FINN IS DRESSED and waiting outside Oliver’s when I pick him up at seven. He’s wearing the same clothes he wore for his meeting in L.A., but tonight he manages to look infinitely better. He’s more relaxed and has clearly been outdoors all day. Sun-kissed Finn is deadly.

He climbs into the passenger seat, grumbling about my tiny car, and then looks over at me.

“Whoa,” he says. “Get out.”

“What?” I panic, looking down at my dress to make sure I didn’t spill OJ all over myself when I chugged it straight from the bottle just before sprinting out the door.

“I want to see you,” he says, leaning across my lap to open my door from the inside. “Get out so I can see you.”

“Oh.” I climb out, smoothing my dress down my thighs, and walk to the front of the car. Finn doesn’t follow me out, he only slumps back against the seat and stares at me through the windshield. I watch his mouth say, “Jesus.”

“What?” I call.

Shaking his head, he says, “You look amazing.”

I look down at my dress. It’s sapphire blue—my best color—with a tight bodice and flared skirt that hits just above my knees. I’m wearing gold strappy heels, and around my throat is the simple gold arrow necklace my father bought me for my eighteenth birthday. To be honest, I barely focused on getting ready tonight, and it strikes me as a little funny that the night of the bar, when I wanted to look casually adorable, Finn teased me endlessly. Here, when I was distracted and chugging OJ like a hungover frat boy in my hurry to get back to him, he seems speechless.

When I climb back in the car, he immediately leans across the console, taking my face in his hands, and looks at me for a heavy, pounding heartbeat before he presses his mouth to mine. As soon as we touch, his lips part slightly and he exhales a quiet “Oh,” and then leans closer, taking my bottom lip between his. When I feel the teasing slide of his tongue, it’s done, I’m done.

My hands are in his hair, and I want so much more I’m nearly wild. I want to feel him along every inch of me. His sounds are so deep and quiet they’re like vibrations that go straight to my bones, rattling me, turning me into nothing but individual pieces of a girl: hands that shake, and blood that rushes too strong in her veins, and legs that push her up off her seat and over onto him. He reaches to his side, flipping his seat back with ease, and I’m crashing over him, legs spread over his lap. He yanks me down, grinding up into me and I cry out when I feel the thick press of his cock between my legs.