Untouched

It's too hot in here, I can't breathe.

That's because he took your breath away.

I leap up, crossing to the window and open it wide. The night air is cool and refreshing, but it's still not enough to soothe me. My whole body feels swollen, my br**sts aching, my thighs tight. I strip off my oversize T and slip back between the sheets, naked under the cool cotton. I feel it slide against my body, cool where his hands had been so hot, and my stomach trembles all over again.

God, but that man can kiss.

I lay back, eyes shut, remembering the look in his eyes when he reached for me, the dark intensity that turned me molten inside. Even now, I feel a shock of electricity spark down my body, imagining him right here under the covers next to me. His touch. His lips. His hands...

And then I remember the expression on his sister’s face when she found us together, and the rush of shame is so bad I have to roll under my pillows and silently scream with embarrassment.

What the hell was I thinking? I'd known the guy all of eight hours, and I was this close to pulling him down on the hard wooden porch and giving him my virginity right then and there, to hell with the consequences. What must he think of me? Nothing good, that’s for sure: he didn’t even try to come after me, or get my number, or even ask to see me again.

And why would he? A small voice of doubt whispers. I was crazy. I was possessed. I was acting like a stranger, like some girl I didn't even know.

My thoughts whirl around my head all night, but as I finally drift into sleep, I realize the strangest part of the whole thing, why despite all my insecurities and disbelief, I feel a warm glow bathe my whole body. Because the truth is I didn't feel like a different person. When I was holding Emerson, kissing him, aching for his touch... I've never felt more like myself. Juliet. The girl inside of me.

I was free.

When I wake the next morning, Emerson’s kisses feel like a dream. A dangerous, tempting dream. I push the lingering memories away and leap out of bed, determined that despite my moment of total madness last night, I’m not going to fall to pieces over this guy—no matter how drop-dead gorgeous he is, or how his kisses undo me. I’m not going to spend the rest of my summer obsessing over him like some lovesick puppy, riding by his house, or hanging out in town panting for just one glance.

I could be just another in a long line of summer kisses; one of the millions of girls a guy like that must have waiting. I don’t know what he wants from me, and I sure as hell don’t know what I want from him.

Except to kiss him until the world ends.

I spend the next few days ignoring the voice in my head whispering his name, and throw myself into summer activities with mom instead. If she thinks it’s strange that I suddenly want to hang out with her, she doesn't say it. She happily takes us off fruit picking, and driving out to the beach, and browsing the tourist stores in the beach towns nearby. Whatever free time is left, I spend in the tiny photography studio, setting up my materials and developing my first rolls of film. I focus on the tasks in front of me, pretending like it’s not Emerson’s face I see drifting to me in the dark, quiet room, or his arms I imagine sliding around me; his lips brushing against my neck…

“Tomatoes?”

My mom's voice cuts through my flashback. I spin around. We're at the small grocery store in town, picking up supplies for Dad and Carina's welcome dinner. I wanted to tell her, the food wouldn't be worth the effort; as long as there's a full bottle of scotch, he'll be happy. But mom seemed so excited, and I knew I could use the distraction from Emerson.

Some distraction. Here I am daydreaming about him in the middle of the produce aisle.

I blink back to the present. “What?” I ask, trying to remember what she said.

“Tomatoes,” mom says again. “For a salad, or maybe a sauce.” Her face lights up. “That’s perfect, I can teach you how to make my marinara. Won’t that be fun? I'll get the pasta, you find fresh basil, and oregano too.”

She disappears down the aisle before I can protest, so I slowly push the cart on. I send up a silent prayer that Dad and Carina don't stop at a restaurant on the way into town; too many of mom's special dinners have sat, going cold, as they breeze late in with bags of takeout.

I maneuver the cart around a corner. There's a clash of metal as it hits one coming from the other direction.

“Sorry!” I apologize, and look up - straight into the blue constellations I've barely finished day-dreaming about.

“Emerson!” My voice comes out a high-pitched squeak, and I cringe from embarrassment at the sound. Way to go, Juliet. Casual! “So, umm, hi.”

“Hi.” Emerson stares at me, frozen by a canned goods display.

Silence.

Everything from the other night rushes back again, but this time, it’s stronger than ever because he’s right here. In front of me. The hands that held me so close, the lips that demanded everything I was all too willing to give. I can't look away, but I can't think of a single thing to say. My mind is blank, heart racing, and all I can do is stare up at his gorgeous face and remember our kiss.

The kiss.

“I..” Say something! Don't just stand there like an idiot. I look desperately around, and zone in on the contents of his shopping cart. “Captain Crunch!” I exclaim loudly.

Emerson looks startled. “What?”

“The cereal. I like it too.” I babble. “I have it with orange juice, sometimes, instead of milk. I know it sounds weird but, it's actually kind of great…”