A/N: This is kind of a long chapter so I'm sorry. I really wanted to cover a lot of ground keep it in Rachel's POV. Also, I'm not used to writing the romantic bits so please be kind.

Mature content warning: marijuana use and light sexual content.

Rachel

I'm startled awake by the screeching ring of my alarm clock; 5:30AM. I slam my hand down on the off button and stare at the ceiling of Jacob's bedroom. It's still dark outside and the cool air from the window, that I left open all night, feels good on my face.

I've been dreading today. Not only because today I was supposed to start my new job in Seattle. But today was also supposed to be my due date. Had I kept the pregnancy, I would be bringing a new life into this world, today. When I had discovered that my Seattle job was supposed to start on the same day that was predicted to be my due date, I thought it was a sign that I did the right thing. Right thing? No. That I did the best thing. The best thing for me, anyways. As if the universe was sending me a sign that it would all be okay…

I can't believe I've been here for three whole weeks. Jacob has yet to return, so I am sleeping in his bedroom for now. Dad is growing more irritated with me by the day — mainly because I bug him to check his blood sugar and refuse to let him eat potato chips with every meal — though, he seems glad to have me around, otherwise.

After I helped Paul remove the glass from the broken window out of his palm, his wound healed instantly before my eyes. It was like nothing I had ever seen before. He was nice enough to help me staple a plastic sheet over the window; another bandaid on a bigger problem. Just like the grey tarp covering the dilapidated roof.

The next morning I called a contractor to do an estimate. $10,000. That's a low estimate, too. It'll probably cost more. They said I could save on future damages by replacing the shingles with a tin roof. Dad grumbled something about how noisy a tin roof is in the rain. It rains here constantly.

I cleared out the attic in preparation for the repairs which are set to begin at the end of the month. Much of Mom's stuff was lost. Dad wasn't pleased, of course. He said Jacob was supposed to make sure it was moved away from the leak. However, without him here to defend himself, I gently told Dad to lay off. It was my fault, anyhow. I was supposed to sort through it and claim momentos.

Not all was lost. I found a plastic crate with letters Mom had written to Grandma. Grandma was losing her memory and would often forget phone calls she'd have with Mom. So Mom would call her frequently and then write her a letter about what they talked about. When Mom died, grandma would forget and call the house looking for her. Reminding Grandma that Mom was dead was so painful that after a while I would just tell her that Mom was out in the garden or had gone to the store to buy milk and that I'd have her call her back.

When Grandma passed away, last year, the nursing home shipped Dad the letters. I haven't been able to read them yet. They're sitting on Jacob's desk, still in the box.

I better get up or I'll be late for work. I swing my legs over the side of the bed and grab my uniform from the chair where I'd left it last night; small red shorts and a red polo shirt. I decide to put on my bikini underneath in case it's nice enough to go in the ocean later.

I got a line of credit from the bank to pay for the roof so I am working to pay off the line of credit. Dad keeps saying he'll pay me back but… with what? He barely gets by on disability or whichever pension he's pulling from, now.

If Jake were around I'd ask him to get a summer job to help out too but he's too busy living in the forest and whimpering about the Swan girl. I called Rebecca to ask if she can send some money home. She wasn't happy to hear from me. She said that if Dad needs money he should call her. Otherwise, I shouldn't bother her with it. That's so Rebecca. She knows damn well that Dad is too proud to actually ask for help. Before hanging up she said something about sending a check. No check has arrived yet, though.

I look at myself in the mirror and shake my head; tiny red shorts and a tight polo shirt. When I got this job there was no uniform. Three days after my first shift the manager comes by and hands me this. My co-worker, Gary — who is a complete stoner and incredibly lazy — gets to wear a loose-fitting polo and black slacks. This is such bullshit. I slide on my white sneakers and then quietly pad my way downstairs so as to not wake Dad.

The food truck on First Beach was the only thing I could find with full-time hours. It's seasonal, though. Come September, I'll be out of a job. But I'm hopeful. I'm still applying for jobs in Seattle. We'll see… If I don't find something after September I might consider getting my Master's or applying to a vocational school to learn a skill.

I refuse to stay in this town doing whatever job I can find from month to month.

I grab my breakfast smoothie out of the fridge. The fridge was an easy fix. I did some Google searches and found out that clogged 'condenser coils' can impact a fridge's cooling ability. I vacuumed them out and it worked like a charm which was fantastic. The fridge cooled down to a perfect 38 degrees. Dad was so proud of me. Two scholarships and a university degree, and the proudest he's ever been of me is because I vacuumed dust out of the fridge. Yay, me.

I peek outside the kitchen window and see Paul sitting on the hood of my car.

Here we go again.

Every morning since he found out I worked at the food truck he's been trying to commute with me. Every morning I tell him to take a hike.

I take a big gulp of my smoothie and open the door.

"Good morning, gorgeous," he winks. He's wearing his bright orange lifeguard trunks and a grey hoodie with the Oceanside Resort logo on it.

"Get off my car," I shoot him a sharp glare, "I'm not in the mood, Lahote."

It's true. I'm not in the mood. Today already feels heavy because of what today was supposed to mean in two different life scenarios. A life in which I was starting a career in Seattle. And a life in which I would have become a mother.

"I brought you coffee," he grins, holding up a thermos.

"No thank you," I attempt to get to the driver's side door but he is quick to stand in my way. "Move, please," I say. I'm not amused. He thinks he's cute… ugh, he is cute. And I hate how he knows it.

"Oh, come on. We're literally going to the same place," he says, beaming his grin at me. He stays put.

I can feel the waves of heat from his body just by standing this close to him. Wolf's blood.

"I know. Which is why it doesn't make sense for you to walk all the way here," I laugh harshly out of the pure ridiculousness of this. "You are going a whole 2 miles in the wrong direction to get a ride with me to a place that is a little less than half a mile from your house!" I shout.

"Coffee?" he grins, holding up the thermos.

I look down at my watch, "can we just skip the back and forth today? I have a shipment this morning and you're going to make me late."

"Gee, I guess you better offer me a ride then," he twists the lid on the thermos and holds it out for me, "coffeeeee?" he says, extending the 'e' sound.

"You're so fucking annoying. Get in the car and don't you ever fucking do this again," I scold him, hesitate, and then take the coffee.

His eyes light up at having won this time and he goes to the other side of the car. I shake my head.

I was hoping for a nice quiet drive to work this morning but Paul is having none of that. He's going on about how the pack are all going cliff diving this afternoon and that I should join them.

"Sounds dangerous," I reply, drinking the coffee out of the thermos and make a sour face. It's 10x stronger than it needs to be. I put it in the cup holder. Who the hell taught him how to make coffee?

"The girls don't really jump. They just kind of watch," Paul replies.

"Oh… sounds boring, then. I think I'll pass," I reply.

"Maybe you'd want to go surfing with us?" he asks.

"Oh. Do the girls surf?" I ask. It's been a long time since I balanced on a board. I was never really good at it. Lacrosse was always my jam.

"Not really they usually just-"

"Watch?" I cut him off.

"Apart from Leah," he replies.

"I can't. I have a full shift today," I say as we turn down the road that leads to First Beach.

"After work?" he asks.

"After work, I have to go home to make dinner for Dad," I reply.

"You know… your brother's been gone a while now. And your sister is in Hawaii… You don't seem to have a lot of friends," Paul rambles.

What's he getting at?

"I have friends!" I frown.

"Here?" Paul cocks his brow at me. I don't answer him so he continues, "since you're going to be here for a little while it wouldn't hurt for you to have some fun once in a while… or ever."

"Or ever? What's that mean?" I ask. I have fun!

"Nothing… Just that Jacob always called you the serious one," Paul smirks at me.

The serious one? Is Jake for real? What an ungrateful brat! I took care of him; made sure he showered, was fed and that his homework was done… and the thanks I get for all of that is he goes off to his little wolf buddies and tells them that I don't know how to have fun? Nice family I've got.

"Whatever," I scowl.

"Wow," Paul chuckles, "that bugs you, huh?"

I glare at him as I pull my little red Mazda into the employee parking lot at First Beach, "we're here."

"Come on. I think it would be good for you," he says, trying to convince me, "when's your shift end?"

What the hell does this guy know about what would be good for me? He's known me for all of five minutes. Even so, he doesn't really know me. No one really knows me. Letting anyone close enough to get to know me — the real me — would be terrifying. But now, if I say no, then I'm proving him right that I don't know how to have fun. I seriously don't know why I care.

"I'm off at 3:00PM," I reply, "I can hang out for an hour but that's it!"

"Yes!" he grins.

"And don't you ever show up at my house like this again or I'll run you over with my car. Understood?" I ask.

Paul laughs softly, "okay, Bird. You got it. No more morning commutes."

"Good. Dump this out," I hand him the thermos of dumpster coffee.

The day is immediately off to a bad start. The morning's shipment was missing the cream mixture for the ice cream machine. I was on hold with the supplier for an hour to get that sorted out. They will deliver it tomorrow which means there is no ice cream to serve today. Half of our sales in the afternoon are ice cream. Then the AC in the truck decides to give out around lunch time which is when most of the fried food orders come in. By the end of my shift, I am hot, sweaty, and agitated from all of the angry customers who are pissed off about not getting their ice cream.

To make matters worse, it is now 3:25 PM and my co-worker, Gary, has yet to show up. I've called him twice but he hasn't answered so I give our manager, Alec, a call.

"Alec," I am relieved that he picked up, "hi! Gary is 25 minutes late and isn't picking up his phone."

"So?" Alec replies.

"So, my shift ended 25 minutes ago," I reply.

Paul waves at me from the beach with a big smile on his face. Oh, right. I'm supposed to hang out with him and the pack. I forgot.

The beach is pretty crowded right now. It's one of those rare hot and sunny days so everyone is taking full advantage.

A group of teen girls are laying in the sand, watching Paul; giggling and whispering to one another. He sure does get a lot of female attention. I can see why. He has a nice body. Just about every part of him is perfectly sculpted; muscular chest, defined abs, thick biceps... even his calves are enormous and the way his bright orange trunks sit low on his hips is just— fuck, Rach. Stop!

My face tingles, having caught myself lusting after Paul Lahote. He'd be so thrilled if he knew.

Get it together. Fuck.

"Look, Rachel," Alec continues, "I don't know what to tell you. Just wait for him. He'll show up eventually," Alec replies. "I have to go, okay?"

"Alec! Don't hang- … Alec?" I roll my eyes and slam down the phone. Great.

"Hey, are you ready?" Paul asks, coming up to the window.

"I can't. My co-worker is late," I reply.

"Oh," Paul says, his shoulders slump in disappointment, "okay, well… we'll just be over there," he points to the driftwood where I can see the pack has gathered. Some of the guys are climbing up the side of the cliff to jump and the rest are kicking around a soccer ball. Emily and Kim are in the water together drinking virgin pina colada I had just sold them a few minutes ago.

"Okay," I nod, "can I get you anything?" I ask him. A line has started to form behind him and I am getting the death glare from a customer who is already mad at me because of the ice cream ordeal.

"Can you fill this up again?" he asks, briefly looking behind him and then hands me his water bottle.

"Yeah," I take the bottle and go fill it with ice and water from the machine.

Frequently, throughout the day, he has come by to ask for water refills which I suspect is just an excuse to see me. I act annoyed but I have to admit that I'm growing rather fond of the visits. This day has been so awful that his attention is at least a little bit amusing. Especially, considering so many of the girls on the beach are looking at him and he is only looking at me. Is that bad? I feel shallow. But with the shitty day I'm having, I'll take a win wherever I can get it.

Oh no. Here she comes.

I see the bubbly girl with brassy blonde highlights — that don't blend at all with her black hair — come running over. Stella. I guess she is Paul's co-worker as evident by her bright orange one-piece bathing suit. I think I may have gone to school with her older brother. It seems that the last few times Paul's come over to see me she has made it a mission to come over as well.

"Hey! Are you off now?" Stella asks Paul. I can see her beaming at him through the reflection of the ice machine as I fill up his bottle.

"Uh. Yeah," he says.

"Me too!" she grins at him.

"Here's your water," I turn around and hand Paul his water bottle.

"Be a dear and fill mine up too?" Stella asks, handing me her water bottle.

"Uh… Sure," I take the bottle from her. When I turn my back to fill it up with ice I roll my eyes.

Be a dear? Fuck off.

"I've decided to take you up on your offer!" Stella says to Paul.

"My offer?" Paul asks, sounding nervous.

I listen in as I press the button on the machine. No ice comes out. I slap the side of the ice machine. Come on.

"Surfing," Stella giggles, "you promised to teach me."

"Oh… right," Paul mumbles, "uh, maybe later. I kind of have plans," Paul replies.

I slap the machine again and ice finally tumbles into the water bottle and then all over the floor. This day just keeps getting better. I fill the bottle all the way up with water and go back to the serving window to hand it to Stella. I strain through the window to see if Gary's car is in the employee parking lot. It's not.

"Well don't delay on account of me," I look to Paul, "I don't know how long I'll be stuck here."

Stella looks between Paul and I.

"Um," Paul inhales and then looks to Stella, "okay then… I guess I'll go grab some boards," he replies.

"Fun!" Stella giggles.

I watch the two walk off together and I am left to handle the food truck on my own after already being here for 9 hrs.

I call Gary's cell phone three more times. The last of which I leave a voicemail telling him that he better be in the hospital or dead and not just stoned on his couch. If I know Gary, it's probably the latter.

Then I call Dad to let him know I'm working late. I guess him and Charlie went and caught a fish for dinner and now he's over for the baseball game. I remind him to eat some vegetables and not to load up the second half of his plate with chips. He quips that potatoes are vegetables. I warn him that I will check his blood sugar if he thinks he can be sneaky with his health.

Customers eventually stop coming to the truck and the beach clears out, apart from the pack. Paul is still trying to teach Stella how to stand on the board. Each time she falls it's conveniently always right onto him. Make it obvious, much? Maybe that's why I've never had a boyfriend. Falling all over boys — acting coy and giggly — has never been my thing. Even trying to imagine myself acting that way makes me feel incredibly embarrassed.

Finally, 7:00 PM rolls around. I am so exhausted. My feet hurt. I'm sweaty from spending all day in this hot-as-balls food truck with no AC. I've used up every last ounce of patience waiting for Gary to show up. He never did. To make matters worse, today is the only day in the week that the grease trap cleaners come so I am forced to wait for them to be finished pumping the putrid basin of greasy sludge from under the truck before I can finally lock up and go home.

The cleaner tells me that there should be a check for him. The problem is that I never work closings so I have no idea where Gary or Alec keep any of this stuff. The truck is not big; so I search corner-to-corner looking through folders and drawers for checks.

I pull down the sun visor of the driver's seat and an envelope falls out along with the fattest joint I have ever seen in my life. I pick up the reefer and inspect it. Of course. Why wouldn't Gary have marijuana stashed at work?

Finders keepers. Gary, you asshole.

I pocket the joint and then peek into the envelope. I am relieved to see that it's the check for the cleaner. I hand off the envelope and then lock up the day's earnings in the safe before closing up shop.

7:50 PM. Ugh! I've been here all day. And I have to be here again tomorrow at 6:00 AM to receive the ice cream shipment we never got this morning.

"Done?" Paul suddenly appears from nowhere, catching me just as I finish locking the truck.

I jump, "fucking fuck!" I gasp, dropping the keys.

"Sorry," he laughs, apologising for startling me and scoops up the keys and drops them into my palm. "Come on, let's go" he nods down to the water where the pack is all still gathered despite being at the beach all day. Looks like Stella has gone home.

"No. Not a chance. I am going home and you're not going to make me feel bad about bailing on our plans. I have been on my feet all day. I am exhausted and smell like fried foods and BO. I'm going home," I start to walk towards my car.

"Oh, come on!" he jumps in front of me, blocking my way.

"Paul. Please don't make me go over there. Today has been really hard," my voice is strained. I feel like crying because I am so tired and really don't think I have it in me to be good company.

I was supposed to be in Seattle. I should be out having drinks in the city, celebrating my new job. Not going home from a 13-hour shift in a hot, greasy food truck to soak my blistered feet like an old person.

Paul's eyes soften, "I just want you to have some fun. Don't you want to have fun for once?"

This again?

"I have fun, Paul!" I snap at him.

Paul just grins as though he doesn't believe me.

Oh… Oh, okay, fuck him. I'll show him fun. I pluck Gary's fat joint out of my pocket and put it between my lips and start looking for a lighter in my purse.

"Where'd you get that?" he whispers, looking around. He moves around me so that he is blocking the pack from seeing me light up.

"Nevermind," I light the joint, not revealing my source. I take a deep breath and hold onto the puff until my lungs burn and then let it go, "what? You're not going to narc on me, are you?" I ask, already feeling the effects. Gary's got some good shit.

I don't regularly smoke. Dad would be pissed if he knew. But when finals were happening it was the only thing I could do to take the edge off so I could actually sleep the night before an exam.

"Uh. We can't have this out here," he says, looking around and pulls my arm, leading me down the beach. I go with him; I don't want to be caught. A night in the clink for possession does not sound like a good time.

We wander until we are pretty far away from the pack. There are some rock formations that we can conceal our illegal activity behind. Once hidden, Paul attempts to take the joint from my lips but I back away.

"No way," I giggle and inhale another puff. This was such a good idea, I feel so light and relaxed, already. Fuck Gary for leaving me in the lurch but if I'm stuck here all summer he's going to hook me up with his supplier.

"What?" Paul grins, "come on!" he says, attempting to grab it again.

"I don't think so. I'm not giving weed to a minor. You said you wanted me to have fun," I grin, pushing my hand against his hard ads as though that could force his solid frame to back away. "I don't really care if you have fun."

"You're such a tease," he says with a smirk, leaning against one of the rock formations, watching me smoke.

I just grin at him. Am I flirting? I don't know… but I like it.

"How was Stella's surfing lesson?" I ask.

His brow flicks up at the mention of Stella, "why do you want to know?"

"No reason," I inhale another puff, "you ought to charge her if she's going to act like that," I snort, exhaling smoke through my nose.

"Act like what?" he grins, folding his arms across his muscular chest.

"Oh, come on!" I laugh. "She didn't even attempt to balance on the board! She was all over you."

"No, she wasn't," he smiles at me as though he thinks I'm jealous and it's giving him some kind of satisfaction.

"Whatever," I roll my eyes and take another puff.

"Why don't you show me?" he says, pushing off of the wall so he is standing in front of me.

Show him? He wants me to jump all over him like how Stella was? Yeah right.

"You'd like that, wouldn't you?" I shoot back at him with a smirk.

"Yes. I'd love that," he rasps and takes another step towards me so we are inches apart.

"I'm sure you would," I whisper without moving even though he is now standing so close that I can feel the waves of heat coming off of him.

"Give me a hit," he mumbles softly.

Fine. Whatever. Minor shminor. I wonder how old he is in dog years, anyways? I put the joint to his mouth. Paul captures it with his lips and then takes hold of it between two fingers, inhaling deeply and holding onto it for as long as possible.

"Fuck," he exhales eventually, "this is good shit. Where'd you get this?" he asks.

I don't answer. The last thing I need is all his wolf friends showing up at the food truck looking for weed.

Now that I am sufficiently high, I am painfully aware of how very much I smell like fried food and BO. I toss my purse onto the sand, pull my red polo shirt up over my head and then adjust my bikini top. I shimmy out of my shorts, kicking them up onto the sand as well.

"What are you doing?" Paul swallows, watching me strip down to my bikini.

"Going in the water," I reply, kicking off my shoes.

I walk into the water. It's cool and feels amazing on my hot skin. My skin turns immediately prickly from the chill of the water but my tight muscles loosen all the same. I sink into the water and go under the surface, dampening my hair, and then quickly come back up. I rub the salt water off of my face and open my eyes.

Paul follows me in the water and sinks down beside me. He holds out the joint to me.

"My hands are wet," I reply.

Paul grins, flipping it in his hands to face me and I take a hit from between his fingers. My lips press against the calloused pads of his fingers. They feel hot to the touch; scorching even. I lean back, catching him staring at me.

"Sorry that your day sucked," Paul says, taking another hit. He doesn't look away from me.

"Yeah, well…" I shrug, exhaling the smoke from my lungs, and look up at the night sky. I don't really have much to add to that. What am I going to say? The day was bound to suck, regardless. No job to go to in Seattle; dead dream. And an abortion I had seven and a half months ago that has left me feeling detached from myself; as though I can never trust my own judgment and nothing is ever harmless even if I take all the necessary precautions. I feel like it's all just led me back here. To the inescapable truth that the thing I've been running from — the guilt and shame for being the cause of Mom's death — will be ever-present. No matter how far I run. No matter how much time I put between then and now. I look over at Paul when I feel his eyes on me.

"Where'd you go?" he asks me tenderly, wondering where my mind has wandered to.

"Nevermind," I shake my head. Secrets I'll never tell. Especially not him. If he knew everything Jacob would know everything because of their telepathic wolf thing. Then Dad would know everything. I would be ruined.

Paul inhales a deep puff from the joint and then turns it to my lips, "last hit, Bird," he says, blowing out a stream of smoke.

I can see the joint has all but burnt down to the roach. I lean in with my lips pressed to his fingers again and inhale as deeply as I can. Then Paul flicks the remainder into the water.

Silence falls between us. The sounds of the ocean provide a relaxing ambiance that layers over the euphoria from the marijuana we just shared. I exhale my last hit, lingering in bliss. This is the best I've felt in the three weeks since I've been back.

"Um, hey… Rach," Paul cleaners his throat.

"Hm?" I look at him.

"I'm sorry if I hurt your feelings by saying you don't know how to have fun," Paul says with a reserved smile.

I roll my eyes, "whatever. You probably have a point," I mutter. "I'm not really known for being the life of the party," I admit.

"Why?" Paul asks, coughing a little bit, and then clears his throat again; residual irritation from smoking.

I shrug and look down at the water, "just… busy, I guess," I lie. There are so many reasons why I don't put myself out there. The busy excuse has been the long-running go-to and just so convenient. "Got a roof to fix," I shrug watching the water ripple.

"I admire you so much," Paul says softly.

I'm caught off guard by the sudden compliment. I look up from the water, "what?" I whisper.

"Not everyone puts all they've got into helping their family like you," he explains. "You saw a problem and just decided to fix it. Just like that. You didn't even question whether or not it was your problem to fix. You cared so much that you rolled up your sleeves and just got to work."

"It's nothing, I-" I shrug.

"No," he cuts me off, "I watch you every day, Bird. I see you. You work tirelessly. Everyday you show up and you kick ass and then wake up and do it all again the next day."

I blush and shake my head, trying to kill the embarrassed smile on my lips, "anyone would do the same," I swallow.

"That's so not true. Jacob isn't here doing what you're doing. Rebecca isn't here… It's you. All you," he defends his point of view. "You're just this beautiful, fearless, amazing, strong woman. There's no one like you."

What do I even say to that? The way he is looking at me tells me that he believes every word. To him, I am this person he is describing. He has no idea. If only he knew the truth. My heart is racing and my stomach feels warm. I stare into his eyes which, besides being a little bit red from the pot, are genuine.

The atmosphere between us is heavy as though the oxygen has somehow been turned down. He's stopped waiting for me to respond and slowly lowers his mouth to mine. Maybe it's the pot but I don't stop him or flinch or try to turn away. His lips could be feathers, that's how lightly he's proceeding. Is this even a real kiss? As if sensing my confusion, Paul leans into it fully. Still soft and tender but there is no room for doubt. This is a kiss. His lips are hot and the kiss is salty from the water.

Despite not attempting to get away, I have yet to kiss him back. His lips explore the corners of my mouth and then mold to my top lip and then my bottom lip. I only remember to breathe because my chest starts burning. When did I hold my breath? How long ago?

His warm hands find my arms under the water and guide them around his neck so that I'm pressed flush against his unnaturally warm body.

I don't resist but I can no longer be unengaged from this. I have two options. I can pull away and end this or I can engage and see where it goes. The uncomplicated answer — the right answer — is to pull away. But my body isn't exactly listening to my brain. Rather, my brain is providing a string of excuses as to why I should listen to my body.

I open my lips to him. He eagerly accepts the invitation and knots his fingers in my hair pulling me closer. My tongue reaches out for his, wanting to taste him and not just the salt from the ocean or lingering marijuana flavor.

This is what I crave. Not just the carefree warmth of a strong embrace but to get lost in the fantasy that I am this girl. The girl he believes me to be; beautiful, fearless, amazing, strong... I can just kiss him and be her for a little while. Because to him, it is all real. I can forget about all of my mistakes and painful truths for even just a little while.

I tighten my embrace around his neck, giving in to desire. The kiss is urgent and wet and hot; I like kissing him. I like it a lot.

A collection of loud pops followed by childish giggles carry down the beach and I gasp, pulling back my mouth.

"What was that?" I pant, looking towards the shore.

He chuckles, "firecrackers, probably," Paul mumbles, returning his lips, this time to my cheek.

Firecrackers? What? Why?

I have questions but Paul's mouth dips into the annex between my jaw and neck, and I lose all train of thought. I swallow and allow my head to tilt in the direction it desires to in order to give Paul greater access to my neck.

"Rachel…" he whispers, sucking on my neck.

It's like a punch to the gut. Hearing my name threatens to break the spell.

"Don't… don't say my name," I exhale.

"Hm?" he mumbles, trailing kisses back up my neck until he reaches my earlobe.

A moan escapes my lips for the first time since we started doing this and I feel myself flush, "d- don't say my name," I repeat myself, breathlessly.

He chuckles against my ear softly, "what do I call you then?" he whispers.

"I don't care," I whisper, trailing my fingers up the nape of his neck and then into his hair. I pull his lips back to mine, forcefully.

"Okay, baby," he grins against my lips, finding my aggressiveness inviting. His hands find their way to my hips and he pulls me even closer. I allow my legs to wrap around his waist. This time it's his turn to moan.

That's when I feel something firm press against me.

"Fuck," Paul mutters against my lips, "I'm sorry," he apologizes with embarrassment in his voice, leaning his forehead against mine.

I exhale. My heart is pounding in my ear. I don't want to stop. I want to keep going. His staggered breathing is somehow turning me on even more. Despite being high out of my mind, a sobering moment finds me and I untangle myself from him. This would be a bad idea. Besides, I've already decided that I am never having sex again.

"We should stop," I whisper, taking a step back from him.

"Yeah," he swallows and nods in agreement even though his eyes tell a different story.