Kiss and Don’t Tell
: Chapter 8

“You really don’t have to do the dishes, you realize that, right? It’s part of Stephan’s job.” Pacey presses his backside against the counter while speaking to me.

“The man cooked us a spectacular meal, and where I come from, someone cooks, the other person cleans.”

Pacey leans in closer and whispers, “But it’s his job. Hence why he’s scowling at you from the corner.”

I glance over to where Stephan is talking to Eli and there’s not one ounce of scowling. He actually looks pretty happy. Relieved. Relaxed.

“He’s not even looking over here,” I say while I rinse off one of the pans used for roasting the potatoes.

“That’s because he knows we’re talking about him.” Pacey snags a dish towel from the handle of the oven and picks up one of the pans I just cleaned.

“What are you doing?” I ask.

“What does it look like? I’m drying the dishes.”

“I can do that.”

“I realize you’re more than capable, but I feel weird having you do our dishes, so I’m going to help.”

“But that negates the purpose of me doing the dishes. I’m trying to earn my keep, but you’re taking that joy away from me with your helpful hands.” I take the dish towel from him but he snags it right back. “Pacey.”

“I’m not sure if I’m supposed to apologize for helping or not. I’m going to go with no apology.” He picks up another dish and starts drying it.

“Are you normally this kind?”

He chuckles. “I mean, I would say I’m not really doing anything out of the norm. Why do you ask?”

I want to hide the truth, which is instead of “working on an equation” all day, I was watching YouTube clips of the boys, and let me tell you, they didn’t seem all that welcoming in their interviews. Very serious. Sometimes pissed off. Silas threw a water bottle in one, while Pacey knocked the microphone off the table in another. Not something I would expect from the man drying the dishes right now.

“Oh no, you’re going to have to answer that question.” He playfully nudges me with his shoulder. “Did you have some preconceived notions of what hockey players are really like in real life?”

“No . . .”

“Then what—wait.” He turns toward me and I wince. “During your research, did you watch videos of us?”

“Would it be proper research without watching videos?” I ask.

“I see. And let me guess, the videos you watched must have been after games, right?”

“Possibly a press conference setup.”

“And the most popular ones are the videos where we lose our cool, right?”

“They seem to float to the top,” I answer.

“And a guy who loses his temper doesn’t seem like one who would be so kind, now would he?”

I look him in the eyes, those glacial eyes. “Are you sure you’re not some sort of detective? Your deductive reasoning is quite good.”

“Are you sure you’re not a rocket scientist? Your off-the-cuff knowledge about Mars was uncanny.”

“Touché,” I say. “Let’s just call a spade a spade—we’re good at all things.”

“That’s pretty fair. I’m pretty great at a lot of things other than hockey.”

“Oh yeah? Name one.” I hand him a bowl and he takes it from me.

“Hmm, one . . . it’s so hard to narrow it down out of all the things I’m good at.” He’s really cute when he’s joking around. So different than the menacing man in the videos, pissed off from a loss. I really like this side of him. Not that I’ve seen many sides of him at all, but I do appreciate his teasing. “I’m really good at replaceing four-leaf clovers.”

“Really?” I ask. “I don’t think I’ve ever met someone who’s found one.”

“That’s upsetting. That must mean you haven’t had a lot of luck in your life.”

“Yeah, you can say that,” I scoff.

“Care to elaborate on that?”

I glance at him. “Not really.”

“Still a steel trap, got it. Also, I’m really good at reading the room and knowing when to back off or when to press. Can you tell?”

“I’ve noticed that about you. I’ve also noticed that you’re cocky but not overtly cocky. You show it in small doses.”

“No need to shove it down people’s throats.” He winks. “What about you? What’s something you’re really good at, besides being persistent about helping out and your Mars knowledge?”

I wet my lips as I rinse off another bowl. For some reason, my lips feel really dry up here. It’s either the elevation, or my body telling me they need to be wet . . . by something other than my tongue. “Well, you already know too much about me. I can’t give away all my secrets. How can I stay elusive if I do that?”

“Is that what you’re trying to do?” he asks. “Trying to stay a mystery?”

I finish washing the last bowl and hand it over before rinsing the sink. “Isn’t it more fun like that? You can always think back to the summer when the girl who pushed her car into a ditch stayed with you for a few days, but you never knew who she was, and she remained a mystery.”

He sets the last bowl down and hangs the towel up to dry. “Or you can come have a beer with me outside and tell me one thing you’re good at. Just one.”

God, that’s tempting.

So tempting.

It would be wonderful to have a moment with Pacey, to drink a beer with him and relax, but I fear if I allow myself more time with him, I’m going to grow attached, and that would be a bad idea.

Just from replaceing out more about him from my “research”, I know he’s not one of those guys you meet and quickly forget about. And from what I saw online today, he’s not been seen with numerous leggy model-esque women on his arm either. Not a one-and-done asshole.

No, he’s one that sticks around for a long time, maybe forever. A relationship guy.

Not sure I can handle that. Not right now.

“I’m actually getting—”

He shakes his head. “Nope. Remember when I said I’m good at reading the room? Also good at reading people, and that pause in your answer gave you away. You’re coming up with an excuse to not hang out with me, and that bruises my soul.” He clutches his chest playfully. “Want to make it up to me for staying here? Come have a beer with me out back.”

Man, is he good.

I prop my hand on the counter and comment, “You really know how to hit people where it hurts, don’t you?”

“Yup, and if you’re wondering if I’m ashamed . . .” He leans in. “I’m not.”

Gulp.

I just can’t with him. With how handsome he is. With how perfect he looks even just in a simple T-shirt and athletic shorts. But it’s the way the shirt clings to his arms and chest but is loose around his waist, it’s the fit. And then, his ass . . . if I were a poet, I’d write sonnets about his ass.

Thou art the finest ass.

That’s poetry, right?

“Do you, uh . . . do you have any hard cider? Or just beer?”

“We actually do have cider. Posey and I like it.”

“You’re a cider drinker?”

He nods. “Yeah, there’s a local brewery here that Posey and I like to go to. We’ll take you sometime this week—you know, once you figure out that equation.” He winks and goes to the fridge to pull out two bottles. He pops open our ciders on a bottle opener on the side of the fridge, then gestures toward the sliding glass door and says, “There are some egg seats in the back.”

“Egg seats?” I ask.

“That’s what I call them.” He leads the way to the back of the property, along the tree line. He ducks past a bush and holds the branches back for me. When we clear the bush, the stunning view of the Rocky Mountains steals breath from my lungs.

Just past the tops of the pine trees is a landscape view of blue mountains barely tipped with snow. Impressively stretching the length of the horizon, the mountains stand strong and proud, a view new to me, but a view that will last in my memory.

“Oh my God,” I whisper. “This is . . . gorgeous.”

He hands me my cider. “Aren’t you glad you didn’t retreat back to your room now?”

“I am,” I say while taking it all in. The clouds are a heavy gray and I feel as if they’ll open up with rain any second, but it doesn’t tear me away from the picturesque combination of valley and mountains. Steep cliffs with arresting peaks, and vibrant green pine trees paint the mountainsides. It’s probably one of the prettiest things I’ve ever seen.

And then my eyes land on the chairs, well—chair.

“I thought you said there were two chairs out here?”

He scratches the back of his head. “There were.” He studies the large chair and then says, “It’s big enough for two people, that’s unless you’re disgusted by me and can’t have me that close.”

Disgusted? More like dangerously attracted.

Nervous I might involuntarily lick his neck if he’s too close.

Or try to lift up his shirt unknowingly.

Not saying anything, I walk over to the half-egg-shaped chair with navy-blue cushions and take a seat, giving him plenty of room to sit next to me so our legs won’t touch. Not that I would mind if they did but, you know, just to stay safe . . . since apparently my brain is having all sorts of dirty thoughts.

As he takes a seat, he says, “So, not disgusted by me, then.”

“Barely above repulsive. Consider yourself lucky.”

He sips his cider and says, “I do.”

I bring the cider to my lips to hide my grin, because when he makes little comments like that, it makes me think he’s flirting. But there’s no way someone like Pacey Lawes is flirting with me. He’s just a nice guy. Someone who goes out of their way to make you feel good. He admitted it himself—he’s good at reading people.

“So, you going to crack that door open a bit?” he asks as we both stare out at the mountains.

“What door?” I ask. “My bedroom door?”

“Nah, the door you’re hiding behind. You know enough about me, thanks to the Internet, but I know nothing about you. Don’t you think it’s fair that you give me a little something?”

“I don’t see how your celebrity status should hinder my ability to continue to be a mystery.”

He nudges my foot. “Humor me.”

“Why so interested, Pacey Lawes?”

He sighs and leans against his side of the chair. “Truth?”

“Always.” I smirk.

“Besides the fact that I’m genuinely curious about your adventure and I think you’re incredibly interesting, I just have this feeling I know you from somewhere and it’s driving me crazy.”

“You think you know me?” My hand falls to his leg as excitement bubbles up in me. “Oh my God, do you think we knew each other—”

“Please don’t say in another life.”

“—in another life,” I say.

He groans and sucks down a large gulp of his cider. “No. I don’t believe in that shit.”

“Seriously? You don’t think that we were secret agents in another life? Fighting crime and high-fiving once we solved the crime?”

He blinks a few times and then says, “Not even a little.”

“That’s upsetting.” I sip my cider. “But I will say I felt you were familiar, as well.”

“Really?”

I nod. “Yeah, your mannerisms seem familiar, but I can’t place it.”

He shifts in his seat. “Then, we should get to know each other. Maybe we can solve the mystery. Go ahead, tell me one thing you’re good at.”

“One thing?”

“Yeah, and then we’ll go from there.”

“Pushing your luck, Pacey.”

“We have a mystery to solve, so I’ll push as much as I replace necessary. Now stop avoiding, and give me the goods.”

I laugh. “Okay. Umm . . . one thing I’m good at . . . I would have to say I’m really good at Jenga.” I hold my hand out to him. “Steady hand. See?”

“Oh yeah? What makes you think you’re good at Jenga?”

“Umm, my winning record?”

“I see. Have you ever played a Jenga master?”

I turn toward him. “Are you calling yourself a Jenga master?”

“If the shoe fits.” He sips his cider again.

“Oh wow, okay, this needs to be settled.”

“One step ahead of you.” He stands from the egg seat and says, “Be right back.”

He sets his cider down and jogs back through the bushes. While I wait for him to come back, I pull my knees against my chest and stare out at the beautiful mountains. What is this insane life I’m living right now?

I’m sharing a moment with a complete stranger, and yet, it feels . . . right.

This all feels right, even though Katherine thinks I’ve lost my mind. None of this feels scary or as if something out of a horror film is going to happen.

Almost as if this was meant to be. All of this was meant to be. Now I just need to figure out why.

And Pacey is right—I think there is a connection between us, but we just can’t seem to figure it out.

Pacey reappears with a table and a box of Jenga blocks.

“Should I be worried?” I ask.

“If I were you, I would be.” He sets the table down and says, “I grabbed the box that has the questions on the blocks.”

“Questions?”

“Yup.” He preps the game. “On certain blocks, there are questions, and before you put it on top, you have to answer the question. If you choose not to answer, you have to repeat your turn.”

“Ooh brutal.” I get closer to the table and set my cider down in the grass. “I think I can handle it, though.”

“Can you? You’re going to have to crack that door open, you know?”

“For Jenga, for the title of Master Jenga-ist, I’ll do it.”

“Is that the proper term?” He chuckles. “Master Jenga-ist?”

“Yup,” I answer with confidence. Anyone will believe you if you have enough confidence in your answers. Tonight was a prime example of that.

“Uh-huh, just like Falcon is the name of the Mars Lander?”

I pick up my cider and tilt it at him. “Precisely.”

“Okay, Master Jenga-ist, you go first.” He gestures toward the tower and I go for the kill, the bottom of the tower, and I pull out the left block.

“Savage.” He shakes his head.

“I told you, I’m good.” I scan the block and see there’s a question. “Fuck, Chuck, Marry. Hornsby, Posey, Lawes.” I scrunch my nose and look up at Pacey, who has a huge grin spread across his face. “What is this?”

“A question,” he says. “And did I mention, the first question always has to be answered?”

“That’s not the—”

He holds an index card up to me that states the rules of the game the boys obviously made up, and right there, the number one rule is the first question always has to be answered.

“Now, you can forfeit right now and I can claim the title, or you can answer—”

“Marry Posey.” I tap my chin and think about the question. There’s no way I’m going to let him win that easily. Knowing it will grate on Pacey’s nerves, I finish, “Fuck Hornsby and chuck Lawes. Easy.” I plop the brick on top and lean back in the chair while grinning at him.

He clutches his heart. “After everything we’ve been through, you’d chuck me? That’s brutal, Winnie. Really fucking brutal.” He reaches for a block as I try to hide my laugh. He pulls it out with ease and then places it on top.

“Hey, don’t you have to answer a question?”

“There wasn’t a question on that block.” He picks it up and shows me. “Only some of them have questions.”

“Oh, so I was the lucky one who pulled the ‘fuck, chuck, or marry’ block?”

“Incredibly lucky . . . even though you didn’t answer it truthfully.” He smirks.

“And how do you think I should’ve answered it?”

He brings his drink to his lips and says, “We both know you’d chuck Hornsby.”

Yup.

We both know it.

“Isn’t Horny the perfect guy to fuck, though?”

Pacey nearly spits out his drink when he laughs. “I guess so.”

Pleased with myself, I grab another block, this one on the bottom right so the tower is left teetering on one block. I like to start the game off with a real challenge. I flip it over and replace writing. “Apparently, I only know how to pick blocks with questions.”

“Just the way I like it,” Pacey says.

“Okay, what’s your favorite . . .” I trail off and look up at Pacey.

“What?” he asks, even though the humor in his eyes gives him away.

“What’s the theme of these blocks?”

“No theme, just questions the guys and I came up with.”

“And you play this with each other?”

“Yup,” he answers casually.

“So, you answer what your favorite body part is of the person across from you?”

“Easily.” He grins.

“I don’t believe you.”

He shifts in the chair and says, “Fuck, chuck, or marry—I would fuck myself, marry Posey, chuck Hornsby. Last time we played this, I sat across from Holmes. I told him my favorite body part of his were his thighs. Titans in jeans, thick as hell.” He wiggles his brows and then leans back again. “No shame in playing with the boys. Now, do you have any other complaints?”

I pause and then ask, “You’d fuck yourself?”

“Usually the only kind of love I get, so yeah. Stick with what’s working.”

I snort and then cover my nose.

“What’s so funny?” he asks.

“I’m sorry.” I wipe at my nose. “I just wasn’t expecting you to say that.”

“What did you expect? Oh wait, that’s right—you assumed I was the manwhore of the group.” He picks a piece of lint off his shorts. “Can’t always judge a book by its cover, Winnie.”

“Apparently not. Well, that’s, uh, interesting. I hope you’re gentle with yourself. Kind.”

He chuckles. “I’m always gentle, but commanding.”

I laugh out loud. “Oh God, my mind is reeling right now and it shouldn’t.”

“Do tell what it’s thinking.” He takes another sip of his drink and leans against his side of the chair so he’s facing me, and it’s hard not to fall under his spell. His easygoing, open spell. It feels so normal talking to him. Simple. I don’t have to try, it just flows, and all the credit goes to Pacey, because he makes me feel comfortable. Not sure I’d feel this way with any of the other guys in the house.

“No way. I’m not sharing the thoughts in my head.”

“So, then they must be really good.”

“It’s humiliating.” I clear my throat and then stare down at my block. “Okay, this game needs to move along. My, uh, favorite body part of yours?” I glance up at him, and it’s a no-brainer for me. “Your eyes.” I place the block on the top of the pile and wait for him to say something, to tease me over my answer, but he doesn’t. Instead, he takes his turn and picks up a block.

He twirls it in front of me, showing it doesn’t have a question on it, and then places it on top of the tower.

“How on earth are you doing that?”

“Luck.”

Sighing, I reach for another block, wiggle it out, and then see once again there’s writing. “Seriously? What’s this one going to be?” I scan the text and cringe. “I think I’m skipping this one.”

“Come on, what does it say?”

“It says to pick your favorite player and give them a hug. Is that something you guys really do?”

“Hell yeah. Never too cool to hug a bro.” He spreads his arms wide. “Don’t be shy. Come on in here.”

Why is this so easy for him?

And why am I making a big deal about this?

You can hug Pacey Lawes.

Max would be climbing Pacey if he were in my position right now.

Why did I come on this trip? To let go, to be free. To grow.

Well, here’s my moment. I can either hold back and hang on to that shy persona, or I can let go and just enjoy the ride.

I put the block on top of the tower and then lean in and wrap my arms around Pacey. The first thing I notice is just how much bigger he is than me. The second thing I notice is how rock-hard his back is. Strong, stiff—there’s not one ounce of cushion. The third thing I notice is how freaking good he smells—all man, delicious.

And the fourth thing I notice—just how amazing it feels to have someone hug me like he is. Warm, consuming arms wrap around me. I feel protected, safe, cared for. And it’s silly to say something like that—I’ve known the man for twenty-four hours—but the way Pacey is holding me feels just like that—protective. But that doesn’t surprise me. His career is based on protection—protecting the goal, making sure he keeps his team on top—so why wouldn’t his hugs have the same feeling?

When I release him and pull away, he says, “Damn, you give good hugs.”

I place my hands in my lap and just smile.

“Not going to return the compliment?” he asks, picking up a block and showing me once again there’s no question.

“You’re good at hugging, too,” I say as my cheeks light up.

And there I go, crawling back into the shy-girl persona again. But who wouldn’t? I just hugged the most gorgeous man I’ve ever seen.

“YOU’RE SCREWED,” Pacey says as I continue to wiggle a block from the tower. I’m pretty sure this is the tallest, longest game of Jenga I’ve ever played. And guess who has answered most of the questions? Me.

Luckily, they haven’t been too terrible. I did stumble over what my ideal date with one of the players would be because playing with just Pacey made it all about him. I went with a stupid answer, saying Jenga in the backyard with cider, which then sparked Pacey to tease me about what we were doing right now and if it was a date. My cheeks didn’t stand a chance.

“The commentary is not welcome,” I say, the block held in by just the corner now.

“Whoa, whoaaaa.”

I lift up and give him an evil glare that makes him laugh out loud.

“Seriously, you need to stop, you’re wrecking my concentration.” I hold my breath and then yank the last corner out. The tower wobbles for a few seconds and I wince, praying it stays up. When it doesn’t fall over, I take a breath and then flip the block over.

Question.

Because why not?

“What does it say?” He has a huge grin on his face.

“Why are you smiling like that?”

“Like what?” he asks.

“Like you know what it says on this block.”

“Because I do know what it says on that block. It’s the only one left we haven’t answered.”

“Am I going to have to kiss you?” I ask, because we’ve had to hug and hold hands at this point, so kissing would obviously be the next step.

“Nah, there are no kissing blocks. Lips are sacred to us.”

I laugh at that, thinking about how these men made these blocks but kept kissing off the table because “lips are sacred.”

We’re three ciders in at this point and I’m feeling a little funny, not drunk by any means, but good, and I think Pacey is feeling the same way. When we needed new drinks, we both had to go to the kitchen together to get them, because we didn’t trust each other to not mess with the tower. Mainly, he didn’t trust me since I kept getting frustrated about the questions.

“But kissing me wouldn’t be a hardship, you know. I’m a pretty good kisser.” Pacey motions to his lips. “I use lip balm daily. These puppies are soft.”

“I use lip balm daily, too,” I say with excitement, as if we just connected on a much deeper level.

“I could tell. Your lips look soft.”

“You looked at my lips?” I ask, my nose scrunching up.

“They’re on your face, aren’t they?”

“Last time I checked,” I answer.

“Then, yes, I looked at your lips.”

I nod. “Checks out.” I stare down at the block, but I can feel his eyes on me, so I glance in his direction and ask, “What?”

“You have a nice smile, too. Posey’s is pretty damn good, but you give him a run for his money.”

I tilt my head to the side and realize my lips are feeling really loose because I ask, “Are you flirting with me, Pacey?”

“Has it not been obvious?” He pushes his hand through his unruly hair. “I need to work on my game.”

Oh God, he is flirting. Even with my brain feeling semi-foggy, I’m having a hard time believing it. I mean, I don’t feel like I lack self-confidence. I think in a real-life situation—not in a got-lost-in-the-woods-and-stumbled-into-a-house-full-of-hockey-players situation—I’m a solid seven. I have a nice face. I like my hair. I could benefit from working out some, but I haven’t had time the past two or so years. So, a seven seems like a good number. But insert me into the alternate reality I’m currently living in, a reality where I share a house with a bunch of men who don’t even fit on the ten-out-of-ten scale—they’re the men you make a new scale for—I’m easily a four.

I don’t stand a chance. And that’s not me being a Debbie Downer, that’s me speaking the cold, honest truth.

So I can’t imagine a time when someone like Pacey Lawes, a man with such corded forearms that it’s my new favorite pastime to watch them fire off while he grips his drink, would even consider flirting with me.

“I doubt you have to work on your flirting, Pacey.”

“Why?” he asks.

Is he really that oblivious?

“Uh, you know, because you’re this hot hockey player and I’m just a plain Jane that stumbled temporarily into your life.”

Pacey’s eyes narrow and the side of his jaw ticks. “You think you’re a plain Jane?”

I wave my hand at him. “Not looking for any half-hearted compliments, here. Just forget what I said. I have a question to answer.” I look down at the question and read it out loud. “‘Show your favorite sexual position with the person across from you . . .’” Oh, Jesus, Mary, and Joseph.

When I peek up at Pacey, he still has that disgruntled look on his face but he’s setting down his almost empty bottle of cider.

“How do you want me?”

I hold the block up. “You think I’m going to do this?”

His eyes fall on the teetering tower and then back at me. “If you don’t answer, you have to go again, which will most likely guarantee you the loss. Are you willing to lose over a question?”

I’m not.

If anything, I’m competitive and I like knowing that I could be the Jenga Master, especially after the game I’ve had. There has been taunting, roadblock questions, and doubting of my abilities. He’s right, if I go again, there’s a high chance I won’t be able to make it through alive.

But perform my favorite sex position on Pacey? That takes the cake for embarrassing, because, well . . .

“I, uh, I only really know two,” I admit, wanting to be swallowed whole from the confession.

“What do you mean, you know two?”

“Two sex positions,” I say, and when my eyes meet his, I watch them turn soft with understanding.

Gently, he asks, “Well, then which was your favorite of the two?”

Confused, I ask, “You’re not going to make fun of me?”

“Why would I make fun of you for that? Everyone has a favorite or two, hence the question. But from the way your shoulders turned in, I’m guessing it’s a sensitive topic for you, so of course I won’t make fun of you.”

“I’ve only been with one guy,” I say. The cider really has loosened up my lips. “He was my first true love, just like Silas and his girl. We were each other’s firsts. I think he wasn’t quite sure what to do with me, so we only stuck to two things that worked for him.”

“Worked for him?” Pacey asks, brow lifted. “What do you mean worked for him?”

“That got him off.”

“And what about you?”

I shrug. “It didn’t matter. I just wanted to make sure he was happy.”

Pacey sits straight up now. “It sure as fuck does matter.” He must check himself because, he calms his voice and asks, “Have you ever had an orgasm?”

I think about it. “I mean . . . I think so.”

“Winnie, you’d know if you orgasmed, if it actually happened.”

“It didn’t really matter, because we were in love, so I just loved being with him, you know?”

I can see his mind racing in the way his eyes connect with mine. I wouldn’t say he’s judging me, because he’s proven to not be that kind of man, but I do believe he’s confused and doesn’t quite know what to say.

“Anyway,” I set the block on the tower and say, “I’m just going to lie down and you can lie on top of me, for missionary.”

I get down on the grass and lie stiff as a board, shocked that I’m actually doing this for the game. Do the guys do this when they play? Surely not . . . Pacey doesn’t move. He’s looking off into the woods, as if contemplating what he should do next.

“What are you doing?” I ask.

“Nothing.” He shakes his head and then stands from the chair. Standing above me, he asks, “If missionary is your favorite, what was the other position you did?”

“Um, when I was on top. But I never liked that because I always felt silly. Josh never let me stay on top for long, so I thought that maybe he didn’t like me up there, even though it felt better for me. I guess it made me feel self-conscious after a while.”

Stunned, Pacey stares at me and blinks a few times. Almost as if he just realized something, as if a lightbulb went off in his head.

“Josh—that was your boyfriend?”

“Yeah.”

He pauses again, his eyes diverted, as though he’s trying to solve a math equation. When I’m about to ask him if everything is okay, Pacey mutters something under his breath and then gets down on the ground. He stares at me for a second before his hand slides up my thigh, and from that little touch, more excitement races through my veins than Josh ever gave me. With his eyes connected to mine, he spreads my leg open, causing me to catch my breath.

Oh God, what is happening?

“Do you, uh, do this with the guys?” I ask, trying to ease the heat that’s building between us.

Pacey doesn’t say anything, but instead pushes my other leg open so I’m completely spread for him.

A dull throb begins to pulse between my legs. I’m turned on.

Just like that.

Completely clothed.

Nothing but legs spread in the grass.

And I’m turned on more than I can ever remember being.

I swallow hard as he leans forward, placing his hands on either side of my shoulders, and then he lowers his pelvis to mine.

“This is how you liked it?” he whispers.

This wasn’t how it was.

Not even close.

Josh wouldn’t hover above me like this, but instead just bury his head on my shoulder and pulse in and out. He never intensely stared at me or even spoke to me.

Maybe that’s what the problem was—we were missing the actual connection.

“Uh, it was a little different.”

“How?” Pacey asks as his pelvis connects with me, and oh . . . my . . . God. That’s his bulge.

That’s a big bulge.

That’s . . . wow. Josh was big, but this seems more intense.

“How is it different, Winnie?” he asks, his voice soft, ready to listen.

Everything is different.

His body is different. More commanding, more in charge.

His voice sends a wave of heat through my veins every time he speaks.

His eyes never leave mine, not even for a second.

He’s in the moment with me, rather than acting as if it’s some sort of chore. A box on a checklist.

“You’re, uh, bigger than him,” I answer.

“In what way?”

I should’ve seen that coming.

His pelvis slightly moves against mine. My limbs start to tingle and I realize, if he keeps doing this, if he keeps rocking gently, he could turn me into a puddle of desire. Right here, right now, I’m feeling so much more than I ever felt with Josh. It actually feels as if my insides are all pulling to the center of my body, wanting to feel what it’s like to have him pulse inside me.

“Answer the question, Winnie.”

I swallow hard. “Um, in every way.”

“Lawes, you back here?”

Oh shit.

Pacey pushes off me just as Levi rounds the corner, catching us on the ground, fumbling to get away from each other. In the midst of our fumbling, my leg swings out, kicks the table, and the tower comes crashing down in a heap of wood.

Blocks tumble.

We scramble.

And the entire scene could not be more obvious.

“Uh, what’s going on here?” Levi asks with that handsome smile of his. He’s far too entertained by what he just walked in on.

Pacey stands from the ground and then offers his hand to me to help pull me up. I take it, because what’s the point of not? We were obviously doing something we shouldn’t have been doing. Or should we have been doing it? We’re adults, but we’re also adults who barely know each other.

“I don’t know the etiquette,” I say out of sheer defense.

Wait . . . did I say that out loud?

“The etiquette for what?” Levi asks.

“Uh, Jenga. He said I had to answer the questions.” I point at Pacey.

“Oh, I see. Did you get the sex position block?” I nod and Levi continues, “I got that once. I had to do Hornsby doggy style. I think he enjoyed it way too much. And if you’re worried about etiquette, then, yes, you’re supposed to do what the block says unless you want another turn.” He looks back at our tower. “But seems as if the game is over.”

“Yeah, sure is.” I take a step away. “Well, thanks for a great game, chum.” I pat Pacey on the shoulder and grab the empty cider bottles. “I’ll just take these to the kitchen and then hit the hay.” I pretend to yawn, even though my body is wired. “Got to get that sleep. Never know what tomorrow will bring.” I look up to the sky. “And hey, it never started raining—” A drop hits my head, and then another, and then it starts to come down. “Spoke too soon.”

And then I take off toward the house, embarrassment consuming me.

No more cider for me. That’s for sure. And Jenga too.