Page 95 of Until Next Summer

“Very much so.” I slide closer, tucking myself into the crook of his arm. We sit like that for a while, watching the waterfall crash into the creek below. “Cooper, I have to believe people can change, becauseIwant to change. I don’t want to go back to being the person I was before—and you don’t have to, either.”

“Yeah,” he says. “Maybe so.”

“Definitely so.”

I swing my leg around so I’m sitting on his lap and bring my face so close to his that he has no choice but to look me in the eye. We hold each other’s gaze, and it feels even more intimate than anything we’ve done physically.

Cooper rolls us forward so I’m lying down and he’s lying on top of me, his leg wedged between mine. His erection isn’t the only thing pressing against me; there’s a rock beneath the blanket, poking itself into my back.

“Ow,” I say, and Cooper stops, the sadness in his eyes replaced with concern.

“Let’s go back to the Lodge,” I tell him.

“But the rules…” he starts.

“Are made to be broken,” I finish.

—

The next morning, I wake up to butterfly-soft kisses on my shoulder and something long and hard against my butt.

“Mmm,” I murmur, pressing back into him. Permission granted, Cooper continues, kissing my neck as he slides his hand beneath the T-shirt of his I wore to sleep. I had every intention of going back to my room, but when he suggested pushing the two beds in his room together, I couldn’t resist falling asleep in his arms.

I didn’t even think about how lovely it would be when we woke up.

“Morning,” Cooper growls into my ear as he plays with my nipples. “I love having you in my bed.”

“You mean I’m not dreaming?” My eyes are still closed, and my voice is thick with sleep. Cooper chuckles, his left hand traveling down my side, caressing my thigh before drifting up to my center. I’m wet and ready, grinding my butt back against his hardness.

He takes the hint and pushes my underwear aside, slipping one, then two fingers inside me. My breath quickens, but he takes his time, his movements languid and practiced until I can’t take it anymore. I shift so I’m on my back and pull him on top of me, sliding his boxers down. Cooper reaches for a condom—we picked up two more latex-free packs last time we were in town—and slides inside, filling me completely.

We move together, slowly at first, like we’ve got all the time in the world, taking and giving until he picks up the pace, rising to a crescendo. Cooper shudders above me and I’m not far behind. We come together, and I’ve never, not once, been this in sync, this connected with someone.

Afterward, Cooper goes to shower, and I stay in his bed, floating in the afterglow. I could definitely get used to this. Not just the sex—although our chemistry is off the charts.It’s the way I feel around him, even when we’re having hard conversations. Last night, he opened himself up so completely. It was raw and vulnerable. That’s not something you do with a fling.

Which is all this is supposed to be. Just fun. No feelings. There aren’t supposed to be feelings.

That’s what complicates everything and makes it so confusing. Cooper barely checks any of the boxes on my list. He’s nothing like what I thought I wanted. But he makes me so damn happy. Happier than I’ve ever been, which is terrifying, since this fling has an expiration date that’s just a few weeks away.

Time needs to slow down, because I’m not ready for any of this to end.

At least there’s a good chance Camp Chickawah will go on. The campers have been incredibly generous with their pledges, and if this week lives up to our (admittedly high) expectations, we’ll meet our first financial goal.

Speaking of which, I need to get moving. We’re meeting with one of our VIP alums, who’s agreed to get our story in front of her hundreds of thousands of engaged followers. It’s almost too good to be true.

I climb out of bed, debating whether it’s better to be late and clean or on time and smelling like sex. Cleanliness wins. I take a lightning-fast shower, and by some miracle, I’m only two minutes late and slightly out of breath when I walk into Jessie’s office.

She’s behind her desk, sitting across from a stylish brunette who looks vaguely familiar.

“Hey, Hill!” Jessie says. “You remember Kat Steiner.”

“Hillary Goldberg!” Kat says, leaping up to give me a giant hug. We were in Cabin Ten together the summer we turned twelve—and I remember being so jealous when Kat discovered her best friend Blake was actually her half sister. I would’ve given anything to have found out Jessie was my official sister, although I understand now how complicated it must have made things for them and their families back home.

“It’s so good to see you!” Kat says, releasing me from her embrace. “Let’s take a selfie!”

Before I have time to smile, Kat’s iPhone is angled high above us, her cheek pressed to mine. The camera clicks and I freeze, picturing my awkward self being broadcast to her ginormous following.

“Kat and I were just talking about the talent show,” Jessie says, getting us back on task.

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