I’m not shy. I slide off my shirt, leaving me in only my bra and jeans, and hear his sharp intake of breath. He removes his own shirt and tosses it aside, giving me another look at his toned chest.

I lead him to the bed and sit on the edge, looking up at him. I’m tired and I know I should rest, but now that we’re alone, the last thing I want to do is sleep. These might be my last few hours alive. My last few hours with Adam.

He stands in front of me and runs his hands through my hair before touching my cheek, my chin, my neck. My muscles tense with anticipation but not fear. Never fear, not with Adam. I close my eyes and let him explore. I expect him to kiss me, but his fingers brush my arms. When I open my eyes, he’s staring at the ink on them.

“I love your tattoos.” He traces the vines running down my forearm that wrap around a pink flower, a dahlia, with a name written below the petals. “‘Esperanza,’” he reads. “What does it mean?”

“It’s my mother’s name. It means ‘hope’ in Spanish.”

“Hope.” He touches the other tattoos on my arms—the spiderwebs, the black stars, the blue waves. His hands trail across my shoulders and to my back, finding the last of my tattoos. A flock of birds, inked across my back as though they are flying up into the sky. “And this one?”

“It symbolizes freedom.” Turning eighteen and escaping the foster care system. Being free and independent. Being able to live without fear.

He leans down and presses his lips to my back, over the lowest bird on my spine, and I gasp. I’m frozen in place as he kisses each of the birds, moving up to my neck.

I can’t take it anymore. I turn around and pull his mouth to mine. Our lips meet and fire dances between us. We fall back on the bed, our legs twisting together, my bare skin pressing against his. Somehow his glasses come off. I kiss his face, his neck, his shoulders, and everything in between. His hands tangle in my long hair, his hips rub against mine, and I moan against his mouth.

I might be dead tomorrow, but I have tonight with Adam. I want to make it count.

I roll on top of him and reach for the front of his jeans to undo the fly. As I pop open the top button, his mouth tears away from mine. “Elena—” He breathes heavily. “I can’t…I mean, I’ve never—”

I freeze with my hand on his jeans. “Never?”

“No. But I want to. Now. With you.” He looks away, clearing his throat. “I just…wanted you to know. In case it wasn’t good or something.”