Page 101 of Catch the Sun

Yep. He knows.

I come down from the euphoric high and collapse into a sated heap against the door. Slowly, Max drags his hand away from my mouth, his fingertips catching on my bee-stung bottom lip. Turns out, I didn’t even need to bother with makeup. My lips are kissed raw, mascara smudged beyond repair, and my cheeks are stained with the natural blush only an orgasm can provide.

I stretch a drowsy, idiotic grin and drape the back of my arm across my eyes as I catch my breath.

Max drops his hand from between my legs, looking smug. “I think you’re getting louder.”

“You’re getting really good at that,” I mumble, floating somewhere far, far away. Removing my arm, I blink up at him, my punch-drunk smile still in place and matching his. “Your turn?”

His eyebrows arc. “Sure.”

As Max reaches to unhook his belt buckle, a knock sounds on the bedroom door behind me.

Crap!

“Max. Get out here and help us with this stupid lasagna,” McKay blares from the other side. “It looks like it had a midlife crisis. You can fuck later.”

My cheeks burn to heat-stroke level as I rearrange my dress, searching the floor for my underwear. “Coming!” I call back.

“Yeah. We heard.” McKay’s footsteps stomp away.

Eyes bulging with horror, I step into my underwear and nearly topple over as I do a one-footed hop. “Shit. Mortifying.”

Max follows suit, glancing in the mirror to fix the buttons of his dress shirt, smooth down his hair, and relatch his belt. “I told them we had to finish up a project real quick.”

“Mm-hmm. Project: ‘Bring Ella to Soul-Fleeing Ecstasy with Nothing But Your Hand’ has been well-documented across Juniper Falls. Thanks.”

“I tried to shush you.”

“We should have waited. There’s a dozen people in my house right now.”

“You gave me a look, Sunny. And your hair was all pretty against the Christmas tree lights. And that dress…” He pivots toward me, giving me anappreciative sweep with his eyes. “I was toast.”

“And then you turned me into melted butter.” Grinning, I fluff my hair in the mirror and scrub at the black streaks under my eyes before unlocking the door and hauling it open, while also praying the musk of sex and teenage hormones doesn’t seep out.

Max exits beside me, readjusting himself in his pants.

I grin wider.

I’ll repay him later.

Music pours from the record player that Brynn! and her dads brought over and “Winter Wonderland” fills the air with snow-sprinkled magic, even though my internal temperature is hovering around the dead of summer in South Florida. Clearing my throat, I tromp across the living room and give a little wave to the party guests scattered across the space.

Everyone stares.

Brynn! pretends to be oblivious as she pops up from the couch in a cherry-red dress patterned with snowflakes. “Merry Christmas!” she beams brightly. She says it like she’s bursting through a giant gift-wrapped box, her arms raised high, tinsel raining down on all.

Max gives my hip bone a squeeze before joining McKay in the kitchen to assist with the lasagna, while I mutter a “Merry Christmas” to Brynn! and hope that my dress isn’t caught in my underwear. It might be.

Our house is brimful of twinkle lights, savory casseroles, and all my favorite people. A fresh pine tree stands slightly slanted in the main room, taking up half the space. Max helped my mother and I chop it down; then we spent an enchanted Sunday afternoon decorating it with vintage-colored bulbs, silvery tinsel, and nostalgic ornaments we plucked from dusty boxes in the shed.

Almost a month has passed since my first kiss on the bridge with Max, and now it’s Christmas Eve. We decided to host a “Friendsmas” to celebrate what feels like a well-earned new beginning for all of us. Honestly, there’s a lot to celebrate this year. My relationship status is evolving from “lame and alone, forever and ever” to “tentative girlfriend, even though I loathe titles.” I haven’t had any notable mental breakdowns recently, Mom and I are on better terms because she’s been in a strangely good mood lately, and Max’s dad has seeminglycrossed over the line into consistent sobriety.

December has been a good month.

Brynn! wraps a shimmer-lotion arm around me and guides me over to the couch, discreetly untucking my dress from my underwear in the back.

Ahh! I knew it.

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