Free Before by Nicola Marsh

moron. A complete dickhead.
    That’s the only explanation for continuing to hang out with Jess.
    As if the horse ride two days ago hadn’t been torture enough. Physically, mentally and emotionally. It’s damn uncomfortable riding with a hard-on, as I’d discovered the moment she swung up behind me, wrapped arms around me, and hung on like her life depended on it.
    I’d felt every little shift in position she made, heard every little sigh. And savored the illicit contact like a parched guy stumbling across a billabong in a desert.
    For despite taking a blatant stand about us only ever being friends, I wanted that sweet, sexy girl with every cell in my horny body.
    As if there weren’t enough reasons to keep my hands off, discovering she was a virgin topped my list of not getting involved. I was a bastard, but not so much of a bastard that I’d take advantage of her holiday crush.
    I should’ve known. She wore that untouched air like her fine clothes. A hint of vulnerability beneath her sass. It was addictive.
    And wrong.
    Something I’d have to remember tonight, when I put myself through another torture session. Jess had invited herself over and I hadn’t had the heart—or the balls—to say no.
    We should’ve been uncomfortable after our revelations on the ride. Instead, we’d spent the last two days hanging out when I wasn’t working. We’d talked about anything and everything from politics to religion to our favorite music. Which is what led her here tonight.
    Jess was clueless about classic Aussie rock. I was going to indoctrinate her. My excuse; I was sticking to it.
    A knock sounded at the door. “You in there, Cookie?”
    That was another thing I liked but pretended not to. Having her call me Cookie seemed to solidify our bond.
    “Door’s open,” I called out, waiting until she stepped into the shack before hitting play on my iPod.
    I smirked as she jumped five feet when INXS’s Original Sin ripped from the speakers.
    “That’s loud,” she mouthed, covering her ears with her hands.
    “Only way to listen to amazing music like this,” I shouted, beckoning her in and kicking shut the door behind her. “You’ll see.”
    “What?” She cupped her ear. “I can’t hear you.”
    I grinned and cranked up the music, grabbed her hand and spun her around.
    She laughed, a joyous sound that made my chest ache with wanting her, so I settled for working out my frustration by dancing like a crazy person.
    I lost count of the number of songs we danced to, and I couldn’t help but admire a girl who matched me throughout Cold Chisel’s Khe Sanh, Daddy Cool’s Eagle Rock, and AC/DC’s You Shook Me All Night Long move for move. She jumped and shimmied and bumped with me through Skyhooks, Australian Crawl, Mondo Rock, Hunters and Collectors, and Midnight Oil. She didn’t know any of the songs but she didn’t care. She got into the spirit of music idols triple our age, until we could barely breathe.
    Then Crowded House’s Don’t Dream It’s Over filtered through the speakers and I wanted to hit stop ASAP.
    Slow dancing with Jess would kill me.
    She must’ve seen the indecision on my face because she positioned herself between the iPod and me, ensuring I’d have to reach around her to shut the bloody thing off.
    Then she went one step further.
    She closed the distance between us, wrapped her arms around my neck and rested her cheek against my chest.
    I couldn’t push her away.
    I had no choice but to wrap my arms around her waist, rest my chin on her head and just feel . Feel her heart pounding in rhythm with mine. Feel her soft curves. Feel her hair tickling my nose. Feel like I could do this forever.
    We swayed together and I wanted to imprint this moment on my memory. Did I feel like a needy chick? Hell yeah. But this girl was special and I may not get another chance to hold her in my arms like this. In fact, I wouldn’t. I couldn’t.
    When the last haunting strains of Neil Finn’s voice faded, I