Adam

I've been with her for what, half and hour and already the emotional or whatever rollercoaster is twisting my guts into mush. First she doesn’t want to know me, then she does, and my cock is still throbbing from that kiss, then she puts the breaks on again, but not really, because she wants dinner.

Where the hell do I take her? It's Sunday night so most places'll be slow. But slow enough to avoid the stares everyone keeps giving me? Taylor's sure to notice those.

Then she'll get all scared again. Which she shouldn't be. Not of me. I didn't even know what wanting to protect someone was until I met her. Which is weird, since I've been fighting to protect the whole country for the past eight years.

But all that just fades into the background as she comes out again, the way her shirt slinks down over her curves the sexiest thing I've ever witnessed. It's not just her body, it's this glow radiating from her, like she's shining from the inside.

She puts up a fight over not riding with me, but there's no way I'm letting her out of my sight. It's a need bordering on obsession. I hope I don't snap. But I won't. I know I won't. I have control, always have.

I'm strangely at a loss for words once she's sitting beside me in the cab of my uncle's truck. Mostly since I'm regretting the fact I didn't ride my bike here. Then her soft thighs would be wrapped around me right now, and that in itself would be a small piece of heaven.

"So, you grew up around here?" she asks.

Shit, dinner means conversation.

"Yeah," I say and leave it at that. The last thing she needs to know about is the time I spent growing up in this hick town. The population's swelled some over the years, with so many people looking for organic living, but the core is still the same. And they're not huge fans of mine, or my family's for that matter.

"I kinda did too," she says staring at the first cluster of houses we're passing on the way into town. "I spent most of my summers here when I was a kid."

She turns to me, her eyes wide, a smile playing on her full lips, and I forget to watch the road. "Hey, maybe we've met before!"

"I think I'd remember that." I blurt out the first thing that comes to my mind. My heart's racing. Maybe she does know about me. Maybe she just hasn't connected the dots yet. I shouldn't tell her my last name, that way she never will. But she already knows it, since she called my uncle to fix the plumbing. Shit.

"Wow," she sighs and leans back in the seat, staring straight ahead now. I know she wants me to ask what she means, but do I?

"Wow, what?" I say anyway.

"Never mind," she says, her eyes still staring straight ahead, her arms crossed over her chest. "This place sure has changed in the last few years."

We're just coming up on Main Street, which is all lit up with stores, and I still have no idea where to take her.

"There's even a Walgreen’s," she says and points. "When I was here last, there was only the one drug store and it was closed most of the time."

"I know, right? I've been away for the past four years, and I barely recognize the place," I say. I can tell her about being in the Marines, she won't hate me as much if she thinks I'm some sort of war hero, she can't. Best not mention they kicked me out though.

"You've been away?" she asks, turning to me again, and a sharp pain in my stomach tells me she's misunderstanding, growing scared again. Like she's thinking prison maybe. I've always had good intuition, but with this girl it's ridiculous.

"Oh, I remember that place," she says before I can set her at ease, pointing at the diner my sister works at. "They have the best onion rings in the world!"

It's also the last place I'm going to take her to.

"Onion rings, that's what you want? I know a place where they have even better ones," I say and speed up. The joint I'm thinking of is in the next town, and even has a drive through. That could be my safest bet here.

Her eyes are wide, fear wafting off her again. I'm doing this all wrong. I don't even know what I'm doing. Sex and kissing. That comes natural. Dating? I'm completely lost.

"I just hope it's still there," I say.

"When were you there last?" she asks.

"Like eight years ago," I answer, trying to do the math. I think me and my dad had lunch there the day he signed the papers so I could enlist at sixteen. Or maybe I'm misremembering. A lot of that last year I spent here is a blur.

"Where have you been since? The city?" she asks, her voice shrill and crisp.

"No, Afghanistan mostly, Iraq and Syria for awhile," I tell her.

"Oh, you're in the Army," she says, her voice maybe a shade lighter. She's still not looking at me, and I can't read much off her profile.

"The Marines, yeah."

"So when are you leaving again?" Do I sense trepidation in her voice, or do I just want her to care?

"I'm not."

"Good!" she says, glancing at me right after.

"Is it?" I ask. Though maybe I'm really asking myself.

"Sure it is! War is so pointless," she says. Afterwards her lips remain slightly parted, glistening and I really just want to kiss her again.

"That may be, but it's also been my life since I was sixteen. I'm kinda lost without it." I don't even know why I said it.

We're in the parking lot of Joe's Pit Stop and the place is as open as can be, lit up like a fucking Christmas tree. But all I really see is her face, the way her eyes change as she tries to figure out what to say next. We really should just be kissing. Talking's not something I'm good at. So I lace my fingers into her soft hair and pull her to me.

She comes willingly, like we're actually attached, like she's a part of me. The world around us is a blur, the earth spinning uncontrollably, but right here, with her lips on mine, her tongue shy, yet curious, everything's still. Like dawn on Christmas day, fat snowflakes falling outside, presents full of possibilities just waiting to be unwrapped.

The windows are fogged up by the time we finally break apart.

"Maybe we should go in," she says, combing out her hair with her fingers. I wish they were still touching my chest and my stomach. But if she's hungry we'll eat. Though I'm not really sure I can even walk across the parking lot with my raging hard on.

So I think of bombs going off, bullets whizzing, sand in my eyes and mouth, a sharp pain in my back paralyzing me, life leaving Tom's eyes as his blood soaks my uniform so fast it's burning my skin. I'm such an idiot.

I should be forgetting that night, not fucking dredging it up to get rid of a hard on. But the images just came in a flood, once I thought of the first one. Now it's worse than the nightmares. But somehow, as I reach out my hand to help Taylor climb out of the truck, the after sting is not so bad. And for the first time, I don't wish that I too had died that night.

* * *

Taylor

If we kiss any more, I might permanently lose the ability to walk properly. My cheeks grow hot at the thought of what else he might do to me to prevent me from walking properly. It's followed by a sharp, pleasant twitch down there, stronger than anything I've yet experienced. Because the warmth spreads, up into my stomach and chest, stays there. But before I let myself go, I need to know more about him. Need to know he's not just looking to fuck me and discard me. Need to know he's not just gonna rape me and strangle me.

The thought works like a cold shower, actually makes me shiver as I follow him to the brightly lit diner. Good thing his back is turned so he doesn't see.

He's wearing the same jeans he wore last night, and from the back they look even more tailor made than from the front, if that's even possible. The shirt he's wearing is a washed out grey, and seriously brings out the green in his eyes I notice as he holds the door open for me. This is the first time I've seen him in full light, I realize. Or maybe it's just the first time I've dared look at him fully.

His thick brown hair is cut short, but not military short and not short enough to prevent a wave falling over his forehead. God, but he's gorgeous, from his bright green eyes, his strong jaw, narrow nose, sweet full lips, to the way his shirt is just tight enough to show off his well-formed chest, rippling stomach, biceps I wouldn't mind wrapping my hands around. And the jeans. I don't even want to look. He's worth taking the risk.

The thought brings another jet of icy cold water.

Get it together, Taylor. Looks aren't everything. He could be a rapist. Or worse.

"Are you coming or what?" he asks, and it's only then I realize I stopped dead a few steps from the door, while I processed all that. Great, maybe I'm coming down with psychosis.

I rush to get to the door, only aware of how badly my boobs bounce by the look he gives them. And possibly for the first time in my life, I don't feel cheap because a guy looked at my boobs that way.

Inside, the waitress with a long blonde ponytail and a very short skirt leads us to a booth by the window. She's more the kind of girl he should be having dinner with. But he's looking at me, not her.

"There's a bit of a wait on everything due to the crowd," she informs us as she hands us a menu each. "But let me get you your drinks."

He orders an iced tea and in my perplexed state I get the same. I'd expected him to order a beer, then I could have one too, to take the edge off, but now I can't very well drink alone.

"I had you pegged for more of a beer guy," I say, opening the menu.

"I'm thirsty more than anything else right now." He winks at me and picks up his own menu. "There's always later."

I hope so.

But I don't say it. It's bad enough that everything he says to me makes me think of sex, without me adding to it too. My cheeks are burning and in this light, my face is most likely orange.

When the waitress comes back, I order the burger and fries and he gets the same.

"So, no onion rings then? Good," he says and my cheeks fire up again.

"We're actually not in Pine Plains anymore, are we?" I ask to change the subject. "We passed the town limits, right?"

"Yeah, this is Amity. Been here before?"

"I don't know, maybe," I reply. I'm pretty sure I haven't, but everything from my past is a big blur right now.

He takes the straw from his ice tea, and drinks about half of it.

"So how come you haven't been home in years?" Way too personal, but it just came out. I don't even have control of my brain anymore.

He chuckles a little, setting down his glass right in the middle of his coaster. "Can we start this with easier questions? Like, you know: age, date of birth, favorite color?"

I smile too, can't help it, even though I could just wilt away under the table from the embarrassment.

"Alright, I'll start," he says. "I'm twenty four, my birthday’s in April and my favorite color's green. You?"

I clear my throat, which is all tight. Mostly because his leg is pressed against mine under the table and I'm wondering if I should move.

"I'm twenty three, my birthday's in July and I like indigo." I shift my position so our legs aren't touching anymore. I have to, because I feel like I'm fourteen and on a date with some guy I've been crushing on and I need to get it together. "But I thought with all the kisses we were a bit past first date stuff."

"Yet here we are." He leans back and drapes his arms over the backrest.

"So, kissing strange girls on sidewalks is something you do all the time?" I have no idea why I'm being confrontational. What I really want to do is go sit next to him, and let him kiss me some more.

"No, you're the first," he says and smiles again in such a mischievous way, I'm convinced he's lying.

"Yeah, right," I mutter without thinking again.

He leans forward, resting his forearms on the table. I want to touch his well-formed arms so bad my palms itch. I've always had a thing for muscular guy's arms, probably because that's the most I ever got to see on hot guys.

"Seriously, Taylor. You came out of nowhere, and you were about to disappear again. I just had to at least kiss you before that happened. You’re too gorgeous to pass up. But it's not like a done thing for me, you shouldn't think that."

"A done thing?" What I should be focusing on is the other part, the part where he couldn't just let me go away, because he thinks I'm gorgeous. Instead I chose to make fun of him. Classic Taylor.

He leans back again and squints at me, the smile gone from his eyes. "I'm sorry, OK," I want to tell him. I get nervous and then I get mean. But we don't know each other well enough for me to be saying things like that.

"Well, it's not a done thing for me either, you know?" I say instead.

"Yeah, I gathered that. So, what brings you back here after all these years?"

You, I want to say. It's on the tip of my tongue.

"I have some work to do…I'm working on a novel. A romance novel, to be precise."

He smiles again at that, and a huge weight lifts off my heart. Maybe I haven't managed to chase him away yet.

"Nice. Is it about a girl alone in the woods who falls in love with a random stranger?"

"You turn everything I say to sex, you know that?" I blurt out, not able to stop myself, or meet his eyes.

"I know. I'm trying not to, I swear. But with you…shit…I just can't help it," he says, and when I look up his eyes are serious. No, not serious, intense. I've never had a guy look at me like that, like I'm the only girl in the room. In the world.

"But we can talk of other things," he offers.

I fiddle with my straw, determined to think before I speak again.

"Is Jesse Dean your brother?" I finally ask, thinking this one can’t possibly go wrong.

He cracks his knuckles loudly, and darkness collecting in his eyes tells me I struck out again.

"Yeah, little Jesse really did well for himself," he mutters.

I nod. "He’s really famous."

Then the silence drags. He’s leaning back again, looking at me like he really wants me to say something. But I’ve messed up too many times with that now. So I do what I've wanted to since we got here. I get up and slide onto the bench next to him, let him wrap his arm around my shoulders. And from then on, it's easy like just by touching him the tension is gone.

We mostly talk about what these parts used to be like when we were kids. He's still not talking about any personal stuff, but from what he does say, I learn he really loves the woods. And I do too, just hearing him talk about it.

When the burgers finally arrive, he eats his really fast, keeps stealing my fries once he's done.

"I'm hungry too, you know," I say, smacking his hand away lightly. "Haven't eaten anything since breakfast."

"Fine, fine," he says and leans on the table, watching me eat. "I just thought I’d help you, so we can get out of here faster."

I roll my eyes. "There you go again."

"Yeah, but you like it."

And he's completely right, but I roll my eyes at him again and finish the rest of my burger in silence. A nervous tension over what will happen after we leave here is settling in my stomach. I'm not afraid anymore, just not sure what I really want. Or rather, not sure, if I should go ahead with what I really want, or wait.

He waves the waitress over for the check before I'm even done chewing the last bite. The crowd's thinned out a bit while we ate, and a couple of guys over by the bar are looking at us, whispering to each other.

I’m suddenly acutely aware that I'm in a strange place, with a strange guy. I didn’t tell anyone where I was, I could disappear, and no one would know. But no. His uncle sent Adam to the cabin, and my dad called his uncle. So they know who I'm with. But will that stop him?

"I have to go to the bathroom," I say and stand up, reaching for my money.

"It's alright, I got it," he says, getting up too and pulling his wallet out.

"OK, I'll pay you back later," I manage and rush to the bathroom. I can't seem to breathe normally and the tiles in the bathroom are all blurry, spinning around me. What if he drugged me or something?

Pull it together, Taylor.

He didn't, I kept a very close eye on him throughout dinner. This is just my paranoia, my inability to let go of control, because I'm a control freak, as Claire would put it.

Adam's waiting for me at the bar when I come out, my face still hot even though I just drenched it in cold water.

"Don't be a stranger now, Adam, you hear?" one of the guys says as Adam falls in step with me, sounding like he totally doesn’t mean it.

"Yeah, whatever," he mutters back and then he's holding the door open for me, and the parking lot is spinning all around me again.

"Who were they?" I ask. Maybe talking will ground me again.

"Not important." He looks at me, his eyes vast and empty, like an endless field of grass. Until they connect with mine, gleaming again even in the dim light. "It's a long story," he adds and walks to the truck so fast, I almost have to jog to keep up. I think maybe it is important, but I know I shouldn't press it. My strong urge to comfort him is odd, yet feels completely right at the same time.