“It is awful. I’ve struggled with it my whole life. After college I thought I was losing my mind. I worked for a chain bookstore, saved my money, then took a trip camping. A long trip. Months. My mind was breaking down and I needed to get away. A few times, when things were relentlessly bad, when I hit the skids, I haven’t wanted to live.”

He dropped his head into his hands.

“Marco.”

He shoved his hands across his face and I could tell he was brushing away tears. “I’m sorry, Evie, I am.”

“Don’t be. There are billions of people on this planet struggling with far harder things.”

He reached out a hand, and I took it automatically. His hand was warm and strong, and mine was lost in it. I was turned on from the second I saw Marco today. Every second with him heightened it. I was a mass of desire and lust.

I sensed his tension, too. I felt the vibes between us. How do you describe the sparks between people? He was looking at me, and I took a deep breath and we leaned in at the same time. Soon I was having the best kiss of my life, multiplied by a hundred. I was utterly lost in Marco, one arm around that broad back, one hand on his muscled thigh, and then he swung me up and over and onto his lap. He kissed so well. All of his attention into it, into me. I pressed myself against him, and he pulled me close.

Don’t pant, I told myself, but soon I was whisked away and could no longer think. I unbuttoned his shirt quick as a lick, then put both hands on that broad, warm chest, exactly as I’d wanted to do since the first time I saw him. He was strong and muscled and smelled like a delicious cupcake and the island winds and Marco himself. Before I knew it my shirt was off and my red bra was somewhere else and we were half naked.

That kiss went on and on and I couldn’t think, didn’t want to think, until his hands were on the button of my too-tight jeans.

“Oh no. Oh no.”

“What?” he said, still kissing me, wild and free and yummy.

I dragged myself off of him, feet in the sand, panting like I didn’t want to pant, half naked in that sunset.

“What is it? What’s wrong?” he asked. He stood up and towered over me. I wanted to grab him, hold him, tell him that nothing was wrong, and I wanted to straddle him on the sand.

“This is not a smart idea.” I crossed my arms over my boobs.

“Why? Why not?”

“I’m not dating.”