“That makes it sound like I'm a murderer,” he said, smirking. His hands discovered the small of my back, and began to knead my lower muscles. Of their own accord, my lips parted with pleasure.

“Aren't you? A lady-killer?”

“Boo. Don't quit your day job.”

“Don't you quit your day job. This whole Prince Eric thing won't last forever, you know. I sure hope they're teaching you some marketable skills at this school.”

He cocked his head and arched an eyebrow. The hands continued to drift, slowly, slowly, until they found my hips. Then he began to shift from foot to foot, pulling me into a sway. I realized we could still hear the strained sound of the sunshine song from two floors below. My stomach flipped. This was happening.

“It's not really fair,” he said, bending toward me again. “You know who I am, but I don't know who you are.” Hands on the curve of my ass. Hands pressing further, coming to rest on my cheeks, beginning to massage the crease where my thighs met my legs.

“Who do you think I am?” I whispered. Our faces had become close during the half-assed dance. He spoke the next words into the damp crook of my neck. I felt drunk, but I wasn't. The whole evening had already taken on the ethereal quality of something half-remembered from a dream.

“I think you are a girl...who doesn't do this kind of thing so often.” The tickle of his words on my bare skin sent a fierce jolt down my spine. I became aware of a pulse in my groin. My heart beat fast. “And you're a girl...who's beautiful. But maybe doesn't realize it.”

“And you're a boy who knows how to work it.”

He pulled back from me, holding my waist at arm's length. I watched him watch me, drink me in from tip to toe. I wasn't afraid. But before I'd quite articulated the want, he'd pressed himself close to my face. One hand slid up my back, and buried itself in the thatch of my ratty black and purple hair. He peeled me away from him slightly, tugging on my tresses, then swan dove onto my mouth.

His lips were soft but needy; they mashed against mine with furious intent. When I allowed my eyes to flicker open I saw that his gaze continued to probe me, unashamed. I let out a soft moan, and sank further backward into his hold.

When he resurfaced, I started to laugh again. It was just too bizarre not to. I doubled over, inelegant, and rested my palms on my knees. In another second I realized that this stance afforded him a prime look at my low swinging cleavage, so I righted myself.

“I'm not a boy, you know,” he said, pushing his hair back from his eyes. He took a big step toward me, invading my space once more. This time I held my face away, even though I desperately wanted to feel his lips again. He noted my movements and placed two comforting hands up in space, as if to say, 'Don't worry'—but then his eyes narrowed.

“Sweetheart, I'm a man. And when I take you for real, you won't be able to move after. You won't be able to speak. I will make you liquid with wanting me. I will suck you dry and fuck you senseless.”

I swallowed. In a wave, my hot center was slick. I swayed on my heels. This time when he advanced on me, I let the perfect stranger kiss me for a long, luxurious while. His arms flitted about my ribcage, unsure where to settle. I felt his erection straining through his pants, and slid my palm up against it, surprised at its girth.

Below us, another song ended—to the apparent distress of the other partygoers. We broke apart. My lips felt raw, but I was starving for more. And at the same time, I was furious.

“You shouldn't fucking talk to strangers like that,” I said, swatting him away. Turning my back, I let my eyes shift over the ragged skyline of my newest hometown. So far, Austin seemed like plenty of other places in the Southwest: hot and Spartan, with occasional pockets of culture. I'd been moving all my life, and never made attachments a priority. As sexy as this mystery dalliance was, I wasn't about to change my policy now.

He came to stand beside me, keeping a respectful distance. We didn't look at one another.

“I'm sorry,” he said sincerely, after the clattering in my heart had begun to die down of its own accord. All I had to do to stay abreast of the spell was not look at him, or any part of his perfect body. We'd had our fun. “I didn't mean to—I mean, I did—I felt something strange back there, is all.”

“And you always follow your impulses.”

“Most of them, yes.” He inched closer.

“I don't know who you are, you know,” I said, having regained some composure. “You probably just have one of those faces.” I extracted a Virginia Slim from the shiny silver case in my jean pocket, and pointed its earthy end in the direction of the skyline. In a single fluid gesture, he removed a Zippo from some interior fold in his vintage letterman jacket and lit me as I pulled.

“You shouldn't smoke.” That's when I saw it again—the familiar glint, in his eyes. The electric jolt that had made me recognize him from across a room at a frat party. I had this uncanny sensation that he was both an illusion and someone I'd known for years.

“Okay, who are you, actually? Some townie hotshot? Cause I could care less.” To prove myself, I blew a long stream of smoke in his face. He didn't waver, but his eyes implored me. Then his gaze shifted. His beautiful, dark eyes became...quizzical.

“You're serious, aren't you?”

“Are you an actor or something? Because my Mom has dated actors. Actors are the worst.”

“Hmm. This is interesting.”

“Are you...a...cowboy?” The iPod cranked up again, emitting another fey dance song. This was one I recognized, by the Scissor Sisters. I realized I was holding my breath.

“How about this? If you hang with me tonight, I'll tell you my name when I drop you home.”

“All tonight?”

“All tonight. It's a party, isn't it?”

I laughed. When he loped towards me again, it was in a companionable way. I decided to stop asking questions, and just give in. He wrapped his arms around my midriff and gazed at glittering Austin, placing his perfect chin on my shoulder. He pressed his lips lightly along my collarbone, and I pressed my ass into his rigid crotch in return. I giggled again. I felt electric with possibility, just staying in space with him.

“Attention must be paid, you know,” he murmured, his lips tickling the side of my cheek. I giggled. The faintest echo of stubble ran along the underside of his superhero chin. “This kind of thing doesn't happen every day.”

“I actually think strangers do make out at parties every day. That's kinda why parties exist.”

“This isn't that,” he said. His fingers splayed around my stomach. I sank into the touch and said nothing, not wanting to admit that he was right.

If this is college, I thought to myself as he rocked us into a lull, then bring it on.

Chapter Two

Landon

Denny's got the kind of voice you can hear from across busy intersections—like, he'll say hello like he's yelling at you over tarmac. So when I heard my name in that thundering call, I grabbed her hand and pulled her towards the ladder. Her hand felt crazy tiny in mine. I'd already done a weird thing and named her in my head: Doll. Not because she looked especially like one or because she was stiff and creepy, but because there was something almost untouchably beautiful about her face, and also something that reminded me of being young. But for the smoking and the effect and those massive, perfect tits, you could have pinned her at twenty—but I'd never minded a younger girl. Which was probably some seedy shit I'd inherited from the old man.