“How long has it been,” I asked, once we had our own private slice of beach. “A week?”

“Wayyyy too long, handsome,” she laughed. “This hot dog is really testing my patience . . .”

“Good.”

We plopped down, elbows hitting each other as we inhaled our food, like a decadent, chocolate mousse dessert was waiting for us.

Madison finished first. The crashing of the distant waves was soon forgotten as she crawled into my lap, her legs digging into both sides of my waist. Instinctively, my hands pulled her hips closer, like we were picking up where we left off.

Her shirt was silky against my chin. It wasn’t until she kissed me breathlessly that the adult beverage on her lips fully registered.

Sand flew into my shirt, my hair—everywhere—when she pushed me onto my back and fumbled with my jeans. Heat pulsed through the humidity around us, stirring my need for her.

“Don’t they have a cocktail named after this?” she asked.

“Aren’t you too young to know what that is?” I cleared my throat in an attempt to think straight. Something felt weird about this, but I couldn’t . . .

“Older than you.” She took her hands off my zipper to adjust her hair. “Can you imagine?” she whispered, moving my fingers down her legs. “Sand everywhere, hands everywhere.” She practically purred over me.

A million out of a million times, I would have let her make that sentence come true.

But.

“I can’t,” I said.

Madison pulled back. “Are you serious? Maguire, we’re by ourselves out here.”

“I know.”

The music had faded into the background of the ocean waves, and the firelight had disappeared into the starry sky. That wasn’t it, though. It hadn’t been there when we’d left the party together. A taut ache in my neck, an ache for her, still kept my grip tight on her jeans.

But.

Sensing my hesitation, Madison wrinkled her nose, as if I were some nerd saying I loved her after we’d kissed once. Madison didn’t do feelings. And didn’t take uncertainty.

“Nick, what the hell?”

I wanted to say it was whatever she’d been drinking, which lingered in the air between us like Eliza’s words from a few weeks ago had hung about when she told me about the horror of making out with drunk Josh. But Madison and I had both screwed in worse states and it wasn’t her. It wasn’t me either, or any of that cliché. And it wasn’t that I would do anything to avoid being like Josh Daley—even though he was trying to be like me. It was—

My phone vibrated in the sand. Madison, still pouting, fished for it. It was Carter.

“Sorry.” I sat up, sand cascading off my T-shirt. Bros before hoes, I wanted to say. “Hey, man, what’s up?”

“Found that dustwad Josh, but I can’t find Eliza. Could you look for her?”

Madison examined her nails, keeping herself admirably composed, like I wasn’t worth the breath she’d waste with angry words.