It was true. Evie had been his first love. That last summer, the summer they started having sex, he’d tried to please her. It always seemed like she was having fun, but from the vantage point of adulthood, and with some more experience under his belt—no pun intended—he could see that things had been a lot more mechanical than they should have been. Although the local high school had had a pretty good sex-ed curriculum, it, too, had been pretty mechanical. How to use a condom and why. Diagrams with parts you were supposed to label—just in case you ever came face-to-face with a fallopian tube in the wild.

No one said anything about pleasure, was the point. No one said anything about female orgasms, specifically.

Had she ever had one with him?

God, it was excruciating to contemplate the notion that maybe she hadn’t. But as she’d said, it wasn’t like teenage boys really knew what they were doing.

Well, shit. At least that had extinguished the boner her wish had inspired.

It was his turn to talk. “So, beard, eh?”

“I don’t know…” She had turned contemplative. She yawned. “I always thought beards were gross.”

“Gross!” He feigned outrage.

“I mean, yes. But I was thinking about it purely as a visual thing. I wasn’t…” Another yawn. “Thinking with my other senses.”

“So you’re saying you think my beard is ugly but that it might have other redeeming qualities?”

“Well, not ugly, but maybe good for more than just looking at?” She yawned again. “Would you do it if you were here?”

“Do what?” He was going to hell. He knew what she meant, but he wanted to hear her say it again.

“Would you go down on me?”

He sighed. “No. You’re drunk.”

“Yeah, but you’re not.”

“Yeah, but you are.”

“So?”

“You can’t legally give consent when you’re drunk.”

“Will you drop the cop thing for one second?”

“It’s not a cop thing. It’s a human decency thing.”

She laughed. “I think it’s a Sawyer thing. You’re very upstanding, you know.”

Why were they even having this argument? It wasn’t like anything could happen between them even if she was stone-cold sober and sitting next to him. “Go to bed, Evie.” He didn’t want to hang up. But she was drunk and tired, and he was supposed to be patrolling.

“Okay.” She sighed, a little breathy one that sounded like it might be shading into frustration. It reminded him of the noises she’d made when they’d made out in Toronto. “Sawyer?”

“Yes, sweetheart?” He allowed the endearment to slip out because he was pretty sure she wouldn’t remember any of this tomorrow.

“Happy New Year.”

He smiled at the dark, cold lake. “Happy New Year, Evie.”

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Eighteen

Okay, I’m ready!”