That question doesn’t make me angry. Actually, it makes me curious.

There are many things in this life that I haven’t experienced. Innocent things like the type of affection that Gary and Linda Dailey share, but other things, too. The kind of things that make me reconsider the intensity of Dylan’s eyes on mine.

My instincts scream for me to run, but all I can do is press against the closed car door.

“I’m not talking about a peck on the cheek, Reed,” he says, his voice gravelly. “I’m talking about letting go of everything, completely and thoroughly.”

The air around us somehow changes with his tone.

It’s like I’m watching him again on the track preparing to sprint. He’s deliberate in even the slightest of movement. His chin tilts slightly downward. His chest expands.

He’s using every piece of himself to get my attention, and it’s working.

My palms press against the smooth exterior of his car. I’m frozen, hanging on every single word he says.

“Have you ever been so lost in someone else that you nearly forget yourself?”

I swallow. The sound is loud in my ears. He’s so close now; I wonder if it is in his, too.

My encyclopedic mind can’t recall being on the receiving end of this type of look, like I’m staring down the barrel of a loaded gun. He has his hand on the grip, waiting to see if I’m brave enough to pull the trigger or if I’ll insist on flipping the safety.

“Everything ceases to exist except the warmth and the friction…” He trails off.

My heart pounds in my chest as he puts one hand on my hip and moves the other up, twisting his fingertips in the curls that he has ridiculed for years.

His hands are rough, not in texture, but in movement.

I gasp when he tugs at me, but as he leans downward, I’m the one who closes the gap between us.

I’ve seen his lips pulled into a hard sneer more times than I can count, so I’m surprised that they’re soft and warm when pressed against mine. I don’t get to appreciate the sensation for long, though, because I drown in everything else when he kisses me back.

He’s greedy and relentless in his kiss, like I’m withholding something that he so desperately wants, even though I’m matching his pace.

Any worry or nervousness that surfaces about his infinitely more experience is pushed away when I hear the low moan in his throat and he presses even harder against me. I lock my arms around his neck and hold on for the ride.

His mouth moves briefly from my mouth to kiss at my neck. I inhale gulps of cold air, but the shiver that goes through me is all because of him.

Just as I’m falling deeper into it, he cruelly withdraws himself.

“And that’s how it’s done,” he sneers.

I blink rapidly, taking in his almost inhuman coldness.

I’m not even hurt that I’ve so clearly failed whatever lesson he wants to teach me. I just don’t understand how someone kisses like that and feels nothing.

Surely even he can’t be this heartless.

My shaking hand touches his stomach, feeling the hard lines of muscles beneath his button down, and I drag my fingers up to his chest.

His heart pounds, just like mine. You can fake a lot of things in life, but I don’t think that’s one of them.

At first glance, he seems appalled by my touch, but his eyes soften.

Something deep in my brain clicks.

He doesn't know how to accept affection.

I’m so full of emotion that it drives almost every single thing I do in life, but Dylan’s calculated in a different way. We both have deep faults, but I’ve experienced tenderness many times in my life.

Has Dylan ever held someone’s hand just because? Or been hugged in excitement?

Given what I know about his personality and the way he handles his friendships and relationships, I can’t picture it.

But he should experience it.

Just like he decided I should know what it feels like to be manipulated by someone in complete control, I’m going to show him what it’s like to be adored without strings attached.

He watches my hand as I move it from his chest up to his collar, but when I trace my thumb along the hard line of his jaw, then the little scar I’m responsible for on his cheek, his eyes bore into mine.

Somehow, out of everything we just did, this feels the most intimate.

Dylan Archer’s tongue was just in my mouth, but the caress of one of my fingers on his bottom lip is something he has to feel with his eyes open.

I think he’s too shocked to do anything other than let me kiss him again.

So I do it.

I move slowly on purpose, wanting to be slow and gentle in contrast to the bruising kiss he pressed against my lips.

It’s a completely different kiss, but once we get going, it’s hard to stop.

The passion is like a punch in the gut. I’m trying to defend myself against it, but it still breaks through. My entire body feels the repercussions of it.

I hope he feels that way, too.

As if he’s responding to my inner monologue, he moves my forearms to his shoulder, granting himself unobstructed access to wrap his arms around my waist. I’m pulled up on my toes and crushed into his chest.

And it’s good.

Too good, actually, considering that we’re in a crowded parking lot, and it’s not even completely dark outside yet. I remember where we are, what we’re doing, and who exactly we both are.

I deliberately slow the pace to a stop.

My eyes open.

I’m breathless, but he’s something else entirely.

Out of all the books and words contained in my brain, I don’t have one that perfectly describes Dylan Archer at this moment. In fact, all descriptions seem inadequate.

“I-I’m.” I don’t know what I’m trying to stutter out, but he finally releases his hold on me.

He steps back and just observes my state, as if he needs some explanation for whatever just happened.

I feel disheveled from head to toe, but I’m pretty sure the only indicators of what just happened between us are my swollen lips and pounding heart.

Without a word, he digs his keys out of his pocket and unlocks the doors. We get in, then we sit in silence for a beat.

I’m complicit in what just happened, but I’m also stunned and unable to come up with anything to say next.

He turns the key and throws the gear in reverse to high-tail it out of the spot, but just as fast as he started, he stops. He slams on the brakes hard enough that the seat belt cuts into my neck.

I look over my shoulder to see the slow-moving throng of our classmates wander to their respective cars.

They don’t recognize Dylan’s SUV, and it’s not light enough outside anymore where they can pick us out from the front seats.

There’s a tall light in the parking lot that casts a spotlight on each person as they walk past. When Lyla and James walk by holding hands, I force my gaze away, turning back to the front windshield.

The burn of betrayal is still palpable in my throat, but I already know that I’m going to give James the opportunity to explain himself.

He gets off easy, but it’s me and Dylan who have it tough.

I clear my throat. “You’re taking me back to my car?” I ask.

“Yep,” he says simply.

I turn, realizing he’s been watching me.