Spark

My face burns with…well, I’m not certain why it’s on fire, but it compels me to spring up off the bed and march toward the door. “I’ll walk you out,” I clip, in desperate need of fresh air. After a quick goodbye, she follows me outside, and once we’re out of earshot from my mom and brother, she spins around and pierces me with a furious glare.

“Look, I don’t know what your problem is, but all I want to do is help your brother,” she says, pointing her finger at me, her voice quivering with anger. “He seems like a good kid, and if one of my siblings were sick, I’d hope someone else would do the same for us. You don’t have to like me, but you don’t have to be such a jerk either.”

I have no idea what comes over me, but watching her nervously lick her lips, my entire world narrowing to the tip of her tongue wetting that full lower curve, I realize the issue is her.  Stepping forward into her personal space, I force her to back pedal until her legs hit the railing that surrounds the porch.

“That’s the problem, Hudson,” I rasp as our bodies press snugly against each other. Lowering my face to hers, I catch a whiff of a mixture of strawberries and cream. She swallows hard while her pulse thumps rapidly beneath the thin flesh of her throat, and it takes every ounce of self-control I have not to press my lips to the delicate skin. “I like you a little too much, and acting like a jerk is my way of dealing with the fact I’m not supposed to.”

“Why aren’t you supposed to like me?” The words float out of my mouth in a breathy whisper as his intense gaze lifts from my neck to my mouth and finally to my eyes.

If I thought my body did fu

“Because you belong to some other guy, and I don’t play with other people’s things,” he growls. His minty breath lingers between us, increasing my desire to find out if that’s what he truly tastes like.

“Beckham?” I scoff. “Are you kidding?”

He shrugs his shoulders, exhaling a deep breath. “I don’t remember the fucker’s name. Whoever you were with last night.”

My unsteady hands push against his chest, a feeble attempt to get him away from me. “I don’t belong to anyone, especially not him, and I’m a girl, not a thing, jackass,” I spit. “But if that’s how you view me, I’d rather you stay away. Just keep being a—”

His mouth is on mine before I can finish the thought, shutting me up instantly. Caught off-guard by his sudden movement, I scrunch the soft cotton of his gray hoodie in between my fingers, holding on tightly as his kiss steals away not only my words, but any sensible thought I have left.

Urgent and demanding, his caressing lips ignite yet another blaze inside me, this one directly between my thighs. He coasts his large hands up the length of my neck and cradles each side of my face, triggering my lips to part slightly as an involuntary moan escapes.

Taking full advantage of the moment, his tongue slides effortlessly into my mouth and sweeps forcefully against mine, confirming he absolutely tastes as good as I suspected. Then, as abruptly as the kiss began, he pulls away and breaks our mouths apart, leaving us both gasping for the brisk Rocky Mountain air.

"You were right about one thing," he mutters lowly, brushing the pad of his thumb across my puffy lower lip.

As my heart rate drops back down from Mach 10, I delve, "Yeah? What's that?"

One corner of his mouth tilts up in a lopsided grin that reaches his twinkling eyes as he takes several steps backward, putting some space between us. "You're definitely all girl."

"Definitely," I repeat with a soft chuckle.

Pushing off the rail, I make my way over to the porch stairs, unable to wipe the silly grin off my face. The last few minutes have turned my world on its head, but as I walk away, I'm already wondering if—and when—he might kiss me again.

"But you were wrong about the other," he calls out as my feet hit the grass in front of the cabin, prompting me to turn back over my shoulder and look at him.

I cock one eyebrow at him, puzzled. "What other?"

"You will belong to me," he declares matter-of-factly before spi

“Hudson, it’s your night to set the table,” my mom shouts down the hallway to where I’m hiding out in my room, puffing on my one-hitter while watching Pitch Perfect for the umpteenth time. “Lasagna will be ready in ten minutes. It’s just us tonight.”

Groaning, I reluctantly roll off the solid white comforter thrown haphazardly atop my bed until my toes squish into the soft carpet—shag, of course. Then, trudging my way to the kitchen, where my mom and Grams are putting the final touches on di

Di

Thankfully, tonight’s not one of those nights. I’m not in the mood for their twenty questions about how the date with Beckham went, especially when the flavor of Crew’s lips is still fresh on mine. Not to mention, I’m positive my mom or dad will be sure to ask for the most inappropriate details within the first five minutes of us all sitting down. One of the major downfalls of having unconventional, free-spirited parents who preach peace, love, and rock and roll is having the most awkward, cringe-worthy conversations with them.

“Thank you, sweetie.” Mel kisses me on the cheek when I walk by. “When you’re finished, can you tell your dad and Denver that the food’s ready? They’re outside chopping wood for the cold front moving through tomorrow.”

“Yeppers. Is it finally go

“That’s what the weather guessers are claiming, at least,” she replies distrustfully, then adds, “Let the girls know it’s time too, please.”

Ever since I can remember, we’ve always eaten di

After I quickly set the table, I call upstairs for Cheye

“Yes, you need a shower, and no, it’s not fu