Pete's good mood slips when we get back to his place. He goes off to his room to work on a song. It must be true—there is music flowing from his door—but it's not exactly him being straight with me.

I want to talk to him. I want to pry his head open and look at all his thoughts. But I can't take him pushing back. Not right now.

After I unpack my books and organize my clothes, I say fuck it, and I give in to the allure of the glowing aqua pool.

There's some noise in the backyard. Mostly birds, breeze, a far away car driving through the neighborhood. I can see the hills for miles. I can see Downtown, the cluster of skyscrapers that makes up Century City, the white letters of the Hollywood sign.

I don't have a swimsuit. Pete's room has a view of the pool. The sun is setting. There's no reason why I need to be shy. I strip to nothing and dip my feet in the pool.

It takes me a minute to ease myself into the cool water. The chlorine will do awful things to my hair, I'm sure, but I don't care. I dive under the surface.

The water is refreshing, inviting. I swim in circles until the sun sets then I settle in the shallow end and turn my eyes towards the setting sun.

The backyard door pulls open. There are footsteps on the concrete. I don't have to turn to know they belong to Pete. No one else is here.

"Hey." His deep voice cuts through the backyard.

"Hey." My voice is not nearly as loud or confident.

I watch him strip out of his jeans, t-shirt, underwear. What is he doing—coming closer, pulling away, holding position? I don't know what to make of his reactions anymore.

My thoughts turn off as I watch him slide into the pool. The glow of the water casts highlights over his face. It makes his deep brown eyes look even more intense.

He moves closer. Closer. Then he's a foot away, close enough to touch.

"Been thinking," he says. "I'm asking too much of you. Fucking up your life."

"You're not."

"Listen to this before you argue with me."

I stare back at him. I know he's wrong, but I'm willing to listen. I nod an okay.

"It's only gonna get worse, this fame bullshit. I don't want that for you." He moves closer. "I'm giving you an out. If you can't do this anymore, you can walk. Keep the money. No hard feelings."

"What about your manager, Aiden?"

"I can deal with him." His fingertips brush my chin. "This is it. If you stay, you have to be in. You have to be sure."

I drag my fingers over the promise I scribbled on his chest. "I was sure this afternoon and I'm sure now." My chest and shoulders feel light. It's obvious. I need him. I can't walk away.

"Don't like that I'm fucking up your life."

"I've dealt with worse." I rise to my tip toes and run my fingers through his dark hair. It's still dry. I'll have to change that. "All I've done since I moved to L.A. is work and read. I was too tired to do anything else. Now, I'm going to law school, I'm getting a hell of a tour around town, and I… I've never had sex like this before."

Some of the doubt in his eyes fades away.

"I like hanging out with you. Like that I can be myself. I trust you." I press my body against his. "I know we aren't together, but we are friends, right?"

"Yeah."

"You're the closest friend I've had in a long time. I won't throw that away."

He's still far away. I don't like it. I want him here, with me, in this amazing moment. We're naked in a pool. The air is warm. The water is just right. Other parts of my life are still fucked, but this is paradise.

I point to the writing on my chest. "You made a promise."

There. He's back. His lips curl into a smile. His eyes fix on mine.

"You have a one track mind, Jess."

I shake my head. "We can talk. Do you want to talk?"

"Not at the moment." His hands go to my ass. He pulls my body into his.

His eyelids press together. I rise to my tip toes. Then our lips are connecting. It's a hell of a kiss. All the frustration of the day fades away until the only thing I can feel is the affection pouring between us.

He cares about me. It's there in his kiss.

I dunk him under the water. He gets revenge by splashing me.

A smile spreads over his face. It does things to me, that smile.

I can't wait anymore. I need all the intimacy I can get with him.

I wrap my arms around his shoulders and pull my body into his. I kiss him deeply.

He doesn't waste any time. One hand slides between my legs to stroke my clit. The other goes to my chest, playing with my nipples. It's different in the water—smoother. I arch my back to push my chest into his hands.

When he breaks our kiss, his eyes find mine. The mystery is gone. He's here and there's nothing in his gaze but desire.

"Hold on." He pins me to the side of the pool with his hips, reaching for something on the concrete. His jeans.

He reaches into the pocket and pulls out a bottle of lube.

"Were you planning this?" I ask.

"Not exactly." He drags his fingertips over my chest, stopping to play with a nipple. "More that I saw you in the pool and I couldn't stop thinking about how fucking good it would feel to have you come on my cock."

I'm not shy today. I know what I want and I'm asking for it. "I need you inside me. Now."

"Mmm." His lips press into mine. He squeezes lube over his fingers then brings his hand between my legs.

No teasing. He slips two fingers inside me. There's no resistance from my body. The lube makes it easy.

Thinking time is over. I kiss him harder. My body melts around his. He works me with his fingers, stroking my clit with his thumb. I dig my nails into the soft, wet skin of his back. Damn, that feels good.

Pleasure knots in my core. I'm already close. But I don't want to come on his hands today.

I pull back from the kiss. "I want you inside me." I drag my hand up his neck and play with his hair until his lips part with a sigh of pleasure. It feels good, saying what I want. "I need you inside me. Now. Don't make me ask again."

He shifts my hips so our bodies are aligned. Anticipation builds in my chest. It feels like it's been ages since we've been here.

There. His cock strains against me. No teasing. In one slow, sweet movement, he slides deep inside me. I can feel my sex stretching around him.

Damn, he feels good.

I dig my fingers into his skin. My lips go to his neck. He tastes like chlorine, and soap, and Pete. I plant kisses on his skin until I find the spot that makes him groan. It's the crook of his neck, right next to his collarbone. I work it every way I can—sucking, kissing, biting gently.

He drives deep into me, one slow stroke after another. There's such an intimacy to it. I can feel his heartbeat against my chest. I can hear his breath in my ear. This isn't fucking. It's making love.

I don't care that it's cheesy. It's true.

I get lost in the pleasure building in my body. His skin is soft and slick. I explore every inch of it I can. Until I can't take the knot of tension in my core any longer. Until I have to dig my hands into his hair and rock my hips against his.

"Fuck, Pete." I tug at his hair. "You feel so good."

He slides his hand behind my neck, cupping the back of my head. He tilts me so we're eye to eye.

I stare into his gorgeous eyes for as long as I can. The way pleasure spreads over his expression—his pupils dilate, his lips part, his eyes roll back in his head—is enough to send me over the edge. But, God, the intimacy of it. I can barely breathe.

My eyes close of their own accord. With his next thrust, I come. My fingers dig into his skin. I groan his name again and again. My body goes slack.

Damn, that's intense.

He slows, waiting for me to catch my breath. His eyes are heavy with lust but he stays attentive.

My hands go to his shoulders. I nod an okay. Better than okay. Amazing.

He stays slow, thrusting deep enough I forget to breathe. All my attention is on him. I love the way his shoulders shake. The way his lips part, and his voice gets deep and low, and my name falls off his tongue.

We stay pressed together against the pool wall until we catch our breath.

The rest of the night is perfect. We swim under the stars until we're exhausted. Then it's takeout on the couch and a crime procedural TV marathon. I fall asleep on the couch, in his arms.

* * *

For days, life is perfect. I hike in the hills all morning, spend the day studying, join Pete on the couch every night. We take turns making dinner—I cook, he orders takeout—and picking movies. Mine are soapy teen dramas. His are sci-fi thrillers.

Everything is perfect until I wake up to a missed call from Madison.

There's no voicemail. Only a short text message.

Madison: We have to talk.