1. F*CKED UP

I wanted to f*ck my uncle.

There. That was the truth I'd been dancing around for months, maybe years. The dirty little secret that lived in my head rent-free, that made me sick with guilt and wet between my legs in equal measure.

His name was David. He was thirty-eight, never married, and happened to be my mother's younger brother. Which made him off-limits in every way that mattered.

I didn't care.

I'd just gotten home from my first year of college—nine months away where I'd tried to fuck other guys, tried to erase him from my brain with frat boys and study groups and bad dorm room sex. It didn't work. Every time some twenty-year-old fumbled with my bra, I thought about Uncle David's hands. Rough from work, big enough to palm my entire breast, skilled in ways those boys would never be.

So I came home. Told myself I'd gotten over it. Told myself I was being ridiculous.

But standing in my childhood bedroom—too small, too pink, too full of memories of being someone who didn't want to fuck her own uncle—I knew I was lying to myself.

When had it started?

I'd been asking myself that question for months. Trying to pinpoint the exact moment my brain broke and decided this was what I wanted.

Maybe it was last Christmas. I was eighteen, home from my first semester, and there'd been too much wine and not enough chairs at dinner. I'd ended up on his lap like I had a hundred times as a kid, except this time wasn't like those times. This time I'd felt him shift underneath me. Felt something hard pressing against my ass that made my stomach flip and my pussy clench. I'd gotten up fast, mumbled something about needing the bathroom, and spent the rest of the night avoiding him while my panties stayed wet.

Or maybe it was my eighteenth birthday, right before I left for school. He'd brought me a vintage camera—I'd mentioned wanting to study photography once, months before, and he'd remembered. The hug lasted too long. I'd buried my face in his neck and breathed him in like a fucking creep. Cologne and coffee and something else, something that was just him. My nipples had gotten hard. I'd felt that ache low in my belly, the one that meant I wanted something I couldn't have.

Or maybe—and this was the thought that made me want to scrub my brain with bleach—maybe it had always been there. Maybe I'd wanted him since before I had the words for it, and going to college had just given me the distance to finally admit it to myself.

I was fucked up. I knew that.

Didn't stop me from wanting him.

I heard my mom's voice from downstairs. "Maya! Come help set up for the barbecue!"

Right. The barbecue. The "welcome home" party she'd insisted on throwing even though I'd told her I just wanted a quiet weekend. I knew why she'd planned it, of course. It was an excuse to get the family together. An excuse to see him.

I pulled on cutoff denim shorts and a white tank top—it was hot out, that was the only reason, definitely not because I knew he'd be there and I wanted him to look at me. The shorts were maybe too short, showed too much thigh, but I left them on anyway.

Downstairs, my mom was buzzing around the kitchen like she always did when she was stressed. My dad was already outside messing with the grill, and my aunt Lisa was setting up chairs on the patio.

No sign of Uncle David yet.

My stomach twisted with anticipation. Or nerves. Or both.

"There's my college girl!" Aunt Lisa pulled me into a hug that smelled like cigarettes and expensive perfume. "Look at you. All grown up."

"It's only been nine months," I said, but I hugged her back.

"Nine months is a long time at your age." She held me at arm's length, studied my face. "You look different. More mature."

I didn't feel mature. I felt like a fucked-up nineteen-year-old with a crush on someone I should never, ever think about that way.

"Is everyone coming?" I asked, trying to sound casual.

"David's on his way," my mom said from the kitchen, and my heart jumped. "He texted about twenty minutes ago."

I busied myself helping her carry food outside, trying not to watch the driveway. Trying not to count the minutes.

But then I heard it. His car. The engine cutting out. A door slamming. Footsteps on the walkway.

And then he was there.

Standing in the gateway to the backyard in dark jeans and a white t-shirt that fit him too well, holding a six-pack of beer, smiling that easy smile that made my knees weak and my pussy throb.

"There she is," he said.

I couldn't breathe.

My mom rushed over to hug him, took the beer, started chattering about how good it was to see him. And then he was walking toward me and I was frozen.

"Hey, kiddo."

He pulled me into a hug and I was surrounded by him. His arms around me, his chest pressed against mine, the smell of him filling my lungs and making my head spin.

I breathed in deep. Tried to memorize everything—the feel of his hands on my back, the warmth of his body, the way my nipples hardened where they pressed against him.

His hand rubbed my back once—casual, nothing, the kind of touch uncles gave their nieces—and then he pulled away.

I wanted to pull him back.

"How's college treating you?" he asked.

"Good. It's good." I sounded like an idiot.

"Maya, honey, help your uncle with the grill," my mom said, already heading back inside.

Oh god.

He walked toward where my dad was poking at charcoal. I followed, hyperaware of every step, every breath, the way my shorts rode up my thighs with each movement.

"Need a hand?" David asked my dad.

"Nah, I got it. You two catch up."

And then it was just us. Standing next to each other at the grill, and I could feel the heat radiating off him. Or maybe that was just me. Maybe I was the one burning up.