I wasn't about to tell him about the feel of that man's breath on my cheek. I wasn't going to talk to him about the way my skin crawled when I thought of that man with the short brown hair and the skull tattoo. "Will you come over tomorrow after I get off of work?"

He nodded.

"Good," I said softly before forcing my lethargic and sedated body to move, getting out of his car, and shutting the door behind me. As much as I wanted to be with Elliott, it was sometimes too much.

He made me feel good, and sometimes it was just too much.

Before I hopped out of Tom's car in the parking lot of the Quickshop, feeling like a total schmoe in the G.o.d-awful uniform, I turned to him. "Elliott's coming over tonight, so be nice, okay?"

Tom looked at me, eyeing me closely. "Sure, okay. Of course I'll be nice. I like the kid just fine."

I looked at him for a moment, wondering if he knew that calling him names didn't convey liking him "just fine." "You call him a 'delinquent,' Tom."

He sighed and looked away. "You don't have much of a sense of humor, do you?"

"Say something funny and maybe I'll laugh."

He ran his hand through his hair. "The kid had one parking ticket, and no arrests or citations. I was being sarcastic."

"Oh."

I could have pointed out that had I known him better, I might have caught the sarcasm, but I left the conversation where it was.

"Have fun today."

"It's work."

"You can't have fun at work? It's a part-time job, Soph. Doesn't the Simons girl work here?"

As I nodded, I already had my hand on the handle, eager to get out of the SUV. "She's a cashier though, and I stock." I pushed open the car door and then stopped. "So you promise you'll be nice to him and won't try to intimidate him, right?"

He sighed, but wore a smile and said, "I promise."

I'd only worked one other day and that was nothing but computer training and safety videos. My fat, balding manager who kept looking at my b.o.o.bs a.s.signed me to work with this guy named Brody.

I really wish he hadn't, because Brody was fine, all blond hair and scruffy beard. He had to be in his early twenties and I had no idea how he got stuck in Damascus stocking groceries in this c.r.a.ppy grocery store.

So needless to say, I had to keep myself in check because all I did was think about how s.e.xy he was and how easy it would have been to pull him behind the pallet racking and jump on top of him.

Instead I stocked some s.h.i.t, watching him out of the corner of my eye, and thought about Elliott. It was because of him that I wasn't jumping on Brody-the-hottie-stock-boy. I wanted to be good for Elliott, but I was growing incredibly frustrated by the lack of humping in my life.

"I can't use the baler," I said as the tall, gorgeous guy waited for me to shove the cardboard into the big machine. "It's stupid. I don't think a few months will make a difference, but they seem to think that I shouldn't operate it or use a box knife until..."

He looked at me, his dark hazel eyes moving over my body. "You're not eighteen?" I shook my head, wishing like h.e.l.l that I was. "d.a.m.n," he said quietly. "That's too bad. You look like fun."

The only thing I could do was give him an embarra.s.sed smile because he looked like fun too, but he thought I was too young and I was somewhat attached to Elliott in some weird, entirely too-involved sort of way, so the fun wouldn't be happening.

Which was really a shame because Brody's hands were s.e.xy and I wanted to see what they looked like cupped over...d.a.m.n, I had to stop this train of thought.

"Yeah, I used to be fun, but, um, I'm reformed." I shook my head and chuckled a little. "Or at least, I'm trying to be reformed."

I glanced at his watch, which was upside down from my perspective. We'd been working for a few hours. "Do you party?"

He finished throwing all of my cardboard boxes into the large brown container, slammed the cage door closed, pushed the b.u.t.ton, and suddenly the back room was filled with noise. "I've been known to."

"I have some bud. We could go burn one. I can get an apple from Produce and make a little pipe out of it."

Brody smiled, swiveled his stocking cart around, and came to stand next to me. Leaning down a little, he said, "You're a bad girl, aren't you, Sophie?" I bit my lip. I did say I was trying to be good. "You should work harder on the reforming thing before you claim to be reformed, yeah?"

Like I needed this hot guy to tell me that I was a screw-up at trying to be good. "So is that a no, Brody, or are you just...?"

"Maybe after work, but I need this job and I can't lose it because I went and smoked weed during my break."

Fine. I didn't need him to get high with me. "Whatever, but I'm going, so I'll see you in fifteen."

When I got back, we stocked the baking aisle. I was covered in flour and had I not been high, it would've p.i.s.sed me off. We talked on and off about random things. He told me he was a surfer, and was only stocking shelves to save money to move to California where he wanted to surf professionally.

He rolled his eyes when I asked if there was such a thing as a professional surfer, or if he'd really just be a waiter at some c.r.a.ppy restaurant who surfs on his off days.

"Who the h.e.l.l surfs in Maryland?"

"I do."

"Where?" I asked incredulously, thinking that he was clearly delusional. People in Maryland did not surf. People in Florida surfed.

"Ocean City." He gave me a smirk.

I shook my head. "Don't look so pleased with yourself, Stock Boy."

His smirk grew. "I'll try, Girl-Who-Puts-Things-On-Shelves."

He was fun and funny, easygoing, and natural. It was safe to say that I liked Brody.

The rest of work was boring and despite s.e.xy Brody for company, I was excited to get back to Tom's. I took a quick shower and did some food prep before Elliott came over. I'd taken another one of those pills that I lifted from Elliott's medicine cabinet. I really just wanted pot, but it was freezing outside and Tom would have thought it was weird if I just decided to go for a walk in the twenty-degree weather.

The meds kicked in right before Elliott knocked on the door. It was a good thing, actually, because the second I saw Elliott, the night before came crashing in around me. He had touched my face and I had flipped out. I could see the ramifications in his eyes. They seemed to gut me with their intensity.

I couldn't just stand there with the door open, staring at him all night, so I grabbed his hand and pulled him inside without verbally greeting him. His fingers were cold. He reached up and pulled off the stocking cap that had been covering his dark rusty hair.

Dear G.o.d, he was beautiful.

He was tense and I looked around and found Tom standing there just looking at him. I glared at my father, figuring that even if he wasn't meaning to, he was intimidating the s.h.i.t out of Elliott.

I huffed and then heard Elliott try to push out a h.e.l.lo. It was painful to listen to, and I could only imagine what it felt like for him. Like I'd said before, his stuttering didn't define him, but it certainly wasn't comfortable to listen to him stumble over such simple words as "h.e.l.lo, Mr. Young."

Tom was focused on where my hand was still connected to Elliott's and I immediately felt self-conscious and let go. I mumbled a "come on," and walked toward the stairs, fully intending on enjoying Elliott's company in my room with less of Tom's stare to make me feel weird.

"Make sure you keep your door open," Tom said as I led Elliott away. He wanted to be a parent now. I supposed he'd heard that s.h.i.t on TV one time and thought that was what he needed to say in order to be a good father.

Once inside my room, I closed and locked the door. "B-b-but your d-d-d, f-fffather said-"

"It's my room, Elliott," I said, cutting him off a bit more sharply than I'd intended. I always shut and locked my door and I would continue doing so whether or not I had Elliott in there. I contemplated shoving my computer chair under the k.n.o.b like usual, but figured my guest might think it was strange.

He sat down in the rocking chair like last time, and I sat down on my bed. There was too much physical distance between us and I wondered if he'd panic if I asked him to sit on the bed with me. If he did panic, I could run my hands through his hair and breathe in his amazing scent.

I subtly pressed my thighs together. It had been too long since I'd had s.e.x to start thinking about what Elliott would look like with s.e.x hair. The smell of soil and oranges had to be an aphrodisiac.

"Hhhhhow w-was w-work?"

I smiled at him and ran my hands through my hair, wishing they were his. "It was good."

"D-do you lllliiiike it?"

"Yeah, it's all right." Although I didn't really want to talk about working at the grocery store, I also didn't know what else to talk about. I mimicked something Brody had said today. "I put s.h.i.t on shelves."

I felt tense as I warred within myself. I enjoyed Elliott far more than was safe. I wanted to put my hands all over him and feel him, but I also wanted to do all of the things I had never allowed myself to do before, like kiss him.

Yes. I wanted to kiss him. Not just kiss him because he was s.e.xy as h.e.l.l and I wanted to do a laundry list of things to him, but because he was sweet and smelled good, and was quite possibly the only person in the world worth spending time with.

It wasn't that I'd never kissed anyone before, because I'd kissed too many people too many times, but it all led to s.e.x and I hadn't actually ever wanted to just kiss someone. I wanted Elliott like that too, but there was a part of me that wanted to know him in the most innocent of ways. I'd kissed him before, but I wanted to do it for the right reasons this time. I wanted to kiss him to know what the inside of his mouth felt like and whether the chemical exchange between us was heightened when it was our tongues touching and not just our hands.

Innocent things scared me. What was it like to kiss someone delicately and then go eat dinner? What was it like to hold someone's hand for hours while watching a lame movie? What was it like to feel the tingling, nervous sensation in my gut and not turn it into a sweeping, tingling sensation lower in my body? What was it like to just simply like a boy?

I wanted to kiss him again. His lips were so beautiful. They felt nice. I knew they were capable of unleashing amazing things within me. I wanted our lips pressed together as I closed my eyes and got swept away. I wanted to feel what all of those books and movies and television shows had sold me when I was a kid.

Kissing could be enough, right? Wallace said that small intimate moments like a hug or a kiss could be even better than s.e.x. I didn't know if I believed her, but I was willing to do some scientific research to figure it all out.

Kissing Jason or Ian, or whoever, was different. With them it was a lead-up to doing it, to feeling good, to having some kind of physical release to mask my mental chaos.

But with Elliott, my physical need for him was overshadowed by my emotional need for him.

I wasn't sure how much I liked that.

I feared it.

I knew it was stupid for me to like him as much as I did. It broke almost all of the carefully constructed rules I had placed upon myself a long time ago. It undermined my entire mission in life, which was to just slide through the cracks unnoticed. He knew s.h.i.t he shouldn't know about me, and I was the idiot who had handed it to him.

But I couldn't deny the way my entire being ached for him.

I needed him in ways that I probably shouldn't have.

I was overcome by the desire to suck his lower lip into my mouth and test its fleshiness. "Can I kiss you?" I asked before I was even aware I opened my mouth. "Please?"

His breath caught for a moment before he looked at the door. Was he scared of me? Should I not have asked? Was he scared of Tom?

"He's not going to come in," I a.s.sured him. Tom never came into my room. "I just want to kiss you," I admitted quietly. "It's..." I paused and said the next word a little too breathily, "innocent."

I sat perched on the edge of my bed, just waiting for him to give me some kind of answer. If it was a yes, I'd fly to him, but if he said no, I didn't know what I would do. It would be uncharted territory, since I'd never asked a guy if I could kiss him before and who knew what I'd do if this guy said no.

Then I wondered if he was panicking right now and just disguising it really well, so I stood up and walked over to him. His breathing increased. When I was near enough, I gave in and threaded my fingers through his hair, closing my eyes as the silky perfection tickled my palms.

"You have to answer, Elliott," I whispered. "Otherwise I'm going to a.s.sume that the answer is yes." He nodded. "Is that yes I can kiss you, or yes you'll answer?" I was pushing him and I knew it, but he relied on head nods and shakes far too much, and I enjoyed his voice, regardless of his stutter.

"Y-yesssssssssssssss," he dragged out the word, his voice shaking.

He said I could kiss him, but he was sitting and I was standing, and any way it went down, it would be awkward.

So I took awkward and ran with it.

I sat down on his lap, my body angled away from his, my hand never leaving his hair. He was freaking out. I could tell by his rapid breathing. I felt a crazy amount of tension in myself as well. I'd kissed him before. Three times in fact, although that first time shouldn't count.

I leaned in and breathed deeply, savoring him before I would taste him again. I brushed my lips lightly against his at first, and I couldn't help the involuntary shiver. Our lips moved together and eventually my bottom lip was between his. Opening my mouth a little wider, I slipped my tongue out and traced the bottom of his top lip until he took in a deep gasp of air.

The kiss clouded my mind, making it hum with intensity.

The hum swiftly transformed into a pulsating drum and the beat of it spurred me to want more of him.

I shifted until I was basically straddling him. He smelled so good and tasted like an orange cupcake. Then both of my hands were running through his hair and I pressed myself closer to him as if his body could just open up and swallow me whole.

I needed his warmth.

He grew hard beneath me and the thought played in my head that he was probably a quiet lay and Tom would never know. I could be a silent rider. I would be careful with him. I wouldn't make him scream or shout. Moan, maybe, but I'd be good and keep his mouth busy.

His whole body went stiff as his grip on my hips tightened. It felt wonderful. His hands were strong, and that made me want him all the more.

Before we went any further, he stopped and pulled away, moving his neck until his lips were no longer accessible.

"What?" I asked in between pants of breath.

"W-w-w-w-we sssssshould sssstop, SSSSSSSSSoph-ph-phie."

No, I was pretty sure we should continue and progress. "Why?" Couldn't he see that I wanted him? Couldn't he feel that I needed him?

"B-b-bec-c-cause yyyyyyyour f-f-f-f-faaa..."

I immediately rubbed his scalp with the tips of my fingers as he closed his eyes and I sighed, my brain finally working. I was still very aware that his hard-on was pressing up against the places that I wanted it to, but I forced myself not to rock on top of him. He was upset and I had been the one to make him that way.

"Tom's downstairs." s.h.i.t. That wasn't what I wanted to say. I didn't want to make him feel like I was pushing him on this, but I really wanted to do him and my mouth was speaking automatically. Control was not something I did well. "He won't know."

"B-b-b-but I-I-I c-c-can't."

I tried to lean back into him and kiss him again, even though the logical side of me told me that it wasn't going to happen. "But I want you," I whined when he stopped me again. "And I know you want me too."

"I-I d-d-do, S-S-SSSSophie." He sounded out of breath and I knew that I needed to get off of him so he could be comfortable, but the pouty little girl in me wanted to stomp my feet and hold my breath until I turned blue and he gave in to me.

I thought about Megan. He could bang her, but could barely kiss me.

I moved off of him quickly, ready to be done with the entire confusing thing. "Are you staying for dinner?"