“Because I don’t want to be alone right now.” His voice echoes through the night.I turn around to face him one last time. “You weren’t alone, asshole.”

“Emily Zola.That's only the second woman I've seen down here. What's up with that?"But before St. Clair can answer, the grating voice says, "It's Emile." We turn around to find a smug guy in a Euro Disney sweatshirt. "Emile Zola is a man."My face burns. I reach for St. Clair's arm to pull us away again,but St. Clair is already in his face. "Emile Zola was a man," he corrects. "And you're an arse. Why don't you mind your own bloody business and leave her alone!”

“I know. As if I’d ever go for him now that my dad wants me to date him.”“As if you’d ever go for his again.”“Right…right.”

“Why?" His voice is suspicious. "Are you two going out now?""Yeah, we set up our first date right after he asked me to marry him. Please. We're just friends.”

“You say that I'm afraid of being alone, and it's true. I am. And I'm not proud of it. But you need to take a good look at yourself, Anna, because I am NOT the only one in this room who suffers this problem.”

“I slide my hand between our mouths, just in time. His lipsare soft against my palm. I slowly, slowly remove it. “No, Idon’t love Max anymore. But I don’t want to give you thisbroken, empty me. I want you to have me when I’m full,when I can give something back to you. I don’t have much togive right now.”Cricket’s limbs are still, but his chest is pounding hardagainst my own. “But you’ll want me someday? That feelingyou once had for me … that hasn’t left either?”Our hearts beat the same wild rhythm. They’re playing thesame song.“It never left,” I say.”

“We are kissing like crazy. Like our lives depend on it. His tongue slips inside my mouth, gentle but demanding, and it’s nothing like I’ve ever experienced, and I suddenly understand why people describe kissing as melting because every square inch of my body dissolves into his. My fingers grip his hair, pulling him closer. My veins throb and my heart explodes. I have never wanted anyone like this before. Ever.He pushes me backward and we’re lying down, making out in front of the children with their red balloons and the old men with their chess sets and thetourists with their laminated maps and I don’t care, I don’t care about any of that.All I want is Étienne.The weight of his body on top of mine is extraordinary. I feel him—all of him—pressed against me, and I inhale his shaving cream, his shampoo, andthat extra scent that’s just . . . him. The most delicious smell I could ever imagine.I want to breathe him, lick him, eat him, drink him. His lips taste like honey. His face has the slightest bit of stubble and it rubs my skin but I don’t care, Idon’t care at all. He feels wonderful. His hands are everywhere, and it doesn’t matter that his mouth is already on top of mine, I want him closer closercloser.”