Page 39 of Pucking Knox
"I don’t want you to think I’m after your virginity like it’s a trophy."
"Knox," I counter, feeling a ping of regret. When he says it, I realized how fucked up that sounds.
He steps back, running a hand through his hair. "It's more than that, okay?"
Understanding hits like lightning. "You think that's how I see you? As someone who just wants my virginity?"
"Isn't it? Wasn't that our whole deal?"
"Knox." I catch his hands with mine. "I don't care about any of that anymore. Virgin, not virgin – none of it matters. What matters is you. Just you."
He stares at me for a long moment, something vulnerable in his eyes.
"Okay," he finally says.
"Okay?" I smile, relief floods through me.
"I’ll come to Martha’s Vineyard for Spring Break."
I smile, already mentally planning the outfits and bikinis I will wear to seduce him.
Chapter 16
I never thought I'd be packing for Martha's Vineyard.
"You're really doing this?" Liam watches me throw clothes in a duffel bag. "Spring break at the Walters' beach house?"
"Apparently."
"With me and my sister," Ace hollers.
I pause halfway through folding a shirt. "Problem?"
"Just..." He sits on my bed. "Never seen you like this over a girl before. It's weird."
Because I've never felt like this before. Never wanted to do things right instead of just doing them fast. Never cared about someone enough to be scared of screwing it up.
"It's not weird," I say instead. "It's Kennedy."
That seems to mean something to him because he just nods and helps me pack.
The drive to the Vineyard is a study in torture. Kennedy sleeps in the backseat of Ace's SUV, using my jacket as a pillow. She's wearing tiny shorts and one of my hoodies, and every time I look back at her, my resolve weakens a little more.
"Eyes on the road, Knox." Ace's voice carries a warning.
The beach house turns out to be exactly what you'd expect from the Walters family – sprawling white colonial, private pool glittering behind it, probably worth more than my entire life up to this point. The ocean stretches endlessly beyond, and something in my chest loosens at the sight.
"Guest rooms are downstairs," Ace says as we unload. "Kennedy's upstairs."
The message is clear: Stay in your lane.
But Kennedy has other ideas. The moment Ace disappears to shower, she crowds me against my new bedroom door.
"Want the tour?" Her fingers play with the hem of my shirt.
"Your brother—"
"Is using all the hot water." She rises on tiptoes to kiss my jaw. "We have at least fifteen minutes."
