I scream like we’ve won the World Series, like we’re the Cubbies after their 107-year losing streak. Adrenaline roars through my veins. My ears ring. My heart’s pounding as I shuffle my way toward Jamie and launch myself at him like a koala that just found its first eucalyptus tree. “We did it!” I yell.

Jamie’s arm muscles flex, steadying me as I lock my legs tight around his lean waist. Our eyes meet, and if his smile turned my heart to gold-leaf glitter, his laugh makes me see stars. It’s honey warm and blazing bright, rich and deep and so unexpected, I throw my arms around his neck and crush my body to his.

Jamie’s grip tightens, his hand cups my face, and then he does the absolute last thing I ever expected from Mr. Prim and Proper.

He kisses me.

And it’s good. No, not good. Better. Best. A world-tipping, never-forget-this kiss.

His mouth brushes mine, fleeting, faint. Our eyes lock for just an instant before I meet his mouth hungrily again. His thumb slides along my jaw, his mouth savoring mine with deep, slow kisses, a faint nip of my bottom lip that makes my thighs tighten around his waist. Doing that brings our bodies closer. It makes Jamie suck in a breath and slide his hand lower down my back, tucking me against him. It makes my fingers thread through his hair as his hands wander my body.

His tongue strokes mine, and he groans, rough and low in his throat, as a gasp rushes from my lungs. Jamie slants his mouth and nudges mine gently—More, his kiss says. Open up, give me more, give me everything—

A crash of pins startles and tears us apart.

Jamie stares at me, wide-eyed.

“Ah, young love,” Jean-Claude says. Jules sighs dreamily.

I ignore them, staring up at Jamie, who wears a vacant expression I can’t read. “Doing okay?” I ask, so quietly I think he relies on reading my lips.

“Yes,” he says. Slowly, he sets me down.

But as we pack up and say our goodbyes, as we wait in the cool night air for a cab, then share a quiet ride that stops outside my apartment first, I have the funniest feeling Jamie isn’t okay at all.

· SIXTEEN ·

Jamie

I’ve been a terrible fake boyfriend the past three days. I’m avoiding Beatrice.

Because that kiss was not supposed to happen. Well, it was, but not like that. It was supposed to be emotionless. Rehearsed. Like two actors going through the motions, playing their parts. Not an adrenaline-soaked crush of bodies, not a desperate kiss that made my heart thunder, that made every part of me that she touched ache for more.