“Wanna play a game?” I raise a brow. “A drinking game?”

She nods, smiling, gazing at me from across the table. The party is loud and chaotic, but we may as well be the only ones here.

I shuffle the deck and go over the rules, a simple game of War, modified for drinking. By the time we get through the first shuffle, we need more beers. Three rounds later, and we’re both buzzing. The room’s a little off-kilter, and I feel a stupid smile on my face that won’t go away no matter how hard I try.

“Hey, what’s your name?” A drunk guy stumbles into the kitchen to grab another drink, his gaze fixed on Waverly. “I’m Jared.”

“I’m Liberty’s cousin,” she says, forgoing her name.

Smart girl.

I stack the deck of cards. “And I’m Liberty’s cousin’s boyfriend.”

She doesn’t shoot me a look or make a face. She owns it just as much as I do.

“Let’s get some fresh air.” I rise up and nod toward the balcony slider, and she follows.

We slip outside to a humble balcony with an iron railing, a grill, and a couple of plastic chairs with a blanket thrown over the back of one. A soft summer breeze whips her hair across her face.

“Hope this is better than Zion’s pathetic excuse for a dance.”

She turns to me, her creamy skin glowing against the moonlight. “This is perfect, Jensen. Really.”

My palms glide up and down her arms, warming her up and pulling her into my space. The scent of her shampoo is sharp against the tepid air, and it fills my lungs with each breath. Twinkling stars dotting a midnight sky is a million times better than pastel fucking pseudo-prom decorations.

“School starts in a month,” she says, pressing her cheek against my chest. Her arms slip under mine. Her father doesn’t know it yet, but she’s leaving the nest matter what. I’ll see to it personally, if I have to. They’re set to talk about college again next week, but something tells me he hasn’t changed his mind. “And then what happens?”

“I go to L.A.” I rest my chin on top of her head. “And you come with me.”

She’s silent.

“Because fuck if I can imagine walking away from you and never looking back.” It’s the closest thing to “I love you” I’ve ever said in my entire life.

Waverly lifts her face to mine, our mouths hanging in limbo as our eyes catch. “You know that’s not realistic.”

“Disagree.”

“I have a scholarship to Utah. I should go there.” Her eyes search mine, but for what, I’m not sure.

“Mark’s not going to let you,” I say. “You know that. He’s wants you to get married. You’re safer running off with me.”

She rakes her fingers through her hair. “I’ve been walking a straight line all summer. Going above and beyond. I’ve proven myself to him. He can’t deny it. He said we could talk about it next week. That’s a good sign.”

“I don’t trust him.” I unclench my fist long enough to brush the hair from her eyes. “He’s been too… happy lately. He’s been laying low. Off your case. It’s not like him. Something’s up.”

“You’re just being paranoid.”

I shake my head. “I’m telling you, something’s up.”

“He hasn’t brought up the arranged marriage thing since that night with Bruce Waterman.” She says it like it’s a good thing, but that’s what concerns me. “Maybe he’s changed his mind?”

“Okay, so let’s say he lets you go,” I say. “You don’t think when you’re all finished with school, he’s not going to try to marry you off to some polygamous asshole? I’m sure he’s been saving up your dowry since you were barely out of diapers.”

“We don’t do dowries.” She fights a smile. “If he lets me go away for school, that means he trusts my judgment. If he trusts my judgment, he’ll let me pick my own husband.”

“Do you realize how completely and utterly idiotic this conversation is right now? It’s not normal.”

“Nothing about my life has ever been normal, Jensen.” I pick up on the despondent quiver in her voice, getting the distinct urge to quell it with a kiss before the waterworks start. I press my lips against hers, lingering for a moment. “Still think you should come with me to L.A. I’ll take care of you, but, you know, not in the husband sort of way. More like the sexual sort of way.”

She slaps my chest with her fist and smiles. “Let’s just enjoy what we have right now, okay? A few more weeks of this.”

“And then what?”

She shrugs. “I don’t know. I’m not your girlfriend; you’re not my boyfriend. It’s not like we’ll be breaking up.”

But it is. It’s exactly like that.

“Besides,” she adds, “we couldn’t be together, even if we wanted. We’re family.”

“Fuck, Waverly, you still believe all that eternally sealed bullshit?” My body heats, I feel her slipping away. “It’s not real. None of it. You know what is real?”

I press my mouth against hers once more, claiming her for what might be the very last time. With beer and rebellion on our tongues, our lips fuse. My hands cup her face, hungrily, refusing to let her go until I’m good and ready.

“That,” I say, coming up for air. “That’s fucking real. You feel that?”

Her lips are swollen, her eyes big. “You’re kissing me like you love me, or something.”

“Maybe I might.”

“That’s awfully romantic.” She rolls her eyes. “Can’t even commit to how you feel, but you expect me to run away with you.”

“I’ve never said those words to anyone. It’s not easy for me.”

“I’m not asking you to say them, I’m just asking you to make up your mind. Either you do or you don’t. Don’t tell me you might. That’s insulting.”

My hands slide down to the indentation above her hips. “So you’d run away with me if I told you that I…”

I can’t say it. There’s not a lot in this world that truly terrifies me. I’ve been beaten, neglected, abused emotionally and physically, but those three tiny words are more powerful than anything I’ve ever experienced.

“I don’t know,” she says. “I don’t think you’ll ever say it, so I won’t get my hopes up.”

“You’re hopeful that I—”

She folds her arms. “Yeah. I am. I hope you’ll tell me you’ll love me because then I’ll know all this fooling around, all the back and forth, all of it was for a reason greater than either one of us ever realized.”

“Do you…?”

“Yes,” she says, like it’s no big deal, like it’s something she accepted a long time ago. “I love you.”

I can’t remember the last time anyone ever told me that. Perhaps it was a grandparent or an aunt when I was little, and I’m sure it was written in a birthday card. But I’d never heard those words, spoken to me, out loud. Warmth threads my veins.

The feeling is mutual, and the words are on the tip of my tongue. “These last few months have been the best months of my life.”

“Mine too.” She stands on her toes, lifting her mouth to mine.

I have to have her—now. It’s not carnal; it’s a craving much deeper. My cock swells from her kiss, enhanced from the way her body is pressed against mine. I reach for her pants, unbuckling her jeans and then mine.

“What are you doing?” Her voice is breathless as she pulls from my mouth.

I pull a condom from my wallet and sheath myself before taking a seat on one of the plastic chairs. Waverly climbs onto my lap, lowering herself into me. Her hips rock and circle, her head tilts backward. I grip her hips, guiding her up and down. She’s so fucking tight, her muscles clenching around me with each fluid movement.

There’s an intimate sensuality in her eyes I’ve never seen before, I recognize it the second our eyes meet. And the warmth threading through my veins? That must be what love feels like.

She moans, louder than ever, celebrating the fact that we don’t have to muffle ourselves here because the party inside drowns out our passionate sounds. And then she calls my name, gripping my shoulders as she rocks back and forth. She runs her tongue along the length of her bottom lip, her eyes shut tight.