Boys Like You

“Stuff?”

“The stuff with Trevor. It’s in the past. New year. New outlook.”

I didn’t know what to say, because his analysis of the situation was so far off my grid that I couldn’t see it. He wanted a winning season.

I just wanted to get by.

And I didn’t ever want to forget what happened that night, because to forget meant that it could happen again. And I was never going to be so goddamn selfish and stupid. Never.

“Sure. Okay.”

I pushed past him, my gaze roaming over the field until I saw that familiar dark head. She was chatting with Brent and a few others, her parents several feet away with her grandmother.

I jogged across the field, my eyes only on her, and I lifted my chin when she looked up. My heart did that strange flipping thing—was I ever going to get used to it? And I pushed Brent out of the way so that I could get to her.

“Hey! What the fu—” Brent stalled when Mrs. Blackwell arched an eyebrow, and he punched me in the arm. “You could have asked me to move, douche bag.”

“Whatever.”

I bent down and kissed her nose, inhaling that summery scent that was all Monroe. My forehead rested on hers, and I hoped she didn’t mind that I was filthy and sweaty because I didn’t want to move.

“Hey,” I said.

She laughed and slid her hands up my arms until they hit my shoulders. “You’re really good, Nate. Wow. I mean, I knew you would be, but I couldn’t take my eyes off you.”

I grinned. “Good, because I was showing off for you. Look, I gotta go home and shower. Brent’s gonna pick me up later and we’ll head out to the party. Sound good?”

“Sounds great.”

She bit her lip in that adorable way that made me crazy, and I swear if it weren’t for her parents watching us like hawks, I would have slipped my tongue inside her mouth and kissed her senseless.

But I had to be good. Her parents weren’t 100 percent sure of me and I got that, but I didn’t want anything to interfere with our plans. Tonight was our last one together, and I had to make it count. I needed to make this girl so crazy about me she would never forget this summer, or me.

Because I knew I wouldn’t. She was burned into my skin like a tattoo, and I would carry her with me forever.

Chapter Thirty

Monroe

I changed my clothes at least seven times before settling on a pair of dark navy skinny jeans, ballet slippers, and a green halter top that made my eyes pop. Or at least that’s what the saleslady said when Gram had taken me shopping in New Orleans a few weeks back.

The top was on the skimpy side—most of my stomach was bare and the jeans rode low—but I couldn’t wait for Nate to see me. I had plans for tonight. For me and him.

I grabbed my purse from the table beside my bed and fumbled inside the hidden pocket until my fingers closed around the small foil packet.

I’d bought condoms when I was in New Orleans. My cheeks burned at the thought—I still couldn’t believe I’d had enough balls to do it. It had been hard, slipping away from Gram, and then, well, who knew there were so many different kinds? Ribbed. Glow in the dark. Stuff that vibrated.

God, there were different sizes!

I’d bought the plainest, smallest box I could find and prayed that Gram wouldn’t be able to tell. You know, in case there was some invisible sign on my forehead that said, “Monroe is going to have sex and she has a box of condoms in her bag.”

I’d been thinking about this for days. No. Weeks. I’d been thinking about it ever since Nathan had kissed me at Baker’s Landing. And tonight was my last chance. My last chance to be with Nathan. Really be with Nathan.

Outside, there in the maze that was ours, we’d spent most nights under the stars until he had to go home. We’d kissed. A lot. And we’d touched. I’d explored his hard, muscled body that was so different from mine, and he’d kissed his way down my chest, but he’d always held back, didn’t go further. And when I wanted to do more, he stopped us.

Said we needed to move slow. That he needed to move slow.

So I hadn’t touched him. Or seen him there.