“Are blankets to hide wandering hands?” I tease, configuring my hand in the shape of a deformed spider and use my fingers like legs to crawl up her arm.

“I hope so,” she whispers.

I work to stifle my laugh as I shake my head at her.

“Mister pink peonies? God, seriously, I hope he rips your clothes off. Better yet, I hope you rip his clothes off.”

“Kendall!” I whisper, glancing back at the stairs to make sure Max hasn’t reappeared.

“What? Max is hot, and I have a feeling he’ll make sure you’re well taken care of.”

“Is this really the advice I’m going to get from my big sister?” I ask, not able to hold back the laugh that is half because I think she may be right, and half due to the embarrassment spreading through me like wildfire.

She rolls her eyes in return. “Enjoy it. He likes you, you like him! We’ll sit up front so you don’t feel like we’re watching.” She winks and then turns, slapping my butt.

“That kind of just turned me on,” Jameson admits, looking a bit dazed as he stares between us. I roll my eyes, tossing a throw pillow at his head as Max reappears, carrying an armful of blankets.

Making good on her word, Kendall grabs a blanket from Max’s arms and heads to the first couch, where they plop down in a heap with Kendall already giggling and shrieking.

I don’t know if Max senses my nerves. If he does, he attempts to vanquish them by grabbing a blanket and my hand and tugs me to the last couch pulling me down beside him. He casually drapes the blanket over our laps and stretches his arm over my shoulders so I’m a bit closer to his side.

The movie’s been playing at least thirty minutes before I realize I haven’t been paying attention to it. I honestly can’t recall a single scene or line. I’ve been completely lost in thought and I’m not even sure what I’ve been thinking about, just a big jumble of emotions, fears, and hopes that have been shooting through my mind like fireworks since our brief and heavy make out session.

My thoughts come to a halt as soft moans filter through the room from the direction of Kendall and Jameson, and I feel myself frown in disgust. The last thing I want to do right now is hear them doing … whatever it is that they’re doing.

Either Max understands, or has the same feelings. Taking my hand in his, he leads me to the stairwell. “The room’s yours,” he announces before heading up the stairs where we continue up to the second floor and into his room.

I haven’t been in here since Max was sick, and the memories of those three days hit me like an attack: Max’s comatose request for me to stalk him, the small pieces of him that I saw that had drawn me closer, and the hours that we lay together in his bed watching movies. My eyes flash to the bed and the familiar chocolate brown sheets. I’ve slept in those sheets! God I’m being a tween.

“Hey,” Max says, softly running a hand up my arm. I turn my attention over to him as he stands beside me, his brows knitting together as his eyes shift over my face. It’s his calculated, ‘I’m in your mind, reading everything you’re not saying’ face, and I smile to reassure him.

“We can go back to your house or go get some ice cream or something?”

I shake my head in protest. “No, really. I’m fine.”

“Ace, just because we’re in here, doesn’t mean … I mean I’m not expecting … anything.” His eyes are focused on mine. “Nothing is going to happen, unless you want it to.”

“I think that’s what makes me nervous.”

His eyes narrow with thought, trying to ascertain my admission.

“I really want this,” I quietly clarify, dropping my eyes to watch my thumbs and forefingers rub the hem of my green shorts.

Max’s hand gently wraps around my chin, and he lifts my gaze back to his. “I’m right here,” he says and then shakes his head. “I’m not going anywhere.” He lowers his face to mine and kisses me once, softly on the lips. I feel a magnetic pull to him that makes me want to irrationally wrap myself around him.

“Let’s put on a movie,” Max says, releasing my face as he makes his way over to his TV and I think about his words, I’m not going anywhere. Am I worried about him going somewhere? Is that what this flustering panic is about, that I’m afraid he’s going to leave? Maybe.

“How about The Bourne series? If you get tired of looking at me, I hear Matt Damon is fun to watch,” he says, flipping through some movies.

“Sure.” I sit on the edge of his bed and watch as he slides the movie in. Seeing his large hands being so gentle and nimble brings me back to all of the times I’ve seen him working on his motorcycle or on Clementine with my dad and Kyle, carefully moving with precision and expertise on pieces that seemed too small for his hands.

Max stands and grabs a remote as my thoughts return to the here and now as he heads back to me.

“Alright, this is a four movie series, which means for the next three nights you’re going to have to be over here watching the entire series,” Max explains, standing in front of me.

“Are you asking me for a four day commitment?” I tease.

“I’m just explaining the rules. If we start this, we’re not turning back. You need to make sure that you understand what you’re getting yourself into.” My eyes flash to his as the humor leaves his face and I realize he’s not referring to the next four nights. “No more trying to ignore your feelings and avoiding me.” I can’t tear my eyes away from his, which are staring at me with such intensity I’m tempted to sign away my soul and body if that’s what he’s asking for.

“Just you and me,” Max says, closing the last couple of inches between us. “But this decision is yours.” If only he knew that this decision was made long before this moment. “You need to say it,” he says, apparently sensing the fact that I’m preparing to agree to his terms with a kiss.

“You and me,” I repeat softly. “I understand.”

Max looks at me for a long moment, his blue eyes seeking something from mine. Apparently he finds it, because his face visibly relaxes, and then he closes the gap between us, pressing his lips firmly against mine with a new sense of urgency. The same heat returns filling my body with an undeniable fire that makes me feel like I’m going to combust.

Max breaks away and his eyes run a trail from mine to my lips several times before he grins. “It’s even better than I thought it would be.” My heart beats a bit faster at his words, increasing the need that I feel to continue this, continue kissing Max. He gives me a smile and turns to the TV, bringing the movie to life before climbing on the bed. He grabs my hand and gently tugs, motioning for me to join him, and I settle into the small mound of pillows at our back as he slips an arm around me, wrapping his hand around my hip and pulling me closer to him.

The movie plays for a while and I focus on paying attention to it. I’m even enjoying it, wondering why I’ve never watched the series before, when I notice Max’s hand fractionally move, tightening his grip on my waist, making my breath leave me in a sudden rush. I turn to Max and catch him looking at me with an intensity that tells me he’s the hunter and I’m about to be the prey as he watches my every move. The exhilaration of seeing him look at me like this washes all of my inhibitions away and before I can think twice about it, I swing my leg over his lap, straddling his waist and find his lips.

Max’s lips meld to mine and a small groan escapes as desire builds inside of me like I’ve never felt.

I’ve kissed a decent number of guys in my life. The first couple, and then a few later on, had made me wonder why people kiss; they had been messy and forceful, leaving me with the strong desire to brush my teeth. Most had been fun and taught me to really like kissing, feeling a boy being soft and tender was something I enjoyed the thrill of, and knowing that they wanted me had fueled me to kiss guys sometimes even though I had little interest in them. Kissing Max is something entirely different. I’m not thinking, I’m reacting, like a puppet being directed by his body, his mouth, and his hands, which move over me burning a brazen trail in their wake. All I can think about is how I can get closer to him, touch more of him, taste more of him.