It's been slow during my shift at the diner, like it always is on Sundays. We close early, at seven-thirty, and I wipe down tables faster than usual because I need to get home and study for finals.

I hope it will eventually be a whole new book, somewhere outside of Kendall, somewhere that makes me feel alive. I begin to daydream as I run the sweeper around the nubby restaurant carpet. Maybe I need to reconsider going out of state for school. Where could I meet interesting, exciting guys and have adventures? An exchange program. Europe?

Since my screw up last night at Griffin's, I've vowed to try to forget him. Promised myself that when I go on the senior trip to Orlando that I'll talk to some of the guys in my class. A couple of them aren't that bad. Maybe Allison is right — I should find a guy my own age to hang out with for the summer. Lose my virginity to a nice guy, one that will text me late at night and who will bring me to the movies.

It can't hurt.

But then I think about Allison's boring relationship with Lucas and everything inside of me goes dead. I don't want a nice guy my age. I want excitement. I want different.

I want Griffin.

Feeling peckish, I toss an armful of dirty towels into the hamper in the supply closet. I'm the last server here because it's my night to clean after the place closes. Well, me and my manager Maria. She's walking around, jingling a ring of keys.

"If you're done, I'll let you out. You make good tips today?"

I shrug and follow her to the door. "Fifty bucks."

"Better than nothing." She twists the key in the lock and opens the door for me.

"Exactly. I'll see you Wednesday."

Even though it's eight at night, it's so humid that I begin to perspire immediately. I scrape my hair back and sweep it into a messy bun so the breeze can hit my neck. I walk to my car — employees aren't allowed to park in front of the diner, that's for customers only — and notice it's the only one in the entire back lot. It's a huge parking area, because it shares spaces with a shopping center, which is also closed for the night.

Maybe I've seen too many true crime TV shows, but I get nervous in these situations. I should've asked Maria to walk with me, but she seemed anxious to leave and her husband always picks her up at the back door.

I power walk, my head down, eyes on the asphalt. I get to my car and dig around for my keys in my purse as my pulse quickens. Just as I feel the keys in my fingers, I hear the roar of an engine.

I look up, and a black motorcycle's come to a stop about a foot from my trunk.

I draw in a shallow breath, wondering if I should run or get in my car and lock the door. I fumble for my keys but drop them because I'm shaking so hard. The person on the motorcycle kills the engine and removes the helmet. I gasp when I see who it is.

"Griffin?" I whisper.

"Hey." He grins sweetly and I'm standing there, open-mouthed.

I press my palm to my chest. "My God. You scared me."

He walks toward me and picks up the keys, practically kneeling at my feet. If my pulse was fast before, it's spiked into heart attack territory now. Tonight, he's positively delicious in a grey T-shirt, black jeans and sneakers. How can such simple outfit look so sexy on a man? I stare openly at his muscular arms when he hands me the keys. His chest is broad and masculine, his fingers long and thick. Everything about him screams man. I've been around a lot of boys in school.

I refocus on his face. This isn't fair, how good-looking he is. Not when I'm wearing a white T-shirt with a ketchup stain on the hem and a pair of faded blue jeans.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to frighten you. I called the diner earlier to find out what time it closed, and came out here hoping I'd find you. Was worried I missed you because I got caught in traffic." He stands about a foot from me and looks down, a slight frown creasing his forehead.

Oh God, he's mad at me...

"W-why did you want to see me?"

He licks his lips and he's so beautiful that my knees feel rubbery.

I back up against my car door for support, all while staring into his eyes. "I apologize about last night. I came to your house after you said I wasn't invited to your party. It was a stupid idea. Victoria said you'd want to see me and I know that's probably a lie, so—"

The words extinguish in my throat when he steps toward me. Out of instinct, or sheer want, I inhale, tilting my chest in his direction. And then he cups my jaw and kisses me full on the mouth. Slow. Sensual. A kiss that makes my whole body shimmer. A jolt of electricity or need or something I can't quite identify floods my body, something that's impossible to capture in words.

Oh. My. God.

We are kissing. With tongue and everything.

The best kiss of my life? No, even that doesn't do it justice.

When he breaks away, I'm panting. That's when I notice that he's breathing hard, too.

He whispers my name and I have no idea what to say. He says it again, as if he's desperate and begging me for something only I can give.

The sound makes me ache in places I've never ached before.

"Um, Griffin, why...?"

He brushes another soft kiss on my lips and then steps back, taking a big inhale while shutting his eyes. As if he's trying to summon strength that's in the very air we are breathing.

He opens his eyes and fixes his intense stare on me. Every inch of my skin feels like it's on fire.

More more more...

He runs a hand through his hair. "Can we go somewhere and talk? Somewhere public?"

I nod, temporarily mute. He tucks a loose strand of hair behind my ear while staring at me with an intensity I've never seen in any person, ever.

"Where should we go? Do you want food? We can take the bike."

"I don't have long. Maybe an hour," I blurt.

My mom knows that I sometimes stop at the bookstore on the way home to peruse the stacks. After about nine-thirty, though, she always checks up on me. And it's a school night. "I'm not hungry, I had something at work. The bookstore? It's usually not crowded on Sunday nights."

"Perfect." He goes toward the bike. "Oh, I have something for you."

I watch while he undoes a leather bag strapped to the back. He slides something out. It's shaped like a shoebox, and it's wrapped in a glossy white shopping bag.

"Oh! My shoes. Thank you. I'm so sorry that I left those behind."

"Stop apologizing. Put that in your car for now, and open it later."

I unlock my trunk and set the package inside, wondering why he's bothered to wrap up my old shoes so carefully. Probably to transport them on the bike; it wasn't like he could throw them in a plastic bag.

After making sure my car is secure, I slip my keys in my backpack purse and slip the straps over my shoulders. He's already straddling the bike with his long legs, looking like an ad for something irresistibly masculine, and holding a black helmet. "Here. For you."

"What about you?"

He grins. "There's no helmet law in Florida. Come here."

I stand close to him, close enough that my hip touches his leg. He hands me the helmet and I slip it on, figuring my hair already looks like crap and can't get any worse. Griffin wraps his hand around my elbow and tugs me toward him, then he buckles the strap under my chin. I gingerly flip up the visor.

"You ever ridden a bike before?"

"No." My voice echoes through the helmet.

"You're going to get on back and hold onto me. 'Kay? We're not going that far and I'll go slow."

I nod and flip the helmet down. As gracefully as I possibly can, I slide a leg over the seat and put my hands on his waist.

He turns his head. "Scoot forward."

When I do, he takes my hands and pulls them gently around him, so I'm hugging him from the back. I think my heart has stopped from being this close to him.

He starts the engine and we slowly ride off.

It's about five minutes across the parking lot and two blocks, and I can't stop smiling. Everything — the palm trees, the neon of the suburban sprawl, the fading daylight off the sun-bleached stucco — seems sharper.

We quickly arrive at the bookstore and he unbuckles the helmet. I slide it off, grinning.

"I loved it."

"Thought you might."

The bookstore's one of those big chain stores, not an intimate, cozy spot. Still, it might be the most secluded place I can think of here in Kendall. I can't go to a bar because I'm too young and I don't have my fake ID with me, and a restaurant seems too busy.

Because I suspect my hair's frizzing and flying out of its bun, I let it hang loose. Griffin holds the door, then puts his hand on my back. He navigates me into the store, which is pretty much deserted.

We stand there, between the art books and the religion sections, staring at each other.

"Do you want to sit in there? It's where I usually go." I gesture to the few seats in the bookstore's café.

"I know. I saw your pictures of you studying here on Instagram."

Griffin leans into me, his lips dangerously close to my ear, making me flustered and overly warm. He smells faintly of soap and spice, and I'm hyperaware of how soft his jaw feels against my cheek. I sway a little on rubbery legs and he puts his hand firmly on my upper arm. I'm overloaded with his scent and nearness and the memory of his lips on mine and holy crap he's been looking at my photos on Instagram...

"Juliette, when you have your hair down like that I can't concentrate on anything. Because I want to kiss you again. For a very long time. Right here."

OhmyGod. I feel an ache in a very intimate place and realize that no one's ever made my body react this way. I bite my lip and nod, wrapping my hair into a loose bun and securing it with the hair tie around my wrist.

He smiles, and it's like a reward.

We stand at the counter and I study him, how his hands are jammed into his jeans, how he exudes an effortless cool. I can't believe he kissed me in the parking lot. I touch my finger to my lips, as if they'll somehow feel different now that he's kissed them.

He asks what I want.

For you to kiss me again, I almost say.

Instead, I ask for an iced mocha. Which seems girlish and unsophisticated. He's used to hanging out in Miami's best restaurants and most popular clubs. If he still reads books, I'll bet he shops regularly at the expensive, beautiful bookstore in Coral Gables.

I suddenly feel inadequate.

He's holding our coffees and turns to me. "Lead the way."

I find a small, round table that's nestled in the corner. It's so small that we're somehow forced to lean in, toward each other, and I'm reminded of those romantic black and white photos of couples in Paris. I wrap my hands around the cold drink. I can still feel his kiss on every inch of my body, and I shiver as our knees bump together.

Why did he kiss me?

"I have some questions for you, too." I have so many, most of them probably inappropriate. But if he's come here to ask me questions, it's only right that I ask some of my own.

He nods, as if he's deep in thought. "Fair enough. We both have questions. Can I start?"

"Sure, since you came all the way out here." We exchange little smiles.

"Why did you come to my party?" His voice is low.

There was no way out of this one. "I wanted to see you."

He grins and scratches his chin. I'm fighting the urge to touch him.

"Your turn."

Oh God. Here goes. "Are you dating Victoria? Or a blonde woman?"

He shakes his head and frowns. "A blonde woman?"

Now I feel foolish. "As I was leaving your house I saw you get out of an SUV. With a blonde."

He laughs. "That was Matthew's girlfriend. A thousand percent no, I'm not dating anyone. I don't usually date." He makes little quote marks with his hand.

Just as I suspected.

I'm certain my cheeks are getting red, either from him, or my overall embarrassment. He'd just answered another of my questions, but opened up several more. And answered one in a predictable, but disappointing, way.

A lock of my hair slips out of the hair tie and falls in my face.

He stares at me and takes the lock in his hand. He twirls it around his finger. I'm having a tough time breathing.

Sighing, he lets go of my hair. "When do you turn eighteen?"

I swallow. "Four weeks. A few days before graduation."

He nods, as if he's trying to work something out in his schedule. He looks at me and raises his eyebrows slightly, as if to signal that it's my turn to ask him something.

I take a deep breath. "Griffin?"

He runs the back of his finger down my cheek and it's a little shocking that I haven't instantly melted into a puddly. "Yes, Juliette?"

I could listen to him say my name all night. Do I really want to ask him this? Yes, I have to. For my own curiosity.

"What do you do for a living?"

____