Chapter 18 Seventeen

• Azalea tapped her pen against her notebook, her mind once again wandering to the events of a few nights ago. Ocean's Peak. Jackson. His touch, his lips, the way he made her feel. The memory replayed in her head like a broken record, refusing to leave her alone.
• Three days had passed since it happened, and yet it felt as if it were just yesterday. She could still feel the heat of his breath, the way he looked at her afterward, the unspoken intensity between them.
• Her stomach churned as she let out a soft sigh. It was all her fault—at least, that's what she kept telling herself. She'd let it happen. She'd allowed him to get close, to push her to that moment. It wasn't supposed to go that far, but it had.