Fresh Out the Slammer.
"And no matter what I've done, it wouldn't matter anyway. Ain't no way I'm gonna screw up, now that I know what's at stake, here."
The soft sunlight flooded the room, but it felt too harsh, like it was burning my eyes. My head spun, and my stomach churned with a dull, persistent ache. I blinked several times, trying to shake off the fog in my brain, but it wasn't just the hangover. It was the feeling of something missing, something important that I couldn't grasp. I heard a soft snore beside me, and my heart skipped a beat. And that's when I realized…Justin was in bed next to me.
I turned slowly to confirm, and there he was, deeply asleep, not even stirring when I moved. The blanket was pulled tightly around us, and my heart started pounding harder as I noticed something else; I was wearing nothing but his t-shirt. My bare skin was underneath it. What the fuck happened last night?
I reached over and gave him a light tap, hoping he'd wake up. No reaction. He was completely out. Panic set in as I lay there, trying to piece together what had happened. I nudged him again, more forcefully this time. He stirred, stretched, rubbed his face, and groggily looked around. His eyes locked with mine, and I held my breath.
"What the—" he muttered, his voice groggy with sleep.
"What the fuck indeed. I don't know what happened last night. Do you?" I asked, trying to keep my voice steady, but the hope in my eyes was undeniable.
He blinked, processing the question, then simply perked his eyebrows and gave a small shake of his head. My stomach dropped.
I covered my face with my hands, groaning in frustration.
He sat up in bed, leaning against the headboard, and I followed suit. My gaze accidentally fell on him; he was in nothing but his boxers. My heart skipped a beat. I was naked under his shirt, and the closeness between us felt overwhelming. I glanced away, but I couldn't shake the awareness that lingered in the air between us.
I turned my head and caught sight of my bathing suit and his pants, scattered carelessly on the floor. His suitcase was wide open next to mine, its contents thrown across the hardwood. The sight of it felt surreal, like a punch to the gut. This was real…too real.
When I finally turned to face him, our eyes locked. I could see the same confusion, the same unease reflected back at me. Neither of us knew what had happened.
"August, I don't know what happened last night," he said, his voice low and heavy with concern. His expression mirrored the storm of emotions I was trying to hold back.
I felt my head drop in resignation, the silence between us amplifying the confusion. I tried to remember, but nothing came. Nothing made sense. I glanced over at Justin once more, but he wasn't meeting my eyes. He looked pensive, likely trying to piece it all together like I was.
I swung my legs over the side of the bed, the cold air hitting me immediately, but I didn't care. I walked to the bathroom, hoping that splashing my face with water would bring some clarity, or at least cool me down. I turned on the faucet and splashed my face, the coldness offering a brief distraction from the heat rising in my chest.
I grabbed the towel and dried my face, staring into the mirror, hoping the reflection would offer some answers. But it didn't. Instead, my gaze landed on the marks on my neck…hickeys. Some small, some large, and they trailed down to my chest.
"What the fuck!" I shouted, my voice coming out sharper than I intended.
Immediately, Justin was there, rushing into the bathroom. His face was full of panic, his eyes wide with concern.
"What happened? Is everything okay?" His voice was tight, almost desperate, but then his gaze dropped to my neck. He paused, realizing the marks I had and I could see he had the same ones around his neck.
I covered my mouth, trying to suppress a laugh that bubbled up despite my panic. It was a laugh that sounded wrong, maniacal even, but I couldn't stop it.
Justin's face twisted with more concern. His eyes darted between me and the mirror. I pointed at his neck, and he stepped forward, clearly looking for the same thing. He caught sight of the marks and then shifted, glancing down at his shoulders first and then his back. I followed his gaze.
And that's when I saw it, scratches, faint but visible, streaking across his back. My stomach tightened, my heart raced, and I could feel the heat spread across my face. It wasn't just hickeys. We hadn't just been kissing. Something else happened.
I froze, staring at the scratches. My mind raced, trying to piece together what had happened last night, what we'd done. But there were no answers, just more confusion.
"You have… scratches all over your back," I whispered, almost as if saying it out loud would make it real.
"You have hickeys all over your neck…August, I don't—" He stopped mid-sentence, processing the words, and then the realization hit him.
"Not just my neck… they um… travel further down my chest." The words barely left my mouth. His lips had grazed my chest. My fingers had left marks on his back. And still we remembered nothing.
He studied my face carefully, like he was trying to figure out how I felt about him leaving hickeys in places other than just my neck. But I gave him nothing—nothing but a void of confusion and disbelief.
"Do you think we had sex?" The question hung in the air like a heavy weight. My stomach dropped, and I felt a wave of nausea building up in my throat. The pit of dread that had been gnawing at me suddenly opened up, and before I could stop it, I covered my mouth, sprinted over to the toilet, and dropped to my knees.
I barely had time to pull back the toilet seat before I was vomiting, my body heaving uncontrollably as I emptied everything out. It felt like the room was spinning as my hands gripped the cold porcelain. Seconds later, I felt Justin's hands gently pulling my hair back from my face, his touch soft and reassuring in a way that only made my discomfort worse.
I retched until there was nothing left in me, and then the waves finally slowed. He lingered for a moment, his hands hovering awkwardly before he finally walked over to grab the towel, his presence gentle but unsure. He wiped my face with a quiet kindness, and I felt small, embarrassed.
"Are you okay?" he asked quietly, sitting beside me on the bathroom floor. His tone was soft, hesitant, like he wasn't sure if he should be there, but he stayed. I nodded, even though the answer felt like a lie.
I sat closer to him, trying to steady myself. "What's the last thing you remember?" I asked, needing to hear his side, needing something to make sense of all of this.
"I remember being downstairs. You said you wanted to keep drinking, but you wanted to do it on the balcony. So we went up—"
"And we sat on the floor at the edge of my bed, right?" I added, trying to hold onto anything I could grasp.
"Yeah, we sat there for a while, just talking and taking turns with the bottle. And that's where it ends. I don't remember anything after that." He ran a hand through his hair, meeting my eyes with an expression that had softened since I first looked at him. He looked just as lost as I felt.
"I keep getting flashes of the balcony," I admitted. "But then I keep seeing my suitcase. Which is weird, 'cause I'm wearing nothing but the shirt you had on last night." I tried to laugh, but it came out shaky, forced, the humor hiding the chaos inside. I pulled the shirt tighter around myself, my knees drawn up, hoping the physical motion would offer me some sense of control. But nothing made sense.
If we had sex, how do I even feel about it?
My mind raced back to my mom, and everything she'd made me believe. But also now thinking of how much she had lied to me. How much she had manipulated me. How she'd convinced me that waiting until marriage was the only right way, that my value was tied to it. But now, here I was, in the aftermath of being drunk and tangled up with someone who wasn't even my boyfriend. I swallowed hard. What would my mom think if she knew?
The thought was almost suffocating, but it also pulled me into the truth of what had happened, what I had done. My chest tightened as I felt the weight of my choices, unsure of whether they were my own or just a rebellion against everything I'd been taught. I was feeling like maybe taking control of my own life included letting go of some parts.
For a moment, I pushed all of that aside. I'd pushed my mom's betrayal down, but now, with this new mess on my plate, it was all crashing back. I turned to look at Justin, seeing him lost in his own thoughts. His fidgeting fingers and the unease in his posture mirrored what I was feeling, and for some reason, that comforted me.
"Penny for your thoughts," I nudged him lightly.
"Huh? Oh, sorry, I'm just… I'm still trying to see if I remember anything. I just don't even know if… if I could have, you know. Performed. If that even happened. Since the Hailey stuff I haven't even tried." His words came out muffled, like he didn't want to say them but also couldn't stop.
I didn't know what to say. I couldn't comfort him when I could barely comfort myself. Instead, I offered him a small, uneasy smile. He offered one back. Our gaze lingered until we heard a soft knock at my bedroom door.
I immediately stood up and went to unlock it, cracking the door open slightly. On the other side, I saw Mallory in her pajamas.
"Hey, I just came to check on-" Her eyes dropped to the oversized shirt I was wearing, then widened when she noticed the marks on my neck. Without warning, she pushed through the door, stepping inside.
Her gaze darted around the room, taking in the scattered clothes on the floor. "Why are you wearing Justin's shirt… and what the… Are those hickeys? What happened?!"
I grabbed her wrist and quickly shut the door behind her, lowering my voice. "I don't know what happened, Mals." The words felt foreign coming out of my mouth. Something I'd never thought I'd say.
She looked around like she was searching for Justin, and her expression shifted. Somewhere between protective and panicked.
"I knew I shouldn't have left you alone with him," she muttered, rubbing her temples. "You two were making googly eyes at each other all day, and I knew I shouldn't have pressed on during truth or dare." She let out a small sigh, like she was blaming herself.
Justin finally emerged from the bathroom. Mallory instantly turned her glare on him. He glanced at her but didn't say a word, crouching by his suitcase to grab a pair of shorts and a shirt.
"Mals, please don't." My voice cracked slightly. "We don't even know what happened. We were just really drunk, and we woke up like this."
The words barely left my mouth before the nausea returned, sharp and sudden. The room felt too small, too hot. My stomach twisted violently.
Mallory's expression softened just as I clamped a hand over my mouth and sprinted back to the bathroom. I barely made it to the toilet before I started throwing up again.
Justin and Mallory followed me inside, but this time, she was the one to hold my hair back.
"It's okay, let it all out. I'm right here," she soothed, gently patting my back.
Even through the nausea, I had a silly thought, how many times had I done this for her? It felt almost full circle, like she was returning the favor. Like it was her turn to take care of me.
When I finally stopped, Justin handed her a towel. She wiped my face, then turned to the bathtub, twisting the faucet on.
"You," she pointed at me, "get out of that pukey shirt and take a bath. It'll help with the nausea." Then she turned to Justin. "And you…out there."
He hesitated, but one sharp look from Mallory had him walking out. She shut the door behind them, but their voices carried through the thin walls.
"How could you?!" Mallory hissed.
"How could I what, Mallory? I don't even know what happened!" Justin shot back.
"You knew how vulnerable she is. You should've stayed away. That kiss during truth or dare shouldn't have amounted to anything…definitely not this. And…why is your suitcase even up here?"
"I already told you! I have no clue what we did or didn't do last night."
"Ugh, just fix this." Her voice dropped slightly, but I still caught it. "Justin, she's my best friend. She was waiting for marriage…had been waiting for marriage…until you came along and ruined it. So fix it." Another pause but she continued. "She's obviously not well enough to come pick up the rental cars, so you're staying here with her. Fix this, Justin."
A tense beat of silence.
Then Justin's voice, sharp and unfiltered "What do you want me to do, Mallory? You think I wanted this to happen like this? I can't change what we did, if we even did anything!"
The door slammed.
A tightness crept into my chest, pressing hard and unrelenting. I heard Justin let out a long sigh from the other room.
And then I remembered, I was supposed to be taking a bath.
I peeled off his shirt and slipped into the warm water, letting the heat soak into my muscles. Slowly, the nausea faded, and the tension in my body loosened. The heat of the water did little to soothe the unease simmering beneath my skin. I let out a long breath, my first real exhale since waking up.
And that's when the realization settled over me like a heavy weight. I lost my virginity.
The thought alone should have sent me spiraling again, but it didn't. At least, not in the way I expected. It wasn't the overwhelming dread I always imagined. Maybe because I don't remember it. Or maybe because… I had no choice but to accept it.
I let my head fall back against the tub, staring at the ceiling as flashes of last night surfaced. The way Justin's lips felt against mine during the game. The way we kept looking at each other after, like we both knew something had shifted. The subtle flirtation that neither of us acknowledged but never really stopped.
I felt my pulse quicken at the memory, the heat of his lips still lingering somewhere deep in my chest. And then a quiet, dangerous thought slipped into my mind.
Maybe, deep down, I wanted this.
That realization sat heavy in my chest, twisting into something unrecognizable. I'd spent so long telling myself I was waiting…waiting for the right person, for marriage, the perfect love story that had been ingrained in me since I was a child. But what if I wasn't waiting because I truly wanted to? What if I was just waiting because I was told I had to?
My mother's voice echoed in my head, a ghost of every warning, every lecture, every guilt-ridden reminder that my worth was tied to what I hadn't given away. That love meant restraint. That desire meant weakness. That sex, without commitment, without marriage, was something I'd regret.
But in this moment, in the lingering warmth of last night's memories, I didn't feel ruined. I didn't feel broken. I don't even think I feel regretful.
I felt… uncertain. And maybe that was worse. Because if I wasn't devastated, if I wasn't crushed by this, then what did that say about everything I was taught to believe?
I let my fingers skim over the surface of the water, watching as the ripples spread outward. The tension from before was still there, but something else had taken root, something unsettling but not entirely unwelcome.
A question.
One I wasn't sure I was ready to answer.
If I could go back and undo last night… would I?
My chest tightened as I waited for an answer that wouldn't come. I sat in the tub, pondering the question longer, waiting for something, guilt, shame, clarity. But none of it came. Only the quiet acceptance that I couldn't change what happened. The water had gone cold at this point, my skin pruning, but still, I stayed. Until finally, I took a breath, deeper than before, and drained the tub.
I grabbed my robe and threw it on. I slowly opened my door and peered my head out to see if Justin was still in my room and I didn't see him. I opened the door fully and noticed there were clothes laid out for me on my bed. I started to untie my robe and had it almost all the way off when I noticed Justin was out on the balcony. A quick wave of panic washed over me, my heart fluttering in a way I wasn't ready for. I grabbed the oversized T, my underwear and bra, and ran into the bathroom. I got dressed quickly, hoping he hadn't seen me, brushed my teeth and I made my way out to the balcony.
The air was a little cold on my warm skin from the ocean breeze but humid still rang through it. The sun wasn't at its full heat yet because it was only six in the morning and the waves crashing left an unsettling feeling in my stomach. Justin was leaning against the railing, his shoulders tense as he stared at the horizon. He brought a cigarette to his lips, exhaling slowly and nodded slightly at me. He smokes?
Ew.
"I hope what I picked was okay, I wasn't sure what you wanted to wear, just grabbed whatever I saw." He said as he pulled the cigarette back up to his lips. I walked closer to him, the pungent smell now reaching my nose.
"You smoke?" I asked even though I clearly knew the answer.
"It's an old habit, I quit a long time ago but occasionally something will happen and…alcohol right now doesn't sound appealing so I took a cigarette from Hunter." He stared at the white stick in his hand and then made eye contact with me. I made a disgusted face which made him chuckle a little.
"You should quit completely and never do it again 'cause cigarettes are disgusting." I laughed and this time it was a real laugh. He stared at the cigarette for a second longer, like he was debating it. Then, with an exaggerated sigh, he walked over to the ashtray and put it out. "Happy?" he muttered, but there was a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips. We both made our way over to the couch that faced the ocean, sitting close but not touching.
"This is fine by the way, I just didn't put the pants on cause I'm gonna grab my yoga shorts in a bit." I pulled the collar of my shirt lightly and lifted my knees up to my chest. Using my shirt to cover my exposed parts.
"I tried looking for that ducky thong but came up short." He said laughing and this time I could tell his laugh was also real. I felt my cheeks warm, but I smirked anyway. "Shame too. Would've been a good look for you." A smirk now spreading across his face. A moment of silence grew between us. But it wasn't uncomfortable, it felt like we were both looking for the words but coming up with nothing. I let out a soft sigh and turned my gaze over to him. He turned to look at me as well.
"Any idea how we can get rid of these marks?" I asked half jokingly, lightly grabbing my neck.
"There's an old trick my buddies and I used to do in high school with a spoon but I don't remember if it worked or not." His eyes now traveling to my neck, he shook off whatever he was thinking and faced the ocean again.
"Worth a try?" I said, still looking at him. He nodded slowly and stood up.
"Yeah, it's worth a try. I don't think either of us want to be walking around letting everyone know what did or didn't happen."
He was right. We didn't know what happened. And maybe that should scare me more than it did.
I always thought I'd just know that if I ever had sex, I'd feel different somehow. Changed. But I didn't. Not really.
I let my fingers graze over my stomach, almost expecting something beneath my skin to feel… off. But all I felt was the same warm skin, the same unsteady breath I'd been carrying since I woke up. Maybe I still felt sick because my body was processing the alcohol. Or maybe it was something else entirely.
As the sliding door clicked shut behind Justin, I leaned back against the couch, staring out at the ocean. The waves rolled in and out, steady and relentless, a rhythm I'd never paid much attention to before. It reminded me of something—of wanting, of waiting. Of holding back.
My fingers brushed against the faint marks on my neck, and I swallowed. The idea of someone touching me like that had always felt distant, abstract. Something for the future. Something for when it was "right." But right now, I couldn't help but wonder—what if I had been wrong?
A shiver traced my spine, not entirely from the breeze.
I'd spent years believing I was saving myself for something greater, something sacred. But if that were true, then why wasn't I mourning the loss of it? Why wasn't I breaking apart at the seams like my mother always warned I would?
Instead, all I felt was curiosity.
What did it feel like to be wanted like that? To surrender fully, not just to the act, but to the emotions tangled within it? And more than anything, why did I find myself wondering what it would be like… to remember?
I squeezed my eyes shut, frustration bubbling in my chest. A night that should have changed everything had left me with nothing but questions. And the more I sat here, the more I realized maybe I didn't want to go back. Maybe I didn't want to undo it.
Maybe I wanted to understand it.
I bit my lip, turning toward the door just as it slid open again. Justin stepped out, a spoon in his hand and a hesitant look on his face. His gaze flickered to mine, and I saw it there too, the same curiosity, the same uncertainty, the same unspoken thoughts neither of us was ready to say aloud.
"Let's see if this works," he said, voice low, almost careful.
I nodded, watching as he sat beside me, closer than before. Our arms brushed slightly, and I wasn't sure if it was intentional, but neither of us moved away.
"Okay, tilt your head to the side," he instructed, his voice softer now. I turned slightly toward him, my pulse quickening as he lifted the cool metal spoon to my skin.
His fingers barely grazed my neck as he adjusted the angle, but even the faintest touch sent something unfamiliar rushing through me. I stayed still, trying to focus on anything other than how close he was, how I could feel the warmth of his body next to mine, how his breath fanned against my skin when he leaned in.
"Does it hurt?" he asked, his tone almost too gentle.
"No," I murmured, though I wasn't sure if I even registered the pressure. All I could feel was him.
He pressed the spoon a little harder, dragging it slowly over one of the marks, his brows furrowing in concentration. I swallowed, my eyes dropping to his lips before I could stop myself.
What the hell was wrong with me?
I forced myself to focus on the task at hand, but every time his fingers brushed me, even for just a second, I felt my stomach tighten. I wasn't supposed to feel like this. Not after everything. Not when we had no idea what even happened between us.
His hand stilled on my neck, and I felt him hesitate before speaking. "I think it's working," he said, but his voice had a different edge to it now like he was distracted too.
I nodded, even though I wasn't sure if I believed him.
When he finally pulled away, I let out a sharp breath. His eyes met mine again, and for a moment, neither of us spoke.
Something was shifting between us.
"Uh—your turn," I said quickly, reaching for the spoon. He smirked, leaning back slightly.
"You're gonna rub a spoon all over my back?"
I narrowed my eyes, refusing to let him get the upper hand. "Turn around and let me see your neck."
He chuckled but did as I said, pulling the collar of his shirt down to expose more of his shoulder and upper back. My gaze dropped to the faint red scratches, and my breath stopped. My scratches. My fingers had been on him, digging into his skin, leaving proof.
I swallowed hard and forced myself to move, pressing the spoon to one of the marks. His shoulders tensed at the contact.
"Too hard?" I asked, my voice quieter than before.
"No, it's fine," he said, but his voice had dropped lower.
I continued, dragging the spoon down slowly, pretending I wasn't acutely aware of how solid he felt beneath my touch. I was supposed to be fixing this, but I wasn't sure if I was making it better or worse.
When I finished, he turned back to face me. Neither of us said anything right away.
"Better?" I asked, hoping to cut the tension.
His eyes flickered to my lips for just a second before he looked away. "Yeah."
I wasn't sure if he was talking about the marks. I wasn't sure if I was either.
Justin leaned back against the couch, exhaling slowly. I could still feel the ghost of his touch on my neck, the coolness of the spoon fading, leaving only the warmth of my skin. A part of me wanted to ignore it. Pretend that none of this had any effect on me. But it did. His fingers had been on me. His lips too. How much of me had he touched? How much had I let him?
I swallowed, shifting slightly. My oversized shirt had slipped off my shoulder at some point, and as I moved to adjust it, Justin's gaze flickered there-just for a second-before he looked away.
"Wait," he said suddenly, his brows furrowing.
I froze. "What?"
"There's another one." His voice was quieter this time, his gaze dropping just below my collarbone.
My breath caught. I followed his eyes and saw it, faint, just above where my shirt dipped. His fingers hesitated near the collar of my shirt. Just close enough for me to feel the heat of him.
"This okay?" he asked.
I didn't answer right away.
Because suddenly, I wasn't just thinking about last night.
I was thinking about everything I'd never done. Everything i'd waited for, held off on, pushed aside because I was supposed to. Because my mother told me too, because she expected perfection, because sex should only happen within marriage. That it should mean something. That I would regret it if I didn't wait.
And yet... here I was.
Not knowing if I had just lost my virginity. Not knowing if it was something I had willingly given or something taken in a haze of alcohol. And the strangest part?
I didn't feel broken by it. I wasn't devastated. I wasn't even sure I regretted it. I hesitated, but it wasn't out of fear. It was something else. Something deeper.
Curiosity.
Not just about what had happened last night, but about sex in general. What it felt like.
What I had been missing. What it would be like to experience it fully aware, fully present.
And then there was him.
Justin, who was waiting patiently for an answer. Justin, the one I swore I hated, the one whose lips had left these marks on my skin. Who had kissed me before, during that stupid game, and made my stomach flip even then.
He wasn't the person I ever imagined doing this with. And yet, when I thought about it— really thought about it, something inside me twisted.
I exhaled slowly. Then, finally, I nodded.
He tugged the collar of my shirt down just enough to reach the mark, his touch barely grazing my skin. A slow, measured movement, like he was giving me a chance to pull away if I wanted to.
I didn't.
The spoon was cold against my chest, but his fingers were warm, steady. The contrast sent a shiver up my spine. He worked slower this time. More careful. More focused. Or maybe... more hesitant, like he felt the shift in the air between us too. I swallowed, my thoughts blurring together. I had spent so long being afraid of desire.
Avoiding it. Denying it. And yet, right now, sitting here with him, his fingers grazing my skin in the most innocent yet intimate way, I wasn't afraid.
I was curious.
Dangerously so.
"You're shaking," he murmured, his breath fanning against my skin.
I hadn't even realized it.
"I'm fine," I whispered, though my voice came out breathier than I intended.
His fingers lingered for a moment longer before he pulled away, letting my shirt slip back into place.
"All gone," he said quietly, his voice unreadable.
I barely heard him. Because in that moment, I realized something terrifying. I wasn't just questioning what happened last night. I was questioning what I wanted. And worse I was starting to think I might want it with him.
We went back to our respective spots without saying a word, letting the crashing waves fill the silence. But even with the sound of the ocean, my thoughts wouldn't quiet.
His lips, his hands, his touch all over me. Our bodies colliding.
A shiver crawled down my spine as I pulled one knee closer to my chest. I couldn't bring myself to stop thinking about what must it have felt like to have his lips pressed against parts I had never been kissed on.
To have his hands strip away my clothes, piece by piece, until there was nothing left between us. To feel the pressure rise as the inhibitions lowered. To feel wanted. And then another thought struck me.
What had he felt?
I turned to look at Justin, curiosity becoming something heavier. What had gone through his mind seeing my bare body? Had he hesitated? Had he whispered anything in the dark? Did he regret it? Or was there a part of him, like a part of me, that wished he could remember?
He must have sensed my stare because he turned to meet my gaze. His expression was unreadable, but his eyes searched mine like he, too, was looking for answers.
"Penny for your thoughts now?" He asked quietly.
I hesitated for a second, unsure if I wanted to ask or unsure if I wanted the answer. My heart pounded as I studied him, trying to decipher something, anything, from the way his fingers twitched against his knee or the way his jaw flexed. Finally, I spoke.
"Would it be the worst thing in the world if we did have sex?" I mustered out.
His fingers stopped fidgeting. His shoulders tensed slightly, like he wasn't expecting the question.
I swallowed and added. "You can be as honest as you want. It…might help me gain some clarity."
He exhaled sharply, rubbing a hand along his jaw. He stayed quiet for a moment, long enough that I almost regretted asking. But then, finally-
"If we're talking about just the sex with you and nothing else," he said slowly, "then no. It wouldn't be the worst thing in the world."
My stomach flipped at his answer, but before I could analyze why, he continued.
"But if we're talking about the implications of you losing your virginity to a drunken night with me..." His voice tightened, and he glanced away, staring out at the water.
"August, I feel awful. Because I should've known better. I shouldn't have come up with you.
Even if we didn't go all the way, clearly we did something and it's just complicated."
The wind picked up slightly, catching the hem of my shirt and lifting it up.
Justin's gaze flicked downward. His breath caught, and for a split second, his fingers twitched like he wanted to reach out but stopped himself.
"I'm sorry, your shirt just flew up, but..." He hesitated, brow furrowing slightly and he tilted his head. "You have something on your thigh."
I froze.
His voice had dropped slightly, rougher than before. It wasn't just the words—it was the way he looked at me when he said them.
Like the realization of what he must have done was settling into him.
My pulse stumbled. I glanced down and saw it…a deep, bruised mark on the inner but upper part of my thigh. One I hadn't even noticed. One so close to parts I'd never shared with anyone.
I swallowed hard, suddenly hyper aware of how close we were sitting.
Justin was still staring at the mark, his jaw visibly clenching, like his thoughts were spiraling in the same direction as mine. Like he was picturing exactly how it got there. I should have pulled my shirt down faster. I should have looked away. But I didn't. And neither did he. His adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed, his gaze met mine.
Curious. Heavy. Undeniably aware.
"Yeah," he murmured. "We definitely did something."
For a moment, neither of us spoke.
Then, unexpectedly, a laugh bubbled up in my throat. And just like that, the heaviness cracked.
Justin let out a breath, shaking his head with a small, disbelieving smile. "Come here, let me get the spoon again."
I laughed even harder as he kneeled in front of me, so close to my inner thigh, but this time, we were both sober. I gripped the hem of my shirt, holding it down over the most sensitive part of my body, a quiet war waging inside me, part of me wanting to squirm away, the other part far too aware of how close he was.
The spoon pressed against my skin, the sudden chill sending a jolt through my body. I sucked in a sharp breath.
"Yeah, sorry," Justin murmured, his voice lower, softer. "I should've warmed it up a bit."
His fingers grazed a different spot, just the lightest touch and my body reacted before I could stop it. Goosebumps spread down my entire body, my breath uneven. I knew he noticed.
His hands hesitated, and for a brief moment, he stopped what he was doing.
Then, slowly, he looked up at me. His face said everything and nothing all at once. His gaze lingered this time, longer than I expected…longer than it should have.
Something flared there. A question? A memory trying to surface? My stomach twisted, not in discomfort but in something else entirely. I swallowed hard, unsure what to do with the way he was looking at me.
Like maybe he was just as curious as I was.
Then, just as suddenly, he cleared his throat and looked away, his grip tightening slightly on the spoon as he continued pressing it gently to my skin.
After a beat, he finally pulled back, setting the spoon down. He didn't move right away. His eyes hung over the mark, now faded but still there.
"It's not fully gone," he said, his voice quieter now. "But it doesn't look like a hickey anymore, just like a normal bruise."
I nodded, pulling my knees up, wrapping my arms around them, not just to shield myself from the wind, but from something I wasn't quite ready to define.
A small smile spread between us, letting the quiet breeze settle over the tension still buzzing in the air.
"Are you hungry?" he finally asked.
"A little bit. Is everyone still here, or did they leave already?"
"They got picked up while you were taking a bath. Dani mentioned they were gonna explore town after they got the cars. Also some of the other group flies in tomorrow."
I hesitated, chewing on the inside of my cheek. "Do you think Mallory told anyone?"
"I doubt it. Dani would've pried if she found out anything more than the kiss happened." His laugh was real this time. Not the stifled one we'd been using as a mask.
He stood up, glancing at me for a second before grabbing Hunter's lighter from the table. "I'll be back. Give me like 20 minutes."
I watched him disappear inside, the sliding door clicking shut behind him. I stayed on the balcony a moment longer, letting my head tip back against the couch. My eyes were getting heavy, and the warmth of the morning sun only made me sleepier.
Maybe I could use this time for a quick nap.