The truth is, I know Ivy very well. We’ve been together for four years. We met through Logan. He and I were playing on the same basketball team when he told me he was looking to put a band together. I asked who he had lined up. He told me he played the drums and he had a cousin who sang, played guitar, and wrote songs. When I asked what his cousin was like, he said, “She’s a talented girl whose voice draws you in the minute you hear it, and the beautiful tone of her guitar playing only sucks you in further.”

His description of her intrigued me enough to make me consider joining. When I met Ivy, I could tell right away that she was a soulful artist who sang about what she knew, what she experienced. Once I heard her sing, I definitely wanted to hear more, and before I knew it, I was playing guitar with Logan and his cousin, Ivy Taylor. We called ourselves Poison Ivy and modeled our band after No Doubt. Which is fitting, because Ivy looks like a young Gwen Stefani. For the record, I agreed to play in the band because I was hot for Ivy, but I stayed because she really could write a song, sing a note, and rock a rhythm guitar like no other girl I knew. It didn’t hurt that I fell in love with her the minute her fingers hit the chords. That smile she gave me when she played and sang was one I knew I couldn’t live without.

Now it’s been almost a week since we last saw each other, and my train of thought is instantly derailed the minute she jumps into my arms. “You made it! I’ve missed you so much.”

I fall back onto the bench with her on my lap, my hands gliding up her warm thighs, and I tug her skirt down. “Hi, gorgeous. I told you I’d be here. I just couldn’t skip out of school early this week until today. I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay. I get it, but it doesn’t make it any easier. I hate not seeing you. It sucks.”

Circling my hands around to her fine ass, I push her closer to me and grin. “I think what you mean to say is you love me so much you can’t bear to be without me that long.”

Her fingers travel to my hair and she yanks on it and says softly, “Stop putting words in my mouth, even if they are true.”

Reaching up, I take her hands in mine and stare into the depths of her blue eyes. Today they are the darkest of blues—stormy. “Fuck, I’ve missed you.” I breathe out. Then after another moment I whisper, “God, I love you.”

A quiet sigh escapes her lips and the look in her eyes tells me everything I already know but still love to hear. She nuzzles her nose close to my ear and the warmth of her breath on my skin instantly excites me. “I love you, too, Xander. And I can’t wait until the fall so we can see each other every day without our family issues getting in our way.”

I attach my lips to hers and kiss her with the passion that always ignites between us whenever we touch. I think about the freedom we’ll have to be together, and I get lost in just the idea of it. Pulling away, I brush my tongue across her lower lip. “I can’t wait either,” I murmur. The thought of us on our own together has my body going into overdrive. The muscles in her thighs tighten and the sound of her breathing becomes louder. I hold her face in my hands and just look at her—she takes my breath away. She always does . . . she always has and she always will.

She leans in and kisses me slowly. It’s not the same as the way I kissed her. Her kiss is one of need, not want, and I can feel it. I respond with slow, steady flicks of my tongue, but before I’m done letting her know I’ll always be here for her, someone is tapping me on the shoulder. I twist around to see a short, gray-haired woman in a yellow suit pointing her finger at me. “Excuse me, young man, but that kind of behavior is not allowed on school grounds. I’m going to have to ask you to leave.”

Ivy scurries off my lap, smoothing her skirt. “Sorry, Vice Principal Myers. It won’t happen again.” She forces a smile at the woman, who has scolded us a few too many times over the years.

“Oh, Ivy, I know it won’t, my dear,” the iron-faced lady says while shooting daggers at me with her eyes.

It happens every damn time, and I wonder if she remembers me or thinks Ivy’s kissing a different guy each time she catches us. I try to apologize, but like usual she turns around in a huff and marches toward the other end of the basketball court to break up another couple heading in the same direction we were. Standing up, I wrap my arm around Ivy’s waist and lead her to my car. Leaning over, I whisper in her ear, “Your skirt is a little short, don’t you think?”

She looks down as if she forgot what she’s wearing. She shrugs her shoulders. “Honestly, I don’t.”

“All you have to do is bend over and every guy will think your ass is just begging to be spanked.”

She laughs. Before I can comment further she snakes her arm around my waist. She looks up at me trying to stifle her laughter. “Xander, I’m pretty sure you’re the only guy that thinks that way when he looks at me.”

“Trust me, baby, I’m not. But keep it up and I’ll be doing more than just thinking it.”

She giggles again. She thinks I’m kidding—but I’m not.

The hot sun beats down on us and reflects off the paint of the cars in the parking lot, nearly blinding Ivy. I turn to face her. I walk backward and remove my sunglasses to place them on her pretty face. Twisting back, I slap her ass and clutch her by the hand, then sprint for my car, about fifty yards away. We are both panting when we reach it. After I open the door for her, she pushes the seat forward and throws her red sack on the floor, but fails in her attempt to swat me with it first. I shake my head and grin. When her eyes adjust to the shade, she removes my sunglasses. Her face is a vision as she props herself back on her elbows and pulls her red combat boots into the car. With love written all over her face, I decide to drop the clothing issue. “You all set?” I ask.

She nods and I quickly close the door and dart around to the driver’s side. By the time I slide in, she’s buckled up and grinning at me. As I start the engine, the throaty roar of the 5.4-liter V-8 comes to life. I turn to her, barely able to speak with thoughts of what I hope to have time for shifting through my mind, and ask, “What time do you have to be home?”

She leans over and slides her tongue around the shell of my ear. “I have at least two hours. I was hoping you’d make it today, so I told my mom I had a study session and to ask Mrs. Cooper to babysit if she couldn’t get home before the girls’ bus.”

Turning my Corvette around the corner a little too fast, I drag my mind back to the road, but my dick twitches as I try to decide where we should go. My grandparents are in the process of moving from their house in Brentwood to a condominium in Beverly Hills and I’m pretty sure yesterday was moving day, so the house should be empty today. I know they have until the end of the summer to fully vacate, but I think we’re safe going there now. I glance at her as she settles back in her seat and fumbles through her bag with a look of concern on her face.

“Everything okay?” I ask.

Her eyes flutter as we turn the corner and the sun makes them sparkle. “Of course,” she says with a smile.

“Where do you want to go? Pool house or pier?” I ask. Of course, getting her naked is what I really want to do, but I’d be cool with just hanging out and talking if that’s what she’s up for. I know she has a lot going on with her mother.

Pulling a CD out of her bag, she ejects my Nirvana disc and tucks it into the sleeve above her visor, alongside the many others. Then she inserts hers into the player and kicks her feet up. Staring at her legs has me wishing I hadn’t given her a choice of where to go. She doesn’t answer right away. Instead she reaches for the sunglasses she threw on the dash and puts them on. Then she looks my way, raises her head, and quietly says, “The pool house is fine with me.”

My mouth goes dry and my breathing becomes forced. I’m a little more than excited with her choice. I try to deflect my anticipation by pointing to the player. “What CD is this?”

Dropping her feet, she turns toward me and just a glance has me looking at her tits overflowing from her pushup bra. Fuck, a week has been a long time. How am I going to make the two months this summer? I hope my mom will let me make calls from France.

“Stop staring at my chest,” she chastises me, not even attempting to pull the puckered fabric of her shirt together.

“How can I be staring when I’m driving?”

“I don’t know, but you are,” she says, turning bright red.

“Don’t be embarrassed,” I tell her.

“I’m not,” she says shyly and searches in her bag again. She offers me a piece of gum and I decline as she sticks one in her mouth. She blows a bubble and pops it before hitting PLAY. “I made you a mix tape so that when you’re thinking of me you can listen to it and know I’m thinking of you. I also made you a photo album,” she says, pulling a black canvas album out of her backpack. Glancing at it, I can see it has a picture of us inserted in the front. It’s a photo from last summer when we went with my family to Niagara Falls to see Third Eye Blind perform. Ivy and I are standing on the Maid of the Mist in yellow ponchos—both of us have a look of awe on our faces as the water rushes all around us and the sound of the falls roars above us.

“The pictures aren’t to share. And don’t look at them until you’re in France. This is to keep you away from all those hot French babes.”

“Baby, I’m only interested in you.”

“Two months is a long time, though.”

“It is. But all it means is a lot of hand action,” I joke.

Her face blazes with color. “That’s why I’m giving you a few pictures.”