I try to decide if that’s a lot. Since he came out when he was fourteen and his parents were okay with him dating, that doesn’t seem so bad. But it makes me look very pathetic and inexperienced.

Strands of his hair fall into his eyes as he tips his head forward and stares into his glass. “What about you?” He lifts his gaze to me and my heart slams against my chest, harder than the beat of the bass in the song playing from the sound system.

“I don’t really want to tell you.”

“Why not?” His lip pops out to a sexy pout. I don’t think he even realizes he’s doing it, which makes it even sexier.

“Because it’s going to make you think I’m lame.”

“I would never think you’re lame.”

“Yeah, we’ll see.” I sigh, placing a hand over my scars. “One.”

His head cocks to the side. “One?”

I nod, shamefaced. “Yep, just one.”

He brushes his hair out of his eyes. “I don’t know why, but I thought it’d be more.”

“Yeah, I grew up in a small town, so there weren’t a lot of options,” I explain in a tight voice. “Plus, the town I grew up in didn’t make it easy. Everyone knows everyone, so I couldn’t even sneak out on a date without it getting back to my mother.” I sigh again. “It probably makes me sound pathetic that I just didn’t say to hell with what everyone thinks.”

“It’s not pathetic.” He covers my hand with his. “It wasn’t always easy for me, either, and I had two supportive parents. I can’t even imagine how hard it’s been for you. Did you have any friends or anything to support you?”

My fingers flex below his and even though it’s almost instinct at this point to pull away, I force myself to keep my hand where I want it to be. “I had a couple, but no one close.”

“What about the guy you dated?”

I smash my lips together so forcefully I feel like they’re going to bruise.

“Seth.” His eyes soften and I swear he can read right through me, see the scars hidden on the inside of me, beneath my skin, along my heart, across my soul.

Tears start to burn in my eyes, but I suck them back. “Can we talk about something else? I don’t think I’m ready for this conversation yet.”

“Okay.” He easily lets it go and I like him even more because of it.

We spend the next few hours talking and drinking. When he asks me to dance, I feel bad when I say no.

“I don’t think I’m ready for that,” I explain apologetically. “I’m sorry.”

“That’s okay.” His lips tug to a small smile, covering up his disappointment. He looks at his watch and his eyes widen. “Shit, it’s after three o’clock. What do you say we head back to campus?”

“I actually like that idea a lot. I’m starting to reach my sleep drunk phase.” My gaze skims the dance floor, the bar, and the entrance. “But where the hell is Luke?”

“He left about an hour ago with that girl,” Greyson says.

I shudder. “She was so gross. He could do way better.”

Greyson smiles to himself as he gets to his feet. “I’m going to go to the bathroom and then we can go. It’s a pretty nice night, anyway. Great for a walk.”

By the time I guzzle down the rest of my drink, he’s made it back to the booth. “You ready?”

“Yeah.” I stand up and start pushing my way to the door.

He moves up behind me, so close that his solid chest brushes my back. His body heat engulfs me and I find myself slowing down and taking my time.

The song suddenly switches to a more popular one and the crowd around us goes wild. Everyone starts jumping up and down and the floor vibrates. Greyson laughs and joins in, dancing behind me while continuing to move toward the door. Every time he moves, he grinds against me. By the time we make it to the exit doors, I’m on the verge of losing it, so riled up all I can think about is ripping his clothes off. I almost welcome the idea, too, and contemplate acting on what my body wants, even surrounded by people.

Thankfully, the cool night air acts kind of like a cold shower and helps me relax a bit. I manage to keep myself under control as we round the building and head down the sidewalk toward the campus a few miles away. It’s late enough that hardly anyone’s out and when Greyson reaches over and takes my hand, I don’t pull away.

“You never did tell me what your major is,” Greyson says as we stroll past the closed stores.

“That’s because I don’t have one.” Between the alcohol in my system and his fingers wrapped around mine, I feel high, like I’m having a crazy out-of-body experience. “I figure there’s just too many things I’m good at to pick only one talent,” I joke with a grin.

Chuckling under his breath, his gaze flicks to the stars in the sky then back at me. “If you had to pick a major right now, what would it be?”

I thrum my finger against my lip. “How about weekend partying?” I tease. “No, if I really had to pick one right now, I’d probably pick psychology.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. There’s something about the human mind that I find fascinating,” I tell him. “But I also like English and drama and, of course, clothes, but that can’t really be a major. The one subject I hate is math. A math major will never, ever happen.”