When I was fourteen, Sara Little shoved me in a closet and told me I couldn’t come out until I let Matt Molloy get to second base.

Of course, I didn’t want to, but it was my first year of high school and rumors were starting to circulate that because I wasn’t boy crazy like other girls…something was wrong with me. And combined with the fact that my nanna finally agreed I was normal enough to attend regular school again …there was no way I could back down.

So, I did it. I played my hesitation off as nerves and let him slip his tongue in my mouth and his clammy hands up my shirt.

If I ever had a glimmer of doubt that I was gay before then? I didn’t after that experience.

It wasn’t so much his unskilled sloppy kissing technique, or how he treated my breasts like they were a radio in need of tuning that I didn’t like—it was how wrong it all felt.  How unnatural.

Like I was a mermaid washed up on shore and forced to walk on land.

Only I couldn’t…because I had a big fin instead of legs like everyone else.

I didn’t belong in their world, but I had no choice but to disguise my fin and act like I did.

I wasn’t very good at pretending, though, and my nanna knew something was fishy. Later that year I found out she paid Sara five hundred dollars to force me into that closet with Matt.

The irony. I wanted nothing more than to come out of the closet and swim in the ocean, and she was not only shoving me in one but insisting they chop my fin off.

She’d rather me not be free at all than be a lesbian.

There was a short period of time where I thought she might be right. After all, society didn’t like mermaids…not unless we suited their agenda and they needed a token mermaid to prove to others they were tolerant and accepted all ocean life. But I didn’t want to be people’s token mermaid.

I didn’t want the responsibility of explaining my world to others when I wasn’t even sure myself. It was easier to pretend to be whatever it was I was supposed to be than what I was still struggling to understand.

So even though Matt didn’t feel right…I made believe he did.

It wasn’t until ten months later when I made it past second base with Jackie Lawrence in my grandmother’s pool house…that everything changed.

Unlike with Matt, I was excited about hooking up with her. Not only because Jackie was pretty, popular, and had a fantastic rack—but because of how right it all felt.

Until my nanna walked in on us.

She screamed, kicked Jackie out, and had forbidden her from ever coming over again…and cried for the second time in her life.

She told me I needed to get over this disgusting phase and that people would never accept me or my perversions.

But, to my surprise, I stood up to her. I told her I didn’t need her or anyone else to accept me, because I had finally accepted me. For the first time since my parents’ death—something in my life made sense again.

I made a promise to myself right then and there that no matter how many guys she forced me to go on dates with, how many Saras she paid to shove me in a closet, or how many Jackies she sent away—I was done pretending to be anyone other than me.

I was a goddamn mermaid. And even if you cut off my fin…I’d still find a way to swim.

I never once wavered or questioned my sexuality after that day. Never had a reason to.  

Until now.

Until Preston Holden.

On instinct, I touch my mouth. My lips burn, almost like he tattooed his kiss there.

Or maybe it’s because he’s an evil warlock…and it’s my warning to make sure it never happens again.

“Green means go,” Preston grumps from the passenger seat of my car, bringing me out of my thoughts.

“Huh?” I start to look up, but an obnoxious horn blaring has me stepping on the gas so hard I burn rubber.

“Pull over.”

“I’m fine.” I turn up the music.

Now, I don’t have to listen to him. Or think about how he kissed me like he was running out of oxygen and I was his only source of air.

And I…liked it.

My stomach sours. I’m such a dirty, rotten liar. I more than liked it—I craved it.  

“Learn how to drive!” some man shouts when I veer into his lane.

I promptly give him the finger.

I’m a lesbian, dammit. One stupid kiss with my husband doesn’t change that.

Preston turns the radio down. “Bishop.”

Paying him no mind, I go to turn it up again but end up swerving due to the distraction. “You don’t control me.”

He grabs the handle on the door.  “I’m not trying to control you, I’m trying not to die today, Driving Miss Crazy. Now pull the fuck over.”

When I do, he swiftly jumps out and walks over to my side. I’m tempted to peel off and leave him stranded.

Maybe then everything will go back to normal.

He motions for me to get out but I don’t budge. “I was driving fine.”

He gives me a dubious look. “Sure, if you were a blind woman living in England where driving on the opposite side of the road is standard.”

I push my door open and slam it shut. “It’s not the opposite side of the road for them, jackass. But of course, you wouldn’t know anything about that, now would you?”

Because he’s not different. He drives on the same side of the road as the rest of the country. But me? I’m England. Something he’ll never understand.

Kissing me doesn’t give him an identity crisis. It doesn’t let her and every bigot like her win.

His eyebrow quirks up. “What’s happening?”

The confusion on his face almost makes my heart cramp, until I remember he’s the reason for mine. “Nothing.”

I start walking to the other side of the car, but he catches my wrist and hauls me back to him. “Kit.”

I hate the concern in his tone. I hate that he’ll keep pushing me until I snap and admit these fucked up feelings that I can’t wrap my head around. “I’m fine.”

Hopefully that will pacify him so he’ll leave me alone. This way, I can breathe and sort out my mind. Realize that a kiss is just that—a kiss. It doesn’t mean anything.

“No, you’re not.” He studies my face. “I know you’re worried, but I told you, we’ve got this.”

I salute him. “Sure thing, chief.”

My voice wobbles and I weigh the pros and cons of throwing myself in front of the next car that drives by. Anything to get out of this conversation.

“Look, I can’t decipher whatever chick language this is, or why you’re acting stranger than—” He pauses mid-sentence and I see the light bulb go off. “The kiss.”

It’s like he’s pouring salt on my cut. “Wow, someone is awfully full of themselves.” I give him a snide smile. “Sorry to stomp on your ego, but it wasn’t all that great. We’re lacking a little thing called chemistry.”

Liar, liar, pants on fire. We have so much of it I’m surprised the snow-covered ground between us hasn’t gone up in flames.

His mouth curves into a sinister smirk. Like my answer amuses him. “That’s bullshit.”

Diverting my stare, I lift my chin in defiance. I need to nip this in the bud now. “Is not. To be perfectly honest, it was the worst kiss I’ve ever had.”

A pang of regret goes through me, but it vanishes when he pins me against the car.

“Look me in the eyes and say that.” He leans down, and even though it’s freezing outside, my hands become balmy. “I fucking dare you.”

It’s my move, I know this. Whatever I say or do next will change the course of history.

Change me.

But I don’t want to change. I don’t want to conform, and I don’t want to question everything that felt right in my life before he kissed me. I just want to forget it ever happened.

I won’t trade my fin for legs so I can walk on land with him.

Not even for one night. Or less—because knowing Preston he’ll be long gone before the wet spot on the bed dries.

His gaze drops to my lips, lingering there. “You can’t hide or deny your attraction to me. Might as well put on your big girl panties and admit it.” Lids lowering, he gives me a slow perusal from head to toe that makes my heart pump harder. “Or better yet, take them off.”

Finding my resolve, I square my shoulders. “Never gonna happen. The kiss didn’t mean anything. I’m not attracted to you, dude.”

It’s not very convincing. Even I wouldn’t believe me.

The pad of his thumb brushes my bottom lip. “If that’s the case, do it again.”

Anxiety speeds through me like a rocket. “What? Why? No. We’re not in front of my nanna. In fact, I’ve been thinking about it, and there’s really no reason for us to kiss in front of her anyway. It’s kind of tacky, don’t you think? I mean who—”

“Stop babbling and kiss me.” There’s a dark note in his tone that sends a shiver up my spine. “If you really felt nothing, it shouldn’t be a problem.”

Rock…meet hard spot. In more ways than one, because there is definitely something very hard, and large, nudging my stomach. Something I know for sure I don’t want. I might like his lips, but that’s where this yellow brick road to hell ends for me.

“That’s dumb. I’m pretty sure you wouldn’t enjoy eating a donkey’s testicles, but I would never ask you to just to convince me you don’t.”

His hands fasten around my hips, pulling me up to meet him and I have no choice but to fold my legs around his waist.

“You asked me to kiss you at the airport and I obliged. I’m asking you to return the favor.”

Without warning, his lips coast along my neck and I suck in a breath. The sun is going to start rising any minute, and here he is mauling me on the side of the road where anyone can shine their headlights on us and see.

“That was different,” I pant, my breath coming out in rapid, visible puffs due to the cold and his teeth nipping at me. “It was business, and now that we’ve established I can kiss you without tossing my cookies…there’s no need to do it again.”

The tip of his tongue glides over my sensitive skin and I arch into him. “Stop being a coward and take what we both know you want.”

“No.”

If I kiss him right now…I’m afraid I’ll never be able to stop.

A snarl leaves him. “Then I will.”

Crushing his mouth against mine, he makes good on his word and takes the reins, leaving me helpless. His tongue plunges deep, and unlike our last kiss, he’s not teasing and he’s not giving. He’s downright taking. Bludgeoning anything in his path that prevents him from getting what he wants.

Including my defenses…because Preston’s breaking me apart with a single kiss. And by God, I’m not stopping him.

He’s so greedy—one hand threads my hair and the other drops to grab a handful of my ass as he coaxes me to open my mouth wider so he can explore every nook and cranny. The low, almost growling sound that emits when I slick my tongue over his, tasting him back, has me shaking with need.

My body’s response to him is downright scary. I’m so turned on. So pliable with a single kiss.

How far will I let him go? Where do I draw the line?

Preston’s not the kind to give any mercy. Which means I need to put an end to this while I still can. Before this gets even more dangerous for me. A kiss or two can be chalked up to an experiment, simple curiosity. But anything more is an undertaking.

It’s giving credence to these feelings.

“Preston,” I wheeze, struggling for both air and clarity.

“Tell me you don’t want this.” He sucks my bottom lip, pulls it between his teeth. “Tell me you don’t feel anything.” His voice is rough, thready, making my insides coil.

Hand clasping my nape, he gives me one last flick before his lips descend, peppering kisses down my jaw as he tugs on the zipper of my jacket. Good Lord, he’s insatiable.

“Tell me to stop.”

Evidently my vocal chords are on strike because the only thing that comes out is a whimpered moan when he licks the hollow of my throat.

My head lolls back as he pulls my sweater down and ventures lower, his stubble scraping the tops of my breasts. “I want these in my mouth.”

Sweet baby Jesus in a manger this escalated quickly.

My heart stops when he finds my nipple through the fabric of my bra, toying with me. “I want to hear you moan my name as you come down my throat.” Heat invades my cheeks with his dirty words and a sharp nibble steals my breath. “I bet you taste so fucking good.”  

His fingertips trail down the side of my stomach and he snaps the waistband of my leggings. “Take these off so I can find out.”

A ripple of lust goes through me, hot and viscous, but it’s immediately followed by the tide of self-loathing.

He’s trying to take me out of my ocean.

Dread claws at my chest when another wave of desire erupts, sending me reeling. “No. Stop.”

He releases his hold so fast I nearly fall on my ass. “What—”

“I can’t do this.” I push him, needing the distance. “I don’t want to walk on your stupid fucking land, okay?”

He looks at me like I’ve sprouted another head. “I don’t understand—”

“That’s just it. You don’t understand, and you never will. I am a lesbian. And no matter what you say or do, I will never let you…” My throat swells with tears and I try again. “I’ll never let you, my grandmother, or anyone else force me to be something I’m not.”

He looks so dejected my heart falls. “I don’t want you to be anyone but you.”

He reaches for me, but I jump back. I can’t take having his hands on me again, or I’ll burst into flames.

“Don’t touch me,” I yell, much harsher than I intended.

His face turns ashen. “I might be an asshole, but if you think I’d hold you down and rape you, then you really don’t know me at all.”

A splinter of remorse goes through me. “I know you wouldn’t do that.”

And I shouldn’t be putting the blame solely on him for what happened. Not this time.

I was the one who asked him to kiss me at the airport. I was the one who kept the kiss going. I was the one who kissed him back before…because I wanted to.   

Nausea barrels into me and I squeeze my eyes shut. Jesus, get a grip, Kit.

It’s like I don’t even know who I am anymore. The last twenty-four hours have been such a whirlwind I can barely see straight let alone think straight. Or gay as the case may be.

No wonder my system is so screwed up, it can’t tell left from right or right from wrong. It’s making me think I enjoy things I never would. It’s taking my bond with Preston and spinning it into something it’s not. Something it can never be.

As usual, I’m ready to jump into the fire all because I feel one tiny spark.

I’m pathetic. My desperation for love has reached such a sickening low, I’m seeking the opposite sex now.

My stomach spins for a whole other reason when I look up at the rising sun. “We need to go, we’re wasting time we don’t have.”

Without a word, he heads for the car.

“Preston,” I say, halting him.

I’m grateful when he doesn’t turn around. “I think it would be best for us to forget this ever happened. We’re both complicated enough as it is, we don’t need to add any more logs to the fire, you know?”

I don’t want to chase the burn this time.

“You’re right. It was a mistake.”

I flinch and my heart twists when he slides into the driver’s seat and slams the car door shut.

Because he’ll incinerate me.

Just like he said he would.