Gossip Girl: It Had To Be You

The best way to cool off is to take your clothes off

Like so many of the beautiful prewar town houses and apartment buildings in New York City, the Archibalds' East Eighty-second Street town house was without air-conditioning. Nate's family had never bothered with it because they wanted to preserve the original qualities of the house, and they spent most of the summer at their compound in Maine or away in Europe, anyway. Nate had opened all the windows upstairs in his wing and his parents', but it was still stifling. He grabbed a six-pack of Molson from the fridge and led Serena into the shady sheltered garden out back. A nude marble Venus de Milo fountain was the garden's centerpiece. Water spilled out of the top of her head, cascaded over her placid-looking face, onto her bare shoulders, and down her bare thighs until it pooled at her feet. Nate and Serena perched on the bench his dad had made from slate imported from their property in Maine. A mild breeze wafted through the slim branches of the Japanese cherry trees planted along the tall brick walls surrounding them, doing little to cool them off.

Nate cracked open a beer and handed it to Serena, who took it eagerly. Her eyelids and cheeks had a sultry, sweaty sheen that was better than makeup. Nate tried not to look at her. He'd been trying not to look at her all the way home in the cab. Instead, he stared out at the tall, colorless buildings on Park Avenue like a tourist. He knew if he had looked at her—really looked—they wouldn't have made it home without taking their clothes off.

But now they were home.

"Christ, it's hot," Nate observed. He took a swig of beer and put the bottle down on the flagstone beneath his feet. Then he tugged up on the hem of his white polo shirt and pulled it off over his head. He tossed it on the ground and flexed his nicely toned back muscles as he picked up his beer again and took another swig.

Serena stared at the smatterings of adorable golden brown freckles that danced across his muscled shoulders. Here she was with Nate, Nate, Nate, her Natie, back behind his house where they'd played since they were little kids. She'd tied an imaginary rope around her hands to keep from grabbing him and throwing him down on the flagstones. Nate wasn't hers to grab, she reminded herself. But the rope felt so flimsy, she could break it anytime. Of course Nate was hers. He'd always been hers.

"It is hot," she giggled, springing to her feet and shimmying toward the Venus de Milo in an attempt to switch channels. She danced right out of her pink flip-flops and climbed into the fountain, getting completely soaked as she perched precariously on Venus's lap. The cold water felt totally amazing, exactly what she needed.

And she looked amazing in it—a real, live, in-the-flesh goddess. Nate stood up, put his beer down on the bench, and dashed into the fountain after her.

"Hi," Serena greeted him, grabbing his arm so he wouldn't slip and crack his skull on the marble. Water beaded on Nate's tanned, perfect chest. They stood there together for several awestruck minutes under the two little burbling streams of cold water, gazing into each other's eyes. Finding themselves together in the fountain behind Nate's house on a hot August afternoon was so predictable yet so surprising, it was like they were acting out a dream and making up the parts they couldn't remember.

Serena tightened her grip on Nate's arm and pulled him toward her. She kissed him softly on the lips and then quickly pulled away, her face flushed. Her light blue slip dress was soaked. Nate's pants were soaked. What were they doing? "Sorry," she apologized, removing a strand of wet pale blond hair from her cheek.

Nate grabbed her hand and laced his fingers through hers. "It's okay. Don't stop. I don't want you to stop." He kissed her perfect cheek, and then her perfect nose, and then her perfect lips, and then her perfect neck, and then her lips again.

And they didn't stop. They kept going, kissing like mad and yanking the rest of each other's clothes off. It was kind of embarrassing to be outside in front of the security cameras, though, and besides, the fountain was kind of small and wet and there was no place to lie down.

"Let's go upstairs," Nate murmured, picking Serena up in his strong arms before she could even answer.

As if in a dream—the most glorious dream she'd ever dreamt—Serena allowed Nate to carry her inside the house and up the elegant, red-carpeted staircase. She was done being a martyr. Nate wanted her and she wanted him. End of story.

Actually, this is just the beginning.