With only shafts of moonlight squeezing through tall branches and lightening our path, we trudge through the woods for so long, we could've been walking in circles for all I know. Trevor's probably chosen the scenic route just to mess with me. Either that or my assumptions were right and he doesn't know where he's going.

As if the sound of my feet dragging along the earth and stirring up the smell of damp leaves and pine needles is not enough, he glances back every other minute to make sure I'm still tagging along. Each time I get the impression that he's berating me for not moving fast enough, so I bite my lip to keep from voicing certain choice words that vibrate on the edge of my tongue.

Becoming increasingly lightheaded, I push myself forward until I finally snap, the fatigue in my legs making me stop. "I need a break."

Trevor whirls around and expels his breath in a long, exasperated sigh. "Fine. Sit down while I gather some wood to start a fire. Looks like we'll be stuck here awhile."

"Sit down where? What if there are snakes lurking around?" I don't know why this random thought popped into my head after wandering in this wilderness of weeds and bushes for hours, but now I can't dismiss it.

"Yeah, that would not be ideal. We don't want you fainting again."

His attempt at ridiculing me brings back the memory of our first encounter. Like a damaged reel of film, it replays bits of clips I wish I could erase forever. The snake. The fright. Me passing out in his arms. Should've known it would become more fodder for his arsenal of jabs to use against me.

"Celia? Celia!"

I blink back into myself and give a full-body shiver that feels like a dog shaking off water. Only it's Trevor I'm shaking off. "When I was five . . . I almost died because of a rattlesnake bite. So screw you for making my fear of snakes seem trivial and unwarranted."

The curtain of impassivity drops from his eyes, his expression sheepish, like a chastised schoolboy. He doesn't apologize, not that I expect him to, but at least he has the decency to appear remorseful. Without a word, he grabs a stick and clears a small area of foliage, then gestures for me to take a seat on a fallen tree trunk.

Reluctantly, I settle on it and lean on the trunk at my back, resting my head against the rough bark and stretching out my aching legs. Trevor stands there as if he's been silenced, watching me. Slowly, a frown settles onto his forehead.

"I shouldn't have said that. It was insensitive and uncalled for."

Color me surprised. Is that his way of saying he's sorry? "Wow, that must have felt like barbed wire coming out."

The barb hits the mark, but instead of inciting him further, Trevor brushes it off and goes about gathering small twigs to start the fire, then places everything in a pile. Reaching into his jeans' pocket, he pulls out a set of keys that has a fire flint attached to it. A couple of tries and the dry tinder catches fire. I welcome its warmth and the little bit of light it provides, hoping it will keep critters and crawlers away.

Trevor sits so close to me our shoulders are practically touching. Whether it's intended or not, I'm not sure. I glance over at him, at his mussed hair and gorgeous eyes fringed with long lashes, and in that moment I really wish they were touching. No matter he rejected and mocked me like it's his pastime. You're such an idiot. Grinding away another layer of my molars, I catch the slightest hint of cologne and mint on him when he leans forward to throw another branch into the fire.

Damn him, why does he always have to smell so good?

He brings the collar of his hoodie to his nose and inhales. "Glad you approve."

And now he's a mind reader.

"Hardly. Your thoughts are so loud."

Shit, did I say all that out loud again? My doe eyes must scream kill me now, while I can't decide whether to laugh or run away screaming. Something about this situation is on the verge of hysterical and the desire to laugh at my mortification is overwhelming. So when the giggle tickling the back of my throat becomes impossible to hold back, I let it loose. Then the giggle turns into guffaws and finally convulsions of laughter. Trevor looks at me quizzically, the corners of his mouth twitching as he struggles to fight off the infection of my chortling. That delectable mouth I got a brief taste of before he slapped me with rejection.

Wiping the tears of laughter out from under my eyes, I slouch away from him. There's nothing like the reminder of not being wanted to douse my mirth. Clearly I can't trust my lizard brain around him. "Um, I think it's probably for the best if we keep a certain distance between us."

Trevor stares at me long and hard but doesn't protest. He rises, settling on the ground opposite me, his knees bent, his arms resting on them, the fire roaring between us. And the warmth that surrounded me vanishes.

Still thrumming with embarrassment, I let my eyelids drop, closing him from my sight and his relentless gaze. Neither of us speaks for so long, I'm afraid to open my eyes and see what he's doing. Not that I could even if I wanted to. Exhaustion weighs my lashes down. I want to fight sleep, but I don't because for some reason I feel safe with him. Or perhaps I'm too tired to feel anything else.

"What happened with your boyfriend?"

In my semi-conscious state, I have the vague impression that he's talking to me. That can't be right. Trevor wouldn't willingly ask me a question. Or make conversation. Chit-chat is not his thing. The only time he opens his mouth is to scold or taunt me. But when he repeats the question more forcefully, my eyes flutter open to assure myself it's not all happening in my head and that he actually truly wants to know. Erring on the side of caution, I let out a "Hmm?" to make sure I heard him right.

"Your boyfriend . . ." His voice loses its smooth edge that could have charmed a snake.

Snake? I shudder. Will you knock it off with the snake talk? I have to blink several times. The tree trunks merge together in my vision and seem to blur into one mass. Contrary to that, there are currently three impatient Trevors scowling at me. I lack the capacity and the will to put in an effort to figure out how that's even possible. Then it finally clicks he's asking me about my ex and I shudder anew. "W-what about him?"

"Why were you fighting with him at that party where you broke your phone?"

His question throws me for a loop and I hesitate. I don't want to talk about Elliot. Certainly not with Trevor. Whenever I think of Elliot, I can't help the knee-jerk reaction to throttle someone. However, the image of Elliot doubled over in pain after a well-placed kick shatters the somber mood. I try to squelch it, but a giggle emerges, followed by an unladylike chortle and an unfortunate snort. "Oh, that's a funny story. Sooo funny." The more I try to stop, the worse it becomes. Instead of dissipating my humor, Trevor's straight face that looks like he bit into a bitter lemon and found a worm only makes me laugh harder.

He growls, most likely wishing he'd shut up and let me fall asleep instead of opening this can of worms. "I guess we'll save this conversation for later, when you're not stoned out of your mind."

Another stretch of silence mingled with an errant giggle or two passes between us before I say, "I don't know why I even tried. He was a good boyfriend. Too good to be true. Turned out he was. 'Cause after stringing me along for one year and a half, he finally revealed his true self in the worst possible moment. I'd just found out my mom had hidden my acceptance letter to Berkeley, got into a fight with her over it, snuck out behind her back to my very first party because why the hell not, and then that jerk dropped his bomb on me when we ended up in a room all by ourselves. I thought he was the one. The one good thing to happen to me since Elle went missing. But no. Losing my sister and my dream college was not enough. I had to lose him too."

My word drivel dries up when the thick branch Trevor's holding snaps in half in his shaking fists.

He works his jaw for a long several moments as he fights to hold back some deep emotion I could only guess at if I were sober enough. "You didn't sleep with him . . ." A statement. Not a question.

"W-why do you care?"

He shrugs, relinquishing the broken branch to the fire. "Just trying to understand what kind of a tool would sniff around you for such a long time and not even touch you."

"Sniff around me? I'm not a fucking dog! And how would you know he hasn't touched me?"

"Observation."

What? Do I have inexperienced virgin written on my forehead or something?

"He doesn't sound like he was the one. More like boring as fuck," he concludes, flashing a knowing smirk that reveals all those straight, white teeth he doesn't show often.

I don't tell him sometimes I felt more like Elliot's younger sister than his girlfriend. That would only solidify Trevor's impression of him and I can only take so much ridicule for one night.

"Enough about me! Should I ask you about the girlfriend you say you don't have?"

Trevor shakes his head, losing that stupid smirk in the process. "Nothing to tell." His voice is sharp, his eyes sharper as he pins me with a glare.

"Oh, I bet things are not boring on your end."

He doesn't admit or deny my remark, just busies himself with stoking the fire, brow furrowed, angrily flexing the muscles in his jaw.

"Tell me something else then. Your parents?"

I should refrain from pushing him when he clams up and goes all dark and moody, but I ignore all the signals. I don't know why I feel the need to fill this awkward silence when I'm with him. Or why I need to peel away all his layers and see who he truly is. Maybe because he won't share anything about himself and it's driving me insane.

"Fine, no parents talk then. What about Mila? She's pretty much the female version of you. Only, unlike you, she talks a lot."

Except for the chirping of crickets, there's nothing but suffocating silence on his end. I deflate. He's not going to give me anything. Well, too bad I'm about to unload a boatload of hurt I've been carrying around for years and use him as an outlet.

"At least you have your sister. I don't know where mine is. Elle could be lying dead in a ditch somewhere, waiting to be found." I unleash my hair from the strict confines of the elastic ponytail holder, which I slip around my wrist, to give me something to do with this simmering something that burns in my gut.

"I don't know what my father looks like. Mom says he was a deadbeat who left when I was four and she hasn't kept a single photo. She forbade us to ask questions about him. She won't tell us who Brynn's father is either. I know, you must think there's been a revolving door of men in her life, but I've never seen her with anybody. Which was probably for the best. It would've sucked for some random guy to play house with us for a while and then leave too, or worse, be a shitty person who wouldn't be interested in raising another man's kids and not be able to get rid of him. My childhood sucked. We moved a lot, but I had my sisters. Now that Elle's gone and Mom moved us here, Brynn is trying so hard to keep us together and not be at each other's throats all the time. My family is falling apart. Most days I'm barely hanging on by a thread and—"

"Dammit, Celia, don't cry," Trevor mumbles, giving me a sympathetic look that makes my tear ducts act up further.

The weird thing is I didn't realize I was, nor registered his movements, because he's seated next to me again. When his arm rises and his hand inches closer to my cheek, I'm tempted to pull away. His forefinger makes contact with my skin and traces the path of one of my tears, his touch gentle. This tender, considerate side of him makes itself known and as a result a wild jumble of feelings assail me. I look up to discover his pupils have enlarged to fill his dark eyes. Trevor puts his arm around me, rock solid, and I let my forehead rest on his shoulder, or else I might be stupid enough to kiss him again. And then where will that leave me? Heartbroken and with a rejection complex.

I stay like that even when the heavy tug of sleep pulls me down. The next thing I know, my world shifts. My cheek is cushioned by something hard but warm, a soft fabric lands on my back, and I curl into it, drawing my knees up to my stomach. The comfort does me in and sleep takes me.

* * * * *

By the time I manage to force my eyes open, the sun is peeking through the trees, a brilliant yellow that promises to scorch everything in its path. The bright light brings with it a blinding headache that threatens to incapacitate me. Wallowing in my newfound discomfort, it's then I figure out Trevor's thighs have served as my pillow. Groaning, I push myself off him and freeze at the sight of the tennis-ball-sized drool stain I left on his jeans. Shit! Headache momentarily forgotten, I wipe my cheek on my shoulder and scramble for something to clean him with before he notices. Since my sleeves only reach my elbows, I'm forced to resort to the palm of my hand, rubbing the stain with fervor.

"I suggest you stop doing that." His growly tone startles me and I scoot two feet away from him on impulse.

As I rack my brain for an explanation to offer him, my gaze falls to his jeans again, which are slightly tighter in the front. And it dawns on me what I was unintentionally doing. Oh no! Judging by the burning sensation in my cheeks, I'm certain I've flushed the deepest shade of red.

"I-I wasn't . . . I wanted to . . . There's a . . . I just . . ." I sigh, a bumbling, incoherent, rambling mess. "Can we not make a big deal of it? Please? I didn't mean any of that." Suddenly I'm sweating from every pore in my body.

Trevor watches me squirm, loving every second of it, the bastard. He chuckles, grabbing his hoodie he used to cover me with and putting it on over his T-shirt. Rummaging inside the front pocket, he pulls out a pack of mints and takes one.

"Um, can I have one too?"

He shakes the pack over my outstretched palm and three fall out. I snatch them and pop them into my mouth before he can ask for the extra ones back. God knows I need them more than he does.

"I really need to get home . . ."

He nods and clears the firepit of any remaining embers before he starts down a path. I follow at a reasonable distance, all the while thinking about everything that happened last night. The more I remember, the harder I know it will be to be near him. The kiss we shared stands out the most. Then him saying I shouldn't have thrown myself at him like that. This one shameful memory will guarantee I'll steer clear of him from now on.

"Are you okay by yourself from here?" he asks.

To my surprise, Trevor has led me straight to my favorite place by the creek, only on the other side of it. My relief is brief considering I'm going to be grounded for life in a few minutes, which I almost look forward to if it means I'm cut off from the rest of this town.

"Yes, thank you." I shuffle my feet backward, in the direction of the footbridge. "Trevor, I'm sorry . . ."

"For what?" He edges forward, closing the distance right back as soon as I manage to create any.

"For the kiss. I-I obviously wasn't thinking clearly and I'm sorry." Knowing he didn't feel what I felt is embarrassing enough, but of course Trevor doesn't let me off the hook that easily. If anything, he seems adamant not to accept my apology.

"Are you really?" His fast reflexes save me from stepping into the cool water, as in my haste to escape him I missed the bridge by a foot. Pulling me into him with a firm arm locked around my middle, his other hand knots into my hair. Spellbound, I watch as his face gets closer and closer.

"Are you?" he repeats, his minty breath fanning my lips. He touches his softly to them, a tender, featherlight brush of warm flesh that is gone before I can adjust, meant to extricate the answer out of me. My nerves are going haywire, preventing me from admitting that I'm not, in fact, sorry for the kiss we shared, yet I definitely regret the outcome.

His free hand cups my cheek, and he controls my head from a nod to a shake, not accepting my affirmative response. "Fuck this!"

I don't get to reply because in the next instant his mouth captures mine. This kiss isn't soft like our first, it's hard and powerful, unlike anything I'm used to. His teeth gently sink into my lower lip, sucking it, something I feel all the way to my toes. Tilting his head to the side, his tongue traces the crease of my lips until I part them to let him in.

I must admit my jaw is rather stiff at first, until he coaxes me into how he wants me to use my tongue. I honestly thought I'm a good kisser—it's literally the only thing I got to practice on with Elliot—but in a matter of minutes, Trevor takes me from preschool to college level. I've never been kissed like this before. My inexperience doesn't deter him, though, and he becomes that much more eager, even showing me how to breathe through the kiss instead of holding my breath like my instinct dictates and exploding because of lack of oxygen and jitters.

In long, leisurely strokes inside my mouth, Trevor probes, invades, and then demands more. It's wildly consuming, firing something instinctual in me that I'm helpless to control. A gush of heat pours into my stomach like hot lava. His heart flutters madly against my chest. Or maybe it's mine. I simply can't tell anymore.

Nothing in my rigid life has prepared me for a moment like this.

When at last he draws away, I'm shaking and in shock, swamped by a wave of heat so overwhelming my body goes slack and I cling to him, afraid my legs won't hold me up much longer.

"W-what was that for?" I manage to whisper while drawing hungry breaths into my starving lungs.

"Fuck if I know."

Not exactly the answer I was hoping for. I lift my lashes, holding his stormy gaze, noticing the way his swollen mouth purses as he stares intently down at me.

"I'll see you around." Without another word, Trevor turns and jogs away.

Why do I get this niggling feeling he's going to mess up my entire life?