For the first time in days, the thought of Landon's boyish grin suddenly made my heart sink. What could we do? What could we be? And at what cost, all of this?

Derby's seemed even less crowded than I remembered (what was it? Two weeks ago? Time was doing its funky thing again....)—but a dark, lonesome bar suited me just fine. It was uncharacteristically chilly in the parking lot, as I shifted foot to foot, waiting for lover boy.

I hadn't decided what I would say when Landon finally showed his shaggy head, but I knew what wasn't going to fly: sad karaoke. Make-outs. Sweet nothings. Oh, no, no. We needed to have a serious, conscious conversation about what our little thing was going to look like. Even if I'd been fighting off images of his perfect mouth all day long, we needed to talk shop. Because the thing was, I didn't know if I could go on lying to my mom about our relationship. But I also didn't know if Landon would be willing to wait for however much time it would take until we became an appropriate, palatable union in the eyes of everyone we loved.

To avoid temptation, I'd decided to dress the part of the serious student inquisitor. I wore black jeans and a long-sleeved paisley button-up, borrowed from one of Carson's mystery house-guests. My hair was tamed in a floral scarf. I tugged nervously at the ends of my shirt cuffs, hoping I didn't look so Mom-like he wouldn't recognize me. I hadn't smoked in weeks (sex was apparently a pretty good replacement for an oral fixation), but the urge to light up was strong. He made me nervous.

And at last, there he was—scooting around the bend in the Saab where it all began. I fought the urge to cry out a desperate hello when I saw him emerge from the driver's side. This turned out to be a good thing, because as Landon approached I saw that his face was as serious as I hoped mine was. I watched him slam the door. I watched him begin his athlete's lope toward me, muscles propelling him forward through space with the grace of a cheetah. I rehearsed my first words, in my head: Landon. We need to have a serious talk about this. I'm not sure we're being properly careful, considering how many people we could hurt.

When he caught my face under the buzzing fluorescent parking lot light, his eyes widened, and a smile spread across his face. I couldn't help it—I started grinning like an idiot, too. He flicked a stray strand of brown hair out of his face, where it had fallen over an eyebrow—his hair was getting longer. His muscles bulged out of a t-shirt, a bright blue number, painted with the Superman logo. Hell, if the shirt fits...

“Hey you,” he said, biting his lip. He took another step towards me, and I felt my plan start to collapse. I tilted my hips against his, so when we embraced I felt the whole of his lower body through his jeans. It was still shocking to me, how ripped he was.

“Hey yourself,” I murmured into his ear. Landon reached around and slapped me lightly, on the ass. I squeaked; he laughed. It was like our first meeting. I thought of the slick ice cube, chilling me down my spine. His impish face.

Fireflies began to glow around us in the lot, and the humidity had lifted with the setting sun. Landon flicked his head in the direction of Derby's entrance and raised his eyebrows. I fell into timid step behind him, and reached for his hand. I'm not sure this is a good idea, I was going to say. I think we need to take a step back and really...

Oh boy.

As I'd predicted from the lot, Derby's was pretty much empty. Blaine was bent low over the far end of the bar, playing quarters with an older dude in a flannel t-shirt. He looked like one of Carson's hippie friends. I let Landon grab us two Coors and lead me to a small cocktail table at the lip of the karaoke stage. The machines weren't turned on tonight. A thin riff of a honky-tonk song came in over the PA, but it wasn't loud enough to cover the few other conversations rattling around us.

For a second, we both eavesdropped on the motley, weekday UT crowd. In one far corner, two women bent their heads low in serious conversation. I saw that their fingers were entwined, and they kept gazing sweetly at one another. Love, I thought, suddenly. That's what it looks like. That's what he and I must look like. I yanked my gaze away before the couple caught me throwing them a doofy smile. I had the insane urge to stand up and wave at them, let them know I was in their little club, too.

Meanwhile, Landon was gazing at me. If anyone had been watching us in the darkness, I figured we would have looked like a perfectly normal couple having a perfectly normal evening. If only.

“Listen,” he began—then started chewing his lip. I realized then that he was as agitated as I was. “Baby. I've been thinking, these past few days. Seriously thinking.”

“About what? Is everything okay?”

“Well, not really. That's the thing. I'm just thinking about my Dad. And your Mom. And the football team, stupidly enough.” His brow was scrunched, in that half-endearing, half-scary way I recalled from the time he'd caught me snooping around in his room. I reached under the table and began to rub his knee.

“I think I know what you're going to say.”

“Really?!”

“I mean, I've been thinking about all that crap, too. Of course I have.” Oh, God. It was happening so fast. It was so easy, so obvious. We couldn't be together—there was too much shit in the way. And he agreed. Of course he agreed. We'd just been living on borrowed time. The silence that fell between us felt limp, hopeless. I felt my throat begin to close up. Don't cry, Ashleigh. Don't cry. Fuck. It was too late.

“But—I mean, it's just not fair!” I blurted. “I really like you, Landon. I mean, don't you like me? This is so good.”

He lifted his big hand off the table and gently cradled my face. His thumb brushed a tear aside.

“It is so good.” He held me there. I waited for the inevitable “but...”—but Landon's lips stayed closed. Across the room, the girls had started making out. Landon's eyes were taking on the intense character they assumed when we made love. I watched his chest begin to rise and fall in rapid motion. I felt my own pulse speed up, blood in my body seeming to spread and agitate under the scope of his hand, where his skin touched mine.

“Fuck,” he growled, bending low. “I want you. Oh, Ashleigh, I want you so fucking much.”

Without quite intending to, I let my hand wander farther up his thigh. I squeezed him, and the muscles flexed back with twice the force. I let out an involuntary coo, and then I made an executive decision.

“I'm going to the bathroom,” I murmured, tilting my face so I spoke directly into his ear. “There's a single stall at the end of the hallway. Join me in two.” Landon raised his eyebrows, and then his face cracked open. He started laughing softly. At first, I figured I'd read the situation entirely wrong—but it was then that I felt his grip on my face tighten, ever-so-slightly.

“I don't know if I can wait that long,” he grunted, before tilting back in his chair. He raised his glass of Coors and took a hearty swig. I rose slowly and turned toward the bathroom, half-hoping no one would notice me, half-hoping everyone would.

The stall at the far end of the hall was cramped and poorly-lit, but I didn't care. I peeled off my shirt first, then draped the horrible floral over the doorknob. My bare skin tingled in the grimy air. I waited, heart in my throat. I waited some more.

Landon took his sweet time in the corridor—I could tell by the weight of the footsteps that it was him marching towards me. Suddenly it was like the whole bar went quiet. I watched the door knob, breath coming out in raspy bursts. It creaked slowly.

The bathroom was lit by a single bare bulb in a cage, swinging from a frayed extension cord—this cast a blue, eerie light over the proceedings. He smiled at me, drank in my bare torso with his eyes. I leaned myself against the sink, an invitation.