She closes her eyes, and her fists pull so hard on the front of my shirt that I know it’s going to be stretched and warped whenever she eventually lets go.

“I want,” she whispers, her eyes scrunched tight.

I can feel my heartbeat at the base of my spine, and one of us is shaking. Whether it’s me or her, I’m too far gone to tell. All I know is that I can feel the heat of her even through my jeans.

“What?” I ask, my voice thick.

“I want,” she repeats, her whisper almost pained. Her eyes are still closed, and though I don’t understand it, don’t understand her, I know I’m pushing her too far.

“Do you want me to keep holding you like this?”

“Yes.” She says the word immediately on a relieved exhale, and then lets her head drop back.

“Do you want me to kiss you?”

Her knees squeeze against my hips as she says, “Yes.”

With her head dropped back, I move my mouth closer to her neck, hovering above the place where I know her pulse is beating wildly.

“Where?” I ask. “Where should I kiss you?”

I’m too impatient to wait for her to answer before I drag my lips over her pulse. Her hips buck into mine unexpectedly, and it’s so good I see f**king stars.

“Oh my God,” she says, and I would agree, if my tongue still knew how to form words.

“Oh my God is effing right.” A voice interrupts from somewhere above us, too far above us, because looking up will mean leaving the sweet skin of her neck, a feat I just don’t think I can handle right now. “Who the hell are you, and what have you done to my best friend?”

I’ve got zero f**ks to give about the girl talking, but Dallas obviously cares, because with my arm against her back, I can feel her spine straighten. My fingers slip off her shoulder, and like I really had been locking her into place, she’s off of me and standing five feet away in seconds.

I stand too, very slowly and with extreme discomfort.

Dallas is gaping at me, like she’s just as shocked by the situation as her friend. I try for an easygoing smile, but I’m sure it looks as pained as I feel. It’s pretty much impossible to feel comfortable while having a hard-on and being the subject of intense study by two pretty girls.

I clear my throat awkwardly, and when Dallas still doesn’t say anything, I look to her friend. She’s the opposite of Dallas—nearly a foot shorter, pixie haircut, olive skin, and completely unreadable. I add, “I’m Carson.”

Dallas’s friend doesn’t smile. Instead, she turns to Dallas and asks, “Are you okay? I saw that hottie you went off with inside, and you weren’t with him. I was worried.”

I think of the guy on the balcony, and the surge of bitterness I feel is so powerful I can taste it on my tongue.

“That hottie,” I begin, “is a tool.” God, I’m even talking like her. “Be glad she wasn’t with that ass**le.” There. That was better.

The girl’s hair is barely longer than mine, but when she tosses her head, she somehow has the same effect as if she were tossing a mane as long as Dallas’s. She fixes her gaze on me and says, “Hey, Romeo, I was talking to Dallas. Not you.”

Emerald eyes meet mine, and we both burst out laughing. Whatever tension had been wracking Dallas disappears with her laugh. I stop before she does, just watching, enjoying the way the Shakespeare mention makes her face light up.

“What? What did I say?” her friend asks.

Dallas takes a step closer, hesitates, and then crosses to stand beside me.

“It’s okay, Stella. I’m fine. Promise.”

Stella’s gaze flicks back and forth between the two of us.

“You sure? How much have you had to drink?”

“None.”

Stella’s eyebrows raise, and some kind of silent conversation passes between the two of them. When Dallas faces me, her expression, like her friend’s, is hard to read. I miss her openness.

“I should probably go,” she says. And unlike when we were kissing, this time I can tell she means it.

Part of me is relieved that one of us is able to step away, but I’m both ashamed it wasn’t me and disappointed that it was her.

I shove my hands into my pockets. “Okay, Daredevil.”

Her friend snorts. “Daredevil?”

Dallas doesn’t look away from me, and neither of us bother replying.

“It was nice to meet you, Carson.” She holds out her hand, and I take it. A handshake isn’t exactly what I want, but I’ll take it. She smiles, and I smile, and I can’t resist using her hand to tug her a little closer.

I lean down to her ear, wishing I could talk to her without her friend watching us like we’re the best new reality show on TV, wishing she would be the Dallas she was ten minutes ago. “You’re not going to make me beg, are you?”

She pulls back to look me in the eye, and her lips are distractingly close to mine.

“For what?”

Even though she definitely kissed me back, I still find myself anxious to ask, “Your number?”

“Oh.” Her face falls for half a second before she smiles, and that one second of disappointment undoes me. What does she want? And more important . . . how do I give it to her? “Right. Give me your phone.”

I hand it over and wait while she programs her number in. Her friend Stella is still there watching silently, and this is quickly becoming the strangest night of my life. But when she hands back my phone and our fingers brush, I know I wouldn’t have it any other way.

She smiles and turns to go, but I can’t resist pulling her back one more time. This time I’m less controlled and when I whisper into her ear, my lips brush against her skin. Her fingers wrap around my forearm and squeeze.

“One more thing I’m willing to beg for, Daredevil.”

The goodbye kiss she gives me is short and chaste and only lands on the corner of my lips, but I feel it all the way down to my knees.

I watch her leave, and am disappointed when her friend is the one to look back over her shoulder and not Dallas. They don’t head back inside, but instead slip through a gate on the side of the house. I stay outside for a few minutes, but then decide that I have no interest in sticking around now that Dallas is gone.

There’s a sliding door at the back of the house, and when I open it and step back into the noisy house, I pull out my phone.