here is a second where I'm so caught off guard, I forget how to move. Then instinct takes over, and my body doesn't care that this is the same boy who fired me, the same boy I hate–it just kisses him back.

My arms wrap around him, pulling him closer. His kiss starts off soft, teasing, but soon he can't get enough. His lips part my own, and our tongues taste and tangle and taste again. I make a little breathless sound, and it seems to drive him crazy. He turns and pushes me up against the wall without breaking our kiss.

"I still hate you," I say, through forceful kisses.

"I hate you more," he says back, but we can't seem to stop. My body does not want to listen. It just wants to touch and be touched.

I feel his kiss everywhere. My toes curl in my trainers, and the center of my stomach erupts into butterflies. He kisses me like I am the last girl on earth, and he needs to savor the taste.

He hikes up my thigh with his hand, guiding it around his waist. I can't stop kissing him. My body is magnetic, and it pulls him toward me, kissing and touching and tasting.

Something explosive builds in my chest. I'm pushing against him with every kiss, needing to be closer. There's not a single bit of space between us, but it isn't enough.

His hand squeezes my waist and travels up my chest. He brushes lightly over my breast. I let out a breath, running my hand along the front of his jeans; he's hard everywhere. I am starting to learn there are many sides of Jordan. I have seen the selfish side, the fearful side, and now I am seeing him unraveled.

His hands cannot stop touching me. They run themselves over my hips and down to my thighs, brushing over my shorts. I touch him back, running my hand along the bottom of his t-shirt and up to his hard, arching muscles. His breathing is heavy, as heavy as mine. If we carry on like this, we'll take it too far.

"This doesn't change anything," I say, my mouth hot and wet against his.

His hand slides up my t-shirt and over my bra, cupping me. "Fine by me."

My skin feels white-hot from his touch. If his fingers are sparks, then my body is kindling, demanding to be ignited. "Unless you've decided not to sell the cafe?"

His hand snakes around to my back and immediately finds the clasp of my bra. "Not a chance."

I jerk away when I remember why I hate him. "I just don't understand why you're so desperate to sell this place."

He runs a hand down his jaw. When I look at the front of his jeans, they are solid. "You really want to talk about this now?"

I fold my arms. "Now is as good a time as any."

His jaw contracts. "You know, for a second I forgot how annoying you are."

"So annoying that you just had to kiss me."

"It was you," he says back. "Confusing my body with all your inappropriate touching."

"Inappropriate touching? I was trying to stop you from having a panic attack!"

He shakes his head and paces the cafe. When he turns back around, his eyes are like liquid metal. "This was obviously a mistake."

"You don't need to tell me that." I lower myself down the wall and pull my knees to my chest. He does the same until we're side by side, ignoring each other. I cannot wait for this rain to stop. "I'm supposed to be at my goodbye party right now, eating cake and being with people I like. Instead, I'm stuck here with you."

"Yeah, well, I'm not too happy about it, either."

We fall quiet for a while. My heart is still pounding, my lips still swollen from his kisses. It seems impossible that I can hate someone as much as I hate him, and still want to kiss him. Because I do. I've felt how good it feels to do it, and now I want more.

After a few minutes, Jordan says, "I'm not doing it to be a dick." When I look at him, he is not staring at me, but at his hands. "Or because I hate you. I need the money."

"For what?"

He looks up now, his expression clouded. "It doesn't matter. I'm only telling you so that you'll quit playing these games."

I rise to my feet, and when I do, he does the same. "This isn't a game," I say. "Maybe you do need the money, but this island needs this cafe. It won't be sold to any of the locals and you know it. It will go to one of those mainland piranhas who are desperate to turn this place into a money-making resort. And the kind of things they're planning won't just destroy livelihoods, Jordan, it will destroy this whole island's ecosystem. Don't you care?"

"Honestly?" he says, "no, I don't. I mean, it Evvy." He takes my arm, angrily searching my face. "No more sabotaging."

I'm about to speak when twinkling headlights catch my attention. A car pulls up and kills the engine. When I get closer, I see it's an old blue Sudan.

Dad.

I pull away from Jordan and grab the keys, demanding he follow me out. We step into the pouring rain, and I lock up the cafe as Dad opens his car door.

"Evvy," he shouts through the rain. "Are you all right? You never texted, so I thought maybe you'd got caught in the rain."

I hurry toward the car, using my jacket to shelter me. "I'm fine." I throw open the door and climb into the back, but Dad doesn't move.

"Does your friend need a ride?" he asks.

I look at Jordan, who is standing on the sidewalk with his hood flicked up, getting soaked for the second time today. As much as I want to leave him to walk, my conscience won't let me.

"Fine," I say, opening the door again. "Jordan, get in."

He doesn't argue, he just slides in next to me and looks straight ahead. "Thank you, sir."

"No problem," Dad says, and he starts up the engine.

Jordan gives him the name of the inn, and then the three of us spend the next five minutes in uncomfortable silence. I can still feel his mouth on me. Can still feel his fingers on my skin. How is it possible to hate someone so much, and still want to kiss them?

"So," Dad says, in an attempt to break the ice, "how do you know Evvy, son?" He'll be thinking that he doesn't recognize Jordan, and while a part of him must know this is the boy selling the cafe, he wants confirmation.

"I own The Big Fish cafe, sir," Jordan says. So polite around grownups; he wasn't so polite when he was forcing his tongue in my mouth.

In the rearview mirror, Dad's eyes darken. "Ah, the elusive Jordan."

Jordan looks at me and raises an eyebrow. He must think I've been telling my dad all about him now – great.

We pull up to New Wave Inn, and I sink back in my chair in relief. Jordan thanks my dad for giving him a ride and then, for a quick second, looks at me. I think he might say something–though what, I don't know–but he doesn't. He just gives me a nod, opens the door, then hurries inside.

❤️