Gasp (Visions) by Lisa McMann Page A

envelope and pulls out a wad of twenties. He counts the money—all eight hundred dollars of it.
    “Holy moly,” I say. I feel so weird about it. Teachersdon’t have a lot of extra cash. I bet most of them sacrificed something pretty important in order to chip in, like, I don’t know, bifocals or cat food or whatever teachers buy.
    “That’s incredibly generous,” Mom says. Her eyes are shining.
    And my dad grips the cash like somebody just threw him a lifeline.

Sixteen
    On Saturday night Sawyer comes over, and Dad still doesn’t yell at him, not even when I say we’re going out for a while. Together. Alone.
    “Definite progress,” Sawyer says later in the car. “Is he just distracted, or do you think he’s actually starting to like me?”
    I grin. “I wouldn’t go that far. I think it’s a combination of having too many other things to worry about plus realizing the inevitable—that I’m going to see you whether or not he approves. I think he’s given up. At least for now. And as long as I behave.”
    Sawyer gives me a sidelong glance and slides his hand on my thigh. “Oh?”
    And just like that, my whole body tingles. It’s been awhile since Sawyer and I have had some time alone. I try to swallow the instant desire in my throat but it rushes up again. “I guess what he doesn’t know won’t hurt him.”
    I lean toward Sawyer and watch him driving, the outline of his profile lit up by streetlights. I resist the urge to trace my finger down his sexy chin, run my hand through his thick, dark hair.
    He turns to look at me. His lips part when he sees my face, and I hear him take in a short breath. “Jesus, Jules,” he says, and his grip on my thigh tightens and inches up.
    “Pull over,” I whisper.
    His Adam’s apple bobs in response and he peers ahead, looking for a place to stop. He pulls into the parking lot of a closed factory and parks in the shadows of the building.
    I unlatch my seat belt and climb over the gearshift to straddle Sawyer’s lap as he adjusts the driver’s seat as far back as he can. And then I’m touching his face, nipping his lip with my teeth, drawing the tip of my tongue across his. His seat belt unlatches and I slide it out from between our pressed bodies, between our hot lips, and fling it aside, barely flinching as the buckle hits the window.
    Sawyer kisses me hard, and when I move my lips to his neck he moans and reaches up under my shirt, his cool hands on my bare sides, and I can’t think, I can only breathe and taste his skin and fumble with the buttons on his shirt with fingers that are shaking. Finally I restmy face against his hot bare chest and imagine us naked together. For the first time, it doesn’t seem too weird. A thrill rushes through me from my thighs to my throat. I guide his hand up my side and press it against my bra, and through the fabric his thumb stumbles over my nipple. I suck in a breath.
    “Oh, God,” he says, and his body convulses under me. I bury my face in his neck and kiss him, run my tongue along his collarbone and my fingers up and down his sides under his shirt. He adjusts again and I grip the waist of his jeans and kiss him full on the mouth as he pushes against me, breathing hard. His hands pull me toward him and he searches with blind fingers for the clasp of my bra.
    “It’s two hooks in the back,” I whisper, my lips against his ear. I don’t even know what I’m saying, only that I want him to succeed, I want him to touch me. He finds the clasp and wrestles with it until I help him, and then his hands are cupping my breasts and his hips are grinding, pushing up against me, and I feel mostly euphoric and a little scared as something deep inside me builds.
    I rake in a breath and move my jeans against his, like I’m controlled by some other force of nature, and then Sawyer’s breath turns ragged and he wraps his arms around me and holds me to him, thrusting his hips and gripping mine, and I find his rhythm and try to match