My hands are freezing as I try and unlock the front door, so I fumble with the key for a while before I'm able to turn it. Once I open the door, though, a comforting burst of warm air hits me as I walk inside the house.

I take my coat off and put my shoes on the mat, shaking the snow out of my hair as I walk further inside. I hear two male voices coming from the living room and remember my step-dad telling me something about having a friend over tonight.

I breeze through the hall towards the kitchen and throw a greeting over my shoulder along the way. "Hey, dad!" I call out, while continuing to walk.

"Hey, punk!" he says back. "Come in here for a sec. I have someone I want you to meet."

I stop and sigh to myself. It's been a long day - I just got done with night class and all I want is to get a snack, bring it upstairs, and take a shower before doing homework. I turn on my heel, though, and head back the way I came towards the yellow light of the living room.

I enter the room and lean against the wall in the entryway, smile fading from my lips as I catch sight of the man on the couch. Dad is smiling his usual friendly smile, a beer in hand, but I barely notice him. All I see is the man to his right, dressed sharply in a button-up shirt - sleeves rolled to the elbows. He's smiling at me, but I can't muster one in return. His eyes are a piercing blue/green, and his teeth are perfect. He has the perfect amount of facial hair - manly, but not overgrown. Everything about him is strong and masculine, while classy and kept a the same time.

"Jackson, this is my little girl, April," Dad says. "My step-daughter, who I was telling you about. The one in the picture!" he says, holding up a frame that sits on the coffee table. It's a photo of me when I was about 8 years old in a pink bathing suit, covered in mud, smiling a toothless grin with my eyes pinched shut.

I'm mortified.

"She's my step-baby, but that's just a formality. This is my daughter, my pride and joy, who I couldn't resist showing off. April, this is Jackson. My new coworker."

He just got promoted the other day to a higher floor in his office. It's clear he has new coworkers. Jackson is nothing like his old friends - Ben and Owen, who used to hang around the house. No. He's much, much different than them.

"It's nice to meet you, April," Jackson says, standing and walking over. He extends a hand, presumably for me to shake, but I can't seem to move. "I've heard plenty about you."

I nod and swallow hard, forcing a smile that I'm sure is weak and watery. His hand is still suspended in midair, waiting for mine. Time seems to move in slow motion as I jut my arm out, clasp his fingers, and give his hand a firm shake. He smiles again as I do, squeezing once before letting go.

"I hope all good things," I manage to say.

He chuckles and says, "Of course."

"I didn't bring out the embarrassing baby pictures, don't worry," Dad says, laughing. "Not yet, anyway."

I smile to fill the space and take one step backwards. I can't tear my gaze away from this guy, whose eyes are still resting on me. It seems like he's studying my face, looking for something, and I feel self-conscious because of it. I don't know what to do with myself. I have to get out of here.

Even though we pulled apart moments ago, I can still feel his hand wrapped around mine. This is not okay. He's my dad's age - around 35 or 40, probably. I'm 21, not a child by any means, but it's enough of an age and status difference to know my feelings are way off-base. And way stupid.

"I have homework," I say.

"Alright," Dad says. "I'll stop by a little later after Jackson gets outta here."

I nod and raise my hand in a quick wave as I back out of the room. "It was… um, it was nice to meet you, Jackson," I stammer, barely able to keep eye contact.

"You as well," he says, with a single nod of his head.

I turn around and head up the stairs, forgetting I'd been in search of a snack earlier. I'm suddenly not hungry anymore, and food is no longer on my mind. Now, only one thing is. And that's the fact that the most attractive man I've ever seen in my life is in my living room, hanging out with my dad.

"Shit," I say, shutting my bedroom door. I realize I've forgotten my backpack downstairs, so homework is impossible now. There's no way I can go back down to get it. I probably wouldn't be able to concentrate on my work, anyway. Not when I can still hear the low rumble of his voice through the floorboards.

I close my eyes for a minute and try to breathe. I press a hand to my chest and feel my heart thumping wildly, giving away my heightened state of anxiety. I've seen my fair share of attractive guys in my life, but no one who looks like that. He was barely human, he was so hot. From the way he dressed to the way he smelled, everything was perfect. Guys my age simply don't know how to put themselves together like that.

I open my bedroom door and cross the hall to my bathroom, two towels in hand and Jackson on my mind. I turn the shower on and wait for it to warm up, stripping slowly while the room fogs up. When I step underneath the jet, I face it and palm my hair away from my face with closed eyes, leaning my head back to let my mind take over.

I spent two seconds around this guy, yet he's taking over every thought in my head. I had a long day at school working on a group project in one class and perfecting a presentation in another. Work was busy and stressful, too, at the coffee shop. But none of those things are important now. All I can think about is Jackson's face and how strong his grip was. I can still smell his cologne as I lean against the shower wall, wondering how I could be so caught up in this guy after spending a whopping 30 seconds with him. I'm an idiot.

Starved for attention is what I am, actually.

I've had boyfriends here and there, but nothing that's lasted. My standards are high and my patience is low. College boys don't cut it, though I always thought they would. It didn't seem like the bar could get any lower after high school, but I was wrong. I've been alone for a good six months now and I'm feeling every second of it.

I'm a virgin, but I've done things. And I've needed those things to happen for a while now. Frustration isn't exactly pleasant. And it's taken over my mind, as made obvious by my dramatic obsession with a guy I barely know. My dad's friend, of all things.

There might be something really wrong with me.

I lift my eyes to the detachable shower head and chew the inside of my cheek, wondering if I should. The thought is already planted inside my head, so there's no getting it out now. I won't be able to stop thinking about it if I don't do it. And if I don't do it in the shower, I'll probably just end up doing it in my bed. It'll be better to get it over with now; maybe it'll give me some peace of mind.

So, I reach for the showerhead and switch the water setting to something more concentrated instead of the rain shower. After making sure the shower curtain is closed all the way, I relax fully against the cool tile and tuck the head between my thighs, pushing the steady stream of water directly where I want it.

I bite my lower lip to keep myself quiet. It's not easy because it feels so good, but I do a pretty good job of staying subtle. I work the showerhead in an up and down motion, rubbing it against myself with purpose, and spread my legs further. I turn up the water pressure and my eyes shoot open, mouth gaping, while the stream hammers against my clit with such power that I almost collapse to the slick floor as I come.

"Jesus," I breathe, letting my head hang while I wind down from what I did to myself. I replace the showerhead and turn it back to the setting it started on, and press my hands to my burning cheeks. Though I know it's nothing to be embarrassed over, I always feel some degree of shame after I finish doing that.

I wrap my body and hair in a towel after I get out and put on lotion while standing in front of the foggy mirror. After I'm done, I open the door only to run right into somebody in the hall.

Expecting my dad, I make an annoyed sound and back up. "Try to watch where you're going, old man," I mutter, a laugh in my voice.

There's a laugh in response, too, but as soon as I hear it I know it isn't Dad. "Sorry about that," he says, and as I walk around the door I see it's Jackson. Standing in the upstairs hall. In front of me, as I'm only dressed in a towel. With my hair up in a ridiculous twist.

"Oh, my god," I say, covering my mouth with one hand. "I didn't… I thought you were… I didn't know it was you. I'm so sorry."

"It's not a problem," he says, and his eyes are very comfortable on me. They don't flit around like mine are, and he doesn't seem self-conscious at all. Not in the slightest.

It's a huge turn-on.

"I came up here to return your dad's charger. I'm glad I ran into you, though. I hoped to be able to say goodbye."

My heart stops and my breath hitches in my throat. My face is hot and I know for a fact that I'm blushing like a maniac as I stare at him, gaping like a fish. He wanted to say goodbye to me. Why?

"Oh," I say, unable to think of anything else. "I, um, that's nice of you."

"It was great to meet you," he says, eyes shining. "To finally put a face to that famous name."

I blush some more. Water trickles down my back between my shoulder blades, but it could be nervous sweat for all I know. I've never been this exposed around a man, and I wish I could say I didn't like it. I should feel uncomfortable. He's almost double my age.

But I'm not uncomfortable. At all.

"You… y-you, too," I say, holding the knot of the towel on my chest.

"I'll let you get to it, then," he says. "I hope you had a nice shower."

"I did," I murmur, mortified knowing what I did in there and who I thought about while doing it. I can't help but feel that he somehow knows, though that's an irrational thought. Of course he doesn't know that I got off with the showerhead while thinking about his lips all over me.

Right?

"Have a good night," he says, heading towards the stairs.

I watch his back while he leaves. I've never seen a shirt fit a body in such a way - it should be illegal. I'm probably drooling.

Once Jackson is out of view, I change into pajamas and brush out my wet hair while staring at my reflection in the mirror. I've always liked to think of myself as a mature 21-year-old, and I hope that's true now more than ever. I lost a lot at a young age; I never knew my biological dad, and my mom married Mark when I was two years old and walked out on us when I was five. I don't remember my birth parents very much at all. All I know is Mark, and he's given me everything, but that loss will always sit with me.

Speak of the devil, Dad appears in my doorway not long after.

"Hope Jackson didn't bother you when he came to put the charger back," he says, leaning on the door. "Hey, sweets."

"Hey," I say, shooting him a calm smile. I like living at home, though a lot of people my age would be over it by now. We've always had a good dynamic, and that's never changed. I go to college nearby, and it saves a lot of money for me not to dorm. We agreed that he would let me live like an adult under his roof as long as I acted responsibly, which we both know I'm very capable of. "No, he didn't bother me."

"Good," he says. "What'd you think of him?"

My stomach jumps with nerves. Does he know? Am I being tested?

"Seems cool," I say, shrugging off the question like it isn't loaded.

"He is," Dad says. "He's a real close friend of mine at work. Great partner. I think we'll go far together."

That sounds like he's in it for the long haul, which means tonight probably isn't the last time I'll be seeing Jackson around this house. I'm not sure what to make of that - whether I should be excited or terrified. Right now, I feel a heady mixture of both.

"Yeah," I say. "He was nice."

"I was looking forward to him meeting you."

My eyes grow wide, but I try and hide it. "Why?" I ask.

"You're my little girl!" he says. "I wanna show you off. I've been so proud of you lately. I just wanna tell the world."

"Dad," I say, shooting him a look. "Please tell me you didn't go on and on about me. People don't care about that stuff."

"Well, they should."

"You didn't make him sit through my life story, did you?"

"I didn't 'make' him do anything. He asked."

My stomach does a flip. "He asked?"

He asked?

"Sure did," Dad says. "He saw your picture - the new one, on the mantle. And he wanted to know all about you. Great guy, that Avery."

I chew on my lower lip and will my face not to get hot. Is it stupid to assume that he asked about me because he thought I was pretty? Because he was interested in me being something more than just his coworker's daughter? What other reason would he have to ask about me? I'm probably putting too much hope into something so stupid, but I can't help myself. Knowing that he prompted the conversation about me is enough to send me into a tailspin.

"Are you… are you guys hanging out again anytime soon?" I ask, trying to seem casual.

"Not sure yet," Dad says. "Avery is a busy man."

I clear my throat, wondering how to go about my next questions without seeming obvious. I decide to just go for it. "Is he married, or have any kids of his own?"

"No!" Dad bellows. "Can you believe it? He's a bachelor at 38. Although, you'd never know he was 38. Did you see those eyes?"

Not married. No kids. Not involved with anyone, it doesn't sound like. My hopes have never been this high.

"Yeah," I say, excitement swirling in my stomach. "I definitely saw them."

…

A couple weeks later, I'm getting on the Red Line to head home from class, weaving my way through people to find a seat. I have to stand for a few stops until the train clears out, then I spot an open place and head towards it. Someone else does, too, though, and we practically bump into each other as we make a beeline for it.

"Ouch!" I say, rubbing my shoulder. "Watch where you're going!"

"My apologies, I'm so sorry," he says.

I look up with wide eyes, craning my neck to see that the person who just rammed into me is no one else but freaking Jackson Avery.

"Hey," he says, incredulous. "Hey… April."

"Oh," I say. "Oh god. I'm sorry, I didn't mean to snap at you like that. If I'd have known it was-"

"It's fine," he says, flashing that magnetic smile. "I deserved it. I was rude. Please, take the seat."

"Oh, no," I say. "You go ahead. My stop is coming up."

"No, it's not," he says, a jovial glint in his eye. "April, I know where you live."

"I-" I try and dispute him again, but change my mind before getting far and sit down. "Okay."

He stands in front of me, holding casually onto the high bar to stay balanced. "Headed home from school?" he asks.

"And work," I say, nodding, looking up to talk to him.

"You do a lot," he says. "Your dad is very proud of you."

I laugh so my shoulders bounce. "I know," I say. "He lets me know that every chance he gets."

"You're lucky," he says. "To have a dad like Mark."

"I know," I say. "Don't get me wrong, I know. He's just… he can be goofy sometimes. But it is cool how we get along. I like it a lot."

"It's been great working with him so far."

"Yeah, he talks about you like, all the time," I say, rolling my eyes for effect. "I think he's kinda in love with you."

"I would hope not," Jackson says, and something flashes in his eyes. I can't quite be sure of what it is, but I desperately want to know.

I clear my throat. "So… are you headed home, too?"

"I am," he says. "Got done at the office just a bit ago. I stayed late working on some overdue files. Not the most fun thing, but it has to get done."

"Now who's hardworking?" I say, a teasing lilt in my tone.

He smiles and the train takes a turn, which makes him lean forward slightly and touch his knee to mine. I glance at the contact and want more of it, but I can't make that possible without being completely obvious.

"Got me there," he says. "So, what's your major?"

"Early childhood education," I say.

"Gonna be a teacher?"

"No," I say, deadpan. "A chef, duh."

We make prolonged eye contact before I bust up in giggles, and he joins in, too. "Oh, you got jokes," he says.

"I have a lot more than just jokes," I say, challenging him with my eyes.

I have no idea where this confidence came from, but it's more than welcome. I've never known how to speak around guys, but suddenly - around the most attractive one to ever exist - I'm being flirty and quippy. I have no idea who I'm turning into.

I must really want him. I'm putting on my best face.

"Oh, do you?" he says.

The seat beside me frees up after the person gets off. Immediately, Jackson takes their place and sits down. He's not a small person, so our thighs have no choice but to touch, pressed right up against each other. Our arms, too; we're shoulder-to-shoulder.

"Like what?" he says.

My heart does a flip and my stomach lurches. I have no idea where I was going with that, so I try to think on my feet.

"They aren't things I can just tell you," I say, smirking. "It doesn't work like that."

"So, how do you work?" he says.

"You don't get to know that yet," I say, shrugging one shoulder and touching my chin to it. "You have a lot of questions, and you have to work for the answers." I giggle. "I can't just give them to you."

"Why's that?" he asks.

"This is Loyola. Doors open on the left at Loyola."

"Oh, it's my stop," I say, pulling myself up by the silver pole. "I gotta go."

He gives me an amused, devious look when I turn around and wave. "Maybe I'll see you around, Miss April Kepner," he says. "I hope I do."

"I hope the same," I say, then step out of the doors and onto the platform.

…

"So, I heard you ran into my boy Avery on the train yesterday."

I look up from my bowl of cereal at the breakfast counter and make eye contact with my dad. Admittedly, I haven't stopped thinking about my run-in with Jackson since it happened, but I had no idea he'd go and tell my dad about it. I'm not sure what to think about that.

"Um, yeah," I say, a little awkwardly.

"Small world."

"Yeah," I say.

"Just wanna warn you about him," he says.

Creases appear on my forehead as I stare into my cereal bowl, perplexed. I don't like where this conversation is going.

"I'm not insinuating anything. But I just want you to be careful around that guy. He's got a different lady every other week. It's sort of a thing with him."

"Dad," I say, eyes wide. On the inside though, I have a sinking feeling. I know Jackson is good-looking, but I never thought he was a womanizer. Those things don't really cross my mind.

"I'm just saying," he says. "You think I'm bad, you should see this guy. I don't think I've ever seen him with the same girl twice."

"Dad."

"I'm not badmouthing him at all," he says. "Sex is a natural, human, expression. It's-"

"Dad! I'm serious, stop."

"I never cheated on your mom, though. I want you to know that."

"Dad," I say, and there's no way I can look up now. "Can you please stop talking."

"Fine, fine," he says. "I got off-topic, anyway. I don't want Avery getting any ideas about you. I know you, and I know you don't think that way. You're never who I'm worried about. Him, though. He's always got his sights out for the next catch. And if you're not careful, he might think you're up and willing for something. Don't let him think that. Keep your guard up."

"I'm an adult, if you need reminding," I say. "Remember? You're supposed to treat me like one?"

"Yes, you're an adult," he says. "But you're always gonna be my kid. And I'm always gonna wanna protect you. Fatherly advice never hurt anyone. I'm not saying you have to live by my virtue. But sometimes, I do know my shit."

"Uh-huh."

"Just give me a sign to let me know you heard me."

I shoot him a thumbs-up with a strained grimace.

"Thank you," he says, then stands up and gives me a kiss on the head while walking out of the kitchen. "You have a good day at school and work. I'll see you tonight. And remember, the office Christmas party is coming up. You need something red or green, to go along with that stupid-ass theme."

"It's not stupid," I say. "It's supposed to be cute."

"You're not the one decked out in a green suit jacket," he says.

"A green tie would work just fine," I say, rolling my eyes lightly.

He chuckles. "Yeah, but then who would keep up the tradition? Come on, punk. Pretend to know your old man a little better than that."

I snort and roll my eyes again. We go to this party every year, and every year he wears the same green jacket. For the past two years in a row I've worn the same green dress, but this year I'm going for something different. This year, I'm going shopping for a red dress.

Because this party will be plenty different from years' past, I already know that for sure.

…

When I come down the stairs dressed and ready for the party, Dad's eyes widen and he looks away. I can practically read his mind: he knows he has to treat me like an adult, but he really, really wants to say something.

It's not that my dress is too revealing or slutty, but it's definitely older than anything I've worn around him before. It's a deep, satin red with spaghetti straps and an open back, with ruching and a slit on the skirt. I've never felt as sexy as I do in this dress, my hair in a curled updo to show off my neck and shoulders.

Dad clears his throat and raises his eyebrows, still looking at the floor. "Punk," he says. "Aren't you gonna be um… aren't you gonna be cold?"

"I'll be fine," I say. "I'll wear a coat."

"Alright," he says. "Good. You ready then?"

"Yep!" I say, very peppy.

Of course, I thought about Jackson while picking this dress out. I stressed over it for hours - how to do my hair, makeup, making sure I had the right shoes. I've spent all day upstairs making sure everything came together perfectly.

I've seen Jackson once more since the the train. I stopped at Dad's office to bring him lunch between classes one day and Jackson was in the conference room. He'd called my name and I stopped in my tracks, and though we couldn't talk long, we definitely got some flirting in.

I can't stop thinking if he knows how old I am, or if he'd care. I also can't stop wondering if he's going to bring a plus-one tonight. I didn't have the gall to ask my dad, let alone the man in question.

By the time we're walking towards the sparkling hotel, my hands are sweating and my throat is extremely dry. I've barely eaten anything today, but I feel like throwing up. I don't think I've ever been this nervous. I can't wait to see what he'll look like, and for him to see what I'm wearing. I've been anticipating his reaction since I bought this dress.

"I've gotta do some schmoozing tonight," Dad says. "Some potential buyers will be here. Are you gonna be alright on your own?"

"Of course," I say, smiling at him. "Don't worry. Don't even think about me."

"If you get tired and wanna leave, just hit my line," he says. "I'll be around. But you'll have fun - have a few drinks, have some good food, make some friends. You know these people, you like them."

"Right," I say. "Sounds fun. It'll be fun."

We're escorted into the ballroom where the party is, and after we put our coats in the coatroom, Dad and I separate while he goes to find the important people. So, I'm left alone ordering a cosmo and sipping it while letting my eyes wander the room in search of the one face I want to see.

I don't see him until I've finished my second drink and my body is substantially looser. I wouldn't necessarily say that I'm drunk, but I'm past tipsy. I'm teetering on the edge of a very slippery slope, that's for sure.

Jackson and I make eye contact across a crowd of people, but neither of us make a move to cross the room to the other. Not yet, at least. I keep my straw between my teeth and smile at him, batting my eyelashes before turning around and ordering a third drink. When I turn back, he's disappeared.

I look around the room while still trying to seem casual, sipping slowly on the refreshed drink I just ordered. I don't see him anywhere - that is, until I feel a hand on my waist and hear his voice next to my ear.

"I was wondering if you'd show."

I can't help but jump. I don't move away, though.

I smile to myself and turn to look at him, breathing in his cologne. We lock eyes and I nod, my straw still resting gently between my teeth.

"Of course," I say.

His eyes graze my entire body just in the way I hoped they would. "You look fantastic," he says. "You're stunning, April."

"Thank you," I say, and wrap my fingers around the base of his red tie. I stroke the knot and watch his Adam's apple bob as he swallows. "So do you."

He looks down at the glass in my hand. "What're you drinking?"

I take a long sip without breaking my eyes away from his. "Doesn't matter," I say, setting it on a tray that's passing by. "I'm finished now."

He grins, flashing me those dazzling white teeth. "Have I mentioned you look gorgeous tonight?"

"You did…" I trail off, running one hand down his arm and curling my fingers around his bicep. "But I wouldn't stop you if you said it again."

We're breathing each other's air now, incredibly close. In a room full of so many other people, I can't believe how close we're letting ourselves get.

I let my gaze trail from his eyes to rest on his lips, where it stays. He licks them slowly, then runs his teeth over the bottom one, and I feel his hand come to rest on my hip. I can't believe this is happening. Is this really happening?

It is happening. His breath smells like mint and his cologne is just subtle enough. The grip of his hand is strong without being domineering, but I find myself wanting to falter to him. I find myself wanting to do anything with him, for him.

"I know what you're thinking," I say, taking a huge, bold step. "Because I'm thinking it, too."

His eyes glint as the party continues to pulse around us. "Do you want to go somewhere?" he asks.

I nod fervently, then check over either shoulder for a the possibility of my dad. Luckily, he's nowhere to be found, so I let Jackson take my hand and lead me away from the din of the ballroom and out to the heart-stopping silence of the hallway.

My breath comes shallow and tepid. I barely know what to do with myself; I'm surprised I even remember how to walk. But I follow him as he strides with purpose, and he tightens his grip on my fingers when we find ourselves in front of the coatroom.

"It locks," he says, letting go of my hand to hold my waist again.

"Let's go in," I say, and open the door behind his back.

Once we're inside, he clicks the lock and presses me against the door, which takes my breath away. He presses flat hands on either sides of my head, and for a moment we just stare at each other. Then, he makes the first move and cups my jaw, leaning in to press his lips to mine in a hot, searing kiss. One that brands me. One that tells me I'll never kiss anyone else without thinking about how great this one was.

"Mmm…" I moan involuntarily, throwing my arms over his shoulders to pull him closer. He tastes amazing, like the mint on his breath from earlier with a hint of something I can't put my finger on. Something that might just be innately Jackson.

"You don't know…" he breathes, between kisses. "How long I've been waiting for that."

I clutch his sides tight, bunching the fabric of his dress shirt tightly in my fingers. I open my mouth so he can slip his tongue inside, and smile with satisfaction once he does. He explores every inch of my mouth without worrying about being neat - this isn't like that. This is quick and sloppy, hot and dirty. Every single nerve in my body is screaming with a need for him. This is exactly what I've been fantasizing about since we met.

"You taste so good," he says, and I toss my head to one side. He finds my neck immediately and wraps his arms around my waist while he opens his mouth on it. "God, you're fuckin' amazing, April."

My eyes roll back in my head as I pull him closer, arching my back to get him near my chest. His big hands span over my back and his fingertips dig in, pulling me flush against him - there's not a single inch between us that doesn't touch.

"Mm, god," I moan, when he palms my breasts over my dress. My nipples harden in response, tightening to firm buds that he runs over with his thumbs. He draws circles around them to pucker them even further, and I squirm because of it. "I'm so turned on."

"I can tell," he says, then takes hold of my wrist to move my hand where he wants it - right between his legs. "Feel. I am, too."

"Oh," I moan, and cup his bulge.

That action alone makes him pitch forward and grip my shoulder in one hand, tighter than he has yet. "Fuck," he breathes, sucking air through his teeth. "I need you."

He stands up straight and looks me dead in the eyes, asking me without word what comes next. I bite my lower lip and give him a wordless nod, knowing exactly what he's wondering. He wants to have sex, and even though I've never done it before, so do I.

I don't plan on telling him I'm a virgin. It's not the right time, here in this cramped coat closet. It's not like there's any way we could make this romantic or take it slow. We're in a rush. If my dad notices we're both gone, I'm in trouble. We need to get this done, and I want him really bad. I can't wait any longer. The fact that I'm a virgin doesn't matter - it's just sex. Everyone does it. It's about time I got my virginity out of the way, and he's the perfect one to take it.

"Yes," I say, and he nods in accordance. "Yes," I say again.

He gets a good grip on the backs of my thighs and hitches me up in one quick movement, and I circle my legs around his hips. With his eyes locked on mine, he hitches up my skirt and reaches between us, taking the crotch of my underwear and confidently moving it over to one side after unsheathing his erection from his pants.

I catch sight of it for a fleeting second, and I'm kind of relieved it doesn't last for longer than that. It was bigger than anything I've ever felt through the pants, or any diagram I've ever seen. I have an embarrassing thought that I'm too scared to say out loud - how is it supposed to fit?

"You sure?" he asks, pupils fat, breaking me from my own thoughts.

I pull myself closer, tightening my legs around him. "Yes, I'm sure," I say, and I mean it. This is what I wanted - so, so bad. I want him inside me. I want him as my first. I want him to finally quell that frustration that hasn't left me alone for weeks and weeks.

But when he pushes in, it's different than I expected. It doesn't feel totally euphoric and orgasmic, it feels like a ton of pressure and like I'm being filled by something that's too big to fit.

I must be grimacing, because he checks on me. "April," he says, pausing his movements. "Are you okay?"

"I'm good," I say, adjusting my legs. "Just… let's have sex, okay? Keep going. We need to go fast. Or else… or else…"

"I know," he says, then kisses me hard and fast. "Okay." He looks up and smiles, which makes me smile back. "God, you're sexy. You feel so good, you know that?"

That amps up my confidence a considerable amount, and I lift my pelvis and widen my hips to welcome him further. That helps with the pressure a bit, but when he buries himself all the way, I can't help but cry out. I know I shouldn't, because I'm pressed right up against a door that leads out to everyone else, but I can't help it.

He holds there for a good, long moment. I get used to the way he feels while he kisses my neck, and when his hips start to move again, I cling to him so I don't fall. I know he wouldn't let me, though; his grip on my ass is way too tight.

The movement of his hips slamming against mine is powerful and calculated. It's clear he has a lot of experience and is good at what he does. I wonder if he can tell how absolutely clueless I am. We spend a lot of time kissing while he rocks into me, and when he gets close, he starts to make deep, guttural sounds in his throat that let me know what's about to happen.

"Fuck," he says, pounding into me a few more times - quickly, right in succession. I throw my head back and bite my lip, and he tucks his face into my neck while he gets as close to the edge as he possibly can.

He doesn't come inside me. We aren't that stupid. Instead, he pulls out and fumbles for something to aim for - and it ends up being a very unlucky person's scarf.

"God damn," he says, neck slack with his head back. His eyes are closed, and he looks like he's in another world. "That was… you were fucking great, baby."

I can't even freak out over his term of endearment, because I feel something trickling down my legs. Since he didn't come inside me, I'm not sure what it could be. I bend in half and swipe a hand between my thighs, all the while he watches me.

"Did you come?" he asks, and the question makes me blush red.

"I… I…" I stammer, and bring my hand back to my face. In the low light, we can both see it's blood. My heart sinks when I see the red liquid coating my fingers, and I've never been more embarrassed. I want a hole to appear in the floor so I can fall into it and never come out so I never have to see him again. He must think I'm so stupid and childish. "I'm sorry," I mutter.

"What… what happened?"

I look up from my fingers and meet his eyes shamefully. With that look, he knows. His eyes widen and his mouth comes open a bit, and I shy away from him.

"Shit, April," I say. "Were you a virgin?"

"I…" I say, my voice clogged with tears. I can't get any words out.

But before I have to worry about that, the door handle jiggles and as the person realizes it won't come open, they bang on it - loud and strong.

"Punk? You in there?"

It's my dad.

I meet Jackson's eyes with my teary ones and motion for him to hide. He retreats further back into the closet, out of sight, and I open the door to meet my dad's worried face. I probably look like a mess, but I hadn't thought to fix myself up. I don't know what I've gotten myself into.

"April," he says, sounding relieved. "There you are. Where've you been? I've been looking everywhere for you."

I pause for a while, trying to think of something to say. My brain is pure static, though.

"In here," I finally mutter. "I accidentally locked myself in. I got scared."

"You're all disheveled," he says, reaching to try and fix my hair. "And you have blood on your… are you bleeding, honey?"

I hide my blood-tinged hand behind my back quickly, suspiciously. "It's just a cut," I say.

"Are you okay?" he asks, touching the side of my face. "You look pale. Do you feel sick?"

I nod shakily, lower lip trembling.

"Oh, sweets," he says, wrapping an arm around my shoulders.

"Can we just go home?" I peep.

"Of course," he says. "Of course, we'll go right now."

…

I don't say much in the car or when we walk through the front door, and I can tell my dad is curious as to why. I don't offer any explanation, though, because I'm beside myself. What just happened doesn't feel possible - did I really just have sex with Jackson in a supply closet at the holiday party I've been attending since I was twelve?

"You feelin' okay?" Dad asks, clearly concerned as I slip my heels off to hold the straps in one hand. "You're so quiet."

"I'm fine," I lie. "I'm just really tired. I'm gonna go to bed, I think."

"You need anything?"

I shake my head, willing away the urge to cry. I have a huge lump in my throat that isn't going away anytime soon, and I need to be alone so I can get rid of it.

"I'm good. Thanks, dad."

He eyes me warily. He's not stupid, and he knows me better than anyone. "You sure? 100% sure you don't need something? I can make soup, tea, anything."

"No," I say, with a weak smile. "I'll feel better in the morning."

He finally concedes, tells me he loves me with a kiss to the forehead, and lets me retire upstairs. Though his room is up here, too, he doesn't follow, and I'm glad. Because before I even reach my bedroom, at the top of the stairs, an errant sob breaks free and I have to run down the hall so he won't hear.

Once I'm in the safety of my room, I lock the door and leave the light off, then just stand there. Tears stream down my face and my breath catches in my throat; I don't even have the mental clarity to change out of my party dress. I wipe my nose and realize my hands are shaking, so I clasp them together and hold tight to try and stop the movement. It doesn't work.

I'm not a virgin anymore, and I feel deceitful. I hadn't told Jackson before everything started, and now it looks like I'd been trying to trick him. At least, that's how I'd interpret it. When I recall the look on his face when he saw the blood, my stomach lurches.

I'm not totally naive. I know no first time is great, but the fact that I was pressed up against a wall with my legs wrapped around him in a supply closet definitely didn't help. I always dreamed it would be more romantic - with whoever it was, we'd be in a bed, in love. Not sweaty and bloody with our dress clothes half-on.

I'm disappointed in myself. I don't recognize this version of me. I'm sad, scared, and lonely. Right now, I feel more alone than ever. All I want to do is talk to him, but I don't have his number.

I can't stop wondering what he might be thinking. Is he thinking about me at all? I'd like to hold onto the idea that he is. He's a good guy. This wasn't his fault. I should've told him.

But it would have never happened had I told him I was a virgin, I know that for sure. He would have stopped it. He would have done the mature thing, while I was acting so childish. I jumped his bones in the closet because I was tired of being horny, knowing I couldn't handle the end result. I shake my head. How pathetic.

I pace my room, still in the dress, makeup and hair. I throw my shoes in the closet with a clumsy thump and sit on the edge of my bed, only to get right back up again. I can't go on like this. I have to talk to him.

So, I leave my room and go back downstairs where my dad is in the kitchen, making a breakfast burrito.

"Hey, punk. Everything alright?"

"Yeah," I say, trying to think of a way to word what I want to ask without sounding shifty. I change my weight from foot to foot and decide to just come out with it. There's no use beating around the bush. "Um, I was just wondering… when do you think you'll have Jackson over again?"

Dad gives me a strange, narrow-eyed look, and as I stand there it feels like he can see right through me. "Why?" he asks.

I shrug and avoid his eyes. "I don't know. I was just wondering."

"You came all the way down here because you were 'just wondering?'" he presses.

I nod and shrug again without offering any further explanation. I can't offer what I don't have.

"Is there something going on there?" he asks. "Between you two?"

"No," I answer, very quickly.

"April, I already warned you about him."

"I know," I say, a hint of a whine in my voice. "I know. I'm just… I just wanted to know."

"Well, I'm not sure. It's not on the forefront of my mind right now, and I'm honestly not sure why it's on yours."

"Okay," I say shortly, then turn on my heel to head back towards the stairs. "Night."

"Night," he calls back, and by the tone of his voice I can tell he knows something is different.

…

I try and last without talking to Jackson. I try to forget about him, or at the very least, put off my feelings until the next time I see him in person, whenever that may be.

But I can't do it. He takes over my every waking thought, and I don't get a breather. Not even when I'm asleep, because I keep dreaming about him and what we did.

I don't want to take it back, but I want it to be different. I want it to go slower, and I want the truth to be the only thing between us. My best guess is that he must hate me by now. I probably would, if I were him.

The waiting is driving me crazy. I can't do it anymore. So, when my dad is asleep on the couch the next day, I sneak down and open his unlocked phone and search through the contacts. It doesn't take long, since Jackson's last name begins with an "A." I add the number to my own phone and hurry up the stairs away from the scene, device cradled close to my chest as if to keep it protected.

I sit on the edge of my bed after locking my door and stare at the number. All I have to do is press the green button, and the phone will ring. He'll be on the other end, and I'll get to hear that voice I love.

But I'm not sure if I'm ready. What will he say? Will he even pick up?

I shake my head and, without waiting any longer, force myself to make a move. I'll go crazy if I don't.

My stomach toils as I anticipate his answer and imagine what he'll sound like. The last time I heard his voice, it was full of disbelief and shock. I don't want to hear it like that again. I want to hear it like I used to - low and flirty, that special tone meant just for me.

But I don't know if we'll be able to get back to that again.

When he finally answers, my mouth goes dry and my tongue must grow three sizes, because I'm rendered speechless for a long moment after he speaks.

"Hello?"

A small sound escapes me, but that's it. What do I say? How do I begin? I should have written something down. But what script would be good enough for a situation like this one?

I take a breath and try again. The best I can do is start simple.

"Hi, Jackson," I say, voice wobbling. "It's April."

He makes a surprised sound, breath catching before he says anything else. "April," he says, almost to solidify the fact to himself. "I've been wondering how to get in contact with you. Are you okay?"

I open my mouth to give him an affirmative answer, but can't help wondering how truthful it would be if I did.

"I don't know," I say, and it's the realest I can get at the moment.

"I need to see you," he says, sounding nearly desperate. I've never heard him like that before - then, it hits me that I don't know him well at all. "I mean, if that's okay. If you never want to see me again, I'd understand that as well."

I furrow my eyebrows. "Why would you think that?" I ask.

He takes a steadying breath. "Well, I…" he trails off. "I shouldn't have taken advantage of you like I did."

I scrunch my eyebrows again, this time further. "Taken advantage?" I repeat, then pause. "I came onto you, remember?"

I can almost picture him shaking his head. "You'd been drinking," he says. "I shouldn't… and I didn't know you were a…" He can't seem to finish the thought, and I can't blame him.

"I kept that from you," I say. "You couldn't have known. That was my fault." I take a moment to try and decode what he might be thinking, but come up with nothing. "I really want to see you. But I don't know how to make it happen. My dad is already suspicious, and I don't want to make it worse. If he finds out…" I press my eyes shut tight. "He can't find out."

"Come over," Jackson says. "Tonight, or whenever you can. I need to see you, April. I've been driving myself crazy without you."

A warm feeling bursts in my heart and leaks outward, permeating to my entire body. "Me, too," I whisper.

"Yeah?" he asks.

"I haven't been able to stop thinking about you," I say. "And what I did. Jackson, I am sorry. I lied to you, and-"

"You don't need to apologize," he says.

"I do, though."

"We both have air to clear," he says. "That's part of the reason why I want to see you so badly."

I smirk to myself. "What's the other part?"

I hear the smile in his voice when he responds. "Because kissing you was just as good as I imagined it'd be."

…

I leave the house that night covertly. I don't sneak, because I don't have to, but I don't make a big show of the fact that I'm going somewhere, either. Jackson gave me his address, and when I plug it into the GPS, it says it'll only take 12 minutes to get there.

I worry the whole way, but my whole body jitters with excitement at the same time. I can't wait to see his face and hear his voice in person. I can't wait for my feelings to take over my body, but that's also what I'm most afraid of. The last time I let them do that, I got myself into trouble.

It's a strange thought, the fact that I'm not a virgin anymore. It was part of what defined me for so long, at least to myself. I don't necessarily feel different with the concept of it gone, but I almost wish I did. It would make it easier to deal with.

I think I like the fact that it's gone, and I really like who I gave it to.

When I pull up in his driveway, I take a moment to admire his house. It's a modern-looking walkup with floor-to-ceiling windows, and it's an impressive size. Just like everything else about him, I can't help but remember.

He appears in the doorway as I'm getting out of the car, and I fight the urge to run into his arms. I don't fight my smile, though, and he doesn't either.

"I was wondering if you'd show," he says.

"Of course I did," I say, making my way up the path. His face comes into clearer view as I get closer and it becomes illuminated with the porch light. "I missed you."

I climb the steps and we stand together for a moment, just looking at each other. "You are so gorgeous," he says, tucking a piece of hair behind my ear.

I feel like I could melt into a puddle right there. I don't know what to say, but I don't think I have to say anything. I just want to soak up the moment, so that's what I do.

"Come in," he says. "I've got wine. Or beer, if you'd prefer. Or water. I've got anything, really."

"Water is good," I say, clearing my throat. "Alcohol wasn't my friend last time. I'm giving it a break."

He gives me a loaded look, and I backtrack immediately.

"I'm not saying what we did was a mistake," I say, talking quickly. I stand in the entryway without having taken my shoes off yet, and continue to sputter. "I really, really don't think that. I loved that it was with you. I wouldn't have wanted it to be with anyone else. It was just… I just feel like I did something wrong because I lied to you. And you didn't know you were taking it. I feel like I tricked you, and that was a gross thing to do. If anyone took advantage of someone, it was me. Taking advantage of you. And I'm sorry."

He pours me a tall glass of water and brings it over. "I do wish you would have told me," he says, and I slip out of my shoes. "Reason being, I would have made it much more special. No one should lose their virginity in a coat closet at their father's office holiday party."

My cheeks get hot. I don't like being reminded that my dad is part of this equation. I can't wrap my mind around that yet.

"I really like you," I say, pushing through my nerves. "And I messed everything up. I shouldn't have lied. I just…" I sigh, frustrated. "I really wanted it that night, and I realized too late that I was in over my head. And, like I said, that was my fault. Not yours."

I look up and meet his crystalline eyes. They're smiling, though his mouth is placid. "I really like you, too," he says. "And I might be stupid for putting faith in this, but I hoped we could be more than just a rushed fuck in a closet." He pauses. "I haven't been able to stop thinking about you. Even before that night. From the day I met you, you completely took over my brain."

"Same here," I say, bashfully.

"But I also know it's not that simple," he says. "I'm almost double your age, and your father is a close friend of mine. You and I both know how he'd react if he found out."

"I'm an adult," I say, defiantly. "I'm 21. He doesn't have a say on who I do or don't date. That's not up to him."

"I know," Jackson says, talking me down. "But I do respect him. And you are very important to him. The most important thing in the world."

I sit with that for a minute before saying anything else.

"I've never felt like this before," I say, voice clear and strong. "Felt this pull towards another person. I feel like I know you, even though we didn't meet too long ago. I feel like you already have a part of me, and I want you to have it. Don't you feel it, that connection?" He nods, and so do I. "I knew you did. I won't give that up just because my dad can't understand. We… I'll make him understand, once it comes to that. But right now, he doesn't have to know."

Jackson leans forward with warm eyes and caresses my face. I lean into his hand and close my eyes, relishing the way he feels.

"I don't think I could give you up if I tried," he says.

I smile, and he brings my face close to his. When we kiss, everything falls back into place. My nerves disappear, my jitters go away, and I'm perfectly at peace. Right here is where I'm supposed to be. In this moment, age doesn't matter, and neither do status and who approves of what we are. Right now, this minute, all that matters is that he sees me. And he wants me. And I feel the same in return.

When we pull away, he looks deep into my eyes while still holding my jaw. "I want to make it up to you," he says. "And show you how a first time should really feel."

I lick my lower lip and nod, and he gives me another knee-quaking kiss. We don't move quickly this time. Instead, we take our time. He guides me and makes sure I'm ready before he does anything. He doesn't let me lift a finger - he takes my clothes off and lies them gently over the back of the couch, and admires my naked body like absolutely no one has ever done before. He drops kisses over every bare inch of skin, and buries his head between my thighs.

I never knew something could feel so good. I've heard how amazing oral is, but he sends me to another planet. I don't know how it's possible, but by the time he's finished, I've experienced the single-most amazing orgasm I've ever had. I'm sweaty and panting and he's very satisfied with himself, drawing a path of kisses around my pelvic bone and upper thighs.

"You're beautiful when you climax," he says, spreading my thighs again and reducing me to a pile of mush. "Especially when I'm the one getting you there."

He gives me another orgasm with his mouth and doesn't stop until I'm vibrating with feeling and begging for him inside me.

"Please," I say, opening myself for him as he undresses slowly, eyes on me. "I'm ready. I want you."

"You don't know how badly I want you," he says, descending to rest his body on top of mine, both of us naked on each other. He's a work of art; a literal masterpiece. I've never seen a body like his in my life.

This time, he puts on a condom and I watch him while he does, admiring the length and girth of his penis while the latex rolls over it.

"I'm so sorry I hurt you last time," he says, lowering to kiss me. I hold his head while he does, keeping him in place. "It was never my intention."

"It's okay," I say. "Just make me feel good this time."

"That I can promise," he says, and follows through.

He goes slower, works me up to a peak at a steady pace. He doesn't slam into me like the world is ending, but instead rolls his hips against mine and allows me to take him at my own pace. I wrap my legs around his waist, resting my feet on the backs of his sinewy thighs, and when I'm ready, I urge him against me at a deeper, faster rate.

We find a rhythm that works, and pretty soon I'm writhing beneath him, stretching and moaning, whimpering from the feeling. He knows exactly what he's doing, and while I get close to the edge, he opens his mouth on my neck and palms my bare breast, tweaking the nipple just enough to send me tumbling over.

I kiss him madly while my orgasm pulses through my body, and I let my hips jerk and twitch against his. My eyes roll back and my body shakes, and I go out of my head for a moment as the feeling is so delicious.

When I come back, he's grinning softly and kissing my face all over.

"Did you come, too?" I breathe, trailing my fingernails over his shoulder blades.

"Yes," he says. "Seeing you like that is more than enough to do it for me. You're gorgeous, April."

I smile and kiss him hard, holding his cheeks in both hands. A strong, insistent feeling reverberates throughout my body, and I'm suddenly positive that this is how a first time is supposed to feel. Our connection is glowing and strong. I don't feel deceitful, I don't feel disgusting; instead, I feel alive. I feel like we share a heartbeat, and that I'll never have as strong of a bond with any other human on the earth.

I sleep there with him that night in his huge, master bed. We have sex a few more times and then cuddle up to each other completely naked, and fall asleep just like that. And everything is the way it should be.

…

A week later, I'm sitting in the living room doing homework at the coffee table when the front door bursts open. Without bothering to kick his shoes off, Dad storms inside with a beet-red face and bulging veins.

"April," he says, teeth gritted together. "I do the laundry in this house. Every week. I know both of our wardrobes backwards and forwards."

I give him a strange look and wonder where this is headed. I don't have to wonder for long, though, because a pair of dark purple underwear, the ones I'd worn on the night when my virginity was taken a second time, are thrown on the table and land right in front of me.

"So, explain to me why I found your underwear tucked into Jackson Avery's couch?"