I really should not be so obsessed with this girl right now. With so much on my plate and a royal fuck-up to fix, I can’t be letting her get into my head.

But at the same time, I can’t shake the feeling that this girl could be good for me. Not in the sense that she would save me or change me, but that she is the first person in a long time that I want to be better for. I don't want her hanging around people like Hale or Tyler. I want her safe in the arms of someone who she knows without a doubt would never hurt her, use her, or bring her any pain. And I know that I could be that person.

The old me would convince myself to just fuck her already to get her out of my head. If I’m so hungry for a taste, then I should just get my fill so that when she leaves in a week, I’m satisfied and can move on with my life.

But what life?

Suddenly, I have myself thinking about what kind of life I’d be living after this spring break is over. More drugs. More jail. More fights and mistakes and one-night stands.

I’ve never let myself imagine more, but when she’s around…

The front door bells chime and I look up just in time to see her standing there. A thin yellow cardigan is buttoned around a blue dress that is cut a little lower than I would expect from her. I can see the soft curves of her breasts peeking out from the neckline.

When she sees me, she doesn't smile. Instead, she gives me a smug told-you-so look and walks up to the counter I’m leaning on. She places her elbows on the glass and our faces are so close, I could lean forward an inch and kiss her.

“What can I help you with?” I ask without giving away too much.

“I told you I would think about it, and I thought about it.”

“And here you are.”

“Here I am…” she says, her voice drifting.

“I get off in thirty minutes.” I stand up, putting more distance between us before I do anything stupid.

“I can hang out,” she answers as she walks around the lobby, keeping her eyes on me and her fingers delicately brushing the countertop. She’s toying with me, trying to make me crazy. It’s working.

7

Sierra

I love watching him work. The flexing muscles beneath the tattoos on his arms and shoulders is a show I would pay to see. I get to watch him pierce someone’s nose, and the intense concentration on his face as he works is the sexiest thing I’ve ever admired.

It’s almost ten by the time he is ready to leave. “Shit, it’s late,” he says as he glances up at the clock and says goodbye to the other man in the shop.

“It’s okay,” I say as we stroll outside. I’m silently praying that we have to take his motorcycle to wherever we are going.