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“My chest heaves up and down as I spit the words out when I feel my pointer finger jab against something very hot and solid. And that's when I realize I'm poking Max's chest with my finger. God, wow... that's... that's some firm bare flesh right there. I remember just how exquisite his skin felt under my touch the one time we made out. But touching him like this, when our emotions are running high and his skin is hot and wet, it's a completely different sensory experience. A second later I remember that I'm only wearing a sports bra. My cleavage and my stomach are on full display, mere inches from Max's body. And that's when I notice that glazed-over look in his eyes... and where exactly he's looking. It's not at my face. It's at my chest. My boobs specifically. I step back and cross my arms over my torso. My cheeks heat and I start to turn away instinctively. And then I see Max's hands fly to the waistband of his jeans. His fingers fumble and for a moment, I wonder what the hell he's so panicked about. But then I see it. The bulge at the front of his jeans. Max is turned on at the sight of me, sweaty and in a sports bra. A whole new feeling consumes me. It feels a lot like satisfaction. Maybe a tad smug too. I can't help it. Max Boyson is turned on by me again, but this time I barely even touched him.” — Sarah Echavarre Smith