“So tell me about this Instagram and blog stuff. Sounds big.” Jack and I are sitting in the tent, cross-legged, facing each other. It’s three in the morning and we’ve been talking for over an hour. Mostly about him, the tour, his mom and sister. He might know more about gymnastics and dance competitions than any twenty-four-year-old dude on the planet.

I shrug. “I didn’t really plan for it to get big, but that’s what’s happening. I like taking pictures, and I’m obsessed with food and music, so I post a lot about that. Swimming too, obviously.”

“You’re not obsessed with swimming though?” he asks, never missing a thing.

“It’s just different. It’s not my own. Swimming is Shay’s love, for me it’s the thing that grounds me. I mean, I don’t know what I’ll do without it, when college is over, but I’m not in love with it.”

Jack nods. “I think I get that. So food and music, those are yours, but swimming belongs to your sister?”

“Kind of, I guess.” When he throws it back at me like that, it doesn’t sound entirely right. “I need swimming though, even if I don’t love it like food or music. Cooking and tasting good food, listening to great music and discovering new bands, I would be sad not having those things in my life, but not lost. Without the regular workouts that leave me wasted, getting to race people, winning, breaking records, I’d just be floating along, with no direction.”

Jack just looks at me, thoughtful. “Huh.” I watch as he tucks away my words, like he’s cataloging them in his analysis of me. Trying to figure me out. I still don’t have me figured out, so I guess we’ll be doing that together.

“Anyway, the Instagram stuff. It’s self-perpetuating in a way. I get people commenting, asking questions, and it draws me in so I keep posting, and then it grows and continues. I’m really active, posting shit all the time and tagging other accounts and bloggers. If I eat great food, I link the photo to the restaurant’s account. The music stuff seems to have been the thing that got me credibility. I like to find bands that aren’t discovered yet. Usually on YouTube, sometimes social media, or even a live show, but that’s harder. I’ll post about them, and if the band then gets big, it looks like I knew what I was talking about, like I called it beforehand. That happened with you guys, actually. I posted about you before you signed the record deal, and then I was able to say ‘I told you so’ to my followers when you blew up a few months later.”

Something flashes in Jack’s eyes, and before I can identify it, he says, “I have a confession.”

“Okay…” I watch as he collects himself, and I’ve got no idea what’s coming.

“I already knew about your Instagram account before tonight. I looked you up.”

Warmth spreads through me. I try to hide my smile, but it’s pointless. “Oh yeah?” Tell me more. I’m suddenly desperate to hear every confession Jack has that might have anything to do with me.

“You never called. I was curious about you.” He rubs a hand over his jaw, and I get the feeling he’s not telling me everything. “So, you got free tickets by having all those followers. You’ve just started a blog. Is this something that can make money? What are your plans for it?” he asks, changing the subject without divulging more.

“I’ve started getting free stuff, and a couple people offered to pay me to share their products. So now I’m asking for money when people send me a product or ask me to post something. It’s basically my job this summer, plus starting the blog.” I don’t want to admit yet that I hope to turn Kick Spark into a brand, a business of sorts. It’s something I haven’t told anyone, aside from hinting at it to my mom yesterday. If I could actually make money just doing the shit I’m going to do anyway, how cool would that be? I’ll have to get a little more professional about it, a little more assertive, treat it like a real business, but I can do that. I’m testing the waters this summer, seeing what happens.

“Damn. That’s seriously badass, Fireball. You’re a talented lady, aren’t you?”

I laugh. “Wait until I start posting videos of my dance moves. Then the big bucks will really start rolling in.”

“Hey, you know we’re doing our first music videos in a couple months. You interested? You could dance.”

He can’t be serious. He’s not serious. “Yeah, sure, Jack. You want me to bust a few moves? I can do that.” I keep the sarcasm heavy so he knows I get he’s joking.

“No, I mean it. I don’t know what the plan for the videos is yet, but we’ve got a lot of say in how they’re done. Think about it. It could be great for getting your name out there even more.”

I narrow my eyes. “Jack, you don’t need to do me any favors.” I don’t want to use him.

“Are you kidding? You’re a presence already, Kick, only going to get bigger. It would be mutually beneficial.”

That isn’t even close to true. I’m not a real dancer. I learned my moves from watching YouTube videos. Anyway, I want any success in the Kick Spark brand to be my own. I don’t want to be indebted to anyone, or to feel like I got there from handouts.

“We’ll see,” I say with a shrug.

Jack leans forward, forcing me to meet his eyes. He gives me a stern look. “What?” I ask, defensive.

“You’re not just giving me one night again, are you?” Jack doesn’t hide the twinge of hurt, and maybe some anger, in his question.

“You think that’s why I’m not jumping on the idea of being in your music video?” I ask, a little surprised. He’s been so freakishly perceptive about me all night, I figured he saw through my hesitation about the video too. But I guess he’s got some uncertainty about me that’s clouding his ability to read me on this. Given how things went between us nine months ago, I don’t blame him.

“It isn’t?” he asks.

“No.” I take his shirt, pulling him closer, and he slides onto his knees, hovering over me. “I don’t know what this is between us, but I like it. And I don’t want it to end.” All night I’ve been worried maybe he decided he really only wanted one more night after all. He’s telling me now he still wants more with me, just like he did back in October. And the relief of that settles deep.

“Good.”

Jack kisses me then. It’s soft, his lips brushing mine. I don’t even realize he’s untying my halter until the fabric loosens, then pools at my waist. Jack continues kissing me as he unclasps my bra, and when it falls to the ground the sensation of my unrestricted breasts makes me gasp. He pulls away to look at me, and my chest heaves with relief, my nipples tingling with freedom after being confined behind a bra on a hot day.

Jack swallows as he traces a finger between them. He cups one, and then the other, seemingly fascinated, like he’s touching boobs for the very first time. Leading me onto my back, I let him take time exploring me, swirling his tongue around my nipples, grazing his teeth along the underside of my breasts.

A slow burn is building low in my belly, and the ache between my legs starts to throb with impatience. Without even realizing I’m doing it, my hips lift up, seeking more. Jack tugs down my shorts and panties in one swoop before moving his fingers to my center, a thumb pressing on my nub. I follow his gaze, watching as his index finger rubs along my seam and enters me, soliciting a moan.

People walk by only a few feet from us, so I try to stay quiet, but it’s nearly impossible as Jack pumps two fingers in me, his erection straining to break free from his athletic shorts.

“Please, Jack,” I whimper, finally resorting to begging.

He moves his eyes from where he’s touching me to meet my half-lidded ones. I reach for the edge of his shirt, helping him pull it over his head and watching as he shucks off his shorts and briefs. Jack takes his wallet out of his shorts pocket, removing a condom and ripping it open with his teeth before sheathing himself. On his knees, he positions himself at my center before entering me with such deliberate slowness, the contrast from last time is undeniable. Instead of the ferocious thrusts he gave me before, he hikes up my legs, angling us so he hits me deep.

A rush of air flows past my lips at the sensation, almost painful. The tightness as he drives his hips back reminds me it’s been nine months since anyone entered me.

“You okay?” Jack asks, pausing.

I nod, unable to speak, overwhelmed by the sight of his muscled body above me.

Jack’s eyes drift closed as he slides back in with a groan. “God, Fireball, this feels too good.”

I know exactly what he means. This time, we feel connected not just in the biblical sense. But deeper – as if our stories are melding together. Intertwining and locking. Grabbing hold. He shook something loose from me months ago, claimed it, and now? As sweat drips from his forehead and I brush a curl away to see his eyes, I give him more pieces of my soul. This time willingly. Because he’s handing over some of himself too, opening up to me as he moves inside, showing me more than his body. There’s a trust between us I’ve never had with anyone else. It scares and thrills me at the same time.

He lifts my leg so my foot rests on his shoulder as he drives impossibly further into me, stoking the burn as his fingers brush my clit in rhythm with his thrusts.

Jack opens his eyes, intensifying the connection between us before he picks up the pace. My release is violent when it hits, my body exploding and shattering in a flood of sensation. Jack’s right there with me, shuddering with a powerful release that sends vibrations of pleasure through me. His orgasm is long and I savor it as I feel him fill the condom inside me.

He leans forward then, taking me in a long, lingering kiss. This is the kiss I wanted months ago when he rushed out. But I’m getting it now, and as he pulls away, pausing to search my eyes, I have the most alarming urge to say, “I love you.” It’s downright terrifying, even as I know it’s impossible.

I’ve never actually fallen in love, never come close. It was always a game, a fictional world I’d create for a few hours of pleasure. The guys never seemed to mind playing along. Some didn’t get it. Wanted more, and thought the feelings were real. But they weren’t. They couldn’t be. Because I never let them see past the outer layer.

With Jack, I can’t hide. And I don’t want to. Whatever this is, I’m not resisting it. Not anymore.

I find the plastic bag I was planning to use for laundry and give it to Jack to use as a trash bag for the used condom. He pulls on his boxer briefs before lying down next to me. I turn to rest my head on his chest and throw a leg over his.

“Is this okay?” he asks, voice rough.

“Yeah. Remember? I’m not the same girl.”

His fingers roam up and down my bare back. “I can stay here tonight?”

“Yes.” I hesitate before raising my head, resting my chin on his chest. “And the next night, and the one after that.”

He raises his eyebrows, but doesn’t ask the questions hanging in the air. What about after the festival? Do we go back to our lives? What exactly are we doing here?

“I’ll take it. I’d say we could stay in the bus. But honestly? This is pretty nice. I’m sick of the bus.”

“Plus you share it with three dudes.”

“And two girls,” he adds.

“Yeah. Be careful around that Addy. She has a little crazy in her eyes if you ask me.”

Jack chuckles, and I feel the reverberations in my own chest. “Don’t worry, Fireball. I can handle her.”

Fatigue washes over me fast, but I’m not ready to fall asleep. I need to convey to Jack somehow that this is more. Not just between our bodies or by exchanged looks. I can’t be certain he understood that language the same way I did. I don’t know that he recognized what our eyes and bodies were saying, doing to one another. No, I need words.

“Jack?”

“Hmm?”

“I don’t think this is a three-night stand. It doesn’t feel like it to me. It’s not only that I’m different. This is different.” My head is in his chest again, so it’s easier to say all this without eye contact. “Us,” I add, to make it clear, just in case.

“No, Fireball. This definitely isn’t any kind of stand at all. What do you call a non-stand?”

“A sit?”

He laughs, and I love the sound. “Whatever it is, it’s something.”

“Yeah,” I whisper. “It sure is.”