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face smashed in because I didn’t know you invited him down there.” He fists his hands. “And he’s not staying with us. Ever.”
    I roll my eyes. “Really, Wyatt? Why not?” I can’t help doling out sarcasm. He looks cute and angry, and things have been so stressful that I feel like shaking him and saying, Wake the hell up! I don’t want him around .
    His face blanches, and then his eyes go dark and sexy again. I steal a glance at Delilah to see if she notices, but she’s laughing behind her hand. I think she feels the same way I do, that we needed a little teasing in our shitty week.
    “You two will be the death of me.” Wyatt rises to his feet and stretches. The bottom of his tank inches up, flashing his washboard abs. I don’t even try to look away, but it takes all my willpower not to poke him in the stomach like I normally do. We tease like that all the time, but the way my mind and body have been reacting so strongly to him lately, I worry that poking him is the last thing I’ll end up doing. I imagine the feel of his stomach against my palms and pressing my lips to each perfect muscle.
    Holy mother of stupidity. What am I thinking?
    I grip my thighs and tear my eyes away to try to squelch the desire simmering low in my belly.
    I wonder if staying with Delilah and Wyatt for three months is a smart thing to do, but when Wyatt reaches for my hand and pulls me up so hard I crash against him, my hand accidentally on purpose slips down, and I cop a feel of that stomach I’ve thought about kissing more times than I care to admit, even to myself. And I know there’s nowhere else on earth I’d rather be.

Chapter Four
    ~Wyatt~
    DRIVING UNDER THE arched sign above the road that reads Harborside, Where Heaven Meets Earth is the best feeling in the world. It’s a lame slogan, but if heaven is like Harborside, then I know my parents are in a good place. We’ve owned the house in Harborside since Delilah and I were little, and we’ve always spent summers and most school breaks here with our parents. It really is our home away from home. I glance at Delilah. She’s been quiet the whole trip. I know she’s totally freaked out about our parents. We all are, but she’s been so withdrawn these last few days that I’m really worried about her. She’s gotten so used to hiding her sexual identity from everyone that I don’t think even she realizes how it’s affecting the rest of her life. I hope that being back among our closest friends, in a more accepting community than our repressed Connecticut neighborhood, will help.
    Cassidy leans forward from the backseat and touches my shoulder. She’s probably done it a thousand times before, but now I feel myself hoping she leaves it there. She does, and as stupid as it sounds, I’m really glad.
    “Can we go to the beach before going to the house? I want to take some pictures.” She squeezes my shoulder as she asks.
    That little squeeze stirs something it shouldn’t. I glance in the rearview at her. Her eyes are wide with excitement, gazing out the window. I try really hard to suppress the desires brewing inside me, reminding myself she’s my best friend, but all I can think is how much I want her to squeeze my shoulder again. I squeeze the steering wheel tighter, trying to get a grip on my thoughts, because they’re fantasizing way beyond squeezing a shoulder.
    “Dee?” I want to be sure Delilah is comfortable. Her sketch pad is poking out of the top of the bag at her feet. She’s a really talented artist. She’s always sketching something, but this week she hasn’t picked up her drawing pad even once. I hope she’ll begin sketching again while we’re here.
    “Sure. Sounds good.” Delilah looks out her window as she answers.
    I look at Cassidy in the rearview again, and she narrows her eyes in a way that says she feels really bad but doesn’t know what to do to help Delilah any more than I do. She touches Delilah’s shoulder with her other hand.