If I'd known having a boyfriend was this awesome, I'd have wanted one earlier. But maybe it's just Griffin — and I'm still not sure if boyfriend is an accurate description of him. Are we dating? Is he also with other people? He seems to like me. He gave me the most beautiful Tiffany necklace this morning. A gold key pendant that must have cost a fortune.

We laugh a lot. And I know he likes sleeping with me. We're definitely compatible in that department.

"I think I'm addicted to you," he'd whispered in my ear at one point. We'd barely gotten any sleep and in the purple-hazy moments before the sun rose, we walked outside. I was in his big T-shirt and underwear, and he wore his jeans. No shirt. While drinking coffee on the porch, we watched the sun rise. Well, I watched the sun rise and sneaked glances at his bare chest, and that's when he brought out the blue box holding the necklace.

Not long after, we went back to bed, passed out, and he possessed me once more. It sounds cheesy — he possessed me — but that's what it was. He has a frightening amount of control over my body. Every touch, every kiss, leaves me powerless. I haven't told him that yet, though.

When we finish, my stomach rumbles loud enough to startle him.

"You need to eat."

"I guess," I giggle, running my finger across his shoulders. God, I love his shoulders. They're roped with sheer muscle. "But I need to shower."

"How about pancakes? I'm good at those." He springs out of bed, naked, and I admire his butt as he slips on his shorts.

"It's two in the afternoon."

"We'll call it brunch. And I saw fresh oranges in the kitchen, so we can make juice."

I pretend to swoon and close my eyes as I sit up. "You've convinced me."

When I open my lids, he's staring at me with a dreamy look.

"What? Why are you looking at me like that?"

He kneels at my feet and looks up at me, caressing my calves. "Because you're beautiful. Because this is the best weekend I've had in a long time."

I ruffle his hair and laugh, and in the shower I'm practically floating, I'm so happy.

After my shower, I throw on my bathing suit and a white crochet coverup. The long shirt's kind of see-through, but I figure that we're not going anywhere. And he's already seen all of my body.

I find him in the kitchen, mixing the batter. I lean against the doorframe. "You're good at that."

"I made them for my sister every weekend. Still do, I guess. Now that she's back."

"You're such a good brother." I open my mouth to ask how his dad is, and then close it. Talking about his father's prison stint probably would kill the mood.

"You looked like you were going to say something."

I shake my head.

He whisks more milk into the batter. "You can ask me anything, you know. I don't want you to feel like you have to hold back with me."

I shrug and pluck a blueberry out of a container, pop it in my mouth, chew, and swallow. Does he really mean that? I guess he's really opening up to me now that we've spent more time together. "I was going to ask about your dad. If you or Zoe ever see him."

A flash of hurt crosses his face, and he twists the knob for the stove. "Zoe and I used to visit. But I don't get there much now. At all."

"I'm sorry." I lick my lips, not knowing what to say.

"It's okay. I figured you'd ask. It just makes me too fucking angry to see him. Angry at him for being so greedy — we had everything, so why did he want more. Angry at the government for sending an informant to catch him. You know what I used to wish for at sixteen, about a year after my mom died?"

"What?"

"That my dad fall in love with your mom, so I could live with you and Ash. I stopped wishing it when he was convicted, of course."

I burst out laughing. "That would have been weird had we been stepsiblings and..."

He chuckles. "I think it worked out better this way."

"It must have been so difficult for you and Zoe. How did you manage to stay out of foster homes? Or did you go to foster homes? You and Ash stopped talking and I wasn't paying attention because I was young. Even though I did think you were cute back then. But you were an abstract concept, like a boy band."

HIs dazzling smile is positively disarming. "My dad had squirreled away a little money in offshore accounts. Enough to live on for a few months. Before he went to prison, he told me how to get at the cash. I didn't want Zoe and I to be split up, so I hustled. Made some things happen." He pours batter into the pan with a flourish and grins.

He's so confident in everything he does. No, more than confident. Cocky. Arrogant. Defiant.

I take another blueberry. "What do you mean by hustle, exactly?"

"I used the money to move us from apartment to apartment. The child welfare system here is so fucked that we fell through the cracks pretty quickly once we changed addresses a few times. Which was just fine with us. I got a, uh, job, made some money, and put Zoe through school."

"You're incredible, you know that? You're like living proof the American Dream is real." I stand close to him and kiss his shoulder.

"Eh, I'm not sure about that." He smirks and I bite him softly.

"No distractions, you little kitten. I'm serious about my pancakes." He flips a perfectly round, golden pancake and the batter sizzles.

I raise my hands in the air in mock surrender, then lean against the counter. With a quick twist of his wrist, he scoops the pancake up with the spatula and deposits it on a plate.

He brushes past me to open the fridge, and takes out some syrup. Setting it on the counter near me, he leans in for a kiss.

"Do you have your bathing suit on under that?"

I nod.

"Let me see."

Grinning, I step away from him and turn. Slowly, right there in the middle of the kitchen, I pull the shirt over my head, wiggling my butt.

I hear him suck in his breath and I spin around, into his arms.

"Do you like?"

He nods and gets that half lidded look.

I make a pleading face. "I need to eat."

"Oh! Right." He smiles and goes back to the stove, pouring another pancake. "I love how you're so confident of your body. A lot of women aren't."

I shrug, thinking about those women at his party. Why would they have issues with their perfect bodies? "I've always had a little baby fat. Chub. Whatever. I've tried to diet. Failed every time. I love to eat. I've got enough to think about without worrying about my weight. I've grown to accept my body. Used to really hate it a few years ago."

"That's a very cool way of looking at life. You're smart, you know that?"

His words make me feel tingly. "Thanks. I think my mom helped a lot. She's always encouraged me to be strong. It's kind of the one thing she's done right."

"That's a pretty big thing."

"Yeah, I guess. But she's harder on me than she is on Ash. He's like the golden boy. Ash can do no wrong. Ash is fighting for a higher cause. Ash doesn't need a steady job. With me, she's super strict. About going out, who I spend time with, even my college major. I don't even know if I want to be a pharmacist, but she says it's a solid career."

He flips another pancake onto the plate. "Your mom always babied Ash because of what he went through when he was a kid."

I roll my eyes. "That was like twenty years ago."

"He's always going to be her baby boy. And now that you're eighteen, you can decide what to do with your life. You've got the right instincts. You'll choose the right path. I know you will. If you want to major in English, do it. You have a lot more power than you realize."

It's as if Griffin says the very words I want to hear.

* * *

Late in the day, as the sun inches toward the horizon, Griffin and I laze on a wide chaise on the small, private beach. I've been reading and re-reading the same paragraph in my book twenty times but can't concentrate. I feel simultaneously alive, vibrating with energy — yet physically exhausted.

Sun, swimming, sex. Repeat.

"Sleepy," I murmur. The chaise fabric feels rough against my pink skin, but I'm too lazy to move. I feel a sunburn coming on. I'm still in my bikini, and he's wearing nothing but a pair of red board shorts. He's not pink. Within hours, his skin became a delicious golden bronze.

I cannot stop looking at him.

He's tapping on his phone and leans over to steal a quick kiss. "I need to make a few calls for work, 'kay? I'm headed in. I'll be back out for sunset."

"Mmm." Apparently I'm now incapable of speaking in full sentences, and can only grunt and coo. That's what he's done to me. I roll onto my stomach and watch him walk up the sand and into the house.

With my cheek pressed against my book, I drift off in the late-day orange sherbet color sunshine.

I'm not sure how long I'm out, but I wake with a start. The sun is lower, casting longer shadows. The sky is on the verge of that red color we saw the other night and the water is painted an otherworldly glittering cobalt. Everything is still and hushed, and I don't want to break the spell. It's never like this where I live, and it hits me that I've gone twenty-four hours without hearing an angry horn or someone hollering from two apartments over.

I reach for my phone so I can take a photo of the fiery sky.

Crap. It's lost its charge. I'll go inside to plug it in and make sure Griffin doesn't miss the sunset. If there's one thing I want to do with him, it's watch the sun go down. Maybe get a photo of the two of us, if I promise that I won't put it on Instagram. I slide off the chaise and my feet hit the still-warm sand.

Maybe I'll get something to drink, too. All of this sun has left my mouth parched.

The sliding glass door is open, and I step inside. I hear Griffin's low voice, and the tone is enough to send a shock of sensual awareness through me. He must be in the kitchen. I can't see him, because the kitchen's on the other side of the wall.

I stop for a second, wondering if I should interrupt him.

"Did you pick up the new shipment of phones?" he says.

I hesitate, wondering what to do. He must be talking about some new phone system for his business. I wonder where his office is. I never thought to ask.

"Okay, good. How about the pills? Did you test them?"

My heart leaps in my throat. Pills? I'm frozen in my spot. If he walks to the kitchen door, he'll see me. The sound of the ice cube maker on the fridge door opening echoes through the cabin, then the water spout next to it.

"Sorry, Vee, had to get some water."

Vee. As in...Victoria? I scowl and tilt my head so my ear is aimed in the direction of the kitchen. I shouldn't eavesdrop.

"I don't trust those fuckers. Do a random test of that batch. Make sure there's no meth and no bath salts. The usual. I'm not selling that shit," he pauses and I almost choke on my own spit.

I inch back out the door and stop when his voice rumbles through the cottage.

"Exactly. For one thing, I can't get enough money per pill if we sell molly cut with a bunch of bullshit. I'm known for selling quality product and I can't take a chance on some fucker scamming me. I don't care if it's easier..."

That's all I need to hear, and I scramble back outside. Without closing the sliding door, I walk as fast as possible back to the chaise. I sit on the edge, hands gripping the edge, rocking back and forth. All I can do is stare at the glittering, dark water. Which now looks more than a bit menacing. My heart's hammering and I'm breathing hard as if I'd just sprinted. I might be naïve, but I know the word meth.

And the word molly.

So it's true. Griffin really is a drug dealer. I had sex with a drug dealer. More than once. I'm falling for someone who is a criminal. And he must sell a lot of drugs, if this all this luxury's any indication. How could I have been so stupid? The Porsche. The beach condo. The gold necklace and pendant from Tiffany that's wound around my neck.

My chest feels like it's been impaled with a spike of panic. I'm practically hyperventilating as I roll the gold pendant between my fingers. What am I going to do? Should I ask him about what I just overheard? Insist on leaving? Call the police?

Will he kill me if I do any of those things?

A pair of hands cover my eyes. I'm so terrified that I yell and squirm away, falling to the sand.

____