I move through the house and finally find the upstairs bathroom empty. Thank god. No wandering couple has decided to use this as a clandestine romp room. Yet.

My shirt catches on my earrings as I pull it off over my head. I toss it in the sink and turn the faucet. A bottle of cherry blossom soap is next to the towel rack. It's in a cute bronze holder with a pineapple design. I look at the towels. Also pineapples.

The door clicks behind me. I look in the mirror over my shoulder and see Brooks smiling at me. God his tight black jeans hang extra low on his waist. Black T-shirt. He's like a dark and even more broody James Dean.

"Came to see if you needed help."

"I'm OK. Shirt is probably ruined." I return my eyes to the sink and to the shirt soaking in it.

"Eh, it looks better in the sink anyway," he says, wrapping his arms around my waist from behind. He kisses my neck.

"Brooks," I almost whine. I lean my head back on his chest; I can feel him against me. PG-13 feel.

"Ems," he moans into my hair. I can't resist him.

I stare at the tiny Edge logo on the collar of his sweatshirt. Three cliff tops sliced by a thin straight line. So clean. So distracting.

He spins me to face him and lifts me onto the edge of the sink. He stands between my legs with one of his hands inching up my denim skirt.

"Do you want to go back downstairs," he asks. His fingers are waiting, dancing on my thigh.

I shake my head and lean back until my ponytail finds the mirror to rest.

"That's not an answer," Brooks says quietly. "Do you want to go back downstairs?"

Like dude, we banged three hours ago on his dad's old boat. My skin still smells like him. Well, him and the beer now. The way he's tempting me, waiting. It's like the first time all over again. "I want you to go down," I gulp.

Brooks tilts his head back and laughs so loudly I'm sure everyone downstairs will hear. "Patience," he says, kissing the corner of my lips. "Is." Kiss again. "A virtue."

His intoxication is back and so is mine. He's playful this way and I find I enjoy it. I breathe in his skin as I burrow into his neck. I drop my hands to his jeans and begin to unzip them and he's already pushed my skirt up to my hips.

In one quick movement he's where he belongs. In me.  He grips me by the hips and holds me tightly in place. I don't mind his hands digging into my skin. I don't even mind my ponytail smacking the mirror.

I dig my nails into his hair. Brooks removes a hand from my hip and grips the underside of my thigh, almost my butt. He rams into me on repeat. I have to bite my lip from making noise, something Brooks is smiling at. His lips are on mine again, biting my lip for me.

Our breathing speeds up to mimic the beat of the music below. Strange how sometimes that happens. Maybe it's your body's natural reaction. Brooks gently yanks my hair. I've gotten used to this over the past week. There's something primal about it that drives me wild.

It's exhilarating. Being upstairs only feet away from everyone else at the party. Knowing that everyone else is downstairs, unaware of what we're doing. Or perhaps people have noticed we are both gone together. Maybe they assume what we are up to in the cozy second-floor bathroom with the pineapple soap dish.

Then it's over. Almost as quickly as it starts. My body aches for more. This is just a teaser, a preview if you will, before the main show. Brooks drops his head until his forehead rests against my chest. He takes a step back from the sink and leaves me sitting on the edge.

"I'll meet you downstairs," he says with a swift peck on my lips. He leaves without looking back.

My skin feels hot and prickly. I can't help love every bit of it. Why do I feel suddenly dirty? Like what we did was some nasty secret no one can find out about? I think of all the parties Travis had in high school and of all the times him and Trix disappeared from the crowd. I always used to roll my eyes at Trix when she came back in the room, hair askew and face aglow. Here we are years later and I'm doing the same thing.

When I exit the bathroom I can't help but smile to myself.

I weave through the people standing in the living room and in the kitchen and I walk onto the porch and down the steps. I sit down next to Brooks on the edge of the fire pit. He smirks as I take the cup he hands me. No one notices anything.

"There you are! I was gonna send Meg to search for you. Took forever to clean your shirt," Trix laughs.

"Yea, it's just soaked now," I say, gesticulating to my wet tank clinging to my body.

"Air it out." Travis shrugs.

"Yea, half of us have seen you in a bra anyway," Alex laughs.

"Hey!" I scold. "Not half."

Everyone laughs. Brooks shifts slightly closer to me and I can't help the smile that creeps onto my face.

"So are you two in for the boat ride tomorrow?" Nate asks looking at Brooks and me. His arms are wrapped so tightly around Meg's waist it looks like it hurts. Her hand is clutched around a plastic cup.

"Boat ride? Tomorrow? Sure." I nod.

"I'm in too." Brooks chimes after me.

"Just figured she answered for both of you now," Nate says, shrugging.

"Does it hurt? The glue that's been stuck on you two all week?" Alex laughs, joining in.

"Ha-ha." I fake laugh, rolling my eyes. "You guys are so annoying."

Brooks just side-eyes me but I swear I can see a smile sneak onto his lips.

"Yea, you guys too," Alex says.

Travis laughs, playing with his tongue ring.

"Y'all suck, you know that?" Brooks laughs.

Trix makes a soft squealing noise behind me and I turn to look. She's laughing to herself, into her cup, giving me a knowing look.

I know. I know what she's thinking. She's imagining a perfect alternate ending to the summer –one where I don't go back to Seattle –one where Brooks stays –one where the whole band gets back together with some sense of ambiguous permanence.

It's an alternate ending I've played in my mind's movie screen before.

I know he's a drug. An addiction. And not even a good one. But I just can't help it. And as I sit on the back deck, the smell of low tide on the breeze, surrounded by my high school friends, I realize I love the relapse.

I love him like a mixtape of all my favorite hits.

Tragic with a catchy beat, I play him on repeat.

"OK, kids. Everyone enjoy the floor." Travis says, standing up from the lawn chair.

"Night guys!" Trix follows him from the deck. "See you guys tomorrow."

"Gooodsnight," I call over my shoulder. Slur, more like.

"Sleepover?" Brooks raises his eyebrow.

I nod, unable or afraid to answer with actual words, thinking about visiting the upstairs bathroom again.

Meg and Nate move through the screen door onto the porch and into the beautifully air conditioned family room. Brooks takes my hand and pulls me into the room behind him. Alex is God knows where with Katie. Sara and Joe left. Can't say that I'll miss them.

Everyone else is gone too. That's the nice thing about adulthood parties. In high school everyone crashed on the floor, afraid of underage drinking and driving. Now, everyone just drives. Only the people invited to stay over actually stay over.

"Hey! Shareee," I whine. Meg is snatching all the blankets and pillows from the couch and chair. They're stacked high in front of her.

"Ugh, here." She laughs, tossing pillows at my head. Brooks catches them both.

"One pillow each," Nate says.

"Thanks for the ration." Brooks calls. I spread out the napkin thin blanket on top of the rug next to the couch.

"Don't you want the couch?" Brooks looks at me sideways, eyeing the empty and perfectly sleepable couch behind me. What am I going to say? No, I'd rather sleep next to you?

"Don't you want the couch?" I ask him, raising my eyebrows, smirking.

"Share the couch?" He whispers.

"Nope. Not big enough." I shake my head.

"Share the rug?" He whispers and waits.

I shrug.

I hear an audible sigh from somewhere over near Meg and Nate. Whispers and laughing.

"Don't keep us up, please." Meg calls from the dark.

"Yea, we aren't a pleasant audience." Nate laughs after her.

"Fuck off," I smirk even though I know they can't see me.

"Here," Brooks whispers close to my ear now.

He's situated on the rug. I drop to the floor and navigate on my knees to the spot next to him.

"You look good like that," he laughs. I nudge him in the ribs as I take my spot wedged between him and the couch.

"Don't gets any ide-as. We have an audience remember?" I whisper so close to his face that I can feel my own breath bouncing off him. Brooks's fingers glide over my cheek.

"We can be quiet," he says, low.

Not possible. Meg and Nate are like 10 feet away and there's no way they can't hear my heart. Brooks and I lay face to face, out waists almost pressed up against each other. Only my beer soaked shirt is between us. The wet shirt and blasting air make it feel like 60 degrees. A fan hums low in the next room over. Brooks must read my mind because he adjusts the napkin blanket so I have most of it.

"Thanks," I say, pulling it up around my shoulders. His body heat will save me tonight.

"You're welcome."

His voice is so low it's not even audible. I'm feeling its vibrations through me. I haven't slept like this with someone in years. Where I'm so aware he's next to me, where we are sharing the same air space, where I can feel him breathing beneath me.

Brooks's right hand moves through the dark; he's navigating my body. Up over my torso and chest, to my neck and my cheek. He tucks my hair behind my ear and then brings his palm back to rest under my chin.

I feel him lean in. I can't see his face. I can hardly see anything. If I didn't know Meg and Nate were over yonder then I may not believe that anyone else existed on earth –let alone in this very room.

His lips find mine for the softest hard kiss imaginable. Feel me? His lips barely part mine. I taste salt on them and some beer. I taste flip cup victory. I lean into him and put my hand behind his head, trying to pull it to me. I'd glue our faces together if it were up to me.

I trace the outline of his lips with my tongue. This is something I've been doing forever. Sounds weird, right? It's actually gotten good reviews. 9/10 would recommend.

Brooks's hand moves down to my waist again and for a second I think he's going to move through my shorts. Then his hand is around me, on my butt and he's pulling me to him –pressing me to him.

I almost squeal. Or moan. Or squoan.

I think I hear Meg or Nate shift obnoxiously loud from behind our heads. Casually just reminding us they're still here. I can feel Brooks's lips turn into a smile beneath mine.

"Brooks," I whisper. It's so low I think I just mouthed it really. Still, somehow he hears me.

"Em," he breathes.

"We can't." Even when I say it, I wonder why? Why can't we? Why am I saying this? Why aren't we married?

"We can," he whispers, nudging my nose with his. It's so cold, we may as well be eskimos.

"Nope," I whisper, pressing into him. One last deep kiss and I tear my lips from his.

"You'll pay for this tomorrow," he whispers. OMG. It's a punishment I can't wait for. "Goodsnight."

I resituate myself on the pillow so I'm at a safe distance from him. He leaves his hand on my hips. I let him.

Now my back is to him, but I crack a smile anyway. "Goodsnight."

Too many times in high school we found ourselves in this same position.  Too bashful to claim the rooms at house parties, we ended up tossed on the teenage-strewn floor, littered with mismatched pillows, napkin blankets, and premature erections. Poignant, I know.

It's not just the here and now though that's sending me tripping down memory lane. It's everything tonight. I mean, shit I haven't been to a genuine house party since college. House party, '00s music, drinking games, and my childhood friends. Check, check, check and check.

Song of the Mood: Anne-Marie's 2002.