“I never thought this would happen.” I slid off my sandals, then pulled off my top. And as I was sliding my jeans and underwear over my hips, he got a condom.

“I never did, either,” he said, pulling me down on top of him. I hadn’t ever started on top before, so it was a new experience, feeling him stretch and fill me as I sank down around him, and then we were moving in tandem, working with the rhythm of the boat, whose rocking beneath us intensified slightly as I rode Boone harder and harder. His hands moved up my body to cover my bra cups. A lovely, unbearable pressure built between us and my movements became wild and unmeasured. Soft moans came pouring out of me, building in volume and crescendo as I neared orgasm.

He licked his thumb and pressed it against my clit, making me cry out. “That’s right, baby,” he moaned. “No one can hear you out here. Come for me. Come for me, Hannah.”

And, trembling, I did, my muscles shivering and clenching around him. As waves of pleasure radiated out from our joined bodies, I couldn’t help the primal cry that escaped my lips.

He followed a few thrusts later, grabbing my ass in both hands and pushing more deeply into me than ever before.

I collapsed to the deck beside him, panting. “How the hell do you do that?” I asked. “It’s like a magic spell. You tell me to come, and I do.”

“You’re complaining?” Boone asked, tucking a lock of my tangled hair behind my ear. “Maybe you just like being ordered around in bed.”

I traced his jaw with my fingers. “I’ll let you know if we ever make it to a bed.”