Seeking Her: A Finding It Novella (Losing It) by Cora Carmack (25-Feb-2014) Mass Market Paperback
Date: 2014-01-28 05:00:00+00:00
Keywords: New Adult; Romance; Contemporary; Novella; Contemporary Romance; Short Stories; Adult; Realistic Fiction; Young Adult; Chick Lit
Description: from the point of view of Jackson Hunt, the hero of FINDING IT
Publisher: William Morrow & Company (25 Feb. 2014)

The Cora Carmack New Adult Boxed Set

Cora Carmack

Contents

Losing It

Dedication

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Six

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Epilogue

Acknowledgments

Faking It

Dedication

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Chapter 39

Chapter 40

Chapter 41

Epilogue

Acknowledgments

Finding It

Dedication

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Acknowledgments

Keeping Her

Dedication

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Bonus Material: Garrick Scenes

Ever wonder what Garrick was thinking in LOSING IT?

The One Where They Meet

The One Where They Meet… Again.

The One Where Bliss Gets Her Way, and Well, Garrick, too.

Seeking Her Announcement

About the Author

Back Ad

Copyright

About the Publisher

Losing It

CORA CARMACK

DEDICATION

For Lindsay

My first reader.

Thank you for all the times you’ve listened to me vent.

You’ve heard every mortifying story.

You’ve been there through the awkward, the hilarious,
and the near-death experiences.

Stone love.

CONTENTS

Dedication

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Six

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Epilogue

Acknowledgments

CHAPTER ONE

I TOOK A deep breath.

You are awesome. I didn’t quite believe it so I thought it again.

Awesome. You are so awesome. If my mother heard my thoughts, she’d tell me that I needed to be humble, but humility had gotten me nowhere.

Bliss Edwards, you are a freaking catch.

So then how did I end up twenty-two years old, and the only person I knew who has never had sex? Somewhere between Saved by the Bell and Gossip Girl, it became unheard of for a girl to graduate college with her V-Card still in hand. And now I was standing in my room, regretting that I’d gathered the courage to admit it to my friend Kelsey. She reacted like I’d just told her I was hiding a tail underneath my A-line skirt. And I knew before her jaw even finished dropping that this was a terrible idea.

“SERIOUSLY? Is it because of Jesus? Are you, like, saving yourself for him?” Sex seemed simpler for Kelsey. She had the body of a Barbie and the sexually-charged brain of a teenage boy.

“No, Kelsey,” I said. “It would be a little difficult to save myself for someone who died over two thousand years ago.”

Kelsey whipped off her shirt and threw it on the floor. I must have made a face because she looked at me and laughed.

“Relax, Princess Purity, I’m just changing shirts.” She stepped into my closet and started flipping through my clothes.

“Why?”

“Because, Bliss, we’re going out to get you laid.” She said the word “laid” with a curl of her tongue that reminded me of those late night commercials for those adult phone lines.

“Jesus, Kelsey.”

She pulled out a shirt that was snug on me, and would be downright scandalous on her curvy frame.

“What? You said it wasn’t about him.”

I resisted the urge to slam my palm into my forehead.

“It’s not, I don’t think . . . I mean, I go to church and all, well, sometimes. I just . . . I don’t know. I’ve never been that interested.”

She paused with her new shirt halfway over her head.

“Never interested? In guys? Are you gay?”

I once overheard my mother, who can’t understand why I’m about to graduate college without a ring on my finger, ask my father the same question.

“No Kelsey, I’m not gay, so keep putting your shirt on. No need to fall on your sexual sword for me.”

“If you’re not gay and it’s not about Jesus, then it’s just a matter of finding the right guy, or should I say . . . the right sexual sword.”

I rolled my eyes. “Gee? Is that all? Find the right guy? Why didn’t someone tell me sooner?”

She pulled her blonde hair back into a high ponytail, which somehow drew even more attention to her chest. “I don’t mean the right guy to marry, honey. I mean the right guy to get your blood pumping. To make you turn off your analytical, judgmental, hyperactive brain and think with your body instead. “

“Bodies can’t think.”

“SEE!” She said. “Analytical. Judgmental.”

“Fine! Fine. Which bar tonight?”

“Stumble Inn, of course.”

I groaned. “Classy.”

“What?” Kelsey looked at me like I was missing the answer to a really obvious question. “It’s a good bar. More importantly, it’s a bar that guys like. And since we do like guys, it’s a bar we like.”

It could be worse. She could be taking me to a club.

“Fine. Let’s go.” I stood, and headed for the curtain that separated my bedroom from the rest of my loft apartment.

“WHOA! Whoa.” She grabbed my elbow and pulled me so hard that I fell back on my bed. “You can’t go like that. “

I looked down at my outfit—flowery A-line skirt and simple tank that showed a decent amount of cleavage. I looked cute. I could totally pick up a guy in this . . . maybe.

“I don’t see the problem,” I said.

She rolled her eyes, and I felt like a child. I hated feeling like a child, and I pretty much always did when talk turned to sex.

Kelsey said, “Honey, right now you look like someone’s adorable little sister. No guy wants to screw his little sister. And if he does, you don’t want to be near him.”

Yep, definitely felt like a child. “Point taken.”

“Hmm . . . sounds like you’re practicing turning off that overactive brain of yours. Good job. Now stand there and let me work my magic.”

And by magic, she meant torture.

After vetoing three shirts that made me feel like a prostitute, some pants that were more like leggings, and a skirt so short it threatened to show the world my hoo-hoo in the event of a mild breeze, we settled on some tight low-rise denim capris, and a lacy black tank that stood out in contrast to my pale white skin.

“Legs shaved?”

I nodded.

“Other . . . things . . . shaved?”

“As much as they are ever going to be yes, now move on.” That was where I drew the line of this conversation.

She grinned, but didn’t argue. “Fine. Fine. Condoms?”

“In my purse.”

“Brain?”

“Turned off. Or well . . . dialed down, anyway.”

“Excellent. I think we’re ready.”

I wasn’t ready. Not at all.

There was a reason I hadn’t had sex yet, and now I knew it. I was a control freak. It was why I had done so well in school my entire life. It made me a great stage manager—no one could run a theatre rehearsal like I could. And when I did get up the nerve to act—I was always more prepared than any other actor in class. But sex . . . that was the opposite of control. There were emotions, and attraction, and that pesky other person that just had to be involved. Not my idea of fun.

“You’re thinking too much,” Kelsey said.

“Better than not thinking enough.”

“Not tonight it’s not,” she said.

I turned up the volume of Kelsey’s iPod as soon as we got in the car so that I could think in peace.

I could do this. It was just a problem that needed to be solved, an item that needed to be checked off my to-do list.

It was that simple.

Simple.

Keep it simple.

We pulled up outside the bar several minutes later, and the night felt anything, but simple. My pants felt too tight, my shirt too low-cut, and my brain too clouded. I wanted to throw up.

I didn’t want to be a virgin. That much I knew. I didn’t want to feel like the immature prude who knew nothing about sex. I hated not knowing things. The trouble was . . . as much as I didn’t want to be a virgin, I also didn’t want to have sex.

The conundrum of all conundrums. Why couldn’t this be one of those square is a rectangle, but rectangle is not always a square kind of things?

Kelsey was standing outside my door, her high-heeled shoes snapping in time with her fingers as she roused me out of the car. I squared my shoulders, tossed my hair (half-heartedly), and followed Kelsey into the bar.

I made a beeline straight to the bar, wiggled myself onto a stool, and waved down the bartender.

He was a possibility. Blond hair, average build, nice face. Nothing special, but certainly not out of the question. He could be good for simple.

“What can I get for y’all, ladies?”

Southern accent. Definitely a homegrown kind of boy.

Kelsey butted in, “We need two shots of tequila to start.”

“Make it four,” I croaked.

He whistled, and his eyes met mine. “That kinda night, huh?”

I wasn’t ready to put into words what kind of night this was. So I just said, “I’m looking for some liquid courage.”

“And I’d be glad to help.” He winked at me, and he was barely out of earshot before Kelsey bounced in her seat, saying, “He’s the one! He’s the one!”

Her words made me feel like I was on a roller coaster, like the world had just dropped and all my organs were playing catch up. I just needed more time to adjust. That’s it. I grabbed Kelsey’s shoulder, and forced her to still. “Chill, Kels. You’re like a freaking Chihuahua.”

“What? He’s a good choice. Cute. Nice. And I totally saw him glance at your cleavage . . . TWICE.”

She wasn’t wrong. But I still wasn’t all that interested in sleeping with him, which I suppose didn’t have to rule him out, but this sure would be a hell of a lot easier if I was actually interested in the guy. I said, “I’m not sure . . . there’s just no spark.” I could see an eye roll coming, so I tagged on a quick, “Yet!”

When Bartender Boy returned with our drinks, Kelsey paid, and I took my two shots before she even handed over her card. He stayed for a moment, smiling at me, before moving on to another customer. I stole one of Kelsey’s remaining shots.

“You’re lucky this is a big night for you, Bliss. Normally, nobody gets between me and my tequila.”

I held my hand out and said, “Well, nobody will get between these legs unless I’m good and drunk so hand me the last one.”

Kelsey shook her head, but she was smiling. After a few seconds, she gave in, and with four shots of tequila in my system the prospect of sex seemed a little less scary.

Another bartender came by, this one a girl, and I ordered a Jack and coke to sip on while I puzzled through this whole mess.

There was Bartender Boy, but he wouldn’t get off until well after 2 A.M. I was a nervous wreck already, so if this dragged on till the wee hours of the morning, I’d be completely psychotic. I could just imagine it . . . straight-jacketed due to sex.

There was a guy standing next to me who seemed to move several inches closer with every drink I took, but he had to be at least forty. No, thank you.

I gulped down more of my drink, thankful the bartender went heavy on the Jack, and scanned the bar.

“What about him?” Kelsey asked, pointing to a guy at a nearby table.

“Too preppy.”

“Him?”

“Too Hipster.”

“Over there?”

“Ew. Too hairy.”

The list continued until I was pretty sure this night was a bust. Kelsey suggested we hit another bar, which was the last thing I wanted to do. I told her I had to go to the bathroom, and hoped someone would catch her eye while I was gone so that I could slip away with no drama. The bathroom was at the back, past the pool and darts area, behind a section with some small round tables.

That was when I noticed him.

Well, technically, I noticed the book first.

And I just couldn’t keep my mouth closed. “If that’s supposed to be a way to pick up girls, I would suggest moving to an area with a little more traffic.”

He looked up from his reading, and suddenly I found it hard to swallow. He was easily the most attractive guy I’d seen tonight—blond hair falling into crystal blue eyes, just enough scruff on his jaw to give him a masculine look without making him too hairy, and a face that could have made angels sing. It wasn’t making me sing. It was making me gawk. Why did I stop? Why did I always have to make an idiot of myself?

“Excuse me?”

My mind was still processing his perfect hair and bright blue eyes, so it took me a second to say, “Shakespeare. No one reads Shakespeare in a bar unless it’s a ploy to pick up girls. All I’m saying is you might have better luck up front.”

He didn’t say anything for a long beat, but then his mouth split in a grin revealing, what do you know, perfect teeth!

“It’s not a ploy, but if it were, it seems to me that I’m having great luck right here.”

An accent. HE HAS A BRITISH ACCENT. Dear God, I’m dying.

Breathe. I needed to breathe.

Don’t lose it, Bliss.

He put his book down, but not before marking his place. My God, he was really reading Shakespeare in a bar.

“You’re not trying to pick up a girl?”

“I wasn’t.”

My analytical brain did not miss his use of the past tense. As in . . . he hadn’t been trying to seduce anyone before, but perhaps he was now.

I took another look at him. He was grinning now—white teeth, jaw stubble that made him look downright delectable. Yep, I was definitely seducible. And that thought alone was enough to send me into shock.

“What’s your name, love?”

Love? LOVE! Still dying, here.

“Bliss.”

“Is that a line?”

I blushed crimson. “No, it’s my name.”

“Lovely name for a lovely girl.” The timbre of his voice went into that low register that made my insides curl in on themselves—it was like my uterus was tapping out a happy dance on the rest of my organs. God, I was dying the longest, most tortuous, and arousing death in the history of the world. Was this what it always felt like to be turned on? No wonder sex made people do crazy things.

“Well, Bliss, I’m new in town, and I’ve already locked myself out of my apartment. I’m waiting on a locksmith, actually, and I figured I’d put this spare time to good use.”

“By brushing up on your Shakespeare?”

“Trying to, anyway. Honestly, I’ve never liked the bloke all that much, but let’s keep that a secret between us, yeah?”

I’m pretty sure my cheeks were still stained red, if the heat coming off of them was any indication. In fact, my whole body felt like it was on fire. I’m not sure whether it was mortification or his accent that had me about to spontaneously combust in front of him.

“You look disappointed, Bliss. Are you a Shakespeare fan?”

I nodded, because my throat might have been closing up.

He wrinkled his nose in response, and my hands itched to follow the line of his nose down to his lips.

I was going crazy. Actually, certifiably insane.

“Don’t tell me you’re a Romeo and Juliet fan?”

Now, this. This was something I could discuss.

“Othello, actually. That’s my favorite.”

“Ah. Fair Desdemona. Loyal and Pure.”

My heart stuttered at the word pure.

“I, um,” I struggled to piece together my thoughts. “I like the juxtaposition of reason and passion.”

“I’m a fan of passion, myself.” His eyes dipped down then, and ran the length of my form. My spine tingled until it felt like it might burst out of my skin.

“You haven’t asked me my name,” he said.

I cleared my throat. This couldn’t be attractive. I was about as sociable as a caveman. I asked, “What’s your name?”

He tilted his head, and his hair almost covered his eyes.

“Join me, and I’ll tell you.”

I didn’t think about anything other than the fact that my legs were like Jell-O, and sitting down would prevent me from doing something embarrassing like passing out from the influx of hormones that were quite clearly having a free for all in my brain. I sank into the chair, but instead of relief, the tension ratcheted up another notch.

He spoke, and my eyes snagged on his lips. “My name is Garrick.”

Who knew names could be hot, too?

“It’s nice to meet you, Garrick.”

He leaned forward on his elbows, and I noticed his broad shoulders, and the way his muscles moved beneath the fabric of his shirt. Then our eyes connected, and the bar around us went from dim to dark, while I was ensnared by those baby blues.

“I’m going to buy you a drink.” It wasn’t meant to be a question. In fact, when he looked at me, there was nothing questioning in him at all, only confidence. “Then we can chat some more about reason and . . . passion.”

CHAPTER TWO

I COULDN’T TELL whether the burning sensation in my chest had to do with the hooded look Garrick was giving me or the remainder of my first Jack and Coke that I just downed like it was water.

A waiter arrived at Garrick’s beckoning, and I took a moment to give myself a silent pep talk while he ordered himself a drink.

“Bliss?” Garrick prompted.

His voice sent shivers through me.

I looked up at him, then at the waiter, who happened to be Bartender Boy from earlier. I opened my mouth to ask for another Jack and Coke, but Bartender Boy stopped me with a hand on my shoulder. “I remember—Jack and Coke, right?”

I nodded, and he threw me a wink and a smile. I paused wondering for a second how he knew my order. I was pretty sure the girl bartender had served me last. He was still smiling at me, so I forced myself to speak. “Thanks, um . . .”

“Brandon,” he supplied.

“Thanks Brandon.”

He glanced at Garrick, and then focused back on me.

“Should I tell your friend up front that you’ll be right back?”

“Oh, um, sure, I guess.”

He smiled in response, and stayed there staring at me for a few seconds before he turned to head back to the bar. I knew I had to look at Garrick again, but I was terrified I’d melt into a puddle of arousal and awkwardness if I met his gorgeous eyes again.

He said, “You know, sometimes I wonder if Desdemona was as innocent as she let on. Maybe she knew the effect she had on guys, and enjoyed making them jealous.”

I met his eyes then, and they were narrowed, studying me.

I swallowed my nerves and studied him back.

“Or maybe she was just intimidated by Othello’s intensity and didn’t know how to talk to him. Communication is key after all.”

“Communication, eh?”

“It could have solved a lot of their problems.”

“In that case, I’ll endeavor to be as clear as possible.” He picked up his chair and placed it mere inches from mine. He slinked down beside me and said, “I’d rather you didn’t go back to your friend. Stay here with me.”

Swallow, Bliss. I told myself, You have to swallow or you might start drooling.

“Well, my friend is waiting. What will we do if I stay?”

He reached out a hand and pushed my hair over my shoulder. His hand skimmed across my neck, pausing at my pulse point, which must have been going crazy.

“We can talk Shakespeare. We can talk about anything you want. Though I can’t promise not to get distracted by your lovely neck.” His fingers traveled across my jaw, until they reached my chin, which he pulled forward slightly with the pressure of his index finger. “Or your lips. Or those eyes. I could woo you with stories about my life, like Othello does Desdemona.”

I was already sufficiently wooed. My reply was embarrassingly breathy, “I’d rather not parallel our evening with a couple who ended with a murder/suicide.”

He grinned, and his finger dropped from my chin. My skin burned where he had touched me, and I had to stop myself from leaning forward to follow his touch.

“Touché. I don’t care what we do as long as you stay.”

“Okay.” I was immensely proud that I managed a calm reply instead of the Dear God, yes, I’ll do whatever you ask that was currently running through my mind.

“Maybe I should lock myself out my apartment more often.”

I’d prefer we locked ourselves in, actually.

My pocket started vibrating, and I rushed to answer my phone before my embarrassing boy band ringtone came on.

“Yes?”

“Did you fall in or what?”

It was Kelsey.

“No, Kelsey, I didn’t. Listen, why don’t you just head home without me.”

Garrick’s eyes darkened, and my breath hitched as his gaze dropped to my lips.

“You are not getting out of this, Bliss. You are getting laid tonight if I have to do it myself. “

God, could she be any louder? I thought that Garrick had to have heard, but his eyes never left my lips.

“That won’t be necessary, Kels.”

I tried to think of a cryptic way to tell her that I’d already found my guy, when I heard an intake of breath followed by “OH. MY. GOD.”

I glanced over Garrick’s shoulder in time to see Kelsey’s grin widen, and the crude hand gesture that followed.

“Yeah, okay, so I’ll talk to you later, Kels?”

“You most certainly will. You’ll call and tell me every drop dead gorgeous detail.”

“We’ll see.”

“ You better do a lot of seeing tonight, honey. I expect your eyes to be fully opened after this evening’s encounter.”

I hung up without a reply.

“Your friend?” he asked.

I nodded, because his stare currently had my blood boiling. Never in my life had I felt so completely turned on by someone who was not even touching me. Sex rolled off the man in waves, and I was surprised to find how interested I was in learning how to swim.

“You’re staying?”

I nodded again, every muscle in my body drawn taut. If he didn’t kiss me soon, I was going to explode. Just when I thought he might, Bartender Boy returned with our drinks. He came up with a smile, which dropped upon seeing how close Garrick and I were.

“Sorry it took so long. We’re swamped up front.”

I latched on to the distraction.

“It’s no problem, Brandon.”

“Sure. You need anything else?”

“No, I’m good.”

Brandon’s eyes flicked to Garrick, and then he leaned a little closer to me.

“You sure?

“We’re sure,” Garrick tagged on curtly before handing him a few bills. “Keep the change.”

Brandon checked on one more couple that was a few tables away, and then he left for the front of the bar again. When he was out of earshot, I turned back to Garrick. I noticed his arm had made its way around my chair.

“Are you the jealous type, Garrick?”

“Not really.”

I raised an eyebrow, and he smiled unabashedly.

He said, “Maybe this discussion of Othello has set me a bit on edge.”

“Then let’s talk about something else. What time did the locksmith say he’d be around to your apartment?”

He glanced briefly at his watch, and I took the chance to eye the incredible build of his arms. “He should be there fairly soon.”

“Should you go and wait for him?” It was hard to pinpoint exactly what I wanted in that moment. I definitely liked him, and I definitely wanted him to kiss me, but I was so used to sabotaging things like this so that they never got too far. I was always searching for a backdoor, the way out.

“Are you trying to get rid of me?”

I took a breath. No backing out. No backdoors, not this time. I bit my lip, and looked at him. I hoped he couldn’t read the fear thrumming beneath my confident façade. I said, “I guess, we could go and wait for him.”

He looked at my lips again. Dying . . . I was dying for him to kiss me.

“Much better.”

He stood and offered me his arm. “My lady?”

“You don’t want to finish our drinks?”

He took my hand, and pressed his lips against the inside of my wrist. “I’m already intoxicated.”

I laughed, because the line was ridiculous (and because I didn’t want to admit that it still worked).

He grinned. “Too far? What can I say . . . the Bard gives me a flair for the dramatic.”

“Let’s try for some realism instead.”

He said, “I think I can do that.”

I’d barely processed his words before he’d pulled me up from the chair and covered my mouth with his own. His scent overwhelmed me—citrus and leather and something else that made my mouth water. I was almost too shocked to react. I was acutely aware of the fact that he was kissing me in the middle of a bar, until he nipped at my bottom lip. Then I forgot about everything but him. My whole body shuddered, and my heart dropped toward my stomach like the force of gravity had doubled. My head was swimming, but I didn’t care. I opened my mouth, and immediately his tongue swept in, taking control. My hands clutched at his back, and in response, he pulled me closer. His kiss was slow and then fast, tender then punishing. We were pressed together so tightly that I could feel every plane of his body, but still I wanted to be closer. His hand slid up the back of my shirt—hot fingers pressed into my already over-heated flesh. A moan escaped my mouth at the intimate contact. Immediately, I regretted it, because the sound seemed to clear his head, and he pulled away.

I couldn’t stop my lips from following him, but he stayed out of reach of my kiss. Instead he groaned, ducked his head, and placed a hot kiss on my neck.

My brain was definitely dialed down. I was all body in that moment, and God, it felt good. I was only the sum of my nerve endings, which were going crazy. He exhaled heavily, and it scorched my skin. His voice was raspy when he spoke, “Sorry. Got carried away.”

Those were exactly the right words. Carried away. I had never been so caught up in another person before. I’d never been so . . . out of control. It at once excited and terrified me.

His face appeared before mine, and I tried to keep my expression neutral. His hand slid out of my shirt, and I shivered, my skin mourning the loss.

He took a step back. “Right. Might be time for a little more reason, little less passion.”

I laughed, but inside I was giving the middle finger to reason. It had ruled me long enough.

CHAPTER THREE

“YOU’RE KIDDING ME, right?”

I stared at him, wondering if my control freak side could handle this.

His hand skimmed my jaw. “I promise I’ll go slow.”

I shook my head, and his hand dropped. “I don’t think I can do this.”

“Just hold on to me. I promise . . . you’ll have fun.”

“Garrick . . .”

“Bliss, just trust me.”

I took a deep breath. I could do this. I just had to dial down my brain like Kelsey said.

“Okay, but hurry . . . before I change my mind.”

His face split in a smile, and he placed a quick kiss on my temple. “That a girl.”

Then he carefully fixed the helmet over my hair, threw a leg over his motorcycle, and offered me a hand. I pushed down my reservations, and slipped my hand into his. The seat was curved so that even though I tried to sit a few inches back, I slid until my body was pressed right up against his.

His hand settled on my knee, his fingers curving until they tickled at the sensitive area at the back.

“Hold on to me.”

I did as I was told, and nearly had an aneurism when I could feel the ridges of his abs through his shirt. Suddenly I was uber-conscious of the little pudge that rested just above my jeans. He was going to take one look at my body and know that I wasn’t good enough for him. Hell, he could probably feel that pudge against his back now, and was already regretting this. Then the hand around my knee gave a quick tug, and even though I didn’t think we could get any closer, we did.

I wasn’t just pressed against him. I was plastered.

My pelvis was so tight against him that a dizzy spell tore through me. And at that same moment, we took off. I dug my hands into his middle, and he jumped, the whole motorcycle swerving to the side.

I screamed. Well, more like shrieked. Right in his ear.

He straightened us out, and then slowed to a stop at the stop sign.

“All right?”

My face buried against his shoulder, I managed to squeak out, “Yeah.”

“Sorry, love, I’m just a wee bit ticklish is all.”

“Oh.” I loosened the fingers that were practically gouging into his sides. Thank God he couldn’t see my face right now. Red was not a good look on me.

He took my hands, and pulled so that my forearms were across his middle, and my arms were wrapped completely around him.

“That’s better. Let’s give it another go.”

This time when he took off, I didn’t scream. He gained speed slowly, and I kept my cheek flat against his back with my eyes closed.

Shakespeare was stuck in my head from our earlier conversation, so I recited everything I knew to keep my mind busy. I started with Hamlet’s soliloquy. Then moved on to the St. Crispin’s Day Speech from Henry V. I was finishing up Macbeth’s Tomorrow and Tomorrow and Tomorrow monologue when Garrick interrupted.

“You really do love the Bard.”

Mortification was becoming my default emotion. Guess I wasn’t reciting those in my head like I thought I was.

“Oh, I, um, just memorize really easily.”

My cheek still against his back, I tried to calm my sprinting heart. Now that the motorcycle wasn’t moving, my brain was free to fear that other thing that I had been actively not thinking about.

Sex.

I was going to have sex.

With a boy.

A hot boy.

A hot BRITISH boy.

Or maybe I was going to throw up.

What if I threw up on the hot British boy?

What if I threw up on the hot British boy DURING SEX?

“Bliss?”

I jerked back, horrified and wondering if I accidentally spoke aloud again.

“Yes?”

“We can get off the bike anytime.”

“Oh.” I pulled my arms back so quickly that I nearly lost my balance and fell off the bike. Luckily, with only a minor squeak, I managed to stabilize myself, and slowly slide off the bike.

Then my calf grazed a pipe on the side of the bike, and I was screaming again.

It was hot. So FREAKING hot. And now my skin was stinging.

“Bliss?”

I had limped several feet away from the bike by the time Garrick caught up to me. Despite my clenched fists, and the way I was biting down on my lip to hold in the pain, my eyes were tearing up.

His hands cupped my face first, and then he glanced down at my leg where a red welt was shining about an inch below the bottom of my capris.

“Oh bugger.”

I kept my lips clamped shut, uncertain if I could open my mouth without crying. Garrick slipped an arm around my waist, and I threw one over his shoulder.

“Come on, love. Let’s hope that locksmith has already arrived.”

For the first time, I looked around and realized where we were.

We were in my apartment complex.

We lived in the same apartment complex!

I warred over whether I should say something as he steered me toward his apartment. I almost mentioned it when we walked past my own car, but then I reminded myself that this was supposed to be a one-night thing. He was one building over from me. Thank God. What if he had lived right beside me, and I had to see him every day after the no doubt terrible sex I was about to try to have with him?

We got to his door.

No locksmith.

The skin on my calf felt hot, like I was standing right next to an open flame.

He shot me a worried look, and then pulled out his phone.

He hit the call button twice, redialing the last number he called.

He stepped away from me to talk, and I leaned heavily against the wall beside his door. Clearly, I was not meant to have sex. This was God telling me that I was meant to be a nun. Get thee to a nunnery, and all that crap.

I was so delirious I was confusing God and Shakespeare.

Garrick came back, and even his frown was gorgeous.

“Bad news. The locksmith got held up, and won’t be here for another hour.”

I tried not to cringe. I failed.

He knelt, and his fingers ran up my shin, stopping a few inches to the right of my burn. Thank God I’d shaved. He took a deep breath, and released it slowly through his nose. He closed his eyes for a moment, and then nodded.

“Right. Well, in that case, we should maybe take you to the Emergency Room.”

“What? No!”

What would Kelsey say? I went out aiming to have sex, and instead I ended up in the Emergency Room. FML.

“Bliss, the burn isn’t too bad, but if you don’t start treating it, it’s going to hurt like hell.”

I tipped my head back against the wall, and blew a stray hair out of my face. “ I don’t live far. We can just go to my place.”

“Oh. Okay.”

His grin eased back on to his face, and for a brief second I was too awash in other feelings to remember the pain. He continued, “We’ll have to be careful putting you back on the motorcycle. Wouldn’t want you to burn yourself again.”

I bit down on my bottom lip. “We don’t actually have to get on the bike.”

He gracefully arched one eyebrow.

“When I say I don’t live far, I mean that I live in the next building over.”

Both eyebrows jumped up then. His surprise only lasted a second before a different expression crossed his face—one harder to pinpoint that made the butterflies in my stomach start having seizures.

“Let’s go to your flat, then . . . neighbor.”

I felt weak in the knees, and not just because of the pain.

I swallowed, but my mouth still felt dry. He didn’t put his arm around me again, but his fingers touched my back lightly, and then stayed there as we walked. We arrived at my apartment in less than a minute. His hand dropped to my lower back as I rummaged for my keys, and for a second, I forgot what I was searching for.

Keys. To my apartment.

Which he was about to enter.

With me.

Alone.

To have sex.

Sex.

Sex.

Sex.

My fingers felt broken as I tried and failed to insert the key into the lock. He didn’t say anything. Nor did he take the keys from me—which was good, because that would have totally pissed me off. I may have been a mental, emotional, and physical wreck, but I didn’t need a guy to turn a key for me. His hand stayed calmly, gently, patiently against my back until I managed to force the door open.

When I stepped forward into the dark hallway, his hand didn’t follow. I looked back at him, standing on my porch, his hand now tucked casually into his pockets. His smile was crooked, endearing, and heart-stoppingly gorgeous. But he looked like he didn’t plan to come inside. This was it. He had changed his mind. Because I was a complete mess. Why wouldn’t he?

I took a breath, reminding myself that I was awesome. I was not insecure or shy. I was just a virgin. No big deal. And if I ever wanted to not be a virgin, I was going to have to have sex. Time to man, um . . . woman, up.

“Are you waiting for an invitation?” I asked, eyeing him standing carefully outside my door. “Is this the part where you tell me you’re a vampire?”

He chuckled. “No, I promise the paleness is only because I’m British.”

“Then what are you waiting for? What happened to the guy who made me sit to find out his name and made it abundantly clear that he didn’t want me going back to my friend?” What happened to the guy who was bold in ways I could only pretend to be?

He took one step, so that he stood in the doorframe, and leaned against the jamb. “That guy is trying to be a gentleman, because as much as he wanted you to come back to his place and as much as he wants to kiss you—you’re hurt, and I’m afraid you don’t actually want me here.”

“You mean he’s afraid.”

“Hmm?”

“You were speaking in the third person, and then switched to first . . .” And I was rambling.

“So I was.” He was still smiling. What did that mean? “It was nice to meet you, Bliss.”

This was the easy out if I didn’t want to go through with this. If I wanted my virginity to see the light of day . . . again. He was turning away. All I had to do was let him go.

“Wait!”

He smiled a small, concealed smile, and raised that one eyebrow again.

I breathed through my fear. “If he’s trying to be a gentleman, shouldn’t he stay and try to help the injured girl who knows nothing about treating motorcycle burns?”

His eyes left mine to glance at my calf, and when he looked up again, his eyes found my lips instead.

“The injured girl is right. It would be the gentlemanly thing to do.”

Then he stepped inside my apartment and closed the door.

The light from the streetlamps outside disappeared, and we stood in the darkened hallway because my overhead light had been burnt out for weeks, and I still hadn’t replaced it.

I could feel the heat radiating off of him as he stepped closer. His hand once again settled in the small of my back, and he whispered in the dark, “Lead the way, love.”

CHAPTER FOUR

I STOOD IN my bathroom in a tank top and underwear with my pants around my knees, on the verge of hyperventilating. Garrick was outside the door, and it was like he was a magnet. My heart kept trying to leap out of my chest toward him. He had told me to take off my capris, and that I’d need to keep from wearing tight clothes over the burn for a while. He had offered to help me get the capri pants off, but that made me feel like I was going to vomit again. So instead, I began wiggling them off myself, trying and failing to keep the fabric from touching the damaged skin.

I slid the material a bit lower, and bit down on my lip to try and silence a groan.

“Bliss?” Garrick knocked lightly at the door. “You okay?”

“Just peachy!” I said back.

I pulled on the pants again and gasped.

“Bliss, just let me help. You’re worrying me.”

I closed my eyes, trying to think of a way around this. Hobbling awkwardly with my jeans around my knees, I found a skirt with an elastic waist in my hamper. I pulled it over my head, and down to cover my underwear, and then took a seat on the toilet.

I felt my cheeks, certain that they were probably a mortifying shade of red. Nothing I could do about it now. I said, “Okay. Come in.”

The door swung open slowly, and Garrick’s head peeked around the corner, followed by the rest of him. He took one look at my rumpled skirt, and the jeans bunched around my knees.

Then he laughed. Raucous laughter, actually.

“This is so humiliating.” How was I ever going to have sex with him now?

He pressed his lips together to stop the laughter, but amusement still danced in his eyes.

“I’m sorry. I know you’re in pain. You just look so . . .”

“Ridiculous?”

“Cute.”

I leveled him with a glare.

“Ridiculously cute.”

His grin was intoxicating, and I couldn’t help my begrudging smile.

“Alright. Now that you’ve had your laugh, help me take off my pants,” I said with the same sarcasm I’d been relying on since he entered.

Either he didn’t catch the sarcasm or he just didn’t care because his eyes fixed on me in a way that I could only describe as downright predatory. Suddenly, much more than my leg was burning up.

He stared at me for a moment before dropping his eyes, and clearing his throat. Kneeling beside me, he took my leg into his hands.

I had already started to pull the capris down, so the burn was currently covered. His hand hovered by the zipper, which was now around the middle of my thighs. He cleared his throat again, and then slipped his hand down my pant leg.

HEART. ATTACK.

I was pretty sure I was having one.

Using his other hand, he pulled the jeans down as far as he could, just over my knees. He looked up at me, cleared his throat again, and said, “Can I borrow your hand?”

I couldn’t speak, but I put my right hand forward, the palm of which was embarrassingly sweaty. He took my hand, and pulled it inside my pant leg to join his own.

“Keep your hand here, and pull the fabric as far away from your leg as you can. I’ll do the same at the bottom, and we’ll try to slip them off without touching the burn.”

I nodded, my hand ten times steadier than my heart.

He slipped his hand up and out, his light touch sending shivers through me. He did as he said, pulling the fabric away from my skin at the bottom, and then together we tried to pull the pants off.

It wasn’t the most successful mission. These jeans were indecently tight (thanks to Kelsey), and every once and a while the fabric bumped my skin, and I cringed.

“Sorry,” he apologized each time like it was his fault. I wanted to correct him, but I just loved the way he said “soori” so much that I let it go.

After a minute or two of slow and careful maneuvering, my jeans hit the floor.

We both laughed—the way you see people in movies laugh after they’ve just diffused a bomb. And when I stopped laughing, I realized that his hand was still on my leg. One hand was cupped around my ankle, and the other was brushing softly against the skin around the burn.

If he kept touching me like that, I was going to melt into a puddle right here on the floor.

“Um, thanks.”

He seemed to realize then what he was doing. His eyes flicked quickly to his hands. Instead of pulling back immediately, he grinned, brushed his hand slowly down my leg, and then let go.

“No problem. Now we need to cool it off. We could run it under cool water.” I pictured my leg hiked up to the sink, or us both trying to maneuver in my bathtub. My face must have given it away, because he added, “Or just a cool damp cloth will work.”

I handed him a washcloth from a basket behind me, and he turned on the sink, waiting until the water was cool before wetting the cloth.

I sucked in a breath as he laid it across my burn, but the cool felt good, enough that I relaxed for the first time since we came into my apartment.

“Better?”

I nodded, “Much. I’ll never wear jeans that tight again.”

He quirked a smile. “Now that would be a shame.”

I was going to need a fan to keep myself cool if he kept saying things like that.

“Listen,” He began. “I’m sorry about this. I never should have pushed you to get on that bike.”

“It’s not your fault I know nothing about motorcycles, and didn’t realize it would be hot.”

“I can’t believe you’ve never been on a motorcycle.”

“Yeah, well, there are a lot of things I’ve never done.”

He quirked one eyebrow. “Like what?”

“Well . . .” I swear my heartbeat sounded like stupid, stupid, stupid as it pounded in my ears. “Um, until today I’d never met anyone who was British.”

He laughed, combing his fingers unconsciously through his hair. It made me want to comb my fingers through his hair.

He said, “That’s why you kissed me, isn’t it? All you American girls seem to love accents.”

I swallowed my smile and said, “I believe you were the one who kissed me.”

He stood, and his messy blond hair fell over his forehead, framing those devilish eyes. “So I was.”

He ran the cloth under the water again to keep it cool, but my body was too heated to really tell the difference when he placed it back on my skin. His other hand curled around my ankle again.

I kept my breath carefully steady, and said, “Your turn.”

“Hmm?”

“What’s something you’ve never done?”

“Well, I’ve never chatted up a girl in a pub before tonight.”

My jaw dropped. “Really?” How was that possible? He was gorgeous! Maybe all the girls just threw themselves at him before he even entered the bar, so he never had to bother with going inside.

He shrugged, and with the motion his thumb started brushing back and forth against the top of my foot.

“I know it goes against the English stereotype, but I’ve never been much for getting sloshed, um drunk, all the time.”

“Me neither,” I said. And I meant it, even though my head was still a bit fuzzy from all that tequila. “So what brings this non-stereotypical Brit to Texas?”

He shrugged. “I’ve been in the States for a while. I came here to go to school, and never went back. I actually just moved back to Texas though. Haven’t been here for a few years.”

“Me too. I just moved back here a few years ago.”

I’d grown up in Texas when I was little, but we moved to Minnesota when I was in 8th grade. It was always my plan to come back here for college.

He re-wetted the cloth one more time, and we sat there talking. He told me about growing up in England, and how different it had been living in the states.

“The first time some bloke told me he liked my pants, I was so shocked I thought I’d left home missing a few key things.”

“Pants? I don’t understand.”

“That’s what we call underwear, love.”

“Oh,” I laughed. “Good to know.”

“When I asked a classmate for a rubber, you call them erasers, everyone laughed so hard that I was ready to board a flight straight back to London.”

I tried to hold in my laughter, and failed. But I figured he deserved it after laughing at my pants, um . . . jeans, ordeal earlier.

“That must have been terrible.”

He reached for the gauze I’d pulled down from the cabinet earlier, and he carefully placed it over the burn, and taped down the edges as he spoke.

“You get used to it. I’ve been here so long now that I usually manage well enough. Occasionally when I visit London, and come back, I have some trouble adjusting, but in all, I’d say I’m fairly Americanized.”

“Except for that accent.”

He smiled. “Can’t get rid of the accent now, can I? Then how would I ever attract the attention of pretty things like you?”

“By reading Shakespeare in a bar, obviously.”

He laughed, and the sound spread through my skin, loosening some of my nerves.

“You’re cute,” he said.

I rolled my eyes. “Yes . . . ridiculously so, as we established earlier”

“Would you feel better if I called you ridiculously sexy?”

Just like that, the ease I’d felt earlier disappeared, and my breaths came too shallow. I had no answer. What could I possibly say to that?

“What’s that look for?” He asked.

I had no idea which of my multitude of emotions had shown on my face, so I shrugged.

“You act like no one’s ever called you sexy before.” That would be because they hadn’t. “Which I know can’t be true, not when you look the way you looked tonight. I could barely keep my hands off you, and we’ve only just met. I’d be embarrassed if I hadn’t enjoyed it so much.”

This was it. I may not have had sex, but I knew enough to know when a guy was putting the moves on me. And remarkably, I didn’t even care. All I cared about was the fact that he was sitting so close to me, and was driving me crazy. His hand was still leisurely stroking my ankle, and if he didn’t kiss me again soon I was going to combust. “Look at me, I can’t even keep my hands off you now.”

I swallowed, but my mouth suddenly felt like I’d swallowed a sandbox.

He pulled himself up on his knees, and his hand trailed from my ankle up the outside of my uninjured calf. His hips were a few inches away from my knees as I sat there dumbfounded on the toilet.

“Tell me I’m not crazy,” He said.

I couldn’t do that. I was nowhere near sane enough at the moment to advise anyone else on rational behavior.

“Tell me I can kiss you.”

That . . . that I could do.

“You can kiss—“

I didn’t even finish the sentence before his lips were on mine, and my burn was forgotten completely.

CHAPTER FIVE

THE KISS ENDED too soon.

An embarrassing groan of disappointment left my mouth, but it couldn’t be helped. Luckily, Garrick wasn’t done. He stood, and pulled me up by my elbows. He drew me in until our bodies fit together in a way that hadn’t been possible when I was seated.

“That’s better,” He said.

I didn’t bother agreeing. I just lifted up on my tiptoes and kissed him.

Compared to our earlier kiss, this one was slow, exploratory, and like kindling on a fire. One of his hands curled around my neck, his thumb pressing gently into my collarbone. The other danced from my hair to my shoulder to my hip, and then back.

For once in my life, I concentrated simply on the feel of a guy against me, the brush of his tongue against mine, the pinpricks of heat where his fingers pressed into my skin. I didn’t think about anything—not about my breath, or whether my hands were in the right place, or what he was expecting. I lost myself in him.

My hands rested at his hips, and I wanted to do some exploring of my own. I pulled my hands in until they rested on his stomach between us. At my movement, his lips pressed a little bit harder against mine. His tongue pushed a little bit deeper. I slid both hands up, feeling the hard curves of his body beneath the fabric of his shirt. When my exploration reached his chest, his hand tugged my hip forward, so that my stomach was pressed against him.

I could feel the way he wanted me, and a trickle of anxiety started at my spine. Then his kiss turned harder and faster, and I raced to follow his lead, ignoring my nerves.

I left one hand on his chest, and wrapped the other around his neck, and pulled myself up farther on my tiptoes, so that my hips lined up with his.

Garrick broke the kiss, and exhaled shakily against my lips. The brilliant blue I’d seen in his eyes earlier was overtaken almost completely by his black pupils. He placed a hand on my jaw; his thumb pulled at my bottom lip. For several long seconds, he just studied me.

“You are ridiculously sexy, you know.”

I lowered my heels to the floor, my calves burning too much to stay on my tiptoes. And I couldn’t look in his eyes any more. Every time I’d almost completely turned off my brain, he said something to turn it back on. I said, “You know you don’t need that line. I was already kissing you.”

“And what a good kiss it was.” His thumb brushed against my lip again, and he tipped my face back up toward him. “I’d like to do it again somewhere that isn’t your bathroom.”

“Oh, right.” Was he asking to go to my bedroom? I was pretty sure he was asking to go to my bedroom.

I fumbled with the doorknob for a few seconds before my clouded brain managed to swing the door open. We exited into the dark hallway again, and his hand found my back once more.

“Sorry, the hallway light is out, and I haven’t had a chance to change it.”

His lips were right by my ear when he answered, “I don’t mind the dark.”

All the tiny hairs along my skin stood on end.

We stepped into the living room, and I flipped on a light that actually worked. My apartment was a loft with an open floor plan. Two walls were brick, and the other was painted a pretty plum color. The ceiling was tall with exposed pipes criss-crossing above us. My bedroom was off to the right, separated from the living room by only a lavender curtain since I didn’t actually have a door.

“Well, this is my living room.” I gestured with one hand, unsure whether he expected a tour or if I should just skip straight to the bedroom. I’d never done this before, so I had no idea whether we were supposed to do the traditional niceties first. My heart ran wildly as he walked around the room, inspecting a painting here, a knick-knack there.

“It’s nice. Fits you, I think.”

I beamed. I loved this apartment. It always made me feel like I was in an episode of Friends.

“I’m ashamed to say that my place is still covered in boxes. Wouldn’t have made for a very interesting tour.”

God, how I wished we were at his place. Then he would be in control. I hated not knowing what I was supposed to do next.

His eyes flicked to the curtain that led to my bedroom. It was quick. His eyes were almost immediately back on the lamp he was standing next to, but I saw it.

This was it. I was about to have sex.

Should I tell him I was a virgin? I should tell him.

Should I tell him now? Or right before?

I remembered Kelsey’s advice, and forced myself to dial back my fears. I turned the volume down so low that I could pretend I wasn’t thinking at all.

Before I chickened out, I walked forward and held out my hand. He took it immediately, and I led him through the curtain and into my bedroom. There was no overhead lighting in this area, so I flipped on a lamp to my right, and then left him to turn on another beside my bed.

When I turned around he was holding up the indecently short mini-skirt that Kelsey had made me try on earlier.

His eyes met mine, and his grin made my lungs feel like they were on the verge of collapse. I snatched the skirt out of his hands, scooped up the few other articles of clothing still on my bed, and threw them into my closet.

“Sorry about that.”

“You don’t hear me complaining.”

I raised and eyebrow, and said, “Forget about it. You will never see me in that skirt.”

“Never? Is that a challenge, love?”

“It’s a promise.”

He skirted the corner of my bed to join me in the space between my bed and the wall. “I’d feel very comfortable helping you break that promise.”

He placed a hand on my shoulder, his index finger dipping beneath the strap of my tank top.

“I’m sure you’d be comfortable helping me do a lot of things.”

His hand tightened on my shoulder and his eyes dropped to my lips.

“That I would.”

Then he kissed me.

He didn’t bother with soft and sweet this time. There was a hungry desperation in his kiss that had me gasping into his mouth. His teeth pulled on my bottom lip in the same way his thumb had earlier, and my whole body trembled in response. He bent slightly, and swept an arm around my waist, pulling me up and against him so that our bodies were lined up perfectly.

My toes barely brushed the floor, but it didn’t matter. He was holding me up. I buried my hands into his messy locks, and threw myself into the kiss. He took a few steps backward, and sat on the edge of my bed. On instinct, my legs went on either side of his lap, straddling him. The hand that had been around my waist curved around my butt and pulled me against him.

If I had any doubt about where this was heading, it disappeared then. He pulled me again, his own hips tilting up at the same time, and I broke the kiss, gasping. His mouth skimmed across my jaw and down my neck. His lips lingered over my pulse point, his tongue brushing across the sensitive skin. He continued down over my collarbone until my tank top blocked any further progress. I thought he would stop, but he slipped the tank top strap off my shoulder, and his lips never left my skin. His other hand snuck beneath the bottom of my shirt, teasing the skin around the waistband of my skirt.

My hands were still tangled in his hair, and I tightened my grip and pulled his face back to mine. His hand brushed higher as we kissed, smoothing over my ribcage, my skin burning in his wake. When his hand cupped my breast, I rocked against him, and he groaned. The skirt I’d thrown on earlier was up around my thighs, and there was so little between us. I tilted my hips forward again, and this time it was me who moaned. When his other hand found the edge of my shirt, it was to pull it up and over my head.

We broke our kiss to let the fabric pass between us. I resisted the urge to cover myself as his gaze raked over me. And God was I thankful that Kelsey had insisted I wear some cute lingerie. This particular set was black and white lace.

When he looked at me, it was with such obvious desire that I knew he didn’t care about that little pudge that had stressed me out earlier. His right hand kneaded my breast gently, while his left found my neck. He pulled my face close to his. I thought he was going to kiss me again, but at the last second, he swerved, and he pressed his cheek against mine. He dropped a kiss on the edge of my jaw, just below my ear. And God did that feel amazing. It was just a small innocent kiss, but it had me gripping his hair, and pushing my hips down against his. His lips brushed against the shell of my ear as he whispered, “Did I say ridiculously sexy? I meant unbelievably sexy.”

I was unbelievably turned on.

He kissed me again, and then turned and laid me back against the bed. He paused to pull his shirt over his head, and for the first time I got to see the hard planes of his body that had fascinated me earlier. He rose up on his knees, my legs still splayed on either side of him. He stopped to study me again.

This was the part where I should tell him. I should just say it. Just spit it out.

I’m a virgin.

Just three words.

Not that hard, right?

I swallowed, and cleared my throat.

Then he ducked his head, and pressed his lips against the skin of my stomach, and all my thoughts disappeared.

CHAPTER SIX

IT WAS POSSIBLE that I might not make it to the sex. With the way he was mapping out my body with his lips—I was going to spontaneously combust before we ever got that far.

His fingers trailed up my thighs and stroked the skin of my hip just below the waistband of my panties. Something in my brain detonated, and panic filled me.

I was going to be so terrible at this . . . the worst he’d ever had probably. And then he’d never want to see me again (and I really wanted to see him again). I’d probably be traumatized and never want to have sex again, which meant every relationship for the rest of my life would fail, and I would end up alone and miserable with nine cats and a ferret.

I didn’t want to end up alone and miserable with nine cats and a ferret.

Then one of his hands pushed my panties to the side, and I was anything but miserable.

Black danced around the edges of my vision, and all the feeling in my body seemed to narrow to that one spot where he was touching me, and holy heart failure, it felt amazing. His fingers hit a spot inside me that had me arching up and towards him. His head dipped, and he started dropping kisses across my chest.

My hands had a mind of their own as they kneaded at his back, and then slipped around to his stomach, where I flicked open the button on his jeans. He made a sound in the back of his throat, and his lips crashed against mine. He kissed me fiercely, pressing me down into the mattress. The kisses kept building—harder and faster, and I needed something more. I slid my hand along the taught skin of his stomach, to the front of his jeans. Then his lips broke from mine with a groan. He didn’t pull back, but kept his lips millimeters from mine. His breath came out in a rush.

“Oh God, Bliss . . .”

He placed a final lingering kiss on my lips, and then pulled back until he was kneeling above me. I heard the metal clink of his zipper, and kept my eyes focused on the frame of his shoulders as he fiddled with his clothes. He stood for a few seconds, and I fixed my eyes on the ceiling. I wanted this. Badly.

I was about to repeat my mantra again when his lips and hands came back to me—frenzied, almost desperate.

I could feel the pressure building low in my core, and every muscle in my legs was pulled tight as I waited for what I knew was coming.

Then he dragged my panties down my legs, and his body settled into the crook of my thighs, and it was like I’d just been submerged in ice.

I was about to have sex.

With a guy I’d just met, who I knew absolutely nothing about.

And He knew nothing about me . . . including the fact that I was a virgin.

And God, I wanted to go through with it. I was sick of being a virgin, and he was unbelievably sexy, but this wasn’t me.

I couldn’t do this. Not with him.

I just . . . couldn’t.

I froze up beneath him, but his mouth continued worshipping at the juncture between my neck and shoulder.

I should have told him I was a virgin or that I wasn’t ready. It wouldn’t have been pretty or easy, but at least he would have understood . . . probably.

Instead, my eyes locked on the porcelain cat cookie jar I’d inherited from my great grandmother, and my brain created a ridiculous excuse out of the first thing that came to my mind.

“Stop! Cats! Stop . . .”

What the hell was I saying?

I put the heels of my palms against his shoulders, and pushed up slightly.

He pulled back, his eyes dark, his hair mussed, and his lips swollen from our kisses. I almost changed my mind then. He looked almost irresistible. Almost.

“Sorry, love. Did you say cats? ”

“Yes, I can’t do this . . . right now. Because . . . I have a cat. Yes, I have a cat that I need to, um, get? Take care of! I have to take care of my cat! So . . . I can’t do this. “I gestured between us, hoping to God that I didn’t sound as crazy to him as I sounded to myself. Improbable.

I don’t even have a cat!

I don’t know what synapses misfired in my brain, but I wanted to kick myself. I wanted to punch myself in the face until I lost consciousness. Right about now, I could probably dive into a pool of hydrochloric acid without even a pep talk.

His brain must have been as clouded as mine, because he paused for a few moments, processing, then looked around.

“I don’t see a cat.”

My throat was getting dry, the way it always did when I lied. I was a terrible liar (as evidenced by, well, me).

“That’s because . . . it’s not here. Yes. The cat that I own is not here because . . . I have to go get her. I forgot, I was supposed to go pick her up.”

He glanced at the clock, which now read 12:20 AM.

“You’re supposed to pick her up now?”

I pushed at him again, and this time, he rolled off of me and to the side easily. He was completely naked, and I was in my bra and skirt with my panties still hooked around one ankle.

“Yes . . . she’s at the vet! It’s a, um, 24-hour veterinarian . . .”

“A 24-hour veterinarian?”

“Uh, yeah. We have those here . . . in America. Totally.” That hydrochloric acid was sounding incredibly appealing right now. “And I was supposed to pick her up hours ago.”

“You can’t go by in the morning?”

I tried to slip my panties back on my other foot, and I toppled backward, ass-planting on my hardwood floor.

“Jesus, Bliss!”

He hopped off the bed and knelt beside me, which only made me more flustered considering he was still naked and still, um, ready.

“I’m fine, promise. I’m fine. I just . . . if I don’t pick her up tonight, there will be a fee, and I can’t afford it.”

“Well, let me get dressed and I’ll go with you.”

“NO! Um, no, that’s okay. Shouldn’t your locksmith be coming soon?” I finished with a smile that I hoped said, this is no big deal. I’m sure it actually looked like I’m a crazy person, run now while you can!

He glanced at the clock, his gorgeous face marred by a frown.

“I guess, yeah.”

“Great. I’m just—I’m just going to run. You can, um, let yourself out whenever you’re . . .” my eyes wandered over his body again, and I felt like melting into a puddle of idiocy and mortification and arousal. “Whenever you’re, um, ready. Um, done. Um, just whenever you like.”

Then I flew through the curtain that shielded my bedroom from the rest of the apartment, and bolted out the door, ignoring him as he called out my name.

It wasn’t until I’d walked halfway across the parking lot that I realized:

1. I wasn’t wearing shoes.

A. Or a shirt.

2. I didn’t bring my keys

A. Or anything really.

3. I’d just left a complete stranger in my apartment.

A. Naked.

Whoever said one-night stands were supposed to be simple with no strings attached had clearly never met the disaster that was me.

CHAPTER SEVEN

FOUR.

That’s the number of people who saw me hiding around the corner from my own apartment in just a skirt and a bra.

Eleven.

That’s the number of ant bites I got on my shoeless feet.

Twenty-seven.

That’s the number of times I was tempted to do myself physical harm because I am an IDIOT.

One.

That’s the number of times I tried not to cry, but failed.

Garrick stayed in my apartment for a good ten minutes after I left. The entire time my mind was like a five-year-old who just drank a bathtub full of energy drinks. What was he doing in there? Was he just getting dressed reeeaaally slowly? Was he looking through my things? Was he trashing my place because I’d run out and left him there like the biggest jerk this side of Kanye West at the 2009 VMA’s?

When he finally exited, I watched him close my door, and then pause. He looked at the metal apartment number nailed into the siding, and just stared at it for a while. Then he shook his head, and started toward his own apartment.

I waited until I couldn’t see him anymore, and then I waited for another five minutes just to be safe (6 more ant bites, 1 more passerby, and 4 visions of self-harm later).

As soon as I got inside, I curled up on my bed. The same bed where I’d almost had sex. The same bed where I had wanted to have sex . . . sort of. The same bed that had held an incredibly sexy, incredibly naked British boy. Perhaps I had just jumped off the cliff into Crazy town, but I could swear that the comforter was still warm where his body had been. Like a complete psycho, I leaned my face into the pillow and sniffed like girls in books and movies always do to see if I could still catch his scent.

I couldn’t. And I felt super creepy.

I also couldn’t sleep in this bed without going crazy.

I moved my pillow to the couch, where I sat numbly, probably in shock. At the very least, I could reassure myself that this was only a private humiliation. No one else had to know how pathetic I was. And after my borderline schizophrenic display earlier, I was pretty sure he was going to avoid me as avidly as I planned on avoiding him. We might live in the same apartment complex, but if I had my way we’d never have to see each other again.

MORNING CAME TOO early, and I was stiff from sleeping on my crappy couch for the entire night. Plus, my head was pounding like I actually had punched myself in the face like I’d been tempted to the night before.

Stupid tequila.

I moved sluggishly, dragging myself into and out of the shower at a much slower pace than normal. My hair was still wet when there came a knock on my door. Kelsey practically fell on top of me when I opened the door because she’d been trying to peek through the peephole.

Silently, she smiled and mouthed, “Is he still here?”

I sighed and said, “No, Kels, he’s gone.” I turned away from her, grabbing my head to try to stop the turning that was happening in there, too. I left the door open, and walked away, knowing she’d come in whether or not I issued an invitation.

“Someone’s a crabby camper this morning. What is it? Was it awful? Was he like . . . miniscule?”

“He was not miniscule!” Not that I had a great deal to compare it to, but I was pretty positive that wasn’t the case.

“Oh, so it was just bad?”

I should have just told her that I hadn’t gone through with it, but my head was pounding, and my stomach was churning, and I did not want to be forced into going out again tonight for try number two.

So I lied.

“He was fine. I’m just hung-over.”

“Fine? FINE? Come on, that boy was gorgeous! Please at least pretend that you liked it!”

“I did like it!” If by ‘it’ we were talking about the single greatest make out session of my life. “I liked him.”

Those words were out of my mouth before I really thought of the consequences.

“Oh no!” Kelsey cried. “No, you don’t! I know he was your first and all, but that does not mean you have to jump into insta-love. This was purely physical that’s it. If you try to do something stupid like marry this boy, I will personally drag you kicking and screaming away from the altar.”

“No! You’re right, of course.” I shrugged like it was no big deal, but my throat was getting dry, and I could feel the skin of my neck and cheeks getting red. I hoped she would just assume I was embarrassed, because normally she could pick out my lies like nobody’s business. “I swear it’s not a big deal. I’m not in love with him. I’m not going to marry him. In fact, I barely remember most of it.” And by barely remember, I mean most of it didn’t actually happen. The rest though . . . that was imprinted on my brain. Not even the almighty tequila could take those memories away from me. I just wish it had taken the memories of how it ended.

“Well, that sucks. But everything was okay, right?”

“Yeah,” I forced a smile, “Everything is okay.”

Kelsey hugged me, and it felt like one of those moments where we were supposed to be bonding or connecting or thinking about the same thing, but since everything on my side was a lie, I just hugged her back, and tried to pretend she was comforting me about my awkwardness.

“Alright, now get your ass in gear. If I don’t get coffee before class, I’m going to die. My sleep schedule is still off from Christmas Break, and I feel like a freaking zombie.” Zombie for Kelsey meant she was at a 6 on the perky scale instead of a 10.

I always thought I was an extrovert until I became a theatre major. Then I realized I just didn’t like silence. When there were plenty of other people around willing to be the entertaining one, I found I much preferred just observing.

The Starbucks on campus was overrun with a zombie horde of other sleep-deprived students. By the time I got my caramel macchiato I was pretty much already awake, and we were definitely going to be late for the first class of the last semester of our last year of college.

We booked it to the Fine Arts building, breezing past the hipster Art majors smoking outside the doors. We jogged down the hallway to find that sure enough, the doors to the small black box theatre where we had acting class were already closed.

“Shipoopi,” Kelsey said.

Then . . . because we’re theatre majors . . . we broke into the song from The Music Man. Because sometimes life just needs a little music. (But we did it quietly and on fast-forward because we were still late for class).

There was no way to enter this theatre without making a ridiculous amount of noise. The doors creaked and slammed no matter what you did. We pushed open one of the doors and immediately heard Eric Barnes, the head of the department say, “Late!”

We called an automatic, “Sorry Eric!”

Careful not to spill our coffees, we pushed through the curtains that surrounded the edge of the room, and grabbed the nearest empty seats on the risers.

I set my coffee down and went about organizing my stuff, digging through my bag for a pen and my folder.

“As I was saying,” Eric continued. “Ben Jackson was supposed to be teaching this course.” Ben was pretty much our favorite teacher, but he’d been offered a role in this killer new show off Broadway and would be taking the semester off. “But as you all know, he’s in New York for a few months. To replace him for the time being we have one of our most talented former students—Mr. Taylor.”

I finally found a dull pencil in the bottom of my purse. It would have to do. Kelsey chose that minute to grab my elbow and jerk me toward her. I glanced up at her and then at the front of the class where she was looking. Then the pencil I’d worked so hard to find fell from my hand, and rolled away, lost to the abyss under the risers.

The new professor was staring at me, even though everyone was clapping, and he should probably be waving or at the very least smiling. Our eyes met, and suddenly I was very glad I’d already set down my coffee.

Because the new professor had been naked in my bed a mere 8 hours ago.

Garrick was my teacher.

CHAPTER EIGHT

IT FELT LIKE hours passed before he looked away from me. When he did, the smile he gave the class was uneasy, and he tugged absent-mindedly at the tie around his neck.

“Thank you, Eric. But please, everyone, call me Garrick.”

I think I could actually feel the hormones released into the atmosphere when the girls in the room heard his accent. I felt Kelsey staring at me, but I fixed my eyes on one of the stage lights hanging overhead, and tried to think my rapidly beating heart into submission. This was bad. This was SO BAD.

“Like Eric said, I did my Undergrad here, and then graduated this past May with an MFA in Acting from Temple University in Philadelphia. I’d been working in the theatre scene there for about six months when Eric called and asked if I’d be interested in the temporary position here.”

I glanced at him out of the corner of my eye, simultaneously anticipating and dreading the thought of making eye contact with him. He was not looking at me. In fact, his whole body was angled toward the students on the other side of the room, pretty much ignoring the entire section where I was seated. Other than the fact that he was pointedly not looking at one side of the room, there was no sign that he was worried or frazzled in any way; whereas I could feel the heat in my cheeks and my hands were shaking as I pressed them into my knees.

“I loved my four years here, and I’m, uh . . .”

He glanced at me, and I could do nothing but look back—wide eyed and petrified. He cleared his throat and returned his gaze to the other side of the room.

“I’m really excited to be back.”

I wanted to crawl into a hole and die.

I wanted to crawl into a hole at the bottom of a ravine, then be buried under an avalanche, and then die.

I wanted . . . to cry.

Eric excused himself then to let us get to know our new teacher. I wished I could excuse myself too because I happened to already know him plenty well.

“Well, then,” Garrick started. “I realize that I’m not that much older than you lot.” Another flick of his eyes to mine. It was becoming nearly impossible to swallow.

“But my goal here is to provide you with some insight into the next step in your journey from someone who isn’t so far removed. We all love Eric, Ben, Kate, and the rest of the faculty, but let’s face it, they’re not exactly the youngest kids on the block.” The whole class laughed. I was too busy concentrating on not throwing up. “It was a different world when they started their careers. When I was sitting where you are, we called this class Senior Prep; I think now it’s called the Business of Theatre. In it, we’ll be covering everything from auditions to career options to Actor’s Equity. We’ll also spend some time talking about the more abstract side of things. Because I hate to break it to you guys, but the hardest part about this business isn’t landing roles or making ends meet, though that is difficult. The hardest thing is keeping up your spirit and remembering why you chose this in the first place.”

He didn’t have to try to hard to scare us about our futures. We were all already operating on Threat Level Orange. We’d been having middle of the night, soul-searching conversations (while drunk, of course) since the year started.

“Now, if you don’t mind. I’d like to hear a bit about you all. Why don’t you tell me your names and what you’re interested in doing after you graduate.”

There were about twenty in the class. The first eight or so all recited their names followed by the obligatory, “I’m moving to New York.”

When you’re an actor, moving to New York is pretty much the dream. Those who are lucky can actually make it the plan. Some of us have to think a little more realistically.

Cade, my best friend besides Kelsey said, “Cade Winston. At the moment I’m a little torn between Grad School and just going straight into auditioning. I can’t really tell if I actually want to go to Grad School or if I’m just scared.”

Garrick smiled, and even though I was freaking out, I smiled, too. I felt like that about a lot of things in my life . . . not just acting.

He said, “Good. That’s honest, Cade. And the more honest you can be with yourself the better. Hopes and dreams are great, but they are a lot easier to break than a solid plan. We’ll see if we can’t figure out exactly what you want while you’re in this class.”

After that, it was like everyone felt okay to say what we were actually thinking, instead of what we felt was expected of us.

We spend so much time defending our choice to do this that it becomes hard to show any vulnerability at all. There’s only so many times you can handle someone asking about your fall back for when things don’t work before you start thinking that maybe the fall back should just be your plan.

Sometimes I wish I were a bit more like Kelsey. She was practically fearless. Though, I guess it’s easy to be a little fearless when your family is loaded.

“Kelsey Summers. I’m taking a year off to travel and just explore before I decide on what I’m doing. People always say that the most interesting actors are interesting people, so I figure it’s a good investment to spend some time becoming more fascinating than I already am.”

“Diva,” I muttered under my breath.

She narrowed her eyes, and delivered a quick pinch to the back of my arm in response. I yelped, and nearly toppled out of my seat at the same time that Garrick turned his eyes on me and said, “And you?”

Rubbing at my arm, I had to look away from his eyes before I could answer.

“Bliss Edwards. I’m a little torn between acting and stage management. And since they don’t really offer Masters programs where you can do both, I think I’ll just go ahead and enter the, um, job market or whatever.”

I looked back at him, but his eyes had already moved on to Dom, who was sitting one row above me.

I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. Kelsey’s hand found mine, and she squeezed.

It took another twenty minutes to finish up introductions because, well, we’re theatre people. We love to hear ourselves talk.

With only five minutes left in class Garrick said, “Great. It sounds like you’ve all at least given a thought to the next step. Wednesday I want you all to come to class with your résumé and headshots and be ready to audition.”

“For what?” Dom asked. “It’s the first week of class. There aren’t any auditions for a few weeks.” Dom loved to hear himself speak more than most.

“It doesn’t matter.” Garrick answered. “In the real world, you might go to ten auditions in a day. You might have weeks to prepare or you might have an hour. Your job is only acting if you land the part, until then your job is auditioning, so you better be good at it. Dismissed. See you all on Wednesday.”

He grinned. It wasn’t quite as awe-inspiring as the grins he wore last night, but it was still enough to make my steps stutter on my way down the risers.

I was at the curtains, a mere ten feet away from the door when I heard, “Miss Edwards, can I speak to you for a moment?”

Kelsey’s face was caught somewhere between pity and glee. For the first time in twelve hours I wanted to punch someone besides myself.

“Lunch at noon?” She asked. I nodded, even though I wasn’t sure I would survive until noon. Hell, I wasn’t even sure I could stomach going to my next class.

I took my time walking toward him, waiting for the rest of the class to clear. Dom was currently bombarding Garrick with questions, so I took a second to distract myself with Cade. Where Kelsey was the friend who dragged me out to bars and encouraged stupid behavior, Cade was the friend who always knew the right thing to say.

His first words—“On a scale of one to bitchy, how hung-over are you?”

I raised the corner of my mouth in a smile. That was all I could manage in my vortex of emotions, but it was a smile all the same. “Depends . . . right now? A solid seven. If Dom tries to talk to me . . . we’re going to need a bigger scale.”

He laughed, and something made me wonder how last night would have gone if I’d told him my secret instead of Kelsey. Somehow I doubt things would have turned out the same.

“I gotta run. Poli-Sci.” He made a face, and I concurred, glad I’d gotten that out of the way last year. “Let’s do something tonight, k?”

“Sure.” This time I did smile, because Cade was great for distractions, and that was most definitely what I needed right then.

He pecked me on the cheek, and then went on his way.

I turned toward Garrick to find him watching me, his eyes dark and narrowed. Dom was long gone. He must have gone out the doors on the other side. We stood there awkwardly for several seconds. His hands were shoved in his pockets, and mine were fidgeting with the bag slung across my shoulders.

Finally, he cleared his throat.

“How’s your leg?”

I swallowed, and looked down at my legs. I’d worn a skirt today to keep it uncovered. I tilted my leg so he could see the bandage. “Good. I re-bandaged it this morning. It’s blistered, but as far as I can tell, or well according to the Internet, that’s normal.”

I looked back, but his eyes were still on my legs.

I stiffened. God, this was so awkward.

He cleared his throat again.

“So . . . you’re in college.”

“So . . . you’re not.”

He stayed still for another second, then turned to the side abruptly, pacing several feet away from me, and then back. His fingers pushed through his hair in frustration, and all I could think about was my own fingers in his hair, and how incredibly soft it had been.

“I thought—“ He started. “Well, I wasn’t doing much thinking at all. But, you don’t look like you’re in college. I said I went to school here, and that I’d just moved back, and you said ‘Me too’ so I just assumed you had done the same.”

I kept having this irrational need to blink. I wasn’t crying or anything, but I just couldn’t stop. I said, “I lived in Texas when I was really young. I meant that I moved back here for school.”

He nodded once, and then kept nodding. So, he was nodding and I was blinking and neither of us was saying what really needed to be said.

And since I couldn’t stand silence, I was the first to break.

“I won’t tell anyone.” His eyebrows raised, but I couldn’t tell if it was surprise or judgment or just a facial tick. “I mean not that there’s anything . . . not that we . . . I mean we didn’t actually . . . um, make the beast with two backs and all that.”

OH. MY. GOD.

KILLMENOWKILLMENOWKILLMENOWKILLMENOOOOOOW.

The beast with two backs? Seriously?

I’m 22 years old, and rather than just spitting out the word sex, I used a Shakespeare reference! A really embarrassing Shakespeare reference.

And he was smiling! And his smile did funny things to my insides that had me thinking about last night, which was totally not something I needed to be thinking about right now. No beasts. No backs. No last night.

I looked away, trying to keep it together. I took a deep breath, and said as calmly as I could. “This doesn’t have to be a big deal.”

He took a moment to answer, and I wondered if he was waiting for me to look at him. If he was, he’d be waiting for a while.

“You’re right. We’re both adults. We can just forget it happened.”

There was no way I could forget it happened. But I could pretend.

I could act.

“Right,” I nodded.

I turned to leave, but his voice stopped me.

“How’s your cat?”

“What cat? Oh! MY CAT. The cat . . . that is mine. Oh, she’s . . .” I had said it was a she, right? “She’s fine. All meowing and purring and other cat things.”

God, why did the door have to be so far away?

I kept walking away, calling back my last few words over my shoulders.

“I’ve got to get to class. I’ll see you Wednesday I guess, okay, bye!”

I speed-walked out the door, down the hallway into the art wing, past the ceramics classroom, and into the handicap bathroom that no one ever used. Then I sunk down to my knees (on a BATHROOM FLOOR. Clearly, I was distraught because . . . GROSS).

I focused on not hyperventilating. Only I could have an affair with a teacher on accident. I knew one thing for sure. There was no way in hell I was going to my next class.

CHAPTER NINE

“I SWEAR THERE was so much awkward in the air, it felt practically solid.”

My face was pressed against the table in the student lounge while Kelsey tried to ply me with french fries and other wonderful carbohydrates.

She patted at my back half-heartedly. There was nothing even remotely mothering about Kelsey, but at least she was trying. “You’re exaggerating, Bliss. The only thing I felt in the air was sexual tension. I mean, he didn’t look at you often, but when he did . . . Hello! Swoon!”

“There is no way I can survive a semester in that class.”

“That’s ridiculous. You’re an actor. Actors sleep with each other all the time, and then move on. Hell—don’t you remember Freshman year when you didn’t want to make out with Dom in that scene, and Eric sent you in the other room and told you to kiss until you guys were comfortable with each other?”

“Why would you bring up what is, as of today, the second most mortifying moment of my life?”

She rolled her eyes. “Because you got over it.”

“I will never get over having Dom’s tongue down my throat. I can still taste the douchiness.”

“You will be fine, Bliss. It’s five months. And you only have to see him for 3 hours a week. It will be over before you know it. Then you can jump his bones one more time before you travel the world with me.”

“There are so many crazy things in that statement that I don’t even know where to begin.”

“You will begin by eating, or we’ll be late for Directing.”

Grumbling, I shoved a few fries in my mouth to appease her.

She rummaged around in her purse for her phone, but her hands closed around something else. “Oh, I forgot. I have Advil . . . you want some?”

I swallowed and said, “Why would I want that?”

She quirked her head to the side, “Aren’t you sore after . . . you know . . . getting your freak on?”

Stupid Bliss. So freaking stupid.

“Oh! Oh, right. No, no I’m fine. I took a bunch this morning. I’m good, thanks.”

“That a girl.”

I moved through the rest of the day on autopilot, ready to get home and crawl into the cocoon of forgetting that is sleep. I didn’t even bother taking off my clothes before I fell into bed.

My phone woke me a few hours later. It was Cade.

“Hey babe—you ready to hangout?”

I peered blearily at the clock PM. It was only 7 o’clock.

I yawned. “Yeah . . . sure. What did you have in mind?”

“Well, I was thinking—“

“No drinking,” I cut him off. “I cannot handle any drinking.”

He laughed. “No hair of the dog for you? Fine . . . Lindsay’s playing tonight at Grind. How does coffee sound?”

I yawned again. Lindsay was a fellow theatre major. A night listening to her music would be simple and mellow. Exactly what I needed. “Coffee sounds perfect.”

When I walked outside 20 minutes later, my head swung from side to side, paranoid that I’d run into Garrick. When I was certain no one was around, I jogged into the parking lot and climbed in to Cade’s beat up old Honda.

He greeted me with a smile. I resisted the urge to glance back in the direction of Garrick’s apartment.

“I forgot to mention earlier that you looked great today. I mean, minus that lovely hung-over quality. You never wear skirts to class.”

I wanted to say, ‘Just drive already!’ But that would have sounded crazy even for me. So I answered, “Oh, I burned my leg, and I’m not supposed to wear tight clothing over it.”

“Seriously?” He asked. “What happened?”

I couldn’t exactly tell him the real reason. Because then he’d want to know whose motorcycle it had been and why I had been with them and yadda, yadda.

“Oh, I burned it with my straightener.”

“You burned your leg with your straightener? How long is your leg hair?”

You’d think after all the lying I’d done in the past twenty-four hours that I would be getting slightly better at it. You would be wrong.

“Ha-Ha. So funny!” I grimaced. “I knocked it off the counter, you punk, and it hit my leg.”

I fiddled with the air-conditioning vent even though it barely worked in his piece of junk car.

“Just don’t drop your coffee on yourself. Or better yet . . . get iced coffee.”

I said, “Aye, aye captain.”

Grind was a cute little house on the edge of campus that had been turned into a coffee house a few years ago. Inside you ordered coffee, and outside there was a veranda where they hosted live music on most nights. The inside was packed. I sent Cade outside to find seats, and told him I’d get the drinks. I got an iced café mocha for me and a smoothie for Cade. He doesn’t even like coffee, but he comes here for me.

I stood in line for 10 or 15 minutes, so by the time I headed outside, I had no idea where Cade was. I strolled past the tables, nodding at people I knew, avoiding eye contact with those I didn’t. I caught Lindsay’s eye up on stage as she was setting up, and she grinned.

Finally I spotted Cade standing by a table up near the front. It was an awesome spot considering how packed this place was.

I came up behind him, and nudged my elbow into his back.

“Jesus, Cade, I thought I’d never find you out here. Couldn’t you have at least texted?”

Cade glanced over his shoulder at me, then wrapped his arm around my shoulder, and took the smoothie from my left hand.

“Sorry, babe, I was talking and got distracted. Look who it is!”

He pulled me forward, and there was Garrick.

This time, I wasn’t lucky enough to have already put down my coffee. So when I saw Garrick, it slipped out of my hand, and splashed all over my feet.

Cade, with his super fast reflexes, narrowly dodged getting it all over his Toms.

“Holy crap, Bliss. I was joking about the iced coffee, but I’m glad you listened. I swear you didn’t used to be this clumsy.”

I still couldn’t speak. My feet were cold and sticky. And my face felt way too hot.

“Here,” Cade said. “Sit down, Mr. Taylor said we could share his table.”

“It’s Garrick, Cade.” I’m sure he’d told Cade that half a dozen times already.

Cade ignored him and turned to me. “ I’ll run inside and get you some napkins. You want another drink?”

“No, no. I’m good, Cade. You stay. I’ll go clean up.”

“Forget it. You like Lindsay’s music much more than I do. All ‘be the change’ and ‘girl power’ stuff. I don’t want you to miss it. Sit.” This time, his hands pushed down on my shoulders until my butt hit the seat. Then he was off, and I was left alone with Garrick again.

“What are you doing here?” My question came out angry.

By comparison, he was sweet and calm, and possibly a little sad. “My Internet still isn’t hooked up at the apartment, and I needed to check my email. I can go, if you’d like.”

YES.

“No,” I sighed. “I’m not going to run you off. I just wish you hadn’t invited us to sit with you.”

“Well, Cade didn’t say he was here with you. I was just trying to be nice.”

“I’m sorry . . . I just . . . this is awkward. Cade doesn’t know—”

“—I’m not going to tell him, if that’s what you’re worried about. I’d like to keep this job, and besides, your personal life is none of my business. What happened between us is over. ”

His voice turned hard as he spoke. Over? Why did that feel like a punch to the stomach? His teeth were clenched, drawing my eyes to strong, smooth line of his jaw.

“You shaved,” I said. Clearly . . . no filter.

His jaw unclenched, and he looked at me in confusion. “Uh, yes, I did.”

We sat in silence, and I just couldn’t get myself to stop looking at him. His eyes were ocean water blue, and without the scruff he looked younger, less rugged sexy and more boy-next-door hotness.

His eyes dropped to my lips, and I realized I was biting down on the bottom one. God, I wanted to kiss him again.

I sprung up from my seat, “This was a bad idea. I’m going to go. Tell Cade I got sick or something.”

He stood, too. “No, Bliss, wait. I’m sorry. Don’t leave. I’ll . . . Shit, I don’t know what I’ll do. I’ll just sit here quietly, and you two can ignore me completely. I promise.”

At that moment, Lindsay stepped back up onto the small makeshift stage, and the lights came on, and people clapped.

If I were going to leave, I needed to do it now. If I got up in the middle of the set, Lindsay would see and she’d be pissed.

So against my better judgment, I sat back down.

Garrick kept his promise, and kept his eyes glued to his screen. I sat quietly as Lindsay did her sound check, my neck strained tightly to resist looking at him.

Cade arrived back right as Lindsay was introducing herself.

“Hey.” He whispered. “Randy was busing, and he let me borrow a towel. I figured this would be better than a bunch of napkins.”

Then he lifted one of my sticky feet into his lap, removed my shoe, and started wiping down my leg with the damp towel. I giggled when he passed a particularly ticklish section.

I heard Garrick stop typing.

On instinct alone, I looked at him, but he was looking at Cade . . . and at my legs. I cleared my throat, and pulled my foot back. I took the towel from Cade and said, “Thanks, I think I can get this. I don’t trust you not to tickle me.”

Garrick went back to his computer, Cade focused on Lindsay, and I ducked my head down to get a closer look at my feet. When I was sure they weren’t looking, I clenched by eyes shut and let out a silent scream. A real scream would have felt better, but I would take what I could get.

I recognized Lindsay’s first few songs, having heard her play several times before, both on the stage and just in the greenroom during rehearsal and between classes. She had this great, raw, acoustic sound, and her lyrics were always some kind of social commentary, calling people on their bullshit. Which is why when she leaned into the mike and introduced her next song, I was so incredibly surprised.

“This next one is a little bit different for me. The lovely owner of this establishment,” She pointed off to the side. “Wave Kenny.” He looked under duress, but he waved. “Anyway . . . Kenny made a request that I play at least one song that wasn’t . . . how did you put it, Kenny? Bitter or Political, I believe is what he said. And since, I’m incapable of writing anything like that, I’m singing a song written by a friend of mine who wishes to remain anonymous. It’s called Resist. ”

The song opened gently, with a simple progression of cords, similar to Lindsay’s normal sound. Then it turned, became mournful, passionate, almost desperate. She sang . . . and I wished I had left when I had the chance.

No matter how close, you are always too far

My eyes are drawn everywhere you are

The quiet conversations that had been happening before stopped. It was such a dramatic change that all eyes fixed on her. But I could swear that I felt one pair of eyes on me.

I’m tired of the way we both pretend

Tired of always wanting and never giving in

I can feel it in my skin, see it in your grin

We’re more. We always have been.

Think of everything we’ve missed.

Every touch and every kiss.

Because we both insist.

Resist.

His gaze was this physical weight pressing against my skin. My heart thudded quickly in my chest, and my breaths came shorter. I didn’t want to resist. I couldn’t help it. I looked.

Hold your breath and close your eyes

Distract yourself with other guys

It’s no surprise, your defeated sighs

Aren’t you tired of the lies?

But he wasn’t looking at me. He wasn’t typing, but his eyes were fixed on his computer, and he seemed . . . unaware. Was it just me? Was I imagining it all?

Think of everything we’ve missed.

Every touch and every kiss.

Because we both insist.

Resist.

No matter how close, you are always too far

My eyes are drawn everywhere you are

Suddenly, I didn’t want to be here anymore. I couldn’t be this close to him. I was going to go crazy. It was stupid . . . even more stupid than having a one-night stand would have been, but I liked him. He didn’t like Shakespeare, and he rode a motorcycle, and he was my teacher . . . but I liked him.

I’m done. I won’t ignore.

I won’t pretend or resist.

I want more.

CHAPTER TEN

LINDSAY FINISHED OUT the last few chords, then stuck her tongue out and said, “Blech. Happy, Kenny?”

Cade laughed and gave a loud whoop! The crowd started clapping and whistling. I tried to raise my hands to join, but they were like lead in my lap.

I looked at Garrick, and this time he was looking at me. His eyes were dark, and when we connected, he made no effort to look away. Maybe I hadn’t been imagining his stare earlier. We watched each other as the clapping died down, and for the first time in my entire life I really understood that “heart beating out of your chest” thing because it felt like there was something inside of me, desperate to get out.

Before I went crazy, I ripped my eyes away, stood, and pulled Cade up by his elbow.

“Hey, what’s up?” He was so good at reading me, and I watched as his eyes went from amused to concerned. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah, of course. I’m just tired. Can you take me home?”

“Sure, of course.” He pressed a hand to my cheek like he was my mother checking my temperature. He barely took his eyes off me as he said, “Thanks for letting us share your table, Mr. Taylor. See you Wednesday.”

“It’s Garrick, Cade, please. You two have a good night.”

Garrick looked only at Cade as he spoke, which was probably for the best. With an arm wrapped around my shoulder, I let my friend lead me out an archway on the side of the property that led to the parking lot.

I’d never been so glad to climb into a rusty car that smelled faintly of oil and cheese. Cade climbed in beside me. “You sure you’re okay?”

“Yeah, I promise, I’m just tired.”

“Okay.” He didn’t look convinced. “Let’s get you home then”

He turned the key, and nothing happened. No engine, no lights, nothing.

“Aww . . . shit.”

“What?” I asked. “What does that mean?”

“It means my car is a piece of crap.”

He turned the key again, and when nothing happened he slammed a palm into the steering wheel. I pulled my legs up into the seat and laid my head against my knees.

“Hold on a sec.” Cade climbed out of the car, and popped the hood. I stayed curled up in my seat trying to mentally erase the last 24 hours from my brain. Somewhere between analyzing every look Garrick had given me tonight and planning out what I would say and how I would act in our next class, I must have fallen asleep.

The next thing I knew, Cade was shaking me awake, and the car was definitely still not on.

I rubbed at my eyes, and climbed from the car.

“Sorry, I guess I was even more tired than I thought.”

“Listen, we can’t get the car started, and we’ve tried everything we can think of.”

My brain didn’t register the “we” until the hood started lowering, and Cade was still standing beside me.

And of course, there was Garrick again. Because the world just couldn’t make anything easier on me.

“We even tried jump-starting it using Mr. Taylor’s bike.”

“I told you, it’s Garrick, Cade.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know. So anyway, since I don’t live far away . . .”

Oh lord. No. Please no. Cade was an RA in one of the dorms, which meant he could walk home. I, on the other hand, lived a few miles from campus.

“I asked Mr. Taylor, and he said he could give you a ride home. Turns out you guys even live in the same apartment complex.”

“You don’t say.” I tried to turn my gritted teeth into a smile. “That’s nice of him, but I can just call Kelsey to come get me. It’s no big deal.”

“But y’all are going to the same place . . .” Cade’s confusion was endearing, but I sort of wanted to kick him in the shins.

“Yeah, but—“

“Bliss,” Garrick interrupted. God, I would never get tired of hearing him say my name is his delicious accent. “It’s fine. Really. I don’t mind, and I’ll have you home in no time. I promise.”

He was looking at me like this was the most casual thing in the world. Like having my arms wrapped around him as he drove would be totally okay. Like I didn’t still have a bandage on my leg from the last time I’d been on that bike.

Cade yawned. He looked as tired as I felt. I knew if I pushed the issue, and wanted to wait for Kelsey, he would wait with me.

I rubbed at my eyes, and took a deep breath.

It wasn’t deep enough.

“Okay, fine. Thanks . . . Mr. Taylor. And I’ll see you tomorrow, Cade.”

Cade smiled, oblivious to my torment, and said, “Great!”

He placed a quick kiss on my forehead, said goodnight to us both, and then jogged across the road and onto campus.

I didn’t even bother with the calming breath this time. I knew it wouldn’t help. I set my shoulders, and turned to face him.

He watched me for a second, frowning, and then said, “You cannot call me, Mr. Taylor.”

Despite the tension between us, I laughed. It really was ridiculous . . . considering. “Okay . . . Garrick.”

There was no good way to do this, so he just handed me the helmet, and climbed on the bike. He didn’t have to tell me to be cautious of the exhaust pipe as I got on the bike, but he did anyway.

Tonight he had on a light jacket because a cold front (or well . . . as cold as it got in Texas) had just come through. I held onto the jacket instead of him. The ride was even scarier without something more solid to hold on to, but I refused to wrap my arms around him. Mostly because I wasn’t sure I would have the willpower to unwrap them if I did.

When we arrived, I was off the bike in seconds. I think I said goodbye. Honestly, I was so panicked that I just bolted. And he let me. When I slipped inside my apartment, I risked a glance back. He was still on the bike, and after a second, he started it back up, and took off. I watched him go, battling crazy urges to follow him.

No matter what I was feeling . . . there couldn’t be anything between us.

WEDNESDAY, I WAITED in the greenroom until the very last minute, so that the class would already be full by the time I got there. I had my headshot and resume with me as assigned, and I took a seat with Cade way off to the side, so that there were about a dozen people between Garrick and I.

About a minute after nine, Garrick called the class to order.

“Alright, then. Like I said Monday—we’re not wasting any time. We’re jumping into the thick of things. Today, you’re doing mock auditions using cold readings from A Streetcar Named Desire by Tennessee Williams. If you haven’t read it, you should be questioning your major right about now. I’ve split you into pairs. Those assignments along with the side you’ll be reading are on the table to my left. I’ll send you outside and you’ll have ten minutes to prepare before I call in the first group. You’ll note that the scene I’ve chosen from the play is the scene leading up to the climactic moment where Stanley rapes Blanche, his wife’s sister.”

“Dude, he rapes her?” That would be Dom, obviously one of those ones that should be reconsidering his major.

“Yes, Dom. Now the difficulty of auditions is that you often must depict climactic scenes without the benefit of having an entire performance to build to that point. You’re going into this emotionally blind. The moments before you audition are extremely important. You have ten minutes to find a connection with your partner and with your character. Good luck!”

He stepped to the side, and it was like Black Friday at Walmart as actors rushed the table, trying to grab a side and find out their partner. I wasn’t really feeling up to jumping into the mob, but Kelsey grabbed me by the elbow and didn’t give me much choice.

I grabbed the side, recognizing the scene. Garrick wasn’t kidding about starting right at the climax. Blanche is pretty much bat-shit crazy already. I glanced at the assignment sheet and wouldn’t you know it . . . I was paired with Dom.

I pressed a hand to my forehead, a dull throbbing beginning just over my left eye. Dom swung an arm over my shoulder a moment later.

“What do you know Blissful, we’re together again.”

I shrugged off his arm and headed toward the door. “Let’s get this over with, Dominic.”

When I exited the theatre, pairs were already camped out in various places throughout the hallway. The only spot left was directly in front of the theatre doors, which was almost guaranteed to make us the first group picked. That meant we’d have less preparation than everyone else. The thought made me feel like I was going to break out into hives, but clearly the world was against me today. Whatever, at least I’d be done with class early.

“Alright, Dom, let’s see what we’ve got.”

I spent most of the ten minutes explaining the play and the scene to Dom. He was one of those guys that had a good look and was pretty good at playing the over-confident douche bag (mainly because he was an over-confident douche bag), but that was about it.

“So, my guy is drunk, right?”

“Yes, Dom.”

“Sweet. And you’re crazy?”

I sighed. “Well, sort of. I’m a little delusional, and you destroy those delusions.”

“Great. Then I attack you.”

I rolled my eyes. What was the point?

“Yes, sure. Anyway, I’m going to open sitting in the chair, and you’ll enter from stage left, okay? I can’t imagine him making us do the whole scene because it’s kind of long.”

And that was all we had time for because the door opened and Garrick’s eyes fell on me. “Bliss, Dom, you ready?”

Dom pulled me to my feet against my will, and said, “Sure thing, Garrick.”

Ready was the exact opposite of how I felt. I hated being unprepared.

Garrick took our headshots and résumés and looked over them in silence for about a minute. I grabbed a chair and moved it to the center of the room and took a seat. I folded my audition side so that the paper wasn’t too big and unwieldy. He had us introduce ourselves as if we’d never met him, and then he gave us permission to begin.

The scene opened with Blanche dressed in all her finest clothes (including a tiara) talking to imaginary suitors at an imaginary party.

It took me a few seconds to get into the scene because my own feelings of dread and unease were so contrary to Blanche’s blissful ignorance. But once I got there, it was easy to block out the room around me and lose myself in her laughter and her dreams and her delusions. When Dom swaggered into the space, I had to admit, he made a great Stanley. Despite knowing absolutely nothing about the play, he exuded Stanley’s charisma, his absolute disregard for Blanche.

I used my unease about the situation with Garrick, letting it seep in and directing it towards Dom. After another half a page, Garrick stopped us.

“Good, good. Bliss, you started a little unsure, but you were dead on by the end. Dom, I think you’ve got a really good grasp on Stanley.” I resisted the urge to roll my eyes. “But . . . I’m not feeling as much connection on your side as I am with Bliss. She’s aware of you at all times, adjusting her movements to your movements. I need to see you reacting a little bit more. Let’s skip forward to right before you re-enter from the bathroom. Start with Blanche calling Western Union, and let’s see if we can’t really concentrate on connecting with each other.”

I nodded, moving to the opposite side of the space where I had planned to put the imaginary telephone. He’d chosen possibly the hardest part for me to start at. We skipped right over the part where Stanley tears down the nice perfect world I’d dreamed for myself, and I had to convey the same fear and paranoia anyway.

I closed my eyes and took a deep breath.

Fear. Paranoia. How I would feel if someone found out about Garrick and me. Or if he found out I was a virgin. Hell . . . how I felt right before I stopped us from having sex. That was fear and paranoia at its finest.

Feeling a little more confident, I opened my eyes and pantomimed grabbing the telephone. Since I still had to hold my script, I had to forego pantomiming the earpiece and just pretend to talk into the receiver. I gasped into the phone, asking for an operator.

The fear felt so real that tears pressed at my eyes without any effort on my part. I babbled on, panic rising up and choking my words.

My voice broke over my calls for help. The feeling of being trapped came too easily. It was suffocating.

I heard Dom walk up behind me, and I froze. I backed away, and he stepped between the imaginary door and me. He leered at me, and I didn’t have to pretend the revulsion I felt.

I tried to leave, and he stepped in my way. I asked him to let me pass, but he stayed put. Laughing, he started slinking towards me, and I felt the thump of my heart jump slightly.

I slipped out of character just long enough to think that we were doing a really good job. Far better than I had thought we would. Then Dom’s grinning face entered my vision and I was right back in it.

I tried to flee from him, but he kept coming, still laughing. Then his hands closed around my forearms, pulling me up and against him.

I fought, contorting my whole body to try to pull away.

He pulled me against him, squeezing harder, hard enough that it actually hurt, and a little shiver of unease trailed up my spine.

His face was right up against mine, so that I felt the heat of his breath against my face. I was supposed to crumble, defeated, and he would take me off-stage for the rape scene, but that’s not how things actually went.

Dom dropped his script, gripped my neck and pulled me forward into a kiss.

Shocked, I pushed against him with my free hand, but he kept going, not realizing that it was me protesting, not Blanche. I pushed and writhed, but he was too strong, and his lips were pressed against mine so hard that I couldn’t say anything to make him stop. I was gearing up for my final move of protest, a swift knee to the junk, when Dom was ripped off of me.

I gulped in air, and saw Garrick, who was seething, release one of Dom’s arms that he’d had twisted back at an odd angle.

“Where exactly in this script did you see that particular stage direction, Dominic?” Garrick asked, his tone deadly quiet.

I wasn’t wasting time with the logical questions. I flew at Dom, shoving him backward.

“What the hell was that, Dom? The rape scene occurs offstage, you asshole!”

He grabbed my wrists as I went to push him again.

“Hey, I was trying to connect. I was improvising. That’s what actors do!”

Garrick’s hand came down on Dom’s arm, and he squeezed a little harder than was probably appropriate. Dom let go of my wrists immediately, and I backed away.

“Be that as it may,” Garrick began. “Actors also respect each other. Unless you’d like to be accused of assault, you okay something like that with your partner before hand.” I could see Garrick’s calm façade cracking. “Now go. You’re dismissed.”

I could tell Dom was pissed. He gave me a scathing look, and pushed open the door so hard that it banged against the wall outside. I just could not catch a break this week. Was the world dropping shit on everyone else or just me?

There was a feather light touch on my arm, and then Garrick was in front of me, cradling my arm in his hands. A bruise was already forming where Dom had grabbed me during the scene. Garrick ran a hand over his face, and then looked at me. He said, “I probably could have handled that better.”

I didn’t realize how much my head was still pounding until I laughed, and the movement sent pain ricocheting through my head. I closed my eyes on instinct. Garrick’s fingers brushed along my jaw, sending an earthquake of shivers across my skin from where we touched. I kept my eyes closed, because as long as they were closed, I wasn’t doing anything wrong, right? But if opened them, and I looked at his gorgeous face and I saw those lips . . . I’d be crossing into a completely different territory that was most definitely wrong, wrong, wrong.

A whispered, “Bliss . . .” was all the warning I had before his lips were on mine.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

I THOUGHT OF how bad an idea the kiss was for exactly three seconds before I stopped thinking all together. His tongue swept into my mouth, searching and furious and demanding. It was passion in its rawest form. I’d always pretended to understand chemistry when directors talked about actors having it together on stage, but now I got it. Whatever happened when he touched me was like a chemical reaction—molecules changing, shifting, giving off heat.

God, there was so much heat.

Loud laughter that I recognized as Kelsey’s sliced through the haze in my mind, and I tore myself away from Garrick. There were other students outside waiting to come in. How long had I been in here alone with him?

He took a step forward to follow me, and I held up a hand.

“Stop! Stop it! You can’t just do that! We said we were forgetting about it! You said that, actually! You can’t say that and then do this!

“I’m sorry.”

He didn’t look sorry. He looked like he wanted to do it again.

I shook my head, and shifted toward the door.

“Wait, Bliss, I am sorry. It won’t happen again, okay?”

“Okay.” That’s what I said, but this felt anything besides okay. He acted like I didn’t want that kiss as badly as he did, but hello! He had just as much to lose here as I did! Why was I the only one thinking about the consequences?

I exited to hear Dom mouthing off to a couple of the guys that had gathered close to the doors.

“The guy’s a complete dick. He acted like I was trying to rape her or something. It was just a kiss. Not like we haven’t done that before.”

I rolled my eyes. “And somehow it was even worse this time than it was before. Aren’t you supposed to get better with time, Dom?” His friends were laughing, but I still heard Dom call me a bitch.

I kept walking. I had just enough time to buy the biggest cup of coffee I could find before my next class.

The rest of the week was uneventful, thankfully. Garrick kept his distance, and I had enough going on to keep me distracted. We’d gotten our assignments in directing, which meant it was time to buckle down and read so that I could find a scene. Friday in Senior Prep we talked about our auditions, and he assigned us some reading about the Actor’s Equity Association. So, I spent most of the weekend scanning through every play I owned (and most of Cade’s) and reading the most boring breakdown of AEA known to the world.

The next week was signups for our first Mainstage Audition this term, and the next to last one for me ever. If I didn’t do well on Friday, I only had one more shot at making another show before graduation. I’d been in the first show of the year, and stage-managed another, but nothing since then. They’d already offered me Stage Manager of the last show of the year, but I’d been too scared to accept yet, in case I didn’t get a role in this. God, it was really starting to hit me. I was about to graduate, and my life was nowhere near where I thought it would be. When I started school three and a half years ago, I thought by now I’d have a plan. I thought I’d know positively what I wanted to do and where I was going. And if I was honest . . . I thought I would have met the guy I was going to marry by now. I mean, every married couple I knew met in college, and here I was only months away, and the idea of marriage at this point seemed preposterous to me.

It didn’t help that mom’s immediate question every time we talked was, “Have you met anyone yet?” I wondered briefly how she’d react if I told her the current state of my love life the next time she asked. Maybe she’d freak. Maybe she’d ask when we planned on getting married—it was hard to tell with Mom, sometimes.

How can people decide who they want to spend the rest of their life with at this age? I can’t even decide what to have for dinner! I can’t decide if I want to be an actor, even though I’ve already got $35,000 in student loans telling me I sure as hell better want to be an actor.

By the end of audition week, the thing with Garrick was starting to feel like the “no big deal” I kept saying it was. I got to class at the very last minute and was usually the first out of the room. True to his word, he kept it professional in class, which really just meant we only interacted the bare minimum. I never saw him at Grind again, and we’d been there a lot.

He was in the auditions, but so was every other faculty member. And not even his presence could dampen my excitement for this show. As an actress, I was always drawn more to classical roles than contemporary (hence the Shakespeare obsession), and we were finally doing a Greek show (well . . . a translation of a Greek show, anyway). Phaedra wouldn’t have been my first choice, considering it was all about forbidden love, which was so not what I needed right now. But, at the very least, I had a great understanding of my character when I auditioned. Sure, Phaedra was lusting after her stepson, not her professor, but the feelings were the same.

I hadn’t wanted a role this badly in a long time.

When it was my turn to enter the theatre for auditions, I felt good, confident. I knew my lines. I knew my character. I knew what it was like to want someone you can’t have. And more than anything . . . I knew what it was to want and not want something all at the same time. I poured every ounce of lust and fear and doubt and shame into that minute and a half performance. I wrenched myself open in a way I never did in real life, because here . . . here I could vent and deal and pretend it wasn’t about me . . . pretend it was about Phaedra. I was more honest under the heat of those lights than I ever was in the light of day.

And in minutes it was over, and I was back in the greenroom, left wondering if it was enough.

When auditions were over, we all went out to celebrate. They would post callbacks in the morning, and that would be a whole new thing to worry about, but for now, it was out of our hands.

All together (mostly seniors and juniors), we took up an entire section of Stumble Inn. Even though we were at separate tables—we talked across the room to each other obnoxiously and didn’t give a damn how many people we annoyed.

We started the night with shots of tequila, which was a little too eerily close to my night here with Garrick, but I shrugged it off. I was here with friends. It would do me some good to loosen up and have some fun.

I was at a table with Cade and Kelsey, of course. Lindsay was there, too, along with Jeremy, a cute sophomore that I’d drunkenly made out with last year. He’d sort of tagged along a lot since then, but I was pretty sure he knew nothing was going to happen between us. These days he was starry-eyed for our resident sex-crazed beauty, Kelsey. Then there was Victoria, who could easily have passed for Kelsey and Lindsay’s lovechild. She had Kelsey’s boobs (and her sluttiness), but Lindsay’s I-Hate-Everyone-and-Everything attitude. And finishing out the table was Rusty, who was pretty much the king of all things random and hilarious.

Jeremy was the only one too young to drink, but the waiter didn’t even bother carding the whole table. She looked at Cade’s ID, and then just scanned the others. We ordered drinks, food, and then some more drinks.

I was feeling pretty good by the time talk came around to auditions.

It was Rusty, who broke the ice. “So . . . how about that incest play?”

I rolled my eyes. “It’s not incest, Rusty. They’re not related by blood.”

“Doesn’t matter,” he shrugged. “I’ve got a step-mom, and I would shit my pants if she came on to me.”

Kelsey laughed, “That probably has more to do with you being gay.”

“I’ve met your step-mom. She can come onto me anytime,” Cade said.

If we were different kinds of people, Rusty would have gotten pissed, maybe punched Cade in the arm . . . or the face. Instead, they high-fived.

“Seriously, though, how did everyone do?” Rusty asked. “I was crap. I’ll be lucky to get soldier number two or the servant.”

Kelsey butted in, “I would kill to play Aphrodite. I mean, who else has the boobs for it?”

Victoria raised her hand, “Um, hello? Do your eyes not work?” She gestured at her chest.

“Come on, do you even want Aphrodite?”

“Hell no,” Victoria said. “Doesn’t mean my boobs don’t resent you ignoring them.”

Wide-eyed, Jeremy said, “I’d never ignore your boobs.”

Everyone laughed. Jeremy generally stayed pretty quiet when we were all out together. I guess it could be difficult to keep up with us, considering we’d spent every waking moment with each other for the past four years, and he was the newbie to the group.

“What about you, Bliss?” Lindsay asked. “We all know you’re wetting yourself just thinking about this.”

I might have blushed, if my cheeks weren’t already flushed from the alcohol.

“I think it went well. I just . . . I really get Phaedra, you know?”

Kelsey burst out laughing, and I kicked her under the table.

Cade smiled at me, “What? Are you lusting after some family member I’ve never met?’

I pushed at his shoulder, and he laughed, wrapping his arm around me and pulling me close.

“I’m kidding, babe.”

“I just . . . I get what it’s like to want something, but to try and force yourself to really believe that you don’t. It doesn’t even have to be about love. It’s about wanting something you can’t have or something you don’t think you deserve. Hell, we want the parts that our friends get, even though they’re our friends and we should be happy for them. We sit in the audience and think about how we would have done a role. We want what we can’t have. It’s human nature.”

I might have gotten a little carried away. The table was quiet when I finished.

Until Rusty said, “You are clearly not drunk enough!” So, we did more drinking, and our food arrived, looking greasy and glorious.

“You guys do realize there is one major topic we haven’t talked about.” Victoria raised an eyebrow, and continued. “Professor I’m sex incarnate and could probably get you pregnant just by looking at you.”

Most of the guys around the table (minus Rusty) groaned, while most of the girls (minus me) plus Rusty said various differentiations of “Hell yes!”

Victoria fanned herself. “Seriously, that first day when he spoke, I think his accent alone nearly gave me an orgasm.”

I stayed quiet, and Kelsey did, too, shooting me a questioning glance.

I could excuse myself and go to the bathroom. Would that seem bizarre? It’s not like I hadn’t had a lot to drink.

“Kelsey, why aren’t you backing me up here?” Victoria asked. “Can I just call dibs for as soon as we graduate?”

I tried to keep my face passive.

Kelsey smiled, “Oh, yeah, he’s cute. But he’s a little too prim and proper for me. I like a guy who is a bit more dangerous.” She winked at Jeremy, and I’m sure his jaw would have detached if it dropped any lower.

“What? His motorcycle isn’t dangerous enough for you?” Cade asked.

“He has a motorcycle? I didn’t know that!” She shot me an accusing look like I was betraying her by not relaying this piece of information.

“What happened with him and Dom?” Lindsay asked me. “Dom is still bitching about how he manhandled him during your audition.”

Cade’s hand slipped from the back of the booth to around my shoulders, and he gave me a quick squeeze.

“Dom’s just a jackass. Mr. Taylor just pulled him off of me, that’s all.”

Rusty smiled and pointed at Cade and me, “You two are so cute. ‘ Oh Mr. Taylor this and Mr. Taylor that.’ I think you’re the only ones still treating him like a teacher instead of a piece of meat.”

I rolled my eyes. I never called him Mr. Taylor to his face, but it just felt weird to talk about him with other people and call him Garrick. I felt like they’d be able to read all my secrets on my face, and they’d know exactly how un-teacher-like I considered him.

Maybe I did need that bathroom break after all. I nudged Cade, and he slipped out of the booth, and let me go. Every step away from that booth, my anxiety eased. I’d stay gone for a few minutes, then I’d come back and they’d be on a completely different conversation, and everything would be fine.

I was walking by the bar when I heard my name.

“Bliss!”

I turned, but didn’t see anyone.

“Bliss!”

The voice was closer, and this time when I looked behind the bar, I saw him—Bartender Boy.

I smiled, and tried to appear happy to see him. But honestly . . . I couldn’t even remember his name. There were far too many other things that had taken my focus that night. As always when I thought of Garrick, my stomach flipped and I had to concentrate on not getting lost in the memories.

When we were across the bar from each other, Bartender Boy said, “Hey . . . I hope it’s not creepy that I remember your name.”

It was. A little.

“I promise not to be creeped out, if you’ll forgive me for not remembering yours.”

His lips pulled down in a frown briefly before he smiled and said, “Brandon.”

“Right, Brandon. Of course. I’m sorry. It’s been a long week.”

“Well, let me make it a little bit better.” He pulled out a glass and poured me a shot of tequila. “On the house.”

I felt awkward taking the shot alone, but I couldn’t very well decline it. So, I thanked him, shrugged, and downed it in one gulp.

I laughed, not because anything was funny, but just because it seemed like the thing to do.

“Listen,” Brandon started. “I don’t mean to come on too strong, but do you want to go out sometime?”

Did I want to go out with him? More importantly, did I want to sleep with him? Despite all the craziness with Garrick, I was still a virgin. And I still wished I wasn’t. Here was another opportunity to fix that . . . one that didn’t involve breaking school rules and risking expulsion. I looked at him. Kelsey had been right; he was cute. And he was definitely interested.

I tried to imagine what sleeping with him might be like. I tried to imagine the shedding of our clothes, his hands against my skin, his lips against mine. I tried, but every image I conjured was of Garrick doing those things, not Brandon.

Damn, why couldn’t I just snap my fingers and not be a virgin anymore? Why did sex have to be involved? And why was it that all I could think about was Garrick, but I’d even backed out of sex with him?

Why did my brain absolutely refuse to make sense?

Brandon answered his question for himself, “I’m guessing that’s probably a no. It usually is if it takes that long to answer.”

I smiled a tight, close-lipped smile. “Sorry. You seem really nice, but I’m just not that interested . . . right now.” Damn, I always did that. I sucked at confrontation, so I always added phrases like “right now.”

Brandon nodded, “It’s cool. Don’t worry about it. I, uh, better get back to work though.”

He didn’t wait for my answer before he strode down the length of the bar to help a customer at the far end. Sighing, I made my way to the bathroom, where I splashed some water on my face.

It didn’t help the chaos in my brain, but I could feel the alcohol tingling in my stomach, and that at least made me feel okay with the chaos.

I returned to the table, where another two shots were waiting for me, courtesy of Cade, and thankfully the conversation was on to some other gossip that didn’t involve Garrick. By the time we’d had the next round, my skin felt like a warm blanket and my throat ached from laughing at things that may or may not have actually been funny. We were all gone enough that our conversation had devolved into fragments, inside jokes, and laughter.

“I am so drunk,” Rusty started, “That I just want to sit in my car and play my accordion until I’m sober.”

My laughter was embarrassingly loud. “You have an accordion?”

“Hell, yes, I do. Wanna listen to me play?”

“Of course!”

I left my wallet with Cade, so he could pay for mine. I gave him a sloppy kiss on the cheek as a reward.

“Oh! Me too! Me too!” Kelsey cried. She gave her wallet to Cade, too, with a head pat instead of the kiss, and Rusty wrapped an arm around each of us.

“Take notes, boys! The ladies always love a man who can play an instrument!”

Lindsay snorted, “Your instrument doesn’t even like girls, Rusty!”

“Doesn’t mean they don’t like it!”

I’m sure the volume in the bar lowered by half when we were gone, but I couldn’t tell the difference. It was still loud in my head. After a few minutes, the rest of the group joined us outside on the hood of Rusty’s car, where he was playing his accordion and singing a song he said was French (but I’m pretty sure was just gibberish).

It didn’t really matter to us. After a few minutes, we knew the gibberish enough to sing along. We serenaded the bar’s patrons as they meandered to their cars at 2 AM. We sang in English and gibberish. We sang Britney Spears and Madonna and Phantom of the Opera. Cade did some ridiculous rap where he rhymed maybe with scabies. And we continued serenading until they were all gone, and the owner came out to tell us to get lost.

We were all still too drunk to drive, except for maybe Jeremy, but none of our cars were big enough to fit us all.

So on a whim I said, “Let’s go to my place. It’s about half a mile away, but I’m pretty sure I’ve got vodka in my freezer.”

So with a battle cry of “Vodka!” we were off.

I came to regret that night later, but then, I just hadn’t wanted it to end.

CHAPTER TWELVE

SOMEWHERE BETWEEN THE bar and my apartment, I lost my shoes. They were low heels, but they were killing my feet all the same. So, I simply bent over and pushed them off.

“Whoa, babe, what are you doing?”

I fell into Cade, giggling. I thought I was drunk before, but now that a little time had passed . . . It had really hit me. I was possibly farther gone than I’d ever been. “Shoes are stupid. Why do people wear them?”

He laughed, “So they don’t step on a nail and get tetanus, that’s why.”

“Wear. Where. Wear. W’s are wwweeird.”

He laughed, so I laughed, even though I had no idea what was funny.

“You’re adorable. Come here. I’ll give you a piggyback ride home to save your feet.”

“Yay!”

He squatted, and I leapt onto his back. With my high heels in his hands, we teetered down the road. When we walked into my parking lot, I was singing a made up song that went something like,“Cade is my hero! Zero to hero!”

“What do you mean zero? I was never a zero!”

“Cade is my best friend! One day we’re gonna be on West End! His car smells like cheese! I just wanna give him a squeeze!”

Rusty called, “Give him a squeeze in private!”

“And Rusty is a douche! And the wind in my hair smells like whoosh!”

Cade laughed, “Don’t you mean sounds?”

“What sounds?”

“Nevermind,” He chuckled.

I saw my apartment come into view.

“Aw, crap. I forgot my purse.”

“I’ve got it, babe.”

“You do? You’re the best!”

I gave him a loud, smacking kiss. I’d been aiming for his cheek, but I think it landed somewhere on his neck.

About that time, I heard Jeremy shout, “Hey! Mr. T! What’s up?”

“There’s a wrestler here?” I asked.

“Nah, it’s Mr. Taylor.”

I squeaked, let go of Cade’s shoulder, and leaned back to look for him. In doing so, I threw off Cade’s balance, and the both of us toppled to the ground, him on top of me.

I groaned.

“Shiiiit. Cade weighs a lot. Way more than I thought!” I moaned/sang.

I felt adrift, my world rocking like I was out at sea.

Cade said, “Hey Mr. Taylor.”

“Hello Cade. You all right?”

“Sure thing.” He pushed himself up onto his knees, and then stood. When he tried to pick me up too, I got a good look at Garrick staring down at me. His hair was all sexy and his grin so gorgeous.

It wasn’t fair that he looked so good.

I groaned and covered my eyes.

“Why does the world hate me?”

They both laughed, but it wasn’t funny. SERIOUSLY. Why does the world hate me?

“Come on, babe.” Cade tried to pull me up, but my body felt dead.

“I don’t think I can stand,” I told him. “I feel like a wet noodle.”

“Do you now?” Cade’s amused face looked away from me, and my eyes drifted shut. “Do you mind, Mr. Taylor?

The next thing I knew I was in the air and I was flying. I leaned to my left, and there was the side of Garrick’s face. It was such a pretty side of a face. My arm was around his shoulder, and together, he and Cade were carrying me. Garrick took hold of me completely while Cade crouched and dug through my purse for my keys.

I laid my head against Garrick’s chest.

“You smell so good. Why do you always smell so good?”

Cade laughed, “Oookay. And that’s our cue to let the professor go.”

I let go of Garrick, and Cade’s arm wrapped around my middle.

“Sorry, Mr. Taylor.”

“It’s not a big deal.”

“Listen, she’d be horrified if she knew you saw her like this. I swear she’s not normally like this. She’s just been really stressed lately for some reason.”

“It’s fine, Cade. I promise. Goodnight, Bliss.”

I perked up and snatched the sleeve of his shirt. “No, stay.”

Rusty popped up then, his accordion still in hand. “Yeah, Garrick, stay. Bliss Baby has vodka.”

Garrick smirked at me. “I think Bliss Baby has had enough. And thank you for the offer, but there are still some lines I shouldn’t cross.” His eyes met mine, and I knew he wasn’t just talking about the party. That sobered me up a little, not much, but enough to know that I was making a fool of myself.

“You guys be careful. Have fun.”

Then he walked away, and Cade helped me inside and on to my couch.

The guys went about raiding my fridge, and Kelsey sat by me on the couch, and laid across my lap.

“So, your lover was looking pretty great tonight.”

“Kelsey! Shut up!”

“What? No one heard me.”

I looked around. She was right. The guys were stealing chips out of my pantry. Lindsay and Victoria were pouring vodka into glasses of orange juice. When I was sure no one was paying attention, I looked back at Kelsey.

“He always looks good. I don’t know how much longer I can handle this. One day I’m going to spontaneously sexually combust and jump him in the middle of class.”

She laughed, “As interesting as that would be. . . . you know it’s a terrible idea. Besides . . . you’ve already had him. Apparently he was good enough to make you want him again, but it’s not like he’s a mystery you’re dying to puzzle out. You just need a distraction.”

I nodded half-heartedly, even though I was pretty sure nothing could distract me from wanting Garrick. And what Kelsey didn’t know was that he was still a mystery to me. And God, did I want to play Nancy Drew.

Kelsey’s eyes gleamed, and she pushed herself up and off of my lap.

“Do you know what game I’ve never played?” She asked the entire room. “Spin the bottle!”

Victoria looked skeptical. “You’ve never played Spin the Bottle? Seriously?’

Kelsey shrugged, then turned to peer at me over her shoulder, and winked. “What can I say?” She continued. “I was a late bloomer. By the time these ladies came in,” she gestured to her ginormous boobs, “People had stopped needing a game as an excuse to make out.”

Cade raised an eyebrow at her. “And we need an excuse now?”

She hopped off the couch, and settled Indian style on the ground, grabbing a half-full water bottle off the coffee table. “Of course not. But it’s the game that’s exciting.”

She grabbed my arm and tugged. I landed on the floor in a heap, laughing hysterically.

“See?” Kelsey said. “Bliss is already having fun. Vic, bring the vodka! We’ll make this a little more interesting. This is adult Spin the Bottle. Which means none of that peck on the lips stuff. I wanna see tongue.”

“I swear, Kelsey, you’re more of a perv than most guys I know. “ Lindsay said.

“Thank you! Now, I’m not unreasonable. You can choose to do a peck instead. . . . but you have to do a shot as penalty.”

Most of the boys looked relieved. Rusty looked disappointed.

“There are far more girls here than guys,” Lindsay pointed out.

Victoria grinned, “Perhaps we should go find Garrick and make him join us.”

I blanched, “No! Absolutely not.”

“God, Bliss, you’re such a prude.”

Kelsey sent me a knowing smile. And I definitely needed that distraction. I reached forward and set the bottle spinning.

It landed on Rusty, and I didn’t even give him a chance to opt out of the kiss. I leaned across the circle, grabbed his collar and pulled him toward me. I was drunk enough that the kiss was a little sloppy, but we were all drunk, so what did it matter? I kissed him for several seconds longer before pushing him back down and sliding back to my seat.

Rusty whistled, “Damn girl. If I weren’t 110% gay, I would ask you out right now.”

I threw my head back and laughed. It felt good to let go.

Rusty went next, and poor Jeremy was the next victim. He grabbed the bottle of vodka and said, “No offense, Rusty, but you’re just not my type.” He smiled, took a big gulp, and then planted a lightning fast peck on Rusty’s lips.

We oooh’ed like middle schoolers.

A knock sounded on the door, and Kelsey hopped up and skipped down the hall. She returned with ten more people from our department.

“You don’t mind, do you?” She asked me. It was just like Kelsey to invite first and get permission later. I shook my head anyway, way past caring.

“Excellent, take your seats ladies and gentlemen. It’s time for some debauchery.”

And there was really no other term for it. In a matter of minutes, I’d seen so many friends making out with friends, regardless of whether they liked each other or drove each other crazy or thought of each other as siblings. For one night we put everything aside and let a bottle of Aquafina determine our lives.

The next time the bottle landed on me, the spinner was a girl. The guys all booed us when we both chose the penalty shot. But they cheered at our peck anyway. Laughing, I spun the bottle again and it landed on Cade.

Cade had that cute boy-next-door look, right down to the boyish grin he fixed on me now. I shrugged and crawled toward him. Kneeling before him, I put my hands on his shoulders and leaned in.

The kiss was just like any other kiss at first . . . and then suddenly it wasn’t. Cade’s hand cradled my head and his other pulled me in at the waist. His lips moved against mine feverishly, desperately, like the world was about to end and this was his last chance at happiness.

The kiss was just hard enough to make warmth uncurl in my stomach, but gentle enough that I felt like I was being worshipped. For a moment, I forgot where I was and who I was with and I just basked in the heat, in the pleasure.

Then someone whistled, and piece-by-piece the world came back to me. I opened my eyes to stare at my friend, who had kissed me like he wanted to be anything but.

I returned to my side of the circle, ignoring my friends’ commentary on the kiss. Dazed and way beyond confused, I retreated into myself through the next few turns.

I could feel eyes on me. Cade’s for sure, probably Kelsey’s, too. But my mind was focused on holding it together, because I was one crack away from disintegrating.

We were drunk. It probably didn’t mean anything. And I was so messed up over Garrick, that I was desperate for contact with anyone. That was it.

It didn’t mean anything.

We’re still friends. Cade and I will always be friends.

I stayed for a few more minutes, until my head was spinning too much for me to ignore. I was feeling a bit sick to my stomach.

I stood and excused myself, telling everyone to stay as long as they’d like. I told them where to find extra blankets and pillows if they wanted to stay and crash, and then I retreated into my bedroom, crawling under the covers, and dropping the forced smile.

I told myself things would be better in the morning.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

WHEN MORNING CAME, Kelsey was passed out beside me in bed, and there were five people in my living room and one in my bathtub. I smiled at that for half a second before my hangover not-so-gently reminded me how much I hated the world.

I brushed my teeth and splashed my face with water before returning to my room. I heard my front door open and close quietly, and I peeked my head out of the curtain to see who it was.

Cade had returned with enough greasy breakfast to feed us all.

I took a deep breath and entered the room.

“You are a life-saver!” I whispered.

He looked up, smiling, and handed me a massive bacon, egg, and cheese burrito.

“How are you feeling?”

I frowned. “Like I got hit by a bus. A really heavy one, full of sumo wrestlers.”

I hopped up on the counter, and regretted it for another ten seconds as my head spun. He took a seat on the barstool below me.

The burrito was perfect. Thick, fluffy tortilla, hot eggs, delicious salsa.

“I am in love with this burrito. I would marry it if I didn’t want to eat it so badly.”

“The tragedy of true love,” Cade whispered.

I sort of smiled and he sort of smiled, and for the first time in years, I felt awkward with Cade. I looked away and focused on the people littered around my living room.

“How was everything after I went to bed?”

“More of the same. If he wasn’t already, Jeremy’s most definitely head over heels for Kelsey. Victoria left half a pack of cigarette butts on the ground outside. And Rusty was atrociously sick in your bathroom.”

I wrinkled my nose.

“Don’t worry. It’s all cleaned up. I knew you’d have a heart attack if you woke up to that.”

I swallowed and a weight settled deep in my stomach.

“You’re too good to me, Cade.”

He just shrugged. He’d always been too good to me.

“Listen,” I started. “About last night . . .”

He scratched at the back of his head, and his mouth pulled up in a half-hearted smile.

“Yeah, I guess we should talk about that, huh?”

His hands settled onto the counter beside me, like he needed to brace himself for what was coming. I cleared my throat, but it didn’t make it any easier to talk. “So . . . you?”

His hands tightened until his knuckles turned white. Then, all at once, he let go and answered, “Yeah, I do. I have . . . for a while.”

I looked up, but his face was unreadable.

“Why didn’t you ever say anything?”

“Because . . . I was scared. You’re my best friend. And you almost never date . . . I just didn’t think you’d be interested.”

Was I interested? I could feel nonsensical tears pressing at the corner of my eyes, and I blinked them away. Cade was a great guy. And I loved spending time with him. And the kiss had definitely been good. It made sense to like him. I wanted to like him, but . . . Garrick was the but. Could I stop thinking about Garrick? Stop wanting him?

I heard Cade sigh. “You’re not interested, are you?”

God, did his eyes have to be so expressive? I could read every disappointment, every insecurity in them. I loved him; that much was for sure. And I think I could one day be in love with him, but I had to get rid of my feelings for Garrick first. If this had happened last semester, would I even be torn?

“Honestly, Cade? I don’t know. Is maybe a terrible answer?”

He thought about it for the moment, and I couldn’t take the silence.

“It’s not that I don’t like you. I think you’re pretty perfect actually. I just . . . you’re my best friend, too, and I’m not sure. I need to be sure.”

“I want you to be sure, too.” He took a deep breath and smiled. It was a good smile, but not as bright as I was used to from him. “I can live with maybe.”

WHEN I ARRIVED at the theatre Monday morning, the callback list had already been posted.

Cast (and callback) lists are a monster in and of themselves. It’s just a simple piece of paper on the wall, but surround it with people who already know your fate and it becomes like walking to the gallows. Eyes turned toward me. I struggled to gauge their reactions. Were they looking at me with pity? Were they just concealing their excitement? Two feet apart, and I existed in an entirely different world than them, than those people who’d already read that slip of paper. And when I would join them, the pressure wouldn’t stop. At the list, you couldn’t show emotion. You couldn’t cry over a part that wasn’t yours or bitch over whose part it became. You couldn’t scream out of excitement or out of rage. You just had to read it, and not emote at all. Which might not seem that difficult, except that we are actors. Emoting is what we do.

Cade met me a few feet away.

“Have you already looked?”

He shook his head. “No, I was waiting for you.”

Things were a still awkward from when we’d talked the day before. We hadn’t quite figured out what that all-important maybe meant for us. But at that moment, it didn’t matter. We were two actors, about to face rejection or another battle. We were full to the brim of anxiety, even if we tried not to show it, and there wasn’t any room for the other multitude of emotions we had going on between us at that moment.

He took my hand, and I didn’t let myself worry about what that could mean. I needed the comfort. I needed him to balance me. And I was fairly certain he needed the same.

We took the last few steps toward the list quickly, and the crowd there adjusted to let us through.

Hippolytus was first on the list; he was the step-son.

There were seven boys called back, Cade and Jeremy among them.

I looked up at him, and he was completely stoic. Not a thing showed on his face. Not excitement, not nerves. Seven meant the director wasn’t sure. It meant he hadn’t seen what he wanted yet. It meant that the part was anyone’s game, whoever stepped it up the most during callbacks.

I squeezed Cade’s hand, and immediately he squeezed back.

I know that people talk about their hearts racing all the time, and that it doesn’t even seem like that big of a deal. But as I looked back at the list, my heart was racing like my whole life rested on that finish line. Sounds were fuzzy in my ears, and my vision had narrowed, and I felt like I was on the verge, on the edge of something terrifying and glorious that could mean flying or falling—success or disaster.

My eyes found the bolded PHAEDRA right below that.

And then I saw my name, nothing but my name, like it was the light at the end of the tunnel. It was better than crossing any finish line. It was like taking that first breath of air when I’d felt certain I was drowning, certain I was dying. I stifled the relief and the joy, because people were watching, and because this was only a callback list. It only meant they hadn’t ruled me out yet.

Cade’s other hand joined our already linked ones, covering mine completely.

My eyes kept scanning down.

THESEUS

That couldn’t be right. Theseus was a character. My eyes went back up, searching for what I’d missed. There were the seven names under Hippolytus. And there, under Phaedra, there was only mine.

They weren’t calling anyone back.

It was just me.

I’d gotten the part.

And then, breaking all the rules of the list, I screamed. Cade laughed, and picked me up at the waist, spinning me around. People around us were clapping, and I knew some had heard rumors of our kiss based on the way they were looking at us. But for a moment, for one blissful moment, none of that mattered.

I’d gotten the part.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

I WENT TO Senior Prep in a daze.

They always called people back. Even if they were pretty sure they knew who they wanted, it was a chance to be certain, to see the best one more time.

But they cast me outright, which meant they were already certain.

Something swelled in my chest, and before I could help it there were tears building in my eyes. I took a second to myself behind the curtains before entering the space for class.

I tried deep breaths, but that didn’t release any of the pent-up emotion in my chest. So, I did the next most logical thing.

I danced.

I danced without music. I screamed without sound. I celebrated in silence, in the dark, behind the curtains where no one could see.

Except as my luck would have it, someone totally saw.

“I’m guessing you saw the list.”

I froze, my butt still cocked to the left from my last celebratory hip swing. Slowly, I righted my posture, and turned as I said, “Hi Garrick.”

His lips were pursed and his eyes wide, and I knew he was working hard not to laugh. “Hello Bliss. Congratulations.”

My hair was everywhere due to the aforementioned dancing, so I tucked it behind my ears as best I could. “Thank you. I’m, uh, pretty excited.”

“As you should be. Your audition . . .” He stepped closer, and as always, his presence stripped away the embarrassment and any other emotion, and replaced it with heat, with desire. “Your audition was fantastic. There was no competition.”

I swallowed, but the lump in my throat remained. My thank you came out as a whisper.

“But Friday night . . .”

“Oh, God—“

“As ridiculously cute as you were, please don’t get that drunk again. Eric will need you to be at your absolute best for this role.”

“Of course,” I nodded, petrified. “Absolutely. I promise.”

“And . . . I was worried about you, too.”

“Oh.”

His eyes flicked around my face, darting from my no doubt crazy hair to my eyes to my lips, then quickly down to my leg, where the burn had healed and left a dark pink scar. “I don’t like being worried about you.”

My heart felt like it was going to make a jailbreak from my ribcage if I didn’t do something soon. This was dangerous territory. There were things rearing up inside me, things beyond attraction, beyond an obsession with his looks and his body and his accent—dangerous things. His fingers touched a curl near my cheek, and the proximity of his skin made me feel like I was on the verge of explosion.

I smiled and tried to lighten the situation. “You should probably worry about yourself. Calling me ‘cute’ again is bound to get you injured, possibly maimed for life.”

He took a step closer to me, and the world felt like it was shrinking around the two of us. The hand in my hair swayed closer, his knuckles brushing my cheek. He lowered his voice and said, “Since I can’t very well call you the alternative here, cute will have to do for now.” My mind flashed back to the first time he’d called me ridiculously cute. I’d had my pants trapped around my knees. He’d then called me ridiculously sexy and helped me take them off.

Clearly, I needed to learn to stop saying the first thing that popped into my mind. But I couldn’t think about that at this moment, because my mind was stuck on his last two words . . . for now, for now, for now.

He cleared his throat, and stepped back, dropping the curl he’d had trapped between his fingers. “Why don’t you go take a seat for class?”

I nodded, slipping past him and through the curtains.

There was a seat saved for me between Kelsey and Cade, both of whom were wearing identically huge grins. I smiled, shaking off the encounter with Garrick to bask once more in my joy. Kelsey leaned in to hug me when I took my seat, and whispered in my ear, “I guess being hot for teacher really did help you get into character. I’m so proud of you, honey.”

I glared half-heartedly, but nodded my thanks. And then turned to Cade.

We’d held hands earlier, and hugged when I found out, but I wasn’t sure what the protocol was now. Living in the world of maybe was . . . complicated.

Before, Cade and I were effortless. Being with him was just as low pressure as being alone. And now suddenly there was this intensity to everything we did and everything we said. Like my life had been italicized.

When we were touching, I noticed. When we weren’t touching I noticed. And suddenly I could find no in between. No maybe.

So I froze.

We were both waiting, stuck in that area between action and refusal. We were nothing. We were inaction. Then Garrick called the class to order, and the awkwardness was postponed for a bit longer.

I knew . . . I knew eventually we’d have to get over this . . . figure out some way to co-exist again. You could only postpone so long before shit hit the fan. But surely I could wait a little longer. Today was an exciting day, no reason to rain on my own parade.

When class ended, Eric was waiting for me outside.

“Good morning, Bliss. Can I speak to you for a moment?”

I blinked, caught off guard.

“Of course.”

He opened the theatre door, and gestured for me to re-enter. I followed him through the curtains, and he waved me toward a seat directly beside Garrick. I perched on the seat carefully and glanced between them, unsure of what was happening. Then it dawned on me.

He’d found out.

Why else would he want to speak to Garrick and I?

Oh my God. What was going to happen to me?

Would they kick me out of the department? Out of the school? At the very least, I’d probably lose my scholarship. How would I pay tuition then?

There was a roaring in my ears, and the pull of gravity felt so heavy that I felt like I would sink right through the floor. Garrick would probably lose his job. What would he do then? He’d go back to Philadelphia or London or somewhere and I’d never see him again.

I turned to him, trying to convey my remorse with a look, but he was . . . smiling?

“Bliss,” Eric said, “I have to admit I’m surprised.”

Air left my lungs in a rush. “S-sir, I’m so—“

“You’ve certainly done well in your time here over the past few years, but I had no idea you were capable of the kind of performance you gave in auditions.”

I was still clenching my teeth and holding my breath against the coming shame, so it took me a moment to realize it wasn’t coming after all.

“You’ve always been a bit too in your head, I suppose. Controlled. Careful. Mechanical, might be the best word for it. But in those auditions—you were living in the moment. You were feeling instead of thinking. I saw shades of emotion in you—strength and vulnerability, desire and disgust, hope and shame—that were quite simply captivating. I don’t know what you’re doing or what you’ve done, but please do continue. You’re much better when you make bold choices.”

Unbidden, my eyes locked with Garrick’s. Did he know? Had he guessed that it was him? That this thing between us had me feeling things I’d never felt and taking risks I would have balked at not long ago. My night with him was possibly the only impulsive thing I’d ever done.

“Thank you, sir.”

“You’re quite, welcome. I’m very much looking forward to working with you. Speaking of which, I’d like you to come to callbacks on Wednesday. We’d like you to read some scenes with Hippolytus, so that we can get a good idea of chemistry and look on stage.”

“Of course, I’ll be there.”

“Great, Garrick will be there to answer any questions for you, as well. He’s going to be assistant directing this production, so if you need anything you can come to either of us.”

He patted me lightly on the shoulder, and took off. Then I was alone with Garrick. My heart was still thudding impatiently, either because of the fear that we’d been caught or just because I was sitting beside the one guy I wanted but couldn’t have.

“I can’t remember if I mentioned it, but I’m really proud of you,” Garrick said.

“Thank you. I think I’m still in shock.” I was still in shock from all of this.

“Well, get used to it. From what I’ve seen, I don’t think you’d have to worry about Stage Managing unless you just wanted to. You’re an actor, Bliss, whether you believe it or not. ”

I nodded, filing that thought away.

“Have you thought more about that? What you’d like to do after graduation?”

I picked at the frayed threads on the knee of my jeans.

“Not really . . .”

“Well, if you want to talk about it, you know you can always come to me.”

I raised an eyebrow at him, unable to quite put into words how preposterous that idea was.

He said, “I’m serious. You act like we couldn’t possibly be friends.”

If possible, my eyebrow arched even more. The thought of being friends with him . . . it was beyond imagining. I didn’t think about how my friends looked naked. I didn’t beat myself up over not sleeping with friends.

He laughed under his breath and shook his head. “Okay, okay. So maybe friends is jumping the gun, but I do hope you’ll come to me if you need anything . . . anything at all.”

The undercurrent of yearning I felt for him then was different than any of the other pulls toward him I’d felt before. The desire to be with him was still there, but now I wanted more than that. I wanted to curl up in his arms just to rest my head, just to feel his comfort.

Heaven help me, but I wanted my professor to be my boyfriend.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

ERIC WAS SHUFFLING through papers, searching for something when I entered the auditorium on Wednesday. “Oh, Bliss, you’re early as always. That’s great. I seem to be missing my notes, so I’m going to run back upstairs to my office. Take a seat with Garrick and just relax for a moment.”

Despite the fact that I already had a part, I was a nervous wreck for these callbacks. What if everyone expected me to be perfect? What if my audition was totally a fluke? I watched Eric leave through the backstage door and wondered . . . What if he changed his mind?

I took a seat on the row below Garrick, wishing I’d gone and killed some time in the greenroom with the actors waiting and prepping for their second round of auditions. When he leaned down toward me, I said, “Hey . . . friend.”

I’d given up trying not to be awkward, and was just embracing it instead.

He laughed, which I guess was good. It certainly could have been worse. He said, “Not quite believable, but A for effort.”

“Someone’s an easy grader.”

“Someone just has a soft spot where you are concerned.” He was leaning down towards me and even though his face was a good foot away from me, I swear I felt those words like he’d whispered them into my ear. “Sorry,” he replied almost immediately. “Sometimes I just forget.”

I said, “Me too.” But that was a lie. I never really forgot. I wanted to. I wished that I could forget about the miles separating us, and just let myself be there, only a foot away, but I couldn’t. He cleared his throat, and this time I wasn’t imagining his closeness, he was inches from my ear.

“I have to ask you something.”

“Okay,” came my breathy reply.

“Cade.”

I turned, confused, and immediately leaned back because I’d brought our faces too close together.

“That’s not a question.”

“You’re still with him?”

“With him?”

“I just—I can’t tell. You still sit together in class, but it’s different now. So, I thought maybe you two had broken it off.”

He thought Cade and I were dating? How freaking oblivious was I? The whole world apparently noticed my best friend’s feelings for me. So much for being like Nancy Drew, I was clearly the Shaggy and Scooby Doo of this scenario.

“There was nothing to break off,” I told him.

“What?”

“Yes! Cade and I aren’t together. We never have been.” His eyes were wide, and his head tilted in that way that said he didn’t believe me. “Is that what you’ve thought this whole time? That I cheated on him with you?”

Oh, my God. The guy I may or may not have been falling for thought I was a slut. Could things be any more screwed up?

His head was shaking back and forth, but I wasn’t sure if that was a no or just him trying to puzzle this out. “I don’t know what I thought. You’re always together, and he touches you, he’s always touching you. Believe me, I’ve noticed. I’d just assumed that was why . . . well, why you ran out that night.”

“I didn’t run out because of Cade. I had to get my cat . . .”

“Bliss, I’m not an idiot.”

God, this was it. Somehow, I thought I’d gotten away with that horrible excuse. I mean, obviously, it hadn’t completely put him off like I’d originally thought. But he’d always known it was excuse, he just had the reason wrong. And I couldn’t let him know the real reason, not now, not here in this theatre where we were supposed to be professional (though I’m fairly certain professional had already been kicked to the curb).

“I have a cat! I do!” Damn it . . . why couldn’t I ever remember my imaginary cat’s gender? “ Um . . . she’s gray and adorable and her name is . . . “ I said the first thing that popped into my head, “Hamlet.”

I was a genius. I couldn’t even invent a girl cat with a girl name. It’s like there was this bridge in my brain between the rational and the absurd, and somehow I had burned it.

“You have a cat named Hamlet?”

“I do.” Kill me now. “I definitely, definitely do.”

That was it. I was going to have to get a cat.

“Fine. So, if you’re not dating Cade, what’s going on between the two of you?”

I could feel heat leeching into the skin of my neck. “Nothing.”

“You are a terrible liar.”

I was a terrible liar. My ears probably looked like I’d spent an hour in a tanning bed. “It’s nothing. It’s just something that happened Friday when I was . . . how do you British people say it? Pissed? Sloshed?”

He sat back away from me, but left his hands clenched on the back of my seat. “Did you sleep with him?”

“What? No!”

He didn’t lean back toward me, but his grip on the chair loosened. One of his knuckles brushed against my arm. “Good.”

“Garrick . . .” He was going to that place we weren’t supposed to go.

He smiled cheekily. “What? Just because I can’t have you right now, doesn’t mean I’m okay with him having you.”

My brain tripped over that right now phrase again, but I forced my thoughts away from it. “I’m going to pretend you didn’t just refer to me like property to be owned.”

“Can’t we own each other?”

If brains could have orgasms, I’m pretty sure this was what it would feel like. I shouldn’t like it, but there was possessiveness in his words that was echoed in his dark eyes, and it sent shivers down my spine until my fingers felt numb with their emptiness. I couldn’t answer his question, so I asked my own. “What has gotten in to you? I thought you promised me we wouldn’t do this again.”

He pulled his hands through his hair, his curls sticking out in adorable ways that made my stomach flip-flop.

“I don’t know. I just . . . I’ve been going crazy thinking about the two of you together.”

“We kissed. Nothing else.”

He flinched back like I’d said Cade and I were getting married and having a houseful of children. I couldn’t look at his face. It made me want to do insane things. I repeated myself, “It was just a kiss. It didn’t mean anything.”

“I don’t want anyone else to kiss you.”

“Garrick . . .” I was starting to hate the warning tone in my own voice. If he kept pushing like this, I wouldn’t be able to say no much longer. I was going to throw myself at him, most likely just in time for Eric to walk back in.

“I know I’m not being fair. I’m being a right bastard, actually. I keep telling myself to leave you alone, but the truth is . . . I’m not sure I can. And now that I know you’re not with Cade . . .”

“What are you saying?”

The backstage door creaked, and I realized how close we were. My heart thrumming like a plucked guitar string, I moved over a few seats seconds before Eric re-entered the space.

He held up his notebook triumphantly. “Got it! And I brought down a real script for you, Bliss, so you don’t have to use the sides.”

I fought to calm my heart when Eric handed me the play.

Don’t look at Garrick. Don’t look at him.

It didn’t matter . . . I was hyper aware of him. Even if I moved several rows away from him, I was certain I would know every time he shifted or breathed or looked at me.

The small book felt good in my hands, still warm from Eric’s grip, and I had to resist the urge to begin pouring over the words that very second to distract me from Garrick. The Stage Manager, Alyssa, who was a year younger than me, came in the room to announce that we were ready to begin whenever Eric was.

He nodded the go ahead, and then turned to me. “Bliss, we’re starting with Hippolytus. I’m going to have them perform their monologues one more time, then I’ll have you jump up there. Just stick with what you were doing in your monologue. Play the objective—you want him, but your shame, your fear is your own obstacle.“

I glanced at Garrick. Should be simple enough.

Alyssa came back in, Jeremy walking calmly in her wake. She took a seat at the tech table, and he stood center stage, his shoulders back, his chin up.

He looked good. I smiled in pride at him. Our little sophomore.

“Hi Jeremy. I’d like to start by seeing your monologue one more time, just to get things going. Then we’ll see how you do with Bliss.”

Jeremy cleared his throat. Paused for a moment.

I loved that moment before. It was the height of anticipation and hope. It was like diving off a cliff, knowing what would come after was terrifying and beautiful and the point of living. That moment . . . it was addicting.

I have let myself run on too far.

I see my reason has given way to violence.

There was desperation in Jeremy’s performance as he began, but he sounded young. He looked young. When he spoke, his words and his emotions came rushing out. Like once he’d begun his confession of love for Aricia, there was no stopping the outpour.

My soul, so proud, is finally dependant.

For more than six months, desperate, ashamed,

Bearing throughout the wound with which I’m maimed,

I steeled myself towards you, and myself, in vain . . .

I hadn’t realized until then that both Hippolytus and Phaedra were in love and ashamed—Phaedra because of whom she loved, and Hippolytus because he loved at all. I could see the shame in Jeremy’s performance, eating away at him, and I wondered if that’s what I looked like in my audition . . . if that’s what I looked like every time I thought of Garrick.

Present, I flee you: absent, I find you again.

Garrick’s eyes were on Jeremy, glancing back occasionally at the notes he was writing on the notepad in his lap. That last line was echoing through my head like music, a melody that gets stuck and won’t give you any rest.

Present, I fled him. But no matter the distance between us, I kept coming back to him. It all kept coming back to him.

Eric stood from his spot and said, “Good. Good. Let’s see you with Bliss.”

I tore my eyes from Garrick, and fumbled for the script. I walked toward the stage, my knees a bit weak, and my feet somewhat numb.

As much as I loved Jeremy, it was clear to me within minutes that he was not Hippolytus. For one, he was not the heroic, handsome young man who could turn Phaedra’s heart so inside out. He was more of a boy. He had the passion, but sometimes even that wasn’t enough.

We moved through two more boys who were also lacking—both in confidence. Those auditions went quickly.

Then it was Cade’s turn.

I’d always thought Cade’s best asset was his voice. On stage, it took on this low rumble that no matter the volume held power. And with a play that was so much about the text and the lyricism in the lines—his voice was perfect. It was always hard to read Eric’s face, but he definitely looked happier with Cade than he had the previous two auditions.

When things fell apart was when Cade and I took the stage together. We were doing the scene where Phaedra first reveals her feelings to Hippolytus. They were speaking of the death of Theseus—Phaedra’s husband and Hippolytus’s father. Hippolytus had never liked his stepmother. He didn’t know that she’d treated him poorly, so that she might more easily keep her distance because she’d loved him even before Theseus supposedly died.

We did fine through the section about Theseus’s death, but I was barely halfway through my monologue where I declared my feelings when Eric came out of the house and onto the stage.

“Stop, stop. Cade, what are you doing?”

Cade looked stunned, and maybe on the verge of being sick. “I’m sorry?”

“You despise her. As the revelation of her feelings dawns on you, you should be horrified, disgusted, even angry.”

“Of course, sir.”

“So then why do you look like a love sick puppy who returns her affections?”

As if I weren’t channeling enough guilt already for this performance, I felt the weight of my own guilt added. This was my fault. This wasn’t about the play. It was about me. He’d kept his feelings under wraps for so long, but I’d noticed ever since that party, since I’d kissed him, it had all been closer to the surface. He wore his hope like a winter coat, layered over the top of all of him.

I didn’t look at him as he and Eric spoke, because I was not sure I could keep the pity out of my face, and he would hate seeing that. So, I looked at Garrick instead. His face was drawn. Even though he was about fifteen feet from me, I felt like I was seeing him from far away. He only looked at me for a moment longer, before his gaze skipped to Cade, and his frown deepened. After a few seconds, he met my eyes again, and held me there with his stare. There was something different in this look, something changed, something that set my heart beating faster and the hair prickling on the surface of my skin.

Cade and I finished our scene without incident. It wasn’t the strongest performance he could have given, but I thought it was still the best so far. Though I was biased, I guess. I should have been happy that my friend had trouble even acting disgusted with me. But in the back of my mind, a thought was planted, its roots digging deeper despite my attempts to push it away.

If he knew the real reason I’d said maybe . . . if he knew what was keeping us apart, he probably wouldn’t have any trouble despising me.

I was a little unfocused through the next callback. So much so that Eric decided it was time to give me a break. Needing the fresh air, I slipped out the Emergency Exit (which was never alarmed), and I knew before I heard the door creak open again behind me that Garrick would follow.

“You’re doing well,” he said.

I blew out a quick breath. It might have been a laugh, if I’d had more energy. “Yeah, that’s why you’re out here trying to make me feel better.”

“My reasons for being out here are entirely selfish.”

I kept thinking I would get used to him saying things like that, his directness.

I never did.

“You were right. You are acting like a right bastard.”

What little heat there was in my words left when he grinned.

He walked around the side of me, staring out at some distant point on the campus. “I keep thinking that this play is a sign. It’s so much like us.”

“Am I the lust-filled mother in this situation or you?”

His eyes came back to me, dipping and scanning the curves and lines of my body. “Oh, that’s definitely me,” he answered. “Phaedra keeps saying she’s being selfish. That she hates herself for it, but she does it anyway. She can’t deny herself what she wants, even if it brings about her downfall and his.”

“And have you learned anything from our literary parallel?”

“Not really. I keep thinking that she would do it all over again if there were a chance . . . a chance that it could go right. Even if 99 times out of a 100 the story ends badly, it’s worth it if only once she gets a happy ending.”

“Listen, Garrick, while this parallel you’re drawing is lovely, especially with that accent, I’m a little tired of the metaphors, and being compared to doomed love stories. Just say what you want to say. I’ve been puzzling out ancient text all night. I don’t want to have to decipher you, too.”

“I’m saying that I was wrong.” He took a step closer, and my exhaustion fled, replaced with electricity under my skin. “I’m saying I like you. I’m saying I don’t give a damn that I’m your teacher.”

Then he kissed me.

I pushed him back before my heart and mind got swept away. The pleasure hit me after the kiss was already over, so that it felt like an echo. And even though I was the one who pushed him away, I missed him.

“Garrick, this is crazy.”

“I like crazy.”

The question was . . . did I? This was the craziest thing I’d ever done, and it both terrified and excited me. I backed away, needing the distance to think, to wrap my brain around the insanity. There were so many ways for this to go badly. But then again for the first time ever, I found my own life more interesting than the story of a character on a page. And God, did I want to know the ending.

And hadn’t Eric said I was better when I made bold choices. He’d been talking about acting, but didn’t it hold true for life, too?

Garrick’s hand brushed across my forehead, then pushed back into my hair.

“Just think about it.”

Oh, I would think about it. It would likely be all I could think about.

He pressed a quick, barely there kiss to my forehead and left me outside, my thoughts in a jumble and my heart a mess.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

“WHY IN THE world would you want a cat?” Kelsey asked as we left Directing the next day.

“I just do, okay? Do you want to come or not?”

She shrugged. “Can’t. Sorry. I’ve got work. Just take Cade.”

As if he’d been summoned, Cade popped up between us, and I wondered how long he’d been listening to our conversation.

“Take me where?”

I said, “I’m going to the humane society to get a cat.”

“Oh. Cool,” he said, nodding. “I wish I weren’t living in the dorms. I’d love to have a dog.”

I was aware of the careful space he kept between us, and the near continuous bobbing of his head, like the nodding had given him something to do, and he didn’t want to give it up.

Kelsey pulled her sunglasses down off her head and over her eyes even though we were still indoors. “Well, as fun as this is . . . I’ve got to jet. You two have fun at the pound. Don’t come home a cat lady, Bliss.” Kelsey was oblivious to the panicked look I’d shot at her. Cade and I hadn’t really been alone since the whole maybe conversation. He switched his messenger bag to his other shoulder, fidgeting like he always did when he was nervous.

“If you want to go alone—it’s cool.”

“No, no. You should come.” We had to get over this. And I only saw two ways—we got together or we didn’t. The waiting was going to kill our relationship (it was already pretty maimed). If we had to have this conversation, around cute animals was probably the best place.

“Ok. Cool,” he said.

Cool . . . yeah.

I was glad to be the one driving. It gave me a way to occupy my body and my mind. And it was my car, so I could turn the music up as loud as I wanted. What I hadn’t counted on was Cade being at home enough in my car to turn it down.

“So, what made you decide to get a cat?”

Oh, you know. I nearly had a one-night stand with our professor, but ran away using my imaginary cat as an excuse, and now he might want us to be together together even though it’s the worst idea ever, but I kind of don’t care either, because my body and probably my heart are telling me it’s the best idea ever. So now I need a cat so he won’t realize I was lying about the cat because I’m a virgin and chickened out of having sex with him.

“Just wanted one,” was what I actually answered.

“Oh. Cool.”

If he said, “cool” one more time I was going to scream.

I pulled into the humane society parking lot, wishing I had told Cade I wanted to go alone after all.

I needed something fuzzy and adorable in my hands, stat.

We stepped inside to that distinct medicated smell that’s reserved for pounds and veterinarians. The lady at the front desk even looked vaguely feline, like working here was in her DNA. Her face was slightly pointed, her eyes tilted, and her hair short and fuzzy.

“Hello there! How can I help you?”

“Hi,” I said. “I’m interested in adopting a cat.”

She clapped tiny hands that I envisioned as paws. “That’s fantastic. We have plenty of great candidates. Why don’t I take you back to the cat room, and I’ll give you two a chance to look around.”

We followed her down the hall, that antiseptic smell growing stronger, no doubt covering the odor of a multitude of animals housed in one place.

“Here we are.”

The room was stacked with cages, and I don’t know if the chorus of meows began at our entrance or if it was constant, but we were surrounded by sound.

“I’ll leave you two alone. All we ask is that you only have one animal out at a time.” With a wide, Cheshire smile and a wave, she left.

In silence, I peeked into cages, feeling lost.

I liked cats, but I wasn’t sure I actually wanted one. What would I do with it when I graduated? Was it worth it for a boy? Was it worth it just to have sex? I mean, it’s not like there weren’t other options for losing my virginity.

I looked at Cade, who had his fingers slipped inside a nearby cage, petting a midnight black cat.

If I was honest, this wasn’t just about having sex, even if it had started that way. As much as I wanted Garrick, I’m pretty sure if I tried to sleep with him again, it would turn into a repeat of my first awkward performance.

“You know what?” I said out loud. “Maybe I’m not ready for a cat.”

I turned to leave, but Cade stepped in my way.

“Whoa. Wishy-washy, much? You haven’t even held one. Give it a chance.”

He opened the cage with the black cat and pulled it into his arms. He brought it toward me, rubbing at the cat’s jaw. I was eye level with the furball, and I could hear the engine roar of his purrs from here.

I took a step back, and tried to explain without really explaining. “It’s not that I don’t like cats. And really, I think I would enjoy having . . . a cat. But what if I get a cat before I’m ready? What if I choose the wrong cat? Or what if I’m bad at it . . . being a cat owner, I mean?”

God, how much easier would this be if I could say what I was really thinking?

Cade rolled his eyes, and pushed the animal into my arms. “Bliss, you couldn’t be bad at this if you tried.”

I could be bad at sex though. Knowing my over-active, neurotic brain—I could be completely awful at it.

The cat reached up and rubbed the top of its head against my chin. It was pretty adorable. Cade was beaming at me, and I thought . . . maybe Cade would be the better choice. Would I be so terrified of sex if I were having it with Cade?

The thought made me feel shaky, unsteady.

I passed the cat back into his arms, still unsure, but feeling a little calmer. I came to the line of cages, and searched for a gray one that could pass for a Hamlet. When I found her, Fate must have been laughing at me. She was hunkered down in the back of her cage, her large green eyes wary. I pulled the cage door open, and she replied with a guttural growl.

Of course . . . I would get the scary cat.

Over my shoulder, Cade said, “You’re not serious.”

If only I weren’t. But I’d told Garrick that Hamlet was gray.

“Sometimes, it’s the scary things in life that are the most worthwhile.” I told him. I’m pretty sure I’d read that in a fortune cookie once upon a time. That made it wise, right?

I reached my hands into the cage, prepped for a bite or a scratch or full on massacre, but as my hands circled around the middle of the beast, she reacted only with a low groan.

Cade shook his head, confused. “Why wouldn’t you want this one?” He pulled the black cat up close to his face. “He’s so sweet!”

In contrast, the cat in my arms was on full alert—her legs straight, eyes wide. I had a feeling if I tried to hold her any closer, she would maul me. I sat her down on the ground and she took off, hiding beneath a nearby bench.

I knew he was only asking about the cat, but I heard another question. One he hadn’t asked, not today anyway. And Cade was sweet, and the thought of being with him didn’t leave me immobilized with fear. The thought of being with him didn’t leave me with any overpowering emotion, actually.

That’s when I knew—

“Cade . . . I need to take back my maybe.”

I swear even the cats stopped their meowing. I could imagine their stunned silence. I wondered what cat-speak was for Oh, no she didn’t.

“Oh.”

I wished he would react—scream, argue, anything. I waited for him to lock up like that cat, claws out, teeth bared. Instead, he walked calmly away and placed the black cat carefully in his cage, probably so we wouldn’t have more than one cat out at once like the lady said. That was Cade, always thinking about the rules. That’s how I’d always been, too, but I was starting to think it wasn’t how I wanted to be now.

His movement was mechanical, simple, precise. He pulled the cage door closed and turned the latch with a sharp snap. He kept his back to me as he spoke.

“Am I allowed to ask why?”

I breathed out. I owed him that much, but how could I tell him this? He couldn’t know. If I was going to do this thing with Garrick (which who was I kidding? I probably was), then no one could know. Not even my best friends.

“I . . . there might be someone else.”

“Might be?”

This was stick-your-hand-into-a-blender-terrible. He wouldn’t look at me, and the heart in my chest felt paper thin, like tissue paper, which meant I was pretty damn close to heartless, doing this to my best friend.

“Things are still a little . . . complex. But I like him, a lot. I was going to wait it out, see if the feelings went away, so that maybe you and I could . . .” I trailed off, not wanting to put into words what I’d been thinking. There was no point. “But Cade, I can’t handle how things have been. It’s been less than a week, and I feel like I’m dying. I hate questioning everything I do around you, wondering if it’s okay, wondering if it crosses a line, wondering if I’m hurting you. I miss my best friend, even when I’m standing right beside you. So . . . I had to make a choice. And I need you in my life too much to screw us up. If I’d told you yes, and then my feelings for him didn’t go away . . . I couldn’t do that. Please tell me I haven’t screwed this up already. Please, please.”

He turned then, and I was startled by the hurt I saw in him. Cade’s face looked foreign with a frown. “I want to say we’re okay, Bliss. I need you, too. But I can’t pretend I wasn’t hoping this would go somewhere. I don’t know if I can do it. The truth is . . . you are hurting me. Not on purpose, I know that. But I love you and every second that you don’t love me back . . . it hurts.”

“Cade—“ I reached for him.

“Don’t, please. I can’t.”

The medicated smell of the shelter was suddenly overpowering, nauseating.

I asked, “Can’t what? Can’t be my friend?”

“I don’t know, Bliss. I just don’t know. Maybe.” The hint of bitterness in his tone was small, but it struck me like a slap across the face anyway. He walked out the door, and I sunk down on the bench, feeling frayed and burnt and bruised. My tissue paper heart was shredded.

I sat there, trying to puzzle out a way that I could have done this better. Was there any possible path I could have taken that wouldn’t have fucked this up so completely? Would telling him no straight out have been better? Should I have waited until the year was over and Garrick had left, and then tried to have something with Cade?

My mother had told me once when I was little and had a friendship fall apart that some relationships just end. Like a star, they burn bright and brilliant, and then nothing in particular goes wrong, they just reach their end. They burn out.

I couldn’t fathom my friendship with Cade being over.

Something nudged at my calf, and then the gray cat’s head poked between my legs. She pulled her whole body through the space between my limbs, rubbing against me as she went. She circled back and pressed her head against my shin. I reached a hand down, and she froze, flattening against the floor in fear. Slower, I moved until my hand pressed against her back, sliding along her fur in one smooth stroke. Her body relaxed, and I petted her again.

I eased myself down on the floor beside her. She locked up again, but she didn’t run. When I was certain she was comfortable with me, I picked her up in my arms. I pressed my face against her fur, absorbing the comfort she didn’t realize she was giving.

“Let’s make a deal, Hamlet. I’ll help you be less afraid, if you help me, too.”

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

BY THE TIME I had filled out the necessary paperwork, and had Hamlet housed inside a cheap cardboard cat carrier, nearly thirty minutes had passed since Cade had walked out to my car. Standing in the parking lot, I couldn’t find him anywhere.

I pulled out my phone, no text.

I looked on my windshield, no note.

I called his phone, no answer.

I called his phone again, straight to voicemail.

By the beep, I was crying.

“Cade, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I don’t know how to make this better. I Just want us to be how we’ve always been. God, that’s stupid. I know we can’t be. I know things can’t be how they were before, but . . . I don’t know. Nevermind. Just . . . let me know you’re okay. You’re not at my car, and I don’t know how you got home, if you got home. Just call me. Please. Let’s talk about this.”

A few minutes later, I was sitting beside my car in the gravel, my jeans smeared with dust, and I got a text.

I’m fine.

I tried to call again, straight to voicemail again.

And as hard as I tried to feel otherwise, as hard as I tried to hope that we’d get past this . . . I already felt it. I felt burnt out.

Maybe it was the grief. Maybe I’d just finally gone crazy. Maybe I just didn’t have anywhere else to go. But when I got back to my apartment complex, I didn’t go to my apartment.

Hamlet in hand, I went to Garrick’s.

I don’t know what I looked like when he opened the door. I don’t really want to know. But he opened the door wider almost instantly, gesturing me in with no questions asked.

I’d never been in his apartment. I should have taken it all in or asked him to show me around. I should have said something, but the only thing on the tip of my tongue was a sob, and it took all of my energy, all of my concentration to hold that inside.

But even that wasn’t enough when his fingers tilted my chin up. He spoke my name, and I saw the worried look in those eyes. The tears streamed out of me like a cup overflowing, and I couldn’t control it, couldn’t breathe right, couldn’t explain.

He took Hamlet’s box out of my hands and wrapped an arm around my shoulder. He led me down a hallway almost identical to mine into a living room that was vastly different. It was filled with books, some in shelves, some in stacks on the floor. The furniture was simple, slightly modern, but not so modern that I hesitated to sink into the cushions of the black couch, snatching up a white pillow to hug to my chest. Then Garrick was beside me, pulling the soft pillow out of my hands, and replacing its comfort with himself. He pulled me into his lap, cradling me like a child, wiping away tears, brushing back my hair, rubbing at my back.

“He hates me,” I finally managed. He hadn’t asked, but his concern tugged at me anyway, tugged the words right from my mouth.

“Who does, love?”

Quick, short breaths puttered from my lips, little whimpers that I couldn’t seem to control.

“C-Cade.”

“Cade could never hate you,” he said.

“He does. He left. He won’t even talk to me.” I dissolved into another fit of tears, and he just pulled me in close, tucking my head underneath his chin, against his chest.

He let me cry, murmuring things all the while. You’ll be okay, love. Things will work out. Calm down. Breathe, Bliss. I’m here. It will be okay. Whatever it is we’ll take care of it. It’s okay, love.

He must have whispered a thousand variations. But he never stopped trying, no matter how much I wasn’t hearing him. When I was finished crying, I was too tired to do anything else. I lay limply against him, doing nothing but breathing in and breathing out. And he held me still. Finally, a noise broke through the fog. A low, annoyed groan.

Hamlet. I’d left Hamlet trapped in that box this whole time.

Filled with purpose, I sat up, clear headed again for the moment.

“I’m sorry, I need to take her home.” I was standing and reaching for her crate, when Garrick took me by the elbows.

“Stay, love. You’re upset. I’ll take care of the cat.”

No. I couldn’t let him do that. Because then he’d see that all the cat stuff I’d bought the night before was still brand new and unused.

“No, it’s okay. I really should go. I’m okay, now. Thanks.”

“Bliss, please, talk to me.”

My body was leaning toward him against my will, aching for his comfort again, but I hadn’t made a decision yet.

“I don’t know . . .”

“How about this—you go home and take care of the cat, and in a little while, I’ll bring dinner. We can talk or just watch a movie or whatever you need to do. I just . . . if you leave like this, I’ll go crazy worrying about you.”

After a moment, I nodded.

“Okay.”

“Really?”

“Yes, just give me an hour, okay?”

He smiled, and I knew . . . I was in trouble.

I WAS PRETTY sure my new cat hated me.

Not that I blamed her, after I left her in that box for so long.

No matter what I did, she let out that closed mouth growl every time I took a step anywhere near her. I set up food for her in the kitchen, which she ignored. I made a litter box and put it in a storage closet. I picked her up, and carried her to the box, placing her inside so she’d know where it was. She hissed once, and then ran, kicking up litter in her wake. She disappeared under my couch, only her glowing, evil eyes visible in the darkness.

Why hadn’t I told Garrick I had a cat named Lady Macbeth? That would have been so much more fitting.

For the rest of the time, I was left alone with my thoughts, which were about as pleasant as the Ebola virus. I straightened up the living room, then thought about running away. I straightened up my bedroom, then rushed to the bathroom, certain I was going to vomit. I didn’t. I almost wished I had. I could have said I was sick.

Before I really got the chance to talk my self into or out of this . . . there was a knock at the door.

My heart felt like someone was using it as a trampoline. I took a deep breath. I hadn’t promised him anything. He’d said we could talk. Or watch a movie. Or do whatever I wanted. This didn’t have to be a big deal.

When I opened the door, Garrick looked so cheerful that it was hard to keep dreading his presence.

“I forgot to ask what you wanted, so I got pizza, a burger, and a salad.” He was balancing all three in his hands, and I was all at once overwhelmed with how much I liked him. Not just in a romantic way. In general. He was kind of amazing.

I smiled, “Pizza is good.”

I moved back, and he stepped inside my apartment. As much as I was freaking out earlier, it felt natural to have him here. Not that I wasn’t still nervous, it was just . . . he felt like he belonged.

We made our way into my kitchen/living room, and he set the food on the small circular island that jutted out from my kitchen counter. I busied myself getting us both drinks and plates, and when there was nothing else I could distract myself with, I pulled out one of the barstools tucked underneath the island counter, and took a seat beside him. I pulled a slice of pizza on my plate, and he opened the salad.

I narrowed my eyes at him.

“You are not seriously going to sit there and eat a salad while I stuff my face with greasy goodness, are you?”

He dumped dressing on top of his lettuce and grinned. “Oh, I’m going to eat the burger, too. And some pizza, if you leave me any.”

I rolled my eyes. Guys sucked.

We talked. Not really about anything that mattered. He balked when I dipped my pizza in ranch. When I made him try it, he puckered his face up like it was gross, but I saw him dip a slice again later when I was up refilling my drink. It wasn’t until I was so full that I felt like I was going to burst that he brought up my earlier breakdown.

“So, can you tell me now what happened with Cade?”

I picked at the pepperoni on the half-eaten slice of pizza on my plate.

“We had a fight, I guess. I think. I’m not sure. We’ve never really had a fight before.”

“About?”

I pushed out the air I’d been holding in my lungs, and set about returning things to the fridge, and placing our plates in the sink.

“About the kiss.”

I could imagine Garrick’s reaction without seeing it, so I decided to go ahead and wash the dishes . . . by hand . . . even though I had a dishwasher.

“He likes me,” I continued. “He told me after the kiss, and we’ve been trying to act like nothing changed, but it was awful, and I just got tired of pretending things were normal.”

He appeared beside me, taking a plate, and drying it for me. He must have realized by now that it was easier for me to talk, when we weren’t looking at each other because he kept his eyes focused on the plate long after it was dry.

“So, what did you do?”

“I told him I didn’t think it was going to happen.”

“You weren’t even a little interested?” Garrick asked.

I didn’t think Garrick really wanted to hear this, but he was going to get what he asked for. I needed someone to vent to.

“I thought about it. Cade is sweet, and I like being with him, but he doesn’t really make me feel anything.”

He stopped staring the plate, and turned toward me, leaning his hip against the counter beside me.

“Do I make you feel anything?”

I glanced up at him just long enough to see if he was joking. He wasn’t. I looked away.

“That’s a stupid question.”

“Is it? You’re harder to read than you think you are.”

I dried my hands on a towel, and moved to the couch, pushing myself into a corner, and dragging a pillow into my lap.

“I’m serious,” Garrick continued. “Sometimes you react . . . like, well, how I want you to react. But then other times, like outside during callbacks, you push me away like you’re not affected by me the way I am by you.”

I squeezed the pillow tighter to my chest.

“I’m affected, Garrick. I’m just also confused . . . and worried. And I don’t understand why you aren’t.”

He took a seat on the opposite side of the couch, the entire middle cushion separating us.

“I think that’s all I do is worry,” he said

“And you still think this is smart?”

He shook his head, laughing. “Oh, it’s definitely not smart. I know that. But honestly, Bliss? I’m miserable here. It’s great to have a steady job, and I’m enjoying teaching, but I don’t have any friends left here. I go to work, and then I go back to my apartment. And I think about you because I can’t help it, and there’s nothing else to distract me. Especially when I know you are only one building away. The night we met . . . Bliss, I don’t normally do things like that. But I was second-guessing everything about coming here, and you were everything I needed. I don’t know how many times I’ve stopped myself from coming over here and knocking on your door. And yes, seeing you with Cade was definitely motivation, but more than that . . . I just like you, Bliss. As a teacher. As a person. As a guy.”

It was hard to keep my breathing steady, hard to keep the longing from showing on my face, hard to keep from reaching for him.

“So, what now?” I asked him.

“I have absolutely no idea.”

I had so many ideas. That was the problem.

“If we do this . . .” I started, and then stopped. His entire posture had changed, and I felt it echoed in my own. We were about to cross a line, and we both knew it. “If we do this, we have to be careful.” He nodded, his eyes fixed on me. “And I think we should take it slow. If we get caught up in this too fast, we’ll get sloppy.” And I needed more time to think about this, about sex with him, and whether it was something I wanted to do.

I wasn’t sure slow was something we could do, but it was the only way I could do this without freaking out. Who was I kidding? I was going to freak out regardless. The difference was whether it was a feel-like-I’m-going-to-be-sick-freak-out or a lock-myself-in-my-apartment-for-a-week-freak-out.

“Okay,” Garrick slid closer to me on the couch, halfway on to the middle cushion. “I can do careful . . . and slow.”

My skin was invaded with goose bumps when he reached a hand out to me. I let myself be afraid for a second, but then the need to touch him overpowered even my fear. I pushed the pillow out of my lap, and slid toward him. I put my hand in his, and he pulled it up to his mouth, holding it there against his lips. He closed his eyes, and the simple touch soaked into my body, soothing my anxiety.

Like a key into a lock, my body fell into his, fitting perfectly. With my head on his chest, and his arm around my shoulder, I took a deep breath and knew there was no going back.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

THE EASINESS OF the night before evaporated by Friday morning. Cade wasn’t mad per se, but he wasn’t much of anything really. He didn’t talk to me in the greenroom or sit by me in class. When I joined a conversation, he left it. I was a habit, and he appeared to be quitting cold turkey.

Garrick’s gentle smile in Senior Prep helped. We’d commandeered the computers in the Design lab for the day to do post-grad research. Some were researching graduate schools, others scouring for internships. Kelsey was looking at airline tickets and hostels in random cities around the world.

I was looking at the search engine homepage.

Hands curled around the back of my chair, and Garrick’s body leaned in close to mine. The proximity was altogether distracting.

“What are you thinking, Bliss?”

I should have said, you. Naked. That would have shocked him. Not that I was actually thinking of him naked . . . well, now that I mentioned it I was . . . damn.

Like I said, distracting.

I shook my head, because I didn’t have an answer, not one I could say out loud. He stepped around me and leaned on the table, looking at me.

“Acting or Stage Management?” The gaze he fixed on me felt too personal in this room full of my classmates, even if none of them were looking, well, other than Kelsey. She watched pretty much any time Garrick talked to me, which reminded me that we had to be careful.

“I don’t know,” I muttered.

“Okay, well what about a city? You can start looking at apartments. That’s certainly something you’ve got to think about, especially if you’re going to New York.”

I stared at the search engine box. It was taunting me.

“I can’t afford New York,” I told him.

“That’s okay. Most people can’t. There are plenty of regional markets to consider. Philadelphia.” I jerked around to face him. Was he telling me to look at Philadelphia? Where he lived? Was he trying to tell me something or was I reading too far into this. His face was blank as he continued, “Dallas and Houston both have a fair amount of work. Chicago. Seattle. Boston. D.C. There’s plenty to choose from, actually.” I turned back toward my computer, my heart still beating a little too fast. I was definitely reading into this. It wasn’t like we were serious. We’d spent the evening cuddled on my couch. That didn’t mean we were together or that I was ready to move halfway across the country with him.

“Just explore. Look up something,” He said before leaving me to continue walking around the room.

I placed my fingers on the keys, but they felt like lead, too weighted to move. I stared at the key with the letter “P.” I could see Kelsey watching me out of the corner of my eye, and as curious as I was now about Philadelphia, I typed “Stage Management Internships” into the search engine.

Then I clicked from webpage to webpage, watching the clock in the corner of my screen, willing the numbers to change faster.

When class was over, my relief was short-lived.

The cast list had been posted.

I was still Phaedra, which was good. How embarrassing would it have been if Eric had changed his mind? Kelsey got Aphrodite like she wanted. Rusty did get a soldier, just like he’d predicted.

And Cade was Hippolytus.

I KNOCKED ON Garrick’s door that evening, nervous despite our agreement to take things slow. We hadn’t really talked about doing anything tonight, and despite our tenuous relationship, we’d yet to exchange numbers. So, I hoped I wasn’t being needy by seeking him out a second night in a row. Hamlet, definitely, was glad to have me out of the apartment. We still weren’t coexisting very well.

My worry eased when he opened the door and said, “Oh thank God. I’ve been thinking about coming round to your place for over an hour, but I was afraid I’d knock on the door and you’d have people over or something.”

I laughed.

“Maybe we should actually exchange numbers then.”

He said, “Are you going to put me in your phone under some secret code name so that no one knows who I am when I text you dirty things?”

My eyes widened. “Are you planning to text me dirty things?”

His eyes danced with amusement and that blinding grin was back on his face. “I’m not ruling it out.”

Oh. Oh. My nerves shot back up.

He took my hand, and pulled me into his living room where a book was open on his sofa. It was poetry, of course, because he was perfect, and woefully out of my league. He marked his page, and placed the collection on top of a pile of books at the edge of the sofa.

He reached and laced our fingers together in the space between us. I wanted to lean into him, wrap myself around him, and not move from his arms until I had to, but I still felt awkward. Were we in that place yet where we could just do that? Or did we have to work our way up to it?

“So . . . Cast list?” He asked.

I groaned and leaned my head back against his couch.

“It’s not that bad, is it?”

“That depends on whether or not Cade is speaking to me by the time rehearsal rolls around in two weeks.”

I didn’t have to worry about easing into it, because Garrick had no qualms about pulling me to him. My head fit perfectly onto the curve of his shoulder.

“Cade seems like a reasonable guy. I’m sure after a while to process everything, he’ll be better.”

I nodded, hoping he was right, but not feeling confident. Cade was reasonable. Trouble was . . . reason probably told him to stay the hell away from me if he didn’t want his heart stomped on. And maybe that would be for the best.

He deserved someone better.

“All right,” Garrick said. “Enough about that. I don’t like that sad look on your face. Unfortunately our options for the evening are limited, since we can’t actually go anywhere. So how about a movie?”

I pulled a smile onto my face. When he smiled back it took less effort to hold it there. “A movie sounds good.”

He picked something funny, probably in an effort to cheer me up. Then he flicked off the lights, and joined me again on the couch. As the opening credits began, He leaned back, pulling me with him. He was stretched out on his back, and I was on my side, fitted between him and the back of the couch. I hesitated a moment before laying my head against his chest.

I tried to watch the movie, I really did, but it was hard to concentrate with his steady, even breaths ruffling my hair, and his hand tracing up and down my spine. It was somewhere between ticklish and seductive. I was hyper aware of the way every once and a while, his finger would continue a little farther down my back, until he barely touched the stretch of skin between the bottom of my shirt and the top of my shorts. He would stay there for only the barest of seconds before returning up my back. Then his finger danced up to the sensitive skin at the back of my neck, and I had to hold back a moan. I glanced up at him quickly, but he was focused on the movie, completely unaware of the madness he was driving me to.

Finally, I decided it was time for him to get a dose of what I was feeling. I uncurled the fist I had resting on his chest, pressing my fingertips ever so slightly into his chest. I started by tracing the abstract design on his t-shirt, something from a band, I think. But once I’d done that I kept trailing my hands across his chest, across the curve of one pec, down the sternum to his ridged stomach, back up his chest to the muscles stretching from his shoulder to his bicep. When my hand took one of his moves, barely tracing along the hem of his t-shirt, his hand on my back stilled.

Somehow, the stillness set me even more on edge.

Feeling a little brave, I went back to the hem, pushing my fingers up and under his shirt, using my fingernails to draw the barest of touches across his skin. The hand on my back moved, sliding up past my neck and into my hair. I flattened my hand, pressing my palm against his warm skin. The hand in my hair tightened, not enough to hurt, but just enough so that he could use it to tilt my head backward slightly.

He gazed at me, no trace of teasing grin, his blue eyes appearing black in the darkened room. His eyes danced around my face, flicking most frequently between my eyes and my lips. The anticipation was killing me, and I dug my fingers into his skin. His breathing wasn’t so steady anymore, but he still only looked at me. I licked my lips, and his gaze stayed there longer, so long that heat was pooling between my legs just because of the anticipation alone, and I squirmed trying to relieve the pressure.

When I lifted one of my legs, curling it around his own, finally, he took action.

The hand in my hair pulled me forward, and he met me halfway.

All of the anticipation of the last ten minutes focused into the point where our lips met. The connection was too small to bring to mind fireworks, but it was something close, like the excitement of holding a sparkler— the rush of feeling the sparks creep closer to your hand.

His mouth stayed closed, and even though I’d tasted him several times before, the mystery was killing me.

It felt like a first kiss.

He pulled back, and pressed his forehead against mine.

“Thank you,” he said.

Thank you? Was that like a thanks, but no thanks? Thanks, but I’m watching a movie, leave me alone?

“For?”

“For giving this a chance. I know you were, probably are, afraid. But you’ve made my life immensely better already.”

I don’t know if it was being an actor that made him so honest, so unafraid of being vulnerable, or if it was just who he was. I wished I could do the same, but that wasn’t who I was.

“Can I ask you a question?”

His hand in my hair trailed across my jaw.

“Of course,” he answered.

“Why did you take this job? Not that I’m not glad you are here, but you said yourself you were miserable.”

“I was . . . not anymore.” He leaned back in and kissed me again, humming as he pressed his lips against mine. It did not slip my notice that he hadn’t answered my question, but I didn’t care enough about the answer to stop kissing him, especially when his mouth finally opened, and I tasted sweet and mint and his breath mixed with mine.

His tongue slid against mine, and my hand beneath his shirt came back to life, curling around his side, pulling closer until my pelvis pressed into his hip. The kiss was leisurely and divine, but too slow, slow, slow.

I wanted more. I wanted our bodies flush, I wanted our lips crushed together, not softly teasing. I didn’t want to lose the contact with his skin, but I wanted to take control. My other hand was trapped beneath me, propping me up on my side. So I slipped my hand out of his shirt, and placed it on his face instead. I pulled him closer, trying to change the pace.

He allowed it for a moment, our lips moving faster, breath escaping as our heads tilted and our mouths battled. And God, it was good. I kept pulling, not satisfied, not close enough, until he angled up and rolled onto his side to face me. A sigh of success escaped me, then he took the hand I had on his face, and pulled it away, away, until it was trapped behind me, held there, pressed into my lower back by his hand.

Then again, he leaned back, changing the pace, brushing against my lips, slowly, softly. It was maddening. I tried leaning into him, but he held strong, pinning me back, taking his time. I groaned in frustration.

And he smiled.

“What is it, love?”

Any number of words could have come out of my mouth, some of them incoherent, most of them not very nice. Luckily, the ones I managed were exactly what I meant.

“Too slow,” I whined.

I was actually whining.

“I told you I could do slow,” He said.

“You jerk.” That was actually one of the nicer words going through my head. He didn’t even have the decency to be worried. He just laughed. I squirmed, trying to pull my arm free, and he appeased me with a kiss, this one a little harder, a little more satisfying than the last. And just when I was forgetting why I’d been so frustrated before, he pulled back again.

It was absurd, but I actually felt like I might cry. His lips trailed along my jaw to that spot below my ear that made every taut muscle in my body go limp.

“I wasn’t trying to be smart,” he whispered. “I’m trying to give you what you want. It’s hard when I let myself go, when I kiss you how I want to. Because all I can think about then is how your skin tastes, and how much I want to taste it again.” His mouth burned against my neck. His teeth grazed against me, and on impulse, my hips surged forward, just barely making contact with him. He groaned in response, his whispers turning gruff, losing their softness. “I remember the weight of your breast in my hand, and the way you reacted to my fingers inside you.” I bit my lip against the whimper building in my throat. I wanted his hands on me. I wanted our clothes off. “I think about having your body beneath me. I think about being inside you. I think about it, and it consumes me. And going slow is the very last thing to cross my mind.”

I lost it. I couldn’t hold in the whimper, and I felt like I was going to fall apart from his words alone.

“So, I have to kiss you slowly. Unless you’ve changed your mind. Have you? Changed your mind?”

YES! Please, oh God, yes.

This was like torture.

But reason unfurled in the back of my mind, taking over, keeping me grounded. What if we tried to have sex and I chickened out again and I ruined everything?

“No, I haven’t changed my mind,” I said. Then added, “You jerk,” because that was torture, and by the smile on his face, he knew it.

“Hmmm . . . then slow it is.”

CHAPTER NINETEEN

I WAS STILL a little angry with Garrick when I left that night, but when he walked me to my door, and asked what I was doing the next day, I wasn’t angry enough to blow him off. Cade wasn’t speaking to me, and I hadn’t heard from Kelsey, so I told him I was free, and we made plans for dinner at my place.

I slept in until noon, my bed too comfortable for me to pry myself out of it. Then I distracted myself with an extra long shower, followed by homework, then a book. When I checked the clock, it was still only 3 P.M.

I grabbed my computer, and searched, “Philadelphia Theatre.”

I found a theatre alliance website that gave info on a bunch of theatres in the city, as well as job postings and auditions. I clicked through, seeing what shows were currently running where, reading job descriptions, and bookmarking a few pages.

My cell rang, but it sounded far off. I tried following the sound, but the ringing ended before I was able to narrow it down further than the living room. Luckily, whoever was calling was persistent, and called again a few moments later. It was definitely somewhere near the couch. I pulled back cushions, but found nothing. I checked under papers and books, still nothing. Finally, I dropped to the ground and peered under the couch. There it was, lighting up the dusty darkness beneath my furniture. And right beside it, glaring at me, was Hamlet.

That brief interlude of sweetness I’d seen from her at the shelter had yet to make another appearance. And I had no doubt that she’d somehow dragged my phone underneath there to spite me.

“Listen, cat, I don’t know why you hate me so much, but you must have missed the memo. I rescued you.” Flat on my stomach, I squeezed myself beneath the couch, reaching for my phone. “You’re supposed to be thankful”

When my hand got closer, she let out her now familiar low growl.

“Yeah, yeah, shut up.”

I had to push half my body into the crevice between the furniture and the floor to reach my phone and getting out was even more uncomfortable than getting in.

2 missed calls from MOM.

I groaned. I should have just left it under the couch. At that moment, it rang again, for the third time. I answered, “Hi Mom.”

“Why didn’t you answer the first two times? Is everything okay?”

“I’m fine, Mom. I just couldn’t find my phone.”

“Oh, well, you should really have a spot that you put it every time you come home, that way you always know where it is.”

“I’ll keep that in mind, Mom.”

“So, your disorganization is old news. What else is happening in your life?” I swear, my mother was the only person in the world who didn’t think I was a neurotic control freak because she was infinitely worse. She asked the inevitable question, “Have you met anyone?”

I rolled my eyes, which I never could have gotten away with face to face.

“I’m pretty busy with school, Mom. I actually just got cast as a lead in a play.”

“Oh, that’s nice,” she said mildly. She thought going into theatre was a waste of my intelligence.

“It’s actually kind of a big deal.”

“Of course it is honey. You just know how your father and I worry. We’d feel so much better if you had someone to take care of you financially.”

There was a knock at the door, and I went to answer it as I spoke. “First of all, financial security is not a good enough reason to get married, Mother, even if it makes you feel better. Secondly, I don’t need a guy to take care of me. I can take care of myself.” Garrick was on the other side of the door, almost an hour early, and he got to hear the tail end of my speech. He raised an eyebrow, smiling, and if I could have reached through my phone to throttle my mother, I would have. “Anyway, I need to go, Mom. I have company.”

“Is it male company?”

I groaned and said, “Goodbye.”

Hanging up felt so good. I was tempted to call her back and do it a second time.

Garrick smiled, “Your mum sounds a lot like mine.”

I glared at him. “You’re early.” I’d just pulled my hair into a wet ponytail this morning. I’d been planning on straightening it before he came, but now I just looked frumpy. And after crawling under the couch, I was dusty, too.

“Is that okay?”

It would probably be pretty rude to tell him to go home and come back in an hour.

“No, it’s fine. You can watch TV or something. I just need a second.” I waved him into the living room, and slipped into my bedroom, wondering how much improvement I could do in five minutes.

I pulled the band out of my hair, and looked at the wavy, damp mess I had to work with. There was no time to dry it and straighten it. And if I dried it without straightening it, I’d have a fluff ball for hair. I used my hands to mess it up a little more, scrunching it up in my hands, hoping the curly look would do. I worked a little bit of mousse into it, but that was all I had time for. I put on a quick coat of mascara and some chapstick, hoping he was okay with the au natural look.

When I came out of my room, he was stretched out on my couch, watching TV, and Hamlet was curled into a tight ball on his chest. I stood there in shock, certain I was dreaming.

He turned, and saw me watching. “Hey, your hair is curly.” I nodded. I almost always wore it straight. He said, “I like it.”

I was still stuck on the fact that my cat was perched happily on his chest . . . purring. He had magic powers. That was the only answer.

“Come here,” he said, sitting up, and shifting Hamlet into his lap. I sat down gingerly, a few feet away.

I pointed at Hamlet, and said, “How did you do that?”

“Do what?”

“Get her to let you hold her.”

“It’s a her?” he asked.

“Yes, and she hates everyone. Especially me.”

“Your own cat hates you?”

“We’re working out our issues.”

He laughed. “Maybe she’s miffed that you gave her a boy’s name.”

I reached out a hand to pet her, and as always, received a growl for my troubles. Garrick thought Hamlet’s hatred of me was hilarious. And he kept holding her, which meant I was relegated to the opposite cushion because my cat had stolen my . . . whatever he was.

Ugh. That was something I didn’t want to think about. I mean, obviously, it was a secret relationship, so it wasn’t like we necessarily needed labels, but I was curious. What would happen when the year was up? Would we even last that long?

I got up to start dinner to distract myself.

I made spaghetti because it was the only thing I trusted myself not to screw up when I was nervous. And well . . . I was always nervous around Garrick. He apparently had the opposite effect on Hamlet, who was fast asleep in his lap.

I saw my window of opportunity for what I’d been craving since he arrived.

I left the food cooking on the stove, and made my way to the couch. I didn’t sit for fear of waking up the moody one, but I placed a hand on his shoulder, and leaned down for a kiss. Since his hands were trapped beneath Hamlet, I got to control the kiss. My hands found his hair, which was as addicting and soft as always, and the kiss deepened. I kissed him hard, because I could, and he made no effort to stop me. It was the kiss I’d wanted the night before that he’d refused to give me.

I didn’t want to pull back, but I did have dinner on. His eyes were dark when we separated. “I think you might be a little evil,” he said.

I laughed. “Yes, I planned this all. Hamlet was in on it, as well.”

“Kiss me again.”

He didn’t have to ask me twice.

Every time we kissed, my confidence grew stronger. The longer I knew him, the bolder I became. I liked it . . . almost as much as I liked him.

Someone knocked on the door, three loud raps, followed by three more only seconds later. Our breath was still short from the kiss, and I wasn’t sure if the too-quick-thump of my heart was due to Garrick or the shock.

“Are you expecting someone?” he whispered.

I shook my head.

Three more knocks, and then Kelsey yelled through the door, “I know you’re here, Bliss! Open up!”

“Shit.”

I made no effort to be gentle as I picked Hamlet up from Garrick’s lap, and plopped her on the couch. I almost didn’t even notice the growl; it had become so commonplace.

I grabbed Garrick, and pulled him to his feet. I had no idea where to put him, but decided the bathroom was probably better than the bedroom, seeing as it actually had a door.

I pushed him inside with a quick, “I’m sorry. I’ll get rid of her, I promise.”

If only we had gone to his place.

I rubbed at my lips, hoping they weren’t as swollen as they felt. I ran a hand over my hair, and when I was certain there was nothing glaringly out of place, I opened the door.

Kelsey breezed past me, “It’s about damn time. What were you doing?”

I faked a yawn.

“Oh, you know, just lazing around.”

She rolled her eyes, and looked at me like I was the frustrating one.

“It’s a good thing I came over then. I’m not about to let you stay home on a Saturday night moping about the thing with Cade.”

She snatched my wrist, and pulled me into my bedroom. So, the bathroom had been the right choice.

“I’m not moping!” I said. “And how do you know about the thing with Cade?”

“Because everyone knows, honey. Which, btw, I’m pissed that you didn’t tell me all that drama was happening.”

Great.

“There’s really not that much drama. We’ll patch things up soon, I’m sure,” I said.

“Oh honey, you didn’t hear? Cade almost turned down the role in Phaedra. He didn’t, thank God. Rusty talked him out of it. But I wouldn’t call that ‘not much drama.’ ”

I sank on to my bed, my insides twisting like a wrung out rag. Cade was that upset? He would give up that great of a part just so that he didn’t have to be around me?

Kelsey’s voice came to me from my closet, and I had déjà-vu of the night that this whole thing started. She started pulling out tops and skirts, and I asked, “What are you doing?”

“We’re going out. You need to remember that a world exists outside your apartment.”

“No, Kelsey, I’d really rather not.” I thought about Garrick in my bathroom, and wondered if he could hear us.

“Tough shit. I’m not giving you a choice. I haven’t been dancing forever, and I need a wing-woman.”

I groaned and flopped back on my bed. She dropped a skirt on my face.

“Get dressed.”

Then I remembered the perfect excuse, “I can’t. I’ve got dinner cooking.”

“Great. I’m starving. What are we having?”

Sometimes I thought my life would be easier if I were friendless.

I returned to the kitchen, and she followed. I’d left the sauce on a little too long and it had burnt around the edges. So much for not screwing up spaghetti.

“Geez woman, were you planning to eat away your troubles? You made enough for three people!” I just shrugged. I had nothing to explain why I was cooking for two people (one with a very large appetite).

I put a little bit of spaghetti on our plates, trying to leave some for Garrick, even though I had no idea when he’d get to eat it.

I ate quickly, letting Kelsey dominate the conversation, which was about how long it had been since she’d had really good sex. I nodded along, laughing in the right places, shoveling food into my mouth the entire time. I cleared my plate before she’d even made a dent on hers. I placed my plate in the sink, and then headed for the hallway.

“Where are you going?” Kelsey asked.

I called “Bathroom!” over my shoulder, and kept walking.

When I reached the door, I glanced over my shoulder, glad to find Kelsey preoccupied with her spaghetti, and I slipped inside the room.

“Is she gone?” Garrick asked.

“Ssshhh!” He was leaning against the sink, and I reached around him to turn on the faucet to cover our whispers. “No. I’m sorry. She’s actually eating our spaghetti.”

His lips puckered, and I leaned forward, smothering my laugh against his chest.

“Is she leaving soon?”

I peered up at him, but stayed close against him.

“No. She thinks I’m depressed about Cade, and she’s determined to force me to go out.”

He pulled me to him, and pressed his face into the space where my neck curved into my shoulder. He let out a growl that was oddly reminiscent of Hamlet.

I wrapped my arms around him, just as disappointed. “I know. This sucks.”

As if I’d given him the idea, his lips covered my pulse point, sucking softly. I laughed, and pushed him back.

“Garrick, she’s right outside.”

As if on cue, Kelsey knocked at the door.

“Enough stalling, chica! I’ve picked out your outfit!” The doorknob started turning, and I rushed to intercept her.

I kept my foot in the way so that only a crack of space formed.

I said, “I’m not stalling, just getting ready. Hand me the clothes, and I’ll get changed.”

She looked suspicious at my feigned excitement. I was never excited when she dragged me out like this. I kept smiling, like maybe the stress had gotten to me, and I’d just finally cracked.

She passed me the clothes, and before she had a chance to reply, I pushed the door closed, and locked it as quietly as I could.

When I turned around, Garrick was slumped onto the toilet. I switched on the radio, turning it up as loud as I could stand, and turned off the faucet.

“I’m sorry, Garrick.”

Sitting, his head was level with my chest, and he rested his hands on my hips, pulling me forward.

“It’s okay, love. This was bound to happen sooner or later.”

“I wish you could come with me.”

“Me too, love. But it’s okay. We’ll have dinner another time. You should get changed. The sooner you get out of here. The less likely we are to get caught.”

I nodded. My hands shook slightly as I pulled the clothes to my chest.

He said, “I’ll close my eyes.” And I dropped a quick, thankful kiss on his cheek

Smiling, he closed his eyes, and then leaned his elbows on his knees and his face into his hands. As quickly as I could, I whipped off my shirt, and shrugged off my shorts. I pulled a black tank top over my head, and then picked up the skirt.

My stomach dropped.

It was that God-awful, horrendously short miniskirt. I must have made a noise because Garrick raised his head. He kept his eyes closed as he asked, “Everything okay?”

I said, “Yes.’

Even though I was thinking hell no.

I slipped on the skirt, and it was just as short as I remembered. I sighed. There was no way I could wear this.

I touched a hand to Garrick’s shoulder, meaning to tell him that I was going to go outside to find something else, but his eyes opened and fixed on my legs, which suddenly felt weak, like pools of fabric instead of muscle and flesh and bone.

One of his hands curled around to tickle at the back of my knee, and I had to steady myself with a hand on his shoulder to keep from collapsing.

“You’re trying to kill me, aren’t you?” He choked. “Isn’t this the skirt you told me you’d never wear?”

“And I won’t be wearing it tonight. I’m going back to my room to find something else.”

I turned, and his other hand touched my thigh. “Wait.”

His hands trailed up to the indecently short hem, and around to the back of my thighs, inches below the curve of my butt.

“You. Are. Unbelievably. Sexy.” His voice was so low it rumbled, and I could feel the vibrations soaking into my skin. He leaned down and punctuated each word with a chaste kiss up the side of my thigh. I could have been clay in his hands, the way he was controlling me. If he had tried, I might have given up my virginity to him there in the bathroom without much of a fight.

But Kelsey’s fist pounded on the door, snapping me out of my lust.

“Damn, Bliss. Would you hurry it up already?”

With her words, came back my fear. Sure, he thought I was sexy now. But virgins were pretty much the least sexy things ever. Would he change his mind when he found out?

“I have to go. I’m sorry. There’s probably spaghetti still left over if you want some after we leave. I’ll . . . I’ll call you, okay?”

He nodded, his eyes still dark, unwavering.

I tumbled out into the hallway, a mess of hormones and emotions. I was so distracted that I didn’t even remember I’d intended to change until I was already buckled into Kelsey’s car and we were on our way to the club.

CHAPTER TWENTY

ECSTASY, THE CLUB, was dark and hazy when we entered. The beat of the music pounded through the walls and the floor, seeping into my skin, setting me on edge. This wasn’t my scene at all, but Kelsey loved it. I figured all I had to do was hang out at the bar, maybe chat with a guy or two so she’d get off my back. Then she’d probably go home with some guy and leave me her car. That’s how these things usually went.

What I hadn’t anticipated was the way my change in attire would change the normal plan. We were barely in the doors for a minute before a guy had asked me to dance. I declined, which earned me a glare from Kelsey.

“What?” I shouted over the music. “You said I had to come, not that I had to dance!”

We stood at the bar, and I worked to flag down a bartender, while she berated me.

“You are the most infuriating person I have ever met! You look smoking hot tonight, and all you’re going to do is sit over here and pout like always!”

“Then maybe you should have let me stay home and pout!”

A guy tapped on my shoulder, and I didn’t even wait for him to ask before I said, “NO!”

Kelsey fixed her hands on her hips, and for a Barbie look-a-like, she was still pretty intimidating. “I realize you are upset, and you’ve got a lot going on. I’m trying to be understanding, but what is your problem?”

“I don’t have a problem, Kelsey. I just don’t like that you think you can drag me places without any concern for what I actually want!”

“Fine! Nevermind! I give up! Sit here and pout! I’m going to dance!”

She spun around and pushed through the crowd, spilling several drinks and knocking people out of her way.

Scary Barbie.

I inched onto a stool, conscious of the fact that my short skirt made it so that my bare legs were glued to the plastic. I wouldn’t be surprised if my ass was hanging out, but at the moment I was too pissed off to care. I ordered a Jack and Coke, and sat there seething while I waited. I knew she meant well, but the solution to all the world’s problems was not partying. I’d always known we were very different people, but I’d never realized just how much she didn’t understand me.

“Can I buy you a drink?” A voice asked over my shoulder.

I held up my full drink, and ignored him.

The guy took a seat beside me anyway. He leaned in to ask me something else, and I snapped, “I’m not interested!”

Then a familiar voice answered. “I’m glad to hear that.”

I nearly fell off my stool when I picked up the accent.

“Garrick!”

Garrick was the guy sitting next to me, a cap pulled down low over his eyes, covering his gorgeous blond hair.

He hadn’t sounded like Garrick when he’d first spoken. “You sounded—“

When he answered this time his accent was gone, and he sounded American. No particular dialect, just . . . normal. “I am an actor, Bliss. I know how to cover my accent.”

Still in shock, I asked, “What are you doing here? What if someone sees you?”

“I’m incognito, sort of. And if anyone does, I’ll just say we ran into each other by chance. I’m a professor. I didn’t take a vow to have zero social life.”

“But why?”

“Because I couldn’t stomach the thought of you dancing with anyone else in that skirt.” His hand grazed my thigh, and all the heat from earlier came rushing back.

“Garrick, stop! Someone is going to see! What if Kelsey comes back?”

“Based on the show you guys put on earlier, I don’t see that happening anytime soon.”

I cringed. Maybe I had been a little bitchy.

“Come on.” He stood up, and offered me a hand. I looked around, scared to take it. It was so dark. If there was someone here we knew, we would have no way of knowing unless we came face to face. This was too big of a chance.

“Stop thinking so much,” he told me and wrapped an arm around my waist sliding me off the seat. The bare skin of my thighs squeaked embarrassingly against the seat, but he didn’t seem to notice or care. He threaded our fingers together and pulled me into the crowd.

I kept my head down, concentrating on putting my feet where his had just been. He led me down a few steps onto a lower level, where it was somehow even darker, and the bodies were pressed tighter together. I couldn’t see anyone but the people right next to me. He weaved and pulled until we were in the furthest corner, then pulled me between him and the wall. His back was to the rest of the room, and his tall form covered me completely.

His breath tickled against my ear as he whispered, “Better?”

I nodded. It was better. I mean, we were still in a club and I would rather have been at home alone, but already this was the best club experience I’d ever had.

Even knowing how he felt about me, I was too nervous to dance with him face to face. So I turned until my back was pressed against his front. His hands went immediately to my hips, pulling me against him. The sensation chased all the air out of my lungs.

I closed my eyes so I didn’t have to stare at the wall and I tried to let the music swoop through me. Slowly, his hips tilted forward, and I followed, pushing back against him. He exhaled against my ear, and it sent shivers down my spine. He slid a hand from my hip to my stomach. With his fingers splayed, his thumb rested about an inch below my bra and his pinky trailed the waistband of my skirt. He used that hand to pull me into him at the same time that he rolled his hips.

Stars danced behind my closed eyes and my heartbeat matched the steady thrum of the music. His body against mine seemed to magnify the already heated room, and I felt sweat begin to dampen my neck. His hips kept rolling to the music, slowly and sensually, but every once and a while on a strong beat, his hips would push harder against mine. His lips touched the skin of my neck, and I was falling, falling, falling into the feeling.

It wasn’t enough. Would I ever have enough of him? I reached my hands up and behind me, tangling in his hair, and he hummed his approval. The hand on my stomach came up, running lightly from my raised arm down my side. He grazed the side of my breast, and the touch sent tremors through me, which were amplified when his fingers passed the indecent skirt and gripped my thigh.

The song changed, but we didn’t. His hands kept driving me crazy. Our bodies stayed tightly pressed together. I was still so turned on I felt dizzy with want. The whole world was spinning, and only we were still. Or maybe it was us who were spinning. All I knew was that there was everyone else and then there was us, and I never wanted it to be any other way.

He found that spot below my ear, and I moaned, glad for the music that swallowed the sound. He nipped at my neck with his teeth, and I dug my fingernails into his neck in response.

“God, Bliss, do you have any idea how badly I want you?”

Our hips rolled again, and I was certain I had a pretty good idea.

The song ended, and I’d had about all I could take. I slipped my phone out of my bra where it had been conveniently tucked. Garrick groaned and pulled our hips together again in response, but I was focused on my phone. My hands were shaking, but I still managed to type out a text to Kelsey.

Met someone. Leaving. Sry abt earlier. Talk 2 u tom?

I didn’t wait for a reply before I pulled Garrick toward the exit.

For once, I didn’t care how fast he we went on his motorcycle. I just held tight, and tried to will us home faster.

His lips were on my neck before I even got the key in my door. My breathing was so heavy it could only be called panting. When I finally got the door open, I pushed it so hard that it slammed against the wall. Tomorrow I’d have to check and make sure there wasn’t a hole. As soon as the door was closed, we were kissing.

I had tugged my heels off between the motorcycle and my door, and now without them, he was too far away. The thought must have occurred to us at the same time, because his hands left my thighs, and cupped my ass, lifting me so that I had to wrap my legs around his waist.

My back slammed against the door, and I gasped. His tongue snaked into my mouth, plunging in and out, fast and hard—exactly the way I liked it.

“Bed,” I gasped between kisses.

He leaned back long enough to say, “Are you sure?” Then we were kissing again, and the rhythm he set was just as seductive and hypnotizing as the music had been in the club. He asked again, “Bliss, are you sure?”

Was I sure? Why was he asking me questions? Did he realize I just wanted to kiss him? I wanted to kiss him until the rest of the world fell away.

“Bed,” I said again.

“That’s not an answer.” He moved toward the bedroom anyway.

I clung to him tightly, transferring my kisses to his jaw and then his neck so that he could concentrate on walking.

Somehow I still managed to get caught in the curtains.

Like literally caught.

My earring caught on the sheer material, and I didn’t notice until he kept walking. Pain lanced through my ear and the side of my head. I yelped in response.

“What? I’m sorry! What’s wrong? What did I do?”

“Ear.” Apparently, I’d been reduced to one-word sentences.

“Damn. Hold still.”

He tried to use both hands to free my earring, but then we lost balance, and both of us slammed into the side of my dresser that sat just inside my bedroom.

Judging by the way my elbow was smarting, I was going to have one hell of a bruise tomorrow.

When the pain subsided, I laughed, because as usual, my life was ridiculous. And as luck would have it, it was one of those half laugh half snort hybrids. We both laughed, gasping for breath for an entirely different reason now. My side was aching from where we hit the dresser. My earring was still attached to the curtain, and my legs were still around his waist. Between laughs, Garrick pressed a sweet kiss to my forehead.

Maybe ridiculous wasn’t so bad.

“Okay, let’s get you untangled. I’m going to put you down, okay?”

He lowered me gently the floor, and my stampeding pulse began to slow. He tried for a few minutes to free me, but his fingers were large and clumsy. Finally, I said, “Just undo the earring. I’ll get it out of the curtain tomorrow.”

Laughing, he did as I asked.

Whereas before, I’d felt like I was burning up in our kiss. Now, warmth spread through me that was different, sweeter. Candlelight instead of open flame.

He rubbed at the shoulder that had hit the dresser, and said, “We’re kind of a mess.”

I pinched my fingers together, and said, “Little bit.”

He curled a hand around my neck, and pulled me forward, pressing another kiss to my forehead. I closed my eyes, thinking that this was what perfection felt like.

“I think maybe the curtain did us a favor. Your legs in that skirt pretty much killed all my self-control.”

I smiled. “I told you that I never should have worn it.”

“Oh, I’m definitely glad you wore it. It’s a memory I’ll cherish for a very long time.” I slapped him on the arm, but I didn’t mind the cheeky smile. He said, “I should probably go now, before you make me lose my mind again.”

I let him go, even though a large part of me was screaming in protest. And when he was gone, I celebrated in much the same way I had when I learned I’d gotten cast as Phaedra.

I danced.

Because . . . finally . . . things were going right.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

THINGS WERE SO wrong.

The first Phaedra read through was a disaster of epic proportions. Even after two weeks, Cade wouldn’t speak to me at all before we started, and it seemed everyone in the cast was on his side, based on the glares I was getting. And though read-throughs tended to be a bit stale since everyone was sitting around a table, this one was worse than week-old pizza.

Every once and while, Eric would shake his head, and I could practically see him thinking, what happened to the people I cast last week?

Each scene kept getting worse like a screw going in at the wrong angle, but we just kept going, trying to make something work that would clearly not.

When it was over, I felt deflated. I had been so excited about this play. I’d been waiting for something like this since freshman year, and now it was here and it was unbearable.

Eric faked some optimism, saying things would be smoother on stage. I don’t think anyone believed him.

And if they did, that misplaced hope dwindled when we had our first rehearsal onstage, which if possible, was even worse. The unease between Cade and I seemed to permeate the entire cast until everyone was stiff and on edge.

Classes weren’t much better.

Cade stayed far away from me, and Kelsey was still angry, so I was disproving that quote about no man being an island. I was totally alone.

Except for Garrick.

I was terrified by the depth of my feelings for him. Things were too good. Nothing in life was this amazing, at least not in my life. He stopped me after Senior Prep Wednesday morning, “Bliss, wait one second.”

I took my time packing up my stuff, waiting for everyone else to leave the computer lab. When we were alone I asked, “What’s up?”

He smiled, “Nothing.”

Then he pressed me into the computer table behind me and kissed me.

I gasped in shock, and his tongue stormed my mouth. I did nothing, but blink, and then he had me lifted up onto the table, his hips fitted between my open thighs, and his mouth burned against my own.

There was no slowness to this kiss. It was a frenzied, stolen moment, and I was spinning with want. I clung to him, certain I was about to fall to pieces in his arms, and then he pulled back.

I had to concentrate on breathing for several long seconds before it even occurred to me to be mad. I swatted his bicep, “Are you crazy? What were you thinking? What if someone walked in?” I pushed him several feet away, and hopped off the table, my legs unsteady against the floor.

“I was thinking that you looked entirely too sexy for this early in the morning.”

I steeled my glare, “I’m serious, Garrick.”

“So am I,” He said. He took me by the elbow and pulled me into the far corner of the room, where we couldn’t be seen from the door, and we’d have warning if anyone entered. “When it comes to you, Bliss, I’m very serious.”

Was he implying what I thought he was implying? The look in his eyes was dangerous. I couldn’t think straight when he was so close to me. He tried to pull me into another kiss, but even out of sight from the door, I was too scared, too afraid. It felt like that first night together on my bed all over again. Was this me? Was I ready for something like this?

I turned my head, and his lips found my neck instead.

Everything was just so confusing.

How could I want something so badly and not want it at the same time?

A part of me wanted to fold my arms around him, and pray for his lips never to leave my skin. And a part of me wanted to run screaming in the other direction.

The second part came out on top.

I pulled out of his embrace, and held up a hand to keep him from following me. “I can’t. I have to go. I want to try and find Cade before rehearsal tonight, see if we can’t work things out.”

Then I fled the lab, my skin still burning from his touch.

Cade was already gone by the time I made it to the greenroom, and I didn’t manage to get him alone for the rest of the day. I thought about asking to talk to him before rehearsal, but everyone was around, staring, and I truthfully just didn’t have the energy.

But that meant that our third rehearsal started just as poorly as all the rest.

Eric, who had no idea of the offstage drama, was at a loss. I think he could tell that it all stemmed from Cade and I, which is why he sent us away. He said he just wanted to spend some time with the chorus, but still wanted us to get some work done. So, he sent us into a smaller workshop space to work alone . . . with Garrick.

It had to be a sign of the apocalypse. Things this terrible only happened when the world was about to end.

I envied Garrick’s composure. He didn’t give anything away.

I, on the other hand, was a train wreck in human form.

We ran our first scene together twice. Cade was lifeless and I was pitiful.

No matter how many times Garrick muttered between lines “Wake up.” or “Intensity!” or “Raise the stakes!” We were still awful.

Garrick, who knew what we were both capable of, grew more and more frustrated. He didn’t even bother faking optimism.

“Both of you take five.”

I went the bathroom, and splashed my face with water. This had to stop. If I could act opposite Dom, I could certainly act opposite Cade, no matter how upset he was. He was my best friend, but I had to learn to put my emotions aside and think of him like anyone else if I wanted to be an actor.

Feeling a little better, I made my way back to the workshop room.

Cade and Garrick were already inside talking.

“I know there is personal stuff going on between the two of you, but you’ve got to get over it,” Garrick said.

“I’m trying. It’s not that simple.”

Garrick’s back was to me, but I could see Cade’s face, which was pale and crumpled, like a discarded piece of paper. I choked up, wishing this was all over or that it had never happened.

“You’re not trying hard enough. So, she didn’t return your feelings. That’s life.” My jaw dropped. How could he be so callous? Garrick, who had been so sweet and understanding when I’d come to him about this same fight? “It happens. You’ve got to grow up. Are you an actor or not? You can’t let your feelings for her dictate your life. ”

My mouth went dry, and a hard lump formed in my throat.

I pushed the door open the rest of the way, and said, “That’s enough.” The heat in my voice surprised me, but it shouldn’t have. I hated seeing Cade hurt, and finally it wasn’t just me causing it. Garrick’s words had sunk under my skin, festering, and my hands were shaking with anger.

Cade looked horrified at seeing me.

Garrick didn’t look guilty at all, which only made my anger burn hotter. I walked until I stood between the two guys, blocking Cade from sight.

“This is none of your business,” I told Garrick.

He turned toward me, and his whole face seemed to pull down with his frown. “It is my business when you both bring your outside issues into rehearsal.”

I knew, logically, I knew that he was right. And I knew that he was my teacher, and this was his job, but the judgment in his tone cut me all the same.

And I wanted to cut him back.

“You’re probably right,” I said. “Maybe relationships have no place here at all. It’s a bad idea to mix them, don’t you think?”

He was so calm, which made me want to shake him. I wanted to sink my fingers into his shoulder and shove and pull and push.

“Bliss, you’re being unprofessional.”

“I’m being unprofessional? Oh, that’s rich, coming from you!”

“You and I can talk about this later.” His hand touched my elbow, and I hated that even angry, his touch made my knees weak. I pulled away.

“I don’t want to talk about this later. I just want you to direct. I want you to stay out of my business with Cade. Do you hear me? Do you understand? Stay out of it. That’s all I want from you.”

Finally, something in his calm expression cracked. His jaw clenched, and for a second he screwed his eyes shut. It didn’t feel as good as I thought it would to see him affected. And already I wanted to take it back.

“Fine.” He threw his hands up and repeated, “Fine. As a director, both of you need to get your shit together before next rehearsal, unless you’d like us to start looking at your understudies. You’re dismissed.”

The door slammed on his way out, and I heard the echo again and again in my mind. I was so stupid. This was SO stupid.

I’d almost completely forgotten Cade was there until he said, “Holy shit, Bliss. He’s the guy?”

I could have denied it. I could have told him the whole story. I could have run. But I felt too hollowed out to move. I slumped onto my knees, wrapping my arms around my middle like that would somehow hold me together, like if I held hard enough, the pain wouldn’t creep in.

But it did.

And the empty spaces in me were suddenly full of the words I regretted and the shame I felt and the absence of him. There was nothing more to do, but cry.

It streamed from me slow and steady, rising like the tide, washing away everything I’d loved about our time together.

A hand touched my shoulder, and I spun around, hoping.

It was Cade.

Slow and unsure, he knelt beside me and took me in his arms. I hesitated for a moment, knowing how he felt, knowing how hard this must be for him, knowing that as usual he was too good to me.

Then I couldn’t resist any more. I was already selfish, what was the harm?

I burrowed into his arms, and let go. It was the ugly cry of all ugly cries, but I didn’t care. Because my capacity to ruin good things knew no bounds.

“It’s okay,” Cade told me. “It wasn’t that bad.”

“Wasn’t that bad?” I rubbed at my eyes, and my hands came back smeared black. “Maybe in comparison to the holocaust. But as break ups go, I think it was pretty bad.”

He stiffened. “You guys were together? Like really together?”

“For a couple weeks, technically, before I ruined it.” God, no wonder I was a virgin. I must have broken a whole world of mirrors in a past life.

Against all odds, he had actually liked me. Despite the fact that I ran out on him during sex with a terrible excuse. Despite the fact that I still wouldn’t sleep with him. Despite how horrendously fucking awkward I was. He liked me. I sobbed again, because it wasn’t fair.

“You like him a lot, don’t you?”

Struggling for breath, I nodded. “I do. I know it’s crazy. I know it’s stupid. But, but . . . we met before he was our professor, and I can’t just turn it off. I tried. We tried. I guess I’ll have to turn it off now.”

Cade rocked me back and forth, and even though it was nice, it made me feel young and immature. Unprofessional, just like Garrick had said.

“He’ll forgive you,” Cade said. “I would.”

I wanted to ask if that meant Cade forgave me now, but I was too afraid. So I stayed in his arms, crying and quiet, just in case this was only a temporary reprieve, in case this was all I would get.

By the time we left the studio, rehearsal was over, and everyone else had left. He walked me out to my car, and I started to hope . . . to hope that maybe we’d be okay. He didn’t kiss me on the cheek like he would have before. He rested a hand on my shoulder. And though it was different, it was enough.

“It will be okay,” He said. And I hoped he was talking about everything . . . about us, about Garrick, about life.

I needed everything to be okay.

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

I THOUGHT ABOUT going to his place as soon as I got home, but truth be told I was afraid. And it was so much easier just to feel sorry for myself. I had a tub of chocolate chip cookie dough ice cream in my freezer on hold for just such occasions. It would have been nice to share it with Kelsey, but I couldn’t afford to share my secret with another person, and I wasn’t selfish enough to make Cade witness any more of my pity party. He promised he wouldn’t tell anyone, and I believed him.

I sat on one end of my couch, eyeing Hamlet spread out on the other end. I wondered if she might comfort me. She had been nice to me only once at another sad moment, so maybe I had a chance. I reached for her, and received not just her usual growl, but a hiss too.

She was clearly on Garrick’s side.

I thought about going to him a thousand times, maybe a thousand and one. But I had to face it—he had been out of my league from the very beginning. He would have gotten tired of me eventually, once the forbidden factor wore off. And I can’t even begin to contemplate what might have happened if we’d been caught. Even the thought of it brought adrenaline rushing through me, like when he’d kissed me in the lab for anyone to see. Maybe I was doing myself a favor, severing the ties now. I mean, it sucked times seven billion, but it would have been worse after more time.

In my dim, quiet apartment in my ice cream induced haze, I could admit that I had been falling for him. Our oh-so-brief relationship had been like spending a day in sunlight when you’ve lived your whole life underground (my former self being the mole man in this story). Maybe that was all we got when it came to relationships like that—flashes of sunlight. Maybe it was too bright to be sustained for any extended period of time. Maybe I should be thankful.

I didn’t feel thankful. I felt miserable (and full of ice cream).

We were in the lab again Wednesday, and he never came within three feet of my workspace. At rehearsal that night, he sat in the top row taking notes, and never said a word.

Thursday and Friday were the same. Though the acting in rehearsals had improved now that Cade and I had patched things up (sort of). We weren’t quite friends again. I didn’t see us hanging out alone any time in the future, but we could talk without any major disasters, and both of our minds had cleared enough to focus on the play.

I returned to my mole man state on the weekend, never leaving my apartment, showering only when absolutely necessary. Any other weekend, Kelsey might have forced me into an outing, but she was still a little ticked about my attitude at the club.

So, I was pretty much alone.

I had no one, but Hamlet. Who hated me with the fire of a thousand suns.

I passed an entire week in a state of loneliness before I had the nerve to do anything about it.

I dropped by during his office hours, too afraid to confront him at home or after class. When I approached the door, he was on the phone.

“I know,” He was nodding, smiling. “I know. I’ll be home before you know it. What is it, just three more months?”

I froze. I plastered myself to the wall outside his door, and my lungs seemed empty no matter how many breaths I took.

“That? No, I’m over it. It really wasn’t anything to begin with . . . just inconvenient.”

Something was crumbling inside me, something that had already been vulnerable and weak, but now was breaking and breaking.

“I should have known better. I know, but it’s over now, and I don’t really care anymore, you know? Yeah, yeah. I’ll find another place to work. It’s just not worth it.”

Not worth it?

I think, until then, I’d still hoped, even though I’d tried to talk myself out of it.

Hope . . . it was such a motherfucker.

I wouldn’t cry. He was over it. I needed to be, too. And I needed to make sure he knew it. If he was thinking about quitting to stay away from me, I had to fix that. I wouldn’t be the reason he left.

Before I could change my mind, I reached out and knocked on the doorframe, and stepped into the open doorway.

He looked up, and stuttered over whatever he was going to say next. He stared at me for a second, the phone forgotten in his hand.

Then finally, he blinked, and turned back to his conversation.

“Hey, I have to go. I’ll call you later, okay?”

I hated whoever was on the other end of that phone call. Was it a girl? Did he have a girlfriend back in Philly? Had it been just a fling for him, just sex (or well, almost sex)? Whoever it was spoke for another twenty seconds while he said yes and okay and nodded along.

When he hung up, I still had no idea what I was going to say.

He just looked at me for a moment, and then said, “How can I help you, Bliss?”

His formal tone made me queasy, but I tried to copy it as best as I could. “I just wanted to apologize for my behavior during our rehearsal together. Cade and I have worked everything out—“

He interrupted, “I noticed.”

My thoughts stuttered, fleeing for the moment. “So . . . I, uh, I promise it won’t happen again. In the future, I will maintain a professional attitude. I won’t bring my personal life into rehearsal or your classroom.”

He put down the pen he’d been toying with, and started to stand. “Bliss . . .”

Whatever he was going to say, I couldn’t hear it. If I had to listen to him try to let me down easy (when I knew he didn’t care), I would end up crying and making a fool of myself. So I cut him off.

“It’s okay. I’m over it. No big deal, right?”

He paused and I was certain he knew I was lying, certain he could see into my churning stomach, my wringing heart. I willed him to believe me.

I’m okay. I’m over it. I’m okay. Okay. Okay.

“Right,” he finally said.

I sucked in a greedy breath.

“Great. Thanks for your time. Have a nice day!” Then I was out the door and running, running, running down the stairs out into the air where I could gulp and fill my lungs until I no longer felt like crying.

From then on, I built walls with smiles and closed myself off with laughs. I made up with Kelsey, promising her I would go dancing whenever she wanted. I threw myself into rehearsal, memorizing all of my lines over a week before the off-book date. I willed myself into March like a soldier, moving forward, refusing to look back. Eric praised my work in rehearsals, saying he could feel my shame, my self-hatred in every word, could see it in even my posture. I smiled and pretended like I was glad to hear it.

I set my sights on graduation, when I would leave and go who knows where. Maybe I’d max out a credit card and go traveling with Kelsey. Maybe I’d go back home and work, save some money. Mom would just love that. Maybe I’d stay here, get a job at Target or something. I just had to get to the end. Things would get easier then. Then . . . I would deal. I’d tell Kelsey about everything, and we’d party the pain away. Then.

I couldn’t wait for Then.

It seemed possible. It seemed do-able.

Until the Now screwed everything up.

We were one week away from Spring Break—a much needed break. Friday afternoon had us all in the black box theatre for beginning directing scene workshops. The entire department was gathered into the theatre—the Junior directors petrified, everyone else ranged from boredom to sadistic glee.

I was just marching forward, willing the time to pass, until Rusty stood to make an announcement before the first scene.

He cleared his throat, remarkably serious for Rusty. “So . . . I went to the doctor yesterday . . .”

“And you’re pregnant?” Someone at the back shouted.

“No,” He smiled, albeit a small one. “Actually . . . I have mono.”

There was a beat before it sank in.

“The doctor said that the incubation is anywhere between four and eight weeks, which means I could have had it as far back as January or February. So . . . you might want to be careful about drinking after people and . . . other things.”

January or February. The party. I’d kissed Rusty at that party. We’d all kissed . . . everyone.

By instinct, my eyes sought out the other members of that spin the bottle game. Their expressions were just as anxious and fearful as my own. If Rusty was already contagious back then, that meant I would have it, along with Cade, and Kelsey and Victoria, and every person at that party.

And Garrick.

Damn.

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

I CAUGHT UP to him as soon as the scenes were over. Actors milled about still in their costumes. Professors congratulated their students, and everyone gravitated toward their groups, making plans for the weekend. Everyone else seemed calm and happy, and I felt like the world was ending. Walking toward Garrick was up there with walking into a room filled with anthrax.

But I did it anyway.

Luckily, he wasn’t talking to anyone, just checking something on his phone. I stood behind him for a few moments. Just being this close to him affected me. It really was like a poison. I breathed him in, and I could feel it breaking down the walls and protection I’d built.

I don’t know if I made a noise or if he felt me behind him, but he turned and looked at me. For a split second, I thought he would smile. Then his expression changed, and he became wary. Like he didn’t trust me. Then his face went blank.

I had all these emotions and memories pushing against my barricades, trying to spill out into the open. He looked like he couldn’t care less.

I wanted to spit it out and run, but I knew that was a bad idea. It’s not exactly normal to warn your professor that you might have given him mono.

“Can we talk . . . in private?” I asked.

He looked around the room, and I could imagine where his eyes went. To Eric probably. Maybe to Cade. Or Dom. Whatever he was looking at, he stayed focused there as he said, “I don’t think that’s a good idea, Bliss.”

Yeah, I’d run out of good ideas a long time ago.

“It won’t take long,” I promised him.

He looked at me, finally. I wanted to believe I saw a softness in his eyes, but I could have imagined it. I did that all the time. All I had to do was close my eyes, and I could see him reaching toward me, his lips millimeters from my own. But always . . . always I opened my eyes and it wasn’t real.

A hand curved around my shoulder, and pulled me into a hug. It was Eric. He started talking, about rehearsals and costumes and spring break, and all of these things I just didn’t have room for in my head.

I looked at Garrick, smiling at his boss. His smile was tight, close-lipped. When was the last time I saw that gorgeous grin.

Maybe I didn’t have to tell him. I mean, I wasn’t even sick.

It’s not like he’d made out with anyone else from that party (I hoped). And if I never got sick, he never had to know. Plus, he clearly wanted to just forget our little fling ever happened. I mean, he’d talked about changing jobs for Christ’s sake. And ever since then, I’d been careful not to look at him too long or stand too close or give any indication that I wasn’t as over this as he was. Because as bad as things were, it would be infinitely worse if he were just gone altogether.

Yeah. I’d tell him if I had to. No need to bring it up if it wasn’t actually an issue.

I excused myself, said goodbye to Eric and Garrick both. Then I went back to pretending. At least my education was getting put to some use, even if I never managed to do anything else with it. It taught me how to lie.

THE LAST DAY of school before Spring Break, I woke up exhausted and was so cold that I wore a sweater to Garrick’s class, even though it was spring in Texas. It was pretty obvious, or it should have been, but I was so pre-occupied with surviving the day and getting to the break that I pushed aside my unease.

Garrick let us go early, but not before saying, “Sorry to give you guys homework over the break, but when you come back—I want a definitive plan for what you’re doing on May 23rd, which for those of you not looking at your calendar is the day after your graduation.”

Dom snickered behind me, “Does still being drunk from the night before count as a definitive plan?”

I didn’t even have the energy to roll my eyes.

“Some of you I will see tonight at rehearsal, and the rest—have a great spring break! Don’t get arrested or married or any of that kind of thing! Enjoy the rest of your day.”

I think there was clapping, but my head felt a little fuzzy. I packed up my things, and decided I didn’t really need to go to the rest of my classes today. I should go home and take a nap. A nap sounded good. I’d be fine after I slept a little longer.

I felt dizzy as I tottered toward the door.

I hadn’t realized everyone was gone until Garrick and I were alone, and he asked, “Are you okay, Bliss?”

I nodded. My head felt like it was full of cotton.

“Just tired,” I told him. I was coherent enough to make sure my response was carefully neutral—not needy or bitchy. “Thanks though, have a good break!” My voice sounded far away, and it took all of my concentration to get out of the doors and to my car.

The drive home was a mystery. There had definitely been driving, but I couldn’t remember the streets or ever turning the wheel, but then I was in front of my apartment, so close to my bed.

I wanted to fall right into it, but my neurotic need to hang a calendar right beside my bed reminded me I had rehearsal tonight. I set one alarm for 5 P.M. so I’d have time to fix dinner before hand, and I set another for 5:05 P.M. just in case I accidentally turned off the first. Then the bed caved in around me, and I was tumbling head long into oblivion.

Minutes later, the world was screaming and it was so loud that I tried to press my hands against my ears, but they were dead, lifeless at my side. I swallowed, and my tongue felt barbed, my throat burned like chapped lips.

Rolling over felt like moving mountains.

The clock read 5:45 P.M.

I blinked and read it again.

5:45 P.M.

The world was still screaming and finally, finally I lifted my hands and pushed at my alarm until the noise stopped.

I swallowed again, but my tongue felt too big. My spit singed like acid on its way down.

Dazed, I looked at the clock again. I was out of time. Rehearsal started in fifteen minutes. Somehow . . . I don’t know how, really . . . I pushed myself out of bed. My legs quivered like the floor was a boat and beneath it the sea. There were things I needed to do . . . I knew that, but I couldn’t think beyond that nagging sense that there was something I was missing. And it was so cold, where was my coat? I needed my coat.

Wrapped in the warmest things I could find, I lurched outside toward my car. The world turned for a second, like a child refusing to sit still. I stuck a hand out to steady myself, but there was nothing there to catch me. I pitched sideways. I didn’t fall, but managed to catch myself, barely. I stared at the ground; I was just so tired. Would it be so bad to be there? On the ground?

It was so cold though. I really should go inside if I was going to lay down . . . or in my car. Did I have time for a nap in my car?

I shook my head, trying to clear the fog, and something awful rattled around in my skull. It hurt. God, it hurt. I pressed at it with my hands, trying to understand why, and I swallowed again, which hurt, too. Everything hurt. Everything.

I couldn’t stand up anymore. Standing was too hard. I was almost to the ground, reaching for it, thinking the asphalt would be warm against my cheek when something hooked me from behind.

I kept reaching, but I was caught, a fish dangling on a line.

I began to cry because my head was pounding and my throat was clamped down like iron. I still wanted my coat, and I didn’t want to be a fish, and I wanted to sleep.

Sleep.

Someone was telling me that I was okay. The hook was gone, and my pillow held me once more, and I must have been dreaming. Sleep.

Sleep perchance to dream.

SOMETHING BUZZED. I thought of bees. I was flying with bees.

“ . . . Be okay. I can’t tell how bad, but she definitely has a fever. She’s not coherent at all. Mono, yeah. Should I take her to the hospital? Are you sure? You’re sure. Okay. Yes. Bye. ”

I reached a hand out. There were too many words. Bees shouldn’t talk. That didn’t make sense. Where was I?

“Where?” I groaned, then, “Ow,” because everything still hurt even after sleep. My hand found something. Or something found my hand. And it was warm. And I was freezing. I sighed. The warmth found my cheek and I pushed into it, wanting more.

“So cold,” I told the warmth.

And then the warmth answered, low and soft, “ I don’t know what to do.”

I clutched the warmth that held my face and asked, “More.”

Then the warmth left, even though I tried to hold on. Air blew past me, and I was shaking, shaking, shaking. I cried and the tears felt like rivers of ice.

“Cold,” I said. I swallowed, but that felt worse instead of better. I hated this. I wanted it to be over. Please. Please.

Please.

“Please.”

“I’m here, love. Hold on.”

The world fell over, bent sideways, broken. And it cradled me, taking me with it, but instead of dying, I fell into warmth, solid and strong. I clutched at it, wanting to be inside it, to make the shaking stop, to make everything stop.

It was the sun, and it held me in its arms, called me by name, touched me from forehead to toes. I fell asleep cradled in the sky in the arms of a star.

WHEN I WOKE next, my head was clear enough to know that I was sick. I had to breathe through my nose because my throat was too swollen, too tender to stand the passage of air. My muscles ached and my stomach felt hollow. I was still cold, but not frozen solid. Thawed. Sleep called me again. I was still so tired.

But I knew, knew what that meant.

I had gotten mono after all.

Which meant I had to tell Garrick. But that could wait until my head wasn’t bursting and my lungs felt full and my throat was not on fire. Once the fever broke, I would call him.

I shifted, wishing that my knees and my elbows and shoulders would just cease to exist because right now they were nothing, but pain. And then, I knew I was dreaming, that the fever had re-arranged my brain because Garrick was there beneath me, his bare chest my pillow. It was cruel, this fever. But I knew it was only because I had thought of him. I was probably still dreaming.

His eyes were open, staring at me, not speaking, just staring. Couldn’t be real.

“Wish it was real,” I whimpered, before giving in again.

Sleeping.

Sleeping.

WHEN I WOKE again, the chills had stopped, and I was alone. Even though I knew it was a dream, I pressed my face into my pillow, wishing it hadn’t been.

I hadn’t noticed until now, or maybe just hadn’t admitted it, but even now I was falling for Garrick. Maybe I had never stopped falling. Every memory and fantasy pulled me deeper into wanting him. Though still exhausted, this time I had to work to fall back in to sleep.

“Bliss, wake up.”

No time had passed at all. It must be a dream.

“You need to drink something. Wake up.”

I tried to turn away, to crawl deeper into sleep, but something tugged against me, and I was sitting up against my will. Something pushed at my back, refusing to let me lay down, so instead I leaned sideways.

My head met something solid. It wasn’t laying down, but it was close enough. I closed my eyes.

“Oh, no you don’t. Drink first. Then you can sleep.”

I was sleeping. At least, I thought I was. I must have been because out of nowhere a cup appeared in my hands. It was warm, almost as warm as the other hands wrapped around mine.

It smelled wonderful, and I let the cup be pulled to my lips.

Soup.

Chicken noodle, maybe. It tasted salty and warm, but swallowing was too hard. I pushed the cup away.

“Please, love. I’m worried about you. I don’t like worrying about you.”

I knew those words, and it was cruel for my subconscious to parrot them back at me now, when he was no longer worried at all. I looked up, and there he was, perhaps even more perfect in my dream state than in real life. He was the sun. He’d always been the sun—shining and brilliant.

This was too much. I was hurting inside and out.

“I miss you,” I told my sun. “I was so stupid. And now I’ve lost the light.”

He didn’t say he missed me back. He didn’t say any of the things I would want from him. He told me, “Drink, Bliss. We’ll talk when you are well.”

I did as he asked because I was too tired to fight, too tired to make myself face the unreality. Slowly, I sipped, tipping my head back and letting the liquid slide down my throat so I didn’t have to work so hard to swallow. Halfway through the cup, I could take no more. I pushed it away and he let me.

“Now you can sleep. Sleep, love.”

I fell back against the pillows, but I was seized by something else, by fear. I feared losing this . . . this dream space between worlds where I hadn’t ruined anything. Maybe Cade would arrive next, and Kelsey. And for a little while, my life could be simple again.

Dream Garrick brushed a hand across my forehead. “I think your fever is almost gone. That’s good. You should feel much better in the morning.”

I frowned. “That means I’ll have to call you soon.”

“Call me?”

“To tell you that you might get sick, too.”

His head tilted sideways. Why didn’t he understand?

“You don’t think I already know?”

“Not you. You’re not real.”

“I’m not?”

“Real Garrick wouldn’t be here.” I curled into my pillow, wishing this dream would stop.

It wasn’t nice anymore. It wasn’t real. We weren’t anything to each other . . . not anymore.

But Dream Garrick, stayed there, his hand on my hair, and I let myself believe it, for a little while longer.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

AT AROUND FOUR in the morning, I woke in a pool of sweat, my body stuck to the sheets and my face glued to the bed.

I guess the fever was definitely broken.

I placed my hands on the bed to push myself up, but my equilibrium must have been off. My bed felt uneven. I reached back, fumbling for the lamp and flicked the light on. Then because I thought maybe I was seeing things, I flipped it off and on again. I pinched myself. I pinched really hard. But nothing changed.

Garrick was definitely asleep in my bed.

Shit.

Shit.

How much of my fever-induced dream was real? I felt safe assuming that my time as a bee was fiction, as well as a few mythological animals that I swear I’d seen. Then I’d lived on the sun with aliens.

But Garrick was in my bed. He’d definitely been in my dreams, but it couldn’t all be real. Sometimes he flew, much of the time he was naked. And there were a dozen more moments, some fuzzy, some very clear. Where was the line? What had really happened? Hell, was this even real? Maybe I was just dreaming that my fever broke. I was freaking out, and before I had the sense of mind to formulate a plan, I was already shaking him awake.

He was bleary-eyed and beautiful as he came to. I was struck for a moment by the fact that he was sleeping on my pillow.

He was in my bed. With me.

Sleeping.

We were sleeping together!

“You’re awake.” God, since when did groggy and gorgeous go so well together? Wide-eyed, I nodded, not having thought of what I’d say when I actually had him awake.

“How do you feel?”

That I could answer.

“Like shit. Everything hurts. My throat the worst.”

He reached out and set a hand on my thigh. Like that was normal. Like we just set our hands on each other’s thighs all the time.

“That’s normal, I think,” He said. The thigh thing? No, no . . . my throat. He continued, “Do you need anything?”

I shook my head. What the hell had happened while I was so out of it?

He sat up, and the sheet fell around his waist, revealing all of his upper body to my eyes. The sheet drooped around his hips, drawing my eyes to the muscles that disappeared down into his shorts. God. His hand went to my hair, my hair that fell lank, and oily against my face, a stark contrast to how good he looked right now. He didn’t seem to care.

Again, what the hell was happening?

“I’m glad you’re okay,” he said.

I nodded. Nodding was all I knew how to do, all I understood. Nodding, at least, still made sense.

“You should go back to sleep. You still need to rest. Unless you’re hungry?”

I shook my head.

“Then sleep.”

He nudged me slightly, and I lowered my body slowly, certain that the minute my head hit the pillow this alternate universe would cease to exist.

It didn’t.

He pushed back the covers, and then slipped out of the bed.

“You’re leaving?” I asked.

He stopped, and in quick succession I saw him realize where we were and how little he was wearing. He hesitated, unsure. It was such a strange emotion, one I’d rarely seen him wear. “Do you want me to?” I wanted to pause the moment, study it, break down the second where this bold boy had been filled with doubt. Of course I didn’t want him to leave! I never wanted him to leave!

I shook my head. Glad that fatigue kept me calm, somewhat.

He smiled so wide I forgot that the doubt ever existed. “Then I’m not leaving. I’m just going to get some water. Go to sleep.”

He left, and I turned on my side, reeling. I could hear the faucet turn on and off. I tried to imagine what he was doing. The floor wasn’t creaking, so he wasn’t walking back. Was he just standing at the sink drinking? Or was there no creaking because my delusion had ended and he wasn’t coming back? Had the floor creaked on his way to the sink? I couldn’t remember. I started to panic. Maybe I needed to get up, go after him. Make sure he was real.

Then my bed dipped, and I felt heat behind me, and an arm wrapped around my waist. I stiffened first, and then relaxed so suddenly that I practically fell into him. He was so warm, I felt like I was feverish all over again.

He pushed my hair up and onto the pillow, so that my neck was uncovered. Then I felt something, the tip of his nose perhaps, grazing softly against my skin and the puff of his breath.

“Garrick?”

His arm tightened, his body curved around mine, even our thighs pressed together.

“Tomorrow, Bliss. Sleep now.”

Sleep? The idea seemed impossible, but as his breath steadied and I grew used to his touch, I realized I was still tired. I wanted to analyze what had happened, what I remembered and what I didn’t, but sleep did seem more important.

Garrick was right. It could wait until tomorrow. He would be here. He said he wasn’t leaving. But just in case, I placed one of my hands over his that rested against my stomach. I had thought he was already asleep, but he was awake enough to respond, lacing our fingers together.

When I felt certain, both that he was real and that he wasn’t leaving . . . when my doubt was gone, I slept.

I woke several hours later. Light was pouring in through my high windows, and my skin was slick with sweat. For a moment, I thought I had a fever again. I sat up, and Garrick’s arm fell from my waist. He groaned.

His brows were furrowed with beads of sweat dotting his face. I pressed my hand against his forehead, and sure enough, he was burning up. He looked awful, but I imagined that I looked even worse. My skin and clothes were damp with sweat, both his and mine. It felt like grime and sickness was slathered over the top of my skin.

Carefully, I shifted out of Garrick’s reach and planted my feet on the cool hardwood floor. Standing hurt all the way to my bones, like they’d been broken and set in the wrong way, and now I had to re-break them to set it right. Each step felt like a nail gun had been taken to my heels, my knees, my hips. It took a hand on the wall just to keep myself upright. And my journey to the bathroom comprised of thirty slow, shuffling steps instead of the usual ten. When I got there, I was short of breath and ready for another nap.

In my pain-addled mind, it seemed very important to be clean first. I turned on the shower, leaving it on the cool side of the spectrum instead of automatically pushing it to hot like usual. I shucked off my clothes, lamenting each time I got off one piece only to discover another layer beneath. When I got to my bra, I nearly gave up completely.

Finally, I was free, but I no longer had the energy to stand for the shower I wanted. Like a child just learning to walk, I crawled into the tub, laying back and letting the water pelt my skin. My stomach, especially, felt so sensitive that each drop stung on impact, like someone was dropping tiny little missiles from above. But even so, it was cool and lovely and I melted into the sensation.

For a long time I laid there, falling in and out of sleep. When my breath settled and the ache in my muscles eased, I pushed myself up, letting the water soak my hair and run down my face.

Shampoo became the villain of my story, stinging my eyes and exhausting me as I tried to rub it in and rinse it out. It felt like hours before the water ran clear enough for me to open my eyes without them burning. And then I couldn’t convince myself to do it again with conditioner.

I turned off the water, and laid back, feeling the water drain beneath me. The longer my eyes stayed closed the heavier my body became. The little pools of liquid on my skin dried slowly, and it felt good to be empty, to be still for a moment.

Then I remembered Garrick, and knew I had been selfish long enough.

The wall of the tub might as well have been a battlement. It took all of my strength to climb over it. Clothing was completely out of the question. I wrapped my hair in a towel and my body in a robe. I grabbed a few washcloths, soaking them with cool water, wringing them out so they wouldn’t drip.

I felt a little more alive now, and I managed to walk without groping at the wall. The pain was there, in the back of my mind with every step, but it was manageable. Even so, it was a relief to sink down beside Garrick on my bed.

I stripped the blankets back, and he shifted, but didn’t wake. I placed one of the damp cloths across his forehead, and another I unfolded and laid across his chest. I used the last to dab at his arms and legs. Even that became too difficult though, so I rolled the last cloth up and slipped it beneath his neck.

Then I laid down beside him and slept.

The next time we woke together. His fever was still going, but I convinced him to drink some water. It wasn’t until I took a drink myself that I realized how thirsty I was. I helped him drink a full glass, and then engulfed two of my own. I had enough energy to shuck my thick robe and replace it with loose pajamas. I placed a new damp cloth on Garrick’s forehead and he sighed.

“Thank you,” he mumbled.

I wasn’t sure how coherent he was. He definitely knew I was here, as he’d called out my name a few times since he woke. And he knew he was sick, but I didn’t know how much he knew beyond that.

“You’re welcome. But to be fair, you did take care of me first.”

His eyes were closed, but he smiled. “You’re better at it.”

“It doesn’t matter,” I said. “It was just nice not to be alone.”

He tried to shift onto his side to face me, but ended up just reaching with his arms, his body still flat. I wrapped an arm around his chest, and pulled, His arms went around me and pulled, too, so that he ended up on his side and much closer to me.

When he was settled, he breathed out, exhausted by the little movement. He said, “I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

Needing help? He seemed much stronger and better off than I had been.

“For leaving you alone at all. For getting between you and Cade. For being too stubborn to tell you I missed you. I’m sorry.”

I was confused, the pieces of the puzzle not quite fitting. But I heard what mattered, he was sorry and I was sorry, too. And my brain was too fuzzy to remember all the details of why this shouldn’t be happening. I pulled him to me and his head fell into the crook of my neck. I breathed deeply for what felt like the first time in months. I wanted to ask him about the phone call, about our fight, about everything. But he was still murmuring “sorry,” again and again into my neck, and it didn’t really matter.

I held him tighter, and together, we weathered the sickness and sleep.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

WE PASSED DAYS in this manner, wrapped up in each other, in and out of sleep, eating and showering when we felt like we could. It was strange to think of sickness as an oasis, but that’s what it was. When our physical needs triumphed over our brains, we didn’t need to talk, not about our relationship or what had broken it. We didn’t need to work anything out or explain ourselves. I didn’t even have to worry about being a virgin or the idea of having sex with him.

We cradled each other and found healing in the quiet, beneath my covers, away from the world. By Saturday, we were well enough to spend more time out of bed, to eat real food, to watch TV . . . to talk.

We lay on the couch, my back to his chest, his arm snug around me. We were supposed to be watching TV, but his forehead was pressed into my neck, and I was grilling him on the first days of my sickness.

“What did Eric say when you called him?”

“He wasn’t upset, if that’s what you’re asking. Half the cast is sick now, I think.”

Great. Our show was going to suck balls if we were all exhausted all the time. We could call it an experimental piece—Phaedra Lethargic.

I asked another question. “What did he say about you taking care of me?”

His forehead lifted off my neck. “He doesn’t know. He told me to get you in bed, and you’d be fine. He suggested that I use your phone to call your Mum.”

That would have been horrific. Knowing my mother, she would have asked him when he planned to pop the question right after she found out his name.

“But you stayed.”

“I couldn’t just leave you. I told Eric I wasn’t feeling well either, and I stayed with you.”

“But why?”

“Do you really have to ask?”

“I do.” I’d heard him all those weeks ago on that phone call, heard him say that he didn’t care, that I was just inconvenient. Whatever reason he’d stayed . . . I needed to hear it.

He said, “Well then, if we’re doing this, I’m doing it the right way.”

He tried to sit up behind me, but our position on the couch was snug, and we were both still a little out of sorts, so we ended up tangled, him practically on top of me. I was still stuck on my side, squished beneath him. He tried to wiggle off of me, but it was reminiscent of a turtle on it’s back. Finally, he gave up, and lifted up just enough so that I could turn onto my back, and then he lowered himself more gently on top of me.

Despite the fact that we’d slept in the same bed for a week, this was still intimate, still exciting, still terrifying. He held himself up on his elbows as much he could, but he was weak, so his weight still pressed in to me.

I liked it.

“What was I saying, again?” He asked. “Oh, right, that I might be falling in love with you.”

I blinked. Then blinked again.

I blink-blink-blinked my way through a multitude of emotions in mere seconds—shock, disbelief, excitement, fear, lust, uncertainty, and settled on something . . . something too big for a name. There was a galaxy inside of me—complex and infinite and miraculous and fragile. And at the center was my sun. Garrick. Love. The two were like synonyms to me now. He was falling in love with me? With me?

A brush of his hand brought me out of that universe, and back into the moment. “You could drive a man crazy with that kind of silence.”

“I love you, too.” I said. Then I remembered that he hadn’t quite said those three words. He’d said he was falling in love with me. And there had been a maybe in there. Shit. “I mean . . . what I should have said was that I feel the same. I’m just falling, too. Because already being in love with you is too fast. That would be crazy. It’s too much, right? It’s too much. It’s too fast. So . . . I’m not in love with you. I’m not. Not that you’re not loveable, it’s just there’s a difference between falling in love and being in love. And we are the first and not the second, not yet. So, I too may be falling in love with you. That’s what I meant to say. That’s all I meant to say.” I was falling apart. His eyes were soft and unchanging and gave nothing away, so I kept devolving into incoherency. Finally, he kissed me, quickly, but it felt like a punctuation, like I could finally stop talking.

I sighed, “You’re supposed to do that before I start crazy-talking.”

He laughed and kissed me again, a little longer this time.

“I like your crazy talk. Better yet, I love your crazy talk. It’s settled. I’m no longer falling. I am definitely in love with you. That’s not too much, is it?” His grin was blinding and so mocking that I gave him a swift pinch to the arm.

He didn’t even have the decency to look pained. He just kissed me, pressing all of his weight in to me, and it was the best kind of ‘too much.’

I’d always thought too much, too much in my head, as Eric said. But since I’d met Garrick, I had an embarrassing tendency to stop thinking completely. The things that came out of my mouth as a response were almost always embarrassing, but sometimes . . . they worked out. Sometimes, saying the first thing that came to mind went well. Sometimes simple and honest worked the best.

I hoped this was one of those moments.

“I’m a virgin,” I told him. “That’s why I ran away the night we met. I didn’t have a cat. I wasn’t with Cade. I was just afraid.”

He paused mid-kiss on my neck. Then, slowly, like shifting-of-tectonic-plates-slowly lifted his head. He stared at me, into me, through me. I resisted the urge to hide my face, to run away screaming, to make up ridiculous excuses involving some other kind of animal. I whispered, “You could drive a girl crazy with that kind of silence.”

He reacted—it was small—the skin between his eyebrows pinched together.

“Let me get this straight . . . you didn’t have a cat? Did you get a cat just so that you wouldn’t have to tell me you were a virgin?”

I pressed my lips together to keep them from trembling. I nodded. The look on his face was somewhere between shock and amusement. He was flabbergasted. That was the best word. His flabber had been thoroughly gasted.

“You said you loved my craziness,” I reminded him.

“I do. I love you. It’s just . . . honestly? I’m relieved.”

“You’re relieved that I’m a virgin? What, did you think I was a hoe-bag?”

“I would never think you were a hoe-bag.” Was it completely inappropriate to find the way he says ‘hoe-bag’ adorable? “But I knew you were hiding something. I was worried there was some other reason you didn’t want to be with me. I’ve been paranoid about it for months.”

“You’ve been paranoid? I heard that phone call where you said I was an inconvenience. You were planning to change jobs because of me. I was petrified if I ever looked at you too long or gave away how much I missed you that you’d pack up and leave.”

“What are you talking about? I was never planning to leave.”

“I heard you. That day I came by the office. You were on the phone with someone back in Philadelphia, and you said you were over us, that it had just been a inconvenience—“

He held a hand to my lips, “Bliss, now I will stop your crazy talk. While our situation is anything but convenient, you have never been an inconvenience to me. And I wouldn’t have left even if they fired me. I was far too enamored with you.” I resisted the urge to correct his use of the past tense. He is enamored with me. He loves me. God, that felt good. So good, I might get it tattooed somewhere on my body.

He blew out a breath, and the blond strands on his forehead danced in response. “The phone call was actually about something that happened before I left Philadelphia. It’s part of why I’d left Philadelphia. “

I remembered that long ago day that I’d asked why he left Philly, he’d changed the subject rather effectively by kissing me. I hadn’t cared then. Maybe if I had, things would have happened differently. He shifted off of me, once more on his side next to me. He barely looked at me as he spoke, “I had a friend, Jenna. Our relationship was a lot like your relationship with Cade. We became friends during graduate school, and even though I knew it was a bad idea, we tried to be more. I cared about her, but as a friend, and nothing more. When I ended the relationship—well, it was a disaster. We were working on a show together. We did a lot of work at the same theatres, and much like the early Phaedra rehearsals—we ruined everything we did together. As a result, I was having trouble finding work and most of our friends had taken Jen’s side, so when Eric offered me an out, I ran. I was so ashamed at first. I’d quit. I’d given up. And I’d lost a good friend in the process. The phone call you heard was about Jen. That’s what I was over. And that’s why I came down so hard on you and Cade. I was terrified you would go to him, even though I knew you were just friends. I was scared you’d make the same mistake I did. I’m sorry. I handled this all so badly. If I had told you when you asked you might have understood—“

It was my turn to stop him with a kiss. I turned onto my side, and pulled him against me. I poured every misplaced emotion into that kiss—the uncertainty I’d felt about his feelings, the fear of my virginity, the remorse over all the time we’d wasted. I let go of all those things, sent them off with a kiss.

“I understand now,” I told him. “That’s what matters.”

“I love you,” he said. I would never get tired of that.

“I love you, too.”

He said, “Can you say that one more time? So, that I can be sure it’s not the sickness addling my brain?”

I kissed him, softly. In our current state, softly was about all we could manage.

“I love you, Garrick.”

It was shocking how not scared I was.

Not anymore.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

A GOLD NECKLACE sat weighted and heavy around my neck. My hair was piled in curls and jewels, and my dress, though sweeping and simple, was heavy and lush. I sat staring in the dressing room mirror as the makeup designer put finishing touches on my hair, and I completed the application of my stage makeup. It was opening night, and despite my heavy costume and jewelry, I felt like I was going to float away.

Excitement rushed faster than blood through my veins.

We were here. Finally. The opening had been delayed a week due to the widespread sickness, but even so, I thought the show was good. Really good. And I wasn’t alone.

Kelsey came careening into the room, looking drop dead gorgeous as Aphrodite. “I know, I know. You don’t have to stare. I know how amazing I look.”

I smiled, just glad to have her back. She’d been the only one of my close friends to evade the dreaded mono, which was incredibly cruel, considering spin the bottle had been her idea.

She’d shown up on the last day of spring break to demand we “stop being prissy girls and make up already,” only to find Garrick and I curled up in bed together. She’d pieced together pretty quickly why I hadn’t wanted to go out dancing that night, and with a wide grin backed out of my room saying, “Don’t mind me. I didn’t see anything. My lips are sealed.” At first, Garrick had totally freaked, but since then she had definitely become an ally.

She smiled at Megan, the designer finishing my hair and said, “Looks great, Meg! You’re fantastic! I think Alyssa needed you for something though, so you might want to finish up fast.”

Megan nodded, spraying the final product with half a can of hairspray before fleeing the dressing room.

Kelsey threw herself into a chair beside me, “You’re welcome. And first, you look gorgeous. I’m a little envious. Shouldn’t Aphrodite have a better dress?”

I rolled my eyes.

“All right, okay. Nevermind. Secondly, you’re going to be amazing tonight. Seriously. Like, give her a Tony now amazing. Third, break a leg.” She leaned in and licked the side of my face, some weird pre-show tradition she’d had for as long as I’d known her. “And lastly, there’s someone else waiting outside to wish you a good show. You’ve got five minutes until warm-up. I can promise you privacy for three, so you better take advantage while you can.”

She placed a quick air kiss on my cheek, skipping toward the door and shut it behind her once Garrick had slipped inside.

“Hi,” He said.

“Hey.”

He stepped farther into the room, and I stood. It was disconcerting to see myself in the dozens of mirrors all around the room, so I focused on him, which wasn’t hard. He looked gorgeous as always.

“You look . . .” He paused, taking in my elaborate, midnight blue costume.

“If you say cute, I will skin you alive.”

He smiled and pulled me to him. Careful not to smudge my makeup, he placed a kiss on my neck instead, then dipped and dropped a kiss over my heart, just above the line of my gown. I clutched his shoulders, feeling light-headed at his touch.

He said, “I was going to say you looked unbelievably sexy. I’m glad you’re not my step-mum.”

I laughed, “I’m not sure being your student is much better.”

He dragged his lips up my neck, and then brought our faces close together. His blue eyes almost matched the color of my dress, dark and decadent.

“One month,” he said. We had one month until he was no longer my teacher, and I was no longer a college student. One month until it didn’t matter how we felt and who knew about it. One month until we planned to have sex.

It had seemed like a reasonable plan when we were holed up sick in my apartment. It gave me the time I needed to deal with my anxiety, and it held significance since we could no longer get in trouble. But the more he looked at me like that, like he was looking at me now, like he loved me, the less I cared about waiting.

“I wish I could really kiss you,” He said, staring mournfully at my lips, which were full and red thanks to layers of stage makeup.

“Tonight,” I told him. “After the party. My place?”

He leaned forward, at the last second swerving from my lips and kissing me in that spot below my ear that he knew made my knees go weak.

“It can’t come soon enough. ‘I feel all the furies of desire.’ ” He quoted one of my lines from the show back at me, and that reminded me that we were probably near the end of our time.

“You should probably go before everyone else gets back. Tell Kelsey thank you on your way out?”

“Oh I will. Best thing that ever happened to me . . . that girl finding out about us.”

I turned back to the mirror, making sure my makeup and hair still looked perfect. “I’m going to pretend you didn’t just say my best friend was the best thing to ever happen to you.”

Even though he was supposed to be leaving, he raced back to my side and circled his arms around me from behind. He kissed my neck one last time and said, “I love you.” I looked at him through the mirror. We looked good together—he in a suit, me in an elaborate Grecian gown. It was still kind of unbelievable, this thing we had. “I love you, too,” I said.

I stayed staring in the mirror after he left, thinking that I looked different. Not just the costume and hair and makeup—me. I looked . . . happy.

I heard Alyssa call for warm-up, and I took a deep breath, trying to calm my sprinting heart.

Today was a big day.

Our first Phaedra performance.

My last opening night here ever.

And if I got my way, the night I lost my virginity.

THERE ARE MOMENTS in theatre, when everything comes together exactly how it is supposed to happen. The costumes and set are perfect, the audience rapt and engaged, and the acting effortless.

Tonight was one of those nights.

Every actor was on fire.

And I . . . I lived another life in those two hours on stage. I lived the shame. It was a familiar emotion to me. I lived the hope when word came of my husband’s death. I dreamed that maybe . . . maybe Hippolytus could be mine. I felt the horror when my affections weren’t returned and when I learned my husband wasn’t dead after all. I experienced the pain of remorse when Hippolytus was killed based on my false accusations. And then finally, I felt the acceptance, the release of admitting my crimes, and it was almost as if I could feel the poison Phaedra took, coursing through my blood, reaching for my heart. It wasn’t until I had crumbled on the floor, Theseus’s last lines had been delivered, and the lights dimmed that I really came out of it.

The clapping started in the dark, and my breath caught in my throat. I fought back the tears that came with experiencing something as perfect and powerful as the performance I’d just had. That was what theatre was about—that kind of experience. We would never be able to recreate that again. Only the people here tonight would ever know what that show was like.

Theatre is once in a lifetime . . . every time.

It was like the stars aligned, because suddenly so many more things about my life became obvious. Things that had eluded me until now were laid plain in my mind. Everything made sense, and I couldn’t wait to see Garrick. Backstage was in an uproar when we left the stage after our final bows. Friends and family lined the halls between the stage door and the dressing rooms. Eric was there, smiling at us, proud of the show he’d put together. I hugged him first, so grateful that he gave me this chance, and that he didn’t dump me that first week when I was doing terrible.

“Best work I’ve ever seen you do, Bliss. You should be proud.”

I was, God, I was. My face felt split open by my smile.

Garrick was behind him, and even though it was risky, I hugged him too. He didn’t hold me long, just long enough to whisper, “Brilliant,” in my ear.

Then I lost myself in the crowd.

I was slick with sweat, and my dress felt as heavy as another person hanging on me, but I relished the hugs and congratulations that poured over me.

And when I was back in the dressing room . . .

I danced.

We all danced. Kelsey flipped on her iPod, and we celebrated as we peeled off the layers of our costumes. Our dressing room was filled with flowers, which helped to mask the sweat. When our things were put away, real clothes donned, and our stage makeup removed and real makeup re-applied, we moved the party elsewhere. We were heading to SideBar, the only bar close to campus that allowed people under twenty-one, a must when the whole cast was going.

I was surprised to find Cade waiting outside the dressing room when we exited. He stepped up beside me. “Hey, can I give you a ride to SideBar?”

That was surprising, but certainly welcome.

I told him, “That would be great, but I was planning on leaving early. I’m pretty tired.”

“Oh,” he nodded. “Well, do you mind if I ride with you, and I’ll just find another ride home after?”

“Sure, that’s fine with me.”

We walked to my car in silence, and I jangled my keys to fill the space with noise. I started the car, and immediately turned down the radio. “So, what’s up, Cade?”

He fidgeted with his seatbelt. Nervous. He didn’t answer my question, but instead asked, “How are things with Garrick?”

Frowning, I pulled out of the parking lot, watching him from the corner of my eye. “Why?”

“I’m sorry. Is that weird? I didn’t mean for it to be weird, I was just trying to be friendly.”He looked so uncomfortable. How had we been reduced to this?

I said, “It’s not weird, Cade. I’m sorry. I’m just . . . a little cautious is all. Things are great, actually.”

He nodded, “Good. That’s good.”

After spending so much time with Garrick, I’d forgotten what it was like to deal with guys who didn’t just say what they were thinking.

“Just tell me what you want to talk about, Cade. Whatever it is, it’s fine.”

He took a deep breath. He was still nervous, but he was no longer fidgeting. “I have a question, but I’m pretty sure it’s prying, and I just don’t want to cross any lines.”

“Cade, I know things have been difficult. But I still consider you one of my best friends. I want you to be one of my best friends again. Ask me anything.”

“Are you guys staying together after we graduate?”

My gut reaction was, “Yes.” Even though we hadn’t really talked about it, not in so many words. We’d implied it, sure, with the whole ‘one month’ thing, but we hadn’t really had that conversation for real.

“Are you staying here? Or moving to Philly? Or somewhere else?”

I pulled into the parking lot, using searching for a space as an excuse to collect my thoughts. That was definitely not a conversation we’d had, no matter how much I had thought about it.

“Why do you ask?”

He ruffled his hair, and I resisted the urge to say, ‘Just spit it out already!’

“Well . . . I applied to a grad school a few months ago before . . . well . . . before everything. And I hadn’t really thought I would go, but I got in, and now I’m thinking I might actually like it.”

“Really? That’s great, Cade!”

“It’s Temple, in Philly.”

“Oh.” That was the school where Garrick had studied.

“And I just wasn’t sure if the two of you were going to be in Philly, and if you thought it would be weird for me to be there, too. And if it’s not, I thought maybe we could still . . . you know, hang out. If that’s cool with Garrick.”

An image started to form in my mind of what that life might be like. It was a pretty great thought.

“I don’t know if we’ll be in Philly or not. But if we are . . . no, it won’t be weird. And yes, we’ll hang out. And Garrick can be cool or not cool with it; he doesn’t decide what I do. I meant what I said, Cade. I really do want us to be friends again.”

He smiled, relaxed in his seat, finally. “Me too.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

CADE WASN’T THE only one thinking about the future. At SideBar, we did our fair share of celebrating and drinking and eating, but the talk soon turned sentimental. We shared memories of our first shows, classes we’d had together, parties that had gone horribly wrong. Rusty suggested we could have another make-out party, and he was pelted with napkins and bits of paper and even a hot roll.

Just like with theatre—life sometimes has perfect moments when the stars all align, and you’re exactly where you want to be with great people, doing exactly what you want to do.

Leaving college seemed impossible.

I had never been happier than the four years I’d spent here. I looked around the table as people laughed and screamed (we only had one volume— really, loud). These people were my family. They understood me and knew me in ways that no one else did.

I couldn’t imagine my life without them.

“Uh-oh! Tears alert!” Kelsey cried, “Bliss is getting weepy!”

I wiped at my eyes, and embarrassingly, she was right.

“Shut up! I just love you guys, okay?”

Kelsey’s arms enfolded me first, then Rusty, then Cade, and then I lost count.

Rusty said, “Stop acting like we don’t have a month left together. I don’t know about you guys, but I have one hell of a college bucket list that I need you guys to help me fulfill. Starting with getting super drunk on my last opening night. So, let’s get started.”

I ate and drank, just listening to the stories and conversations around me, soaking it all up. Life was good, and if I had my way, it was about to get even better.

It was harder than I thought it would be to excuse myself after dinner was over. Not because I was nervous about what I planned to do tonight, I actually felt good about that, but because I didn’t want to leave my friends.

It was a funny thing to miss people before you’d even left them, but that’s what I was feeling now.

A little bit of melancholy stayed with me all the way out of the bar and into my car. But it didn’t take long for it to disappear in light of where I was heading. I didn’t text Garrick when I was on my way like I’d told him I would, because I wanted some time to get things ready.

I took a quick shower, and then left my hair loose to dry curly, because Garrick liked it that way. It made me think of that night at the club, and my heart beat faster just at the memory.

I found the Victoria’s Secret bag in the back of my closet that held the lingerie I’d bought specifically with this night in mind. I slipped it on, trying to imagine again exactly what Garrick might think or feel when he saw me.

Looking in the mirror, I felt sexy, like he’d always said I was. I slipped back on the dress I’d worn after the show, not wanting to give anything away just yet. I tidied up my room, made sure there were condoms in the bedside table, and then took a seat on my bed.

I was doing this.

I was really doing this.

I was going to have sex with Garrick . . . tonight.

Something bubbled up in my chest. At first I thought it was nerves, but then I recognized it. It was the same kind of feeling I got when I first found out I’d been cast as Phaedra and then again when the show had gone so well. It was something beyond excitement, something better.

Because I could, I hopped up on my bed, and jumped. It felt good so I did it again. I flailed my arms because it seemed like the right thing to do, and then I covered my face with my hands and let out the quietest scream I could manage.

“What are you doing?”

Garrick was at the foot of my bed, an amused grin unfurled on his face. I squeaked and plopped back on to the bed.

“What are you doing here?” I asked.

“I saw your car outside, so I came over. I didn’t realize you’d already started the party without me. I take it you’re excited about how the show went tonight?”

I climbed off the bed as gracefully as I could (meaning with zero grace at all). I should have expected something like this. It seemed I was incapable of having an intimate moment with Garrick without doing something supremely embarrassing. At least this time it happened at the beginning.

“The show was great, but I’m glad to be home.” I put a hand on his chest and he wrapped his arms around me in a hug.

“You were great tonight, and now I get to have you all to myself.”

I hadn’t really thought about the best way to approach what I wanted to do tonight. I’d thought about the lingerie and the condoms and the probable pain, but not so much the “Hey, I’m ready to have sex” talk.

I mean, he was a guy, so I doubted very much he’d care about how I told him, but still . . . I wanted it to be right.

“How was the celebration?” he asked.

“Good, really good. I’m going to miss everyone when we graduate. It’s a little crazy to think that’s only a month away.”

“One month.” He smiled, and leaned down for a kiss.

I think he meant for the kiss to be quick, but I didn’t really give him a choice in the matter. I looped my arms around his neck to keep him down at my level, and pressed my lips more firmly against his. He hummed lightly, and the vibrations tingled my lips. His hand curled around my ribcage, and I wanted it higher, farther in. I wanted him touching me everywhere.

When he was taking too long, I opened my mouth and traced the seam of his lips with my tongue. He let me in, and the taste of him was as addicting as always. With each brush of his tongue against mine, I felt more certain.

I pulled my arms down from his neck, and slipped a hand underneath his shirt, pressing my fingertips into his back. His hands remained in safe places, my ribs and my neck, but I felt them twitch and tighten slightly at the skin to skin contact.

He kept kissing me . . . slowly, safely.

I slipped my other hand beneath his shirt, feeling the ridges of his abs, up to his chest. I hoped he would take the hint and move his own hand accordingly.

He didn’t.

Frustrated, I shifted him slightly until my bed pressed at the back of his knees and then I pushed. He sank on to the bed, and I wasted no time climbing on to his lap, pressing against him in much the same way I had that first night we’d almost had sex.

“Bliss,” He whispered. It was almost a warning, but not quite there yet.

I should probably tell him what I wanted, but the way he was kissing me, or more aptly the way he wasn’t kissing me made me feel unsure, desperate. He still wanted me. It told myself that. And I believed it. Mostly. I just needed a little more reassurance.

I pulled back, and waited for his eyes to open, for him to watch me. When his eyes met mine, they were a bit too clear, too focused for my liking. I reached down and grabbed the hem of my dress. He made a noise in his throat when I started pulling it up, but I didn’t stop until I had it up and over my head. At first his eyes stayed resolutely on mine, but when I leaned forward, taking care to brush my chest against his, he looked down.

His intake of breath was exactly what I’d been looking for.

The strapless black bra was so tight that I had possibly the best cleavage I had ever or will ever have. And the panties, well, you could barely call them that.

“Bliss,” This time, there definitely was a warning tone. “You’re overestimating my self-control.”

“Oh, I’m pretty sure I estimated your control perfectly.”

I leaned forward until I was pressed tightly against his hips. My lips hovered over his, waiting for him to kiss me. I was done being on the offensive. It was his turn to come to me.

As always, the anticipation alone was enough to do me in. His gaze darted between my eyes and my mouth, and now that I was down to only lingerie, his hands met my skin no matter where he put them. One was currently scalding my lower back, and other was fisted in my hair. I rocked my hips against him, and his hand in my hair tightened.

“Bliss.” His response was choked, like he was in pain.

I smiled. This was kind of fun.

“Garrick,” I returned, eyes wide and as innocent as I could make them.

“This is the opposite of slow.”

I exhaled, swaying forward so that my bottom lip barely grazed his. I rubbed against him, grinding at the slowest pace I could. I said, “I think we’ve gone slow enough.”

The arm at my back pulled me in more, until my chest pressed against his. He still had a shirt on. I wanted it gone.

“What does that mean?” Ah, there was that look I loved—dark, a bit unfocused.

“It means,” I said as my hands found the bottom of his shirt, “That I’m done going slow.”

I pulled, and his arms followed automatically, allowing me to pull the shirt over his head before his hands went right back into their previous positions. Our chests met, skin sliding against skin, and he groaned. He said, “I’m going to need you to be very clear about what you’re saying right now, Bliss.”

All right, it was time to just say it. And no euphemisms like beast with two backs or horizontal tango or anything ridiculous. Sex. If I was going to have it, I could sure as hell say it. I leaned in and kissed him for courage. To hell with making him come to me. That took too long. When I pulled back, his lips tried to follow. I appeased him with another quick kiss and said, “Make love to me?”

Everything about him tensed—his hands on me, his gorgeous face, and his body beneath mine.

“Bliss, you don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do for me.”

“What about tonight has felt like I was being forced to do anything? In fact, I feel a little like I’m forcing you.”

His lips crushed against mine—teeth and tongues and heat. It was just enough to make me shake with want, and then it was over.

Garrick was panting when he replied, “You’re not forcing me to do anything. I just want you to be sure. You can say stop at anytime.” His lips pulled wide. “You don’t need to make up a new pet.”

That grin . . . it was so infuriating and sexy at the same time.

I put my hands on his shoulders and pushed away, standing up. “If you’re going to keep trying to talk me out of it . . .”

I hadn’t even taken one full step away before he’d grabbed me, and spun so that my back hit the mattress. My breath left my lungs in a rush, and the sight of him prowling above me made heat curl low in my belly.

“I wasn’t trying to talk you out of anything. I was trying to be a gentleman.”

Huh. He’d tried to pull the gentleman card that first night, too. He was still hovering over me, and I looped my fingers into the belt loops on his jeans, and tugged him down on top of me.

“Do me a favor? Be a gentleman tomorrow?”

I was fairly certain he said, “Yes Ma’am,” but then he was kissing me, and I couldn’t care less.

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

HE KISSED ME hard, and long enough that I could taste more of him in my mouth than myself. I dug my fingernails into his shoulders, because I had learned that every time I did, he pressed his hips harder against mine.

If he weren’t careful, I would draw blood soon.

His hands smoothed up my sides, sending shivers across my skin when he passed the sensitive spots. And finally, one hand stole around my back, reaching for the clasp of my bra.

His lips left mine for the hollow of my neck, His chin, once again covered in scruff grazed the top of my breasts.

I arched up toward him at the same moment that the snaps on my bra came undone. The cold air hardened my nipples into little buds, and I ached for him to touch me. He said once that we could own each other, and I wanted nothing more in that moment. Garrick kissed down between my breasts, his cheeks grazing slightly across the swells. I dug my fingernails in again, and his hips pressed down at the same moment that he took one breast into his hand and the other into his mouth. Something sparked beneath my skin, and I moaned, bucking up against him in response.

He rolled one nipple between his fingers, and the other he squeezed lightly between his teeth, and I could feel darkness creeping in on my vision.

Words streamed from my mouth, some familiar, some not.

The last of which was, “I love you.”

He rose up off me with a grin. “If I’d known it was that easy to get you to admit how you feel, I would have done this a long time ago.”

My brain was beyond responding with words. Instead my hands found his belt. I unbuckled it, and then flicked open the button to his jeans.

His cheeky smile was gone now.

Slowly, I pulled down his zipper, and the sound alone made a moan rise in my throat. I pushed his jeans and boxers down together. When he pulled back to shuck his pants off completely, I took the moment to slip my panties down and off, and grab a condom from my drawer.

When he looked up, he froze for a second in shock, as if he just now realized how serious I was. He shook it off quickly, and swooped in for a kiss.

“You know I love you, right?”

“I do.” I told him. I don’t think I could have done it if I didn’t know that. That was what I’d needed. That’s what made the fear, the nerves bearable.

He kissed me again, and his fingers found my entrance. He slipped two inside at the same time that his tongue met mine. He started slowly, then his kisses sped up along with his fingers. I squeezed his shoulders, my fingernails scraping lightly, and was rewarded with a crooking of his fingers inside me.

I moaned, breaking our kiss.

His lips returned again to my chest, placing feather light kisses everywhere he could reach. I could feel a pressure building low in my core, and I pulled his head back up to mine. He pressed his forehead against mine, our lips touching, but not kissing, then his palm pressed down against me, and an explosion ignited beneath my skin. Like a string of fireworks, my world detonated into bursts of light and color.

The world was coming together and crumbling to pieces behind my closed eyes, and my mouth was still open in a silent scream. I felt his kiss below my ear, and I reached for him, wrapping my arms around his middle.

The length of him pressed against me, and my whole body shuddered in response.

“Are you sure?” He asked me again.

My brain didn’t know how to play it cool at the moment, so I said, “Please, God, yes.”

There was a pinching sensation, not pleasant, but the rest of my body was too relaxed to really think too much of the pain. He kissed me as he pushed inside, then broke off with a groan.

“Oh God, Bliss.”

His whole body was tense above me. I could see the pronounced lines of his flexed muscles in his shoulders, in the arms braced on either side of me. I could feel it in the warm chest pressed against mine. I distracted myself from the pain by following those lines with my eyes and hands.

After a few moments, he took a deep breath and gazed at me. He soothed me first with his lips, and then with whispers of “love” and “beautiful” and “perfect.”

He stilled completely once he was inside, crushing his lips against mine. My limbs felt a bit like Jell-O, so I just wrapped myself around him, holding him as tightly as I could.

He pulled out, just a little, before pushing back in.

I breathed out sharply, biting my lip against the twinge of pain.

Garrick’s lips captured that bottom lip between his own, soothing, careful.

“Are you okay?” He asked.

I nodded, not sure I could speak.

“Do you need me to stop?”

I shook my head. That wasn’t what I wanted at all. I wanted him to feel what I’d felt earlier. I wanted to hold him as he came apart in my arms.

He repeated the action, and this time, it wasn’t so much pain as discomfort.

“Keep going,” I whispered.

Garrick burrowed his head into the curve of my neck, dragging his mouth over my pulse point as he pushed in and out again. The next time I was coherent enough to tip my hips upward to meet him halfway. His response was a groan that I felt all the way down to my toes.

His mouth memorized the skin of my neck and shoulders as we developed a rhythm between us. Something pushed and pulled inside of me, and each time our skin connected, I felt the pressure build a little bit more. His hand cupped my breast, and I felt the pleasure snake down my middle to the place where our bodies met.

I wrapped my legs around his hips and pulled him farther into me. His rhythm stuttered for a moment, his eyes closed, and he was beautiful as he tried to hold himself together.

My whole world was expanding in the circle of his arms.

He started moving again after a moment, and this time he reached a hand between us. I’d worry about how he got to be so good at this later, but for now I was too busy reaping the benefits. I was so close, and every muscle in me was clenched tight. I dug my fingernails into his shoulder one final time, my favorite new trick, and his hips snapped forward.

“Bliss,” He ground out.

I just wrapped my legs tighter against him, and rolled my hips upward. His head dropped to my neck, his breath hot against my skin. He thrust forward again so hard that my whole body shifted and pleasure poured through my body so fast that my vision went spotty. His body stilled against mine, his face still pressed into my neck, his arms cradling me. I lifted his face to mine, watching as his eyes clenched shut and his mouth fell open, and his whole body shuddered over mine.

When his eyes opened, they were still dark, but focused on me. He pressed a kiss to my forehead, then each cheek, and finally my lips.

“I love you,” we said together.

He slipped out of me, and I immediately reached for him, missing him, missing the way we fit together. He settled beside me and gathered me in his arms. I laid my head onto his chest, where I could hear his heartbeat. It was just as fast as mine. He laced our fingers together, and pressed his cheek into the top of my hair.

It was perfect.

I was full of perfect moments today.

And I wasn’t sure if what I said next would make it more so or ruin everything, but I’d found that not thinking too much worked well with Garrick. When my breathing calmed, I said, “I looked at apartments in Philadelphia.”

“You did?”

I nodded, still unsure what he was thinking.

“I know we still haven’t talked about this,” I began. “But I’ve been doing some thinking, and I’ve decided I do want to focus on acting, not stage management, and since I can’t afford New York, Philly seems like a pretty good place. I mean, I haven’t made any final plans. I’ve only done some research. You know, looked at some theatres, upcoming auditions, apartments, and day jobs, that kind of thing. But if you don’t think it’s a good idea, I don’t have to—“

“Stop right there, crazy talker.”

This was an awful idea. I’d just ruined a great moment . . . like I always did. Seriously, I was going to invent some kind of machine to shock me or punch me in the face whenever I did shit like this. It would be like conditioning, and maybe eventually I’d learn to shut the hell up. His hand found my jaw, and titled my face up toward his. His thumb grazed my lip, and his eyes gazed into mine.

“I think you would love Philly,” he told me.

The light was shining again in the form of his smile, and I relaxed into his arms.

“But don’t worry about researching apartments. You can stay with me while you look for a place.”

His face was carefully constructed—the lines smooth, his lips closed and resting somewhere close to a smile. I swallowed the lump in my throat, and said, “Really?”

“And if you don’t find a place you like, you can always decide to just stay with me permanently.”

I reached up, and brushed his hair back from his forehead so that I could see his eyes. “Are you asking me to move in with you? I can’t tell. You’re usually much more direct than that.”

He smiled. “That was me attempting to ask you to move in with me without scaring you off. Did it work?”

I said, “I’m not scared.”

And I meant it.

EPILOGUE

Six Months Later

GARRICK

My eyes were always drawn to Bliss during this scene. She was lovely and joyous, and it took all of my focus to keep from rushing to her. Our director had written her own adaptation of the classic Pride and Prejudice, and I doubted she’d approve of me adding my own adaptation wherein Bingley and Elizabeth end up together instead of that surly Mr. Darcy. Bliss’s eyes connected with mine, and even though I was supposed to be fawning over her character’s sister, my character was the last thing on my mind. We moved into formation for a dance where we were constantly moving and spinning. Every time Bliss and I passed, our eyes would meet, our hands would brush, and I’d curse the casting director who didn’t make me Darcy. I could be surly.

Immediately after the curtain call, I found her backstage and pulled her into my arms. “Garrick,” She sighed into my embrace. The words vibrated against my chest, and I held her tighter.

I whispered into her ear, “You must allow me to tell you how ardently I admire and love you.”

She laughed. “You say that every night after the show.”

I pulled back, and my cheek slid against hers. The curls around her face tickled my forehead. “What can I say? I’m persistent.”

She hummed, her lips pressed tightly together. “Persistent? I’d say unimaginative. You could at least get your own line.”

I traced my fingers over her back. I could feel the stays in her corset. God, I’d love to see her in that. Only in that.

“You want something original, love?”

“I do. Tomorrow, I expect the best line you’ve got, Mr. Taylor. But now, I need to go get dressed.”

She stepped away from me, and moved toward the women’s dressing room. She looked at me over her shoulder, and I felt that look go all the way through me. Several original things went through my mind, none of which I could say out loud. Her grin seemed to say that she new exactly what I was thinking.

“Hurry,” I said.

“Patience is a virtue, Mr. Taylor.”

She knew that name made me mental. It made me feel like her teacher again, which was infuriating and sexy as hell all at the same time. I went to say as much, but she’d already ducked into the dressing room.

I took a moment to breathe and clear my head.

Tonight, my plan started tonight. If I didn’t, I’d probably end up blurting it out with no warning whatsoever. And with Bliss’s tendency to panic that was definitely not the way to go.

I changed out of my costume, and hung it up for the maintenance crew as quick as I could. Tomorrow was our day off, which meant it was laundry day. Good thing too because my costume had definitely smelt better. A few cast mates invited us out for drinks, but I begged off. I hoped Bliss did the same. I wanted her all to myself tonight.

I was dressed and waiting for Bliss in record time. When the first girl came out, she laughed and shook her head. She leaned back in and said, “Bliss, your boyfriend is practically salivating out here.”

Boyfriend. I still wasn’t quite used to that. Even after Bliss graduated, it was awkward when people saw us together. It was nice that we had something fresh in Philly. We didn’t have to hide.

Every girl that exited gave me a knowing smile, but Bliss took her time, longer even than normal.

“Bliss!” I called through the door. “Are you trying to torture me?”

The door swung open again, another smirking actress, but not Bliss. I sighed. The girl said, “I’m pretty sure she is.”

I groaned, and pressed my face into the wall. The door opened, and I didn’t even bother looking.

“Go ahead, Loverboy. I’m the last one left.” I turned to find Alice, the older woman playing Mrs. Bennett. I smiled and reached for the door. Alice laughed, “Good luck!”

I didn’t think anything of her reply until I walked into the dressing room.

Bloody hell.

Bliss was still wearing the corset, sitting in a chair staring at me through the mirror. Her breasts were pushed up and out, and her eyes were dark as she looked at me. She reached a hand up, and started pulling bobby pins from her hair. It tumbled down around her shoulders, and my mouth went dry.

She was stunning.

“I thought I told you to be patient.”

I forced my feet into motion, and walked up behind her. I reached out and helped her with the pins. God, I loved her hair. I wrapped a curl around my finger and said, “I’m good at being patient. I’m just not good at staying away from you. Surely you know that by now.”

She grinned, and leaned her head back into my hands. “I think that’s been obvious from the beginning.”

I dropped my hands from her hair to her neck. I pressed down with my thumbs, massaging gently. Her eyes fluttered closed. Her lips parted. She had no idea how sexy she was. In that corset, she looked like a 1950s pinup girl.

I leaned down and pressed my lips to the curve of her shoulder. Somehow, despite being on stage under the heat of the lights for several hours, she still smelled divine. I dragged my mouth up her neck to that spot below her ear that drove her crazy.

She exhaled, like my kiss had pushed all the air out of her lungs. Her hand curled around the back of my head, pulling me closer. I smiled against her skin.

She said, “You’ve bewitched me.”

I chuckled, and traced a finger along the fine bones of her collar. I could map out the architecture of her body for days and never get bored.

“Body and soul?” I asked, quoting the play.

I opened my mouth and tasted her skin. It was almost as delicious as her groan that followed.

“Definitely,” she said.

“Who is being unoriginal now?”

A knock at the door broke the spell between us. Benji, the stage manager, poked his head in the room. I turned so that I blocked Bliss and that corrupting corset.

“You guys about ready? I’m going to lock up.”

“Sorry, Ben. We’ll be out in just a sec.” His expression was skeptical. “I promise. Two minutes.”

As soon as he shut the door, Bliss stood. I had to close my eyes to keep from touching her. That corset . . . my God. I kept my eyes closed because that was the only way we’d make it out of here in two minutes. Even so, hearing her change clothes was torture. Every rustle of fabric and zipped zipper brought a vivid picture into my mind. Even though I couldn’t see her, I could feel her presence, especially when she stepped in front of me.

Her hand curled around my neck, tilting my head down. I kept my eyes closed, but the heat of her breath caressed my face.

“Let’s go home, Mr. Taylor.”

That name. I opened my eyes, and she was smirking. Two could play at that game. “Oh, Miss Edwards, I think that might deserve detention.”

Her eyes narrowed.

“Or maybe a little punishment.”

I got so much pleasure out of seeing the red rise to her cheeks.

“You wouldn’t.”

Rather than answering, I bent and hauled her over my shoulder. She squeaked, and clutched at my back.

“Garrick!”

“Hush, Miss Edwards. I’m taking you home.”

Benji was waiting impatiently by the backstage door. His frown deepened when he saw us. He said, “First, that was three minutes. I counted. Second, you two are disgusting. I feel like I’m watching some Lifetime movie.”

I just laughed and told him goodnight. Bliss only pouted at first, but when I kept her over my shoulder even as we left the building, she started to struggle.

“Okay, Garrick, you’ve made your point.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. There’s no point. I just like carrying you.”

“Well, you’ve had your fun. Put me down.”

I stopped for a moment and pretended to think. I took the opportunity to slide my hand up the back of her thigh.

I answered, “I, for one, think there’s more fun to be had.”

I set off again, and either Bliss was paralyzed or she was really interested in where my hand was going to go next because she didn’t move again.

Until I started descending the stairs to the tube, then she kicked her legs, and gave a swift, warning pinch to my side. “Garrick, I refuse to let you carry me onto the subway. Down, now.”

I could picture her face red with anger, and suddenly wanted to see it. Flushed cheeks. Narrowed eyes. Pursed lips. When I got to the bottom of the stairs, I pulled, allowing her body to slide down mine. I kept my hands at her waist to slow her descent. The shifting of her body against mine was heavenly. She sucked in a breath, and when our faces were level, her eyes were not narrowed, but closed. Her lips weren’t pursed, but her bottom lip was caught between her teeth in a way that made my mouth dry. Her cheeks were still flushed, but I had a feeling it wasn’t about anger anymore.

“You did that on purpose, ” she said.

I laughed, and it came out raspy. She wasn’t the only one affected by our closeness. “I definitely did that on purpose. I think we should make this a post-show ritual, actually.”

She shook her head, and smiled, but she didn’t say no. Even under the dim lights of the tube station, she was radiant. I still couldn’t believe I could touch her. There was no one to pull us apart. Nothing to get us in trouble. I was tempted to announce my love for her to all the other commuters, but I didn’t want to break this moment. I liked the quiet way she was looking at me, her eyes filled with more than just desire. She made me happy, and I hoped I was seeing the same in her right then. Suddenly, I was excited to get home and put my plan into action.

I buried my fingers into her hair, and pulled her in for a kiss. Her hands tightened on my shoulders, her fingernails pressing into my skin. I took my time tasting her mouth, losing myself as we waited for the train.

AS SOON AS we arrived home, I told Bliss I was going to take a shower. Sundays were a two-show day, so I certainly needed it. I let her go in first to brush her teeth. I waited for the water to turn on, then leapt into action. I found Hamlet’s feathered cat toy (the only reason she would ever willingly get close to Bliss), and hid it underneath the bed. Then I went to the closet and found the suit coat pocket where I’d hidden the ring. I popped open the box to look at it one more time.

It wasn’t much. I was only an actor, after all. But Bliss wasn’t one to wear much jewelry any way. It was simple and sparkling, and I hoped she would love it as much as I loved her. A popping sensation filled my gut like those silly candy rocks that Bliss loved.

What if I was pushing her too fast?

No. No, I’d thought this out. It was the best way. I opened the top drawer of the nightstand, and slid the ring box toward the back. The water in the bathroom shut off, and I went back to the closet, shucking my shirt. I tossed it in the hamper at the same time Bliss walked in the room.

She came up behind me and placed a hand on my bare back. She pressed a small kiss on my shoulder and asked, “Get Hamlet for me before you shower?”

I smiled, and nodded.

Bliss was so determined to make Hamlet like her that she played with the cat for at least half an hour before bed every night. Hamlet would stick around for as long as Bliss waved that feathered toy in the air, but the minute Bliss tried to touch her, she was gone.

I found Hamlet in the kitchen, hiding underneath the kitchen table. I reached a hand down, and she butted her head against my fingers, purring. I picked her up at the same time that Bliss asked, “Babe, have you seen the cat toy?”

I walked into the room, and deposited Hamlet on the bed. She hunkered down and eyed Bliss with distrust.

“Where did you see it last?” I asked her.

“I thought I’d left it on the dresser, but I can’t find it. “

I petted Hamlet once to keep her calm, then placed a quick kiss on Bliss’s cheek.

“I don’t know, honey. Are you sure you didn’t leave it somewhere else?”

She sighed, and started looking in other spots around the room. I turned and hid my smile as I left. I nipped into the bathroom and turned the shower on. I waited a few seconds, went back in the hallway.

“Bliss?” I called.

“Yeah?”

“Check the drawers of the nightstand! She was playing with it in the middle of the night, and I think I remember taking it away and sticking it in there.”

“Okay!”

Through the open door, I watched her circle around the edge of the bed. I walked in place for a few seconds, letting my feet drop a little heavier than necessary, then opened and closed the door like I’d gone back inside the bathroom. Then I hid in the space between the back of the bedroom door and the wall where I could just see through the crack between the hinges. She pulled open the top drawer, and my heartbeat was like a bass drum. I don’t know when it had started beating so hard, but now it was all that I could hear.

It wasn’t like I was asking her to marry me now. I just knew Bliss, and knew she tended to panic. I was giving her a very big, very obvious hint so that she’d have time to adjust before I actually asked her. Then in a few months, when I thought she’d gotten used to the idea, I’d ask her for real.

That was the plan anyway. It was supposed to be simple, but this felt . . . complicated. Suddenly, I thought of all the thousands of ways this could go wrong. What if she freaked out? What if she ran like she did our first night together? If she ran, would she go back to Texas? Or would she go to Cade who lived in North Philly? He’d let her stay until she figured things out, and then what if something developed between them?

What if she just flat out told me no? Everything was good right now. Perfect, actually. What if I was ruining it by pulling this stunt?

I was so caught up in my doomsday predictions that I didn’t even see the moment that she found the box. I heard her open it though, and I heard her exhale and say, “Oh my God.”

Where before my mouth had been dry, now I couldn’t swallow fast enough. My hands were shaking against the door. She was just standing there with her back to me. I couldn’t see her face. All I could see was her tense, straight spine. She swayed slightly.

What if she passed out? What if I’d scared her so much that she actually lost consciousness? I started to think of ways to explain it away.

I was keeping it for a friend?

It was a prop for a show?

It was . . . It was . . . shit, I didn’t know.

I could just apologize. Tell her I knew it was too fast.

I waited for her to do something—scream, run, cry, faint. Anything would be better than her stillness. I should have just been honest with her. I wasn’t good at things like this. I said what I was thinking—no plans, no manipulation.

Finally, when I thought my body would crumble under the stress alone, she turned. She faced the bed, and I only got her profile, but she was biting her lip. What did that mean? Was she just thinking? Thinking of a way to get out of it?

Then, slowly, like the sunrise peeking over the horizon, she smiled.

She snapped the box closed.

She didn’t scream. She didn’t run. She didn’t faint.

There might have been a little crying.

But mostly . . . she danced.

She swayed and jumped and smiled the same way she had when the cast list was posted for Phaedra. She lost herself the same way she did after opening night, right before we made love for the first time.

Maybe I didn’t have to wait a few months after all.

She said she wanted my best line tomorrow after the show, and now I knew what it was going to be.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

WRITING THIS BOOK was nothing short of a whirlwind. I got the idea, and it was different than anything else I’d written before. My sister encouraged me to write it, and then in only a matter of weeks, I had a first draft. The journey of publication was similarly chaotic and wonderful. Through it all, I have quite a few people to thank.

First, I have to thank my mother, who instilled in me a love of books. Thank you for being my teacher and my friend. Thank you for proofreading pretty much everything I write. Thank you for always laughing at my jokes even if you don’t get them. Thank you for always believing that I was gifted enough to make my dreams come true. To my dad, I know my choices stress you out. We’ve argued about a lot of them, but you are always there when I need you. Thank you for caring so much that you lose sleep at night and for checking my Amazon rankings even more frequently than I did. To my sisters, thank you for loving books with me, for listening to me blather on about my ideas, for being enthusiastic about my work when I am unsure, and for putting up with the windmill. I love you.

Thank you to Lindsay and Michelle, my first readers. I don’t think I would have ever finished this book if you two hadn’t loved it as much as you did. Thanks to Ana for being my cheerleader. You know I’ll always return the favor. And thank you to Heather for answering my plethora of questions. Thanks to Bethany, Lindsay, Joey, Patrick, Kristin, Zach, Marylee, Shelly, Sam, Justin, and all my other theatre friends who provided ample inspiration, made me believe awkward could be cool, and have been so supportive of me.

A HUGE thanks goes to Suzie Townsend, my dream agent, who read my book even though she’d sworn off New Adult. I couldn’t have asked for a better advocate. Thanks also to Kathleen, Pouya, Joanna, and all the New Leaf ninjas! You are all incredible, and I’m so happy that you are all on my side (and that we saw Tyra together). Thanks to Amanda and HarperCollins for loving this book as much as I do. Thank you to both Georgia McBride and Kevan Lyon for being amazing at your jobs and two of the nicest people in the world.

And last, but certainly not least, thanks to all those who read, reviewed, and spread the word via blogs, Twitter, Facebook, Tumblr, Instagram, etc. This book would not be where it is without you all. I owe you all my gratitude.

Dedication

To my mother.

Thank you for being my best friend, my teacher, my coach,
and nothing like the horrendous moms in my book.

You loved me and loved words, and taught me how to love both as well.

Thank you. A thousand times, thank you.

Contents

Dedication

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Chapter 39

Chapter 40

Chapter 41

Epilogue

Acknowledgments

1

Cade

You would think I’d be used to it by now. That it wouldn’t feel like a rusty eggbeater to the heart every time I saw them together.

You would think I would stop subjecting myself to the torture of seeing the girl I loved with another guy.

You would be wrong on all counts.

A nor’easter had just blown through, so the Philadelphia air was crisp. Day-old snow still crunched beneath my boots. The sound seemed unusually loud, like I walked toward the gallows instead of coffee with friends.

Friends.

I gave one of those funny-it’s-not-actually-funny laughs, and my breath came out like smoke. I could see them standing on the corner up ahead. Bliss’s arms were wound around Garrick’s neck, and the two of them stood wrapped together on the sidewalk. Bundled in coats and scarves, they could have been a magazine ad or one of those perfect pictures that come in the frame when you buy it.

I hated those pictures.

I tried not to be jealous. I was getting over it.

I was.

I wanted Bliss to be happy, and as she slipped her hands in Garrick’s coat pockets and their breath fogged between them, she definitely looked happy. But that was part of the problem. Even if I managed to let go of my feelings for Bliss completely, it was their happiness that inspired my jealousy.

Because I was fucking miserable. I tried to keep myself busy, made some friends, and settled into life all right here, but it just wasn’t the same.

Starting over sucked.

On a scale of one to ghetto, my apartment was a solid eight. Things were still awkward with my best friend. I had student loans piling so high I might asphyxiate beneath them at any time. I thought by pursuing my master’s degree, I would get at least one part of my life right . . . WRONG.

I was the youngest one in the program, and everyone else had years of working in the real world under his or her belt. They all had their lives together, and my life was about as clean and well kept as the community bathrooms had been in my freshman dorm. I’d been here nearly three months, and the only acting I’d done had been a cameo appearance as a homeless person in a Good Samaritan commercial.

Yeah, I was living the good life.

I knew the minute Bliss caught sight of me because she pulled her hands out of Garrick’s pockets, and placed them safely at her sides. She stepped out of his arms and called, “Cade!”

I smiled. Maybe I was doing some acting after all.

I met them on the sidewalk, and Bliss gave me a hug. Short. Obligatory. Garrick shook my hand. As much as it irked me, I still really liked the guy. He’d never tried to keep Bliss from seeing me, and he’d apparently given me a pretty stellar reference when I applied to Temple. He didn’t go around marking his territory or telling me to back off. He shook my hand and smiled, and sounded genuine when he said, “It’s good to see you, Cade.”

“Good to see you guys, too.”

There was a moment of awkward silence, and then Bliss gave an exaggerated shiver. “I don’t know about you guys, but I’m freezing. Let’s head inside.”

Together we filed through the door. Mugshots was a coffee place during the day and served alcohol at night. I’d not been there yet, as it was kind of a long trek from my apartment up by the Temple campus and because I didn’t drink coffee, but I’d heard good things. Bliss loved coffee, and I still loved making Bliss happy, so I agreed to meet there when she called. I thought of asking if they’d serve me alcohol now, even though it was morning. Instead I settled on a smoothie and found us a table big enough that we’d have plenty of personal space.

Bliss sat first while Garrick waited for their drinks. Her cheeks were pink from the cold, but the winter weather agreed with her. The blue scarf knotted around her neck brought out her eyes, and her curls were scattered across her shoulders, windswept and wonderful.

Damn it. I had to stop doing this.

She pulled off her gloves, and rubbed her hands together. “How are you?” she asked.

I balled my fists under the table and lied. “I’m great. Classes are good. I’m loving Temple. And the city is great. I’m great.”

“You are?” I could tell by the look on her face that she knew I was lying. She was my best friend, which made her pretty hard to fool. She’d always been good at reading me . . . except for when it came to how I felt about her. She could pick up on just about all my other fears and insecurities, but never that. Sometimes I wondered if it was wishful thinking. Maybe she never picked up on my feelings because she hadn’t wanted to.

“I am,” I assured her. She still didn’t believe me, but she knew me well enough to know that I needed to hold on to my lie. I couldn’t vent to her about my problems, not right now. We didn’t have that kind of relationship anymore.

Garrick sat down. He’d brought all three of our drinks. I didn’t even hear them call out my order.

“Thanks,” I said.

“No problem. What are we talking about?”

Here we go again.

I took a long slurp of my smoothie so that I didn’t have to answer immediately.

Bliss said, “Cade just finished telling me all about his classes. He’s kicking higher education’s ass.” At least some things hadn’t changed. She still knew me well enough to know when I needed an out.

Garrick nudged Bliss’s drink toward her and smiled when she took a long, grateful drink. He turned to me and said, “That’s good to hear, Cade. I’m glad it’s going well. I’m still on good terms with the professors at Temple, so if you ever need anything, you know you just have to ask.”

God, why couldn’t he have been an asshole? If he were, one good punch would have gone a long way to easing the tightness in my chest. And it would be much cheaper than punching out a wall in my apartment.

I said, “Thanks. I’ll keep that in mind.”

We chattered about unimportant things. Bliss talked about their production of Pride and Prejudice, and I realized that Garrick really had been good for her. I never would have guessed that out of all of us, she’d be the one doing theatre professionally so quickly after we graduated. It’s not that she wasn’t talented, but she was never confident. I thought she would have gone the safer route and been a stage manager. I liked to think I could have brought that out of her, too, but I wasn’t so sure.

She talked about their apartment on the edge of the Gayborhood. So far, I’d managed to wriggle out of all her invitations to visit, but sooner or later I was going to run out of excuses and would have to see the place they lived. Together.

Apparently their neighborhood was a pretty big party area. They lived right across from a really popular bar. Garrick said, “Bliss is such a light sleeper that it has become a regular event to wake up and listen to the drama that inevitably occurs outside our window at closing time.”

She was a light sleeper? I hated that he knew that and I didn’t. I hated feeling this way. They started relaying a story of one of those nighttime events, but they were barely looking at me. They stared at each other, laughing, reliving the memory. I was a spectator to their perfect harmony, and it was a show I was tired of watching.

I made a promise to myself then that I wouldn’t do this again. Not until I had figured all my shit out. This had to be the last time. I smiled and nodded through the rest of the story, and was relieved when Bliss’s phone rang.

She looked at the screen, and didn’t even explain before she accepted the call and pressed the phone to her ear. “Kelsey? Oh my God! I haven’t heard from you in weeks!”

Kelsey had done exactly what she said she would. At the end of the summer, everyone was moving to new cities or new universities, and Kelsey went overseas for the trip of a lifetime. Every time I looked at Facebook, she had added a new country to her list.

Bliss held up a finger and mouthed, “Be right back.” She stood and said into the phone, “Kelsey, hold on one sec. I can barely hear you. I’m going to go outside.”

I watched her go, remembering when her face used to light up like that talking to me. It was depressing the way life branched off in different directions. Trees only grew up and out. There was no going back to the roots, to the way things had been. I’d spent four years with my college friends, and they felt like family. But now we were scattered across the country and would probably never be all together again.

Garrick said, “Cade, there’s something I’d like to talk to you about while Bliss is gone.”

This was going to suck. I could tell. Last time we’d had a chat alone, he’d told me that I had to get over Bliss, that I couldn’t live my life based on my feelings for her. Damn it if he wasn’t still right.

“I’m all ears,” I said.

“I don’t really know the best way to say—”

“Just say it.” That was the worst part of all of this. I’d gotten my heart broken by my best friend, and now everyone tiptoed around me like I was on the verge of meltdown, like a girl with PMS. Apparently having emotions equated to having a vagina.

Garrick took a deep breath. He looked unsure, but in the moments before he spoke, a smile pulled at his face, like he just couldn’t help himself.

“I’m proposing to Bliss,” he said.

The world went silent, and I heard the tick-tick of the clock on the wall beside us. It sounded like the ticking of a bomb, which was ironic, considering all the pieces of me that I had been holding together by sheer force of will had just been blown to bits.

I schooled my features as best as I could even though I felt like I might suffocate at any moment. I took a beat, which is just a fancy acting word for a pause, but it felt easier if I approached this like a scene, like fiction. Beats are reserved for those moments when something in the scene or your character shifts. They are moments of change.

Man, was this one hell of a beat.

“Cade—”

Before Garrick could say something nice or consoling, I pushed my character, pushed myself back into action. I smiled and made a face that I hoped look congratulatory.

“That’s great, man! She couldn’t have found a better guy.”

It really was just like acting, bad acting anyway. Like when the words didn’t feel natural in my mouth and my mind stayed separate from what I was saying no matter how hard I tried to stay in character. My thoughts raced ahead, trying to judge whether or not my audience was buying my performance, whether Garrick was buying it.

“So, you’re okay with this?”

It was imperative that I didn’t allow myself to pause before I answered, “Of course! Bliss is my best friend, and I’ve never seen her so happy, which means I couldn’t be happier for her. The past is the past.”

He reached across the table and patted me on the shoulder, like I was his son or little brother or his dog.

“You’re a good man, Cade.”

That was me . . . the perpetual good guy, which meant I perpetually came in second. My smoothie tasted bitter on my tongue.

“You had auditions last week, right?” Garrick asked. “How did they turn out?”

Oh please no. I just had to hear about his proposal plans. If I had to follow that up by relaying my complete and utter failure as a grad student, I’d impale myself on a stirring straw.

Luckily I was saved by Bliss’s return. She was tucking her phone back into her pocket, and had a wide smile on her face. She stood behind Garrick’s chair and placed a hand on his shoulder. I was struck suddenly by the thought that she was going to say yes.

Somewhere deep in my gut, I could feel the certainty of it. And it killed me.

Beat.

Beat.

Beat.

I should say something, anything, but I was stalled. Because this wasn’t fiction. This wasn’t a play, and we weren’t characters. This was my life, and change had a way of creeping up and stabbing me in the back.

Oblivious, Bliss turned to Garrick and said, “We have to go, babe. We have call across town in like thirty minutes.” She turned to me, “I’m sorry, Cade. I meant for us to have more time to chat, but Kelsey’s been MIA for weeks. I couldn’t not answer, and we’ve got a matinee for a group of students today. I swear I’ll make it up to you. Are you going to be able to make it to our Orphan Thanksgiving tomorrow?”

I’d been dodging that invitation for weeks. I was fairly certain that it had been the entire purpose of this coffee meeting. I’d been on the verge of giving in, but now I couldn’t. I didn’t know when Garrick planned to propose, but I couldn’t be around when it happened or after it happened. I needed a break from them, from Bliss, from being a secondary character in their story.

“Actually, I forgot to tell you. I’m going to go home for Thanksgiving after all.” I hated lying to her, but I just couldn’t do it anymore. “Grams hasn’t been feeling well, so I thought it was a good idea to go.”

Her face pulled into an expression of concern, and her hand reached out toward my arm. I pretended like I didn’t see it and stepped away to throw my empty smoothie cup in the trash. “Is she okay?” Bliss asked.

“Oh yeah, I think so. Just a bug probably, but at her age, you never know.”

I just used my seventy-year-old grandma, the woman who’d raised me, as an excuse. Talk about a douche move.

“Oh, well, tell her I said hi and that I hope she feels better. And you have a safe flight.” Bliss leaned in to hug me, and I didn’t move away. In fact, I hugged her back. Because I didn’t plan on seeing her again for a while, not until I could say (without lying) that I was over her. And based on the way my whole body seemed to sing at her touch, it might take a while.

The two of them packed up to leave, and I sat back down, saying I was going to stay and work on homework for a while. I pulled out a play to read, but in reality, I just wasn’t ready for the walk home. I couldn’t spend any more alone time locked in my thoughts. The coffee shop was just busy enough that my mind was filled with the buzzing of other people’s lives and conversations. Bliss waved through the glass as they left, and I waved back, wondering if she could feel the finality of this good-bye.

2

Max

Mace’s hand slid into my back pocket at the same time the phone in my front pocket buzzed. I let him have the three seconds it took for me to grab my phone, then I elbowed him, and he removed his hand.

I’d had to elbow him three times on the way to the coffee shop. He was like that cartoon fish with memory problems.

I looked at the screen, and it showed a picture of my mom that I’d snapped while she wasn’t looking. She had been chopping vegetables and looked like a knife-wielding maniac, which she pretty much was all the time, minus the knife.

I jogged the last few steps to Mugshots and slipped inside before answering.

“Hello, Mom.”

There was Christmas music on in the background. We hadn’t even got Thanksgiving over with, and she was playing Christmas music.

Maniac.

“Hi, sweetie!” She stretched out the end of sweetie so long I thought she was a robot who had just malfunctioned. Then finally she continued, “What are you up to?”

“Nothing, Mom. I just popped into Mugshots for a coffee. You remember, it was that place I took you when you and Dad helped me move here.”

“I do remember! It was a cute place, pity they serve alcohol.”

And there was my mom in a nutshell.

Mace chose that moment (an unfortunately silent moment) to say, “Max, babe, you want your usual?”

I waved him off, and stepped a few feet away.

Mom must have had me on speakerphone because my dad cut in, “And who is that, Mackenzie?”

Mackenzie.

I shuddered. I hated my parents’ absolute refusal to call me Max. And if they didn’t approve of Max for their baby girl, they sure wouldn’t like that I was dating a guy named Mace.

My dad would have an aneurysm.

“Just a guy,” I said.

Mace nudged me and rubbed his thumb and fingers together. That’s right. He’d been fired from his job. I handed him my purse to pay.

“Is this a guy you’re dating?” Mom asked.

I sighed. There wasn’t any harm in giving her this, as long as I fudged some of the details. Or you know, all of them.

“Yes, Mom. We’ve been dating for a few weeks.” Try three months, but whatever.

“Is that so? How come we don’t know anything about this guy then?” Dad, again.

“Because it’s still new. But he’s a really nice guy, smart.” I don’t think Mace actually finished high school, but he was gorgeous and a killer drum player. I wasn’t cut out for the type of guy my mother wanted for me. My brain would melt from boredom in a week. That was if I didn’t send him running before that.

“Where did you meet?” Mom asked.

Oh, you know, he hit on me at the go-go bar where I dance, that extra job that you have no idea I work.

Instead, I said, “The library.”

Mace at the library. That was laughable. The tattoo curving across his collarbone would have been spelled villian instead of villain if I hadn’t been there to stop him.

“Really?” Mom sounded skeptical. I didn’t blame her. Meeting nice guys at the library wasn’t really my thing. Every meet-the-parents thing I’d ever gone through had ended disastrously, with my parents certain their daughter had been brainwashed by a godless individual and my boyfriend kicking me to the curb because I had too much baggage.

My baggage was named Betty and Mick and came wearing polka dots and sweater vests on the way home from bridge club. Sometimes it was hard to believe that I came from them. The first time I dyed my hair bright pink, my mom burst into tears, like I told her I was sixteen and pregnant. And that was only temporary dye.

It was easier these days just to humor them, especially since they were still helping me out financially so I could spend more time working on my music. And it wasn’t that I didn’t love them . . . I did. I just didn’t love the person they wanted me to be.

So, I made small sacrifices. I didn’t introduce them to my boyfriends. I dyed my hair a relatively normal color before any trips home. I took out or covered my piercings and wore long-sleeved, high-neck shirts to cover my tattoos. I told them I worked the front desk at an accounting firm instead of a tattoo parlor, and never mentioned my other job working in a bar.

When I went home, I played at normal for a few days, and then got the hell outta Dodge before my parents could try to set me up with a crusty accountant.

“Yes, Mom. The library.”

When I went home for Christmas, I’d just tell her it didn’t work out with the library boy. Or that he was a serial killer. Use that as my excuse to never date nice guys.

“Well, that sounds lovely. We’d love to meet him.”

Mace returned to me then with my purse and our coffees. He snuck a flask out of his pocket and added a little something special to his drink. I waved him off when he offered it to me. The caffeine was enough. Funny how he couldn’t afford coffee, but he could afford alcohol.

“Sure, Mom.” Mace snuck a hand into my coat and wrapped it around my waist. His hand was large and warm, and his touch through my thin tee made me shiver. “I think you would actually really like him.” I finished the sentence on a breathy sigh as Mace’s lips found the skin of my neck, and my eyes rolled back in bliss. I’d never met an accountant who could do that. “He’s very, ah, talented.”

“I guess we’ll see for ourselves soon.” Dad’s reply was gruff.

Hah. If they thought there was any chance I was bringing a guy home for Christmas, they were delusional.

“Sure, Dad.”

Mace’s lips were making a pretty great case for skipping this morning’s band practice, but it was our last time to practice all together before our gig next week.

“Great,” Dad said. “We’ll be at that coffee place in about five minutes.”

My coffee hit the floor before I even got a chance to taste it.

“You WHAT? You’re not at home in Oklahoma?”

Mace jumped back when the coffee splattered all over our feet. “Jesus, Max!” I didn’t have time to worry about him. I had much bigger issues.

“Don’t be mad, honey,” Mom said. “We were so sad when you said you couldn’t come home for Thanksgiving, then Michael and Bethany decided to visit her family for the holiday, too. So we decided to come visit you. I even special ordered a turkey! Oh, you should invite your new boyfriend. The one from the library.”

SHIT. SHIT. ALL OF THE SHITS.

“Sorry, Mom. But I’m pretty sure my boyfriend is busy on Thanksgiving.”

Mace said, “No, I’m not.” And I don’t know if it was all the years of being in a band and the loud music damaging his hearing, or too many lost brain cells, but the guy could just not master a freaking whisper!

“Oh, great! We’ll be there in a few minutes, sweetie. Love you, boo boo bear.”

If she called me boo boo bear in front of Mace, my brain would liquefy from mortification. “Wait, Mom—”

The line went dead.

I kind of wanted to follow its lead.

Think fast, Max. Parentals in T-minus two minutes. Time for damage control.

Mace had maneuvered us around the spilled coffee while I was talking, and he was moving to put his arms back around my waist. I pushed him back.

I took a good look at him—his black, shaggy hair, gorgeous dark eyes, the gauges that stretched his earlobes, and the mechanical skull tattooed on the side of his neck. I loved the way he wore his personality on his skin.

My parents would hate it.

My parents hated anything that couldn’t be organized and labeled and penned safely into a cage. They weren’t always that way. They used to listen and judge people on the things that mattered, but that time was long gone, and they’d be here any minute.

“You have to leave,” I said.

“What?” He hooked his fingers into my belt loops and tugged me forward until our hips met. “We just got here.”

A small part of me thought maybe Mace could handle my parents. He’d charmed me, and for most people that was akin to charming a python. He may not have been smart or put together or any of those things, but he was passionate about music and about life. And he was passionate about me. There was fire between us. Fire I didn’t want extinguished because my parents were still living in the past, and couldn’t get over how things had happened with Alex.

“I’m sorry, babe. My parents have made an impromptu visit, and they’re going to be here any minute. So, I need you to leave or pretend like you don’t know me or something.”

I was going to apologize, say that I wasn’t ashamed of him, that I just wasn’t ready for that. I didn’t get a chance before he held his hands up and backed away. “Fuck. No argument here. I’m out.” He turned for the door. “Call me when you lose the folks.”

Then he bailed. No questions asked. No valiant offer to brave meeting the parents. He walked out the door, lit up a cigarette, and took off. For a second, I thought about following him. Whether to flee or kick his ass, I wasn’t sure.

But I couldn’t.

Now, I just had to figure out what to tell my parents about my suddenly absent library-going-nice-guy-boyfriend. I’d just have to tell them he had to work or go to class or heal the sick or something. I scanned the room for an open table. They’d probably see right through the lie and know there was no nice guy, but there was no way around it.

Damn. The coffee shop was packed, and there weren’t any open tables.

There was a four-top with only one guy sitting at it, and it looked like he was almost done. He had short, brown curls that had been tamed into something neat and clean. He was gorgeous, in that all-American model kind of way. He wore a sweater and a scarf and had a book sitting on his table. Newsflash! This was the kind of guy libraries should use in advertising if they wanted more people to read.

Normally I wouldn’t have looked twice at him because guys like that don’t go for girls like me. But he was looking back at me. Staring, actually. He had the same dark, penetrating eyes as Mace, but they were softer somehow. Kinder.

And it was like the universe was giving me a gift. All that was missing was a flashing neon sign above his head that said ANSWER TO ALL YOUR PROBLEMS.

3

Cade

I was people watching, filling in imaginary lives to keep my mind off my own life when she looked at me.

I’d been watching her with her boyfriend for the last few minutes, puzzling them out. They both exuded confidence and looked effortlessly cool. The guy was all dark—dark hair, dark eyes, dark tattoos. All his ink that I could see was depressing or violent—skulls and guns and brass knuckles. She on the other hand was bright—from her vividly red hair to her painted lips that naturally turned upward to her tattoos. She had a few small birds flying up her neck, and what looked like the top of a tree poking out from the heart-shaped neck of her 1950s-style dress.

As often as he touched and kissed her, I saw no real connection between them. She didn’t glance over at him once as she talked on the phone. And when she wasn’t paying attention to him, he didn’t bother even looking at her. Like they were part of two different solar systems, neither revolving with or around the other, and both were just with each other for the passing moment.

He hadn’t even bothered to pick up the cup of coffee when she’d dropped it. He just moved her out of the way, and a barista came around and took care of it.

Now, he was gone and she was looking at me like I had something she wanted. It made my mouth go dry and stirred something in my chest. Stirred up other things, too.

She walked up to my table, her hips swinging her wide skirt, and I got my first really good look at her face. She was beautiful—full lips, high cheekbones, and a straight nose. A white flower was tucked into her riotous red curls. She looked like the edgy version of a 1950s pinup girl. She was the complete opposite of any girl I had ever dated or thought about dating. She was the complete opposite of Bliss. Maybe that was part of the reason I couldn’t take my eyes off of her.

I could see now that the tattoo on her chest was definitely a tree. Bare branches stretched up toward her collarbone, and when she leaned over and rested her hands on my table I got a good look at the trunk of the tree disappearing down between the valley of her breasts.

I swallowed, and it took me longer than it should have to avert my gaze to her face. She said, “I’m going to ask you something, and it’s going to seem crazy.”

It would match with the rest of my thoughts then.

“Okay,” I said.

She slid into the seat beside me, and I could smell her . . . something feminine and sweet and completely at odds with her inked skin. I was still thinking about that damn tree, imagining what the rest of the tattoo looked like, wondering how soft her skin was.

“My parents showed up in town uninvited, and they want to meet my boyfriend.”

She slid a little closer and tapped red-painted nails against the table.

“And how can I help?”

“Well, I’m supposed to introduce them to a nice, sweet boyfriend who I met at the library, which is not actually the boyfriend I have.” Her hand curled around my forearm that rested on the table, and I cursed all my winter layers because I wanted to feel her skin.

“And you think I’m nice and sweet?”

She shrugged. “You look it. I know this is crazy, but I would really appreciate it if you’d pretend to be my boyfriend until I manage to get rid of them.” I looked back at her cherry red lips. They brought to mind several things that were neither nice nor sweet.

What she wanted was crazy, but I’d be acting, the very thing I’d been missing for the last few weeks. And part of me was all for duct taping Nice-Guy-Cade and throwing him in the trunk. That part of me thought spending time with this girl was a very good idea.

She said, “Please? I’ll do all the talking, and I’ll end it as fast as I can. I can pay you!” I raised an eyebrow, and she continued, “Okay, I can’t pay you, but I’ll make it up to you. Anything you want.”

Somehow I had a feeling that she wouldn’t have said that last part to someone who didn’t look “nice and sweet.” Since that part of my brain was currently indisposed, I had a good idea of what I wanted.

“I’ll do it.” Her whole body relaxed. She smiled, and it was gorgeous. Then I added, “In exchange for a date.”

She pulled back, and those full red lips puckered in confusion.

“You want to go on a date with me?”

“Yes. Do we have a deal?”

She looked at the clock on the wall, cursed under her breath, and said, “Fine. Deal. Now give me your scarf.” She didn’t even give me a chance to move before she started tugging it off my neck.

I grinned. “Taking off my clothes already?”

One side of her mouth quirked upward, and she looked at me in surprise. Then she shook her head and wrapped my scarf around her own neck. It covered up her delicate birds and the smooth, porcelain skin of her chest, broken only by the thin black lines of her tattooed tree. She grabbed a napkin off the table and wiped off some of her bright red lipstick.

“All my parents know is we met in the library. You’re nice and sweet and wholesome. My parents are crazy conservative, so no jokes about me taking your clothes off. We’ve been dating for a few weeks. Nothing complicated. I haven’t told them anything else, so it should be pretty easy to sell.”

With practiced hands, she started smudging off some of the dark that lined her eyes. She pulled her hair forward so that it covered the array of piercings in her ears.

“What about you? What do you do?”

“I’m an actor.”

She rolled her eyes. “They’ll hate that as much as they hate me being a musician, but it will have to do.”

She kept fussing with her makeup and smoothing down her hair, looking around like she wished she had a hat or something to cover it.

I placed a hand on her shoulder and said, “You look beautiful. Don’t worry.”

Her expression froze, and she looked up at me like I was speaking Swahili. Then her lips pressed together in something that was almost a smile. I was still touching her shoulder when a woman at the front of the store called out, “Mackenzie! Oh, Mackenzie, honey!”

Mackenzie.

She didn’t look like a Mackenzie.

She took a shuddering breath, and then stood to face the woman I supposed was her mother. I rose with her, and let my arm stretch across her shoulder. She seemed frazzled, which was funny, because up until now confidence was practically running out of her pores like honey.

I mean, she’d asked a complete stranger to pretend to be her boyfriend. She had seemed fearless. Parents were apparently her Kryptonite.

I looked at the middle-aged couple approaching us. The man was balding with wire-rimmed glasses, and the woman’s hair was graying at her temples. The hands between them were intertwined, and their outer arms were reaching forward like they expected their daughter to run up for a group hug. She looked like she’d rather run off a cliff.

I smiled.

This . . . I could do.

I gave her shoulder a squeeze, and said, “Everything is going to be okay.”

“Boo boo bear! Oh, honey, what atrocious thing have you done to your hair? I told you to stop using those dyes out of the box.”

Mackenzie was biting down on her lip so hard as her mother pulled her forward into a hug that I was surprised she didn’t draw blood. Her father took over, and she had to let go of my hand. I stepped to the side, and reached a hand out to her mother.

“It’s so nice to meet you, Mrs.—”

The words were already out of my mouth before I realized I had no idea what Mackenzie’s last name was. Hell, I hadn’t even known her name was Mackenzie.

Her mother took my hand and was looking at me with her head cocked sideways, waiting for me to finish my sentence. I saw Mackenzie wiggle out of her father’s hug next to me, her face full of slowly dawning horror.

Damn it.

I put on my best smile and said, “You know, I’ve heard so much about you from Mackenzie that I feel I should just call you Mom.” Then I moved in for a hug.

4

Max

HE WAS HUGGING MY MOTHER.

A total stranger. I could only handle a few hugs a year from her without feeling smothered, and he was wrapped up in her boa constrictor arms for three, four, five seconds.

It was still going.

And it was a full-on hug, not one of those awkward side ones that I gave my dad.

Jesus Christ, her head was tucked under his chin. His chin!

The seconds seemed to expand into lifetimes, and his wide eyes caught mine over my mother’s head. From the way my mother was latched on, he was never going to get free. It was like one of those sad stories where a little kid smothers a cat because he hugs it too hard.

He laughed and patted her on the back. Unlike my laughs around my parents, he managed to pull it off without sounding like he was being held at gunpoint.

Finally after a nearly TEN-second hug, she released him.

At ten seconds I would have been hyperventilating. Then again, she probably wouldn’t have let go of me after ten seconds. I’m convinced she thinks if she could just hug me long enough, she’d squeeze all the devil’s influence out of me.

He stayed there, still in hugging-range, and said, “It’s so wonderful of you both to make this impromptu trip. Mackenzie won’t say it, but she misses you both terribly.”

I cringed when he called me Mackenzie, and my mother beamed. I didn’t know if her aversion to Max was just because she thought it was a boy’s name or if calling me by a nickname reminded her of Alexandria . . . of Alex.

She looked at me over his shoulder, and there were tears in her eyes. Fifteen seconds and he had her crying fucking tears of joy. Were my ex-boyfriends really all that bad in comparison to him?

Okay, so I had made the mistake of introducing them to Jake. He’d insisted on them calling him by his nickname . . . Scissors.

But that was a low point! And it had mostly been to piss them off. Not all of them had been that bad. My pretend boyfriend turned to my father and said, “Sir, I’m Cade Winston. You’ve raised an amazing daughter.”

My father shook his hand and said, “Really?”

REALLY. He said really.

No, “Thank you” or “I know.” It took him a full five seconds before he smiled . . . like me being amazing was his doing. He said, “It’s nice to meet you, son.”

They’d already married me off.

I needed to sit down.

I didn’t even say anything as I moved toward the table, but my pretend boyfriend, Cade, must have some kind of weird sixth sense. He was at my side in seconds, pulling out my chair for me. My parents stayed standing a few feet away, staring, like they wanted to preserve this picture of us in their memories forever.

Cade grabbed my hand and laced our fingers together. His skin on mine caused a jolt of electricity to run up my arm. It shocked all of the exasperated thoughts out of my head, and I sat staring at him as my parents stood staring at us. Mom pulled out a handkerchief. Maybe someday I’d be able to look back and laugh at the ridiculousness of this moment. Maybe someday I’d also get on a subway car that didn’t smell like urine. The future had much to look forward to.

Finally Dad turned to Mom and said, “Let’s get some coffee, Betty. Cade, Mackenzie, we’ll join you in a moment.”

I waited until my parents were in line, and then I turned on him, barely containing the urge to do physical harm.

“What the hell was that?”

His brows furrowed, his head turned to the side, and our hands were still laced together. Why hadn’t I pulled my hand away yet?

“I was meeting your parents.”

I tried to hold on to my anger, but really boys should not have such gorgeous eyes and long lashes. An unfamiliar heat crept up my neck, and I knew I was blushing.

I was not a blushing kind of girl.

I ripped gaze away from his face, and then my hand out of his. My voice was shaky and all my anger had fled when I said, “More like ruining my chances of them ever liking one of my actual boyfriends.” It was easier when I wasn’t looking at him. My thoughts became clearer. “I mean, you hugged my mom. Hugs are like crack to that woman.”

“I’m sorry. You didn’t tell me your last name, so I improvised.”

I crossed my arms over my chest. He had done a pretty good job, and my parents seemed convinced and happy. He was clearly good at this kind of thing. That should have made me less nervous. It didn’t. I still felt like I was going to go into cardiac arrest at any second. “Just . . . don’t hug her again.” Heaven forbid she start expecting me to follow his lead. “I just need to survive this without them getting suspicious. No need to go for the Oscar. And the last name is Miller.”

“Of course, I’m sorry, Mackenzie.”

The name grated against my ears. It had been years since someone besides my family called me that, and somehow I hated it even more now. I was almost snarling as I said, “Don’t call me Mackenzie. It’s Max.”

My anger didn’t faze him at all. He paused for a second, and then smiled. “Max. That fits you much better.”

Damn him. He had this way of extinguishing my anger that was so beyond frustrating. He put his arm around my chair and turned toward me. My personal bubble popped like a frat boy’s collar. Between the arm on my chair and the one resting on the table in front of me, I felt surrounded by him. His caramel-colored eyes were right there, and the scent of cologne, spicy and sweet, wafted up to my nose. I should have pulled away. I should not have been looking at his eyelashes again. He leaned in, and the stubble on his jaw brushed my cheek. Warning sirens blared in my mind, even as I closed my eyes. He whispered, “Your mom is coming back. I’m sorry. No more hugging, I promise.”

His lips were still by my ear when my mother returned. He was pretending. He wasn’t putting the moves on me. He was just trying to keep my mom from hearing. That’s all. The warning sirens quieted, but I still felt ill at ease.

Cade stood and pulled out my mother’s chair for her while my father waited on their drinks. I closed my eyes and tried to sort out the mess of my thoughts.

Mom asked, “So, Cade, Mackenzie tells me the two of you met at the library.”

I opened my mouth to answer, but Cade spoke first.

“Oh, yes. That’s right. Max”—he shot a quick smile at me—“actually helped me find the book I was looking for. I was looking in the entirely wrong section.”

Mom’s perfectly plucked eyebrows arched. “Is that so? I wasn’t aware she knew her way around a library. When she was younger, we could barely convince her to read anything unless it was one of those lyric sheets that came with a CD. Normal children you can bribe with candy to do their homework. Not our Mackenzie.”

I ground my teeth to keep from popping off about just who the normal one in our family was. Cade didn’t miss a beat. “Well, it was a book on music composition I needed for my paper, so I got lucky in finding an expert. She was exactly what I needed.” He looked sideways at me, and the arm around my chair moved to my shoulder. “She still is.” This guy had the strangest affect on me. A really small part of me wanted to swoon at that cheesy declaration. Most of me wanted to vomit. Not that it mattered, since this was all pretend.

It did the trick for Mom though. She aww’ed loudly and forgot about how much she hated my interest in music.

“Paper?” she asked. “Are you in school?”

“Yes, ma’am. I’m getting my master’s from Temple University.”

Jiminy fucking crickets. What happened to not overdoing it?

“Master’s degree?” Mother’s face lit up for a moment, and then dimmed. “In music?”

“No, ma’am. Acting, actually. I was writing a paper on the use of original music in theatre.”

“Acting? Isn’t that nice.” Mother’s smile stiffened. Finally, something my mother didn’t love about this guy.

“Yes, ma’am. It’s what I love. Though I’m also interested in teaching on the collegiate level.”

“A professor, how wonderful!”

I give up. In the war for my parents’ approval, I’d lost to a complete stranger.

Dad returned with two mugs of coffee, and asked, “What are we chatting about?”

Mom didn’t give either of us a chance to answer before she exclaimed, “Cade is getting his master’s degree to become a college professor. Isn’t that just fantastic?”

Mom could qualify for the Olympics in selective hearing.

“That does sound nice.”

Cade said, “Thank you, Mr. Miller.”

Dad paused in blowing on his coffee to say, “Oh please, call me Mick.”

MICK?

I had a nightmare like this once. Though, in that one I was naked. I wish I could say knowing it could be worse made things better, but it didn’t. Cade grinned easily, and relaxed back into his chair. He looked so calm, almost like he was enjoying this.

“Of course, Mick, thank you. So how was your trip?”

Dad huffed. “Terrible. Airports are the armpits of the universe. They treated your mother and I like we were terrorists, making us take those X-ray things. Probably gave us cancer. I say we get rid of them and go back to train travel. It takes longer, but it sure would be simpler.”

And so began the crazy.

Cade said, “You know, I’ve only taken a train once, but I thought it was a really enjoyable experience. I’ll have to try it again sometime.”

Trains. I kept reminding myself that it could have been worse. If my father had tried to talk trains with Mace he probably would have assumed my dad meant the perverted kind of train. That would have been disastrous.

“Enough about us. I want to hear more about you. Why has our baby girl been keeping such a nice boy a secret from us?”

Cade looked at me, and I glared at him. Now I get to talk?

He laughed, and squeezed my shoulder. His fingers stayed there, distracting me as he spoke. “I can’t speak for Max, but I think we just wanted to keep it between us for a while. Take it slow.”

And there were the magic words. I didn’t do long relationships, and I’d take things slow when I was dead. Life was too short. I think my three months with Mace was one of my longest relationships, and we were already talking about moving in together. Good thing we hadn’t done that yet.

My parents hated my tendency to move too fast. By the time they finished their cups of coffee, my parents would probably be begging to trade and have Cade as their child.

“What about hobbies?” my dad asked. Probably looking for someone to go golfing or play tennis with him. Lord knows none of my previous boyfriends had.

Cade shrugged. “School takes up most of my time. I also volunteer once a week at ASAP, it’s an after-school program for at-risk youth.”

Unfuckingbelievable. Mace didn’t know the meaning of “Hey, I don’t want your hand on my ass in public,” and this guy didn’t know the meaning of “Lay off!”

I leaned over, placed my hand on his thigh, and pinched. His thigh was strapped with muscle, and he didn’t even jump at my pinch. He put his hand over mine, and flattened my palm against his leg. I tried to pull away, but he held it there, his large, warm hand pressed mine into his hard thigh. Now it was me who needed to be pinched because I was looking at my hand on his leg, and thinking too much about the skin that lay beneath the material of his jeans. I’d forgotten why I was upset in the first place.

I shook my head and smiled at my parents; splitting my lips to show teeth felt like cracking open concrete. “Listen, Mom and Dad, Cade and I really have to get going. I didn’t know you guys were coming or I would have rearranged my schedule.”

Dad hefted himself up from the table, and tugged his pants up higher. “Oh, no worries, Pumpkin. We’re staying at a hotel not too far from you in the nicer part of town.”

Meaning my place was a dump. Which it wasn’t, it was just in Chinatown, and Dad felt uncomfortable when all the signs weren’t in English.

Mom joined him, “Besides, we’ll see both of you tomorrow for Thanksgiving!”

“Oh, Mom, I really don’t think Cade can—”

“Nonsense. I heard him say over the phone that he was free, and I won’t take no for an answer. No more hiding this nice, young man from us. You clearly adore each other, and sooner or later slow becomes an excuse like any other.”

We did not adore each other.

My eyes caught on the line of his jaw, but I forced my gaze away.

We didn’t.

I didn’t care how handsome this guy was or how warm his hand was on mine.

“Mom—”

“Mackenzie Kathleen Miller, don’t you argue with me. Now, Cade.” She fixed her eyes on him, and it was her maniac stare, the one like the picture on my cell phone. “Tell me you’ll see me tomorrow, and then go talk some sense into my daughter.”

Cade looked at me. I knew what he was going to say, and had no way to stop him, short of tackling him (which was either a very good or a very bad idea).

“Sure, Mrs. Miller. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Excellent.” She leaned down and placed a kiss on his cheek. “What happened to calling me Mom?”

5

Cade

There was a moment of silence after Max’s parents left that reminded me of those few shocked seconds right before a car crash. Your brain screams at you to step on the breaks, but it takes too long for your body to follow through. It was in those quiet seconds that Max smiled a slow, sinful smile.

Then slapped me.

It didn’t hurt. Not really.

But it felt surreal, like the car had crashed, and I was flying through the windshield. I’d never been slapped by a girl before. I think I was definitely the only guy in the world to ever get slapped for impressing a girl’s parents.

I couldn’t help it. I laughed.

Max’s cheeks turned pink, and she raised her hand to do it again.

“Easy, babe.” I caught her hand as it started to swing, and pushed it down onto the table. That meant I had one hand pressed to my leg and the other to the table. The violent little thing was tied up in knots. She tilted her chin and met my gaze like she was going into battle. Fire sparked in her eyes, and she looked dangerously sexy.

“Why are you trying to hurt me?” I asked.

“Because it will make me feel better!”

Having her hand on my thigh was not helping me take her anger seriously. And her skin had flushed from her cheeks, down her neck, and I wished she wasn’t wearing my scarf. “It’s not like I wanted to say yes. Your mother isn’t exactly easy to say no to.”

She huffed and squirmed in her seat, trying to pull her hands free. It only brought her closer to me. The red in her cheeks matched the vibrancy of her hair, which smelled divine.

“You could have at least not made up such a ridiculous backstory. I mean, volunteering at an after-school program? I told you to take it easy!” She growled the words through gritted teeth.

“Max, I didn’t make that up. I just told the truth. And stop struggling, people are starting to stare.”

She stopped and a lock of scarlet hair hung down in front of her face. She blew it back and said, “You told the truth?”

After a few moments, I released her hands, and held my right out between us. “My name is Cade Winston—MFA student, volunteer, mom-hugger, and your boyfriend for the next twenty-four hours. It’s nice to meet you.”

She hesitated, and her lips puckered. I knew she was only thinking, but the pucker sent my mind running in an entirely different direction.

“You really do volunteer to help kids after school?” She made it sound like I was aiming for the Nobel Peace Prize or something. They were just kids who needed a place to hang out.

I said, “I really do.”

After a few moments of hesitation, she slipped her hand into mine and shook. She frowned and said, “Max Miller—musician and raging bitch. I’m sorry for slapping you.”

“And pinching me,” I added, even though I wasn’t sorry. It had given me an excuse to touch her.

“And pinching you. And thank you, I guess, for today. And for tomorrow. And sorry number two that you have to spend your Thanksgiving with my crazy parents.”

I smiled. She had this scrunched look on her face, and I could just tell that an apology from this girl was a rare occurrence. I shrugged. “Hey, don’t feel bad. I was planning to spend tomorrow home alone with some Chinese food. I’m sure your mother’s turkey is much better.”

She smiled begrudgingly. “It is. She’s a crazy good cook. Emphasis on the crazy.”

“But the slapping . . . that you can feel bad for.”

She rolled her eyes, and moved away. “I said I was sorry!”

“What? No offer to kiss it better?” She raised an eyebrow, but I swear her eyes dropped to my lips for just a second. I thought of kissing her, just doing it, without thinking about the fact that we didn’t know each other or about her real boyfriend. But she stood, and the moment passed.

She said, “Well, Cade Winston, I really have to get going. I’m already late for my band practice, but can you come over early tomorrow before my parents arrive? We can map out the rest of our story then, so there’s no more need to improvise with hugs.” She grabbed a pen from her purse and wrote her address and her number on a napkin.

I pocketed it, threw my empty cup in the trash, and followed her to the door. I knew she said she had to go, but I wanted just a little bit longer with her. “You never got to drink your coffee,” I said, thinking back to when she’d dropped it earlier during the phone call from her parents. “Let me get you another cup.”

She shook her head. “I should be the one buying you coffee.”

“You’re having a stressful morning. You deserve a break.” She looked at me like I’d just made some grand gesture. Her boyfriend must have been a real dick if she was impressed by a cup of coffee. I added, “Besides, I don’t actually drink coffee, so it’s a moot point.”

She laughed. “I think that’s the first time I’ve ever actually heard someone say ‘moot point.’ And if you don’t like coffee, what are you doing in a coffee shop?”

“I was supposed to pretend to be a girl’s long-lost brother, but she canceled at the last minute. It’s cool, pretend boyfriend gigs are so much more fun.”

We stepped up to the cashier, and she said, “Medium coffee.”

I watched her mix in a cream and two packets of sugar. As she stirred the drink, she eyed me like I was a puzzle to piece together.

“You’re kind of funny, Winston.”

She took a sip of her coffee, and what was left of her lipstick left a red smudge on the rim of the cup. It drove me crazy.

I said, “I’m more than kind of funny. You’ll see.”

“And cocky.” She smiled up at me. “You’re a little hard to puzzle out, you know.”

“I’m willing to spend as much time with you as you’d like while you try to figure me out.”

She laughed. “Let’s just stick with tomorrow for now. See you later, boyfriend.”

“Until tomorrow, Mackenzie.”

She made a noise halfway between a scoff and a laugh, and shook her head. As she pushed open the glass door at the front, she called over her shoulder, “You do not want to play that game, honey.”

She looked back just for a second as she crossed the street, and her eyes met mine through the window. A thrill bubbled up in my chest that reminded me of a race, of auditioning and fighting for a role that I knew should be mine.

I stood there like an idiot watching her leave until the cashier said, “Hey man, did you need something else?”

“No, I’m good, sorry.”

I stepped out into the crisp winter air thinking about how good I really felt. She didn’t know how right she was. This whole thing was a game. She wasn’t my girlfriend, even if her parents did love me. Especially because her parents loved me. I’d never dated a girl like her, and she’d probably never dated a guy like me. But sometimes you don’t know what you’re looking for until it’s already knocked you flat on your back. And what was the point in living if I was only going to travel the same roads again and again?

I replayed the last twenty minutes or so in my mind—our conversation, the meeting with her parents, seeing the way her face went red when she was mad. Maybe I was broken, but even the slap had felt kind of good.

Despite the absolute absurdity of everything, it was the most normal I’d felt in months. Like the clouds had finally parted. Like I’d pulled my foot free from being stuck in the past and had stepped into the now.

It felt better. And I was determined for it to stay that way.

It was time to start living, to actually enjoy my life. And I just so happened to know someone who was really good at enjoying life.

I dropped my stuff off in my apartment, and then went across the hall. I rapped my knuckles against my neighbor’s door and called, “Milo! You home?”

The sound of some kind of Latin music, salsa maybe, was leaking out from underneath the door, so I knew he was home.

“Milo!” I pounded against the door a few more times.

The door flew open, and Milo lowered a pretty brunette into a dip so fast that her head nearly hit me in the crotch. I jumped back.

Milo grinned up at me, his teeth white against his dark skin. He pulled the girl up against him fast, and her curls went flying.

I glanced at my watch.

Only Milo would be doing the salsa in his living room at 10:00 A.M.

“Too loud, amigo? I’ll turn it down.”

I held up a hand, “No. No, it’s cool. I was actually wondering if you wanted to hang out tonight?”

He quirked an eyebrow at me. I’d been bailing on plans all week due to holiday dread and depression, but it was time to shake that off.

“I have plans already, man, but you should come with. This is my friend, Sasha.” The brunette stayed tucked into Milo’s side but waved her fingers at me. I didn’t recognize her, but Milo spent time with a new girl every week, so that was unsurprising. “She’s dancing tonight. A new job.”

“Oh, like a show?” I asked.

Milo laughed raucously. So did Sasha.

“A little like a show, mostly like a bar.”

I blinked. She was dancing in a bar. Was she a stripper?

Milo must have known me well enough by now to interpret the look on my face. He said, “Easy, hermano, it’s not like that.”

Then what was it like?

“I’ll knock on your door at nine, okay? We’ll have a good time.”

Then Sasha tugged on his arm, and they went back to their dance. The dance was all swaying hips and skimming hands, and it looked much more interesting than anything I’d ever done at 10:00 A.M. I’d intruded enough on his early morning seduction, so I closed the door and retreated back to my apartment.

Something told me I was going to be in for an interesting night.

6

Max

When I walked into Trestle, the bar where I worked and the band practiced, I was nearly twenty minutes late. I wish I could say Mace and Spencer were pissed, but I didn’t think they had even noticed. Spencer’s bass was forgotten as he looked through the various kinds of alcohol behind the bar. Mace at least had his drumsticks tucked in his pocket as he played a game on his phone.

“Hey, guys! Sorry I’m late.”

Spencer poured himself a bit of Maker’s Mark, and said, “It’s cool, Max.”

“Good. You know what else is cool? Not stealing from the place where we get to practice for free.”

I recapped the bottle of booze and returned it to the shelf. Spencer shrugged, adjusted his black-rimmed glasses, and downed the liquor in one gulp. I grabbed him by his black, skull-print bow tie, and pulled him toward the area where our instruments were set up. I pushed him toward his bass.

I slid a hand underneath Mace’s chin and tilted his head up toward me. He let me, but he just raised the phone higher to keep his eyes on the game.

“Come on babe, I know I’m late, but we only have until noon before Sam kicks us out.”

“Yeah, yeah, just hold on. I can’t stop running. If I look away, I’m going to die.”

Maybe I was still a little angry about how easily he bailed on me earlier or maybe I was just a bitch, but I snatched his phone out of his hand and held it behind me.

“MAX! Come on!” He reached for the phone, but we both heard the sound of the game ending.

“God, Max, sometimes you can be a real bitch.”

For a split second, Cade’s face popped into my head, but I pushed it away.

I said, “Yeah, well, you’re a dick most of the time. Deal with it.”

There was only a little heat in my words. I tucked his phone into his front pant pocket, and used that pocket to pull him toward me. His mouth was set in a thin line like he was angry, but that didn’t stop him from sliding his hands down my back to my ass. I didn’t elbow him this time. I kissed the underside of his jaw, and he stopped clenching his teeth so tightly. He kissed me, nipping my bottom lip a little too hard for it to be comfortable.

Spencer said, “I liked it better when you guys weren’t molesting each other constantly.” Spencer and I had been making music together since I moved to Philly a few years ago. Besides me, he was the only member of Under the Bell Jar that hadn’t changed frequently.

What could I say? I had a thing for drummers.

“Can we get to playing now?” Spencer asked, shooting a glare at Mace.

He couldn’t stand Mace, but didn’t make much of a fuss because he didn’t figure the relationship would last. It would be nice if it did, though. Mace was the best drummer we’d ever had.

I pulled back and went for my guitar.

“Okay, so this is the last chance we’ll get to rehearse all together before the show next week. We need to practice and nail down the order of our set list.”

We started with a cover of “A Better Son/Daughter” by Rilo Kiley. I felt like I lived this song already this morning. The intro started soft and small. My lips brushed the cold metal of the microphone and I felt like I was home. It didn’t matter that we were in a grungy bar with no audience, or that I’d be back here tonight working until all hours of the morning, only to have to get up and pretend for my parents. It didn’t matter that this morning my love life had taken a sharp left at complicated straight into bizarre territory. It didn’t even matter that I’d been carrying this band like a yoke around my neck for years with no money and no break in sight.

When I sang, none of it mattered.

I was not an emotional person. I hadn’t cried since I was thirteen. Not really. I made a promise to myself then when my life had been awash in tears that I wouldn’t be one of those people. The kind of person who would cry uncontrollably when something bad happened, but two days later be walking around like nothing had changed. Crying was for moments of such drastic pain that you had to let it out, had to shed the dead skin on your soul so that you could breathe. I still had my life, so I refused to cry over stupid shit like boyfriends and parents. I was good at turning off the pain. The only time I let it out was when I sang.

When the strings on my guitar vibrated and notes rose from my lungs, I felt the good and the bad, the hope and the devastation. I felt it all.

Sometimes in the morning, I am petrified, and can’t move

Awake but cannot open my eyes.

I sang about the weight of expectation and toxic relationships and lost innocence. I sang about the way depression can curl over your head like a wave, pulling you under so far that you don’t know which way is up and where to go to breathe.

The song unspooled something inside of me and deflated all the pressures of the day. This was what my parents didn’t get. They wanted me to give this up, get a job, and a steady paycheck. Mom said she’d never be able to really relax until her baby girl was all taken care of, which to her meant a husband and a job and a bun in the oven. But then it would be me who was never relaxed.

They wanted me to be the perfect daughter Alex was supposed to have been. But I wasn’t Alex. I’d tried to be that for them . . . tried to fill the void she left behind. I spent four years of high school playing the good girl, the popular girl, but it was never real. I always screwed something up, and then they would look at me like I hadn’t just disappointed them, I’d somehow disgraced Alex too by failing to live up to her memory.

Just living with them had been like suffocating, like all the air had been sucked from the house leaving only grief behind.

I got so twisted and wound up and smothered by life.

Music unraveled me.

It kept me sane then, and it keeps me sane now.

After that song we moved on to one by the Smiths, another by Laura Marling, and one by Metric. We covered everything from Radiohead to the Beatles, and then moved on to our original songs. Some were Spencer’s, but most were mine. The songs were all different, but they were all honest. When we finished the first run-through, we took a quick break. I headed to the bathroom because I needed a second.

I always needed a second to get the last of the emotion out, to bring the walls back up. Spencer got it. We’d known each other long enough that he gave me the space, but Mace was still learning. He followed me into the bathroom and pressed me up against the sink, his chest against my back.

His lips found my neck, and he moaned. He rocked his hips into me.

“God, you’re so hot when you sing. Let’s end practice early and go back to your place. Then I can make you sing on your bed, on the table, against the wall.”

All my emotions were still too close to the surface. The weight of him against my back felt crushing, and his hands on my wrists were like shackles. I met my own gaze in the mirror, and my eyes were wide and panicked. More than that, they were vulnerable . . . breakable. They were everything I never wanted to be. I squeezed my eyes shut and something in me snapped. I pushed my elbow into his middle, turned, and shoved him backward. He wasn’t expecting it, and he stumbled back and slammed into one of the stall doors. The noise echoed through the bathroom, and Mace yelled, “What the fuck, Max?”

I stood there blinking, my mouth hanging open. I knew I should be sorry, but I wasn’t. I was breathing and in control and that was what mattered. Mace stood and brushed off his pants. His mouth was a thin blade, and his eyes were bullets. “Well?” he yelled, and I battled off a flinch.

I couldn’t talk about it, couldn’t explain why. Damn, if he knew me even half as well as Spence, he would know to stay the hell away. My breath still came strong, like I was catching up. I said, “You can’t come over. My parents are still in town.” I didn’t say that technically they were at a hotel. I just needed space for the night.

“So you fucking push me? What’s your deal today?”

The same deal as every day. Singing just opens me up, and I can’t hide it as well.

“Mace, I’m sorry.” Sorry that I was so fucked-up I couldn’t have a simple conversation. “I just . . . I need a couple minutes to myself. Do you mind?”

He shook his head, bewildered, and said, “Sure, take the whole damn day. I’m out.”

“Mace, I—”

The door to the bathroom slammed, and the sound echoed off the tile walls. I closed my eyes, and worked to close myself off, too. I should have been upset, but mostly I was relieved. I’d call and apologize to him later. We’d be fine.

And I’d tell him the set list for the gig, since it looked like we’d be deciding that without him. I splashed some water on my face and pressed the heels of my palms into my eyes until the black behind my eyes was as black as it would go.

Then I went back outside.

Spencer had already packed up our things and returned them to the storage closet that Sam let us use. I didn’t have to say anything. Spencer had probably heard it all. Sound carried in this place. It was why I’d begged Sam to let us use it in the mornings before the bar opened. Great acoustics. Good for music, not so good for arguments.

“You okay?” Spencer asked.

I rolled my eyes and said, “What do you think?”

“I think you’re fine.”

“And you’d be right.”

Boys were boys. I had enough other things tying me into knots without worrying every single time Mace blew a gasket.

Spencer said, “Because you’ve got balls of steel.”

I hated when people said that, like it assumed strength and being a male were synonymous. There was strength in being a woman. “Spence, I don’t have balls. Good thing, too, because they’d look terrible in the lingerie I’m wearing.”

Spence adjusted his bow tie and put on a goofy smile. He said, “Lingerie, huh? Poor Mace is going to be sad he stormed out.” He sidled closer and placed his hands on my hips. He wasn’t hitting on me, not with that Zoolander-style Blue Steel face. We weren’t like that anymore. Spence might be the only guy I’d ever slept with and managed to maintain a friendship with afterward. As such, we were a little more touchy-feely than most friends.

I slid out of his reach. “He wouldn’t have gotten anywhere near it today anyway, and neither will you.”

He crossed a hand over his heart, and looked pained.

“You’re cruel. Vagina-of-steel.”

I laughed so hard I had to steady myself on the table next to me.

“That’s even worse. Let’s just say my private parts are made of the usual private part bits. In fact, let’s just never talk about my bits, okay Spence?”

He smirked. “Fine, but I make no promises when I’m drunk.”

I sighed and started gathering my things. “Deal. You coming in tonight?”

“I think so. I’ve got a new song I’m working on. So I might come in and grab food and work on it, maybe run it by you on your break.”

“Sounds good.”

“You want to hear what I have so far? It’s a work in progress, but it goes ‘Your boyfriend’s a dick, a prick, take your pick. But you should take his drumstick and—’ ”

“—Point proven, Spence.”

He fit a fedora over his head. “I’ll believe that when you do something about it. See you tonight.”

I said, “I’ll save you your usual table,” but he was already out the door and on his way.

I used the spare key Sam gave me to lock up, and put Mace out of my mind. I had just enough time to make some ramen and catch a nap before coming back for work tonight. I pulled the hood of my jacket up over my head, and it helped to block some of the wind from my face and ears. I set off walking toward my apartment, quietly singing one of the songs by the Smiths from our set.

There is a better world

Well, there must be . . .

7

Cade

Milo’s apartment was the quintessential bachelor pad, complete with two weeks’ worth of takeout scattered all over the counters. He shoved aside an empty box from a Chinese restaurant and said, “You overthink things, hermano. So, I’m going to help you out.” Milo opened his freezer and slammed a bottle of tequila on the counter space he’d just “cleaned.”

I was beginning to get a clearer picture of how this night was going to go.

“You’re going to help me stop thinking completely?”

He unscrewed the cap and said, “Exactly.”

I picked up the bottle, and the glass was freezing against my fingertips.

“You could have at least gotten decent tequila. What is this? There’s a freaking pony on the bottle.”

He snatched the bottle out of my hand and said, “I’ll buy more expensive tequila when you get over this Bliss girl.”

I never should have mentioned her name to him. He had this tendency to drop her name into casual conversation as a way to numb me to it. So far, it was a bit like becoming numb to shock treatments. It got more bearable, but I wasn’t going to line up and ask for more anytime soon.

He pulled a few shot glasses out of a cabinet, and I said, “So this is therapy, Milo-style?”

“Yep. If you’re not wasted, it’s not working.”

He filled two shot glasses, and slid one over to me. The other he held back for himself. I gestured to his glass and said, “What are you drinking to get over?”

“You’re not getting it, hermano. We drink so that we don’t have to talk.” I nodded and took my filled shot glass. I started to lift it to my lips, and he stopped me. “These aren’t ordinary shots.”

“Oh, are they magic shots? If I pour one out on the busted concrete outside will a beanstalk grow?”

“Oh, they’re magic, all right,” Milo said. “They’re supposed to make you grow a pair.”

In true Milo-fashion, he laughed at his joke before I could, and did a celebratory dance. I shook my head and said blandly, “You’re hilarious.”

“I know, I know. But seriously, these shots are special.”

I eyed the tequila that I was sure to regret in the morning and said, “Especially bad.”

He picked up his shot and said, “Each one you take is a commitment. If you break that commitment, the gods of alcohol will punish you with a hangover so bad you’ll think Satan himself took a dump on you.”

“And if I don’t take them?”

“You can spend the night being a depressed white boy while I go get laid. Your choice.”

It was pretty depressing when you put it that way. I sighed and gestured for him to continue.

“Cade Winston, by drinking this shot, you hereby swear to get a girl’s phone number tonight. If you fail, may the alcohol gods curse you with the lowest alcohol tolerance known to man—so low that an anorexic baby could drink you under the table.”

I laughed, but picked up my shot. “I don’t think anorexic babies are a thing.”

“How do you know? I’m sure they don’t like being called chubby and having their fat pinched more than anyone else does.”

I took the shot just to get him to shut up. It tasted like rubber mixed with lighter fluid mixed with death. When my throat no longer felt like the burning inferno of hell itself I said, “Okay. A number. I can do that.”

He smiled and poured the second shot.

I eyed him. “If you say my punishment for this one is herpes, I’m out.”

He handed me the glass, laughing. “Relax, Winston. I’ll leave that between you and your giving tree.”

And now I could never read that book to my kids at the after-school program again.

“You should never have children,” I said.

“What makes you think there aren’t a few little Milos running around out there already?”

“Because Armageddon hasn’t happened yet.”

Milo punched me in the shoulder, spilling half the shot. He topped off the glass and said, “Cade Winston, by drinking this shot, you hereby swear to do something out of character tonight. Should you fail, you’ll be cursed to a lifetime filled with premature ejaculation.”

“Seriously, man?”

He held up his hands and laughed, “Hey, the alcohol gods giveth and they taketh away.”

I glared at him but took the shot without comment. I’d thought it might taste a little less heinous the second time around, but it was still the most offensive thing to ever assault my taste buds.

Milo finished his own shot with no issue.

“How often do you drink this stuff?” I asked.

“Pretty often. One of my uncles works at the factory in Mexico. He sends me coupons. It’s not so bad once you get used to it.”

“If I ever get used to it . . . shoot me.”

Milo ignored me and said, “Numero tres! For this one, amigo, I want you to get pissed off. You’ve been too damn nice about this whole thing. I don’t care if it’s over a spilled drink or just how ugly some dude’s face is—but by taking this shot, you promise to let yourself get angry tonight.”

“What if I get pissed at you?”

He shrugged. “You probably will, but I guarantee it won’t be because I’ve got an ugly face.”

“Right, just that ugly shirt you’re wearing.”

“This shirt is awesome. You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

I laughed and said, “Okay, I’ll get angry. That shouldn’t be too hard.”

He clinked his shot with mine and said, “And none of that holding-it-in shit.”

I took the shot. This time it didn’t burn at all, which was worrisome. Maybe it had already corroded my esophagus. I watched him fill the final glasses and I said, “Last one.”

“Hmm . . .” Milo paused, thinking. “You’ve not been with anyone since Bliss right?”

I shook my head, and didn’t bother telling him I was never really with her either. He poured the last shot and said, “Cade Winston, by drinking this shot, you hereby swear to hook up with a girl at this bar.”

“Hook up?”

“I’ll let you be the judge of what qualifies as a hookup. As long as there is some kind of action involved, I’m sure the alcohol gods will be appeased. If you succeed, may you be blessed with extraordinary game and the best sex of your life.”

A reward. That was new.

“And if I don’t?”

He shrugged and said matter-of-factly, “You’ll be cursed to a lifetime of getting hard-ons at the most inappropriate times.”

That sounded more like Milo. I wondered if he’d spent time thinking this all up, or if it was just another day in the depraved state of his mind. I wiped a hand over my face. I had to give him one thing . . . he was good at getting my mind off my troubles. Maybe he was right. I had spent months chasing after the relationship that wasn’t, and then even more time mourning it. Who said I needed to be in a relationship? I’d done my fair share of partying and casual dating during my first three years of college. But when graduation started looming, I had thought I needed to take life more seriously, start building a foundation for my future. Look at all the good that had done me.

I was twenty-two years old. Why the hell was I in such a hurry?

I picked up the glass, my chest still warm from the last shot.

“A hookup it is.” I put the glass to my lips and tipped it back. Damn it . . . the stuff really did grow on you.

Milo cheered and slapped me on the back.

“And now, we party!”

Bliss barely crossed my mind as we made our way to a bar called Trestle. Maybe enough time had finally passed.

More likely it was the tequila.

Milo had brought the bottle with us just in case I sobered up during the journey. By the time we arrived outside Trestle, my liver was probably permanently damaged, but at least my mind was clear.

The bar sat at the crossing of two smaller streets, almost directly under a bridge decorated with graffiti. It was the kind of place that just screamed mugging . . . or hepatitis.

From the outside, the bar looked like an old abandoned brick building. The sign was even missing the r in Trestle.

The inside was a totally different story. There were old black-and-white movies projected onto the wall. Bright colored lights gave the dim bar a retro feel. Then there were the dancers. I saw Milo’s friend Sasha on the far side of the room. She stood up on a platform behind one end of the bar, dancing several feet above the crowd. Her movements were hypnotic, her long hair bouncing around her as she moved. Between the run-down exterior, the projections, and Sasha’s dancing, the bar felt like some kind of secret, underground venue.

If we had places like this back home in Texas, I’d certainly never been there.

Milo clapped a hand on my shoulder and said, “When I told you to hook up with a girl, I did not mean Sasha, hermano. She’s off-limits.”

I laughed and looked away from her. “Is she yours?”

He watched her for a moment, his eyes following her movements. “Nah, man. She’s too good for me. I meant she’s not available to be your rebound girl. She’s been run over by enough guys for this lifetime.”

I eyed him, knowing there was more that he wasn’t saying, but I let him keep his secrets. I certainly had mine.

“Stop looking at me like that, Winston. I’m not going to be your rebound either.”

I rolled my eyes. “I’m not drunk enough for those kinds of jokes.”

“Well, that’s something we should remedy!”

We moved toward the bar, but a blond girl stepped in my way. She was pretty—light curls, pink cheeks, and a low-cut top. She appeared to have had way too much to drink. She leaned forward to say something, but stumbled into me instead. I caught her around the waist and steadied her. One of her hands went around my bicep, and she giggled.

“I’m so sorry!”

She didn’t let go of my arm even once I’d righted her. She looked up at me through long lashes.

She was attractive for sure, but I kept waiting for something more to hit me. I waited for the electric zing of attraction, the pull in my chest, the pump of blood.

Nothing. Nada.

She asked me the usual questions, and I made small talk, but I could have been talking to a wall for all the impression it made on me. I could make a move on a girl like her. I could forget about serious relationships and just spend the night with a pretty blonde, but I had a feeling it wouldn’t make me feel any better. It certainly wouldn’t fix anything. Plus, talking to this girl felt like work, and tonight I wanted something effortless.

I kept looking toward the bar, wishing I could take another drink. Maybe if I was drunker, I would loosen up and get out of my head.

The girl, Cammie, was saying something about how funny I was. I didn’t even remember what I’d said to her.

I felt an elbow in my back and Milo said, “Here’s your chance to avoid a lifetime of premature ejaculation”

I threw a glare over my shoulder. “Can you not say that in public please?”

“Don’t be ashamed, hermano. It happens to lots of guys.”

I shoved him, but we were both laughing.

When I looked back at Cammie, she seemed to know that my attention was waning. She leaned closer and reached a bold hand into the pocket of my jeans, and came back with my cell phone. Her smoky eyes met mine before she entered her number into my phone’s memory. I marked one thing off the night’s checklist without even really trying. I smiled politely at the blonde and said good-bye. I turned to Milo, preparing to brag about how easily I’d gotten her number.

My eyes caught on something else entirely.

One of the colored lights illuminated the pale, bare skin of another dancer’s stomach. She was wearing far less clothing than Sasha. She had on sheer, black tights and a short skirt. Her shirt was lacy and short, revealing a toned stomach inked with black lines. It took me a few moments to piece together the picture that the lines made, but when I did the electricity that had been missing with Cammie started rushing through my veins.

The lines were the roots of a tree.

And the girl was Max.

8

Max

Even though smoking was allowed only outside Trestle, there always seemed to be clouds of it inside the bar. Amber light fractured through the haze. That, combined with the drinking, laughing patrons below me made the whole night feel surreal. The music vibrated everything. I could feel the pulse of it in the platform below me, up through my heels, and into my legs.

As I danced I kept my eyes focused upward and away from the patrons. It wasn’t that I was ashamed. I wasn’t a stripper or anything. The dancers at Trestle were just for atmosphere. We stayed clothed. I think I wore less clothing than anyone, but that was because I split my shift between dancing and bartending, and the less clothing, the more tip.

But there was nothing more awkward than making eye contact with someone below. Sam was careful to keep the bar as pervert-free as possible, but the way we were framed up here on pedestals with soft glowing light could turn just about any guy into a creeper.

Normally I tried to lose myself in the music and just dance for me. It made the time go by faster. But tonight, my mind was so full of the day’s events that I just couldn’t seem to turn my brain off. I took two shots before my shift started to try to remedy the problem, but so far nothing had changed.

I took turns staring at various places on the wall and ceiling to pass the time. I caught Spencer’s eye over at his table in the corner. He smirked at me, waggled his eyebrows, and licked his lips.

I pretended to gag.

He shook his head and went back to scratching away at the lyrics in his journal.

This afternoon was forgotten . . . for now at least.

I smiled, swished my frilly skirt, and glanced at the front entrance as the door swung open. Another cloud of smoke rolled in through the door. Like he was stepping out of the fog, Cade appeared. My twenty-four-hour, pretend-we-met-in-a-library, mom-hugging, golden-boy-boyfriend.

He looked good.

Too good.

He laughed, and people stopped midconversation just to stare, like he was a celebrity. Dark hair tumbled down into his eyes, and he pushed it back. He had the kind of hair that just begged to be touched. He was with someone, a Hispanic guy, and he was smiling so big that his teeth were like little pearls in the dark room. He’d seemed like a pretty smiley guy when we met this morning, but only by seeing this smile in comparison did I realize how faked it had all been. He had these perfect dimples that softened the hard line of his jaw, and his eyes crinkled slightly. He laughed again, and I saw at least three girls maneuver closer to him.

One of the braver girls broke off from her friends, and stepped right up to him. I couldn’t hear what they were saying, and it was too dark to read their lips.

Not that I even knew how to read lips.

She looked exactly how I pictured his type of girl. Blond, perky, and nauseating.

The complete opposite of me.

In less than a minute, he charmed her the same way he charmed my parents. She was giggling and touching his arm, falling into him, all while curling her hair around her finger. I waited for him to move in for the kill, but he didn’t. They just kept talking and talking. She was clearly giving him the green light, and he was still chatting her up like an old lady in church.

Why wasn’t he taking what she was so clearly offering?

He started talking to his friend, ignoring the blonde. She gave the kind of pout that was obnoxious on anyone above the age of five.

I smiled.

Some of the tension in my shoulders loosened, and I danced a little easier. I told myself that the relief I felt was a by-product of those earlier shots kicking in and had nothing to do with the blond girl he was blowing off.

Then the girl reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone. She was smug as she entered what I assumed was her number into his contacts, and I wanted to rip her stupid blond hair out. He looked over his shoulder and raised an eyebrow at his friend. The girl left, looking disappointed, and he didn’t even give her a second glance.

He was saying something to his friend when he paused. His eyes were cast in my direction, and I could almost feel the weight of his gaze as it trailed up my body. His face was stretched wide in a smile when our eyes met. He froze, and my movement faltered. I should have looked away, but something about his expression held me. It wasn’t lust. I knew that expression well. He looked at me . . . in awe.

He took a step in my direction, and my heart jumped in my chest. I was attracted to him . . . to a guy who was in a whole other playing field. And if I was honest, there was more than just desire thrumming through my chest.

There was fear.

I forced my eyes back toward the ceiling, and made myself concentrate on dancing. If I didn’t look at him, maybe he wouldn’t try to talk to me.

I closed my eyes, and the swing of my hips felt like I’d been set to sea. The shots had definitely kicked in. I was affected by them just enough that I felt warm and my head light. My skin tingled, and I wondered if he was looking at me. My muscles had loosened, and the more I twisted and rolled my body to the music, the better I felt. I imagined the look in his eyes, and it made my blood pump faster.

Trestle had a retro theme, so I didn’t have to dance to any brain-liquefying pop music. With my eyes closed like this, the smell of smoke wafting in from outside, and the undercurrent of desire thrumming beneath my skin, I could almost pretend that it was the 1960s, and I was working here in the go-go bar’s prime.

I opened my eyes and found Cade.

It felt natural, like the pull of gravity.

Normally, looking at someone from up here felt too awkward and intimate. Meeting his gaze was intimate, but it wasn’t awkward. It was exhilarating.

Despite how much he scared me, I felt comfortable with him. It was complicated. Looking at him, I knew this wasn’t the kind of fear that sent you running for the hills. It was the kind of fear that made people jump off cliffs and climb mountains—the kind of fear that told you something miraculous was waiting at the end of it, if you could only get there.

Getting there was the problem though. I wasn’t the climbing mountains kind of girl. As appealing as the summit seemed now, I knew myself well enough to know I’d give up halfway there, and then I’d be left with only the pain of the journey, and none of the reward.

I preferred my life to be as uncomplicated as possible. There was nothing to learn about guys like Mace, and no journey needed to land him. What you saw was what you got. I understood him. And more importantly, he was the kind of guy who couldn’t break my heart, because I would never let him have it and he would never care enough to want it.

But Cade . . .

For the life of me, I couldn’t understand what Cade could possibly want with me. I couldn’t understand why his eyes were burning through the layers of my skin while a pretty blonde sat pouting a few tables away.

I tore my eyes away and threw myself into the music.

Music wasn’t complicated. It was math. Patterns. Highs and lows.

Music made sense to me in a way that life and people didn’t. It was predictable. My hips knew instinctively when to move. The riffs and changes untangled my mind. Time folded in on itself, and I lost myself.

I imagined I was singing up on this platform, too, instead of just dancing. The tension in me ebbed, and I floated away on a melody. I ran my hands across my sweat-slicked stomach, since I didn’t have my guitar. My body was my only instrument. I let the music flow through me, and I danced for what could have been minutes or hours or lifetimes.

Eventually I started to feel the strain in my legs. The hair that lay against my neck was damp with sweat. My throat went dry.

The song changed, and in the few seconds of silence, the world came back to me. The bar intruded on my mind once again. I wasn’t singing, and I wasn’t alone.

Cade’s eyes appeared black in the dim bar, and I could see the rise and fall of his chest from here. I turned and twisted my hips while he watched me. A tickle ran up my spine, the kind that made my whole body shiver in a good way. I must have really lost track of time dancing because there were half-eaten plates of food in front of him and his friend.

I made eye contact with Shelly, one of the bartenders, and asked her what time it was.

“Eleven!” she yelled up at me.

Shit. I should have taken my break fifteen minutes ago. Now it was time for my bartender shift. Katie, who I was taking over for, waved me off and said, “Don’t worry about it. Go take your break!”

I blew her an exaggerated kiss, and waved at the new girl on the other side of the bar to let her know I was leaving. Then I hopped off my platform.

I pushed through the crowd of people trying to flag down the bartenders and escaped through the front door. My sweaty skin tightened under the caress of the cold air. I sighed in satisfaction.

Bouncer Benny asked if I wanted a smoke, and I just moaned in response. He understood. No words needed. I didn’t smoke often, not anymore. But I think today, I deserved a little break. Benny was lighting the end of my cigarette when the door swung open, and Cade stepped out.

My heart sped up in response.

I took a deep drag on the cigarette, and took my time exhaling. Maybe it was seeing him at a place like Trestle or seeing him in a situation that didn’t involve my parents or the connection I’d felt with him as I danced, but he didn’t look quite like the nice guy I’d met this morning.

And that realization was dangerous.

9

Cade

Max was . . . unearthly. Ethereal. Unattainable.

Her pale skin glowed under the low amber light. I didn’t know where to look as she danced. I wanted to memorize all of her. Her eyes were lined with dark kohl that made the blue of her eyes shine and pierce straight through me. I’d seen the branches of her tree tattoo and now the roots. Imagining the art that lay between was maddening. She bore other tattoos, too small for me to identify. From here they resembled runes or hieroglyphs, like she was a goddess. Exotic and forbidden.

Immortal.

That was what she looked like. She was the kind of sight that I would never, could never forget.

The few times her eyes met mine, my blood pumped furiously through my veins, I clenched my fists, and had the urge to do something crazy. I wanted to walk up to her platform and join her, or throw her over my shoulder and take her away where no one else could see her.

I’d always thought of myself as a fairly rational person, not one to be ruled by my desires and emotions. But this . . . nothing was logical about the way this girl made me feel. I’d gone crazy. All the stress of everything with Bliss and moving and this new university—I’d finally snapped.

That was the only way I could explain why I followed her outside when she went on break. I had no idea what I was going to say or do, but I couldn’t let her out of my sight.

She said, “Hey, Golden Boy,” on an exhale, smoke curling from between those ruby red lips.

“Hey, Max.”

She walked away from the bouncer, and leaned up against the brick of the building. My eyes snagged on her leg as she propped a heel up on the wall behind her. I forced myself to look away. She was sexy as hell, but I was sure she got enough guys ogling her here.

“Are you stalking me, Golden Boy?”

I stayed where I was, careful to keep distance between us, so that I didn’t do something stupid in my drunken state.

“Only a little.”

She laughed. That was good. I’d made her laugh.

“What are you really doing here? I’ve never seen you at Trestle before, and I’m here more than I’m home.”

I filed away that information for later.

“I’ve never been here. I came with a friend.”

“The Hispanic guy?”

I nodded. “His name is Milo.” I searched for something else to say, but my mind was moving too slowly. God, could I be any more boring? No wonder she called me Golden Boy.

This was a terrible idea. The silence between us stretched into awkward territory, and I was too drunk to hold a decent conversation. The longer I stayed, the harder it became to fight off the urge to touch her.

Time for a tactical retreat.

“I should probably go find him.” She frowned and stared at me as I took a step back. “I only came to say hi.” She looked at me for a second longer, and her eyes widened in shock. Then her lips turned downward, and I saw her disappointment seconds before she swept the emotion from her expression.

I looked behind me expecting to see a mugger or a UFO or a zombie. We were alone on the street except for the bouncer, who stayed silent and still outside the door.

“What?” I asked.

She shook her head. “Nothing. Don’t worry about it.”

My curiosity was too strong to turn around again.

“No, tell me. What was that look for?”

She took a deep inhale, and lowered her heel to the ground.

“It’s nothing. I just realized something is all.”

“And what did you realize?”

Her eyes were still wide, and she sputtered slightly. “I, well, I just realized that you’re in theatre.”

I was drunk, but I could tell that when she’d said “theatre,” she meant something else. “Yeah, I told you I was an actor this morning.”

Her heel scraped at the concrete sidewalk.

“You could have told me the rest, too.”

The alcohol must have been preventing some of the synapses in my brain from firing because I had no idea what she was talking about.

“The rest?”

“You know, your friend, Milo. You could have told me about him. I wouldn’t have judged.”

The pieces were coming together, but I wished they weren’t. This was one puzzle that I did not want to solve.

“I’ve had a lot of alcohol,” I admitted. “But if you’re saying what I think you’re saying, you’re wrong.”

She pushed off from the wall and took a step closer to me.

“It’s okay. I won’t tell anyone, Golden Boy.”

I winced. She patted me on the shoulder, and I grabbed her hand and held it between us. “No, Max, I’m not gay.”

She held her other hand up and said, “Jesus, I get it. You love boobs.” She said this loudly, and then leaned close to me to whisper, “But really, Golden Boy, it’s the twenty-first century. The world won’t end if you come out of the closet.”

Two thoughts crossed my mind—one involved a lot of yelling.

I chose the other, and used the hand I was holding to tug her forward into my arms. Her chest pressed into mine, and her lips were millimeters from my own. She exhaled sharply, and I could taste the sweetness of her breath on the air. I saw in her eyes the moment she knew she was wrong, but I wasn’t done proving it to her.

I crushed my mouth to hers.

She gasped, and I slipped my tongue past her lips. She stayed there for a few seconds, her hands still at her sides, then I felt the tentative touch of her hand against my hip, and that was all the permission I needed to continue. I threaded a hand through her hair and wrapped the other around her waist. I walked her backward until she hit the wall. Her other hand came to my waist, and her fingers pressed deeper into my skin. Her lips were soft and full underneath mine, and I eased up enough to taste them. I tried to kiss her softly. I did, but there was something about her that made me desperate, and I kissed her harder.

Her hands slid around to my lower back. Her fingernails dug into me, and I groaned. I used my hand in her hair to turn her head to the side, so that I could kiss her deeper. Up until now she’d allowed me to kiss her, but as I pressed her harder against the wall, she came fully alive. Her tongue tangled with mine, and her mouth pushed harder against my own. My blood rushed south so fast that I felt dizzy. The only thing keeping me steady was my hand propped on the wall behind her, but even so I fell farther into her, until every part of my body was aligned with hers.

It still wasn’t close enough. My winter clothes kept too much space between us. I wanted to conquer every piece of her. The way her hips pressed up into mine made me believe she felt the same way. The kiss was even better than I could have imagined. Her mouth tasted as exotic as she looked, and my every nerve ending seemed to be standing at attention. Her fingers dug harder into my lower back, and I was on the verge of losing my mind. Her teeth grazed my bottom lip, and I used the hand in her hair to tug her head back just enough that I could move my lips to her neck. Her skin was just as smooth as I’d dreamed. I could spend eternity tasting her.

What was that saying—I could die happy? This was so beyond that. I could never be satisfied. I would always want to kiss her again. She was addictive.

“Okay.” Her voice was thick, raspy, and it only made me want her more. “Point proven.”

I laughed into her neck and nipped the curve of her collarbone. Her back arched, and her breasts pressed deliciously against my chest. She was so responsive. Every time I did something she liked, her nails pressed deeper, and her breath caught in her throat. I wanted to make her do that again and again.

“We have to stop,” she said.

Stopping was about as appealing as a bat to the kneecaps, but I did it. I lifted my head from her neck and looked into her dilated eyes. They were wide with shock or fear or something. Whatever it was . . . it wasn’t what I’d hoped to see in her expression. I stepped backward to give her some space.

Then she slapped me.

The sound of it echoed through the empty street, and it took me a few seconds to feel the sting through my buzz. I’d been slapped twice in my entire life, both of them by this gorgeous, maddening girl. Unlike the last one, this one I deserved.

She was taken. When I wasn’t looking at her, that thought was easier to remember.

I blinked, and turned back to her. She had her hands folded over her mouth in shock. She took a deep breath and said, “I am so sorry. I—I shouldn’t have done that.”

I swallowed and put a few more feet between us. “Don’t be sorry. I deserved it.” Logically, I knew that. But all my body knew was that it wanted to be connected to hers again. I could barely think straight for how badly I wanted her.

“I should go.” I returned to the bar door, feeling like all the good of the day had been knocked loose by her slap.

You’re not that guy, Cade. You practically forced yourself on her.

As I pulled open the door, I heard her ask the bouncer for another cigarette. I forced myself to walk inside the bar, to leave her alone. My track record with girls and alcohol was terrible. But one thought kept plaguing my mind.

She kissed me back.

10

Max

My cheeks burned from the cold, and my lips burned from something else as I lit up my next cigarette.

I hadn’t meant to kiss him back.

I think I’d known before he’d ever touched me that he wasn’t gay, but a small part of me wanted the easy out that that would have provided. I wanted him to walk away because I wasn’t sure I would have the willpower to do it myself.

Then he’d kissed me, and I thought . . . a few seconds wouldn’t hurt. Just to kill the curiosity. Just long enough to blame on the alcohol, then we could pretend like it didn’t happen, and I could stop being fascinated by him.

That had been the plan.

But then his hand had tightened in my hair, and I was swept away by my weakness for kisses with a little edge.

It was why I didn’t normally date nice guys. They were just too tame.

This kiss, though, was a paradox. It was sweet and soft, like I would expect a kiss from Golden Boy to be. But every time I’d thought of pushing him away, there had been something—a pull on my hair, a graze of teeth, a press of his hips—that had frayed my thoughts and kept me kissing him. I don’t know how he managed to be soft and rough at the same time, but I had to hand it to him, it was kind of mind-blowing.

It was also the worst idea since Crocs.

I was with Mace. Or I was supposed to be.

God, I was such a screwup.

Mace made sense for me, and I for him. I just had to remember that.

The slap was an overreaction, but there had been a hurricane of emotion wreaking havoc in my chest—lust and fear and guilt—and I had just snapped.

I fumbled with the new cigarette Benny gave me. If I weren’t careful, it would end up on the ground like my last one.

“Should I be going after that guy?” he asked. “I’m a little unclear on your feelings at the moment.”

Join the club.

“No, Benny. But thank you. He’s just a friend. We’re both a little drunk. Nothing to worry about.”

Except I wasn’t drunk. Not really. I had no excuse other than stupidity for my own behavior. Well, that and how hot Cade was. Yep, we should definitely lay the blame on his hotness.

I looked at my watch and balked, I only had about a minute left in my break. I must have kissed him for longer than I thought. Cade joined the very short list of things in life that had that kind of time-bending effect on me. Or more correctly, kissing Cade joined that list.

Benny said, “I’m going to hit the head. You want me to walk you in?”

I took a deep drag and shook my head. “No, I’m good Benny. I’ll go inside in about a minute. Go ahead, I’ll be fine.”

I stayed by the door, finishing my cigarette. It was a pointless exercise. The slow inhale and exhale was doing absolutely nothing to calm me down. I used my heel to dig at a weed that had sprouted up between slabs of concrete. It was amazing how even in the middle of a city—a world of hard stone and cold metal—something living could overcome the obstacles and emerge to see the light of day.

The heavy metal door swung open again, and I was standing too close. It clipped me in the shoulder, and I dropped my second cigarette of the night as I pitched forward.

An arm caught me around the waist before I hit pavement.

“I gotcha, babe.”

The guy reeked of alcohol. He pulled me up and close to his body. His head was shaved, and he had a few tattoos. He might have been my type on the surface, but his arm was tight around my waist in a way that didn’t feel at all appealing or comforting.

I feigned a smile. “It’s okay,” I said. “I’m good.”

His eyes were dark, and they left my face to look down at my body. His hand curved around my bare waist, and his thumb traced one of the lines of my tattoo. “I bet you are.”

The hair on the back of my neck stood on end, and time seemed to slow down and speed up at the same time. Blood rushed beneath my skin and roared in my ears.

No matter how many times I felt this kind of panic, it managed to catch me by surprise. And each time, I associated it with the night of Alex’s accident. The fear from now mixed and muddled with the fear from then, and I felt the terror building in my throat. One of my arms was pinned to my side, but I maneuvered the left one between us, and pushed at his chest.

“Let me go.”

His breath was warm and cloying against my face. He jerked me in to him, and it bent my hand back, shooting pain through my wrist. I craned my head around, but the street was deserted, and there was no telling when Benny would be back from the bathroom.

“No need to get upset, dolly. We’re just having a little fun.”

“You’re drunk. And I’m not having fun.” I squirmed and bucked against him. He might have been stronger than me, but I would make it hard as hell to hold on to me. “Let me go, asshole!”

I tried to stomp down on his foot, but I couldn’t get enough leverage to do any damage. I screamed again, and he brought a hand up to my throat.

“Would you stop screaming?”

His hand was big enough to wrap all the way around my neck. His fingers tangled in my hair, and his thumb pressed against my windpipe. I tried to swallow but couldn’t. I choked and slid my hand up to claw at his face. He was tall enough that he managed to stay just out of my reach, and I was left scrabbling at his chest. The door to Trestle swung open, and I tried to scream, but it just came out a garbled mess.

I blinked, and my vision went blurry. Then one black spot appeared, followed by another. My chest felt like it was caving in, crumbling.

Then his hand was ripped off of me. Black converged until I couldn’t see anything, burning air rushed into my lungs, and for a few seconds, I felt like I was underwater. Then the air stopped burning, the black left my vision, and I saw Cade grappling with my attacker.

Cade’s fist connected with the bald guy’s face, and a rush of relief swept through me. I coughed and swallowed down gulps of air.

I dragged myself to my feet, and the world flipped upside down and inside out. The air sang, high pitched and off-key. I took a step, but the ground wasn’t where it was supposed to be, and then I heard sweet-nothings from the asphalt.

“Max!”

I opened my eyes, and the world had rearranged itself. I was on my back, and Cade was kneeling over me. I relaxed. Everything was okay if he was here.

“Max, are you okay?”

I swallowed, and opened my mouth to answer, but something swung and hit him on the side of the head. I gave a strangled scream as my attacker went after a distracted Cade.

I heard a groan, and the sound sharpened my focus. I pushed myself up to a sitting position, and this time I rose slowly. The world wavered, but stayed in place.

Cade was a pretty tall guy, but Mr. Clean had at least half a foot on him. Blood stained Cade’s mouth. That’s what pushed me into motion. My still-lit cigarette that I’d dropped when the door hit me was lying a foot or two away, so I grabbed it. I heard the sound of flesh hitting flesh again, and spun around. Cade was on his feet, but I watched him shake his head and wondered if the world was spinning for him now.

I took my chance and staggered forward. “Hey jackhole!”

Mr. Clean turned and snarled down at me. And I pushed the lit end of my cigarette into his neck. I heard the small sizzle, and his whole body convulsed in an attempt to get away from me. He screamed and shoved me away.

The ground rushed toward me. I knew the most important thing was to keep my head forward so it wouldn’t hit the pavement. I wrapped my arms around my head, and my back took the brunt of the fall. I hit the asphalt and went skidding. Gravel gouged into my bare lower back, and I felt the skin stretch and tear.

“You bitch!”

I forgot about the pain and scrambled backward when he came at me again. I hit the curb just as Cade stepped between us, looking focused once more. The guy swung his right arm toward Cade, who saw it coming and ducked. He wasn’t quite fast enough. My attacker’s knuckles grazed his forehead. Cade’s head rocked on his neck like the least funny bobble head doll ever. My attacker must have been drunk, too, because he swayed on his feet. Cade paused just for a second, shook his head, and then came up, ramming his shoulder into the guy’s midsection.

Mr. Clean stumbled backward, and Cade got in a quick uppercut while he was off guard. I heard the smack of his teeth clacking together, but he didn’t even seem fazed by it.

“Get inside, Max!” Cade yelled.

I didn’t want to leave him. He was looking at me, and there was blood on his face, and my heart felt like it was going to burst wide open.

“Go!”

He was too busy looking at me to see the guy coming. I screamed, “Cade!” and he barely turned fast enough to avoid getting hit. I dragged myself up and ran for Trestle. My hands shook as I reached for the door handle. The metal door felt even heavier than normal, and it took all my strength to pry it open.

“BENNY!”

My throat felt like I’d swallowed burning coals, but I yelled Benny’s name again. The drunken bar-goers looked at me like I was crazy. Some didn’t even register my scream. But I saw Benny shouldering his way through the crowd.

“Benny, hurry!”

I ran for the door as soon as he was close to me.

“What is it, Max?”

I shoved open the door as hard as I could and breathed, “Fight.”

The cold wind was like glass shards against my skin, but I didn’t care. “Cade!”

My attacker was flat on his back, and Cade was on top of him. Both of them were bloodied, but Cade was okay. Really okay if the punch he threw was any indication. Benny charged forward and grabbed Cade by his clothing. He jerked him to his feet, and I cried, “The other one, Benny!”

He looked at Cade for a few moments, and Golden Boy stared back, his jaw set in a grim line. Finally, Benny released him to address the guy still on the ground.

Cade breathed out harshly, and then faltered on his feet. I rushed toward him and took him by the arm. He smiled, and I winced at the blood in his teeth. His eyes searched my face, and when he didn’t find any injuries, he rested his hand against my cheek. It might have been a side effect of being choked, but it was suddenly harder to breathe.

“Pretty impressive, Golden Boy.”

He coughed, and then groaned. I moved closer and wrapped an arm around his waist. His hard body pressed into mine, and the heat of him seeped into my skin. His brown eyes met mine, and there were volumes written in his expression. Those volumes contained words that terrified me, but I couldn’t look away for the life of me.

“I’m sorry,” he said. His eyes closed, and he teetered toward me. His forehead pressed into my temple in a gesture that felt sweet and familiar. He swallowed, and I could feel every imperceptible change in his body.

I held tighter to him and asked, “What could you possibly be sorry for?”

“I’m getting blood on you.”

I laughed. “Only you would apologize for something like that, Golden Boy.”

His eyes were open again, and they locked on mine. He wasn’t laughing. He shook his head. “I meant I was sorry for kissing you.”

With his forehead pressed against mine, the sight of him filled up my vision. There was nothing else in that moment, but him. And he . . . he reminded me of music. Of the way singing made me feel. Like I was falling and flying, freedom and fear.

Without thinking it through, I said, “Don’t be. I’m not.”

11

Cade

Max led me back inside the bar, and it took all of five seconds before Milo was at my side whistling. “Damn, hermano, I think you took that promise to get pissed a little too seriously.”

I rolled my eyes and said to Max, “This is my friend Milo. Milo, this is Mackenzie.”

That was for calling me Golden Boy.

Her head swung around to face me and she asked, “Are you looking to get in another fight tonight?” Her cheeks were flushed, and her eyes sparkling.

“No, I just like seeing you angry.” She pressed her lips together and glared, but a smile was poking through within a few seconds. God, when she looked at me like that I forgot completely about the splitting pain in my head.

When I turned back to Milo, he was looking between Max and me, grinning. “You bastard, did you knock out all four commitments in one go?”

I was still leaning on Max, a little because I needed to and a lot because I wanted to. Her face angled up to mine and she asked, “What is he talking about?”

“Don’t worry about it. He’s drunk.”

I, on the other hand, had sobered up completely. I tried not to look disappointed as I removed my arm from around her shoulder.

“Thanks, Max. I’m good now.”

All I wanted to do was get home and take a long, cold shower, followed by a really hot one to ease the stiffness in my back and arms.

“What do you think you’re doing?” she asked. Her hands came up to rest on her hips . . . hips that I’d held in my hands before this all went down.

“I’m just going to head home and get cleaned up.”

Milo said, “Uh, Cade, you live at least twenty minutes away and your face is leaking. I think we should get you cleaned up here.”

Max’s fingers found my chin, and she drew my face down toward hers. “I’m going to get a first aid kit. Don’t you dare leave.”

I was too tired to argue, so Max disappeared, and Milo led me toward the bathroom at the back of the bar.

“Damn, Cade. Who knew you liked the feisty ones?”

I wasn’t sure if I liked “feisty ones,” but I liked her. A lot.

There was an obnoxiously long line for the bathroom, and everyone was either too drunk or too rude to care that I was bleeding. I leaned against the back wall, tilted my head back against the brick, and closed my eyes. In a shocking turn of events, Milo kept his mouth shut until Max returned.

She said, “Bad news. Our first aid kit is pretty much empty.”

I opened my eyes and focused on her. Shoving off the wall, I swayed slightly. Max caught one arm while Milo caught the other.

“I’ll catch a cab home,” I said. That was a lie. I didn’t have the cash for that, but it would make them happy.

Max scoffed, “Good luck finding a cab in this neighborhood.”

Milo offered to run to a drugstore and buy some stuff, but I insisted that it was too much trouble.

“Really, guys, I’m fine. I’ll splash my face with some water, and then head home. It’s not a big deal. I feel fine.” I moved toward the bathroom, but Max darted around me and placed a hand on my chest.

She was chewing on her bottom lip, wrestling with something. Her lips pulled into a straight line, and she looked up at me. “We’ll go to my place. It’s only a few blocks from here.”

I didn’t have to see Milo to know he was grinning behind me as he said, “That sounds like a great idea!”

I brought my hand up and covered hers that rested on my chest.

“Max, I’m okay, really.”

She glared at me, and I got the feeling that she was rarely told the word no. With her hand on my chest and mine on hers, I was all too aware of how much my body wanted to say yes.

My brain knew better.

She stepped closer to me and lowered her voice. “Listen, Golden Boy, I’m trying this new thing where I don’t act like a raging bitch all the time. That means when a guy gets his ass kicked for me, I have to show a little compassion. It doesn’t come easy to me, so help me out.”

Huh. One day . . . we’d known each other one day, and she’d already picked up on the fact that I had difficulty saying no to people, especially people that needed my help.

I was supposed to do something out of character, though most of the things I did tonight were a little out of character. And it wasn’t like I didn’t try to say no.

“Okay.” I sighed. “But only if you take back that part about me getting my ass kicked.”

She laughed. “All right, I’ll give you that. But I totally softened him up for you.”

“Yeah, remind me not to make you mad when you’re smoking.”

There was a moment of awkwardness where we’d both already agreed, but neither of us stepped back or stopped touching the other. After a few seconds, she cleared her throat, and her hand dropped from my chest.

I said good-bye to Milo, and ignored the thumbs-up he gave me over Max’s head. I waited while she slipped on a coat and grabbed her things. She explained to one of the other bartenders what had happened. I thought maybe they wouldn’t let her leave, but after a short conversation, she was back at my side and ready to go.

She smiled up at me, and I was nervous. With all the pain and fatigue, who would have thought I’d have room for something like nerves?

“Come on,” she said. “You’re covered in blood.”

“Too gross for you?”

“Either really gross or really hot. I’m not sure which.”

She didn’t wait for a response before turning and pushing her way through the crowd toward the door. I followed at a slower pace, sure again that this was a dangerous idea.

Her attacker and Benny were gone when we returned outside, and someone else had taken up the bouncer’s post at the door. That was probably for the best, because if I’d seen the guy who attacked her, I couldn’t be held responsible for my actions. I kept seeing her face, pale and in pain, and his hand on her throat. Just the memory had me ready to fight him all over again.

She linked her arm with mine and asked, “You okay?”

I nodded. I didn’t need her for balance anymore, but I wasn’t about to deny the chance to touch her. It felt natural, like we were any other couple returning home.

We were silent for the first block or so, but when I looked over, I could see the glazed look in her eye, and knew she was replaying the event in her mind. I doubted she wanted to relive it any more than I did.

“So you’re a musician?” I asked.

She nodded but didn’t reply. Her gaze was fixed on the sidewalk, and from this angle I could see red marks on her neck from his hands. I wanted nothing more than to stop and hold her in my arms, but I knew that wasn’t her style. I doubt she’d ever been the type for hugs and comfort.

So I settled for distracting her.

“I’ve written a couple of songs, you know. Not because I want to be a musician, but just because the music helps organize my thoughts.”

I followed her around a corner, and though she kept her face down, I could see a small smile form on her face. “Will you sing me one?”

“Not a chance.”

“Oh, come on!” She wrapped both hands around my arm, and pushed her bottom lip out in a pout. It was so damn convincing I actually considered it for a moment, but the only song I knew by heart cut a little too close to said organ.

Tonight was the night for forgetting about Bliss, and it had been going remarkably well until now. Singing a song I wrote about her was the last thing I wanted to do.

“Maybe another time,” I said.

“I’m going to get it out of you,” she said.

I had no doubt that if anyone could, it would be her.

The silence of the street swallowed up my thoughts, and that was fine by me. I was happy to just walk with her, no thoughts or troubles to get in the way.

We passed a twenty-four-hour Laundromat, and she slowed to a stop in front of a glass door with a set of buzzers. A staircase trailed upward on the other side of the door, and she pulled the door open without a key.

“No lock?”

She shrugged. “It’s broken. I’ve been asking the landlord to fix it for weeks.”

I looked at the door while she started up the stairs.

“You know, I could probably fix it. My grandfather was a locksmith.”

She called back from the middle of the staircase, “Is there anything you can’t do, Golden Boy?” I could think of one thing. I seemed to be incapable of finding a girl who wasn’t taken.

I let the door swing shut behind me, and climbed up the stairs. We went up two flights and down a hallway before stopping at the last door on the left. She pulled her keys out of her coat pocket, and hesitated for a moment.

She took a deep breath and slid the key in, turning until it clicked. Her apartment was dark as we entered, and she threw her keys on a small table next to the door.

“Hang on a sec.”

She left me by the door to turn on a lamp a few feet away.

The light revealed an apartment that was simple, bare, and lifeless. I followed her into a tiny living room crammed with a futon and a boxy-looking love seat. There were no pictures, no knickknacks, nothing that gave any insight into the tempting creature that had entered my life this morning and hijacked it completely.

“How long have you lived here?” I asked.

She laid her purse down beside the couch and said, “Almost two years in this apartment, but I’ve been in Philly twice that long.”

Then why did she live like she might pack up and leave any day? There was nothing but furniture here. The only thing I saw that was even the least bit personal was a guitar case propped up in a corner.

“Take a seat, and I’ll grab some bandages and stuff.”

She started shrugging off her coat, and then sucked in a sharp breath. Her arms dropped to her side, and her face scrunched up in pain. I leapt to my feet. Her eyes were clamped shut and her teeth dug into her bottom lip.

“What is it, Max? What’s wrong?”

She whimpered slightly, and turned her back to me. She held her arms out to me like she wanted me to remove her coat. I took a hold of her collar, and started to pull.

“Ah,” she whined.

The lining of her coat was wet with blood and leeched to her back.

“Shit, Max. Why didn’t you tell me you were hurt?”

Her voice was small and uneven when she answered, “I didn’t think it was that bad.”

It may not have been, but the blood had started to congeal, and taking off the coat was going to make her start bleeding again. She shifted, and even that small movement made her groan. I kept one hand on the collar of the coat and placed the other on her shoulder. “See if you can slip your arms out.”

I tried to keep the garment still, but she winced a few times as she maneuvered her arms free. I guided her to lie down on her stomach on the futon.

She took a deep breath, and exhaled slowly.

“Just rip it off, Cade.”

I knelt beside her and pushed a lock of hair out of her face. She didn’t look nearly as brave as she sounded.

“As much as I like the idea of ripping off your clothes, I think I’d better not.”

Her cheek was pressed flat against the futon, and she was only at half sass as she said, “Your loss.”

I had no doubt about that.

“Hang on a second.”

Her kitchen was as minuscule as the living room. I started opening cabinets, looking for a bowl. Max said, “You know you could just ask and I’ll tell you where to look.”

“It’s more fun this way. Who knows what I’ll find.”

I found a large plastic bowl, and pulled it down. I turned on the tap and waited for it to get warm. I heard her laugh, and then groan on the other side of the couch.

“I hate to break it to you, but you won’t find any dirty little secrets in there. Expired milk, maybe, but that’s about it.”

I filled up the bowl and found a washcloth in a drawer by the sink. I returned to the living room and asked, “Where might I find some of these dirty little secrets, then?”

She smiled and said, “I’m taking those with me to the grave. Sorry, Golden Boy.”

I folded down the top part of the jacket, and she flinched.

“Sorry.”

“It’s okay,” she whispered.

It didn’t sound okay. I dipped the cloth in the warm water and wrung it out. I said, “Tell you what . . . I’ll trade you a secret for part of my song.”

I squeezed a little bit of water at the area where her skin met the lining of her coat, and started gently pulling it back.

She said, “Deal,” and then swallowed a groan. I added more water, cleansing the skin as carefully as I could. The more I saw of her back the angrier I became. Her skin was already purpling in places, and I felt each scratch as if it was on my own skin. I inhaled sharply, and it felt like my lungs had been filled with fire. I couldn’t see straight through my rage, and I wanted to go straight back to the bar and find that guy. He wasn’t bleeding nearly enough.

I squeezed the washcloth in my fist and said, “Let’s hear a secret then.”

We both needed the distraction.

She took a deep breath and said, “I was a cheerleader in high school.”

12

Max

You were a what?”

I always enjoyed shocking people with that, and it helped to distract a little bit from the pain.

“You heard me, Golden Boy. I was a cheerleader.”

His hands paused in pulling the jacket from my back, and I was thankful for the reprieve.

“I’m trying to picture it,” he said. “But I just . . .”

He trailed off and I asked, “What? Can’t imagine me in a cheer skirt?”

“No, that’s an image that I can conjure all too easily.”

“Of course you can. Men.” I rolled my eyes, but I didn’t mind so much. There was something empowering about knowing that I could attract a guy like him. Even if he had no idea the crazy he was getting himself into.

“But seriously . . . a cheerleader?”

That seemed like a lifetime ago. A different me.

I hated thinking about the past. Every time I did, I felt heavy, like gravity had doubled and instead of just holding me to the Earth, it flattened me.

I couldn’t explain why, but the words flowed with him. I said, “I spent a long time pretending to be something I wasn’t.”

He started pulling at the material again, and I could feel the stretch of my skin followed by the trickle of fresh blood. He wiped the cloth over the cut tenderly, but my skin was so sensitive. I tried my hardest to keep from flinching when he touched me, but I failed a few times.

“At least you stopped pretending. A lot of people don’t.”

Had I really? I’d just traded one kind of pretending for another.

I needed a distraction . . . from the past and the pain. I clenched my eyelids closed, and said, “Your turn, Golden Boy. Sing for me.”

He dipped the washcloth in the bowl again, and I listened to the droplets falling as he wrung out the rag. The water was warm and soothing on my skin until he started pulling at the material again. I held my breath, and heard him start to sing.

His voice was strong and clear. He sang quietly, but the deep notes rumbled in his chest, and it gave me chills.

“No matter how close, you are always too far

My eyes are drawn everywhere you are.”

His knuckles brushed my bare back, and my muscles tensed and shivered like a plucked guitar string. My breath caught in my throat, and I barely felt him pull my coat the rest of the way off.

He rewet the rag, and I waited for him to start singing again, but he didn’t. He sponged at one scrape, and then another . . . silent.

“Is that all I get?” I asked. It wasn’t nearly enough.

“As bizarre and . . . stimulating your cheertastic confession was, I’m going to need a little bit more before I start baring my soul.”

I could hear the smile in his voice. The greedy bastard.

I gave an exaggerated sigh. “I can’t think of what else to tell you.”

“I believe the word dirty was thrown around earlier.”

I was unnerved by how scared I was at the thought of spilling my secrets to him. Normally, I could care less what people thought of me, but with him it was different.

“I got my first kiss from my babysitter’s son when I was five and he was seven. He kissed me and then pulled my hair.”

He chuckled, and dabbed at a scrape just above the waistline of my skirt.

“We have different definitions of dirty.”

I smirked and added, “To this day, nothing turns me on more than when a guy pulls my hair.”

There was silence above me, and his hand stilled against my back. I would have killed to see his expression.

He cleared his throat, stood, and put a few feet between us.

“Bandages?” he asked.

I’d reduced him to one-word communications.

“Bathroom cabinet. At the end of the hall.”

I bit down on my lip but couldn’t stop the wide smile that stretched across my face. I told myself that there was nothing wrong with a little harmless flirting between Cade and me as long as it didn’t cross beyond that. Mace flirted with other girls all the time. Neither of us was the jealous type, so it was cool. And Cade would be out of my life after tomorrow anyway.

He took several minutes to return to the living room, and by then I’d convinced myself that being here alone with him wasn’t a big deal. Our kiss wasn’t a big deal. The nauseatingly goofy grin on my face wasn’t a big deal. I deserved to relax and loosen up after the day I’d just had.

It was harmless, really.

“I found some ointment, gauze, tape, and scissors. I figured that would be better than individual bandages, since there are so many scratches. The good news is none of them are very deep. There are just a lot of them.”

“Sounds fine. Now where’s the rest of my song?”

He knelt beside me, and I could just see out of the corner of my eye the way his dark hair fell onto his forehead as he bent over me. I closed my eyes as he began rubbing the cool ointment on my skin.

“About that . . .” he began. “I really don’t—”

“Come on, Cade. A deal’s a deal. Besides . . . I’m in pain.”

I lifted my head a little and gave him my best pout over my shoulder.

He glanced up at the ceiling and shook his head. “You’re dangerous.”

I liked danger. And this . . . this was addictive. Making him want me.

It was because it was wrong, because we were so different, that it felt so exhilarating. I laid my cheek against the cushion and closed my eyes, enjoying the luxurious feeling of his fingers coasting across my back.

“You might as well start again from the beginning,” I said. “So I get the full effect.”

It took a while for him to start singing, like he had to talk himself into it. But when he did, his voice was just as intoxicating the second time around. It was rich and resonant, and it rooted into my soul.

“No matter how close, you are always too far

“My eyes are drawn everywhere you are.”

He paused again, and I thought he wouldn’t go on, but then he pitched his voice higher, and I melted at the sound.

“I’m tired of the way we both pretend

Tired of always wanting and never giving in

I can feel it in my skin, see it in your grin

We’re more. We always have been.

“Think of everything we’ve missed.

Every touch and every kiss.

Because we both insist.

Resist.”

They were only words, but their effect on me was just as strong as the kiss we’d shared earlier in the evening. The anticipation of his touch was almost as exquisite as the contact itself. I had to concentrate to keep from arching up into his hands. He began taping gauze across sections of my back, and I lived for the moments when his finger would smooth the tape down and graze my skin.

“Hold your breath and close your eyes

Distract yourself with other guys

It’s no surprise, your defeated sighs

Aren’t you tired of the lies?”

His volume had grown, and I felt nailed down by his words, trapped by his hands. I knew this song wasn’t for me. It couldn’t be. We’d only met today. But just because the song wasn’t for me, didn’t mean it wasn’t about me.

“Think of everything we’ve missed.

Every touch and every kiss.

Because we both insist.

Resist.”

I could feel his breath against my bare skin as he sang, and my whole body tensed. I couldn’t even pretend I wasn’t affected anymore. It took all my concentration just to keep breathing.

“No matter how close, you are always too far

My eyes are drawn everywhere you are.”

He placed the last bandage, smoothed down the tape, then his finger continued on, tracing the line of my spine. My skin broke out in goose bumps, and I tried to smother a moan into the cushion, but he had to have heard.

“I’m done. I won’t ignore.

I won’t pretend or resist.”

His hand settled at the base of my back. The last line was half-sung, half-spoken, and I was half-mad with desire.

“I want more.”

13

Cade

I was playing with fire, touching her like this. My hand was resting just above the curve of her behind, and I swear she arched her hips back into my palm.

My voice was low and rough as I said, “All done.”

If I were a superstitious man, I would think I’d angered Milo’s alcohol gods because I was having a very inconvenient reaction to our closeness.

I moved my hand, and was ready to make a quick getaway, but she sat up and said, “Wait, let me do you.”

I tried to keep a straight face, I really did. But no male in my condition, whether he’s fifteen or fifty, could hear those words and not react.

She rolled her eyes and said, “Your head, Golden boy. The one that’s supposed to do your thinking.”

God, she was so different from Bliss. I could envision completely how this scenario would have happened with her. It would have started with a lot of blushing and mumbling and probably would have ended with something broken or on fire.

Max was honest. Unafraid. She was so comfortable in her skin.

And it was sexy as hell.

“Let me get a new cloth.”

She stood and took the washcloth and water into the kitchen with her. I sat on the couch, and did my best to adjust myself so that my predicament wasn’t glaringly obvious.

I’d tried to talk her out of the song because I thought it was a bad idea. I thought it would bring up memories of Bliss, but it didn’t. In fact, singing it hadn’t made me think of Bliss at all. I could only think about Max, and that caused an entirely different problem than the one I’d expected.

I kept my eyes focused forward when she returned because I didn’t trust myself not to touch her again. She pulled one of her knees up onto the couch, and slid closer to me. Her knee pressed against my thigh, and all I wanted to do was grab her other leg and lift her over onto my lap.

I searched for something, anything, to distract me, but there was nothing in this apartment to look at. There was only us and the electrifying heat that filled the space between us.

Her fingers touched my chin, and she turned my face toward her. She was staring at a wound on my forehead, so I had a few seconds to drink her in without getting caught. Her cheeks were flushed, probably from the pain, and her lips pulled down into a frown as she surveyed my injury. And her eyes were the kind of light blue that you only see on wild, untouched beaches.

“I should have taken care of you first. You’re still bleeding a little.”

I was? It didn’t even hurt anymore. There were too many other things on my mind.

Her fingers shifted on my chin, brushing across the stubble that I hadn’t bothered to shave this morning. Her eyes met mine for a flicker of a second before she pulled away and began dipping the washcloth in the water.

I watched her small hands and delicate fingers as they wrung out the rag, and then folded it into a small rectangle. She slid even closer when she turned back to me, so that her knee was almost resting on top of my leg. I was already facing her, but her hand found my jaw anyway. She cleaned the area around the wound first, and then started dabbing at the cut just along my hairline.

She used the hand on my jaw to tilt my head down slightly to give her a better look. It pointed my eyes straight to the delicate architecture of her collarbone, which had been the last place I’d kissed her.

I was dying to pick back up again where I left off.

That must not have been enough to give her a good look because she shifted, and rose up on her knees next to me. Her chest was level with my gaze, and her body swayed toward mine.

I closed my eyes and thought about multiplication tables and recited lines from plays that I’d been in over the years. Her breath fanned across my forehead, and I could feel the warmth of her skin only inches away from mine. She stopped dabbing and just pressed the cloth to my forehead, probably to stop the bleeding.

Her voice was low and warm when she said, “You wrote that song for a girl?”

“Is this you implying that I’m gay again?”

She laughed, and I wanted to sweep her into my arms, lay her down on this couch, and map out every bit of her skin with my mouth. I wanted to taste every tattoo, and know what they meant to her. I wanted to unlock the secrets that lay behind her guarded expression.

“No, I just mean . . . was she a girlfriend?”

I shook my head. “No, she wasn’t. By the time I decided to do something about it, she was already with someone else.”

“So you gave up?”

This was not what I wanted to talk about, but I guess if it kept my mind off of kissing her, it worked.

“There was no point,” I said. “I couldn’t compete.”

“Bullshit.” She pressed down a little harder, and jerked my face a little closer to her own. “You’re Golden Boy. You’re good at everything. You’re sweet, gorgeous, and probably stop to help little old ladies cross the street. If you can’t compete, the rest of us are completely fucked.”

I smiled. Hearing her say I was gorgeous was a pretty good consolation prize.

“The other guy is British.”

She tossed her head back and laughed, and my eyes caught on the smooth line of her neck.

“Yeah, you’re shit out of luck, Golden Boy.”

It felt good to be able to laugh about this with someone. I hadn’t even been able to do that with Milo or any of my friends back home. This morning losing Bliss had seemed like a weight shackled to my feet, and now it felt like what it was—a memory.

She was still smiling when she lifted the cloth from my forehead.

She hummed and said, “Looks good.”

She sat back, and the hand on my face dropped to my thigh. She used it to brace herself as she reached for the gauze. Sweet Jesus.

I searched for something, anything to say. “It’s been an . . . interesting day.”

Considering I’d only met her this morning, and I was ten miles past fascinated into obsessed territory, yeah. I’d say the day had been pretty damn interesting.

“Tomorrow will make today look like a cakewalk,” she said.

She cut a piece of gauze, and raised back up on her knees to place it on my head.

“Why do you hate the holidays so much? Do your parents go way overboard?”

She pressed tape to the edges of the bandage and started smoothing it down, and her other hand rested on my shoulder for balance.

“It’s hard to explain.”

“I think I can keep up.”

She reached for the rag again and started cleaning more blood off my face. With her eyes focused on her work, she said, “The holidays bring up bad memories for us. My parents think if they pretend enough and have enough decorations and food that they won’t think so much about the things they don’t have.”

“And that doesn’t work for you?”

Her eyes met mine for a few seconds.

“Nothing works for me. But music.”

I brought my hand up and placed it over hers that rested on my shoulder

“I’m sorry.”

She looked down at me, and her eyes searched mine. “Normally, I hate it when people say that, but . . .”

The damp rag skimmed across my cheek to the cut on my mouth. Her eyes were dark, and her lips parted. She dabbed at the cut carefully. I watched the movement of her throat as she swallowed.

Slowly, so slowly that it felt like a dream, her hand turned so that the backs of her knuckles trailed across my lips. Her eyes were open and clear. We were both sober. One of my hands found her hip, and her chest brushed against my shoulder as she leaned over me.

I could feel her breath on my lips, and her eyes were dilated with desire. She bit her lip, and I held in a groan. Her eyes dropped to my lips, and the rag dropped to the floor.

Then her phone rang.

She jumped back so quickly that she was across the room before I’d released the breath that had been caught in my chest.

She picked up her phone, and her expression was blank as she said, “It’s my boyfriend.”

I swallowed, but my mouth still felt as dry as the desert.

The universe was doing us both a favor. I didn’t want to make her into a cheater. Kissing her earlier had been bad enough.

“I should be going anyway.”

I crossed to the door as quickly as possible, and she called back to me, “Cade!” I pulled the door open wide, and looked back at her. She held the phone in her hand, ready to answer. She said, “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. I’m not.” She took a small step toward me, and I turned. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

14

Max

This was a catastrofuck of colossal proportions.

I hit accept and said, “Hi, babe.” The sound on his end was garbled and booming. He must have been in some kind of club because the music was blasting. “Mace?”

“Maxi Pad!”

And . . . he was drunk.

“We’ve talked about this, Mace. There are funny nicknames, and there are atrocious ones. That one is the latter.”

“Maxi . . . Come meet me at Pure.”

Shit, if he was there, he’d probably been popping pills rather than downing beer.

“I can’t, Mace.”

“Yes, you can. Christ, Max, this shit is awesome. You have to come try it.”

Just as I thought. I wasn’t judging him. I’d done too many screwed-up things over the years to do that, but I didn’t have room for that kind of stuff in my life. If I dealt with my pain that way, there would be no reason to put it into my music instead, and then I’d be left with nothing.

“Listen, Mace, I had a really rough day at work.”

“I’ll take your mind off of it.” His voice was gravelly and slurred. His voice normally made me weak in the knees. Not tonight. I wasn’t up for any kind of solution he had to offer.

“No, Mace. I’m just going to go to sleep.”

“Fuck, Max. First, you bail on me this morning.”

“My parents are in town, and you bailed on me.”

He didn’t even listen to me, just kept right on talking. “Now, you won’t even come out when I won’t see you at all tomorrow.”

I couldn’t deal with this right now. It took all of my control not to just hang up the phone.

“I can’t, okay? We’ll talk when you’re sober. Good night.”

I clicked the phone off and sank down onto the couch. I pressed the cool phone screen to my heated cheek, and placed my other hand on the cushion beside me. There were so many thoughts running through my head—thoughts about Mace and Cade. But it had been a long, emotional day. I wasn’t stupid enough to let myself make a decision in the heat of the moment. Even if I could still feel Cade’s hands on my back, and his face beneath my fingertips when I closed my eyes.

Catastrofuck. Definitely.

All I wanted to do was take a shower, but then I’d screw up the bandages on my back. Instead, I shucked off my clothes and fell into bed and oblivion.

He tugged on my hair, and I felt the pull run down my spine all the way to my toes. He pulled my head back, and his lips came down on my neck. He dragged his mouth softly down the column of my throat, and then his teeth grazed my collarbone.

I moaned embarrassingly loud.

He rewarded me with another nip of his teeth.

I burrowed my hands underneath his shirt, and dug my fingers into his lower back. His hips pressed forward into mine, and I could feel his muscles flexing beneath my palms.

He left my collarbone, and nosed aside my shirt, kissing down my sternum. His tongue dragged across one of the branches on my tattoo, and I felt like I was burning alive. His stubble scratched against my sensitive skin, and my legs went weak.

“Please,” I begged.

“We shouldn’t,” he whispered.

I pulled his mouth to mine, determined to convince him. I wrapped an arm around his neck, and a leg around his hips, and pulled him into me. He steadied himself with one hand against the wall, and the other on my ass.

“Yes,” I hissed between kisses.

His kiss was intoxicating. Slow and fast. Soft and hard. I melted into him, happy to follow his lead.

He pulled back again. “You’re sure?”

Dear God, yes!

I nodded, and he spun me from the wall onto a bed. His hands ran up my legs, raising goose bumps and making me squirm. His fingers hooked around the fabric of my panties and pulled them down gently. My shirt was already gone, disappeared somewhere in the frenzy. He pressed his hips into mine, and my eyes rolled back in my head. Then the whole world rolled, and I was astride his hips. His messy hair looked so good against my pillow, and his brown eyes were so dark they were nearly black.

He slipped his hands underneath the frills of my skirt, gripped my thighs, and said, “Ride me.”

What was it about a nice boy saying naughty things that was so damn hot?

I threw my head back and groaned.

“Max.”

“Oh God,” I whimpered.

His hands traced my jaw, then gripped my face hard.

“Max, are you okay?”

God, yes.

I was so far beyond okay that I couldn’t even string together a sentence.

Hands gripped my shoulders, and the world spun. I opened my eyes, and I was no longer on top. Cade was hovering above me, entirely too far away. I reached a hand out toward his jaw.

That was odd. His stubble was gone. He’d shaved.

I hooked my hand around his neck, and pulled him closer.

He resisted, only for a second, but it was enough to give me pause. I blinked. My mouth was dry, and my head felt foggy.

His eyes were on my lips, and his expression pained. “Max . . .”

He pulled away from me, but I kept my hand wrapped around his neck. His movement pulled me up into a sitting position.

His took me in, and his eyes went dark. He exhaled sharply. “Oh fuck me.”

That was the plan, but his voice sounded strained, not seductive.

He averted his eyes to the ceiling, and plucked my hand from the back of his neck. I pulled my hand free, and let it run down his chest.

He didn’t pull my hand off of him this time, but he said, his voice low and gravelly, “Golden Boy nickname aside, I’m not a saint, Max.”

His body was stiff next to mine. I rubbed at my eyes, and slowly the world started to resurface. I was in my bed. In my apartment. Light filtered in through the window, and Cade was sitting on my bed, fully clothed, staring at the wall like it was Hitler.

Oh holy Hell, I was dreaming. I’d just put the moves on him in my sleep! I covered my mouth with my hand and racked my brain to try to remember if I’d said anything that would give me away.

When the shock wore off, I let my hand drop to my chest, where my fingertips touched bare skin.

I looked down and had to resist the urge to scream.

I WAS NAKED.

Like, gave him a look at my full-tree tattoo, naked.

Like, curl into the fetal position and die of mortification, naked.

I jerked the covers from my waist up to my chin. Beside me, Cade let out a long breath, and his shoulders relaxed.

As calmly as possible I asked, “What is going on?”

Inside, I was anything but calm. Only a sheet and a few measly articles of clothing on his part separated me from him, and my mind was still fogged with dream-induced desire. And to be honest, I was a little offended that he managed to look away.

A small, crazy part of me wanted to drop the sheet again and see how long his resolve could last. Cade pushed himself to his feet, and moved all the way across the room.

He said, “I knocked, but you didn’t answer. I was outside, and I heard you groan. It sounded like you were hurt or sick.” He looked back at me, and now I knew how he’d managed to look away from me . . . guilt. He hadn’t even done anything wrong! I was the one having pervy dreams about him, and I didn’t feel the least bit guilty. He said, “I swear, the door was unlocked, so I came in to check on you. I swear, I wasn’t trying anything. I’m sorry.”

I wondered if I dropped the sheet now if he would try something. My body was wound so tight, I felt like I’d been dangling off the edge of a cliff for hours. And I wanted him to try something. I shook my head. I was so turned on that just the brush of the sheets against my chest made my breath catch in my throat.

No. Bad Max. You’re with Mace. Focus.

I must have forgotten to set my alarm before I went to bed.

The alarm had been important, but for the life of me, I couldn’t remember the reason. I looked at Cade, and his eyes focused on the sheet fisted in my hands and held in front of my chest. A chill ran down my back, raising goose bumps. I shifted and may have turned my bare back toward him slightly. I saw his eyes go to the curve of my spine, and he swallowed.

The devil made me do it.

And by devil, I mean my uterus.

He took a step toward me, and I smiled gleefully for a few seconds.

Then I remembered why my alarm had been so important . . . and why he was even here.

Thanksgiving.

Thanksgiving plus my parents.

Thanksgiving plus my parents plus me naked in a room with Cade.

That equaled disaster.

My seduction plan forgotten, I slid off the bed, careful to keep the sheet wrapped around my body. “Shit. What time is it?”

He pulled his phone out of his pocket. “Almost nine.”

SHIT.

Right on cue, the buzzer on my apartment rang. I heard my mother call through the door. “Mackenzie, sweetie!”

And then, because I was the dumbass who couldn’t remember to lock her apartment, I heard the door swing open, followed by another “Sweetie?”

It was like one of those God-awful zombie movies, where you can hear them coming and you have nowhere to go. You just have to make peace with getting your brain eaten.

Mom was the zombie, and if she walked in here to find me naked with a boy, even a Golden Boy, both our brains would end up barbecued.

“Um, just a second, Mom!”

Shit. I went to run my hands through my hair, but forgot I was holding a sheet, which then slipped.

Cade made a noise in the back of his throat, and turned away. My hormone-riddled body really liked that sound, but this was not the time!

Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit.

I must have uttered at least one of those out loud because Cade said, “It’s okay. I’ll go out and talk with them while you get ready.”

“You don’t understand! If you come out of my room, and then I go take a shower, my parents are going to assume you and I are sleeping together.”

“So don’t take a shower. You look beautiful just how you are.”

His eyes slipped down to take in my sheet, and he didn’t even look sorry. Where had all that guilt gone?

Down girl. Still not the time.

“I smell like smoke and alcohol and sweat, which is just as bad. Plus, bed head looks just like sex hair.”

He stepped up and rested his hands on my shoulders. It was meant to be reassuring, but it was bare skin on bare skin, which didn’t relax me at all. As twisted as it was, something about this whole situation still had me turned on. A small part of me liked that we could get caught, even if there wasn’t really a “we,” and no actual sex had been had.

“I’ll tell them the truth,” he said. “You overslept. I just got here.”

“Yeah. Like they’ll believe that.”

His thumbs stroked my shoulders softly, and my body almost wilted.

“I’ll make them believe. I promise.”

He stepped away like he hadn’t just caressed my bare skin, and I wasn’t naked beneath my sheet. His expression was calm and unreadable. It was like he wasn’t affected at all.

Were some men of a different species? Did they have different DNA that enabled them to be so much better than other guys?

I resisted the urge to drop my sheet again just to get a reaction out of him. I closed my eyes, and nodded. I kept my eyes closed as he slipped out of the room so that I wouldn’t do something stupid. I stood there, frozen and turned on, even after I heard him greet my parents.

It was going to be a long day.

15

Cade

For the second time in this apartment, I had a very awkward problem at a very inappropriate time.

If given the choice between facing Max’s parents like this and jumping into an active volcano, I would have to make a serious pros and cons list.

I took a few seconds to focus, even though I knew a few seconds would never be enough to get the sight of Max out of my head. She was exquisite, and my self-control was a thin line at the moment. Even now, I was fighting the urge to go back in there and kiss her, which was not helping me fight the other problem I had going on.

I shook my head to clear my thoughts, adjusted myself as best I could, and walked down the hall into the living room.

Please God don’t let Max’s mother try to hug me.

Max’s mother gave a shrill squeal when she saw me. “Cade! I didn’t know you were here.”

She was wrestling a turkey out of a cooler, and left it to come toward me for what I could only assume was a hug.

I moved like she was one of the Philadelphia Eagles coming in for a tackle, and darted around her.

“Here, let me get that for you!” I bolted for the turkey in the cooler, and used that as my excuse. I stepped right up to the counter, thankful for the cover that it gave me. When she didn’t call me on it, I breathed a sigh of relief and started trying to free the poultry.

The turkey was squishy and smelled like, well, raw meat. It helped diffuse my issue a little bit.

It was a big bird, and it was a tight fit in the cooler.

Tight fit.

Don’t go there, brain. You were doing so good.

I said the alphabet in my head to distract me as I pried the turkey free. It took a few minutes, but I was almost completely under control by the time I got the bird loose.

“Where do you want it, Mrs. M?”

Mick had just finished piling the last of their things on the kitchen table. It looked like they had brought a whole apartment with them. She grabbed a large pan, and brought it over to the counter beside me.

“Right in here, if you please.”

I did as she asked, then rinsed my hands in the sink.

I still had my coat and scarf on. Time to tell the truth and hope I could sell it. “Mackenzie overslept.” I figured throwing out Max’s real name might help, considering their refusal to call her by her nickname. “I actually just got here a few minutes before you guys.” I unhooked my scarf from my neck, hoping it would lend credence to my story. “She was working late last night, and must have worn herself out.”

Don’t go there either, brain. Focus.

I slipped off my coat, too, and then realized I had no idea where to put it. Did Max have a coat closet? Her parents weren’t wearing theirs. Where had they put them? Our whole story was going to come tumbling down because I didn’t know where to hang my coat. There were two doors that could be closets. Or they could be bathrooms or laundry rooms or who knows what.

“So, Mackenzie is getting dressed now?” Her mother’s brow furrowed, and I imagined her thinking the things Max had been afraid of.

“I think she might be taking a shower, actually. I told her not to worry about it, but I think she wants to look nice for you guys.”

Hopefully she wouldn’t come out in sweatpants or something.

“Do you think she wants to take pictures?” Mrs. Miller’s eyes lit up like Christmas had come early. Ah, well, that seemed to distract her pretty well.

“I think so. It is our first Thanksgiving together, after all. I think it’s something we should commemorate.”

I took a chance and opened one of the doors in the living room. BINGO! Coat closet. Day = saved.

I was sliding my coat on a hanger when Mrs. M attacked me from behind. Her arms went around my middle and squeezed so hard, I thought she was trying to give me the Heimlich.

“I am just so happy you came into Mackenzie’s life. Even after only a few weeks, you’ve had such a wonderful influence on her. She never lets me take pictures of her.”

Well, damn.

Max was going to be furious.

I smiled and said, “Oh, I don’t think I’ve changed her. She was amazing before me, and is amazing now.”

“Mick? Are you listening to this wonderful boy? You could afford to take some lessons from him!”

Mick heaved himself up off the couch and came into the kitchen. “You’re making the rest of us look bad, son.”

“I’m sorry, sir.”

Mrs. M swatted her husband on the arm.

“Don’t you dare listen to him, Cade.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

I sighed. I had a feeling this would be happening a lot today.

I watched Mrs. M putter around the kitchen. I offered to help a few times, but she always waved me off. When she wasn’t cooking, she was decorating Max’s empty apartment. She’d brought throw pillows and afghans and picture frames. I was beginning to understand that Max was the complete opposite of her parents . . . probably because she wanted to be the complete opposite of her parents.

“Where are you from, Cade?”

“Texas, ma’am.”

“Oh, where at? We live in Oklahoma!”

“I grew up in Fort Worth.”

“And your parents are still there?”

I fidgeted, scratching at the back of my neck.

“My grandmother, actually. My mother died, and my dad isn’t really in the picture.”

She stopped, her hand still shoved up inside the turkey, and looked at me.

“Oh, honey. Bless your heart.”

“It’s okay,” I said. “I was young. I don’t really even remember her. Besides, I have my grandmother. That’s enough.”

She used her turkey-free hand to gesture me closer. “Come here.”

I took a few steps, and she kept waving me closer until I was right beside her. Then with one hand still intimately exploring the inside of a turkey, she wrapped her other arm around me in a hug.

She said, “It doesn’t matter if you don’t remember your mother. I’m still so sorry for the things you had to face. It must have been difficult.”

It was weird, but the awkward turkey hug did make me feel better. I got why Max was so weird about her parents, but I would have given anything to have parents that would show up unannounced and intrude upon my life. Grams was too old to do anything like that, though I’m sure she would if she could.

“Um . . . what is happening right now?”

Mrs. M released me and I stepped away from her and the turkey. Max stood at the end of the hallway. I guess she decided against the shower. Her choppy red hair was styled calmer than I had ever seen it. She was wearing a turtleneck sweater that covered her multitude of tattoos. She was wearing less makeup, too. She looked like herself, still, but at maybe 25 percent of her normal vibrancy.

I missed the real her.

“Oh, nothing, dear,” Max’s mom said. “Cade just told me about his parents.”

“Right. His parents,” Max said. She shot me a wide-eyed look.

So, I changed the subject. “Mrs. Miller, tell me what Max was like as a child.”

Max groaned. Her mother practically cheered.

“I just happen to have baby pictures with me! I keep a photo album with me at all times.” Max stalked into the kitchen and threw herself down on the stool beside me.

“Yay. Baby pictures. What a great idea, sweetheart.” She laced her fingers with mine, and then lightly dug her fingernails into the back of my hand in warning. All I could think about was what it would feel like to have her fingernails dig into my skin under different circumstances.

I pulled her hand up to my mouth, and kissed the back. Her eyes widened, and she sucked in a breath. I smiled evilly and said, “Oh, honey, you can’t blame me for wanting to see your baby pictures.”

While her mother was distracted in the living room finding the album, Max leaned into my ear and said, “You bet your ass I can blame you. You’re not funny, Golden Boy.”

“Really? I thought it was hysterical.”

“Later, when we’re alone—”

“—I like the sound of that.”

She laughed loudly in the direction of the living room, totally fake, and then turned on me. “Don’t think I won’t murder you, pretty boy.”

“So, I was golden and now I’m pretty?”

She took another deep inhale, and I imagined she was counting to keep her anger under control. I liked her like this. With her cheeks pink and her eyes sparkling, she looked like herself despite the major style change.

“I can’t help it. It’s just so much fun to get you riled up.”

“You really want to play that game?”

“Here we go!” Her mother flitted into the room and slid the album in front of us.

The first picture was of the day they brought Max home from the hospital. The nursery was a mishmash of different pinks and had MACKENZIE painted across one wall. Max looked like most babies—small with a pink, pinched face, and no hair. Mrs. Miller had fluffy, curled bangs and looked like something out of I Love the ’80s.

“Mrs. Miller, I have to say, you don’t look a day older now than you did then.”

She giggled, and swatted me on the shoulder. “Oh, stop.”

Max untangled her hand from mine and said under her breath, “Really, please stop.”

Max took control of the album and flipped through the book quickly, giving me barely any time to look at the pictures, but one thing was obvious. Max’s parents never let her be herself when she was younger. They dressed her in pink, frilly things that you could tell she didn’t like. Her hair was blond and always curled in perfect ringlets.

I leaned into her ear and whispered, “You’re naturally blond? It’s getting easier every minute to picture you in that cheer uniform.” If looks could take physical form, the one she gave me would have been a bitch slap.

She looked picture-perfect in every photo. Like a Barbie doll, and her smile in each was just as plastic. She was beautiful, but sad. She flipped the page, and I was treated to the real Cheerleader Max mid toe-touch.

“And now I no longer have to picture it.”

Her glare stayed firmly in place, but her lips curled up at the end slightly.

“Did you play sports?” Mrs. Miller asked me.

“I did, yes. Football and basketball.”

Max paused in turning the page and said, “Really?”

“I did grow up in Texas. Plus, I was good at it.”

She laughed. “Of course you were.”

“I bet you were a great cheerleader.”

“Great? Not really. Nearly homicidal? Sure.”

I got to see her in a bubblegum pink prom dress and graduation robes. We were approaching the end of the book, and I kept waiting for a more recent picture of her with her new, non-Barbie look. They never came. The album just ended, as if the last few years had never existed. I saw the relief written across her features when she flipped the last page. It was replaced by shock and something else I couldn’t identify when she saw a final picture taped to the inside of the back of the book.

It was a family photo, and she looked twelve, maybe thirteen. She had that distinctive preteen glare down pat. Behind her was a guy I assumed was her brother. He had the same blond hair and wore a letterman jacket. On the end was a girl, probably sixteen or seventeen that was the spitting image of Max. Or I guess it was the other way around, since her sister was older.

“Your brother and sister?” I asked.

Something in Max’s expression fractured. She spun to face her mother, and her expression was terrifying and terrified.

“No. We’re not doing this! Do you hear me? If this is why you came, you can leave.” She slammed the album shut, and stormed back into her bedroom.

I expected her mother to act shocked or upset, but she calmly picked up the album and returned it to her things, like she was picking up a book and returning it to the shelf. She walked back into the living room and took down a picture she’d placed on the coffee table, too.

I wasn’t sure exactly what was going on, but I knew it had something to do with what Max mentioned about holidays the night before. And whatever it was, it had Max broken up into tiny little pieces that I hadn’t glimpsed until just now.

16

Max

I didn’t know whether to scream or cry, throw things or collapse to the ground. There was something about my mother that made me feel fourteen and pissed off all over again. I hated it, but I couldn’t seem to turn it off either. She just couldn’t ever leave it alone.

I didn’t need pictures of Alex all over the place to remember her. I saw her on the subway, at concerts, passing me in the street. I saw her when I closed my eyes. I used to see her when I looked in the mirror, before I’d changed my hair and inked my skin. I could see her reflected in Mom’s eyes every time she looked at me, like if she just wished hard enough she could make us trade places and get the good daughter back.

It didn’t matter how many times I said it, Mom always tried to make the holidays about Alex. She wanted to talk about the time Alexandria did this or when she said that. Mom brought her up so much that she was like this phantom sitting there at the dinner table that sucked all of the happiness and all the normal conversation into the realm of nonexistence with her.

Forget wishing I were dead. Mom made me feel that way already. Hell, she already had the photo album ready to show the world her other blond princess, never mind that I hadn’t been that girl in a long time. No one wanted to see pictures of this Max. Just Mackenzie.

What was wrong with letting the past stay the past? Why did we have to drag all our issues with us into the future? I couldn’t breathe out there for all the ghosts Mom hauled in with her. I didn’t fit in that world, and the more I tried, the more I felt like I didn’t fit anywhere.

I was lying on my bed, my face pressed into a pillow when I felt the mattress dip. I knew it had to be Cade. Mom never followed me after fights, easier to pretend they weren’t happening. And Dad steered clear of all things that involved emotion. I pulled myself up on my elbows and looked over my shoulder to see him seated gingerly on the very edge of my mattress. He’d left several feet between us.

I rolled over onto my back and waited for him to say something. To ask questions.

He didn’t. He lay down beside me, still careful to keep a buffer zone between us. He put one forearm behind his head, and stared up at the ceiling in silence. This close I could see how broad his shoulders were. I mean, I’d felt them, but I hadn’t gotten a chance to really look at him. His arms were muscular and his chest wide. I watched the way his body moved as he inhaled and exhaled. The rhythm was calming.

Watching his chest rise and fall was soothing enough that my anger just kind of drifted away. His eyes were closed and his face relaxed when he said, “I let people go.”

I sat up on my elbow and looked at him, but his eyes remained closed.

“Um . . . if you’re referencing the Bible and that whole let-my-people-go thing . . . I’m not getting the connection.”

One side of his mouth quirked up, and he sighed.

“Last night you asked why I didn’t fight for the girl from the song. It’s because I let people go.”

I had no idea what he was talking about, but I approved, as long as we didn’t have to talk about me.

“Always?”

“These days, yeah. When I was younger, I fought and lost too many times.”

I wanted him to open his eyes and look at me. This somber, closed-off Cade was disconcerting. I was in a dark enough place by myself, and seeing him like this pushed me even deeper. I never knew what to do in situations like this, so I decided to take his lead and stay silent.

I wasn’t thinking about the attraction between us. I was only thinking about comforting him when I slid closer and laid my head on his chest.

Maybe I was thinking of comfort for myself, too.

After a few seconds, the arm he’d had beneath his head came down around me. His fingertips rested on my hip, and I released a breath I’d been holding captive.

Just when I’d settled into the silence and the comfort of our closeness, he said, “My first memory of my dad is of him leaving. I was five and I asked him not to go. I begged him actually.” He breathed out in something that was almost a laugh . . . a sad one anyway. “He was gone by morning. My mom died less than a year later.” He closed his eyes, and I could tell he was somewhere else. He wasn’t with me anymore. “She had cancer, and it was like she just . . . stopped fighting. I wasn’t enough to make her want to stay.”

The grief came out of nowhere and knocked me sideways. Tears pressed at my eyes, and my throat burned with the effort of fighting down the emotions. I hadn’t cried in a long time, but the thought of Cade as a child, probably just as good and perfect as he is now, facing those things . . . it hurt. I was used to turning a blind eye to my own emotions. I was so practiced in the art that it came easily. But I’d never had to worry about anyone else’s. I’d never been close enough to someone for it to matter. It took all of my self-control to push the emotions back behind my walls.

There were so many things to say that sat just on the edge of my tongue. But all of them seemed like too little and too much at the same time. So, I just held him tighter, and kept my eyes closed until the tears passed.

He laughed, but it wasn’t the laugh that I was used to hearing, the one that turned all eyes toward him. This laugh was bitter and broken.

“When my dad came home for the funeral, I assumed he would take me with him. I imagined what my room would be like in his new house. I stressed about whether or not his new girlfriend would like me. I was so determined to make it work that time. But he left then, too, and I went to live with my grandma.”

I listened to his heartbeat beneath my ear, and all I could think was—how much of a dick do you have to be to leave your kid even after he loses his mother? I’d never been any good at holding my tongue, and now was no exception.

I said, “At least we know douchebaggery isn’t hereditary.”

I was seconds away from suggesting a road trip to find his father and put the bastard in his place. His hand smoothed up and down my spine like he was comforting me, instead of the other way around.

Then I realized . . . he was.

A lot of things pissed me off about my parents and about Alex’s death, but nothing upset me more than the fact that I felt alone in my pain. I mean, I knew my parents missed her. I knew they thought about her constantly, but it was with this happy kind of sadness that was completely foreign to me. When I thought about Alex, it was pure, undiluted pain. It felt like my insides had been rearranged, like I still had internal trauma from the wreck. All these years later, just the image behind my closed eyes of her was enough to make me feel like I was bleeding out. I couldn’t understand why everyone else didn’t feel this way, and it made me furious.

But I could tell from the way the muscles of Cade’s chest and stomach flexed below me . . . he felt it, too. I did the same thing—flexed the muscles of my body like armor. Tendons and tissue were the only things keeping the mess inside me at bay. The only thing worse than feeling this way was putting all those emotions on display for the world to see.

For the first time in a long time, maybe since Alex, I didn’t feel so alone.

I took a deep breath and said, “My sister died.”

The hand on my back slid up into my hair. Any other time that would have sent my hormones into a rave, but now it was just soft and sweet, and it flipped a switch in the back of my mind that I spent most of my days trying to turn off.

The vision of that day in my mind never wavered or faded. It was as vivid today as it was then. When I let the memories get the best of me, I could almost imagine the blinding headlights, the sound of glass shattering, and the pressure of the seat belt cutting into my neck. I squeezed my eyes shut.

I couldn’t hold back the images, but I could hold back the tears.

Cade didn’t try to make me talk. He didn’t ask questions. His touch remained firm and constant, keeping me tethered here in the present. We lay there, wound together so tightly that I didn’t have to keep my muscles tense. I didn’t need the armor because he was holding me together.

After what could have been an eternity or a few seconds, Cade whispered, “Pain changes us. Mine made me want to be perfect, so that no one would ever want to leave me again.”

I inhaled deeply. “Yours made you Golden. Mine just made me angry.”

One of his hands found my jaw, and he lifted my head up enough to face him.

“Your pain made you strong. It made you passionate and alive. It made us both who we are.”

A laugh pushed its way past the pain that lived in my lungs, and escaped from my throat. “Golden Boy and Angry Girl.”

“We should make a comic book about our adventures.”

The laugh came easier then.

It was funny how a guy who’d known me for so little time managed to put me at ease in a way that my parents, friends, and a string of therapists never had.

“Thank you,” I murmured. I returned my cheek to his chest but tilted my face up toward his. “For this . . . for today and yesterday. I don’t know what I would have done if you weren’t here. I know you probably had somewhere better to be—”

“Trust me. This was much better than the alternative. I’m exactly where I want to be.” He glanced down at me and gave me a half-smile.

I walked my fingers over his stomach and asked, “And what was the alternative?”

“Spending time with someone better left in my past. I prefer moving forward.”

For the first time, moving forward felt like a possibility.

We stayed there in a sanctuary of our own making, at ease without speaking. We’d done all the talking we needed, and slowly I drifted off to sleep with Golden Boy beside me in bed.

17

Cade

A bright light flashed on the other side of my closed eyelids. Groggily, I went to rub my eyes, but something had my left arm pinned to the bed.

A woman stood over me with a camera in her hand. Black spots flooded my vision, and it took me a few moments before I remembered where I was and what I was doing here. The woman with the camera was Mrs. Miller, and she’d just taken a picture of Max sound asleep on my arm. There was a little wet spot on my sweater from her drool.

God, I wanted a copy of that picture.

Mrs. Miller held a finger to her lips and whispered, “I’m sorry. The two of you just looked so sweet that I couldn’t resist.” This was officially the weirdest day of my existence. “Dinner is ready. Mick and I will wait for you two to get freshened up.”

She tiptoed out of the room and closed the door on her way out.

Time to wake the sleeping dragon.

In sleep, Max looked younger, softer. She had long eyelashes that rested against her cheeks. Her nose was small and turned up slightly at the end. Even sleeping, she had the sexiest lips I had ever seen. Full and slightly puckered, it was like they were calling to me. And I couldn’t stop thinking about her saying she wasn’t sorry I kissed her.

Not that it mattered. She was taken.

I was doomed to always be attracted to the girls I couldn’t have.

Plus, what she’d told me earlier . . . it couldn’t have been easy. I could tell how raw the memories left her, and the last thing I wanted was to take advantage of that tenderness.

I was about to nudge her awake when her eyes opened, and she caught me staring at her. She blinked a few times and then her eyes narrowed on me. She sat up and slid to the complete opposite side of the bed.

“What are you doing?” she asked.

Whatever closeness we’d gained earlier didn’t appear to have carried over through her nap. The walls were back up and I was still on the outside.

“I swear it’s not as creepy as it looks.”

“Said the serial killer to the police.”

Her hair was messy and closer to how it usually was.

I said, “I was about to wake you up. Your mother just said dinner is ready.”

“My mother was in here?”

I was coming to enjoy that wide-eyed exasperated look she got every time something concerned her mother.

“She might have taken a picture of us.”

She grabbed a pillow, and I narrowly blocked a swipe to the face.

“You let her take a picture of us?”

I grabbed the pillow when she went in for a second swing, and used it to pull her closer. “I didn’t let her. I woke up to the flash.”

“Seriously?” She made a noise that was part groan/part growl and buried her face in her hands. “Kill me now.”

I kept the pillow between us as a buffer and said, “It’s almost over.”

“You’ve not been to one of my mother’s Thanksgiving dinners. It’s only just beginning.”

She slid off the bed and went to the bathroom to splash her face with water. I followed and did the same. It was frighteningly domestic as we both tried to maneuver around the small space without bumping into each other. I was struck by the oddity that I had known this woman just over twenty-four hours. And twenty-four hours from now, we would likely go our separate ways, never to hear from each other again.

I swallowed, and she looked at me from the bathroom door.

“Well, are you coming?”

“Yeah, right behind you.”

We were ambushed with another photo attack as soon as we entered the living room.

“Mom! Seriously?”

Mrs. Miller’s eyes reminded me of those commercials about abused pets—designed to make you feel bad. “I’m sorry. Cade mentioned earlier that you were okay with pictures, and I—”

“Oh did he now?”

I was in trouble. She laced her hand with mine and squeezed a little harder than was comfortable.

“Oh, you know, sweetie. I told your mom how upset you were that you overslept because you wanted to look nice for them. We talked about how nice it would be to have pictures to commemorate our first holiday together.” Mrs. Miller snapped another picture while I was talking to her daughter. “Mrs. M, don’t mind Max. Maybe we should just save the pictures until after dinner.”

“Of course, and for the last time, Cade. Please call me Betty. Or Mom.”

Max smiled widely at me, but I had a feeling it was more like those predators on the Animal Channel, baring their teeth in a show of aggression. She leaned up, smiling all the while, and said quietly, “If you call my mother ‘Mom,’ I’m going to replace that turkey in the oven with your head, okay?”

I smiled back, and curled a hand around her cheek. “I’m calling your bluff, Angry Girl.” Max was glaring at me, but I could tell she was glad to be back in normal territory. Normal, of course, being our attempts to piss each other off. I called to her mother in the kitchen, “Mrs. Miller—I mean Mom—your daughter says the sweetest things sometimes. I think it would shock you how romantic she can be.”

Max laughed low in her throat. Her eyes glinted. She placed her hand over the one on my cheek and said, “It’s on now, Golden Boy. You’re going to be sorry.”

“I can take it.”

And if this is what made her feel better, less vulnerable, then I could.

There was a feast on Max’s table, and her living room was looking decidedly more lived in. Max waited until we were seated at the table to launch her first attack.

“Oh, Dad, I know you usually say grace, but do you think we could let Cade? He’s very religious, and I know he would be so happy to do it.”

I smiled and shook my head. She was going to have to try a lot harder than that to throw me off.

“Mick, I would be happy to say the prayer, but I would never want to change your holiday traditions.”

Max’s dad waved a hand. “Nonsense. Pray away, son.”

I smiled at Max and took her hand. I pressed a chaste kiss on the back and then reached for her mother’s hand on my other side.

“Dear Heavenly Father, we thank you for allowing us to be together today. Thank you for guiding Mick and Betty safely here to Philadelphia that we might join together as a family to eat and give thanks. More than anything, I thank you for bringing Max and I together. It feels like only yesterday we met, but she has changed my life in so many interesting ways. Sometimes, I feel like our relationship is too good to be real. I pray that you will continue to bless us all and may our day be filled with food and fun and fellowship. It is in your holy name we pray, Amen.”

As soon as the prayer was over, Max tugged her hand from mine. Max’s parents held hands a little longer, glancing at us, and then sharing a knowing look. While they watched I leaned over, and placed a kiss on Max’s cheek. There was no harm in taking a few liberties with my role, especially since this gig only lasted through the end of the day. I whispered, “You’re gonna have to do better than that, Angry Girl.”

She waited until her parents weren’t looking to flip me off, but we were both smiling.

I said, “Why don’t we make a toast?” The Millers were against alcohol, but I figured the sweet tea would work. I held up my glass and said, “To new beginnings, new family, and a promising future.”

Max looked queasy, but she took a drink when the rest of us did. Mrs. Miller placed a hand over her heart and said, “Cade, I’m sure Mackenzie has made it no secret that we haven’t approved of some of her boyfriends.” Max snorted, and I took that to mean that some meant all. “But I have to say, you are one of the most pleasant, put-together young men that I’ve ever met.”

Mick paused in carving the turkey to say, “Yep. Looks like our Max is finally learning how to pick ’em.”

I saw Max’s spine straighten out of the corner of her eye. She was looking at her father in shock, no doubt because he’d finally used her nickname. I’d only known them a day, and even I knew how big a deal that was. As I watched Max, the shock gave way to confusion and then finally anger. Her eyebrows pulled together, and those full lips flattened into a line. She did one of those long, slow inhales, and I couldn’t blame her.

We should have stopped it all then, put an end to the charade. I thought of standing up, faking an important phone call or an illness. But then Max decided to take her anger out on me. And because I cared about her, I let her.

“He is pretty wonderful, isn’t he?” Her tone was sugary on the surface with poison laced beneath. “Especially when you consider where he was just a year ago.”

Uh-oh. I didn’t like the sound of that.

“A year ago?” her dad asked.

“Oh yes. A year ago he was in a really bad place. Weren’t you, honey?”

I narrowed my eyes at her. “I suppose.”

“You suppose? Oh, honey, don’t downplay how far you’ve come. You worked so hard to overcome your . . . addiction.”

Her mother choked on her tea. I closed my eyes to stay calm.

One of Max’s hands was curled into a fist on the table, and I covered it with my own. I turned to her parents and put on my best smile. “Max likes to exaggerate. She thinks it’s funny.” I shot her a look and searched for an excuse that would smooth things over with her parents. I looked at her father, whose eyebrows had drawn together in a suspicious ridge. He was wearing an OU T-shirt, which gave me the only idea I had. “The addiction Max is talking about really isn’t that big of a deal. I used to spend a lot of time playing fantasy football, an unhealthy amount really. Max hated it, but I’ve managed to cut it out.” I could feel her urge to roll her eyes, but she kept her tight smile. I returned it and said, “For her.”

It was a thin excuse, but I was banking on the South’s universal love of football.

Mrs. Miller said, “Forgive me, but I’m so confused. I thought you’d only been together a few weeks?”

I opened my mouth to lie again, but Max beat me to it.

“Oh, we have,” Max said. “Cade was head-over-heels for me a long time before that though. He just kept asking and asking and asking me to go out with him. It was a little creepy at first.”

I gave her a grim smile. “I am persistent.”

Her dad said, “And we sure are glad. We were beginning to think Max would never meet someone.”

Max frowned and added, “It did get kind of obnoxious there for a while. Almost disturbing. You were practically stalking me.”

Her dad finished his last slice of turkey and said, “Don’t mind her. You have my permission to stalk her anytime.”

Max closed her eyes and whispered under her breath, “Unbelievable.”

I smiled and said, “Why don’t we take some pictures before dessert?”

18

Max

I excused myself under the pretense of freshening up for those godforsaken pictures, and fled to my room.

I swear this guy had to have like supernatural powers. He had that mind-control power like the people on The Vampire Diaries. Or some scientist had experimented on him as a child, and now he had, I don’t know, extra potent pheromones that bent other people to his will.

It would explain why he was so damn likable.

Stupid magic sweat.

I sighed and turned to close my door, but Cade slipped in before I could.

“You’re looking even angrier than usual, Angry Girl.”

This guy had the worst timing in the world.

I closed the door, and left him for the comforting expanse of my bed. Maybe I was still sleeping, and this all had been one horrible, confusing, awkward nightmare.

“What are you doing here?”

“Just visiting my sweet, loving girlfriend.”

I threw a pillow at him in lieu of a reply.

He caught it easily, and then leaned back against the closed door, staring at me. The guy was straight out of a preppy GAP catalogue.

And I liked it.

What the hell was wrong with me?

“Do you want me to leave?” he asked. “I can make an excuse.”

There was no way my parents would accept an excuse. My mother was like an octopus, and he was pretty damn wrapped up in her tentacles already. But his sincerity made something pinch in my throat, and I had to look away from him again. How did he always know exactly what to say?

Supernatural. Had to be.

“Max, it’s not worth it. Lying just puts off the inevitable. Sooner or later, they’re going to have to accept you the way you are.”

I laughed bitterly. “Well, they’ve gone this long without accepting it. I’m sure they could squeeze in another twenty-two years.”

I heard the floorboards creak as he walked toward me.

“Max . . .”

I sat up and swung my feet over the other side of the bed, so that my back was to him. I’d already spilled enough of my secrets today. I wasn’t doing it again. And I needed to get this all under control before I snapped.

“It’s fine. We’ll just finish out dinner, and then it will be over. I’ll tell them in a week or two that we broke up. They’ll get over it.”

Doubtful. Something told me I’d hear about Cade as the “one that got away” for the rest of my life.

He said, “Just tell them I chose fantasy football over you. Your dad seems like the kind of guy that would buy that.”

“How flattering.”

He laughed, “You know I’d always choose you over football, Max.”

I looked at him over my shoulder and asked, “Are you sure you’re from Texas?”

He smiled and said, “Truce?”

I nodded.

He threw the pillow he was holding, and it nailed me right in the face.

“Now, a truce.”

I rolled my eyes.

“Stalker.”

“Liar.”

“Jerk.”

“Loving girlfriend.”

“You suck at insults.”

“You cringed when I said loving, so it counts.”

“Golden Boy.”

“Angry Girl.”

I smiled, feeling a lot less angry. He was good at that.

We returned to the living room, and though dessert was painful, it wasn’t excruciating. Cade chatted with my parents, so I didn’t have to. Cade was also exceptionally good at keeping them on innocuous topics that wouldn’t erupt into the arguments that normally typified our holiday dinners.

He was exactly what our family had been missing . . . well, since Alexandria’s accident. She was the good one, the one who always knew what to say and how to act. She was the ingredient that made our family work, and she was gone. Having Cade here made it easier to remember her without hurting.

When Mom brought out the pumpkin pie, she wouldn’t let anyone have a slice until they’d said something they were thankful for. Dad was thankful for the good food, and Mom was thankful that they got to be in Philadelphia for the holiday.

I wasn’t even lying when I said, “I’m thankful Cade could be here today.”

He had an arm around the back of my chair, and his hand came up and touched my hair lightly.

My mother said, “What about you, Cade? What are you thankful for?”

His eyes stayed fixed on mine. His hand brushed the side of my neck where my bird tattoos were hidden by my turtleneck sweater. He said, “I’m grateful that the past is the past, and the future is ours to make.”

I blinked, and thought pheromones. I mouthed, “Show off,” then slid him my piece of pie (which I also didn’t like). Somehow, Mom never seemed to remember that.

Mom asked, “Anyone want coffee with their pie?”

“I do,” I said.

Mom stood, and Cade joined her. He cupped my shoulder and said, “I’ll get it.”

“I take it—”

“One cream, two sugars. I remember.”

Seriously, this guy was good.

I watched him as he fiddled with my coffeemaker and chatted with my mom. The guy was too selfless . . . too everything. There had to be something wrong with him. Guys like him didn’t exist. And if they did, one had certainly never been interested in me.

19

Cade

The rest of the night went quickly, and before I knew it, we were saying good-bye. Mrs. Miller hugged me tightly, and Mr. Miller shook my hand.

“Say we’ll see you again soon, Cade. Christmas?”

I looked at Max, and she shrugged and said, “Sure, we’ll talk about it.”

We’d be “broken up” before then. I wondered how she would actually do it. She should make me the bad guy, that way she wouldn’t get any flack over it.

“Have a safe flight tomorrow,” I told them. Mrs. Miller hugged me again, almost like she was assuring herself I was real. Then they walked down the stairs and left. I closed the door and took in Max’s apartment. Her mother had insisted on leaving behind all the dishes she’d bought, along with some pillows, an afghan, the Christmas tree, and who knows what else.

It wasn’t empty anymore, but it was still lifeless because it wasn’t Max.

“Well, Angry Girl . . .”

“We survived,” she said.

I wasn’t ready to leave, but I didn’t have another excuse to stay.

I had one more reason to keep us together, but I was pretty damn certain it was a bad idea. When I’d agreed to do all of this, she’d promised me a date.

It had seemed harmless before—an innocent attraction. I had thought it would get my mind off of Bliss, and it had. I had thought of it like a date with a safety net, because we both knew it wouldn’t go anywhere.

But I didn’t know that anymore. Well, maybe my mind did, but the rest of me didn’t. Any date between us now wouldn’t be harmless, and it sure as hell wouldn’t be simple.

So as much as I wanted to, I didn’t mention the date.

She said, “Thanks for putting up with all of this. After what I’ve put you through, I probably should have paid you. You could have put it on your résumé—expert boyfriend.”

“Hey, I got some pretty great food out of it. I think that’s enough for most guys.”

“Food and sex,” she said.

Cue awkward silence. Her cheeks flushed prettily, and I let the silence go on for a little longer, just because I liked seeing her out of her element.

Finally, she threw her hands up, exasperated, and said, “What? It’s the truth! Are you implying that you don’t think about sex constantly, Golden Boy?”

“Oh, I definitely think about it.” I was thinking about it right now, and it was not making leaving this apartment any easier. My eyes, as usual, were drawn to her lips, and I had the sudden urge to ruffle her hair so that it was closer to her normal style. I wanted her out of that ridiculous turtleneck, so that I could see her creamy skin and the art that enhanced it. God, was it only this morning that I’d seen her tree tattoo in its entirety? I could still picture the bare branches and twisting roots. I wondered what it meant to her. I wondered what it would be like to trace the lines with my fingertips. With my lips.

She cleared her throat, and I realized I’d been standing there staring at her, imagining her naked for who knows how long.

I coughed. “Well, I should probably go.”

Go beat my head against a wall. Go jump in front of a moving car. Go get a life. Any of the above was appropriate.

“Right,” she said. “Um, thank you . . . again for all of this.”

I shook my head and smiled. “It was nothing. I’ll see you around, Angry Girl.”

I opened the door and stepped out into the hallway. She said, “Good night Cade.”

I only let myself look back for a second, and then I said, “Good night.” I walked down the flight of stairs and out into the street. Chinatown was fairly busy, since the restaurants were all still open on Thanksgiving. I took one last look at the door to Max’s building, and then promised to forget it.

I refused to let myself want what I couldn’t have. I wouldn’t go through that all again. I said, “Good-bye, Max,” and set off for the nearest subway stop.

I was too lazy on Friday to get out of bed. I lay there until far too late in the afternoon to not be pathetic. Eager to accomplish at least something during my day, I dialed my grandmother’s phone number.

I’d lied to Bliss about her being ill because I knew Bliss wouldn’t question it. Grams had gotten sick around the beginning of our senior year—pneumonia—and it had scared the shit out of me. She was all I had, and I’d thought I was going to lose her. I was twenty-one, and my entire life had revolved around partying like most kids in college. But that’s not how I wanted our final months in college together to be. That was around the time when I made myself start getting serious about the future. That was around the time I started having feelings for Bliss, too.

It took her to the fourth or fifth ring to answer, probably because it took her that long to get to the phone. She was old . . . and as she liked to say “slow as molasses.”

She answered, “You got me.”

I’d never heard anyone else answer the phone like her.

“Hi, Grams.”

“Oh, Cade! It’s so good to hear from you. We all missed you terribly yesterday.”

I closed my eyes, surprisingly affected by the sound of her voice. It must have been the discussion of my parents yesterday and all that time with the Millers. Family was fresh on my mind.

“I missed you, too, Grams.”

“How was Thanksgiving with Bliss, dearie?”

I hadn’t told Grams about any of the stuff that had happened with Bliss. I’d told her I was having Thanksgiving there because I couldn’t afford to come home, and I didn’t want her insisting on paying for the trip. Her retirement check barely covered all her bills, and she’d done enough for me. I hated lying to her, but it was a necessary evil.

“Oh, you know Bliss and me, things are always interesting.”

I heard her raspy laugh on the other end. “Oh, I bet.”

Grams had met Bliss during the second show of our senior year. We went out to dinner after the play, and on the way out of the restaurant, Bliss had walked into a glass door. Grams told me afterward that she knew I loved Bliss because I didn’t laugh at what she called “the funniest damn thing I’ve ever seen.”

God, I missed her. And Bliss. I missed a lot of things.

“So everyone made it yesterday?”

“Oh, yes, yes. The little ones asked after you.”

Every other holiday, some aunts and uncles and cousins joined us. It didn’t make for a very big family gathering, but I suppose I had more than a lot of people do.

“I wish I could have been there. I can’t wait for Christmas.”

I wasn’t sure yet exactly how I was going to afford to go home for Christmas, but I would. If I had to take out more loans on top of my school ones, I would. It wasn’t like I wouldn’t be paying those back for a century anyway.

Someone knocked at the door, and I said, “Hey, Grams, someone is at the door. Can I call you back later? I want to hear all about how yesterday went with the family.”

“Of course, honey. Tell Bliss I said hi.”

I swallowed and said, “Uh-huh. Love you. Bye.”

A second round of knocks came as she said good-bye and hung up the phone.

Through the door, a voice called, “Hermano! You in there?”

“Just a sec, Milo!”

I rolled off my bed and pulled a T-shirt over my head. I padded barefoot toward the door of my studio apartment, and undid the dead bolt.

I yawned and pulled the door wide.

I was in pajama pants, and Milo looked like he’d raided Urban Outfitters. He said, “Whoa. Either you had a really late night or are currently having a really early one.”

“Sadly, neither.”

Before I could invite him in, he’d already passed by me and plopped down on the futon in my living room.

I laughed and closed my door.

“This isn’t still about that Bliss girl, is it?”

It felt good to be able to say, “No, it’s not about Bliss.”

“Don’t tell me you’ve already gotten your heart broken by some other chica. I only left you alone for a day.”

“No, no broken heart. Just an unavailable girl.”

Milo stretched his legs out in front of him and nodded. “Ah, you know the cure for that don’t you?”

“What?”

“An available girl.” Laughing, I made my way to the fridge and held up a beer in offering. Milo nodded, and I grabbed one for each of us. He said, “I’m serious. I happen to have it on good authority that you picked up a phone number the other night. Forget the unavailable girl . . . both of them . . . and call the blonde from the other night.”

That wasn’t a bad idea.

Dating was the solution to my Bliss (and now Max) problem.

“Okay, I’ll do it,” I told him.

I picked up my phone to find her number, and he said, “Whoa! Whoa! Don’t do it now, hermano. You’ve got to give it a few days. You know the rules.”

I rolled my eyes. Right . . . Milo had rules for just about everything—drinking and dating being the two most prominent.

“Fine,” I said. “I’ll call her tomorrow.”

He made a face and said, “Eh, better make it the day after. That girl was all over you at the bar. We don’t want to encourage too much clinginess. The day after tomorrow will be much better.”

So Sunday afternoon, with Milo obnoxiously watching from my sofa, I called Cammie. I pulled out my cell, found her in my address book, and hit send quickly, before I could change my mind.

She answered on the second ring.

“Hello?”

“Cammie?” I asked.

“Yes?”

I said, “This is Cade.” Then I couldn’t remember if I’d actually told her my name at the bar, so I added, “We met at Trestle a few nights ago.”

“Oh.” I could hear the smile in her voice. “Hi, Cade.”

“Hi.”

Milo whispered, “Set the date up for this weekend. Give her plenty of time to get nervous about it.”

I rolled my eyes, but asked, “What are your plans this Friday night, Cammie? And whatever it is, can I steal you away from it?”

“Steal me? I think I’d go quite willingly.”

She giggled.

Now I just needed to figure out where we would go. And how to get her there. If I were still back in Texas I would have picked her up, but I didn’t have a car, and it seemed odd to pick someone up for the subway.

“Excellent,” I said. “It’s a date. I’ll call you back in a few days to let you know what we’re doing.”

20

Max

My phone rang so early the day after Thanksgiving that it should have been labeled cruel and unusual punishment. I reached out toward my nightstand, knocking off who knew what until my fingers finally closed around my phone.

“What?” I grumbled.

“Good morning, sweetie.”

Ugh . . . it was way too early for this.

“Hi, Mom.”

“Your father and I are at the airport. Our flight has been delayed.”

Oh no. If she said that they were going to stay even longer, I would go crazy. I had to get back to the band and back to work, and I had reached my crazy quota for the week.

“I’m sorry, Mom. There’s no chance they’ll cancel it, is there?”

“Oh, no, honey. Just something about the pilot’s plane being late the night before, so they’re required to give him so much rest. We’ll be back in Oklahoma by this evening.” Thank God. “But your father and I were talking, and we just wanted to tell you again how much we liked Cade.”

I was pretty sure that was already abundantly clear, thanks.

“You know, we’ve been worried about you. Your father and I had a lot of difficulty with your decision to drop out of college.” A lot was an understatement. I wouldn’t be surprised if they discussed having me committed as mentally unstable. “But we came around.” After a year of fighting, yeah. “We’ve been helping you pay your rent so you can afford to spend time doing your little music thing.” God, I was going to break out in hives if she called my career and lifelong dream a “little music thing” one more time. “It’s just . . . you’ve been here so long, and your father and I were starting to feel that perhaps it was time to face the facts and grow up.”

No. Please no. I was so close. I could feel it. The gig next weekend at The Fire was going to be huge for us. We were even doing a live recording of the set.

It wasn’t like they didn’t have plenty of money. They both had high-paying jobs, and the insurance money from Alex’s death had made our already wealthy household even wealthier. They gave me five hundred bucks a month to help pay my student loans from those pointless two years at UPenn that they’d been the ones to insist upon. You’d think when they were the ones pushing me to go to college, that they would have at least paid for it. But since they hadn’t helped Michael, they didn’t help me. Some bullshit about making my own way. Too bad it had only ever been their way.

Five hundred to them was nothing, and to me it was the difference between doing what I loved and dreaming about doing what I love. I just needed a little more time.

“What does that mean?” I asked. “You’re going to stop helping me?”

“Eventually, yes.” Shit. I was going to have to double my shifts at the Trestle. Between that and my job at the tattoo parlor, I would have zero time for singing, much less writing my own stuff. “We were going to talk to you about it while we were here, but then we met Cade.”

“What does Cade have to do with it?”

“Well . . . you’re obviously getting your life together. You’re dating a nice, respectable boy and finally starting to take things seriously. Your father and I are so glad you’ve left behind the negative influences you were spending time with before. So, since you’re obviously trying, we’re going to give you a few more months.”

“A few?” I asked.

“Well, we’re going to play things by ear. But as long as you keep taking your life seriously, you don’t need to worry about it.”

AKA . . . as long as I kept dating Cade.

I wanted to scream.

At her.

At the world.

At myself. For being too damn cowardly to tell her exactly what I was thinking. I should have told her the truth about Cade. I should have told her that she was full of shit. I had been taking my life seriously.

I had been taking my life seriously when I left college. Just because I was not taking a familiar road or doing something that made sense to her didn’t mean I was naive or ignorant.

It meant I didn’t want to be a mindless office worker who daydreamed about what life could have been if things had been different.

It meant I was willing to make sacrifices and work two jobs and kill myself to get it all done.

It meant I was brave.

I wished I had been brave enough then to tell her those things.

I wasn’t.

Instead I kept my mouth closed and listened to her prattle on about a charity event she was hosting right before Christmas and how Michael was doing, and how perfect his wife, Bethany, was.

The more she talked and the more I stayed silent, the more nauseated I became. Finally, I couldn’t take it anymore. I lied and said, “Mom, there’s someone at the door. I have to go.”

“Oh, sure, honey. It was good to see you. Tell Cade we said hi and we’ll see him at Christmas.”

“Mom, I’m not sure he’ll make it to Christmas.”

“And why not?”

“Well, he has his own family to see, plus it’s not exactly cheap. He has tuition and loans to pay.”

Like all the rest of us.

“Oh, your father and I will just take of all that. He can stay for a few days and then go on to Texas. We’ll pay for it. I won’t take no for an answer.”

I was so glad she didn’t mind throwing money at someone she’d just met.

“We’ll see, Mom. I really do have to go.”

I hung up and threw my phone somewhere on the floor. I pulled the covers over my head, and hugged my pillow, but the damage was done. I was too worked up to go to sleep.

I took a long shower. I made a complicated lunch that was supposed to occupy my mind, but didn’t. I went for a run. I played my guitar. I tried to write a new song.

I did that for two days.

Distraction. Failure of said distraction.

Different distraction. Different failure.

Repeat until insane.

The whole time my phone sat there, taunting me. Cade was one call away. Or a text if I was feeling particularly cowardly.

One question could solve so many of my problems. Or delay them anyway. Wasn’t that what life was? Taking the good while we could get it, and delaying the bad as long as possible.

Cade was good, and he could help delay the bad. Win-win, right?

Except for the part where I had to degrade myself to do it.

How much was I willing to sacrifice for the money my parents were giving me?

I knew . . . I could feel it somewhere in the space between my heart and lungs that this wasn’t a hopeless dream. Anything that felt this good and consumed me so completely couldn’t be hopeless. I thought of all the gigs I’d have to cut back on if I didn’t have that money. Any one of them could be the one that puts us on the track of making music for a living, but if the gigs never happened, neither would our break.

I’d just finished thinking that I wasn’t afraid to make sacrifices.

Could I sacrifice my own pride, bend to my parents, and pretend to be something I wasn’t if it meant following my dream? It wasn’t as if I had to actually be someone else. I just had to pretend . . . for a little while.

Five hundred bucks a month. I suppose people had betrayed themselves for less.

I made it to Sunday evening before I went back to my room and fished my phone out from under the pillow I had stuffed it under to dampen the temptation. Before I could analyze what I was doing, I scrolled through my old texts and found Cade’s number.

Hey. My band is playing this Friday at The Fire in Northern Liberties. You should come.

I tossed my phone down on the bed, and then pressed the heels of my palms into my eyes.

Why did I feel like I’d just hit my self-destruct button?

I was just inviting him to see us play. That didn’t mean anything. I still had a whole week to make up my mind.

My phone started ringing, and I jumped to answer it.

Oh, it was Mace.

He probably wanted to do something tonight . . . or spend the night, now that my parents were gone. I just . . . I wasn’t feeling up to being around people.

I hit ignore.

Cade’s reply came a few minutes later.

What time?

I spent most of the next week avoiding Mace. We saw each other at practice, and we grabbed dinner beforehand a few times, but I just kept telling him I had to work, which was true. And when I didn’t have to work, I told him I wasn’t feeling well, which wasn’t true, but oh well.

When the day of the gig arrived, we were set to meet that afternoon to load up our equipment from Trestle. Spence had a van we used to transport what we needed. When I arrived, Mace wasn’t there, and Spence was outside smoking.

He inhaled, and on the exhale said, “You look like shit.”

I did. “Thanks, douche rocket.”

I hadn’t slept well the night before because I knew I was going to see Cade the next day, and I still hadn’t decided whether I was going to ask him about Christmas.

“I’m just saying . . . we need you to look hot for tonight and you look like you’re auditioning to be an extra on The Walking Dead.”

“I’ve had a shitty couple of days, okay?”

“Right. Mace said you’ve been sick the last few days.” Spence made air quotes with his fingers when he said “sick.”

“Stay out of it, Spence. And don’t you worry. I’ll be good by tonight. I’ll look so sexy you’ll be dying to get back into my pants.”

“You know I’m always dying to get back in your pants.”

I rolled my eyes. “Har-har.”

He smiled, and took another drag on his cigarette.

“You sure Mace is coming?”

“Why wouldn’t he be?”

He shrugged. “Maybe he took one look at you in that outfit and decided not to show after all. Or maybe he found out about the preppy boy you were making googly eyes at last week at the bar.”

I flicked his cigarette and it went flying out of his mouth.

He said, “Hey! I was using that.”

“I was not making googly eyes at anyone. You’re delirious.”

“No, love, I’m observant. There’s a difference. But keep your secrets. Fine by me. Just wait to cut Mace loose until after tonight or we’ll have problems.”

I twisted the key and opened the heavy front door to Trestle. He followed me inside the darkened, lifeless bar, and I said, “No one is cutting anyone loose. You’re way off on this one, Spence.”

I flipped on the light, and he shrugged. “I wasn’t wrong when I thought you were about to toss me to the curb. I doubt I’m wrong this time.”

Sometimes it was really obnoxious being friends with an ex. He liked to bring it up all the time, but I knew for a fact that he was way past over me. The guy had a different girl every week. He liked to say he was practicing for the groupies we’d eventually have. I liked to call him man-whorrible.

My pocket buzzed.

Mace had texted.

Can’t make it 4 set up. Sry. C U 2night tho.

Are you fucking kidding me?

I hit dial, and it went straight to voice mail. I called a second time. Same thing. At the tone, I said, “You better have the best damn excuse in the world, Mace. Tonight is important. Don’t you dare be late!”

Spencer was holding both of our guitars, smirking when I hung up.

“Maybe it’s not Mace who is getting tossed to the curb.”

21

Cade

It was undoubtedly the worst idea ever, bringing Cammie to Max’s show. But my desire to see her play overruled any common sense I was still holding on to. I’d been in midconversation with Milo about date ideas when I received her text. I didn’t even hesitate before saying yes.

Cammie and I met up Friday night at a restaurant close to the venue. She was wearing a little black dress that fit her slim body perfectly. It also probably cost more than my entire wardrobe . . . maybe my whole apartment. When we’d met at Trestle her cheeks had been bright pink. I’d assumed she’d been flushed from alcohol. She’d also been the dictionary definition of giggly. Again, I thought alcohol.

Apparently, I was wrong on both accounts. That was just Cammie, cheeks drowning in blush and lungs made of laughing gas.

I went through all the motions of a date.

Pulling out her chair.

Ordering wine.

Small talk.

Cammie was nice enough, and very pretty, but a bit predictable. She ordered a salad and kept tossing her blond hair back and forth so much I was surprised she didn’t have whiplash. She giggled not just when stuff was funny, but to fill the silence.

There was a lot of silence on my part.

“So, my professor was completely unreasonable, and wouldn’t even consider letting me retake the test, when really the entire misunderstanding was his fault. You’d think for the amount of money we’re paying for his class that he would be a little better at communicating, right?”

Silence.

Cammie giggled.

I cringed.

I had to work on replying faster.

“Right. You’d think.”

She smiled and tossed her hair again. “I’m sorry. I’m probably boring you with all my talk about school.”

“Oh, no, not at all!” I said.

“Oh good. Because you know, I ran into the same professor at happy hour hitting on a girl my age. Can you believe it?”

I said as fast as humanly possible, “I cannot!”

“I mean, the guy was like forty. I suppose if I were a different kind of girl maybe he would have let me retake the test, but honestly. I wrote a letter to the dean about the professor. Maybe he’ll get fired. At the very least, my grade will get changed. Daddy is friends with the dean. They’ve been golfing together for ages.”

“Oh, is that so?”

“Oh yes. You know, I almost went to another school so that I could ‘make my own way,’ and all that, but in the end, I thought . . . why not take advantage of every opportunity I’m given?”

She kept going, but I was having trouble listening. I liked to think that I probably made it longer than most before tuning out. I was sure that there was a really cool person underneath the designer clothes and the manicured nails and the most obnoxious laughter known to man, but tonight I didn’t have the patience or attention span to find her. My body felt almost electric at the thought of where we’d be heading next.

I’d spent an embarrassingly long time Googling Max’s band Under the Bell Jar. I learned that they’d named themselves after a Sylvia Plath novel, which made me think of Max’s threat to stick my head in the oven on Thanksgiving, and I died laughing. The bass player and Max were the original founding members, and it looked like Max’s boyfriend was a more recent addition. His name was Mace. As in the stuff sprayed into the eyes of rapists and muggers. Or the ancient weapon used to bludgeon people to death.

He sounded like a real keeper.

I was snapped out of my reverie when the waiter came by with the check. My stomach clenched as I slipped a ridiculous amount of cash into the plastic folder. Maybe I shouldn’t be dating, not if I wanted to have the money to go home for Christmas.

I pulled out Cammie’s chair and offered her my arm.

She giggled.

God help me.

“I’m so glad I met you at that god-awful bar. My friends dragged me there, and I wanted to leave as soon as we got there. Well, until I met you.”

Awesome. That meant she was probably going to hate the place we were heading.

“So, tell me again about this band,” she said.

I’d been on the website enough to be able to parrot back to her, “They’re a local Philly band that blends rock and folk music. They’re supposed to be pretty good.”

“Cool.”

Giggle.

Giggle.

Giggle.

Dear God. I had to keep talking.

“Yeah, I’ve not heard them play before, but I know someone in the band. I think it’s going to pretty awesome. Do you like music?”

She started talking about Lady Gaga and I sighed in relief. That should last us at least until we walked the block and a half to The Fire. Then hopefully it would be loud enough there to drown out her inane giggling.

When we got to the door, I paid the cover and slipped happily into the darkened bar. I found us a table, and then escaped to get us both drinks. As I was leaving, Cammie was looking worriedly at her barstool like it was going to give her Ebola. They had a great selection of local beers. I got Yards ale. Cammie wanted a cosmo. The bartender looked at me like I was crazy. This wasn’t really a cosmo kind of place, but he went off to make it anyway. While I waited for our drinks, I pulled out my phone and texted Max.

Here. Have a great show!

I didn’t expect a reply, since she was going on soon, but I got one almost immediately.

Thanks. You should come backstage afterward.

Huh. We hadn’t talked once since her original text, so I had assumed she’d only invited me to be nice . . . or to make more money, but she seemed to genuinely want to see me again. I’d thought of all these strategies for talking to her again, and it looked like I wasn’t even going to have to use them. That made it ten times harder to accept the drinks from the bartender and return to Cammie, who giggled when I sat down with what would probably prove to be the worst cosmo in history.

To her credit, she winced when she took a drink but didn’t complain. I kept flicking my eyes back to the stage, waiting for the concert to start. I managed to keep up a halfhearted conversation with Cammie about her plans to study abroad.

“I just can’t make up my mind where I want to study though. Australia would be amazing. Or London. But I think Paris is my favorite right now. Then again, it changes once a week.”

“I have a friend who is backpacking overseas right now. I lose track of where she is, but last I heard she was somewhere in Germany. She’s pretty much been all over the place, taking trains and staying in hostels.”

“Hostels? Seriously? What if she gets chopped up into pieces or something like that movie?”

I smiled. “I don’t think they’re actually like that.”

“Still,” she said, flipping her hair, “I don’t think I could ever stay there.”

It was official. I had given up hope of excavating a normal person underneath all the spoiled. The evening wasn’t a complete bust though, because at that moment a shrill whine came over the speakers, and I saw Max fiddling with her microphone up on stage.

She was wearing the same flower in her hair as the day I met her. Surrounding the white petals were riotous red curls that were even more out of control than I remember. Almost as if she was trying to make up for the day she’d spent tamed down for her parents. She wore these short leopard print shorts over black, sheer stockings with red heels that made her legs look incredible. She had on a white, ripped tee that hung off her shoulders, showing the angles and architecture of her body. She looked effortlessly cool.

Her pale skin practically glowed under the lights, and her white shirt was just transparent enough that I could see the outline of her black bra beneath. I liked it until I remembered everyone could see that same black bra. She slipped the guitar strap over her head and looked more at home than she ever had in her apartment.

She stepped up to the mic, her red lips brushing against it as she said, “Hello, I’m Max and this is Under the Bell Jar.”

I wanted to cheer, but I restrained myself to clapping like the rest of the crowd. “This first song is called ‘Better,’ and it’s the song that gave us our name.”

She stood back from the mic as she started to play, and for the first time, I noticed the other people around her. On bass was a guy who was the oddest mix of punk and nerd that I’d ever seen. He had on a sweater vest and a bow tie with metal spikes. He wore glasses that didn’t look like they were just for show, but his hair hung long and grunge-band shaggy. At the back, between him and Max, was her boyfriend from the coffee shop. Mace. He played the drums, his eyes were fixed on Max the entire time.

I couldn’t blame him.

I wasn’t sure I’d be able to take my eyes off of her either. She smiled as she played the opening progression, and I could see the moment when the rest of the world ceased to exist for her. Then she sang, and the rest of the world disappeared for me, too.

“I pick a smile and paint it on

Smooth the cracks, right the wrongs

Try to push some life into my eyes

I’ve lost my soul under all the lies.”

Her voice was low and raspy but had this sweet tone that was at odds with the rest of her. The music picked up slightly and the drums got louder.

“It’s better this way,

Better that no one sees

It’s better this way

Better when I’m not me

“I’ll be better

Better

Better.”

Her eyes were closed, her rose petal lips right up against the mic. As she repeated the word, she wavered between desperation and anger and shame. It was one word, but I could feel her emotions so clearly, as if she poured them directly into me.

“Better

Better

“I’m drowning under the weight of these

Can’t tell apart all the different me’s

The bell jar drops, the air gets thin

Nothing gets out, but nothing gets in

“It’s better this way

Untouched under glass

It’s better, I say

This way I’ll last.”

The song slowed, and her voice went into her higher register. It was heartbreaking and honest, and I understood her better in that moment than ever before.

“It’s Better

Better

Better

“Better

Better

“I’ll Never

Never

Get past the pressure

Never, never

I’m my own oppressor

“No one does it better.”

She smiled grimly, and I swear she held the whole audience in the palm of her hands. Everyone was leaning forward, me included. She strummed a few more notes, humming slightly, and the music faded out to just the beat of the drums and bass as she chanted a few more times.

“Better

Better.”

22

Max

If this was what drugs were like, I understood how people got addicted. No matter how many times I did this, it never got any less exhilarating. The nerves and the fear and the hope and the hurt and the healing—my soul was a galaxy all its own when I was onstage.

I had tried a million things in an attempt to piece my life back together after Alexandria’s death, to make the world feel right-side-up again. Music was the only thing that worked.

When the last notes of “Better” were over, I knew without a shadow of a doubt that I would do whatever it took to keep this. Maybe it made me weak. It definitely made me selfish and a liar, but if there was any way I could convince Cade to continue the charade just long enough so that my parents didn’t cut me off completely, I would do it.

I found him in the crowd after our third or fourth song. I swear I’d scanned the entire bar for him twice already, and I was beginning to think he’d left. Then I saw him at a table in the middle of the room with the same blonde he’d talked to at Trestle. It was completely irrational, but I felt a spike of irritation that he’d brought her. It was soothed by the fact that every time I glanced at him, he never took his eyes off of me.

We started one of our Rilo Kiley covers, and I couldn’t keep myself from making eye contact with him.

“And it’s bad news, baby I’m bad news

I’m just bad news, bad news, bad news.”

He raised an eyebrow at me, and I nearly laughed into the microphone.

The song fit us, and I’d been thinking of him when I picked it for the set list. It was all about the ways a relationship could go wrong when one of the people in it was like me. Toxic.

A walking corpse . . . that’s how the song put it. That was me, but despite how often I told myself that seeing Cade was a bad idea, I was too selfish to stop myself.

I tried to communicate those thoughts as I sang, tried to warn him as best as I could.

I should not have noticed the way his eyes followed my movements or the way his posture straightened every time I looked at him. I should not have cared. I should not have looked into his dark eyes. I really should not have licked my lips between lines, because I could see from here his chest rise and fall. I wanted to feel bad about encouraging whatever this was between us, but I didn’t.

“Bad news, bad news . . .”

The song ended, and I looked at Spence to make sure he was ready for our next song, one of ours. He gave me a look, and his eyes shot out toward the audience. I didn’t have to look to know he was glancing at Cade.

I didn’t have to guess what his mental lecture was either. I was completely qualified to give one to myself. Beyond all the normal levels of stupidity that this thing qualified as, it was the highest rung of stupid to allow it to distract me during a set, especially if I only had a few more months to do something significant with my career before my parents cut me off. I needed every song to be as awesome as it could possibly be. I couldn’t afford to mess up one verse, one line, even one note.

I kept my eyes off Cade through the rest of the set. I worked the stage, flirting with Mace and Spencer. I leaned down to touch a few guys in the audience, flirting with them, too. Funny how onstage, the more broken and messed up you are, the more entertaining people find you. The audience’s favorites were the songs I’d written in my darkest, angriest moments. Air that kind of aggression anywhere else but onstage, and people would stare or talk or lock you up.

When we sang our last song, one of Spencer’s originals, the applause was loud enough to drown out even my thoughts for a few moments.

I breathed in their excitement. This was living. I might be a walking corpse everywhere else, but not up here.

The spotlight operator swept his light across the stage while each of us waved. When the light came back to me, blinding, the beauty of the moment disappeared, and I lost my breath.

The flash of headlights.

Crunch of metal.

Screaming tires.

Then spinning, spinning, spinning.

Out of control and unending.

I stood there frozen until Mace hooked his arm around my neck. Sweat coated his skin and mine, too. He pulled me off the stage, and I waited until we were backstage and out of the view of the crowd before I shrugged him off.

I grumbled, “Bathroom,” hoping that this time he would take the hint. This time I made sure to go into a stall, so that he couldn’t follow me. I kicked the door closed behind me, and resisted the urge to light up. I wanted this place to invite us back, which meant I shouldn’t go smoking up their bathroom, even if it would make me feel better.

So, I pretended.

I imagined the flick of the flame, the smell of the smoke, and the filter against my lips. I inhaled slowly, remembered the relaxation it normally brought me, and then exhaled. I concentrated on pushing out the memories with it.

Spencer had told me once, on one of Alexandria’s birthdays actually when I was a complete wreck, that we should live like we smoke—inhale the present and exhale the past. Something about it had stuck with me. I only smoked on rare occasions these days, but I lit up an imaginary cigarette almost every day. I didn’t need the nicotine, just the motion, the breathing.

My phone buzzed in my back pocket.

Great show, Angry Girl. You still want me to come back?

Did I?

Maybe it made me a bad person, asking him to do me this favor despite all the confusing feelings between us, but it didn’t change anything. I still needed him, and if he was willing to let me use him, I would.

Yeah, Golden Boy. Whenever you’d like.

When I exited the bathroom, Mace was waiting. Spencer had disappeared somewhere, so it was just the two of us.

“Are you done being a diva?”

I rolled my eyes. “Needing a few seconds alone after a set does not make me a diva, Mace.”

“Then what about the fact that you spent all week blowing me off?”

I didn’t have an answer for my behavior, not a good one anyway. So I turned it back on him. “What about the fact that you spent all day today ignoring my calls and flaked out on setup?”

He tossed his head to get his black hair out of his eyes. He shoved his hands in the pockets of his leather jacket, completely closed off. Face blank. He said, “I told you, something came up.”

A drop of unease rippled through my chest. He was lying about something.

“Want to tell me what that something was?”

He punched a fist forward in his pocket and clenched his jaw. He shook his head and shrugged. “You have your secrets, and I’ll have mine.”

“The difference, Mace, is that my secrets don’t affect the band.”

“Jesus, I’ve got zero fucks to give about this band, Max. You know I’m only here for you.”

Unbelievable. In some demented part of his brain, he must have thought that sounded romantic because he stepped toward me and slipped his hands over my hips. I shoved him back hard.

“If you knew anything about me, you would know that this band is my life.”

“Oh, it’s clear you care about this band more than you care about me, about anybody.”

“Damn right, I do.”

He tugged on one of his gauges and ran his thumb under his nose. He got up in my face and said, “You’re a real piece of work, you know that?”

I’d known that for a long time.

“Says the guy with pinpoint pupils. What are you on? Couldn’t wait until after the set?”

He closed his eyes and groaned. “I get it. You’re mad about this morning. I’m sorry.” His hands came up to my jaw, and he continued, “Can’t we just—”

I shoved him back again and felt his fingernails scrape my jaw.

“No, Mace!” My voice was explosive, and I made myself calm down and lower the volume. The last thing we needed was for someone to hear us arguing back here. “Just . . . I can’t do this right now, Mace. Let’s take the night off, and we’ll address this all later.”

“Later, yeah, I’ve been hearing a lot of that recently. I’m sick of waiting for later.”

Damn it. I didn’t have the energy to deal with this right now. I tried to reach for him, to appease him, but he backpedaled away from me. “I don’t know what the hell you want from me, Mace.”

His face screwed up in anger and he said, “I’m not sure I want anything from you anymore.”

He blew out the back exit into the alley, and it didn’t bode well for our relationship that the thing that irked me the most was that he left Spence and I alone to pack up once again.

Inhale.

Exhale.

Inhale.

Exhale.

“Does that really work for you?” I turned to find Cade leaning against the door. He was wearing a black button-down shirt with his sleeves rolled up to his elbows. You knew you were in bad shape when just the sight of a guy’s forearms distracted you. The week of not seeing him had done nothing to quell my attraction to him.

Bad news.

“Sometimes,” I said. “At the moment, it’s doing a fat lot of nothing.”

One side of his mouth lifted up in a half-smile, and he asked, “Do you want me to leave?”

I wasn’t sure whether he had heard enough of the fight to know that it was about needing space or if he was just better at reading me. I wasn’t calm, not in the slightest, but I trusted him not to push.

“No, that’s okay. I’m okay.”

Inhale.

Exhale.

He pushed off the wall and stepped inside the room, closing the door behind him.

“I’m really glad I came,” he said.

I nodded, and because I was a glutton for punishment, I asked, “Where’s your friend?”

He laughed and ran a hand across his jaw. My hands tingled, and I pushed them behind my back, far away from him. He said, “She’s gone. Thank God. She wanted to leave in the middle. I didn’t. We agreed to go our separate ways.”

I took a seat on a beat-up old couch in the corner, and he sat a few feet away from me. I slid a little closer.

“I wouldn’t have been offended, you know. You could have left.”

“No, I couldn’t have.” His eyes dipped toward my legs just for a second, but I saw it. “I’m sure you hear this a lot, but you were amazing.”

My skin warmed, and I basked in his attention like it was the sun. I pulled my legs up on the seat, and settled my chin on my knees. “Feel free to tell me again, as often as you like, really.”

He stretched an arm out on the couch cushion behind me, and said, “I could do that.”

I leaned back until my head brushed his arm. My blood still pumped too fast from the fight with Mace, and the damaged, angry part of me really wanted to prove how much Mace’s anger didn’t bother me. I turned toward Cade, and leaned my legs against his.

“So . . . I—”

The door swung open and Spencer came trotting in with two people behind him. A tall, attractive blond guy with a little brunette tucked into his side. I heard Cade’s sharp intake of breath a second before the brunette said, “Cade? When did you get back from Texas?”

23

Cade

Bliss.

I swear, every time things get remotely good, the universe puts me back in my place.

“Hey, Bliss. Garrick.”

The two of them crossed the room toward us, and Max whispered, “Who is that?”

“Remember the alternative Thanksgiving plans I mentioned?”

“The ones better left in the past?”

I nodded and stood to greet my friends. I shook Garrick’s hand, and gave Bliss an awkward one-armed hug.

“I didn’t end up going back to Texas. Sorry I didn’t tell you. Things changed at the last minute, and I decided to stay.”

Bliss asked, “Your grandmother got better?”

I cringed. “Yeah, she’s good.”

“Why didn’t you come over for Thanksgiving, then?” She gripped my arm, and I took a step back out of her grasp. I watched her face fall and could see the pity that she was so bad at hiding. I could just imagine the scenario going through her head—me, home alone and miserable for the holiday. Of course, that had been my plan until Max blew into my life. I opened my mouth, unsure of what excuse I was going to use. Was I sick? I could have been sick.

Then Max said, “He was with me.”

She slipped an arm around my waist, and on instinct, I put my arm over her shoulder. She pressed close to me and held out a hand toward Bliss. “My name is Max.”

Bliss’s eyebrows disappeared underneath her side-swept bangs, and I saw her eyes scan Max’s tattoos and outfit. I tried to see what she was seeing, imagine what Max must look like to someone who didn’t know her. When I looked at her, all I saw was the black bra that showed through her ripped white shirt, and I decided it was better if I kept my eyes off her for the moment.

Bliss shook Max’s hand, a little in shock.

Garrick recovered faster. He greeted her, “Lovely to meet you, Max.”

When she heard Garrick’s accent, her eyes met mine, and I knew she had put the pieces together. She smiled up at me, and I tried to express my gratitude in a look. Her smile widened, so I thought she understood. “Max, this is Bliss. We went to college together. And this is her boyfriend, Garrick.” I left out the part where he’d been our professor. Things were weird enough already.

“It’s so nice to meet friends of Cade.” She nudged me playfully. “I was beginning to think he’d never introduce me. Did he invite you guys to see the show tonight?”

“Actually”—her band mate, the one with the punk bow tie, stepped up—“I invited them. Garrick is a friend.”

Max said, “Oh, I didn’t realize you knew Spence.”

This Spence was looking between Max and me like the world had spun off its axis. I didn’t blame him. With me in my button-down and her looking like a rock goddess—we didn’t exactly match. He pinned me with a stare and said, “And you are?”

Max jumped in. “This is Cade, my boyfriend. Don’t act like I haven’t been talking your ear off about him, Spence.”

“Right.” Her friend nodded. “Cade.”

I decided it was time to help Max carry the burden and asked, “What did you think of the show?” I looked down at Max and said, “She’s pretty amazing, isn’t she?”

She leaned up and placed a kiss on my cheek, no doubt leaving a print of her ruby red lips against my skin. I knew she was pretending, but damn she was good at it.

“It was . . .” Bliss tore her eyes away from me and smiled at Max, “It was awesome. You have a great voice.”

Garrick said, “How come you haven’t introduced us to Max before now, Cade?”

Max answered, “Oh, well, we’ve not told many people. We wanted to take things slow, spend some time with just the two of us before broadcasting it to the world.”

Bliss smiled up at Garrick and placed a hand against his chest. “We can definitely understand that.”

My eyes zeroed in on the ring on her finger. He’d done it. He’d proposed, and she’d said yes. I expected to feel some kind of pain, maybe longing, but those feelings never came. There was discomfort, sure, but if anything, seeing the ring on her finger only caused generic emotions—the same ones I felt every time another friend changed their marital status on Facebook or announced they were pregnant. It was the unsettling shock of feeling like everyone around me was moving at a speed I just couldn’t match.

That was the first moment, standing there facing them with Max by my side, that I really started to question what I’d felt for Bliss. Shouldn’t this hurt more? Or was I too distracted by Max’s body next to mine?

I felt like I was standing on a precipice, seconds away from discovering a truth about myself that I didn’t particularly want to learn.

Max’s hand around my waist squeezed tighter, and I tore my eyes away from the ring on Bliss’s hand. I cleared my throat and forced a smile. “I see she said yes.”

Garrick beamed, a smile so bright and happy that it was painful to look at. “She did.”

“Congratulations,” I said. “To both of you. I’m really happy for you.”

Bliss bit her lip, then gave me a soft smile. Her eyes went a little glassy. Her voice was soft when she said, “Thank you. That means a lot.”

There was a beat. Another one of those moments when the winds shifted, time turned, and life started again in a new direction. I didn’t know about anyone else in the room, but I could tell Bliss felt it.

Maybe it was because we were both actors. Maybe it was just because of who we were. But I could see in her eyes that she knew, too. This was the end of a chapter.

We were moving in different directions, and every minute put us another mile apart. Regardless of what my feelings for Bliss had been, there was too much history between us to ever go back to how we were. I’d thought that if I could just get over the pain, then everything else would fall back into place. Well, the pain was gone, but the rift it had caused between us remained.

Funny how four years of friendship could be so completely devastated by one moment of more than friendship. Bliss was the one piece of my old life that I hadn’t had to say good-bye to when I moved to Philly. College had been like home to me, the big family that I’d never had. But that home didn’t exist anymore. And trying to hold on to it through Bliss wasn’t good for either of us.

All the memories and feelings that had connected Bliss and me had frayed until we were connected only by a flimsy, dying thread. It reminded me of an empty theatre after the play had ended, the audience had left, and the crew had cleaned up. The last one to leave turned out all the lights, and left a solitary ghost light in the otherwise darkened space. As we stood there, stiff and awkward, that last thread, that last light, gave way.

Bliss took an uneven breath, and pressed her lips together in a way that I knew meant she was trying not to cry. I took a page out of Max’s book and slowly inhaled and exhaled.

“Well, we should go clear our stuff from the stage,” Max said. “Cade, babe, do you think you could help? Our drummer had to leave.”

I blinked and looked away from Bliss. “Sure. Sure, I can do that.”

I looked at Garrick, then Bliss, and said, “It was good to see you both. Congratulations again.” I shook Garrick’s hand, and this time I gave Bliss a real hug. She pressed her cheek into my chest, and her arms squeezed tight around my middle. She mumbled something that sounded like “Burning out,” and then released me. She was blinking rapidly, but I could still see the tears gathering around the corners of her eyes.

“Good-bye, Bliss.”

I felt surprisingly numb, like a wound that had been cauterized. Maybe it would hurt more later. Or maybe I was just learning that even the good things from our pasts still only belonged in the past.

“Good-bye, Cade.”

Spencer walked the two of them out, and I was left alone with Max. I took a deep breath and sunk back onto the couch.

Max stood above me and said, “I don’t even know what the hell just happened, and I’m depressed.”

I laughed, which all things considered was far better than the variety of reactions I could have had. “It was depressing, wasn’t it?”

“You okay, Golden Boy?”

I lifted my chin to look at her, and took the hand that was dangling by her side. I pressed a quick kiss to the back of it, and then let it fall back to her side. “Thank you for that. You didn’t have to. And yes, I’m okay. Moving forward, right?”

“That is the goal, boyfriend.”

“We’re getting pretty good at pretending. Maybe you should be an actor, too.”

She laughed. “Not in a million years. I don’t like acknowledging my own emotions. Why would I want to pretend to have more just for a lousy paycheck?”

“You don’t seem to have any problem expressing emotions when you sing. You’re pretty damn great at it, actually.”

She looked away, uncomfortable, and said, “To each his own, I guess.”

Time for a subject change. I stood, and tried to stretch some of that heavy, melancholy feeling out of my limbs. “Let’s go pack up your stuff, Angry Girl.”

“Oh, you don’t have to help. I was just giving you an excuse . . .”

“Don’t be stupid. You know I’m going to help you.”

“Yeah, I do.”

I followed the sway of her hips across the room. She stopped when she got to the closed door, and turned around.

“I need to ask you something else. Do you want to grab a drink with me after we’re done here?”

“A drink sounds like the best idea you’ve ever had.” I smiled. “Though that isn’t saying much, considering the kind of ideas I’ve seen from you.”

I expected her to laugh. She didn’t.

She just smiled and said, “Yeah . . . right.”

24

Max

I convinced Cade that we should head back to Center City to get our drink, so we’d be closer to where both of us lived before the subways closed.

He said, “Fine by me. I was going to insist on walking you home anyway.”

I laughed. “Of course you were, Golden Boy.”

This also gave me the entire walk to the subway station and the ride to convince him to keep pretending to be my boyfriend.

He said, “So, I’m guessing you don’t want to talk about your fight with Mace?”

I raised an eyebrow at him but didn’t comment.

“I’m guessing you don’t want to talk about that girl getting engaged?”

He sighed. “I guess that leaves your music. How long have you been playing?”

I buttoned my coat all the way up to help block out some of the cold. “Since I was thirteen. Around the time that my sister died.”

It shocked me how easily that kind of thing fit into normal conversation with him. With anyone else it never would have come close to leaving my mouth.

“And when did you know that it was what you wanted to do for your career?”

I smiled, remembering. “The first time I was able to play a song all the way through from memory. That was the first time singing really transported me to a different place, you know? It was the best five minutes of my life. I forgot where I was, who I was, and I existed only in the music.”

“I get that. I feel the same when I’m onstage. I get to step out of my skin and be someone else for a while. I get to live someone else’s problems, which usually get resolved in a much quicker and easier fashion than my own.”

I’d never even had a friend that I could talk to like this. I’d lived so long as an island that I’d forgotten what it felt like to have this kind of connection.

“You ever get tired of being yourself, Golden Boy?”

“Sometimes, yeah. What about you?”

He was so honest. He made me want to be, too.

Inhale.

Exhale.

“All the time.”

The silence between us was frail, but easy, as we walked the neighborhood streets that led to our subway stop. I surveyed the buildings around us, the uneven sidewalks, the lit up windows for apartments on the second and third floors. I’d walked these streets more times than I could remember, but I’d never really looked around me.

Life was funny like that.

I asked, “Do you think everyone feels that way? Or is there something wrong with us?”

He thought for a long moment, his boots scuffing against the sidewalk as he walked. “I think everyone does. Even happy people. They may not admit it to anyone, but I think they feel it. I think they close their eyes, or go for a run, or take a long shower, so that they can forget just for a second who they are and what they have to do day in and day out. Living is hard. And every day our feet get heavier and we pick up more baggage. So, we stop and take a breath, close our eyes, reset our minds. It’s natural. As long as you open your eyes and keep going.”

I watched him as he spoke. His eyes scanned the sky, and his breath puffed out as smoke in the cold air. He believed what he was saying. And that made it a little easier for me to believe it, too.

I should have asked him then, but he’d just given me this precious, perfect thought, and I wanted to hold on to it for as long as I could before I had to ruin it. We stayed silent for the one more block it took to reach the subway stop.

We waited about ten minutes for our train, still not saying a word. We sat together on a bench, sharing the silence, and it didn’t feel awkward or unnatural. I didn’t want to run or fill up the void or do anything other than what I was doing.

It was . . . nice.

When the train pulled in, we took two of the seats beside each other, and it felt so routine, like we’d been doing this for ages.

I said, “I have something to ask you, but I really don’t want to.”

He turned slightly, and his knees touched mine. “That sounds interesting.”

“It’s insane, actually.”

He waited, and I tried to just spit it out, but really there was no good way to say it, so instead I buried my face in my hands. I groaned and said, “Money is stupid. It ruins everything.”

He hummed. “Tell me about it. I made a promise that I would be home for Christmas, but I get paid so little for my work-study job that I’ll be lucky to afford ramen in January if I do.”

I sat up but kept my eyes on my hands as I asked, “What if I could help you get home for Christmas?”

“I’m sorry, but I just don’t think your boss would be okay with me taking over your dancing shifts at Trestle.”

I laughed so hard that everyone else in the train car turned and looked at us.

“God, I would pay to see that.”

He nudged my shoulder with his. “Hey, I’m a good dancer.”

“How much have you had to drink tonight?”

“Do I need to take you dancing to prove how awesome I am?”

I was tempted to say yes, to take him to the the Garage or some other place, and just lose myself in alcohol and the moving bodies. But I had to stay focused. For so many reasons.

“I’m taking a rain check on that offer, Golden Boy. But . . . I was serious about Christmas. My parents really want you to visit for the holidays, enough that they volunteered to pay for all your flights and stuff.”

He kept smiling, even as his head tilted to the side and his brows furrowed. “I thought we were going to be broken up by then?”

“We were . . . but hell, I’m just going to say this. My parents were coming to Philly to tell me it was time to stop singing, to move on and get a real job. They’ve been helping me with money stuff so that I had time to write and sing, but they were going to stop . . . until they met you. Apparently my dating you is enough to make them believe I’m not a total screwup, and they’re willing to keep helping me out for a little while longer. But if I have to tell them we broke up, they’re going to cut me off, and with the cost of living here and my debt, it will be almost impossible for me to keep going with the band. So, like a complete coward, I’m asking you to pretend to date me to keep my parents happy.”

“Max . . .” His body shifted away from mine slightly. I turned to face him.

“I know it’s crazy, but I promise it will just be a few days, just an appearance, and then you can leave and go home for the holidays with your family. You said you needed money for your flight . . . my parents will pay for it.”

His eyes searched mine. “I couldn’t let your parents do that, Max.”

I grabbed one of his hands and held it between both of mine. “It’s nothing to them, Cade. I promise. You should see the ridiculous things they spend their money on. I’d much rather they spend money on you.”

He placed his other hand on top of mine, and stared at me. “Max, I want to help you, but you have to know how bad of an idea this is. You can’t keep pretending for your parents. You’ll only resent it. And you know that. The first song you played tonight . . . that was yours, wasn’t it? Didn’t you learn anything from writing it?”

I felt sliced open, like he’d dissected my mind and my heart and laid it out for everyone to poke and prod. I’d written that song right before I dropped out of college, and he was right.

I hadn’t changed at all.

I thought by leaving college I was putting all of that pretending behind me. I thought I had ripped out the roots of that old life and started fresh. Pretending for holidays and other meetings had seemed so insignificant, but it wasn’t.

I’d grown right back into that same person.

And I hated that he could see that.

I ripped my hands out of his and stood, even though the train was still moving. “I didn’t ask for a therapy session. I’m sorry I can’t be perfect like you. Just forget about it.”

We pulled into the station, and I walked to the other end of the car while I waited for the train to come to a complete stop. I heard him call my name as I stepped out onto the platform, but I didn’t look back. He caught up to me on the stairs, but I kept going, taking the steps as fast as I could without falling.

“Max . . . wait.”

When I surfaced into the night air, his hand caught my elbow and turned me to him.

“Let me go, Cade.”

“No.”

“What do you mean, no?”

He caught my other arm, and pulled me right up against him.

“I mean that we’re not going to have a fight over this.”

I said, “You don’t get to just decide what we fight about.”

“I’ll do it, Max.”

I blinked and stared up at his face. His dark eyes locked on mine, and he wasn’t joking. “Why? You just said . . .”

“I think you have to stop pretending to be something you’re not, yeah. Which is why I’ll come to Christmas with you if you go as yourself, not as that tame, turtlenecked version of you. That’s step one of escaping the bell jar.”

My heart was beating so hard I could feel it up in my throat. My lungs felt far away, like they had sunk down into my stomach, and everything in me felt out of place.

“I’d still be lying about you. I’d still—”

“So, it’s baby steps. You knock out step one first, and let your parents get used to the idea of who their daughter is. Then you hit them with Mace.”

Somehow, in all the chaos, I still managed to laugh. “I’ve thought about hitting them with mace quite a few times actually.”

His half-smile snuck on his face again, and it made me feel a little steadier, a little less out of sorts. Somewhere in my freak-out, his hands had worked their way up from my arms to my neck, and his fingertips now cradled my jaw.

He asked, “So what do you think? Are we a go for Operation Introduce Your Parents to the Real Max?”

“More like Operation Give my Parents a Panic Attack . . . but yeah, we’re a go.”

“Excellent.”

His thumb traced the line of my jaw, and a shiver raced up my spine. I swallowed and wet my lips. “Thanks,” I said. “For everything. The walk. The talk. And you know, fake dating me.”

He paused for a few seconds and then said, “You know, I seem to remember you promising me a real date the other day.”

My heart thumped. I wanted him. I’d been attracted to him before, and now it had only grown. Tonight had been so perfect. He’d said all the right things, and made me think, and pushed me to be myself. Which is exactly why I didn’t need to date him. My dating history was toxic, and he was the last person I wanted to taint. We could be friends. I’d needed a friend like him my entire life. He called me on my bullshit and made me less afraid.

And yet, when he looked at me and his skin touched mine . . . friendship was the last thing on my mind.

My phone buzzed, and I jumped at the chance to escape. I pulled away to answer it, but the name on the screen made me pause.

Mace.

The conversation with Cade had put me in a peaceful place that I didn’t want to destroy. I hit ignore, but just seeing his name had ruined some of the luster of the evening.

It had been a long day, and all the emotions of it hit me all at once. Maybe all I needed was sleep. I asked Cade for a rain check on the drink, and he volunteered to walk me home. I was happy for the company because his presence kept my mind from dwelling on the things it shouldn’t be dwelling on . . . like how things were spiraling out of control with Mace. And the rockier our relationship became, the more disruptive he was toward the band, which meant more than whatever was going on between us.

When we reached my block, Cade held open my apartment building door for me.

“Your landlord still hasn’t fixed this lock?” He followed me up the stairs and said, “You should let him have it, Angry Girl. That’s ridiculous. It’s not safe to leave it like this where anyone can get in.”

I kept climbing the stairs and smiled at him over my shoulder. “I know . . . some complete psycho could creep into my apartment while I sleep . . . naked.”

We reached my floor and he said, “You’re right. I could do that.”

I laughed and gave him a playful push. His hands caught my arms, and he pulled me closer to him. My stomach felt like I’d just gone down the drop of a huge roller coaster. I licked my lips and he said, “Really though, please make your landlord take care of the door. If he doesn’t, I will.”

His face was stern, and it gave me goose bumps.

I tried to play off the way he affected me with humor. I rolled my eyes and said, “Yes, Master. Anything else you’d like to order me to do?”

His eyes darkened, and something contracted low in my belly. A whimper built in my throat, and I was seconds away from throwing myself at him when I heard someone call my name.

“Max?”

The clenching in my belly turned painful. Cade’s hands loosened on my forearms, and I turned to face Mace.

He’d been sitting outside my door and was climbing to his feet. He lumbered down the hall, one hand on the wall to steady himself.

He was trashed.

I took a step away from Cade and asked, “Mace, what are you doing here?”

“Clearly not having as much fun as you are. You didn’t waste any time, did you?”

His normally gorgeous features were twisted into something ugly. His nose scrunched up, and his lips pulled into a grimace.

“Mace, this is my friend, Cade. He came to see the show and walked me home.”

He twisted the piercing in his eyebrow. “Right. You think I’m stupid, don’t you?”

I sighed. “No, I think you’re high.”

He lurched toward me and said, “And I think you’re a whore.”

Cade moved in front of me. “Chill, man. We’re just friends.”

I curled an arm around his elbow and tugged him back. “Don’t bother, Cade. He’s not good for the band, and he’s not good for me. Consider yourself done with both, Mace.”

He sauntered up to me. His eyes were red, and his pupils constricted. It was funny how attraction could live and die in an instant. Looking at him now, I didn’t feel any of the heat that normally crackled between us. He stood there, high and angry, and I only felt relieved. I stared him down, and he scanned me from head to toe. He drew a thumb across his bottom lip, and said, “I was bored anyway.”

I skipped straight past angry into repulsed. What a douchewaffle.

“Go pop some more pills, asshole.”

He clipped Cade with his shoulder as he passed and snarled, “Enjoy the lousy lay, man.”

“Son of a—”

I inhaled and curled my hands into fists. I went after him, but Cade’s arms wrapped around my middle and took me captive. He held me back until Mace was long gone and my breathing was under control. As angry as I was, and as much as I wanted to follow Mace down the stairs and give him a swift kick to the junk, part of me was also thankful. I felt like a bird loosed from a cage.

I faced Cade, and he looked even more enraged than I had been.

That guy had the self-control of a saint.

I smiled and said, “How about you show me those dance moves after all?”

I was free. Time to fly.

25

Cade

I was torn.

Part of me wanted to tell her it wasn’t a good idea, that she should take the night to cool off and think. Another part of me was already thinking of how she would look on the dance floor. And then in the back of my mind was the tempting thought that I should take her into her apartment and prove that she was anything but boring.

As usual, the responsible choice won out.

“Max . . . it’s been a long day. Are you sure you don’t want to do something a little less—”

She cut me off. “I want to dance, Golden Boy. I can do that with or without you.” She turned that killer pout on me and added, “Though being alone really isn’t the safest option.” She batted her eyes and smiled. She already knew she’d won.

“When I blow your mind with my dance moves, I expect an apology.”

She grabbed my hand and pulled me down the stairs after her. “We’ll see who blows whose mind.”

We hailed a cab and headed north, into my area of the city. We pulled up outside what looked like an abandoned warehouse in a less than stellar neighborhood. I should know because it was mine. I’d passed by this place numerous times and just figured it was probably abandoned and filled with homeless people.

I asked her, “Did you want to dance or get murdered?”

I paid the cabbie and slid out of the car. Max grabbed my hand and started tugging me toward the warehouse.

“Relax, Golden Boy. I think you’ll like this place.”

I liked her. Too much for my own good.

I could feel the vibrations from the music before we even entered the building. It didn’t look like your typical club. There were couches and artwork painted onto the walls that made it feel like a cross between a friend’s apartment and a graffitied street corner. A lot of buildings around the city were covered in murals that spanned multiple stories. There was similar art on the walls here, but it was smaller, and up close you could see all the detail work.

Max said, “Welcome to the Garage.”

This place pulsed with the same vibrancy that bled from Max’s every word and movement. It matched her. So yeah, she was right. I liked it.

It didn’t feel like normal clubs that were packed tight and reeked of sweat with modern, upscale fixtures. This place had a heartbeat all its own. It had soul.

I turned my eyes back to one of the murals on the wall. It was all black and white and showed people singing and others dancing. It was simple, no color, no frills. But it was beautiful.

Max leaned up to my ear. “My boss at the tattoo parlor did that back when this place opened. He’s also the one that did this.”

Tattoo parlor. That explained the abundance of art on her body.

She pulled the neck of her shirt down to reveal smooth skin, tattooed branches, and enough cleavage to make my mouth go dry.

“Lucky guy.”

Someone shouted Max’s name, and I turned to see her jogging over to one of the bartenders. When I caught up he was saying, “Sorry I missed the show tonight, but . . .” He held up the drink he was mixing and shrugged.

“It was a good one,” I said,

Max beamed, and the bartender looked between us like he didn’t quite understand how we fit together.

His eyebrows were still halfway up his forehead when he said, “I’ll try and make the next one. You kids have a good night.” He poured us two shots on the house, and then turned to the people next to us for their order. Max used her elbows to heft herself up on the bar and gave him a smacking kiss on his cheek. She didn’t look like a girl who’d just broken up with her boyfriend.

At the moment though, her long legs had my full attention. She looked over her shoulder and caught me staring. As she slid down off the bar, she didn’t seem to mind. In fact, her smile only widened.

“You ready to be amazed, Angry Girl?”

If her smile as she led me upstairs was any indication, I might have to change her nickname. Going up the stairs behind her could give any straight man a heart attack. Her red high heels gave way to toned calves, glorious thighs, and short leopard print shorts that enhanced her curves. Somewhere out there was an ex-boyfriend with her likeness tattooed somewhere on his body. She was the kind of sexy that begged to be immortalized.

Upstairs was more crowded than the section we’d just left, but there were still couches and mismatched furniture that gave it the same relaxed vibe. There was the main dance floor, and then a second one that was raised up a few feet and featured b-boys freestyling while a crowd of onlookers cheered.

She took a deep breath and closed her eyes. I was getting accustomed to interpreting her breathing. There was the “I’m about to breathe fire” inhale, the “anything involving her mother” inhale, and my personal favorite, the “just been kissed” inhale. As she entered the dance floor, though, her breath was reminiscent of the way she sang. She was relaxed here. Her arms snaked above her head, and her ripped white tee raised to show a strip of skin above her shorts. The last time I’d seen her lower back, it had been covered in bandages and bruises. Now, more than a week later, only the faintest hint of healing scratches remained behind. From here, her skin looked smooth, and I could see the dimples at the bottom of her spine.

A few people slid between us, and I missed the view. She turned, and her eyes found mine. She crooked a finger at me and smiled.

That was the moment I knew for sure that I hadn’t been in love with Bliss. I couldn’t have been. Because at that moment, nothing could have kept me from going to Max, not even if Bliss had been on the other side calling me, too. I moved through the crowd until she was in my reach. She was twisting and turning and singing along to a song I’d never heard. She ran her hands down her sides to her thighs, and one side of her tee slipped over her shoulder. I wanted to replace the hands on her thighs with my own.

“I’m waiting, Golden Boy!”

Watching her was appealing, but touching her was irresistible. She was even more electric than the music that pulsated around us. I stepped forward right when she rolled her body from her chest down through her hips. When she went to repeat the move, I matched her. Our chests brushed, and she bit her lip.

Every theatre major in college had to take dance classes, and every day in warm-up the professor made us practice isolating different parts of our bodies. The purpose had been to stretch, not dance, but the ability transferred well to this kind of techno music.

Max danced the same way she sang . . . with complete abandon. I just followed her, keeping our bodies close and matching her movements. She tossed her hair and started to circle around me.

The music changed to something a little slower. I slipped a hand around her waist and pulled her into me. Our hips locked together, and I placed a hand on her hip to guide her into a circular motion. My thigh fitted between hers and hers between mine until we were as close as we could possibly get. She rolled her body to one side, and I leaned the opposite direction.

The air around us was warm and sticky with sweat. She rocked her hips into mine, and I had to clench my teeth to keep in a groan. Moving with her was amazing, but every once in a while she would move in a way I didn’t expect. Our hips were so tightly pressed that the friction her movements caused had me seeing stars.

I pressed her backward, and with zero hesitation and no self-consciousness, she dropped her head and body backward in a dip. I kept her steady with an arm around her waist. With her body leaned back, I got a clear view of her tight stomach, the black bra beneath her white shirt, and the delicate column of her neck. I couldn’t resist reaching out and running my hand from the front of her throat around the back. I cradled her neck in my hand, and used it to propel her back up to me. She wrapped both arms around my neck, so that her chest was pressed tightly against mine. I simplified our movements because being pressed against her was better than any dance move that would have moved us apart.

I could feel the sweat collecting on my skin, and it glistened on hers, too. I kept one hand curved around her neck and the other ran in a loop from her thigh up to her rib cage. I sighed, wishing that I could freeze this moment, wishing that we were somewhere else. Her face was level with my neck, and her forehead pressed into my jaw. Her breath on my neck was an exquisite torture.

I thought briefly about this being an unwise decision, but I couldn’t bring myself to care. I knew from the first time I saw her with Mace that they meant nothing to each other. There was no gravity between them, not like there was between us. No matter how hard we tried to keep ourselves apart, we always wound up right back here.

I thought I had that kind of pull with Bliss, but now I could see that I was wrong. We would have been perfect together, another notch in my pursuit of the “right” life. That’s what I was in love with . . . not my friend. Bliss had been exactly what I thought I’d wanted. A friendship evolved into something more. Loving and kind. Sweet and safe.

Max scared me shitless.

And it was so much better.

I could finally say that the past was the past, and the present was so much more appealing. I slid my hand on her neck up until her hair threaded between my fingertips. Her arms tightened around my neck, and her lips brushed my jaw.

I stiffened for a second, worried that I was making the wrong choice.

Almost as if she could hear my thoughts and was trying to shut them up, her teeth grazed my skin, followed by a firm press of her lips.

If this was a mistake, it was the best one I’d ever made.

26

Max

I followed his lead and slipped my fingertips into the curls at the base of his scalp. His other hand slid from my hip to the small of my back and snuck underneath my tee. His hands pressed into my skin, and I was taken back to the night he’d treated my injuries, and how badly I had wanted to do this then.

His face tipped down toward mine, and he breathed, “Max.”

There was hesitancy laden in his voice, and I knew what he was thinking. He was about to get noble. He was going to pull some shit about this not being good for me or me needing time or whatever. He was overthinking something that was so simple.

So I made it simpler for him.

I shifted up on my toes and kissed him.

His resistance must have been thin, because he was kissing me back immediately. The hand under my shirt slid farther up my back until his fingers met my bra strap. He used that arm to pull me up onto my tiptoes. It lined up our hips perfectly, and I moaned into his mouth.

He kissed like he lived—perfectly. His mouth searched mine feverishly and thoroughly, like he needed to taste every part of me. Oh how I had underestimated tender kisses. This kiss was a slow burn that had me squirming against him, ready to beg for more. He placed a light peck on my mouth, and then nipped my bottom lip. His mouth pressed harder against mine, and the kiss crescendoed into something fierce and addicting.

Even though I didn’t want to, I broke away to breathe. His lips dropped to my neck instead, where he kissed and bit and sucked, driving me wild. All the feeling in my body was concentrated on the area where our bodies intersected, so that the rest of me felt weak and lifeless by comparison. My legs shook, and for the second time, he was the only thing holding me together.

Last time it had been because I was in pain.

The only pain I felt now came from the ache in the pit of my belly that wanted more. I pulled his head up from my neck and pressed my forehead to his.

I wondered if my eyes looked as dilated as his. There was a good chance that he would say no, but I was too far gone to care about rejection.

“You said you lived close to here?”

I’d been prepared for a fight. I thought he would shoot me down, but his eyes searched my face for a few seconds, which was a few seconds too long for my liking.

Then he nodded, and my uterus did the butterfly or possibly the running man.

I kissed him again because I could. I’d meant it to be quick, but his hands cupped my face, and he kissed me hard. I fisted my hands in his shirt and prayed that he lived extremely close.

When he broke away, his voice was husky. “I can’t say no to you.”

Perfect.

“Then don’t.”

The door to Cade’s apartment clicked shut behind me, and I leaned back against it. The wood was cool against my back, and I shivered. My heart thumped radically in my chest. I felt like my blood had been replaced with Red Bull. He stepped toward me, and I felt feverish.

I searched his eyes, and my stomach dipped like I was falling.

I hadn’t even been this nervous my first time.

I hadn’t been this nervous ever.

He fixed his eyes on me, and desire outweighed my fears. The way he looked at me made my skin sing with electricity. It wasn’t just that he made me feel attractive. Any guy on the street with wandering eyes or a good whistle could do that. He made me feel . . . special, which sounded so damn cheesy that I could choke. It was true though. I knew myself better by knowing how he saw me. He erased the doubt and the fear and the anger. He made me feel like the melody instead of the accompaniment.

“Are you sure?” he asked.

I couldn’t quite get a handle on his expression. It was full of wanting, but whether he wanted me to say yes or no was unclear. I had no problem adding a little clarity to the situation. Rather than answering with words, I reached down and pulled the white tee up over my head.

His eyes followed my shirt to the floor. Then he took his time scanning from my heels up to my face. He crossed to me, and I pressed back against the door, needing the support. My whole body tensed in anticipation, but he kept nearly a foot of space between us. He plucked the strap of my bra between his fingertips, and his knuckles grazed my skin. The air in my lungs started to burn. He began to slide the strap over my shoulder, and then seemed to change his mind. His eyes met mine instead, and he gave a dark half-smile. Then he said, “Take it off.”

The breath rushed from my chest, and I was so turned on that my fingers went numb. He leaned one arm on the door next to me, so that when I reached behind my back, my chest brushed his softly. I kept my head tilted back so that I could see his face. He was so close, but too far, and the longer he stayed there the more uneven my breathing became. I fumbled with the clasp, unable to force my fingers to cooperate. I was ready to rip it off when the clasp finally came undone, and the straps fell from my shoulders. I leaned back against the wall, and let my bra drop to join my shirt. The door behind me was cold against my overheated skin, and the peaks of my breasts hardened.

His right index finger touched the skin just above my belly button, and my muscles tensed on instinct. He’d found one of the roots to my tree tattoo, and his light touch followed it until it met up with another line. He followed that line down to my hip, and then back up to the hollow of my rib cage. He took his time, tracing each line, and his touch was so soft that goose bumps rose up on my skin. He danced over the sensitive skin on my ribs, and I sucked in a breath.

He made a sound low in his throat in response, and I was going to sink into a heap of frayed nerves and arousal if he kept at this. Finally his attention turned to the trunk of the tree that grew up in the valley between my breasts. I arched my back, desperate for him to touch me somewhere more substantial. He used two fingers to push on my sternum and pressed me back against the wall.

“Patience, Angry Girl.”

I groaned, and he smiled.

“You don’t know how much I’ve thought about this tattoo. I want to memorize it so that every time I close my eyes I can see the way it accentuates your body.”

For the briefest of seconds, both of his hands cupped my breasts, and I moaned in response. But then he slid his hands up to my shoulders, and held me back against the door.

He placed a kiss on my puckered frown and said, “I promise to pay this much attention to every part of you.”

It was the hardest thing I’d ever done in my life, to sit there, still and silent, as he traced each branch. The tree spanned my chest, but always stopped a few inches shy of where I really wanted his touch. I wanted to grab his hands and move them myself, but I liked him being in control too much.

When he finished, my skin was flushed and my breath heavy. My knees grew weak, and my hands clutched at the door behind me. Our eyes met, and his lids were heavy and his pupils dark. I felt intoxicated. Everything in the world but him was blurry. Everything in the world but him disappeared.

“Beautiful,” he whispered.

A “please” slipped from my mouth, and he rewarded me by pulling me forward until my chest pressed against his. It was good, but he was still clothed so it wasn’t enough. I reached greedy fingers toward the bottom of his shirt, and he lifted it over his head for me.

He loomed over me, one hand perched on the wall on either side of me. It was reminiscent of the night he’d kissed me outside of Trestle, but the view was so much better this time. His chest was broad and tanned, and gave way to rippling lines of muscle on his abdomen. But my hands went straight for the V of muscle that started above his hips and disappeared down into his jeans.

Mace had been fit, but on the skinny side.

Cade was . . . God, he should just stop wearing clothes altogether. I would fully support that. A little impatient, I slipped a finger under the waistband of his jeans and tugged him forward. The first touch of his skin on mine was like lightning. I could feel the charge between us building.

After that, slow became a thing of the past.

His mouth crushed down onto mine. His hands left the door to tangle in my hair, and my back hit the wall with a loud thud. There was nothing sweet or delicate about this kiss. The guy who’d traced the lines on my skin was replaced with someone hungry and desperate. His hands held me in place as his lips conquered mine. I gave myself up to him and wrapped my arms around his neck.

He released my hair, and I whimpered at the loss, but then his hands found my thighs. He bent his knees and curved his fingers around the back of my legs. He lifted, and I wrapped my legs around his waist. I clenched my arms and legs around his body, and I could feel the length of him pressed up against my center. My breath caught in my throat, and his hips bucked into mine. My lower back hit the door again, and I was happily trapped. His tongue traced my collarbone, and I fisted my hands in his hair. He cupped my behind and kept our hips locked tightly together.

His mouth moved down my chest, but he was too tall to reach where both of us wanted him to be. There was a small dining table to the right, and he spun and laid me down across the top. Then he bent and took the tip of one of my breasts into his mouth.

I cried out and arched up into him. His hands slipped beneath my back, and kept me there, my body bowed up toward his mouth. He flicked his tongue over the peak, and then traced a branch on my tree to the other side. The tension in my belly was so strong that I was going to fall apart from this alone.

I used my legs around his waist to pull his hips to mine and begged, “Please.” Cade ignored me and continued pressing kisses across my chest. I forced his face up to mine and said, “I thought you weren’t able to say no to me?”

He ducked and placed a quick kiss on my sternum and said, “I’m not done exploring this part of you.”

I wrapped my arms around his neck and pulled him up so his chest aligned with mine. “Explore that part of me later.”

His smile was so damn sexy.

“I like the sound of that, but I also like hearing you beg.” I pulled his face to mine and covered his mouth with mine. Between kisses I whispered against his lips, “I like you when you’re a little less golden.”

He pulled me up off the table, so that we stood in the middle of his living room with my legs wrapped around his waist. For once, this put me looking down at him. I pushed some of the curls off his forehead and gazed down at him.

He was beautiful in a way I wasn’t accustomed to. I’d been with plenty of attractive guys, but he was different. He was movie star gorgeous. Untouchable. Just to squash that thought, I touched my fingers to his lips. He was mine for tonight at least, and I was sure as hell going to enjoy it.

“I want you,” I murmured. “How many times are you going to make me say please?”

He turned and started moving toward a door that I hoped led to his bedroom.

“I think that one did the trick.”

27

Cade

She looked so good spread out on my bed. I hadn’t had nearly my fill of kissing her, but I was just as impatient as she was. She uncurled her legs from my waist, and I knelt on the bed between them. I reached for the button on her shorts and slid them and her tights down her legs. Her hips were perfect. Her legs were perfect. And the black underwear that matched her previously discarded bra were pretty damn perfect, too.

Something devious glinted in her eye, and she pushed on my abs until I stepped off the bed. Then she kneeled at my feet, and unbuttoned my jeans. Whatever blood was still left in the rest of my body rushed south. I fisted my hands at my sides to try to stay in control, but when my jeans and boxers hit the floor it was a lost battle. Her mouth was heaven and hell all at the same time, and the tables of control turned so fast that my head was spinning.

“God, Max.”

I groaned and laced my fingers into her bright red curls. I couldn’t make up my mind what I wanted more. Part of me wanted to take our time, while the rest of me wanted to screw going slow. There would be time for all this later.

It was torture pushing her back, but I just couldn’t wait any longer. I pulled her up to stand in front of me, and slid her underwear down over her hips. She was so gorgeous that it hurt to breathe. She sat on the bed and scooted back toward the pillows. I wanted to follow, but I made myself stop and grab a condom from my nightstand. Then I crawled toward her until my body hovered above hers. I hesitated, knowing how powerful the press of our bodies would be. Her eyes were closed in anticipation, and she was biting her kiss-swollen bottom lip. I pressed my lips against hers and sucked that bottom lip into my mouth before lowering myself into paradise.

I started slow, mostly because I was trying to memorize the way she felt around me. I hated that she’d been with that asshole, Mace. I hated that he’d seen her like this, but I was happy to know that she was mine now. I took her hands from around my neck, and laced our fingers together. I pressed her palms down into the mattress at the same time that I rocked my hips into hers. Her mouth opened in a silent cry, and she tilted her head back. I wanted to hear her, so I did it again, harder.

She bit her lip, and let out the smallest whimper. Each time I pressed into her, her reaction was a little less inhibited. I ran my hands from her knees, down her sweat-slicked legs, to the curve of her bottom. I snapped my hips forward and pushed up on her hips at the same time. She twisted and arched beneath me, moaning my name. The sound of it nearly pushed me over the edge, but I made myself slow down.

“Max.”

Her eyes fluttered open, and she looked at me from under half-lowered lashes. I pressed a kiss to her forehead, and then rocked my hips again. Her eyes closed, and I slowed my movements again.

“Look at me, Max.”

She whimpered but did as I said. The next thrust made my vision go spotty, and though her body contorted underneath mine, and she tried to tug her hands free from my grasp, she kept her eyes open.

There was too much pleasure, too much want, too much beauty beneath me. There was too much everything. The world seemed to expand to accommodate the power of that moment. Something shifted between us—small and ineffable—but we ceased to be whatever we had been before and became something new.

I saw the same wonder in her eyes that I felt in my chest.

Then I saw the fear chasing on its heels.

I saw her start to close off, and knew I needed to do something. I took hold of her hips and flipped us over so that she was on top, so that she was in control.

Her eyes were closed, and when she opened them that flicker of fear was gone. She smiled and pressed her palms into my abdomen. She shifted her hips over mine, and breathed. “I had a dream about you like this once.”

Damn.

It was my turn to groan, and the thought of her dreaming about me was so sexy that I had to grasp her hips and still them until I got myself under control. She leaned over and kissed me. The press of her breasts against my bare chest didn’t do anything to help me, but it was too good to push her off. After a minute, I lifted my hands and let her move again. She sat up and raised her arms above her head to tangle in her hair.

The sight of her like that was the most erotic thing I’d ever seen, and I didn’t think I would forget it as long as I lived. It also made it hard to hold on. I slid my hand to where our bodies met to help her along, and she slammed her hips down hard on mine in response.

If I were an artist, I would paint her just like this. She reminded me of the spirits and nymphs that populated so many of Shakespeare’s plays. She was wild and free and inhumanly beautiful. The only other time I’d seen her this vibrant was when she was onstage.

Her legs squeezed around my hips, and her hands dropped back to my chest. Her fingernails scraped down my stomach, and I bucked up into her. She threw her head back, and I pressed my fingers harder against her. Then she moaned, and my world was awash in color and heat and . . . God, she was so tight.

Her eyes met mine, and they shone dark and glassy. I sat up and held her to my chest. Her body convulsed around mine, and I pressed my forehead against hers as I gave in to the pull.

I don’t know how long we stayed there, wrapped around each other, foreheads pressed together, gaze locked. It could have been minutes or years. All I knew was that I never wanted to move. Our bodies fit perfectly together, like a lock to a key. I kissed her, soft and slow. I didn’t want to think past the feel of her skin or the curve of her hips or the smell of her hair. But for now, I would settle for lying side by side with her in my arms.

28

Max

I was relaxed and numb and glorious.

Until I wasn’t.

Until the glow faded, and I was assaulted my all the thoughts that my mind had been too preoccupied to think before. His arms were tight around me, secure and comforting and caging all at once.

Sex had never been like that for me. It had always been about bodies and sensations and simplicity. Sex with Cade was confusing. It was adding one plus one and getting an answer other than two. It was more than it should have been, and it threw my world off balance.

Cade got up to go to the bathroom, and I slipped my panties back on, and then went to the living room to hunt for my shirt. Cade’s place was the opposite of mine. He had pictures of friends and family on walls and bookshelves. Those shelves actually had books on them, along with mementos and keepsakes that apparently meant enough to him to bring all the way to Pennsylvania with him. His place felt homey. It felt nice and comforting, just like him.

Unease flitted around my chest, but I pushed it down. I tiptoed back to Cade’s room, and my nerves started to rattle. I stared at the rumpled sheets on his bed and just couldn’t make myself get back inside it. Cade was wonderful. Mind-blowingly wonderful. Tonight had been one of the most intense moments of my life.

But that was the problem.

We’d known each other ten days. I looked at the clock, and it read 3:00 A.M. Make that eleven days, but still . . . eleven days. There at the end, he’d looked at me in a way that no other man ever had. I couldn’t even put into words what that look had done to me.

It wrecked me, completely.

It was so honest and raw that it made the rest of my life feel fake and insignificant in comparison. Everything was changing too fast. Even now, thinking about it, I felt like something in me was disintegrating faster than I could hold it together.

I jumped when Cade’s arms wrapped around my middle. His chest pressed into my back, and he placed a few kisses down the side of my neck. His touch was almost enough to deflate my worries, but they stayed there, lurking at the back of my throat, making it harder to breathe. Even so, my body was at ease with his. I leaned back into his arms.

His lips hovered next to my ear, and he whispered, “Have I told you how gorgeous you are?”

I swallowed. “Not in a few minutes.”

“Mmm . . .” The scruff on his jaw tickled the sensitive skin of my neck and he said, “As long as you know.”

He was too good for me. That much was abundantly clear. He was sweet and thoughtful and generous in every way. He never missed an opportunity to reassure me or compliment me or touch me. I wasn’t used to that kind of affection. I shied away from it in every other part of my life, but coming from him I soaked it up like rain on arid ground.

I was tired of thinking, so I turned in his arms and wrapped myself up in his embrace. His chest was still bare, but he’d slipped on a pair of pajama pants that hung low on his hips. I pressed my cheek to his chest and looked down. Seeing our bare feet facing each other pulled something in my chest, and my breath caught in my throat. The intimacy of this embrace made me panic, but at the same time, the thought of moving out of it was painful.

He tugged me down onto the bed and pulled the covers over us. I concentrated on breathing normally as he slipped an arm over my waist. He reached over me to turn off the lamp beside the bed. In the dark, he pressed a kiss to the back of my neck, and I shivered.

I felt like crying.

I just . . . this wasn’t my life. Things like this didn’t happen to me, and if they did, it never lasted. Girls like me didn’t get guys like Cade.

Maybe it would take a week, maybe less, but I would end up screwing this up. It was what I did. The only thing I was better at than destroying things was singing, and with my behavior today, I was beginning to realize I was in danger of destroying that, too.

More than anything, I didn’t trust myself. With Mace I’d been obsessed with him a few weeks ago. I liked him enough to go through this elaborate scheme just to keep my parents from scaring him off. Then boom, I woke up and couldn’t care less about our relationship.

That was how I worked. Or rather . . . how I didn’t work.

I couldn’t do that to Cade. What if we got together, and I woke up one day and wanted out? I liked him more than I liked myself, so I’d probably end up sacrificing my own happiness to keep from hurting him. It would be just like all the years I played at being Alex to keep my parents happy. But instead of blond curls and cheerleading, it would likely mean kids and a minivan.

I may not have been the most self-aware person in the world, but I knew enough to know that if I let myself care about him, I would sabotage my life to better his.

Or I would sabotage it all just because I could.

Or maybe I wouldn’t have to sabotage it. Cade was obviously getting over that Bliss girl. Now, she . . . she made sense with him in a way I never would. What if being with me was just a phase, an overcorrection after things didn’t work out with her?

How long would it take for him to realize that I wasn’t really what he wanted? And how badly would it hurt when he did?

I felt sick from my stomach to my soul.

I waited until Cade’s breathing evened out, and I was certain that he was asleep. Then I slipped out of his arms and slipped on my shorts. I’d only wanted a little space to think, to breathe. But the minute he was no longer touching me, my blood pumped faster, singing run, run, run with every beat. I looked back at him, the hard lines of his body, the relaxed expression on his face, and I did just that.

I grabbed my heels and my purse and opened his front door as quietly as I could. It was nearly four in the morning. I couldn’t walk home alone in this neighborhood, but I couldn’t stay either. I was minutes away from a meltdown of ugly proportions.

So, I called Spence to pick me up. He lived in Northeast Philly and had a car. Despite the late hour, he answered on the second ring. I sighed in relief at hearing his voice, and tears pricked at my eyes.

Shit.

“Spence, I’m so sorry, but can you come pick me up?”

His voice was groggy, but he didn’t hesitate before he said, “Yeah. Yeah, of course. Where are you?”

I gave him the cross streets, and he told me he’d be here in about ten minutes. I ended the call and pressed the phone to my chest.

I knew what I was doing was awful, but if I was preventing a bigger tragedy did that make it so terrible?

I needed to stick with my intuition. Cade deserved better than me. And I couldn’t give him what he needed. He needed a girl who could commit to him with the same care and complete abandon that he gave her. That wasn’t me. I was broken and patched and missing pieces. I couldn’t give him all of me, because I didn’t even have that. There was a piece of me still on that highway, a piece of me buried with my sister. I’d left shards all over this city, and he didn’t deserve to have to clean up that mess.

And he wouldn’t want to . . . not when the luster wore off and he got a good look at the girl he’d caught. Then he’d see me for what I really was . . . toxic. And he would want nothing to do with me.

I sat at the top of the stairs at the end of Cade’s hallway. I wrapped my arms around my middle. The muscles of my body were tense, once again trying to hold myself together by sheer force. I remember the way his arms had wrapped around me tonight and that time on Thanksgiving when he’d been the one to hold me together.

And I lost it. My vision swam with tears, and I held my breath, like that would keep the tears at bay, too. I shuddered and pressed my face into my knees. For the first time in nine years, the first time since Alex, I couldn’t push the tears down. I couldn’t control them. I cried. I sobbed. The emotions ripped free from my chest, taking pieces of me with it.

It was four in the morning. If I couldn’t cry now, when could I?

So, I let the guilt wash over me, and I said good-bye to something beautiful and terrifying and delicate that I’d held in my soul for a few short hours. I said good-bye to something that should never have been mine.

A door swung open on the floor below me, and laughter floated up the stairs. I tried to wipe my eyes, but I was too far gone and not fast enough. Cade’s friend Milo and a pretty girl were at the bottom of the stairs, staring up at me. I ducked my head and scooted close to the wall so they could get by. The girl walked past me in silence, but Milo sat down beside me.

I pressed my lips together and tried to concentrate on breathing.

“It’s Max, right?”

I didn’t think I could speak without crying, so I nodded instead.

His eyes took in my appearance, and I knew I must have looked like a complete wreck. He sighed. “Did you at least leave a note?”

I looked at him in shock.

“What? You’re out here at four in the morning, crying, with major sex hair. It doesn’t take much to put things together. All I’m asking is if you told him why?”

God, I didn’t think I could feel lower than I already did.

Wrong.

My phone buzzed. Spence.

I knew it was terrible, but I wasn’t changing my mind. I looked at Milo and shook my head.

“Tell him I’m sorry.”

Then I ran, leaving behind the best thing that could never happen to me.

I stayed in bed the next day until the sun was on its way down again.

He didn’t call.

It wasn’t that I wanted him to, but I just thought . . . I don’t know what I’d thought.

He let people go. He’d told me that. He didn’t fight for the last girl, and he didn’t fight for me. If I was honest, a small, terrified part of me had been counting on that. If he came for me, I didn’t think I would be able to say no. And this was for the best. I had to believe that or I’d never be able to get out of bed again.

I was saving us both.

So I kept busy, passing the time as best as I could.

I hadn’t told Mom and Dad anything about “breaking up” with Cade. It didn’t matter anyway. By the time I’d battled off the depression enough to call Mom, they’d already booked both of our flights.

I would tell them something when I got there—he was sick or a family emergency or something. Hell, maybe I’d just tell them the truth.

What did it matter anymore?

I didn’t have that much longer until I left for Oklahoma, and this all came crashing down. The important thing was squeezing in as much rehearsal time as possible before then, especially now that we had to find a new drummer to replace Mace.

Music was what mattered now. The only thing that mattered.

29

Cade

The bed was cold when I rolled over, and already I had a sinking feeling. I didn’t know if it was how quiet she was as we went to sleep or the way she’d clung to me in that hug, but I just knew something wasn’t right. Though she’d lay right beside me, she’d felt miles away. Even so, I got up and checked the bathroom.

Empty.

I tried the living room and the kitchen.

Empty.

I called her name, and it only echoed back at me.

Empty.

That was how I felt, too. I sat on the bed, numb, but not really surprised. I should have listened to what my brain had been telling me all along. It was obvious just from looking at Max that we came from different worlds. I was naive to think she could ever be happy with someone like me. And I was naive to think it had only been physical attraction. It was so much more than that. All I knew was that I was pretty damn tired of having my heart handed to me in a blender.

Eventually the emptiness was filled up by anger, and I ripped the sheets off my bed and threw them down. They still smelled like her, and I refused to let her linger in my life the way I’d done with Bliss. If she didn’t want me, fine.

I was probably dodging a bullet anyway.

I stayed calm as I stripped the bed. I grabbed a laundry basket and dumped the dirty clothes already in it to make room for the sheets. I checked the clock.

7:21 a.m.

That wasn’t too early to go to the Laundromat.

The sooner she was out of my life the better. I had to keep moving forward. One foot in front of the other.

But where was the damn detergent?

It wasn’t in the bathroom, where I normally kept it.

I checked the kitchen and my closet, and all the while the muscles in my neck and back grew tenser until they were as hard and unforgiving as stone.

I searched my bedroom, but instead of finding detergent, I found Max’s sheer black tights.

I stared at them while my control unraveled. I wanted to throw them in the trash. I wanted to return them. I wanted to keep them. I was a mess of wants, none of which mattered, because she didn’t want me.

I picked up the lamp beside my bed and threw it against the wall. I watched it shatter, and wished I had the satisfaction of seeing myself break that way. It was worse, when you couldn’t see or touch the part of you that was in pieces.

The anger only made me feel worse. It gave way to guilt too easily, and after a few days, I was left feeling even emptier than before.

Over the next week, I didn’t spend much time at home. I couldn’t. Every time I touched my door, laid something on my table, or slept in my bed, I saw her. I could still smell her on my pillow even after washing my sheets. Or maybe the memory was so ingrained that I thought I could. I saw her behind my closed eyes while I tried to sleep at night. So I avoided home as much as I could. One night with her had tainted it.

I put in more hours at the library, stayed longer after class, and volunteered to help with random stuff around the theatre department. You need someone to organize that storage room that no one has opened in years? Sure!

You need someone to build that prop? Gladly!

I made it my goal to be the best in every assignment, in every class. To be perfect. And as such I demolished my midterms. I just had to fill my mind with enough things that there wasn’t room for her. That was the plan at least, but Max was larger than life and tended to beat out the other stuff no matter how hard I tried. And when classes ended for the holiday, there was nothing left to keep my mind busy.

Near the end of the week, I came home to find Milo sitting on my couch, eating a bag of my potato chips. I hadn’t told Milo what happened because I didn’t want to relive it more than I already had.

I said, “You know . . . I gave you that spare key for emergencies, not so that you could come in here and mooch my food.”

He swallowed the graveyard of chips in his mouth and said, “Where the hell have you been all week, Winston?”

I threw my bag in a chair and shrugged off my coat. If he was going to try to get me to some bar or club or anything, I wasn’t up for it. I headed to the kitchen and said noncommittally, “Around.”

He stood but didn’t follow me into the kitchen.

“You all right?”

I opened the cabinet to get a glass, and said, “Yeah, why do you ask?”

“I saw her, Cade.”

My whole body tensed, and I nearly dropped the glass I’d gotten from the cabinet. I took a deep breath and opened the fridge to grab the pitcher of filtered water.

I let the fridge block my face as I asked, “Her?”

“Quit bullshitting me, hermano. Be real with me.”

My hand shook as I poured the water.

“What? We had sex. She left. It’s not that big of a deal.”

“Not that big of a deal? I will call bullshit on that so many times that the word bullshit will lose all meaning.”

I sighed. “What do you want me to say?”

I took a drink and set my glass on the counter.

He shrugged. “Well, you could start by telling me how it was.”

I saw red, and was halfway across the room before he cried, “Whoa, man! Kidding!” My ears were roaring, and Milo was standing on the futon with an arm stretched out between us. “I think I’ve proved my point about this being a big deal.”

I exhaled slowly and rubbed a hand across my face.

“You want me to say I’m miserable? Fine. I’m miserable. Are you going to make me take some more dumbass shots? Because that’s not going to cut it. Just drop it.”

Milo whistled. “It’s about time you got angry.”

“And getting angrier by the second.”

He asked, “Did you go after her?”

I took a deep inhale and exhale, but that only made me think of Max.

“No, I didn’t go after her. What’s the point?”

“The point is to call her on her bullshit like I’m doing for you.”

I shook my head. “I think her leaving was a pretty clear indication of how she feels.”

She knew I wouldn’t go after her. She knew I didn’t chase people. And she’d left anyway. That was a pretty glaring indication that it was over as far as I was concerned.

I was done with this conversation. I returned to the kitchen and took a long drink of my water.

“She was crying, Cade.”

Time stuttered.

“She what?”

Milo stood in the door to the kitchen, his face serious. I couldn’t have heard him right. He said, “That’s why I’m here. I’ve been trying to catch you all week. I came home when she was leaving the other night. The girl was torn up, sitting at the top of the stairs waiting on a ride. It looked like she’d been crying for a while.”

Something twisted in my chest, and even now I wanted to find her and comfort her, even if I was the problem.

“Did she say anything to you?”

“Just to tell you that she was sorry.”

I sank onto the end of the futon and buried my head in my hands.

Milo continued, “All I’m saying is . . . whatever is between you guys isn’t nothing. Girls like that don’t cry over nothing.”

It hurt to get my hopes up, and they hadn’t even been shot down yet. The crash would be infinitely worse.

If I fought for her and lost . . . I just . . . I couldn’t. She couldn’t stay and I couldn’t go after her. We were both crippled by our pasts. And for once . . . I needed to think about myself first.

“You’re overthinking this. I’m not saying you need to lay it all on the line, tattoo her name on your ass, or write I love you across the sky. Just talk to her. Feel it out. If you never see her again, you’ll always wonder.”

If I had overthought a few more things where she was concerned, maybe I wouldn’t be in this situation. Besides . . . crying didn’t mean she had feelings for me. It could have just been the guilt getting to her. If she had really been upset, she would have come back. She would have called. She would have done something.

“I have to go, Milo. I’m working with the after-school program today.”

Volunteering was the perfect antidote to how I was feeling. Most of those kids had it infinitely worse than I ever had. One afternoon with them would kick loose all of the self-pity that I couldn’t seem to shake. Those kids lived in a stark reality, and it was time I woke up and realized I was there, too. Hoping for the impossible with Max was only going to mess me up more.

“You’re being stupid, hermano.”

No. I thought it was the smartest damn thing I’d done in ages.

30

Max

It was a shit storm of an idea, but somehow I’d managed to bury all of my concerns until I was facing down his door. I had a completely legitimate reason to be here. My parents had already bought the plane tickets, so he might as well have his. Or maybe I just wanted to see him so badly that I didn’t care about how it could go wrong.

He had to be angry. I’d slipped out without a note. I hadn’t called. I didn’t do well with fights—too messy. Fighting was for people who cared, and I made it my policy not to.

So then why was I more worried about the possibility that he wouldn’t be angry? That he wouldn’t care at all?

I raised my hand, and before I could change my mind, I knocked. My heart slammed against my rib cage, and my mouth went dry.

I was going to see him. If I thought I’d wanted that, craved it, before, the feeling paled in comparison to the spike of anticipation I felt in those silent, waiting seconds. He was under my skin, buried in my thoughts. I could still see him, smell him, and feel him as if it had happened moments ago instead of days. A week.

How could I go so freaking crazy in a week? I’d lost all direction, all sense of what I wanted. My compass just kept spinning and spinning with no true north in sight.

The thought of Cade was the only thing that made me feel steady.

If I could just see him, things would be easier. Closure. That’s what I needed. If I could just see that he was okay, I could stop feeling guilty. I could stop obsessing over whether or not I’d made a mistake.

After a few moments, I knocked again.

No answer. Not even a sound on the other side of the door.

He wasn’t here. The influx of emotions rocked through me, and I couldn’t tell whether I was more devastated or relieved.

“You just missed him.”

The voice came from behind me, and I spun so fast that I lost my balance and had to steady myself against the door. It was his neighbor, Milo. The same one that saw me leaving a week ago.

My eyes widened, and my mind blanked.

“I’m just . . . I . . .”

He held up a hand and said, “You don’t have to explain it to me.”

That was good because I didn’t have an explanation. I was hoping I would miraculously know what words to say when I saw Cade. That I wouldn’t just hold out the tickets and then run for it. Hell, I still didn’t even know exactly what I wanted out of all this.

I cleared my throat and fixed my eyes on his forehead so that I didn’t have to look him in the eye.

“Is he . . . how is he?”

Milo leaned against the doorjamb and crossed his arms casually over his chest.

“He’s good. Really good, actually.”

“Oh.”

This was so bad. I needed to get out of here. I turned toward the stairs, and Milo stepped in front of me.

“You could ask him yourself. He’s at the rec center on campus for that after-school program he does.”

I couldn’t.

“That’s okay. I’ll just see him another time.”

Milo laughed. “No, you won’t. If you don’t do it now, you’ll never do it.”

“What makes you think that?”

“Because I recognize a kindred spirit. It took all you had to do this once. It won’t happen a second time. Believe me, I’ve been there.”

I squirmed under his gaze, and he grinned at me. He was so smug with his assessment of me that I was surprised he didn’t suffocate under all that arrogance.

“You don’t know what you’re talking about. I just came to give him something that belongs to him.”

Milo didn’t look like he believed me. I didn’t know if I believed myself.

“I’ll just come by another time.”

I turned and bolted down the stairs. For the second time, I ran away from Cade’s apartment. And even though I wouldn’t admit it to Milo, I knew he was right. So, I turned north toward the Temple campus. I had the whole walk there to either gather my courage or change my mind.

The rec center was easy enough to find, but finding Cade was a different story.

There were so many kids. Hundreds of them. Of all ages and genders and nationalities. They played chess and basketball and learned to dance. The building rang with their cheers and laughter. A group of kids ran past me, screaming excitedly, and I was nearly trampled in the process. I watched them, smiling. Their stumbling feet led my eyes right to Cade.

A large group of children surrounded him and a pretty blonde. Cade and the girl were wearing red T-shirts with the word VOLUNTEER stamped across their backs, and the children hung on their every word.

Cade had his arm stretched in front of his chest, pulling it back with the other arm. The T-shirt he wore was just snug enough to hint at the curve of his chest and shoulders. You could tell from looking at him that he was in shape, but not even I had expected his body to be as gorgeous as it was. Just closing my eyes, I could call it to mind all too easily.

He shook his arms out and said, “All right, guys. Now that we’ve stretched out our bodies, we need to stretch out our faces. Your facial expressions are very important as an actor. So, let’s do a little Lion Face/Lemon Face. Pretend that you’ve just tasted the most sour lemon in the history of the universe.”

The kids puckered their lips and scrunched up their faces. Cade walked around the circle, making a funny face with them.

He stopped beside a boy, maybe seven years old, who was concentrating extremely hard on the face he was making.

“How sour is that lemon, Jamal?”

The boy hopped from one foot to the other, shaking his head, and said, “SO sour, Mr. Cade.”

I smothered a laugh into my hand.

“Okay, now I want you to get mad that that lemon was so sour and roar like a lion.”

The kids dropped the squished expressions and stretched their faces wide. Their eyes bulged, and their lungs bellowed, and it was kind of terrifying. Such stuff as horror movies are made of.

Cade then proceeded to shout, “Lemon Face! Lion Face!” in quick succession, and the kids switched back and forth with glee. After a few rounds the kids were jumping around and screaming whether they were making lion or lemon faces.

Cade made eye contact with his girl partner and chuckled. The girl looked at him from beneath her lashes in that universal “I want you” way. He stood next to her, and she bumped his shoulder with hers.

Watching them, I felt like the floor had given way beneath my feet.

Milo had said that Cade was good. Really good.

Was this why he’d wanted me to come here? My stomach twisted. I looked back at the blonde and wondered what Really Good’s name was.

This was a mistake. This was his world. All laughter and good deeds and sunshine. This was exactly the reason I’d left. My life was dark, depressing, and decaying in comparison. I don’t know what I was thinking coming here.

Had I expected our lives to just fall together? Did I really believe that all our differences and all the baggage piled up between us would just melt away because . . . What? Because I missed him?

Or did I think we could pick back up with our friendship like nothing had changed?

Everything had changed.

I’d never thought of myself as naive, but I supposed there was a first time for everything. I took one last look at him. His smile was so gorgeous that it was painful to watch. I was seconds away from turning. I just wanted to soak up a few more moments. Then his eyes met mine.

He blinked, like maybe he was seeing things, and his smile disappeared. That was all the insight I needed. I turned just as I heard him say, “Amy, can you take over?”

I darted between two rows of tables with kids playing chess.

“Max!”

I picked up my pace and pushed through a set of double doors. I could hear him behind me, and I contemplated darting out into traffic. That would have been easier to face. Instead, I took a deep breath and made myself turn south and continue as calmly down Broad Street as I could.

The next time he said my name, it was quiet, and it sent a quiver down my spine. “Max.” I had a feeling I would regret it, but I didn’t have it in me to keep running. I schooled my features and turned to face him.

“Hi, Cade.”

His expression gave nothing away as he asked, “What are you doing here?”

Straight to the point then.

I fumbled with my purse, glad that I’d prepared at least that much.

“I came to give you this. Milo told me you were here.” I held out an envelope and snatched my hand away as soon as he took it. I swallowed and said, “My parents had already bought your ticket. They got a refundable one, so I thought, um, I thought you could just change it from Oklahoma to Texas.”

He didn’t open the envelope, not even to look at the ticket inside. He just stared at me, his jaw set firmly and asked, “Is that all?”

In my head, I saw that blond girl touching him. That’s the second blonde I’d seen him with, both much more his type. Both the kind of girl my parents wished I was. If anything, this visit proved that I was right.

“That’s all,” I told him.

“Then why did you run?”

I did run, didn’t I? How embarrassing.

Because I was on the verge of doing something very stupid . . . like thinking I had made a mistake. Or thinking I stood a chance.

“Because you were busy. I was going to go grab a cookie from that food truck on campus, and then come back.” I was going to go stuff my face. Attractive. Good save, Max. “You should get back, though. I didn’t mean to take you away from the kids.” And Amy. I kind of wanted to maim Amy.

Silence grew up between us like weeds, and I didn’t know what else to say. I should turn around and leave. I should cut my losses, burn the end of the rope before it frayed further, but I couldn’t.

What if this was the last time that I saw him?

“I should go,” I said, except I didn’t leave. My feet had grown roots and burrowed into the concrete. “Um . . . it was good seeing you.”

His eyes searched mine, and I could see the distrust in them, like he was puzzling out my words, trying to decide if they were genuine.

I didn’t blame him.

Half the time I wasn’t even sure if I was genuine.

His expression was guarded in a way that it never had been before. Wearing a mask was my defense mechanism, and I hated that I had pushed him to it.

Whatever connection we’d had was long gone. I just needed to accept that.

I pasted on a smile and said, “Good-bye, Cade.”

31

Cade

Max, wait!” I didn’t really know what I was saying until the words had already left my mouth. “What time do we fly out?”

She turned, and something I couldn’t decipher flickered in her eyes. I’d been trying so hard to remain ambivalent, to not let her presence get to me, but I just couldn’t.

The look of shock on her face was pretty spot-on for how I felt. The moment the words left my mouth, I regretted it. But for some reason when she asked, “We?” I didn’t back out.

I looked at her wide blue eyes and said, “If you still want me to go, I’m in. I made you a promise, and I’m going to follow through.” Even if it killed me.

She crossed her arms over her chest, and surveyed me. I kept my face passive and my body relaxed. I didn’t want her to think this was a ploy to get her back. It wasn’t. This charade had been really important to her, and if she thought she needed me to face her parents, I wasn’t going to let her down. I was afraid if I didn’t go, she’d keep right on pretending.

“You would do that for me?” she asked.

I was a little afraid to examine what I was willing to do for her.

I weighed my words carefully before saying, “We made a deal. I would do it for anyone.” I swear she winced, and I had to bite my tongue to keep from telling her the truth.

She swallowed and nodded. “Okay, then. Um, thanks. We fly out Sunday morning at eleven.”

“Okay. I’ll come early, and we’ll catch a cab to the airport.”

“Right, well, I’ll see you Sunday then.”

I watched her go for few minutes before returning to the rec center.

Bad idea didn’t even begin to describe what I’d just done.

Over the next few days, I kept finding myself being drawn back to that airline ticket. Sometimes I would just stare at the numbers—dates and times and flights—until they stopped making sense. Other times I would hold the ticket in my hands and concentrate, as if I might be able to feel her intentions behind it just by touching it.

Was it just a ticket? Or did it represent something more?

I was sitting on my couch, holding the ticket, when the phone rang.

I looked at the caller ID and smiled. Talking to a friend from back home was exactly what I needed.

I hit accept and held the phone to my ear. “Rusty, if you’re calling to bitch about how much being a grown-up sucks, don’t expect a pep talk because I’ve got nothing.”

Rusty laughed on the other end, and just like that, all the time and miles between friends had been erased.

He said, “Tell me about it. Can we go back in time and tell our past selves to flunk a few classes so we can go back to being in college?”

“Hey, I am still in college.”

“Ah, grad school doesn’t count. That’s like college 2.0—all of the work and none of the fun.”

“And working full-time is so much better?” I asked.

“Hell no. Yesterday someone spit coffee at me. Okay, so on the counter in front of me, but still I watched liquid arch from a stranger’s mouth toward me. This is my life.”

We laughed, and then the line went quiet.

After a few seconds, he said, “Now that I’ve buttered you up with laughs, I’ll get straight to the point . . .” And so the other shoe drops. “Bliss. I heard about the engagement. I’m sorry, man.”

I picked the airline ticket back up, and held it as I said, “You and everybody else on Facebook.”

“How are you doing with it?”

I said, “Okay.”

And I was just fine . . . where Bliss was concerned anyway.

“Cade . . .”

“I am, Rusty. I promise. I mean, I saw them a week or two ago, and it was awkward as hell. And depressing, because I’m pretty sure my friendship with Bliss is DOA. But I’m okay. There’s actually this other girl.”

I hadn’t told anyone about Max. I’d liked feeling that she was this awesome secret that I refused to share with the world. But she had my mind so twisted up that I had to tell someone.

“Another girl, huh?” he asked. “What’s she like?”

“A total mind fuck, that’s what she’s like.”

Rusty said, “I like the sound of her already.” He would. “So you’re together?”

“Not exactly.”

“Are you about to be?” he asked.

I looked back at that damn ticket and said, “Um . . . I doubt it.”

“Were you together?”

“Sort of.”

“Damn I’m confused, and I’m not even part of it.”

“Tell me about it.”

“If I’m reading between the Cade lines, I’d say you still want to be with her.”

“I don’t know, man. I do, and I don’t. She’s amazing, but she’s got a whole baggage claim to herself, man. If I’m honest, she stands to screw me up way more than Bliss ever did.”

“This is why I don’t date girls.”

“Not a solution I’m willing to take, man.”

He said, “It sounds like you’ve already made up your mind. You know this girl isn’t good for you.”

I did know that, but it didn’t stop me from thinking about her constantly. I had to keep reminding myself of how it felt waking up alone that morning just to stop myself from calling her.

“You’re right. I just want life to be simple again, you know?”

That’s what I’d seen in Bliss. I knew it now. A life with her would have been simple and nice and safe. Complication free.

“Good luck with that, Winston. Life isn’t ever simple. Not until you’re dead.”

The phone call went on for a while after that, but my mind stayed stuck on those words. We talked about what other friends were doing and the possibility of getting the gang together for New Year’s.

But I thought about how I’d spent twenty-two years chasing after a life that I’d convinced myself I’d wanted. A simple, predictable, perfect life. But it still had yet to become any of those things. I’d been accumulating talents and accomplishments, marking them off this unwritten checklist that had been in the back of my mind since I was a kid. But what did it all add up to?

The truth was . . . none of that kept people from leaving. Nothing could, if the person was determined to go. The only question was how long you were willing to chase them.

Rusty had to get to work, so we wrapped up the call with promises to talk again soon. I had hoped talking with him would give me perspective, but I still didn’t know what I wanted, and my thoughts were more knotted up than ever.

32

Max

I refused to be nervous about spending time with Cade. Not when I had so many other things to worry about, but thoughts of him kept creeping into my head.

He’d ruined me.

Before I’d been like ice—cold and cutting and solid. But for weeks, he’d been thawing me out, and I hated it.

There was no control like this, no protection. And I had fewer than twenty-four hours until the end of the world. Also known as family Christmas.

Home was the lion’s den. My scars were always more sensitive there because that’s where I’d gotten the wounds. Now more than ever I needed my armor.

So today was about strengthening my resolve.

My mom had called seventeen and a half times today already. The half because one of the phone calls lasted so long that classifying it as one call just didn’t seem fair.

My brother and his wife, Bethany, had arrived yesterday, and I could feel the pretentiousness creeping through the phone just hearing them in the background.

I still hadn’t packed my bags. I had two sets of clothes folded and ready to go—my traditional holiday garb of turtlenecks and scarfs . . . or my normal clothes. As much as I wanted to make Cade happy, this wasn’t a decision that I could make lightly.

When I came home from my shift at the tattoo parlor, I reached out to tug open the door to my building, and it didn’t budge. I blinked, and then pulled again, but nothing changed.

I stepped back and looked around my street to make sure I’d gone to the right building. There was the Laundromat next door, which meant I was in the right place. I stepped forward and yanked on the door again. Nothing.

The door was locked.

The door to this building hadn’t been locked in ages, almost a year, I was sure.

I fished out my keys, and it took me a few seconds to even remember which key worked on this door because it had been so long. What had made the landlord fix it now? I’d given up bugging him about it months ago because nothing worked.

Unless he hadn’t been the one to fix it.

I froze with the key halfway to the lock. Would Cade have done that? Even though we were . . . well, not whatever we had been.

I weighed the probability in my mind of who could have fixed the door. Between my bum of a landlord and Golden Boy—the choice was obvious.

My heartbeat sped up faster just thinking about the possibility.

Maybe it didn’t mean anything. Maybe it wasn’t even him.

But what if it was and what if it did?

I thawed a little bit more.

I shook my head, and focused on my keys. When I found the right one, I shoved it into the lock a little too hard. Then I went upstairs and faced my packing options. I took a few turtlenecks, just in case, but for the most part I packed my normal clothes, the clothes I thought Cade would have approved of.

When I couldn’t hold back my nerves about tomorrow or my fantasies about Cade being the one to fix my door, I went to bed for the night, hoping I could stay strong . . . against everything.

My head was pounding, and it sounded like I was underwater. The world was so far away and too bright after so long alone in the dark. A light shined in my eye, and I flinched. A face hovered over mine, and my heart turned over in my chest.

Alex.

It had to be.

I tried to say her name, but my tongue felt like sandpaper, and my throat burned with the effort. All I managed was a whisper.

“Don’t try to talk, Rest your vocal cords.”

The voice was male, not Alex’s. My world chose that moment to sharpen, to emerge from the blur of my vision. I licked my lips. They were sticky and tasted like pennies.

Two fingers pressed into my wrist, and the man startled rattling off numbers to someone else I couldn’t see.

I registered the steady rumble of an engine, and whatever I was lying on swayed slightly.

I was in an ambulance. They were taking me away.

I panicked, and tried to sit up, but my shoulders were strapped down. I was trapped again. I bucked and squirmed, and a sharp pain shot up my leg. I tried to scream, but nothing came out.

Empty.

The pressure in my head increased until I thought it might explode.

I mouthed Alex’s name again and again, even though I couldn’t say it.

“You’re going to be okay,” the paramedic assured me. “We got to you in time.”

No. No, they hadn’t.

They were too late.

I saw the paramedic pick up a syringe, and then my world went fuzzy again. The panic subsided, but the memories did not.

It all came too late.

I woke up, gasping, my arms and legs slick with sweat and stuck to the sheets. My dreams were always worse around the holidays, but that had been the first in a while. I’d been too preoccupied with other things of late for my old demons to show their heads. I guess it was too much to hope for that they’d finally ended.

I tried to go back to sleep, but now the accident was fresh in my mind. Every time a car passed outside, the lights reflected through my window, and I shot up in bed, afraid another dream was starting.

Finally I decided that sleep wasn’t going to be a possibility. I got up, and took a long shower. I used the time to clear my head, and focus on what I needed to do on this trip.

The end goal was music. That was what I had to remember. Music was my constant. As eager as I was to see Cade again, I couldn’t afford to be distracted. Not by him, not by the past, not by anything.

I used the extra time to straighten my hair, a rare occurrence for me, but it kept my hands busy. Mom called twice to make sure I was up, and the second time I just put her on speakerphone and let her chatter on, interjecting the occasional “Yes,” and “Really?” to keep her going.

I pulled a scoop-neck shirt over my head, and looked in the mirror. The tattoos weren’t blatantly on display, but they definitely weren’t hidden. I closed my eyes and tried to imagine how my parents would react.

But for the life of me, I couldn’t picture it. Or maybe I didn’t want to.

I was grabbing my coat and scarf when a knock sounded on my door.

Cade.

My head was spinning.

“Just a second!”

I leaned a hand against the nearest wall and took a second to calm myself and fortify my walls.

Don’t think about him. Think about music.

I imagined a quick cigarette, but it did little to calm my nerves. Finally, I just grabbed the doorknob, and pulled.

He stood on the other side of my door, leaning against my doorjamb in a way that was so comfortable and sexy that I thought I had to be dreaming.

I pinched myself, but nothing changed.

So much for not thinking about him. All the emotions I’d narrowly kept in check this week hit me hard and fast. I tried to swallow it down, but it was just too much.

The expression on his face was unreadable, and I couldn’t seem to get my brain to process the fact that he was standing in front of me. It took all of my brainpower to utter, “Hi.” Then the rest of my thoughts fizzled out completely.

He pushed off the door, and stood in front of me with his hands in his pockets. My traitorous eyes traced from his arms to his shoulders to the straight edge of his jaw before I managed to get myself under control.

If just seeing him could affect me like this, how was I ever going to survive the holidays with him at my parents? I looked up, and he smiled like there was no painful history between us, like he wasn’t dying just from being in such close proximity. It took all my strength to resist touching him, and he stood there, the picture of ease and comfort.

I stared, battling with myself until he cleared his throat and said, “You ready?”

Not even close.

33

Cade

When she opened the door, the sight of her undid me. Her hair was longer and so blond it was almost white. Her normal curls were gone, and it fell in long, straight sheets. My heart sunk because I thought she’d tamed her hair color to appease her parents. Then she turned to the side to gesture me in, and the light hit her hair through a window. It was not white, but a very pale purple.

She smiled, and she seemed genuinely glad to see me.

“The hair looks great,” I said.

The top half of her hair was pulled back so that it didn’t cover the birds on her neck. Her clothing wasn’t outrageous, but it was still her. More importantly, it didn’t feel like she was hiding.

She shrugged. “You told me to be myself, so I am.”

I didn’t have to fake the smile that spread across my face.

Max moved toward the couch and fiddled with her carry-on, giving me the chance to take her in completely. She looked nervous, but I was sure it was just about seeing her parents.

I was a mess inside. I couldn’t make up my mind whether I wanted to turn around and walk out the door, or pull her into my arms and kiss her. I settled for behaving as naturally as possible.

I didn’t know what to say, so I settled for being useful. As soon as she had zipped up her duffel bag, I leaned around her and took it. My chest brushed against her back, and she stiffened.

I moved back quickly, but the damage had already been done. She moved away from me to grab a few more of her things.

“Are you nervous?” I asked.

She looked up at me, her blue eyes wide and questioning. Her eyes made this so much more difficult.

When she didn’t answer, I added, “About your parents?”

She breathed a laugh and said, “Only enough to throw up.”

It was good to hear her laugh.

“Oh, is that all?”

I followed her out into the hallway and waited while she locked her apartment. Over her shoulder she said, “ I should warn you, my sister-in-law, Bethany, is the Antichrist in panty hose.”

I laughed, and she whipped around to face me. She looked so surprised. I could only imagine what she had expected out of this trip. Maybe she thought I’d try to get her back. Probably she just expected me to be broken up over what she’d done.

I was sick of being that guy.

There was no reason I couldn’t act normal. I was an actor for God’s sake.

She said, “You laugh, but I’m serious. Spending time with her is like taking a cheese grater to the brain.”

“It can’t be that bad.”

She gave me a look and said, “When she married my brother, she insisted on having white doves released when they kissed. They got married in Oklahoma. She’s lucky someone in the audience didn’t stand up and open fire.”

“So she’s a bit crazy, but aren’t all women like that about their weddings?”

We emerged onto the street and she added, “She told me I wasn’t allowed to be a bridesmaid because my skin tone would clash with the dresses she’d chosen.”

I winced, but she wasn’t done. “Yeah. She was also runner-up for Miss Oklahoma like eight years ago, and she still maintains that the pageant was fixed, and she should have won.”

A cab was waiting for us at the curb, and I opened the door for Max to slide in first. “I get it. Don’t leave Max alone with Bethany or the sister-in-law might lose her waving hand.”

As we set off for the airport, the conversation became forced. It was harder to pretend when we were in such a small space and had a cabdriver as an audience. She twisted her hands nervously in her lap. One hand wandered up to the skin of her neck and brushed across the birds on her neck.

Before I could stop myself I asked, “Why birds?”

She looked like she’d forgotten that I was there completely. I wished I was capable of the same. She worried her lips with her teeth and I said, “Sorry. You don’t have to answer that.”

“It’s okay. It’s pretty cliché. Before there was a bell jar, there was a cage.” She curved her hand around her neck and said, “I got these when I dropped out of UPenn. The first time I tried to stop pretending. They were supposed to keep me looking up and moving forward. Now they feel like a lie.”

I reached out and pulled her hand away from her neck. I ignored the shock of warmth and said, “It’s going to be okay, Max.”

I released her hand, and she wrapped both arms around her middle, like she was holding herself together.

“You’re really dreading this, aren’t you?”

“You have no idea. My mother is so hard-core about Christmas. She’s like the love child of Mrs. Claus and the Terminator. If you even look like you’re not filled with Christmas cheer, she’ll be shoving eggnog and cookies and Christmas carols down your throat.” She laughed, and it felt forced, but I could tell she was ready for a subject change, so I went with it.

I shrugged and said, “I like eggnog.”

She groaned, but her frustration gave way to a smile. Each new smile looked a little less faked, and I made a silent goal to put her completely at ease. I was a masochist. I was just as bad as that crazy monk in The Da Vinci Code, only her smile was my whip.

“So, um.” She fidgeted with her hands. “I should have said it before, but thank you for showing up. . . . I’m glad I won’t be alone.”

“You’re welcome.”

I thought that would be the end of it, but her cheeks flushed and she continued, “And well, we don’t have to . . . that is, if you’re uncomfortable about pretending to be together, we don’t have to really do anything, um, couple-like.”

I forced a smile. I’d been thinking of that almost constantly. Part of me thought I should avoid couple behavior at all costs, but another part of me saw it as a golden opportunity.

“Pretending won’t bother me.” Maybe saying it out loud would make it truer. “It’s not a big deal. Acting is what I do.”

She nodded, her lips pursed into a straight line. “Right, of course, I just wanted to . . . offer.”

Max’s anxiety continued to build so that by the time we boarded the plane, she looked ready to turn around and go back.

She gestured for me to take the window seat, and she sat on the aisle, leaning as far away from me as she could. She kicked off her shoes and pulled up her knees, like she was at home sitting on her couch. When we were high enough in the air that we could use electronics, she pulled out her phone and tucked her earbuds in. I could hear her music from here, and I wondered if it helped to drown out her fears.

I closed my eyes, leaned my head against the window, and tried to do some drowning of my own. It didn’t take long before my head drooped, and I drifted into a peaceful nap.

What felt like moments later, a movement against my shoulder jostled me awake. I lifted my head up from the window, and my face itched from where it had been pressed against the plastic window cover. I blinked, and looked over to find Max’s cheek perched on my shoulder.

Her brows were knit together, and her eyes clenched shut. She took short, sharp breaths, and every few seconds her expression would contract in what looked like pain. She mewled and pushed her face into my shoulder. She looked like a completely different person—vulnerable and in pain.

When she muttered “Alex” in her sleep, I placed my hand on her cheek.

A few other passengers were starting to stare. I put my face close to hers, and whispered, “It’s a dream, Max. Wake up.”

Her hand fisted in my shirt, and I wrapped an arm around her, pulling her close.

“Sssh. You’re okay. I’m here. Just wake up.”

Her eyes flew open, and she flinched back.

“It was a dream.” I kept repeating that sentence because I wasn’t sure she heard me. Her gaze darted around us, but when she realized where we were, she released her grip on my shirt.

“You okay?” I asked.

She pressed her lips together and nodded. She closed her eyes and took a deep, shuddering breath. She tipped her head back toward the seat, but my arm was still around her. When her neck touched my bicep, her eyes met mine.

34

Max

My emotions were still on overdrive from my dream, and having his arm around me sent my heart sprinting. I stared at him, tracing the line of his nose and the curve of his cheekbones with my eyes. His face had the stubble that I loved so much, and his eyes were still heavy from sleep.

He smiled, and a familiar warmth uncurled low in my belly. I wet my lips, and his eyes cleared. I couldn’t make myself look away. Confusion crept into his expression, but he didn’t break our gaze either. I wanted him to know how badly I felt, but I didn’t know how to put it into words. I didn’t know if it even mattered to him. He shifted in his chair, and his arm weighed heavier around my shoulders.

God, I was so confused. I was Alice in Wonderland, tumbling down the rabbit hole for a second time. I was lying with my head against his arm when a flight attendant tapped me on the shoulder to ask if I’d like a drink. I gave a polite nod and by the time I looked back at Cade, his arm was no longer around me, and he was looking down. My earbuds were still dangling around my neck, music blaring. I turned down the volume and opened my mouth to say something. What I was going to say was a mystery, but if I stayed silent any longer I was going to spontaneously combust. I took a deep breath, and he spoke before I could.

“The past is past, Angry Girl.”

I snapped my mouth closed, and after a moment, I nodded.

He pressed his lips together in something that was meant to be a smile, but there was no life in it. And his eyes were distant, like he was looking past me.

For the first time I felt positive that he was acting.

Suddenly, the thought of spending days with him didn’t make me nervous. It made me sad. There were many parts of my life that I wanted to leave firmly in the past, but now I was pretty sure he wasn’t one of them.

Once again, I was too late.

35

Cade

I hated how easy it was to put on a mask in front of her. I’d been pushing her to be herself, and I wasn’t any better. All I wanted to do was grab her and kiss her.

But I had to listen to my brain instead of my heart. It was the only way I could survive this trip. The new hair color softened her somehow, but her eyes were lined with terror. It was so unnatural to see fear written across the face of a girl who was so fearless that for a few moments she had felt like another person entirely.

So, I told her what she needed to hear. Even though it shredded me.

She relaxed, but only a little. She spent the rest of the flight fidgeting and checking the time. The closer we got to landing, the more frenetic she became.

The plane’s descent turned rapid, and Max tensed up. Her hands clutched the armrests, and her eyes closed. She pressed her head back into the seat, sat very still, and took deep breaths. I had the urge to put my arm around her again, but I fought it off.

I asked, “Is it the landing that has you nervous or what’s waiting for us on the ground?”

She didn’t open her eyes as she answered, “I choose option C.”

“Both?”

She nodded. She licked her lips and explained, “I just feel like landings last about one minute longer than I can handle. And frankly, as far as this trip is concerned, I’d prefer we just stay in the air.”

She didn’t get her wish. The sound of the wind roared in the cabin as the plane came in for a landing. Her hands turned white on the armrests, and her lip turned a vivid pink as she bit down. I knew, logically, that she was nervous, but the tension in her neck and the way she worried her bottom lip reminded me of other things entirely, and I had to look away.

The wheels touched down, and she pressed her hands into the back of the seat in front of her, grimacing as the plane slowed down. When it was over, she released a long breath and wilted back into her chair. I waited for her to perk back up, but her eyes stayed closed, and her hands still gripped the armrests.

“You’re looking a little green, Angry Girl.”

I was expecting a response like “You’re looking like you wanna get punched, Golden Boy.”

Instead, she stayed silent. When she did open her eyes, she just stared at the people ahead of us unloading their things and pressed her palms into her thighs. I didn’t see her fear anymore. I didn’t see anything really. She was blank, like she had just shut down completely. It was torture seeing her this way. Maybe I shouldn’t have made her do this.

I decided then . . . no matter how painful it was or what it cost me, I’d help her get through this in whatever way I could. Even if I never saw her again afterward.

I carried both of our bags off the plane, and Max was quiet as we left the terminal for the arrivals area. She pulled out her cell with numb hands to call her parents. We walked side by side until suddenly she was no longer there. I looked back, and she was standing still as a statue, looking as if she might scream or pass out or both.

When I got closer she groaned, “They didn’t.”

“Who didn’t?” I asked. “What’s the matter?” I placed my hands on her arms and her eyes snapped to mine. For a few seconds neither of us said anything, and I knew I’d crossed a line. I pulled back, and put another foot between us.

Her face went soft, and she said, “I’m sorry.”

I thought she meant for her reaction to my touch until she stepped behind me and began buttoning her coat. She fastened it all the way up to her neck, and threw on her scarf, too. She undid the clip holding back her hair so that it fell around her face.

She still looked beautiful, but I knew what she was doing.

“Max . . . what is going on?”

She tamed her appearance with the same ease and efficiency that she had before her parents’ arrival on the day we met. I turned and looked behind me, but I couldn’t see her parents anywhere.

“Damn it, Max, we talked about this . . .”

“I know.” Her eyes met mine, and they weren’t blank anymore. “They sent Bethany and Michael to pick us up. I just can’t start with her. I can only fight this battle once.”

The minute she had hidden all the things that made her Max, her body relaxed and all the tension that had plagued her disappeared. I had the sinking feeling that I wouldn’t see my Max again for the rest of the trip. Not that she was mine anymore. Or ever had been really.

“I promise I’ll do it, Cade.” She sounded more like she was trying to convince herself than me.

I sighed and said, “Okay, fine. Let’s go meet the Antichrist.”

She squared her shoulders, like she was preparing for battle. I followed her glare across the terminal to a couple dressed in business attire, and I recognized the man as an older version of the brother I’d seen in her mother’s photo album.

The couple started toward us, linked at the elbow. Her brother was in a suit, his tie loosened slightly. The woman on his arm, Bethany, looked to be mid-to-late twenties. She was wearing a red dress and black heels that looked more appropriate for a cocktail party or a political campaign than picking someone up from the airport. She had long, flowing blond hair that reminded me of Sleeping Beauty. She was smiling widely and giving a small wave that I imagined she had perfected during her run for Miss Oklahoma.

Max looked like she wanted to take out all her nerves and fears on a punching bag with blond hair. I could see already that this was going to be a very long trip.

“Mackenzie, sweetheart!” Bethany called. “It’s so good to see you! We’ve heard so much about your little boyfriend that I just insisted that Michael and I be the ones to pick you up. I had to see this for myself.”

I leaned closer and reminded her, “Breathe.”

Bethany’s appearance was meticulous, from her manicured nails to her blond ringlets; they stopped simultaneously, as if all of their movements as a couple were choreographed, and stared at Max. Her sister-in-law looked at her from head to toe, and then clucked pitifully. “Don’t you look tired from your flight.”

Max gave a grim smile and opened her mouth. I rushed to cut her off. “It’s so nice to meet you both,” I said, holding out my hand. Michael shook my hand first. He looked like he could care less what his sister looked like. He was more concerned with the BlackBerry he kept pulling out of his pocket. “I’m Cade. Though it sounded like you already knew that.”

Bethany smiled. “Yes, all Betty and Mick have talked about is how much of a”—she paused and looked back at Max—“good influence you’ve been on our Mackenzie. Lord knows she needed someone to whip her into shape. I’ve been trying for years, but an Ivy League education can only work so much magic.”

I returned to Max’s side, unsure whether or not to touch her. Her fists were clenched tightly at her side, so I took that as a no. Bethany kept talking. “Now, Mackenzie, don’t you worry for a second about that bad dye job. It might be tough, since it’s the holidays, but I bet my hairstylist can squeeze you in and get all of that taken care of.” Bethany’s gesture didn’t cover Max’s hair so much as all of her.

I watched Max inhale and exhale very slowly. This appeared to be another instance where her coping mechanism wasn’t quite working. I considered turning her around and walking away. I didn’t want to see her put up with this any more than she wanted to deal with it herself.

“Listen, Beth—” She said the name with such malice that I was sure she was thinking of another b-word.

I cut in before the conversation could become dominated by four-letter words.

“You don’t like her hair lavender?” I asked. “I think it’s beautiful.”

Max stiffened beside me, my attempt to put her at ease failing miserably.

Bethany smiled. “Oh, bless your heart. That’s sweet, but you don’t have to coddle her. If there’s anything our Mackenzie is it’s tough. She can handle it.”

Max took a step forward, and I stopped worrying about whether or not it was okay to touch her. I clamped my arm down on her shoulder to hold her in place.

I said, “Do you think we could get on the road? I don’t know about Max, but it’s been a long trip, and I’m anxious to get settled in.”

“You don’t have any checked bags?” Bethany looked at the Max’s duffle bag and my backpack slung over one arm. “Tell me you don’t have your dress wadded up in there.”

Max’s face went pale. “What dress?”

“For the Charity Gala at the hospital. Your mother has been talking about it nonstop. She didn’t tell you to bring a dress?”

Max groaned and said, “I vaguely recall her mentioning something like that, but she didn’t say we had to go.”

“Well you do.” Bethany looked pleased at Max’s misery. She huffed as if Max had just ruined Christmas. “I guess we’ll have to squeeze in a shopping trip in the morning along with a hair appointment. I don’t know how your family survived before I came along.” Bethany looked up at Max’s brother and said, “Are you ready, sweetie?”

He paused whatever he was doing on his BlackBerry and said, “Whenever you are, honey.”

The two shared a kiss that left even me feeling like I’d overdosed on sugar.

“Follow us.” Bethany turned and trounced away, her curls bouncing slightly with her movement.

‘I’m going to kill her,” Max breathed. “You’re going to find her body chopped up and wrapped in individual boxes under the tree.”

“It’s scary how much I actually think you might mean that.”

We followed at a distance, and I kept my hand around Max’s shoulder the entire time. I don’t know if she even noticed. She was too concentrated on sending imaginary Chinese throwing stars at the back of Bethany’s head.

“She is everything I hate about my family,” Max said. “She makes me sick.”

I didn’t like the girl either, but Max spoke with a kind of venom that worried me. “Every family has one,” I told her. “And in a few days, you’ll be gone and won’t have to see her for another year.”

“You don’t get it.” Without looking away from Bethany, she said, “That was me. I was just like her all through high school. I was just as fake and vile and—”

I pulled her to a stop and said, “And now you’re not. You beat yourself up because of who you were and because of who you’re not and even because of who you are. You’ve got to stop.”

She stared at me, and I could tell I had penetrated her walls, if only for just a moment. Then Bethany turned over her shoulder and called, “You’ll have to forgive the car. There was a mix-up at the rental company, and they gave someone else the BMW that Michael reserved. This was the best they could do on such short notice.”

“Let’s go,” Max said. She pulled away and walked a few paces ahead of me all the way to a brand-new Toyota SUV that probably cost more than a new liver on the black market.

Michael opened the front door for Bethany, and placed a quick kiss on her lips before opening the trunk for us. I threw our bags in, and opened the door for Max.

“What a gentleman,” Bethany said. “Your taste really is improving, Max.”

There was going to be blood spatter all over these nice leather seats if she wasn’t careful. Max sat stiffly against the seat, her fists clenched in her lap. I placed a hand over one of her fists and squeezed. I figured the best thing I could do was to get Bethany talking about herself.

Once we were out of the parking garage and on the road, I asked, “So, how long have you two been married?”

“Oh two years this June. We had the most glorious June wedding. Everything about it was just perfect.”

Michael put the car in drive and said, “Only as perfect as you.”

Bethany aww’d, and the two of them looked away from the road long enough to share a quick kiss.

Max made a noise like she was going to hurl and said, “Perfect driver, too.”

“Any chance we’ll be hearing wedding bells in your future?” Bethany asked.

I couldn’t look at Max. I played my role, kept my eyes on the audience, stayed in character, and said, “We’re just taking things slow, seeing how things go.”

“Oh.” Bethany’s lips turned down in a pout and she gave Max a look of pity. “Of course you are.”

I followed Bethany’s eyes to Max in time to see her press her forehead against the window and close her eyes. She pulled her hand away from mine, and began to close herself off again.

I asked, “How long until we get to Max’s parents’ house?”

“It’s about a thirty-minute drive,” Michael answered.

“If they don’t kiss us into a ditch first,” Max said.

36

Max

Mom threw open the front door of their two-story house and squealed when she saw us. The Joker probably had a more realistic smile than I did. When both my parents came into view, Cade’s hand curved around my waist, falling just below the line of my coat. I could feel the heat of his fingers through my shirt, and it was like five little daggers of doubt to my back.

This was too hard. My body and my mind and my heart were at war, and my sanity was the collateral damage.

Dad shook Cade’s hand, and Mom pulled both of us into a hug simultaneously.

“Come in! Come in! Oh, Cade, Mick and I are just so happy you’re here.” She released me and hugged him around the neck for a few seconds. His arm was still around me, so I’m sure we resembled some kind of radioactive waste monster that had begun sprouting extra heads and limbs. When she pulled back she lifted a strand of my hair and clucked her tongue. She said, “Oh, honey,” and frowned, but didn’t say anything further. It gave me a little bit of hope that maybe she could handle the rest of it.

But just a little.

I met Cade’s eyes, and his flicked to my mother.

I took a deep breath and said, “Mom?”

“Yes, dear?”

Her eyes met mine. They focused on me in a way they hadn’t in years. Normally, she’d look at me for a second or two before glancing everywhere around me. She blinked, still looking at me, waiting for words that I just couldn’t seem to pry from my lips.

Instead, I asked, “What room is Cade staying in?”

“Oh, we’ve put him in the guest room upstairs, right next to your old room.”

I looked at Cade, and he gave me a stiff smile.

Every time we took a step forward, I seemed to take a running leap back.

Mom continued, “Why don’t you two get settled in. Dinner is almost ready though, so be quick!”

I nodded and went to grab Cade’s hand. He stepped out of my reach and gestured for me to lead the way instead. His shoulders were even stiffer than his smile. I walked up the stone pathway through my parents’ large, ornate front door, and he followed. He paused in the doorway to take in the high, arched ceiling and Mom’s tendency to decorate every inch of available space.

“Stairs are over here,” I said.

He nodded, but didn’t reply.

The entire way up the stairs, I could hear his heavy footfalls, and each one made me flinch. By the time I opened the guest room door at the end of the hallway, I could feel his emotions like a cloud at my back. He threw our bags down on the bed, and turned to face me.

I normally loved the way Cade looked at me . . . all of the ways. The way he’d looked out in the audience while I sang. The way he would keep his head down on our walks home, but look at me sideways. The way he’d looked at me when I’d been spread out beneath him. I could tell, just by his expression that he believed in me . . . all of me.

But his expression now was none of those things. He didn’t look angry . . . well, yes he did. But mostly, he looked sad. And he looked disappointed, an expression with which I was all too familiar. And that indefinable something that I’d always seen in his gaze was gone. So was his belief in me.

I shut the door behind me, and the click echoed through the silence of the room.

“I’m sorry.” I seemed to say that to him a lot, more than to any other person in my life except for Alex. “I know I said I would tell them . . . that I wouldn’t pretend anymore—”

“You’ve said a lot of things.”

I sucked in a breath, but my lungs still felt empty.

“Cade.”

“I just don’t understand you.” His hands went to his hair, and he began to pace back and forth in front of the bed. “I thought you were fearless,” he said.

A noise ripped from my throat, and even I didn’t know if it was a laugh or sob.

“Well, you were wrong.”

“You get up onstage in front of hundreds of people and bare your soul. You don’t take shit from anyone. You go after what you want. You’re amazing. But then when you’re here, it’s like you’re a completely different person.”

“Oh, come on. It’s an act, a crutch, a mask, take your pick. I project fearless, and you project perfection. It doesn’t mean either of us actually are those things.”

His pacing changed course, and he came at me. I had to crane my head backward to meet his gaze. “How do you think this is going to turn out? You can’t keep who you are a secret forever. What are you going to do? Wear turtlenecks for every visit? Never come home during the summer? Not invite them to your wedding?”

I swallowed.

“I’ll tell them. I just need time. I need to prepare them so that they’re not so shocked. They’re holding money over my head.”

He scoffed. “The world holds money over everyone’s head. It’s a fact of life.”

“Like it’s that easy. I don’t know why you suddenly think you can judge me.”

“Because I know you!”

He didn’t, not at all. If he really knew me he wouldn’t be here. He wouldn’t care about me. But I couldn’t say that, so I just backed away from him and shook my head. I wanted this conversation to be over, but he wasn’t done. He said, “I think you’re just scared.”

“Of course I’m scared!” My volume got away from me, and I slapped a hand over my mouth, hoping my parents hadn’t heard. I took a deep breath and continued quietly, “I’m terrified . . . Always.”

Terrified that I’ll never make it. That I’ll wake up one day to realize my parents are right. Terrified that I’ve poured my everything into a career and life that will never happen . . . that I’ve wasted the life that should have been Alex’s.

“What are you scared of, Max?”

“Of everything. Absolutely everything.”

I didn’t say that included him, but I didn’t think I had to. I think he knew.

“Is that what you wanted to hear, Golden Boy?”

He sighed, and put his head down. I was used to disappointing people, but I had never wanted it to be him.

He said, “No, not at all.”

“Well, I’m sorry to disappoint you.”

God, I was. So sorry.

He took a step toward me, and I took three back.

I cleared my throat and said, “I’m going to put my things up next door. There’s a bathroom in the hall if you need it. Just pop over when you’re ready.”

Then I ran.

There were no prying eyes lurking at the bottom of the stairs, so I hoped that meant no one had heard us arguing. As soon as I was safely ensconced in my room, I leaned back against my door and concentrated on breathing.

I hated how afraid I was. I hated the way fear could eat away at everything until even the constant things in life, like the earth beneath my feet and the sky over my head, seemed like figments of my imagination.

The fear made me feel pathetic and small, but I couldn’t get past it.

It wasn’t just the money or the risk of angering my parents.

It was a thorn on the dark side of my heart that told me I was inadequate, that there was some measure of what it meant to be good, to be important, and I didn’t reach it. As long as no one else saw that thorn, it was a secret I could protect, a wound I could nurse in private.

Talking to my parents would open it up, start the bleeding fresh, make it impossible to ignore.

I pushed my coat off my shoulders and pulled my shirt over my head. I threw my duffel bag on the bed and tore it open. I scrambled for a turtleneck and found a black one. I was pulling it over my head when my door opened.

I couldn’t see through the black fabric, but I spun away as quickly as possible, so that my tattoos faced away from the door. I tried to tug the sweater down so that it covered my stomach, but the stupid turtleneck was caught on my head. I said, “Hold on a sec, Mom.”

My head pushed through the neck opening at the same time I heard, “It’s Cade.”

I felt like my heart turned to face him before I did.

I finished pulling my shirt down to cover my stomach, and met his gaze. There were so many emotions in his expression—anger and sadness and desire—but I couldn’t tell which one was winning.

My voice was raspy as I said, “Ready.”

He didn’t move for several long moments, just pinned me to my spot with his intense gaze. Anticipation and want built in me until my knees felt weak. Just when I was ready to give in, he stepped back and into the hall.

Mom called my name a few seconds later. “Dinner’s ready!”

I squared my shoulders and joined him at the door. As we descended the stairs, his hand touched the small of my back, and it took all of my concentration not to tumble down the stairs. I faced a potentially life-changing holiday. I could lose my family, lose their support, and lose the life I’d built for myself. And yet somehow, all I could think about was his touch and how much I missed it. As disastrous as this trip was likely to be, I never wanted it to end.

37

Cade

Everyone was seated and waiting for us in the dining room when we came downstairs. This was the first time I’d been in a house that had an actual dining room instead of a table crammed into the kitchen. Her parents were seated at each end of the table, and Michael and Bethany sat on one side, opposite the two empty chairs meant for us. I pulled out Max’s chair for her, and then sat down beside her.

The dinner wasn’t quite as elaborate as the meal Mrs. Miller had prepared for Thanksgiving, but it was close. I could only imagine what Christmas Day would be like.

“Mick?” Mrs. Miller asked. “Will you say grace?”

I started to bow my head, and then Max blurted out, “Can I say it?”

Even Michael looked surprised.

Mrs. Miller blinked a few times, but smiled. “Of course you can, sweetheart.”

She reached out her hand to me, and I took it.

I turned to Max, and held her gaze as I laced our fingers together. Every head lowered, and I followed. But I kept my eyes open and fixed on Max.

She stared at her empty plate as she spoke, as if it might help her find the words.

“Dear God, thank you for this food and for family. For fear and forgiveness.” She paused, like she wanted to say more, but just couldn’t piece together the words. Finally, she let her eyes fall closed and said, “May our lives have a healthy dose of each. Amen.”

A chorus of hesitant amens filled the dining room, and Max stayed staring at her plate. I squeezed her hand and didn’t unlace our fingers.

Bethany placed a napkin in her lap and said quietly, “I’ve never heard a prayer quite like that before.”

“That was lovely, sweetheart,” Max’s mother said.

Max gave a nearly inaudible “thank you,” and it was the only thing she said for the rest of dinner. Luckily, Bethany dominated the conversation. She talked about Michael’s job, and their house, and how they thought they were almost ready to have kids. I was beginning to understand how she stayed so skinny. She never stopped talking long enough to really eat. Max distracted herself by picking at her food, and I distracted myself by staring at Max.

When dinner was over, Mrs. Miller shooed us into the living room while she cleaned up. And without the distraction of food, the discomfort level grew even higher. Mr. Miller pulled me aside to look at the various taxidermy pieces that were scattered across the living room. I’d grown up in Texas, where there were almost as many taxidermy places as there were churches, but I imagined what it must have been like for other guys that Max had brought home. I pictured Mace staring down the glassy, dead eyes of a twelve-point buck, and had to smother a laugh.

We were standing in front of a wild boar, while Mr. Miller recounted his hunting trip, when I overheard Bethany talking to Max on the couch.

She said, “It’s never a good sign when the fighting starts this early. I mean, between the arguing you two did upstairs and the uncomfortable silence between you at dinner, I give it a week, maybe two before you go separate ways.” Max was miraculously calm. She stared straight ahead, picking at a stray thread on the arm of the sofa. “You’re lucky I kept up the conversation during dinner or your parents would have noticed.” Max remained silent. “I know it’s hard.” Bethany placed a hand on Max’s shoulder, who stiffened in response. “But you could hardly expect to snag the first decent guy that looked your way. I’m sure you made some mistakes along the way, but next time you’ll know better.”

I didn’t know what Bethany had against Max, but there was a cruelty in her tone that told me she was enjoying this. I couldn’t listen to it anymore. I turned to Mr. Miller and said, “Excuse me for a moment, sir.” Then I headed for the couch. I plopped down beside Max, shocking her out of the statue act she was putting on for Bethany.

I said, “Hey.” And because I wanted to shut Bethany up and had been dying to do it since I first saw her this morning, I leaned in and pressed a kiss to Max’s lips. She locked up for just a second, but then closed her eyes and kissed me back.

My body roared to life, and I resisted the urge to deepen the kiss. I pulled back and draped an arm over Max’s shoulder. I tugged her closer until she was leaning against my chest.

“Sorry, I was getting lonely.” I smiled and asked, “What are you two talking about?”

Bethany sputtered, and a slow smile spread over Max’s face. It sent warmth to every part of me.

Max said, “I was just telling Bethany how great you were.”

“Is that so?”

“Oh yeah, I mean, you’re about as perfect as they come.”

I held back a laugh and said, “Oh no, you’re the perfect one.”

She leaned her head against my chest, and I wondered if she could hear the way my heart sped up. She said, “I guess we’re just perfect for each other then.”

I wrapped my arms all the way around her and held her close.

Bethany stood and said, “Excuse me. I’m going to go find Michael. I have no idea what could be keeping him.”

No doubt he’d snuck off to enjoy the superior company of his BlackBerry. We watched Bethany stalk out of the room. Max hesitated for a moment, and then turned her face into my chest to muffle her laughter.

“That is officially my favorite Christmas memory ever,” Max breathed.

“Why does she hate you so much?” I asked.

Max propped her chin on my chest and looked at me. When she wasn’t looking at me, I could pretend that this was all an act. That this was a role like any other. But with her eyes on mine . . . I lost focus.

She said, “I mentioned she’s the Antichrist, right?”

“Ah, so this is a battle of good-and-evil kind of thing.”

“No, this is a she’s-psycho kind of thing.”

“I could buy that. She enjoys hearing herself talk too much to not be at least a little bit sociopathic.”

Max’s eyes fluttered closed, and I realized that my hand was threading through her hair. I hadn’t even realized I’d been doing it. I knew what that did to her. I started to pull my hand back, but she laid her cheek back against my chest and wrapped an arm around my waist.

If that wasn’t permission, I didn’t know what was.

Bethany came back with Michael, and Mrs. Miller brought out a tray with mugs of hot chocolate. I took one, but Max declined. She stayed pressed against me, her head resting over my heart as her family took seats around the room.

I tried to keep my body calm, and my mind calmer as we sat there.

I was tired of questioning what everything meant, so I just gave in. I brushed my fingers through her hair, skimming her neck and her back. I didn’t know what she was thinking or if she was thinking at all, but it was peaceful, like a reprieve from the world.

Bethany kept glancing our way, but for once she didn’t say anything. I closed my eyes and leaned my cheek against the top of Max’s head. I took the reprieve because we both needed it.

“Michael,” Mrs. Miller called to her son. “Why don’t we put all those years of piano lessons to work and sing some Christmas carols?”

Ah, there was the Christmas fiend Max had mentioned.

Michael obediently moved to the piano in the corner of the room, and he pulled the cushion of the bench up to look in the hidden storage beneath. He picked up a book.

“The red book,” Mrs. Miller said.

He returned the book he’d chosen, and picked up a red one instead.

He flipped through the pages for a few seconds then asked, “Silent Night”?

Mrs. Miller nodded, and he began to play.

Max sat up a little, and leaned her head against my shoulder instead. Everyone began to sing, but my ears only heard her.

“Silent night. Holy night.

All is calm all is bright

Round yon virgin mother and child

Holy infant so tender and mild

Sleep in heavenly peace

Sleep in heavenly peace.”

It was amazing how even a song I’d heard a hundred times sounded beautiful and special coming from her. There was something just slightly different in her tone, in her phrasing, that made the song sound fresh to my ears. Her voice was soft and vulnerable, and I couldn’t stop myself from turning to face her. She lifted her head up and looked at me. I brushed a hand across her cheek, and she leaned into my touch.

I brushed her hair back, and I could feel her walls dropping. Her fear fled, my anger abandoned me, and certainty crept in. I was certain that we weren’t as different as we wanted to believe, certain that she felt something for me, certain that this could work.

She took a breath, and I was certain that she could feel it, too.

Then the music ended, and the spell broke. I saw her retreat back into herself. She slid over on the couch, and all my certainties came crashing down.

I understood that she was unsure, but I just couldn’t take this anymore.

38

Max

I kept my distance.

It was the only way I knew to keep my heart.

I knew I couldn’t keep him away forever, but I managed it through the rest of Mom’s impromptu caroling session. I maintained the distance until it was time for bed. He was in his room, and I was in mine. And I was going to need my sleep to recharge my resolve—both with respect to Cade and to telling my parents the truth.

It was a bad sign for both that I was still wide-awake at 2:00 A.M. when a knocking started on my door.

I was wearing an oversized T-shirt and a pair of boy-short underwear. I thought of rummaging for a pair of shorts to pull on, but whoever was knocking was making enough noise to wake up my parents, so I figured it was better to just answer them.

When I pulled open the door, Cade stormed into my room. Panicked, I peeked my head out the door, but there were no lights on, which meant he hadn’t woken anyone . . . yet. I shut the door quietly and said, “What are you doing here?”

His eyes snapped from my bare legs up to my face, and his eyes were blazing.

“You’re mad,” I said in confusion.

“Hell yes, I’m mad.”

“I told you that I would tell them, Cade. I was planning to do it in the morning, in fact. It’s all I’ve been thinking about.”

“That’s not what I’m mad about.”

I barely had time to mutter, “Then what?” before he’d caught my face in his hands and pulled my lips to his.

His kiss was angry and punishing, and I felt it all the way in the marrow of my bones.

“I’m angry that you keep pushing me away when I know you don’t want to.”

He crushed our lips together again, bruising and beautiful.

“I’m angry that you left me after the best sex of my life.”

He turned and pressed me against the door, just like he did that night. I whimpered in response.

“More than anything, I’m angry that I had to wait so long to kiss you again.”

Then he poured his anger into me, our tongues battling for dominance. I was so in shock that I didn’t know whether to push him away or pull him closer, not that he gave me much of a choice. His hands found my wrists, and he pressed them into the door above my head. He wrung every last ounce of fear out of me until I was weak and panting and absolutely out of my mind with desire.

When he started to pull back, I shot forward and kissed him again. He released my hands, and I grasped the bulge of his shoulders. His teeth grazed my bottom lip in an almost-bite, and I lost it.

All my excuses were buried deep beneath the heat of his body against mine. I pressed my hips into his, and he groaned into my mouth. I couldn’t control myself. My hands trailed from his waist to his chest, and he held me tighter in response. I spun us, and started pulling him toward my bed.

His hand slid down to my ass, and his kiss was so devastating and consuming that I wanted to rejoice or scream or cry.

The back of my knees hit the bed at the same time that he pulled away.

His eyes were dark, and his breathing labored. “Whatever stupid reasoning you’ve got for staying away from me, it’s wrong. And I won’t stop until I’ve proven it to you.”

Then he left, and I fell back on my bed in shock.

It took nearly five minutes before I could do anything but sit there with my fingers pressed to my swollen lips.

As soon as I heard Mom bustling around downstairs, I pulled myself out of bed. It was still dark out, but even without a sufficient amount of sleep, my strength felt renewed. Maybe Cade had kissed some confidence into me the night before. Whatever the reason, my heart was eerily steady as I dressed that morning. I put on the scoop-neck shirt that I’d started the day in yesterday.

I pulled my hair around to the side and did a quick loose braid that left the other side of my neck and my birds completely visible. The shirt only showed the very tips of my branches, but the lines were dark enough such that they couldn’t be missed. I replaced the plastic retainers with my usual ear piercings.

This moment was years in the making.

I’d spent so much of my life, too much of it, altering myself to please other people. This was my crossroads moment, and nothing would be the same on this new road, including me.

Before I could change my mind, I went next door to the guest room and knocked.

Cade opened the door, already up and ready for the day. His hair was damp and curled around his face. I could smell the familiar, masculine scent of him from here. Last night came rushing back at me, and it took a serious amount of self-control not to throw myself at him.

He said, “Good morning.”

His tone was cautious, like maybe I had come to deliver an angry tirade of my own. But I wasn’t angry, just . . . on the verge of hyperventilating.

All the calm I’d woken up with disappeared upon seeing him. Somehow, he made it all feel real. My control crumbled, and my throat felt like it was going to close up. He must have seen the freak-out coming because he pulled me into his room and closed the door behind us. I turned my back on him and said, “Just give me a second.”

I pressed my palms into my eyes to try to stop the tears that were building there.

“Max . . .” His voice was soft and came from right in front of me.

“I’m okay,” I whispered without lowering my hands. I hated getting emotional, but nothing was worse than getting emotional in front of another person.

His arms circled me, and I sunk into his chest. My breath rattled in my chest, and I fisted my hands in the front of his shirt.

“You can do this,” he said.

There it was . . . the belief. He had far more in me than I had in myself. If nothing else good came of this, at least there was that.

“It won’t be easy,” he said. Understatement of the year. “But your parents love you, Max.” I laughed, even though nothing was funny. My throat was thick with emotion. He brought a hand up and pulled my hands from my eyes. “And if they can’t see how amazing you are, they’re blind.”

I swallowed, and my throat felt raw. I didn’t know what I’d ever done to deserve him. I didn’t know why he would come anywhere near someone as toxic as me, but I was thankful.

Silence filled the room, but it was the comfortable kind of quiet that Cade and I had had before everything had changed. I didn’t say anything because I didn’t need to.

He held out his hand, and I latched onto it like I was falling and he was the only thing that could save me.

“I’ll be with you every step of the way.”

Some of the tightness in my chest eased, and I nodded.

“Thank you,” I said.

“I don’t know why you’re thanking me.”

I remembered the way he’d put himself out there last night and said, “You faced your demons, and came out on top. So, maybe I can, too.”

He smiled and squeezed my hand.

“Come on, Fearless Girl.”

I was far from fearless, but knowing he thought I was provided me with half the courage I needed. We left the guest room, and descended the stairs together.

Dad was watching television, and Mom was messing with something in the kitchen when we came downstairs. Michael was on his phone, and the Antichrist was flipping through a Better Homes and Gardens magazine.

Bethany saw me first, and her jaw dropped. God, it felt good to be the cause of that horrendous look on her face. I hoped it stuck that way.

She called, “BETTY!” Her face turned smug, and I thought back to Cade’s question the night before. Why did she hate me? Probably because, just like my parents, she liked her world nice and neat and clean. I wasn’t any of those things, with or without the tattoos.

Cade squeezed my hand, and I took the deepest breath that I could get. Mom came in from the kitchen drying a pan with a towel and said, “Yes?”

Bethany pointed in my direction. I took a few steps until I was all the way in the living room. Cade kept close by my side. Mom’s eyes settled on me, but it was several long seconds before she really saw me. She dropped the pan and it clanged against the hardwood floors. Her face passed through a spectrum of emotions that normally I would have found funny, except that I had no idea which one she would end up landing on. It was like Wheel of Fortune, only all the good possibilities had been removed. Dad looked up from the television just as Mom said, “Mackenzie Kathleen Miller, how could you do such a hideous thing to your body?”

It stung, but I kept my expression as blank as possible.

Dad asked, “What horrible thing?” He turned to face me, and I saw the anger wash over him. Out of the two of them, he was the more unpredictable one. He stood slowly, his motions stiff and small. His eyes flitted between my neck and my ear piercings and back again.

“What in the name of God have you done?”

His tone was soft, but clipped. This was the scariest version of him—still and silent and like the calm before the storm. Mom came to stand by Dad, and he took her under his arm. She turned weepy and mopped at her eyes with the back of her hand.

“Why does she do these things to us?” she asked him.

All my anxiety ignited into anger.

“I didn’t do this to you. I made a choice about what to do with my body. It had nothing to do with either of you.”

My father exploded. “You mark yourself up like some kind of . . . tramp on the street, and you expect it not to bother us?” He didn’t raise a hand to me, but he might as well have. It hurt just as bad.

“Mick.” Cade’s voice cut in, hard and firm. Dad paused, and I could see his embarrassment and fury at having someone outside the family witness this conversation.

“Son, I think you should leave us alone to deal with this.”

Panic crushed me, and I crushed Cade’s hand between mine in return.

“With all due respect, sir, I’m not going anywhere.”

Mom sputtered in disbelief, and Dad fumed. I didn’t want them to hate Cade for something that was all about me. I took a step closer and said, “I know you don’t like these kinds of things, but—”

“Don’t like them?” Mom’s voice turned hysterical. “We raised you in the Church. You’ve been taught since you could speak that your body is a temple, and now you’ve destroyed it. You know what the Bible says about those kinds of abominations.”

“The Bible also says to give away your riches, but you guys sure haven’t bothered to do that. And I didn’t destroy my body. There are no needle tracks on my arms. I’m not addicted to anything, nor have I become a prostitute, Dad. This is art that means enough to me that I made it a part of myself.”

“Squiggly lines mean a lot to you?” Dad barked. “And birds? Yes, I can understand why birds mean a lot to you.”

“Freedom means a lot to me.”

“I’m glad to hear that because you’re going to get plenty of it. If that’s what you do with the money we give you—mutilate yourself and ruin all your chances of having a decent, respectable life—then we’re done helping you.”

That news hurt a lot less than I thought it would. In the grand scheme of things, their money meant nothing. It was the least important thing they could take from me.

“You’ve not been interested in helping me in a long time.”

Dad said, “I mean it, Mackenzie. You better hope your little music thing works out because you’ll not get a decent job anywhere else looking like that.”

I couldn’t stay there anymore without doing something crazy. I gritted my teeth and spat out, “My name is Max. Max. And that ‘little music thing’ is my life. I’m tired of you trying to turn it and me into what you want. I’m not Mackenzie, and I’m not Alexandria.”

Mom gasped like I’d slapped her. Even that made me furious. She threw around Alex’s name all the time, trying to push photos and old knickknacks on me. But the minute we tried for honesty about my sister and me, I’d apparently taken it too far.

I spun around and went to the table at the end of the foyer where Mom and Dad kept all the car keys. I found the familiar key of the car I used to drive before I moved to Philly.

“Where do you think you’re going, young lady?” Mom cried.

“To clear my head. I’ll be back when being here doesn’t make me sick to my stomach.”

Though at the moment, the answer to that felt like never.

It was becoming harder to breath, and I knew exactly where I would go—the same place I always went when I wished for a different life.

39

Cade

I’d almost dragged her out of there several times myself. I knew it would be difficult for her to have it out with her parents, but I hadn’t anticipated how much it would affect me, nor could I ever have dreamed her parents would have reacted so badly. I thought parents were supposed to love unconditionally? I assumed they would be mad, scream a bit, maybe cry, then settle down and talk it out like adults. When her father called her a tramp, I very nearly hit a man that was three times my age.

I followed Max out a door in the kitchen that opened into the garage. I expected her parents to come after us, but they didn’t do that either. Her parents had a three-car garage. At the far end was a black Volvo that lit up when Max pressed a button on her key. I tried to catch up to her, but she was already opening the car door, and it blocked my path.

“Max—”

“Just get in the car, Cade.”

Thank God. I was worried she wanted to leave without me. Needless to say, going back into that living room would have been awkward. I jogged around to the other side and slid into the passenger seat. The electric garage door was already opening, and as soon as it was up, Max peeled out of the garage, tore down the driveway and out into the street. She shifted the car into drive and slammed on the gas.

“Max, be careful, please.”

She slowed down a little, but not much.

“I’m sorry,” I said. God, that seemed so inadequate. All of this was my fault. “I never should have made you do that. I am so sorry.”

She smiled, and her eyes were watery. “Don’t be.”

“I shouldn’t have pushed you. You were scared, and apparently with good reason.”

“I always find a good reason to be scared, Golden Boy. I think it’s time I got over that, don’t you?”

I knew what she was saying, and my heart tried to soar, but I was still too torn up over what I’d witnessed. Anything that made tears form in her eyes was something I never wanted her to have to face. For the first time, I felt afraid of where this was heading, afraid of the depth of my feelings for her.

My life moved at a slow pace. It took months before I had feelings for Bliss. Never before had I felt so intensely and so quickly. Max swept into my life like a hurricane, and I never stood a chance.

She made a sharp left turn, then a right, and another left. We were in subdivision hell, and for all I could tell, it looked like we were back on the same street. She turned right again and dead-ended into a two-lane highway. She made a left, and we drove toward the rising sun. Her knuckles began to relax against the steering wheel. The farther away we got from her parents, the calmer she looked.

“Where are we going?”

She sighed. “To the only place more depressing than home.”

Every time I thought I understood her a little bit more, I was proven wrong.

“Why?” I asked.

She looked at me. Her hair glowed in the light of the waking sun. Her eyes were a bottomless ocean that I would give up air to explore. A perfect moment passed, uninterrupted by the world, unhurried by time, untainted by fear of the past or the future. And she answered, “Closure.”

We drove for another five minutes until we reached a hill on a deserted stretch of highway. Trees lined each side of the road, and they curved over the highway like a tunnel. At the top of the hill was the sun, and it looked like we’d drive right into it if we didn’t stop. It was breathtaking. The kind of scene you see in landscape photos and paintings. Max pulled over into a ditch just before the hill and trees started. She turned off the ignition and sat there, staring for a moment. Her gaze was so intense that I didn’t want to say anything. Whatever this place was, it meant more to her than just pretty scenery.

Quietly, she spoke. “Come with me.”

She removed the key and shoved it into the pocket of her jeans. She opened the door and started walking along the highway toward the hill. I unbuckled my seat belt and hurried after her. She was silent as she trudged through the knee-high grass. I followed behind her and realized there was a small trail worn into the earth. The grass and weeds bent backward out of our way, and I had a feeling that this path was of Max’s making.

Her breath came heavier as the hill inclined, but she didn’t slow or waver. She also didn’t speak. When we reached the top, my shirt was stuck to my back with sweat, and I’d removed my coat despite the cold. Max had left hers at the house, but she didn’t even answer when I offered mine.

The path veered off its straight line toward a rocky outcrop at the top of the hill. Max followed and climbed with practiced ease to the top of the largest rock. I followed, trying to step in the same places that she had. I sat beside her, and our feet dangled off the edge of the rock. We were underneath the cover of the trees, and we could see down both sides of the hill where the highway stretched into the distance.

It was peaceful up here. You couldn’t see any glimpse of the city, nor was there a car or house in sight. I could understand why she would come here. This far away from life, in the middle of nowhere, your soul felt bigger somehow.

She took a shaky breath, pointed to the road, and said, “My sister died right there, while I watched.”

All the air rushed out of my lungs, and my soul, which had felt clear and infinite moments ago, was mangled. She’d said it quietly and calmly with no hesitation, but I could see the toll the words took on her. Her hands were knotted tightly in her lap. She was still and stiff except for the swallowing motion of her throat that repeated every few seconds.

“I was thirteen and at some ridiculous sleepover out in the boondocks that I hadn’t wanted to go to, but Mom had made me. So . . . as I so often do, I acted like a bitch and pissed off the girl throwing the party. Mom sent Alex to come get me.”

She looked up at the purple and pink morning sky and pressed her lips together. “Alex was good about stuff like that. Most teenagers would have pitched a fit over having to come get their little sister on a Saturday night, but not Alex. She was upset about something, and I kept bugging her to tell me what it was. That was when I found out why she was at home on a Saturday night. Mom and Dad had found pot in her room, and she was pretty much grounded for eternity. That’s part of why my parents are so crazy conservative now.”

Max sniffed and pressed the back of her left hand to her mouth for a moment. Then she reached for the leather cuff bracelet on her wrist and removed it. On the pale skin of the inside of her wrist was a tattoo I’d never noticed before. It read 11:12. Something started to sink in my stomach, and I steeled myself for what I knew was coming next.

“It was 11:12.” Her voice broke, and tears started sliding down her face. “I know because I was messing with the radio, trying to find a decent station out here in the middle of nowhere. Alex was talking about how unreasonable Mom and Dad were. The pot was Michael’s, but she didn’t want to tell on him, so she took the heat. We were nearing the top of the hill, and neither of us was paying much attention. There was a guy coming up on the other side of the hill, and he’d fallen asleep at the wheel.”

Max started to shiver, and even though I was sure it wasn’t from the cold, I hung my coat around her shoulders. She exhaled and closed her eyes. Her eyes and lips were pressed into straight lines. Her tears reflected the sunlight, and her face looked fractured, rearranged by grief.

Her pitch was higher and her volume louder as she continued, “Alex swerved, but she wasn’t fast enough. His car clipped the side of ours at the same time that Alex slammed on the brakes. We started spinning, and then the car was in the air. I remember everything and nothing about the seconds that followed. I screamed and looked out my window at the tree we were flying toward. I looked back at Alex, and there was glass flying everywhere and a hole in the windshield. She wasn’t in her seat, but one of her shoes was stuck between the bottom of the dash and what was left of the window. I stared at that shoe for lifetimes before the top of the car slammed into the earth. It had to have been a second, maybe two, but my mind raced into the future. I thought about what I would do, what we would all do if Alex died. I pictured growing up without her, missing her on every birthday and holiday. I saw ten years into the future, and it was terrible.”

She shuddered, and her breath came out choppy. She pressed a hand to her chest, like she was physically holding her heart inside her body. I couldn’t go another second sitting here doing nothing. I scooted closer and put my hand over the one on her heart. She laced our fingers, and pressed our combined fists hard into her skin.

“My vision went black for a few seconds from the pressure of slamming into my seat belt. I was hanging upside down, and my skin was slicked with blood from all the glass in my skin. I saw her shoe again, and I started screaming. I don’t remember if it was words or just noise, but my sister was out there. No matter how I twisted and pulled, I couldn’t get my seat belt to come undone. I stopped struggling and started twisting to see if I could spot Alex anywhere through any of the windows. I looked out the side window, and I could just see her bright pink sweatshirt and this mound that had to be her body. She wasn’t moving, and I screamed her name as loud as I could. I screamed it again and again, and I kept waiting for her to move or for the guy from the other car to come find her or for anyone to come help. But no one came. I didn’t know it at the time, but the guy who hit us ran into a tree, and he died, too. I didn’t have a cell phone because Mom had taken it away, and I didn’t know where Alex’s was. I kept screaming and crying for Alex for I don’t know how long, but I was the only living thing for miles. I don’t know how long it was before someone came along. When they did, my throat was raw, my vision was spotty, and it felt like someone was squeezing my head as hard as they could. And I knew my sister was dead.”

I pulled her into my arms, and she cried until the events of the morning disappeared, until the present took a backseat to the past. And until I knew I couldn’t live without her.

40

Max

I felt hollowed out. Like all the pieces of me that I’d been holding together for years had poured out of my skin. Those pieces were broken and jagged and had torn me up for far too long. It was good they were gone, but now I was empty.

I’d never told anyone that story in its entirety. I told the EMTs what they needed to know, and the therapists what they wanted to hear. I still couldn’t quite believe that I’d told Cade. I was too afraid to look at his face, to see the knowledge of who I was in his eyes. I concentrated instead on his heartbeat, strong and steady beneath my cheek. All the things my life had never been. I needed something steady, because I wasn’t through yet. If I really wanted closure, really wanted to let this all go, there was more.

The morning had become noisy with the singing and droning of insects, and I whispered above it, “I wished it was me that died. That’s why I kept coming back here. I was the one who didn’t fit, who didn’t work. Alex was the good one, and it should have been me. “

Cade took me by the arms and pushed me away from his chest. “What happened to your sister and to you was terrible. It was a tragedy that I wish you’d never had to face, but don’t ever say it should have been you. You lived, and despite suffering a tragedy that would have crippled many people, you became a strong, beautiful, talented woman.”

I didn’t wish that it had been me anymore. Well, not very often anyway. But I was too raw to listen to his praise right now.

I wiped my eyes, stretched my limbs, and tried not to look at him.

The sun was moving high overhead, and I felt like it was shining light on all my secrets, all my flaws, even that dark, hidden thorn at the back of my heart.

“You get it now, don’t you? Why I pushed you away?”

The wind was wreaking havoc on my hair, and he reached out and brushed some of it back and over my shoulder.

“I think I’ve gotten it for a while, Max.”

I took a deep breath, thinking maybe this would be easier than I had anticipated.

“So you understand? That’s good. We should call and see if we can move your flight to Texas up. You can go be with your family, and I’ll try to fix what I’ve done to mine.”

I hopped down off the rock, and he followed.

“Max, I’m not going anywhere unless you come with me.”

There he went, sacrificing his own needs for mine. Maybe it was a mistake to let him see me like this. He was so empathetic that he felt the need to help every person in pain.

I turned, heading for the trail, but he grabbed my wrist to stop me. “I’ll be okay, Cade. I can handle my parents.” At least, I hoped I could.

I went to pull away, but he just pulled me around to face him completely. He was so close, and my body had a mind of its own. I swayed toward him.

“I’m not staying because I think you need me. I’m staying because I want to. I told you last night that I would prove you wrong, and this”—he gestured to the hill in front of us—“doesn’t change anything.” His brown eyes shone bright and sincere. “I should have come after you when you left that night, and I won’t make the mistake of letting you go again.”

I closed my eyes. How could one sentence make me miserable and joyful at the same time?

Mournfully, I said, “No you shouldn’t have.”

He flinched, but he kept going. “There are some things that are worth fighting for, no matter the outcome, and you are one of them.”

“Cade . . .”

“I know how different we are. I know that I’m not your normal type. But I also know that you’re attracted to me.” His hand came up to my cheek, and my traitorous body greedily accepted his touch. “I know that you make me laugh, and that I love hearing your voice, especially when you sing. I know that I haven’t stopped thinking about you since the day you sat down beside me at that coffee shop.” If I was honest, that was probably true for me, too. “And I know that I hate seeing you in pain, more than anything else in the world.”

“Cade . . . I just can’t.”

I tried to pull away, but his other hand came up to my face, and he held me firm.

“Why?”

“I’ll hurt you.”

“I’ll take my chances.”

I pushed away, and this time he let me go. I pointed up toward the hill where we’d spent the last several hours. “Don’t you see who I am? What I cause? I’m poison.”

His expression turned angry, “You are not poison, Max.”

I shook my head, and hated that I was fighting not to cry again.

“I am. I ruin everything good that comes into my life. It all rots around me, and you would be exactly the same way.”

“You’re wrong. You couldn’t ruin me, because everything about you makes me better. You make me take chances and make bolder choices. You make me less concerned with being perfect and more concerned with being real. You make me want to be fearless.”

The closer he came, the more nervous I got, and I was fighting the temptation to run. “Would you stop saying that? I told you before. I’m not fearless! I’m the complete opposite. I am filled with fear every day of my life, and it chokes me until I can’t move or breathe or think without it taking over. It doesn’t matter how much time passes, I still feel like I’m hanging upside down in that seat with the world crumbling around me.” I couldn’t catch my breath. All the walls I’d built over the years had been torn down when I’d told him about Alex, and now there was nothing to keep all the emotions from flooding me.

“I know you’re not fearless, but I don’t think you let fear rule you as much as you think you do. You fight for your dreams. You don’t take shit from anyone. You were brave enough to be yourself, even in front of your parents. You are the most vibrant, beautiful thing I have ever seen.”

He stood in front of me, and one of his hands slid inside his coat to rest on the small of my back. Energy crackled between us, and his forehead pressed against mine.

“Close your eyes. Remember what we talked about that night after your concert? Living is hard. It was hard when you were thirteen, it’s hard today, and it will be hard again in the future. So, you close your eyes and you breathe. Breathe with me.”

I was shaking, but I felt stronger with him in front of me, his gentle breaths fanning across my lips. I breathed until the weight of the world seemed easier to manage. Maybe that was just because I wasn’t holding it alone.

I admitted, “I’m so afraid.”

“I know you are. But fear lets us know we’re alive. It tells me that you care about what happens between us because the mind doesn’t waste time being scared about things that don’t matter.”

“Now open your eyes, Max. You are not poison. I am not better off without you. Look me in the eye and tell me you don’t have feelings for me.”

I looked him in the eye, but I couldn’t say that, because it wasn’t true.

“Then that’s all I need. We both have baggage, Max, but I’m done letting it control me. You said you came here for closure, and I think that’s what we both need. We’ve had too much death and disappointment, so we don’t know how to accept the good things when they happen to us. I’m done with that. I’m done with letting people go.”

I was happy that he was battling his demons, but I’d been fighting mine all day, and I wasn’t sure I could face another. I said, “You don’t understand. Yes, I have feelings for you.” His lips spread into a smile, and it almost derailed my thoughts. I pulled my face away from his and continued, “It was one of the hardest things I have ever done, leaving you. But I know myself. I know how I work, and that’s why I don’t trust myself to be with you. My heart is fickle and inconstant, and I’m terrified I’ll wake up one day and feel differently.”

He smiled sadly and said, “I think you’re terrified that you won’t.”

My mouth snapped shut. As was becoming a pattern . . . he was right.

He continued, “And if you do wake up one day and don’t want to be with me, I will fight for you like I am now.” His thumb brushed against my lip, and he pulled me into his chest. “I’ll remind you every day how amazing it feels when your body touches mine. I’ll remind you of the good times, and help you forget the bad. I’ll remind you who you are when life has beaten you down and made you doubt it. I’ll bust down your door in the middle of the night and kiss you until you remember that your fears are just that, and they can’t control you. I’ll take my chances against your fickle heart if it means it’s mine.”

I was beginning to realize that it already was. I looked at the top of the hill over Cade’s shoulder. I’d always associated this place with endings, but maybe it was about beginnings, too. I took a deep breath and said, “I’m going to be a raging bitch most of the time.”

He was so much more eloquent than me, but I had a feeling that was a yes enough for him. A wide smile formed on his lips, and my heart felt like it filled my entire chest.

“I thought you were working on that.”

I smiled back and shrugged. “Horrible attention span.”

We laughed, and it released some of the pressure in my chest.

He said, “I’m not asking you not to be afraid. In fact, the day that you aren’t is when I’ll start to worry. All I’m asking is for that date you promised the day we met.”

“I can do that.”

He closed the space between us, and his lips met mine. The empty spaces in me were filled to the brim, and for the first time in a long time, the world felt right side up again.

41

Cade

After she was in my arms again, I was reluctant to let her go long enough for us to get anywhere. We grabbed blankets from the trunk of her car and cocooned ourselves away in the backseat. We kissed and touched and talked like we had all the time in the world.

I hoped that we did.

We lay wrapped up together, trying to fit both of us on a too-small backseat.

I said, “I remember this being a lot more comfortable in high school.”

She lifted her head and raised an eyebrow. “Spend a lot of time in backseats, did you, Golden Boy?”

I pressed my fingertips into her sides, and she squirmed against me, laughing.

“I thought we’d established that the past was the past?”

I let her wrestle my hands off of her, and she pressed both of them flat against my chest. “Of course it is, but just to make sure your mind is firmly in the present . . .”

She kissed me.

Each new kiss from her outdid the memory of the last. I broke my hands out of her grasp, and she pouted against my lips. Then I tangled my hands in her hair, and she stopped complaining. It was cold in the car, but there was nothing but heat between us. Unlike the last time we’d kissed, she was in no hurry now. We alternated between talking and kissing until the sun shined from the other side of the sky, at which point both of our backs were killing us.

She asked, “This is how it starts isn’t it? We’re getting old.”

“Oh yeah, you’re already past your prime. Life only goes downhill from here.”

She swatted my chest, and then pressed a kiss to the place where she hit me.

“I’m glad you fought for me,” she said.

“I’m glad you let me.”

It was around sunset when we returned to her parents’ house. I’d told her that we could get a hotel, maybe rent a car and go on to Texas, but she insisted that she could face her parents again. When we pulled into the driveway, her mother was out the door and sobbing into Max’s hair before we even closed the car doors.

“Your father tried to follow you, but he lost you in the subdivisions. We tried calling you, but you left your phone here. Don’t you ever scare us like that again.”

Max’s expression looked like she was being hugged by one of the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse, but she was hugging her mother back.

“Your father has been torn to pieces. He’s out there looking for you now.”

“I’m okay, Mom. I just needed to deal with some things.”

Her mother pulled back and held Max’s face in her hands. She brushed her hair back tenderly from her forehead.

“I’m sorry about the things I said . . . Max.” Max did the constant swallowing thing, which I knew meant she was about to cry. “Your father and I are just scared. We lost your sister, and now everything terrifies us.” Max made a noise halfway between a sob and a laugh. “If it had been up to me, you never would have driven a car or left the house or done anything that took you out of my sight. We just want you to have the best life possible, and we tend to forget that it’s not our wants that matter. You’re an adult now, and it’s time for your father and I to stop trying to control your life.”

Max hugged her mother, probably the first hug she’d initiated in a decade, and Mrs. Miller burst into a second round of sobs.

It wouldn’t be easy. Max was too hurt and her parents too upset for a cry session to fix everything, but it was the beginning, and that’s all we can ask for in life—for a beginning to follow every end.

Max’s father came home, and after close to an hour of the three of them talking and crying, Max looked like she needed a break.

“Why don’t we go get you a dress for that gala?” I asked. “It’s tomorrow, right? I bet the mall is open for a couple more hours still.”

Mrs. Miller looked distressed at the mention of something as mundane as the mall, but she said, “They’re open late for last-minute holiday shopping, I think. But we don’t have to go to the gala, dear.”

“Of course we do,” Max said. “You’ve put a lot of work into this.”

Her mom smiled, and I could almost see the broken thread between them being repaired. A thread was a long way from a bridge, but it was something.

Her mother tried to give Max her credit card to pay for the clothing.

“No, Mom. It’s okay, I’ll find something.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. I know you hate these things and are only doing it for me. So, let me pay. And get Cade something, too. Bethany was talking about putting him in one of Michael’s old suits that’s still in his closet. I’m sure he’d rather not look like he’s going to the junior prom.”

Max took the credit card but made quite clear to everyone (especially Bethany, who was eavesdropping from the dining room) that she was buying something cheap. Nothing fancy.

As it turned out though, even Max couldn’t stomach the dresses she found at the department store, and we wound up at a vintage shop a few blocks away. The owner was getting ready to close when we walked in, but she offered to stay open a little bit longer. Holiday spirit and all that. Max looked like she was in heaven.

I found a suit pretty quickly—gray with a really subtle red plaid. It came with suspenders, which Max approved of. She hooked her hands around them, and used them to pull my mouth down to hers.

I decided I was going to have to kiss her every half hour just to continue reminding myself that it was real.

Max tried on a few things—like a yellow beaded number that ended in the middle of her thighs that made me want to follow her into the dressing room. She tried on another that was dark green and cut high on her neck, covering her tree tattoo.

“That’s gorgeous,” I said. “But don’t you dare pick that one.”

“You don’t think I should cover them?”

I backed her into her dressing room and closed the door.

“I don’t think you should ever cover yourself.”

She smiled and laid a hand on my chest. “Thanks.”

“I mean it, I think you should just be naked all the time.”

She laughed. “Oh, is that what you think?”

“Yes, I’ve put a lot of thought into it.”

“I bet you have.”

She reached up and curved a hand around the back of my neck. I took that as permission enough and pressed her into the mirror.

Her nails bit into my neck, and I groaned.

“Shh! You’re going to get us into trouble.”

“The best kind of trouble.”

I marked a path from her mouth, across her jaw, and down her neck. Her head tilted back against the mirror, and she whimpered. The sound shot straight through me, and I strangled a groan in response.

“Somehow, I don’t think this is what the owner had in mind when she offered to stay open a little longer for us.”

I found a spot at the base of her neck just above her collarbone that made her say, “Oh God.” I concentrated my efforts there, and she wrapped both hands around my neck like she was going to fall. Her breath came in heavy pants, and mine wasn’t much better. I’d not meant for it to go this far, but touching her had a way of derailing my best intentions. I started to kiss lower, but the high neckline of her dress limited my travels.

I groaned, “This dress is definitely not the one.”

She gave a shaky breath, and pushed me away.

After that, I wasn’t allowed in her dressing room. She didn’t even let me see the final dress. She made me return to the car because she wanted it to be a surprise, and because she felt guilty about taking too long.

When I finally saw her in the dress the next day, a black velvet bodice hugged her chest and gave way to a full white skirt that started beneath her breasts and trailed all the way to the floor. The white material was sheer and so layered that it reminded me of a cloud. There were dozens of smaller straps that went over her shoulders and tied in the back. The branches of her tattoo blended in with those and looked like an extension of the bodice. It was the kind of dress I could see her getting married in.

She stood at my door, smiling in a way that was demure and unfamiliar and set my heart racing. I’d experienced a plethora of emotions in my life. I’d made it my career to explore and portray those emotions onstage. When I looked at her, the feeling in my chest eclipsed them all, and I knew that I loved her.

Epilogue

Max

THREE MONTHS LATER

I hadn’t told him that I loved him yet, even though he said it to me a few weeks ago. We’d just passed the mark of my longest relationship, and even though I wouldn’t admit it to him, I was still afraid that I was going to screw this up somehow. I kept waiting for the other shoe to drop. I’d almost told him a dozen times, but those three words are the kind of thing you can’t take back. Once they’re out there in the universe, everything changes.

So, I was waiting for the right moment to make that change. Cade called them “beats,” an acting term he’d taught me when we’d been working on some of my music together.

I brushed more blush across my cheeks and smoothed on my signature red lipstick. Cade knocked on the bathroom door and said, “You ready, babe? We’re up next.”

Cade and I were singing at an opening mic tonight . . . together.

There was a song, the first song I ever wrote actually, that I was finally ready to sing, but I didn’t think I could do it without him. He hadn’t been comfortable singing at one of the band’s gigs, and I wasn’t sure this was a song I wanted associated with the band. This song wasn’t about getting a break or making money.

This song was just for me.

He asked, “Are you nervous?”

I smiled and said, “Only enough to throw up.”

He laughed and said, “You’ll be fine then.”

The bar was about half full as we took the stage. It was a big enough crowd that I didn’t feel like our singing was pointless, but not so big that I was overwhelmed. Cade pressed a kiss to my hand, and then took up the bass guitar. In true Golden Boy fashion, he’d learned to play in about a month so that he could play with me while I was writing. I took my guitar up, too, and adjusted the microphone.

The lights were just bright enough to cast the bar in darkness. I leaned into the mic and said, “My name is Max, and this is Cade. Tonight we’re singing an original song that I wrote a long time ago. I’ve never played it in public, and I finally decided it was time.” I took a deep breath. “It’s called ‘Ten Years.’ ”

I started with the familiar opening cords, and immediately all the old emotions rushed up under my skin. I took a deep breath, and thought about why I was doing this. The song had haunted me since I wrote it, and it was time to move past it.

I took a deep breath and started to sing. Cade sang with me, low and solid. His voice was an anchor to the song and an anchor to me.

“In one second, I see ten years

I picture a future of all my fears

One blink, and I think

Losing you is like losing me.”

I met Cade’s eyes and thought that in a few ways this song spoke to our situation as well. It had been three months, and we’d insinuated ourselves into each other’s lives so completely. Even associating him with a song about loss made me have to blink back tears. I was in danger of saying all the cheesy things about better halves and soul mates that I’d always laughed at in movies.

“Lights flash, the car spins

Every time I close my eyes I see

Broken skin, my life stretched thin

Every time I close my eyes I see

Broken skin and broken kin

The end of you feels like the end of me.

“There’s a scream in my soul

’Cause I’ll never feel whole

I’m stuck in the moment. My mind’s on repeat

Trapped in an instant I can’t delete

“Time unravels, my life unspools

The future has made us all into fools

You’re lying there, and I’m stuck in my chair

All I’m allowed to do is stare.”

I got so choked up on the verse that my voice broke, and I had to take a break and repeat some of the guitar part before I was able to come in for the next verse. Cade was so in tune and perceptive that he followed me easily.

“We’re all slaves to the grave

Helpless to save

So we close our eyes to shut it out

Instead it becomes what we’re all about.”

I closed my eyes, and I did see it all as I sang. I remembered the images that had flashed through my mind of a life without Alex. I’d thought of all the moments in my life that she would miss, and how nothing would ever be the same without her. I was at nine years now, and though nothing was the same without her, life also wasn’t as bad as I had pictured it would be.

I glanced at Cade. Life wasn’t bad at all.

“In one second, I see ten years

Can’t hold it back any more than the tears

I see black dresses, life’s stresses

Imagine the grief, loss of belief

My life unfolds as yours is untold

“Every time I close my eyes.”

Cade repeated the last line alone, and when I heard his low and steady voice, I finally felt like my ghosts had been put to rest.

People started clapping, and I looked at him over the microphone and mouthed, “I love you.”

I blinked, and just like that I saw ten more years unfold.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

Thank you to William Morrow and Amanda Bergeron for believing in my writing, and working so incredibly hard to get it out into the world so quickly. And Amanda, thank you for helping make Cade as awesome as he is. Thank you to Jessie Edwards for being made of awesome and believing in sunken ships with me. Thanks also to Molly Birckhead, Pam Jaffee, and all the rest of the HarperCollins team for doing such a fabulous job.

Thank you to the epic and amazing Suzie Townsend. I am eternally grateful to have a literary gladiator like you on my side. Thanks also to Kathleen, Pouya, Joanna, Danielle, and the rest of the New Leaf Team. You guys keep my world spinning.

Thanks to Kathleen Smith for the information. Thank you to Jennifer, Colleen, Wendy, Sophie, Kathleen, and Molly for reading this book in advance and loving it. I was kind of petrified, and you guys gave me so much confidence. Thank you to Ana for all the things you do and all the things you are, and for making me feel like I’m more awesome than I am. Thanks to Lindsay for being the person with whom I can share absolutely anything, and for always sharing back. Thank you also to Joey, Patrick, Bethany, Shelly, Zach, Kristin, Sam, Marylee, Kendall, Swinter, Louise, Tyler, Brittany, Michelle, Heather, Amber, DeAndre, Matt, Mark, Mere, Michael, Leesa, and so many other friends. I’m so thankful to have you all in my life. Thank you to my former students (even though you aren’t old enough to read this; close this book right now). Thank you to Marisa, Stacey, Sarah, Michelle, Jamie, El, Molly, Aimee, Kim, Kathryn, Nichole, Julie, and Marice. I love you guys.

I wish I could list each and every blogger, Twitter follower, Facebook friend, and reader who has supported me and my writing. But there are so many of you (for which I’m extremely grateful) that it could fill a whole other book. Just know that I appreciate and love you all so much. All of this is for you!

Thank you to my family. I have the best family in the world, and not just because we rock freckles better than anyone else. This all still feels like a dream. And well, it is a dream . . . one I couldn’t have achieved without your love and support.

And to that guy I threw an Easter egg at in Queens at two in the morning because I thought you were someone else . . . I’m sorry for being the most awkward person to ever walk on two legs.

Contents

Dedication

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Acknowledgments

Dedication

To Kristin, my eerily perceptive travel buddy.

Remember that time we were stuck in a train station overnight?

And taking a cab from Germany to the Netherlands?

And that microwave I ruined in Spain before I almost died?

Thanks for being there for all of that and more.

1

Everyone deserves one grand adventure, that one time in life that we always get to point back to and say, “Then . . . then I was really living.”

Adventures don’t happen when you’re worried about the future or tied down by the past. They only exist in the now. And they always, always come at the most unexpected time, in the least likely of packages. An adventure is an open window; and an adventurer is the person willing to crawl out on the ledge and leap.

I told my parents I was going to Europe to see the world and grow as a person (not that Dad listened beyond the second or third word, which is when I slipped in that I was also going to spend his money and piss him off as much as possible. He didn’t notice). I told my professors that I was going to collect experiences to make me a better actor. I told my friends I was going to party.

In reality, it was a little of all of those things. Or maybe none of them.

Sometimes, I just got that strange niggling sensation at the back of my mind, like the insistent buzz of a mosquito, that I was missing something.

I wanted to experience something extraordinary, something more. I refused to believe that my best years were all behind me now that I’d graduated from college. And if adventures only existed in the now, that was the only place I wanted to exist, too.

After nearly two weeks of backpacking around Eastern Europe, I was becoming an expert at just that.

I trekked down the dark city street, my stiletto heels sticking in between the cobblestones. I kept a tight hold on the two Hungarian men that I’d met earlier in the evening, and we followed the other two in our group. I guess, technically, I had met them last night, since we were now into the early hours of morning.

For the life of me, I couldn’t keep their names straight. And I wasn’t even drunk yet.

Okay . . . so maybe I was a little drunk.

I kept calling Tamás, István. Or was that András? Oh well. They were all hot with dark hair and eyes, and they knew four words in English as far as I could tell.

American. Beautiful. Drink. Dance.

As far as I was concerned, those were the only words they needed to know. At least I remembered Katalin’s name. I’d met her a few days ago, and we’d hung out almost every night since. It was a mutually beneficial arrangement. She showed me around Budapest, and I charged most of our fun on Daddy’s credit card. Not like he would notice or care. And if he did, he’d always said that if money didn’t buy happiness, then people were spending it wrong.

Thanks for the life lessons, Daddy.

“Kelsey,” Katalin said, her accent thick and exotic. Damn, why couldn’t I have one of those? I’d had a slight Texas twang when I was younger, but my years in theatre had all but beat that out of me. She said, “Welcome to the ruin bars.”

Ruin bars.

I paused in ruffling István’s hair (or the one I called István anyway) to take in where we were. We stood on an empty street filled with dilapidated buildings. I knew the whole don’t-judge-a-book-by-its-cover thing; but in the dark, this place was straight out of a zombie apocalypse. I wondered how to say brains in Hungarian.

The old Jewish quarter. That’s where Katalin said we were going.

Oy vey.

It sure as hell didn’t look to me like there were any bars around here. I took in the sketchy neighborhood, and thought at least I’d gotten laid last night. If I was going to get chopped into tiny pieces, at least I’d go out with a bang. Literally.

I laughed and almost recounted my thoughts to my companions, but I was pretty sure it would get lost in translation. Especially because I was starting to question even Katalin’s grip on the English language, if this was what “bar” meant to her.

I pointed to a grungy building devoid of any signs or address and said, “Drink?” Then mimed the action just to be safe.

One of the guys said, “Igen. Drink.” The word sounded like ee-gan, and I’d picked up just enough to know it meant yes.

Whoo-hoo. I was practically fluent already.

I followed Katalin and András (I was seventy-five percent sure that her guy was András). They stepped into the darkened doorway of one derelict building that gave me the heebiest of jeebies. The taller of my Hungarian hotties slipped an arm around my shoulders. I took a guess and said, “Tamás?” His teeth were pearly white when he smiled. I would take that as a yes. Tamás equaled tall. And drop-dead sexy. Noted.

One of his hands came up and brushed back the blond hair from my face. I tilted my head back to look at him, and excitement sparked in my belly. What did language matter when dark eyes locked on mine, strong hands pressed into my skin, and heat filled the space between us?

Not a whole hell of a lot.

Tonight was going to be a good night. I could feel it.

We followed the rest of the group into the building, and I felt the low thrum of techno music vibrating the floor beneath my feet.

Interesting.

We traveled deeper into the building and came out into a large room. Walls had been knocked down, and no one had bothered to move the pieces of concrete. Christmas lights and lanterns lit the space. Mismatched furniture was scattered around the bar. There was even an old car that had been repurposed into a dining booth. It was easily the weirdest, most confusing place I’d ever been in.

“You like?” Katalin asked.

I pressed myself closer to Tamás and said, “I love.”

He led me to the bar where drinks were dirt cheap. I pulled out a two thousand forint note. For less than the equivalent of ten U.S. dollars, I bought all five of us shots.

Amazing. Maybe I should stay in Eastern Europe forever.

And I would totally consider it . . . except there was one downside to Europe. For some reason that made no sense to me, they gave lemon slices with tequila instead of lime. The bartenders always looked at me like I’d just ordered elephant sweat in a glass. They just didn’t understand the magical properties of my favorite drink. If my accent didn’t give me away as a tourist, my drink of choice always did.

Lime or not, tequila is my bestie, so I took it eagerly.

Next, Tamás bought me a gin bitter lemon, a drink I’d been introduced to a few weeks ago. It almost made the absence of margaritas in this part of the world bearable. I downed it like it was lemonade on a blistering Texas day. His eyes went wide, and I licked my lips. István bought me another, and the acidity and sweetness rolled across my tongue.

Tamás gestured for me to down it again. It wasn’t really that kind of drink, but who was I to deny him? I threw it back to a round of applause.

God, I love when people love me.

I took hold of Tamás’s and István’s arms and pulled them away from the bar. There was a room that had one wall knocked out in lieu of a door, and it overflowed with dancing bodies.

That was where I wanted to be.

I tugged my boys in that direction, and Katalin and András followed close behind. We had to step over a small pile of concrete rubble if we wanted to get into the room. I took one look at my turquoise heels, and knew there was no way in hell I was managing that with my sex appeal intact. I turned to István and Tamás—sizing them up. István was the beefier of the two, so I put an arm around his neck. We didn’t need to speak the same language for him to understand what I wanted. He swept an arm underneath my legs and pulled me up to his chest. It was a good thing I wore skinny jeans instead of a skirt.

“Köszönöm,” I said, even though he probably should have been thanking me, based on the way he was openly ogling my chest.

Ah well. I didn’t mind ogling. I was still pleasantly warm from the alcohol, and the music drowned out the world. My shitty parents and uncertain future were thousands of miles away across an ocean. My problems might as well have been drowning at the bottom of said ocean for how much they mattered to me in that moment.

The only expectations here were ones that I had encouraged and I was all too willing to follow through on. So, maybe, my new “friends” only wanted me for money and sex. It was better than not being wanted at all. Besides . . . everyone wants something from someone else. I just preferred to be up front about it.

István’s arms flexed around me, and I melted into him. My father liked to talk, or yell rather, about how I didn’t appreciate anything. But the male body was one thing I had no issue appreciating. István played soccer, and he was all hard muscles and angles beneath my hands. And those girls were definitely a-wandering.

By the time he’d set my feet on the dance floor, my hands had found those delicious muscles that angled down from his hips. I bit my lip and met his gaze from beneath lowered lashes. If his expression was any indication, I had found Boardwalk and had the all clear to proceed to Go and collect my two hundred dollars.

Or forint. Whatever.

Tamás pressed his chest against my back, and I gave myself up to the alcohol and the music and the sensation of being stuck between two gorgeous specimens of man.

Time started to disappear between frenzied hands and drips of sweat. There were more drinks and more dances. Each song faded into the next. Colors danced behind my closed eyes. And it was almost enough.

For a while, I got to be blank. A brand-new canvas. Untouched snow.

I’d checked my baggage at the door, and just was.

And it was perfect.

There was no room for unhappiness when squeezed between two sets of washboard abs.

New life motto, right there.

I gave István a couple notes and sent him to get more drinks. In the meantime, I turned to face Tamás. He’d been pressed against my back for God knows how long, and I’d forgotten how tall he was. I leaned back to meet his gaze, and his hands smoothed down my back to my ass.

I smirked and said, “Someone is happy to have me all to himself.”

He pulled my hips into his, his arousal pressing low against my stomach, and said, “Beautiful American.”

Right. No point expending energy on cheeky banter that he couldn’t even understand. I had a pretty good idea how to better use my energy. I slipped my arms around his neck and tilted my head in the universal sign of “kiss me.”

Tamás didn’t waste any time. Like, really . . . no time. The dude went zero to sixty in seconds. His tongue was so far down my throat, it was like being kissed by the love child of a lizard and Gene Simmons.

We were both pretty drunk. Maybe he didn’t realize that he was in danger of engaging my gag reflex with his Guinness record-worthy tongue. I eased back and his tongue assault ended, only for his teeth to clamp down on my bottom lip.

I was all for a little biting, but he pulled my lip out until I had one half of a fish mouth. And he stood there, sucking on my bottom lip for so long that I actually started counting to see how long it would last.

When I got to fifteen (FIFTEEN!) seconds, my eyes settled on a guy across the bar watching my dilemma with a huge smile. Was shit-eating grin in the dictionary? If not, I should snap a picture for Merriam-Webster.

I braced myself and pulled my poor, abused lip from Tamás’s teeth with a pop. My mouth felt like it had been stuck in a vacuum cleaner. While I pressed my fingers to my numb lip, Tamás started placing sloppy kisses from the corner of my lips across my cheek to my jaw.

His tongue slithered over my skin like a snail, and all the blissful alcohol-induced haze that I’d worked so hard for disappeared.

I was painfully aware that I was standing in an abandoned-building-turned-bar with a trail of drool across my cheek, and that a guy across the room was now openly laughing at me.

And he was fucking gorgeous, which made it so much worse.

Sometimes . . . the now sucked.

2

My amused stalker had olive-toned skin, dark eyes, and hair cut close to his head. He had that muscled, military look about him, which sparked half a dozen dirty puns in my head about him invading my territories. Plus, he was tall with a permanent smolder that would have made Tyra Banks stop the crazy train and stare.

Unfortunately, the only staring happening was on his part. Why did it have to be someone so hot who witnessed my face sucking of shame? And as if he could read my thoughts through my gaze, he laughed harder.

I tore myself away from Tamás and put my hand up to keep him from following me.

“Bathroom!” I blurted.

The word meant nothing to him, so he reached for me again.

“Eh-eh!” I gave him the Heisman and tried, “Toilet?”

His brow furrowed, and he held a hand to his ear. So I yelled louder, “Toilet!”

The volume didn’t help, but it did make a dozen or so people around us who obviously spoke English stop and gawk at me. And my traitorous eyes found the guy across the room. If he laughed any harder, he was going to pop a lung.

Damn it.

I guessed he didn’t have any issues understanding my English.

I turned and fled, probably only exponentially increasing the size of the scene I’d just made, but I was only focused on washing away the embarrassment with another drink.

I tried to walk over the rubble pile that led back to the bar, but the ground kept moving, and I felt a million miles tall in these heels. Tipsier than I realized, I blinked, trying to bring the world back into focus. I had to bend and balance my hand on a chunk of concrete to keep from toppling over.

“What? No more locals around to carry you?”

I turned my head to the side, and my worst fears came true.

Soldier Smolder. He was even more gorgeous up close, which was only magnified by his deep voice. And from the sound of it, he was American, too. The look on his face was part teasing–part condescending, but his eyes still had my organs doing somersaults.

Or . . . that could have been the alcohol.

Both. Let’s go with both.

“I don’t need anyone to carry me. I’m perfectly—whoa.”

I tried to straighten up, but my ankle twisted and the world went a little topsy-turvy. In what seemed like fast-forward, I went from standing to sitting on the rubble in the blink of an eye, the heels of my hands scraped raw from the rough concrete. I was still trying to figure out if I was moving at lightning speed, or if the world was moving really slowly, when suddenly—I was flying.

My vision filled with a strong jaw that gave way to soft, full lips. And then eyes so piercing, they reminded me of growing up in church and feeling certain that somewhere out there was a God that was watching, and could see everything I didn’t want him to see.

“You remind me of God, “I mumbled, then immediately wished I could suck those words back into my mouth.

He laughed. “Well, that’s a new one for me.”

“I meant . . .” I don’t know what I meant. God, I was drunk. “Let me down. I don’t need anyone to carry me.”

He spoke, and I felt his low voice vibrate from his chest into mine. “I don’t care what you think you need.”

Story of my life. I loved men as much as the next girl, but why was it that they always seemed to think they knew better?

I rolled my eyes and said, “Fine, carry me all night. Works for me.”

I leaned my head on his shoulder and snuggled up against his chest to get comfortable. I was just curling my hand around the back of his neck when he plopped my feet down on the ground, on the other side of the rubble. I winced, pain jolting up from my ankles to my knees from the hard landing.

Sigh. I should have kept my smart mouth shut. I pretended like I wasn’t disappointed, shrugged, and turned toward the bar. He appeared in front of me so fast, and my reflexes were so slow, that I barely managed to keep from face-planting into his pecs.

Wait . . . Why was I trying to keep from doing that?

He said, “What? No thank-you?”

I leveled him with a stare, feeling more sober than I had a few moments ago. “I’m not in the habit of thanking people who do things to me against my will. So, if you don’t mind—”

I pushed past him and flagged down the bartender, who thankfully spoke English. I asked for tequila and took a seat on a barstool.

“Give her a water, too,” my stalker added, sitting down beside me.

I eyed him. Hot, he was definitely hot. But I’d never met a guy in a bar who tried to get me less drunk. That somehow made it harder to trust him.

Twisted, I know. But I had learned a long time ago that if you didn’t figure out what people wanted from you at the beginning, it would come back to bite you in the ass later. Plus, if I was reading the tension in his jaw correctly, he was angry, and for the life of me I couldn’t figure out why he was sitting there beside me if I annoyed him so much.

I said, “You’re awfully pushy, stranger.”

And kind of dangerous. Who knew stranger-danger could be so hot?

“You’re awfully drunk, princess.”

I laughed. “Honey, I’m barely getting started. When I start talking about how I can’t feel my cheeks and get a little touchy-feely, then you’ll know I’m awfully drunk.”

His eyebrow raised when I said touchy-feely, but he didn’t comment. My shot arrived, along with a cup of water. I glared at the latter, pushing it away from me, then grabbed my shot.

This trip was about adventure, about living life with no baggage and no strings and no thought. Only now. It definitely wasn’t about drinking water.

I tipped back the shot.

Now.

For a few seconds, the warmth settled in my middle, grounding me. I was beginning to get used to the lemon slices, sweeter than limes, but the sour taste still gave a tiny jolt on my tongue. I signaled for another, but my tagalong’s deep voice sliced through the lovely haze I was building.

“If you’re trying to drink away the memory of that kiss on the dance floor, I doubt it will work. That’s the kind of kiss that sticks with you.”

Cringing, I said, “You don’t have to tell me that.”

I wiped at my cheek again even though the slobber was long gone.

The cup of water slid back in front of me, pushed by his forefinger. I squinted up at him. His dark eyes were steel gray, hardened. But there was a hint of a smile in his gaze that was nowhere to be found on his mouth.

And a fascinating mouth it was.

I said, “You know, you could always help me find another way to erase the memory of that bad kiss.” He turned and leaned his back against the bar. His arm brushed mine, and I shivered. So, he was a bit on the aggravating side, but he was also big and warm and masculine, and, hell, I didn’t need to list anything else. I was already sold. My body didn’t so much care about what kind of tension was between us. Tension was tension.

He kept his eyes fixed coolly on the dance floor across the room. With that strong, stubbled jaw and those delicious muscles, he was the epitome of tall, dark, and dangerous.

My vocabulary narrowed to one word: yum.

He said, “I could do that . . . ,” glancing sideways at me.

Oh, please. Let’s please do that.

“But it’s so much more fun to keep picturing the look on your face as it was happening.”

Damn it.

His shoulders bounced in a silent chuckle. Great. Now he was laughing at me again.

I let my arm brush his and said, “I can think of a few things that would be more fun.”

He stopped laughing. His eyes broke away from the dance floor and trailed up my body, starting with my heels. I knew there was a reason I braved these stilettos. When his gaze reached my hips, he dragged a thumb across his bottom lip, and I was ready to jump him right then. I pushed my shoulders back, and like a charm his eyes settled on my chest.

Bingo!

Thanks for keeping my secrets, Victoria. The grin of victory was already climbing onto my face, and then he returned his gaze to the dance floor without a comment.

What the hell?

He didn’t look at my face. He didn’t even look at my body for that long.

I was kind of offended. My girls, Marilyn and Monroe, were definitely offended.

See! This was what I meant about not trusting a guy who wanted me sober. I’d been awake too long and had too many drinks to figure out what he wanted. And though he was gorgeous (of the drop-dead variety), he was also killing my buzz. Not to mention that alcohol and insecurity were a very bad combination.

I said, “Well, this has been interesting. I better get back—”

“To the dementor out on the dance floor? Really?”

I took a few steps and threw a smile over my shoulder.

“You got a better offer?”

I’d expected the same cool once-over. Instead, his eyes blazed, and his jaw tensed. He leaned away from the bar like he was going to follow me. My steps stuttered, and something fluttered in my belly. I almost threw myself at him. Almost.

He wasn’t nearly as uninterested as he wanted me to believe, and that was what made him interesting. I bit my lip and had the satisfaction of watching his eyes zone in on my mouth.

Smiling, I stepped back toward him and leaned in until our chests brushed. His head tipped down toward mine, and though his expression was carefully blank, I saw his Adam’s apple bob once and then again as he swallowed.

I braced a hand on his hard chest as I reached for the forgotten cup of water behind him. I bit my lip to keep from smiling too wide as I pulled the cup between us. Tilting my head to the side, I looked up at him as I wrapped my lips around the straw and took a long drink.

He cleared his throat, his gaze fixed on my mouth. Excitement seized low in my belly. “Let me know if you change your mind,” I said.

I turned and flounced back to the dance floor, my hips swinging a little more than usual. I made it over the rubble alone this time, though I had to be very cautious and careful about where I put my feet. It wasn’t until I was standing back on the dance floor and saw Tamás, the terrible kisser, that I regretted my killer exit.

So when I spotted István, I made a beeline.

Tamás was officially no longer on my to-do list.

I looped my arms around István’s neck and spun so that he was stationed between me and droolboy. I didn’t even make it a few seconds before I found my thoughts once again drawn to my friend at the bar. His eyes lanced through me.

Yeah, he was definitely interested.

I smiled and took another sip of my water.

Time for a little show.

With my eyes on Dark and Dangerous, I ran a hand down István’s chest. I shook out my fair curls and pressed myself closer to him. I twisted and wound my body around his, putting a little extra intensity into my movement for my audience.

From here, I could see the way his fist clenched on the bar.

I leaned my back against István’s chest and faced my real target. Running a hand down my body, I shot him a sly smile.

This was going to be a piece of cake.

One of István’s hands slid around my waist to my abdomen, and I dropped my head back on his shoulder. My eyes fluttered closed, and my lids were almost too heavy to lift again. My muscles tingled pleasantly.

There was that buzz again. Hallelujah. The tequila was kicking in.

This . . . this was how I wanted to feel all the time. Set adrift, no longer tethered to the earth and her demands and troubles. I wanted to float out to sea, drift out to space, forget who I was.

It was perfect.

But I could think of one way it could be better. I opened my eyes, and had to blink away the blur before I could focus on the bar.

Dark and Dangerous wasn’t there.

I looked back to the wall where I’d first spotted him, but he wasn’t there either. I searched for his broad shoulders and his olive skin, but couldn’t see him anywhere. He’d vanished into the crowd, taking tonight’s most interesting option with him.

Damn it. I’d played too hard to get. I should have just jumped him as soon as I saw his interest at the bar.

I frowned and fought off my disappointment. I tried to settle back against István, but suddenly the heat from his hands on my hips and his breath against my shoulder felt much less exciting. I took a deep breath, stretched my neck, and turned to face him.

He must have thought that was the go-ahead to make a move because he leaned in to kiss me. I pulled back and his lips grazed my chin instead.

I stepped back and shook my head. What was wrong with me?

I looked at the cup of water still in my hand and decided that maybe I just needed another drink.

Traveling alone wasn’t easy. There was too much quiet, too much time spent in my head. Sometimes it felt a lot like work. And the antidote to work was more play.

When István and I reached the bar, he smiled and said, “Drink, beautiful American.”

Right. Maybe it would have been nice if he knew a few more words in English.

I ordered another round of shots. At any other time— hell, yesterday—I would have made things interesting with the lemon wedge or some salt, but I wasn’t up to it at the moment. That would take too much effort.

I knew the minute I put the glass to my mouth that it wasn’t a good idea. My mouth was watering, and my stomach felt like it was residing somewhere up in my rib cage. But I took it anyway.

I’d stop after this one, ride it out for a while. I had it totally under control.

Or I thought I had anyway.

Five minutes later, that shot didn’t just hit me. It bulldozed me, backed up, and flattened me again. Just trying to walk made me feel like one of those lame inflatable flailing-tube guys. The ground kept bending up toward me, no matter how carefully I walked. The air seemed to ripple with each thump of the base. Neon lights bounced around the space. With the dancing people, the trippy décor of this place, and the noise, the inside of my head made the Harlem Shake look like a garden party.

“I think . . . I think I need some air.”

“Dance?” István asked.

God, no.

“No dancing. I just need . . .” I pushed back through the crowd to the hallway that we’d arrived through. I ping-ponged between drifts of people and the walls like a pinball before reaching the exit. I burst out into the cool night air, and took a huge gulp of fresh air.

That was my downfall.

I balanced myself with a hand on the building, and then was atrociously, epically, mortifyingly sick on the street. The quiet, empty, not-yet-zombie-infested street.

Footsteps came up behind me, and warm hands pulled back the hair that was hanging on both sides of my face.

Okay, so not entirely empty.

Eyes watery and my throat sore, I looked over my shoulder expecting to see István or maybe Katalin.

Instead, I found the guy who’d disappeared on me earlier reappearing at the absolute worst moment. And that trace of a smile I’d seen in his eyes was long gone.

Kill me now.

3

I was scared that if I opened my mouth, I would hurl again . . . from the alcohol and the embarrassment.

The world was spinning, but his face—the straight nose and chiseled jawbone—that was still and clear, almost as if the universe wanted this moment imprinted on my brain forever.

“You okay?” he asked, his voice gruff.

No. I was so very far from okay (though still very much in four-letter-word territory).

“I’m fine.” I pushed off the wall where I’d been bracing myself and tottered out into the street.

“Where are you going?”

“Away.” Just . . . away.

The night air was cool, and it felt exquisite against my sweat-dotted skin.

“Hold on,” he said, trailing behind me.

“Seriously?”

He should be running right now. That’s what you do when someone makes a supreme asshat out of themselves. You look the other way and keep walking.

He stopped before me, his face cast in shadows from the street lamps. “I’m not letting you walk around by yourself.”

Oh. He was one of those.

Couldn’t he take a hint? My head was spinning, and my mouth tasted like something too disgusting for me to name. I never thought there would be a moment where I wanted a hot guy to leave me alone, but it appeared there was a first time for everything.

“I told you, I’m fine.”

“Bad things happen to people who are fine every day.”

So, Dark and Dangerous was really just a Prince Charming with a buzz cut. That shouldn’t have been appealing. Normally, I couldn’t stand that kind of thing. But against all odds, I could feel myself softening, the edges of my will blurring.

I blamed the stubble. I never could resist the scruffy look.

“Listen, I get the whole protective thing. It’s what guys like you do. And don’t get me wrong, it’s kinda hot. But I don’t need a babysitter. So put the knight-in-shining-armor fantasies on hold for the night.”

I thought I sounded firm and very adult (but then again, I was drunk). The roll of his eyes told me that he wasn’t taking me very seriously.

“And I already told you that I don’t care what you think you need.”

“So, what? You’re going to follow me whether I want you to or not?”

His lips pulled together, and I could see the mirth written in the curve of his mouth. Such a tempting mouth.

“That’s exactly what I’m going to do. Someone needs to get you home.”

Not even a measly one percent of me managed to believe that “get you home” meant anything other than dropping the pitiful drunk girl off at her hostel to wallow in her nausea and misery.

We couldn’t have that now, could we?

I sidestepped him. “I’m not going home yet. So run along and find yourself another damsel.”

He smiled, but there was an edge to it. He ran a hand over his short hair, and I made myself walk away.

He called after me, “You’re a real piece of work.”

That made me smile. I stopped and spun, walking backward. I stretched out my hands and yelled, the sound echoing through the street, “You bet I am.”

If there was a museum filled with people who were a “piece of work,” I’d be the main fucking exhibit. I would have said as much, but the whole walking backward thing wasn’t the best idea in my current state. I stumbled, just barely managing to catch myself, but my stomach felt like it had plopped down to the ground anyway. I didn’t look at him, knowing I probably looked twice as foolish as I felt, which was a lot.

I took a steadying breath, afraid I might be sick again.

The funny thing about alcohol . . . when it makes you feel good, you feel amazing. But when it makes you feel bad, you’ve never felt worse. Not just the nausea, but all of it. I might be a piece of work, but I knew myself well enough to know that if I went back to my dingy hostel—mattress springs pricking at my back, the cacophony of snoring roommates, the threadbare blankets—it was a recipe for hitting rock bottom.

Most hostels were devised so that you met other people, and yet they were the loneliest damn places in the world. Everything there is temporary—the residents, the relationships, the hot water. I felt like a flower trying to plant roots into concrete.

Nope. I needed to walk off the alcohol before I went home if I wanted to avoid a breakdown of child-star proportions. And this time, I should walk facing the right direction.

After only a few steps, my tagalong was right at my side. I scowled and tried to walk faster, but my stilettos weren’t having that. And I didn’t trust myself not to face-plant into the cobblestone with the kind of night I was having.

And though I wouldn’t admit it to anyone, I was a little glad for the company.

“What’s your name?” I asked.

He arched one dark eyebrow.

“You waited long enough to ask that.”

I shrugged. “Names aren’t exactly the important bit in places like this.” I gestured behind us to the bar we’d just left. “And, honestly, I couldn’t care less.”

Or that’s what I was telling myself. And him.

“So, then why ask? If names aren’t important and you don’t care?”

“Well, first, we’re no longer in said bar. And second, you’re following me, and I’m asking questions to fill the silence because otherwise things will get awkward. And talking keeps me from thinking about how you’re probably a serial killer, hence the whole following thing.”

“From a knight in shining armor to a serial killer.”

“The nice-guy bit could be an act. And you definitely look like you could be dangerous.”

“Are you always this honest?”

“Not even close. It’s the alcohol talking. Totally powers down my filter.”

The smile was back in his eyes, and maybe it was because I was drunk, but this guy didn’t make a lick of sense. That should have worried me. Maybe there really was something off about him. But at the moment, my brain was full just trying to stay upright and breathe.

He said, “I’ll tell you my name if you’ll tell me something about yourself.”

“Like what?” My pin number?

“It doesn’t matter. Something else honest.”

I couldn’t seem to walk in a straight line. My path kept veering toward his. Probably because I was drunk. Or his muscles were magnetic. Both completely plausible options.

My arm brushed his, and the sensation went straight to my head, electric and fuzzy, so I said the first thing I thought of.

“Honestly? I’m tired.”

He laughed once. “That’s because it’s almost dawn.”

“Not that kind of tired.”

“What kind of tired, then?”

“The bone-deep kind. The kind of tired that sleep doesn’t fix. Just tired of . . . being.”

He stayed quiet for one, two, three steps down the narrow, echoing street. Then his pace slowed, and I could feel his eyes on me. I strained my peripheral vision to see more of him. He said, “You don’t show it.”

“I don’t show much of anything.”

Three more silent steps.

He said, “I bet that gets tiring, too.”

What was I doing telling him this shit?

I looked over at him. My stilettos apparently weren’t safe unless I was watching them, because they slipped between two stones on the street. My ankle turned for the second time that night, and I teetered sideways. I reached out to try to balance myself on his shoulder, but I was falling away from him, and I was too slow. Luckily, he was faster. He turned and caught my elbow with one hand and wrapped the other around my waist. He pulled me upright, and I could feel a stubborn blush creeping up my neck. I had no problem playing the ditzy blonde to get what I wanted, but I hated that I was living the stereotype unintentionally at the moment.

“How are your cheeks?” he asked.

I blinked, hyperaware of his hand around my waist and the long fingers that could easily have skated farther down my body. Just thinking this had my heart racing to catch up with my thoughts.

“Can you feel them?” he added.

Oh, those cheeks. Disappointment doused the longing flame in me.

The hand that had been tucked around my elbow came up and grazed the curve of my cheek in reminder. And the flame was back.

“They, um,” I swallowed, “just feel a bit heavy is all.”

His eyes pinned me in place for a few seconds. There was so much behind that stare, more than there should be from a guy I’d just met tonight (if vomiting in front of him counted as meeting, since I still hadn’t even gotten his name).

He righted me, and his warm hands left my skin.

Resisting the urge to pull him back, I said, “Your turn.”

“My cheeks feel fine.”

I smiled. “I meant your name.”

He nodded and started walking again. I followed, more careful now of where I placed my feet.

“Most people call me Hunt.”

I took a few quick steps and caught up to him.

“Should I call you that? Am I most people?”

He pushed his fists into his pocket, and his strides grew even longer. He glanced back at me once before focusing on the narrow stone street ahead of us.

“Honestly, I have no idea what you are.”

What did that mean? He didn’t know what kind of girl I was? (Because I would totally tell him what kind of girl I was.)

Based on the set of his shoulders and the fact that he barely looked at me, I was guessing he meant something a bit more serious.

I didn’t know how to answer, so I didn’t try. I’d spilled enough to him already.

Together, we walked. I didn’t really know where we were going, and he stayed silent, following me when I chose to turn at random. I let my mind wander from the brooding gothic architecture to where I might travel next to home and then back to the man next to me.

Hunt.

What kind of name was that?

Predatory. That’s what kind.

I really should be scared, walking around a dark, unfamiliar city with a complete stranger. But there were a lot of things that I should be and wasn’t. And when I looked over at him, I couldn’t seem to conjure an ounce of the fear I knew I should have. Dad always accused me of having a death wish. Maybe he was right.

A glow began to creep across the sky, and we exited a narrow street into open air. A winding river bisected the city, and the sunrise peeked its head above it.

There was too much to see, and I slowed to a stop to take it all in. The sky breathed in pink and purple, and a soft gold glinted off the river. I couldn’t remember the name, but it was the same river that was only a block or two from my hostel. Despite my wandering, we’d ended up fairly close to the home to which Hunt was supposed to be taking me.

I swallowed, still feeling antsy at the idea of returning to the hostel. So, rather than walking north toward bed, I pointed south. “There’s a club a little ways that way that’s open until six.”

He gave me a hard look. “I think you’ve partied enough tonight.”

The judgment in his tone made me squirm, mostly because I knew he was right. If another drop of alcohol passed my lips, I’d be sick again in no time.

But that buzzing was there at the back of my mind, telling me I needed to do something. It was always safer to do than to think. I turned away from Hunt and jogged into the street toward the riverbank.

“Where are you going?” Hunt called after me.

I turned, walking backward again, and said, “Absolutely no idea.”

I was raising my shoulders in a shrug and my lips in a smile when he darted out into the street and grabbed me by the elbow. With a forceful tug, he turned me around and pulled me up onto the sidewalk on the other side of the road.

“Are you crazy? Don’t walk across a fucking road without looking where you’re going!”

I pulled my elbow out of his grasp and stepped away from him. “Relax. I’m fine. There’s no one out this time of morning anyway.”

Then the universe one-upped me as a sports car zoomed past, wind rushing around us in its wake. Hunt raised his eyebrows at me. His jaw was tense with anger, and I couldn’t tell whether I wanted to push it away or press my lips to it.

“You don’t have to say it,” I said, turning before he could say, I told you so. “I’m a piece of work. Got it.” I jogged ahead toward the river. “But you know what? I’m so good at it.”

I reached down and slipped off one heel, and then the other. My feet ached against the flat, cool stone, but I didn’t mind. I held both of my shoes in one hand and skipped toward the river, Hunt following behind.

I screamed just to hear the sound echo out over the water.

“You’re ridiculous,” he said.

I didn’t like the way he said it. Like he pitied me.

“Correction: I’m fun.”

I left him behind, running for the water. I thought briefly of just diving in or perhaps skinny-dipping in the river, but decided people would be coming out soon, and there was no telling what was in that water.

Dark and deep, like a bruise, the river had a quiet energy that made me slow down and stare. It was beautiful and silent and solemn with just a dab of pain written in the current. Even the rising sun only broke through the first layer, the light swallowed by the dark just a few inches below the surface.

A little ways down the riverside, small dark shapes lined the edge of the walkway, and I moved toward them, curious. But when I got there, I didn’t understand any more by seeing them up close.

There were shoes. Dozens of them. Black and cast in iron, lining the river’s edge. Empty shoes.

It was a sculpture of some kind, but I was at a loss for what it meant. The shoes ranged in size and shape, belonging to both men and women. Some were small, made for the tiny feet of children. Some were simple and others elaborate. I took a step forward to walk among them, but something held me back. If the river was a bruise, these were grief. Loss. There were no feet in them, but they were far from empty.

“It’s a holocaust memorial,” Hunt said from behind me.

I sucked in a breath, the cold air was slightly tangy on my tongue. All those shoes. I knew they were just replicas, just pieces of metal, but they spoke. They sang.

You don’t realize how small you really are until you’re faced with something like that. We live our lives as if we’re at the center of our own universe, but we’re just tiny pieces of a shattered whole. Here I was . . . worried about how I was going to survive life post-college. God, it didn’t even seem right anymore to think of it as surviving, not with this reminder of all the people that hadn’t. I pushed my fingers back through my hair, lacing them behind my neck.

I knew I was lucky. Blessed, even. But it was a lot of pressure . . . trying not to waste what you’ve been given. I wanted to accomplish something. To love something. To be something. But I didn’t know how. I didn’t know what.

All of my friends were off chasing their dreams, moving into their futures, and I just wanted to want something with that kind of desperation, that kind of fire. I was an actress. I’d spent nearly half my life stepping into a character, searching out her desires, finding what drives her. But for the life of me, I couldn’t do the same for myself. It had been a long, long time since I’d let myself want something enough for it to matter.

I felt like such a failure. Every shoe before me represented a dream that would never be lived, a life that would never be loved. I’d never faced that kind of oppression or struggle.

This place bled with history and tragedy, and in comparison it made the wounds of my past seem like scratches.

4

Are you okay?”

Hunt stood right next to me. On instinct, I turned my back to him. I was glad for it as I wiped my cheeks and my hands came back wet.

I cleared my throat.

“Yeah, I’m fine. Just yawned. Maybe I’m a little tired after all.”

“You mean I finally get to walk you home?”

I composed my face into a smile and turned. “Come on, then, Prince Charming. Let’s see what this chivalry stuff is all about. I hear good things.”

His lips tipped in a smile. “I haven’t been called chivalrous in a long time.”

I raised an eyebrow as we crossed the road back to the other sidewalk. “Fine by me. Chivalry sounded pretty boring anyway.” I was much more intrigued by the not-so-nice side of him.

He laughed, and I took a moment to get my bearings. We weren’t far from my hostel at all. I was pretty sure it was just a block or two north. Once we’d set off walking again, I looked at Hunt. “Tell me something. If you’re not walking me home because it’s the gentlemanly thing to do, why are you here?”

We crossed over another side street and he said, “Back on the serial-killer bent, are we?”

I surveyed him for a second. In my sobering state, he wasn’t any less muscular or intimidating, but he didn’t seem dangerous. He could be, definitely. His hands were probably big enough to crush someone’s skull, but all that power seemed dormant, locked under multiple layers of control.

“Nah, you’re not a serial killer. Too soft for that.”

“Soft?”

I grinned, and turned the corner. There was my hostel, tucked inconspicuously between a tourist shop and a restaurant.

“Hold on, now,” Hunt said. “Did you just call me soft?”

He took hold of my shoulder and spun me around to face him. I braced a hand against his stomach and— Holy mother of washboard abs! I looked up at him, at those penetrating eyes.

“Well, I wouldn’t call this part of you soft.”

His playful expression turned dark, the tension creeping back along his jaw.

His tone full of warning, he said,” Kelsey.”

I wasn’t sure what he was warning me against, nor did I particularly care. I tilted my head to look up at him, the colorful early morning sky still painting itself behind him.

“How did you know my name?”

“That girl said it. The one you came to the bar with.”

Katalin.

I smiled, and touched my free hand to his shoulder. “Well, then. You know my name, and I know yours. How else could we get to know each other?”

I let the hand on his stomach slide up until his chest arced outward. God, if his body looked half as perfect as it felt, I wanted to use it as a dinner table.

He swayed toward me, and the scent of him, woodsy and masculine, meshed perfectly with the morning air. His fingers touched my rib cage, and I shivered. Long and strong, those fingers could play me like a piano, and it would be a masterpiece.

He exhaled a heavy breath, and I nearly groaned at the way his muscles moved beneath his skin. I gripped the back of his neck, and a low rumble resonated in his chest.

I lifted myself up on my toes, my lips level with his chin, and said, “Feel free to keep showing me how not soft you are.”

The hand on my ribs flexed, and my shirt bunched in his fingers.

“Goddamn it.” He groaned, and tipped his head back away from mine.

Was that a good sign?

I resisted the urge to crawl up his body, and settled instead for wrapping my arms more fully around his shoulders. I tipped his head back down toward mine, and his breath puffed across my lips, warm and sweet. I pulled myself closer, and I felt the start of something pressing against my stomach.

I let out a breathy sigh at the same time that he pulled away.

He put several feet between us, and then in a low voice said, “You should go. Get some sleep.”

I blinked. “What?”

“You’ve had a long night.”

I blinked again. I had hoped it would become an even longer night.

“That sounds an awful lot like chivalry to me. Boring chivalry.”

He took another step away from me. “This is you, right?” He pointed to the hostel at my back.

“Uh, yeah, it is, but—”

“Good. Then I’ll leave you alone.”

But what if I didn’t want to be left alone?

He took a few more steps backward, until he stood in the sunlight that washed the main street.

“Good night, Kelsey. Or Good morning.”

Then he left, leaving me alone, still a little drunk, and mind-numbingly turned on.

“What the fuck?” I said aloud, my words echoing through the small street just as a tiny old lady opened up a second-floor window on the building across from me. I waved a hand at her, and called out an apology before heading to the hostel entrance.

What had just happened? He wanted me. I’d felt that much, and there was no way that was a cell phone or something else in his pocket. Unless they’d started making pockets in a very awkward spot.

I rubbed my hands over my eyes and up into my hair.

Well, that made it official. Tonight sucked balls.

After a pitiful few hours tossing on my hostel bed, I gave up and rose as the rest of my room was waking. I dressed quickly before Creeper Chris could wake up and watch. He’d been staying in this hostel for several months already when I arrived, like a bad case of bed bugs they couldn’t seem to shake. And after the night I’d had, I might end up punching him if he looked at me longer than two seconds.

I grabbed my toothbrush and headed for the communal bathroom down the hall. I used my elbow to push open the door, and then immediately wished I hadn’t. Someone must have had even more to drink than I’d had the night before because the bathroom smelled atrocious. No wonder I’d seen that Canadian girl brushing her teeth back in our room.

I took a deep breath, and ran into the bathroom just long enough to wet my toothbrush, and then I bolted back to the hallway.

I leaned against the wall with a groan and set to brushing. For what must have been the hundredth time, I assured myself that Hunt had only blown me off because I’d been sick. This hadn’t occurred to me when I was pressed against him because, well . . . my mind had had a singular focus then. But when I got into my room, I realized how ridiculous it was to think he would kiss me after seeing me lose the contents of my stomach in the middle of the street. Not exactly sexy.

That was the reason. It had to be. It was the only one that made sense, really.

I did another speed run into the bathroom to wash out my mouth, and then went to grab my things.

Maybe it was time to suck it up and start staying in a hotel. I’d chosen hostels not because of the cheaper price, but to meet people (and to piss off my father as much as possible). And sure . . . both tactics had worked out well. I met some fellow travelers, some of whom I’d become intimately acquainted with, and my dad had blown a gasket, saying I was going to end up sold as a sex slave or bleeding in an alley.

That was Dad. Never one to sugarcoat his feelings.

But without being able to see his red, angry face in person, the hostel was proving not worth the trouble.

I’d look into some hotels this afternoon.

I stepped outside, savoring the fresh air. I made myself look away from the spot where Hunt and I had stood that morning and rounded the corner straight into the beauty of Budapest. The Paris of the east, that’s what people called it. It was a gorgeous mix of old and new, nature and architecture. The sight was almost enough to dull the headache forming just over my right eye. Either it was a hangover coming on or that bathroom had been filled with biohazardous materials.

Whatever the reason . . . I needed a pick-me-up. Bad. And coffee just wasn’t going to be enough.

I walked a few blocks to the nearest Internet café, and paid cash for fifteen minutes on the computer. I didn’t bother checking my e-mail. The only person who ever wrote was Dad’s secretary. He didn’t even care enough to write me himself, so I didn’t bother caring enough to answer. I logged on to Facebook, and had one new message.

Bliss Edwards

Keeeeeelllseeeeey. Where are you? I haven’t heard from you since you landed in the Ukraine. I don’t mean to go all mommy on you, but how am I supposed to live vicariously through you if I don’t even know you’re actually still living?! (Should I have tagged skank or whore onto the end of that? Would it have made it less mom-like?) Anyway, I need you to talk me out of a panic attack of epic proportions. I leave for Philly on Saturday. I’ve already sent most of my stuff up ahead of me. Can you believe it? ME. LIVING WITH A GUY. I keep waiting for pigs to fly . . . or you know, for the universe to implode. Or maybe I’m going to wake up and still be in my government class, and this was all just the product of the most boring lecture in the history of the universe. Seriously, though. Write me back, whore. (See how I did that?) I need you to give me something else to think about! I know you’ve got stories.

I hit reply.

Kelsey Summers

Oh, I do have stories. I think we’ve somehow managed to switch lives because I’m currently suffering the slings and arrows of outrageous awkward.

Prepare yourself . . . what I’m about to tell you involves bodily fluids, one horrifying make out session, and the most mortifying/depressing moment of my life.

As I relayed the story of last night, it was almost worse reliving it for Bliss than it was experiencing it the first time around. I was wholly unaccustomed to this kind of embarrassment. When you came from a family of piranhas like I did, you didn’t get into mortifying situations. And if you did, you made damn sure no one witnessed it. I’d perfected the art of the bribe at the tender age of seven by following Daddy’s example. And let’s just say I got all my acting skills from Mom. Starting with breakfast every morning, she got drunk faster than a pint of beer on St. Patrick’s Day, but she always managed to hide it well around guests.

Laughing about the humiliation and rejection of last night made it feel like it was farther in the past than it was. And even though it was just words on a screen, I could picture Bliss’s face as she was reading. I could imagine her reassuring me that she’d been through worse and telling me stories.

It made me feel less alone.

I had hoped maybe Bliss would be online, so that she could tell me more about her move, but as I stared at the screen waiting for a response, my time ran out. I could have bought more time, but one thing I’d learned—contact with friends back home made me feel better for a little while, but twice as worse afterward.

Of course . . . I could go home now.

Nothing was keeping me here. Well, nothing except for the fact that home was a prison. My life was all mapped out for me there. Charity functions and internships and dates with pompous ass-rich guys my mother picked out. I could argue with my father all I wanted, but he always managed to get his way by one method or another. But here . . . I had freedom. I had choice.

If I wanted to sleep with a different guy every night, I could. If I wanted to get messy drunk every night, I could. If I wanted to hop on the next train leaving the station with no thought to where it was heading or when it would get there, I could.

I wanted to make every choice—the good and the bad. I wanted to fill myself up with decisions and consequences, pleasure and pain, so that maybe when I returned to the States . . . maybe I’d have enough life in me to survive living in my own home.

I grabbed my bag and headed for the door.

Now for that coffee. Bliss and caffeine—the perfect one-two punch to put all thoughts of last night to rest.

It felt like cheating to go to the Starbucks up the block since I was in another country and all, but I couldn’t bring myself to care. I compromised by taking my drink to-go and finding a park to relax in. Near the center of a green space that covered a couple blocks, I found a fountain adorned with statues. I settled onto a park bench and let my eyes trace over the figures depicted—a man at the top of the fountain, barely clothed and rising out of the water, reminded me of Poseidon. Then below him were three women, soft and beautiful, lounging nearly naked above the water. The sky was a rich blue above them, and I made myself still in their image, soaking up the sun.

I sipped at my coffee and watched the people around me. There were a few other obvious tourists, but for the most part it was locals, and I listened to the way the complicated language rolled off their tongues with such ease. Maybe I would learn another language while I was here. That would be something more. Something better. But would it be enough?

I tried repeating a phrase that I heard an older woman say near me, but the words mashed together in my mouth. I didn’t try again for fear of what offensive thing I might say by accident.

When I was close to finishing my coffee, a group of kids raced past me, laughing. That sound, at least, was the same in every language. They were dressed in matching uniforms, a school group I guessed. The one in the front was around twelve, maybe thirteen, and the biggest of the lot. He held up a sketchbook over the fountain, and a few of the kids around him egged him on, in English. So, I guessed, they were from some kind of international school.

Another smaller boy came running up to the group then, his hair in disarray and his glasses askew on his face.

“Give it back!” he demanded.

The bigger kid pretended to fumble the sketch pad, catching it only a foot above the water.

“Give me a reason, Cricket.”

Without really thinking it through, I stood and walked in their direction. I pulled out my map of Budapest and stopped when I was close to the bigger kid. “Excuse me, do you speak English?”

I thought he was going to ignore me at first, too enamored with his bullying, but after a few seconds he turned, and like any pubescent little boy, his eyes went from my face to my chest in two seconds flat.

While he stared, I repeated, “English? Can you help me?”

He smiled back at the other boys and said, “Of course.”

I moved closer and tried not to be repulsed by the way his eyes stuck on me as I bent over the map.

“Can you tell me where I am?” I asked, dumb-blonde mode powered up to full. “I’m trying to get to this metro stop, and I just keep going in circles.”

While he leaned close to me, simultaneously searching the map and me, my eyes darted to the other boy. His eyes were on the sketchbook grasped in the bully’s free hand, and I could see him contemplating making a grab for it.

“Here,” I said, pushing the map completely into the kid’s hands. “I just can’t find it for the life of me.”

He struggled to open the map with the sketchbook still in his other hand, and I dove for my opportunity.

“Let me help.”

I snatched the sketchbook out of his hand before he could argue, and took in the sketch on the first page.

Immediately, it pulled a smile to my face.

It was a sketch of the fountain, the lines of the sculptures captured almost perfectly in highlights and shadows. I can only imagine what an average little boy’s drawing of half-naked statues would look like, but I was certain that it wouldn’t be like this. This was mature. Realistic. The boy had found a way to capture the reflection of the sun on the water too, giving it all a three-dimensional feel. It was fantastic, really. I never would have guessed that a kid his age could do this.

For the most part, the sketch focused on the fountain, and I could tell he’d put in a lot of time working on the details of the figures. But in the corner, he’d begun work on another part of the sketch. The lines of the park bench were drawn quickly without too much detail, and on the bench was a girl. It wasn’t as detailed as the fountain, not yet, but the face and the hair were finished enough for me to think that the girl might be me. The swoop of my sundress around my knees made me fairly certain.

“Is this yours?” I asked the bully.

He paused, torn between impressing me and his friends.

He glanced at two of the guys closest to him and then said, “No. No way.”

A small hand went up at the back of the group, and I was smiling before he even spoke.

“It’s mine!”

I took a step in that direction and the group of boys parted for me. In my heels, the boy had to crane his head backward to look at me, and his face was splotched red and white.

“You drew this?”

He hesitated, and for a moment looked like he wanted to run. But then he nodded.

“It’s wonderful!” The silence from the boys behind me was almost palpable, and a few of them shifted, trying to actually get a look at what was on the paper.

“Really?”

“Really. You’re very talented.” I pointed to the girl in the corner and said, “Is this me?”

Now he really looked like he was going to run. Or perhaps take a page out of my book and be sick on the street. I decided to put him out of his misery, and held the sketchbook out to him without requiring an answer.

“It’s beautiful. Keep drawing like that and you won’t be able to keep the girls away from you.”

Then . . . because I couldn’t resist, I swooped down and placed a kiss on his cheek.

His pink face exploded into hues of red and almost purple, and as I walked away the boys around him were cheering and asking to see the sketch. A quick glance over my shoulder revealed that the group had shifted to encircle the boy with the sketch pad, leaving the bully standing alone and dumbfounded, still holding my map.

He could keep it. Let it serve as a reminder not to be an asshole.

I sent one last smile at the artist, and then headed for the street.

I couldn’t keep the grin off my face. Who knew all it took to cheer me up was to put some punk-ass kid in his place?

I glanced down the street, contemplating where I should go next, when I caught sight of a familiar buzzed head.

Hunt.

My heart skyrocketed up into my throat, and I took a step in his direction before a touch at my elbow pulled my attention. I stared at the guy that I thought was Hunt for a second longer before glancing behind me.

It was the little artist.

Before I could even open my mouth to ask what he wanted, he shoved a paper into my hands and ran. I looked down, and my heart melted back down into my chest at the sight of his fountain sketch, torn from the pages of his book. I turned to watch him join the group of boys, this time to a high five and cheers.

I held the sketch close to my chest and waved at him. He must have been braver for the distance because he waved back enthusiastically.

When I turned in the other direction, my phantom Hunt was nowhere to be seen. I sighed. It probably wasn’t him anyway. The odds of seeing him again, and on the street no less, had to be minuscule.

Maybe I should hold off on going to that hotel and stay in the hostel a little while longer. Because if Hunt did try to find me, that’s where he would go. I mean . . . he probably wouldn’t. Not after the ass I’d made out of myself, but just in case. It wouldn’t kill me to stay a few more days.

Hopefully, I could keep myself from killing Creeper Chris in the meantime.

5

Hunt didn’t find me that day.

Not that I was broken up over it or anything.

He was one guy. Hardly the first guy to catch my attention here, and definitely not the last.

I didn’t see Katalin or the guys again either. I wasn’t interested in getting my mouth vacuumed for the second time.

Instead, I made friends with another group staying in my hostel: Jenny, who was staying in my room, was Canadian; her brother John, along with their friend Tau, who was dark- skinned, gorgeous, and Australian.

I followed them to a pub crawl that night. It was easy to just blend into their group and give my brain a break by listening to their conversations about the summer film program they were attending in Prague. I put up with the normal get-to-know-you questions for a little while, but by the time we got to the second pub, we’d all had enough to drink that we acted like old friends even though we didn’t know each other.

Something in me must have been broken, though, because I couldn’t even stay interested in what Tau was saying, and the guy was a beautiful specimen of man with a to-die-for accent. John was a bit on the nerdy side, still kind of cute, but there was definitely nothing there either.

I talked to a few guys at each pub we hit, but my eyes were constantly drawn to the door, waiting for someone else to enter.

A very specific someone else.

But that was stupid. He wasn’t just going to walk in at random. I knew that, but I couldn’t seem to get my head or my heart into the evening.

Between pubs, I must have seen a dozen Internet cafés, each one whispering to me, calling me to go lose myself in messages to friends and the comfort of home (or as close as I could get to it here anyway). I resisted, and made myself do a shot every time my mind wandered to Hunt or Home, both of which were recipes for disaster.

Needless to say, I felt like the walking dead the next day when Jenny plopped herself down at my feet, and pulled the blankets down off my head.

I groaned, and buried my head into my pillow.

“Fuck. Too bright.”

She clucked. “Hangover. That blows.”

I turned my head sideways, just enough so that I could talk and keep from suffocating on my pillow.

“I’m going to blow your brains out if you don’t talk a little quieter.”

She smiled like I hadn’t just taken a stroll into homicidal territory. I had learned one thing the night before . . . Jenny and I were really alike. Scary alike. It was a little like hanging out with my clone. Well . . . a clone that wasn’t hung up on some guy she was never going to see again.

She said, “I have a solution.”

“Does it involve ritual suicide? I’ve always thought that would be an interesting way to go.”

“Damn. You’re morbid the morning after. No wonder you say you never have any issues ditching your one-nighters. They’re probably actually in a ditch somewhere.”

“Ha. Ha.”

In a much quieter voice, she said, “So, I was thinking we’d get some coffee, maybe add a little something special to yours. You know, a little hair of the dog. Then we’re going shopping because we’ve got plans tonight. Epic plans.”

Whoo-hoo. I resisted the urge to roll my eyes. Epic plans.

“I’d rather take an epic nap.”

“Come on!”

I wanted to bury my head under my pillow and forget the world.

I said, “Go shopping with your friends.” “They’re guys. They’ll just be obnoxious and impatient the whole time. Besides . . . you’ll like this. Trust me. Close your eyes.”

Gladly.

“Picture a gorgeous guy. Are you picturing him?”

Despite all attempts to do otherwise, I was picturing a very particular gorgeous guy. The same guy who’d been stuck in my head for two days now.

“Now picture him shirtless, in swim shorts, and dripping wet.”

Damn it. Why did my imagination have to be so good? There was no way I was going to get out of my rut if I kept this up.

“Now multiply that times a hundred, add some music and alcohol, and that’s what you and I are doing tonight.”

“Uh . . . Jenny. I don’t know what kind of geography they taught you in Canada, but Hungary is landlocked. I don’t see any beach parties in our future.”

“Who said anything about a beach, drunky? We’re going here.”

She literally shoved a flyer into my face. My head ached as I tried to focus on the writing.

I saw the picture first. Some kind of rave with tons of people in bathing suits looking like they were having the time of their lives.

Above that, the title read, “Night of Baths.”

When I sat up to take a look at the flyer, Jenny took off rambling. “The guy at the front desk, you know the one with the eyebrow ring?” Oh, I knew him, all right. He’d provided an excellent welcome my first night in Budapest. “He said it’s similar to a pub crawl, but instead of bars you go to these thermal bath places that have been around, I don’t know, a bazillion years. Everyone wears bathing suits, gets trashed, and stays out all night long.”

At the moment, my stomach didn’t seem up to another all-nighter.

“I don’t know, Jen—”

“What do you mean you don’t know? This sounds amazing. Plus, it’s my last night in Budapest. And I could use a wing woman if I’m going to snag Tau.”

Right. I vaguely remembered her mentioning something about liking him the night before. I guessed it was good I couldn’t manage to drum up any attraction on my end, then.

“Come on, Kelsey. You’ll regret it if you don’t. This is like a once-in-a-lifetime party.”

Between the regrets I already had and the ones I was scared of having, life was starting to feel like an obstacle course of remorse.

“Okay. I’ll go.”

She squealed, and I swear my brain screamed in protest.

Quieter, she said, “Sorry. Got excited. You won’t regret this Kelsey. We’re going to find some hot swimwear, and this will be the highlight of your trip. Just wait.”

She was right. I just needed to get rid of this headache, and I’d be able to think a little clearer.

And maybe I would take it easy tonight. I could have fun at this party without alcohol. My liver could probably do with a bit of a break.

I’d help her get Tau and find a guy of my own. Then I’d be back on track, and could move forward.

Jenny, John, Tau, and I bought wristbands that allowed us entry into all of the baths and covered our transportation between the different venues. We shucked our cover-ups, checked our things, and then walked into what I could only assume was an alternate universe.

I’d opted against the sleazy bikini that had first caught my eye, and instead had bought a black-and-white wraparound number that crisscrossed over my chest, wrapped around my rib cage, and then crisscrossed at the small of my waist once more before tying to my bikini bottoms at each hip. I looked hot, but fashionable; and in the sea of skimpy triangles, I stood out as a challenge, which was exactly my intention.

This venue flashed with neon lights, thumped with remixed techno music, and shone with, dear Jesus, so much skin. I saw bikinis and Speedos and even an acrobat hanging from the ceiling. And the cherry on top? There were fire dancers along the edges of the open pool. As in people . . . dancing with flames. Serious insanity.

Set against mosaic tiles and marble columns, I felt like I’d time traveled back to the hedonistic festivals I’d studied in theatre history in honor of the Greek god Dionysus; though, I didn’t know enough to know if the architecture was Greek or Roman inspired, so I suppose it could have been Bacchus. Either way, it was like Woodstock meets Sea World meets Cirque du Soleil.

AKA fucking crazy pants.

“Is this for real?” Jenny asked.

“Right?” I stood, staring in awe. “Somebody pinch me.”

A man with a horrendously hairy chest and a Speedo so tight it was probably cutting off circulation passed by me at that moment, and did just that. I yelped and held a hand to my ass, gawking at his retreating back.

Jenny laughed. “Maybe this place is magic, and whatever we say comes true. Ryan Gosling, please!”

We waited.

The acrobat hanging from the top of the dome above the bath dropped backward, hanging on to her hoop with only her knees, but no celebrities magically appeared.

Jenny snapped her fingers. “Too bad. This is still pretty awesome, though.”

Awesome didn’t even begin to cover it. This was . . . incredible.

“Thanks for making me come.”

Jenny smiled. “Like I would have let you miss this!”

The guys seemed to be enjoying it too, though their eyes were glued more to bikinis than the visuals and pyrotechnics.

We walked farther into the room, past a bar and toward the steam-clouded bath. There were men and women of all shapes and sizes. A short guy with blond hair shouted and took a running leap into the water. He landed a few feet away from a chubby guy with a floaty around his waist like a neon green donut. My eyes kept catching on the girl curled around the hoop hanging from the top of the bath’s domed ceiling. It reminded me of one of those bird cages, with the circular perch in the middle. I kept waiting for her to sprout wings and fly.

Then there were the abs . . . sweet baby Jesus, it was like there was a factory with a conveyor belt spitting them out because they just kept coming. I didn’t even know where to begin. It was a buffet of well . . . buffness, and I was about to be guilty of gluttony.

“Should we get drinks?” Jenny asked.

I shook my head. “I’m okay. Let’s check out the water first.”

I took my first step into the bath, and I may have let out a strangled moan at the delicious heat. I smiled at Jenny and said, “Bet they don’t have things like this in Canada.”

“Are you kidding? I would still be in Canada if we had shit like this.”

I sank in the bath up to my waist and closed my eyes in satisfaction. The water lapped at my chest, and I could feel the tension in my muscles unraveling.

“Can I spend the rest of my life here?” I asked.

“You might get a bit pruney.”

“Worth it.”

We waded farther into the bath. There were bodies everywhere. People danced and laughed and splashed. With the heat and steam and music and lights—it was a sensual overload.

The guys waded into the water behind us, and I said, “Time to snag you your hot Aussie.”

Jenny smiled. “Patience. Trust me, I’ve been hanging out with him long enough to figure out, he needs a little push. A bit of jealousy should do the trick.”

I almost felt a little sorry for Tau. Jenny was gorgeous, all dark to my light. Dark hair, brown eyes, tanned skin. As she scanned the bath, I knew she wouldn’t have an issue finding someone to make Tau jealous over.

“And what are you looking to snag tonight?” she asked.

“Just a bit of adventure.”

A couple playing chicken toppled into the pool a few feet away, sending a wave of water over both of us.

“I think you’ve found it!” she shouted, wiping at her eyes.

I did the same, and smiled.

I had found it. This was what I’d been looking for. The kind of experiences I couldn’t get in Texas. Maybe it was naive, but being here—visiting places and doing things that most people didn’t—it made me feel . . . special. It made me feel successful in a way that a college degree and a padded bank account hadn’t. Even if I never did anything else of note in my life, if I spent the rest of my days in a loveless marriage or a porcelain home like my mother, at least I had this to remember. At least I had these memories to set me apart from the crowd.

We moved farther into the pool, and Jenny wasted no time before leading us up to two guys. She was kind of the perfect wing woman. Together, we could take the partying world by storm.

“I’m Jenny,” she said to the nearest guy. “This is my friend Kelsey. And you are gorgeous.” He was actually. Tanned skin, killer green eyes, and shaggy hair that was curling in the steam. She added belatedly, “Oh, and that’s John and Tau.”

Damn, she was good. Her brother and her crush held back a bit from the group, and I could see the way Tau’s eyes followed her as she smiled and chatted with her new conquest.

I didn’t know whether to talk to Jenny’s friends or the cute guy’s friend. The friend was attractive too, tall and kind of skinny with long blond hair. But to be honest, I didn’t really feel like talking to either. Jenny was easy to hang with because she just talked, and she didn’t ask too many questions. She was a party friend, the kind that you click with instantly because you have similar partying styles, but don’t have to actually put forth any effort. John and Tau were different. They were both on the quiet side, and I felt like I had to work to talk to them. And the cute guy? Well . . . I didn’t have a great excuse for why I didn’t want to talk to him. I was trying to convince myself into starting a conversation when he beat me to it.

He said, “Kelsey? That’s your name?”

I nodded. “And you are?”

“Lukas.” He spoke excellent English, with just a slight trace of an accent. German maybe? He asked, “Are you two sisters?”

Jenny and I looked at each other and smiled. We didn’t particularly look alike. She was dark to my light, but our bodies were similar enough.

I smiled at Lukas and said, “We are.”

He pushed some of his hair back and gave me a wicked smile. God knows what it was with guys, but there was something about the idea of sisters that drove them nuts.

“Where are you from?” Jenny’s guy asked. His accent was thicker than his friend’s.

Jenny flipped her hair and answered, “Holland.”

I saw Tau roll his eyes and scowl.

Lukas turned to me and said, “Oh?” Followed by a string of noises that I was guessing was Dutch. I gave Jenny a look.

Really? The guy had a German accent, and she picked a country right next door to his? She couldn’t have gone for something like, I don’t know, Sweden?

I laughed and placed a hand on his shoulder, hoping to flirt my way out of it.

If that didn’t work, I could always make a swim for it. My eyes went to the space between Lukas and Jenny, my escape path, if I needed it. And as if the universe had framed him for me in that space, I saw Hunt.

I blinked once, wondering if I was hallucinating him because of the heat, but he was still there. His head started turning toward me, and I panicked.

I gripped Lukas’s other shoulder, and spun him until my back was to Hunt. The water sloshed around us, but there were so many people that he couldn’t have seen. Lukas’s hands gripped my waist, and I let it happen because the last thing I needed to do was cause a scene.

It was only after my back was turned that I allowed myself to acknowledge how devastatingly gorgeous Hunt looked. I’d felt the muscles beneath his clothing, imagined them this morning, but seeing them in the flesh even for just a second put that all to shame.

And for the first time in a long time . . . I was nervous.

Jenny turned and raised an eyebrow at me. “What’s up, Kels?” Subtext: Hey, psycho . . . what’s your problem?

What was my problem? He was just a guy. Guys had never been a challenge for me . . . or not in a long time anyway. But this guy . . . he had me on the ropes without even trying. All I knew was that there were a hundred girls in bikinis here, and I was sure I was the only one that had tried to kiss him with vomit-breath.

I resisted the urge to peer over my shoulder and told Jenny, “Nothing. I’m fine. Just someone I’d rather not see.” And was dying to see simultaneously. Way to make sense, brain.

Truthfully . . . I didn’t get him. And when I thought I had, I’d been wrong. It was that uncertainty, that complete lack of control, that made him the scariest damn thing I’d encountered in a long time. And the complete opposite of what I told myself tonight was going to be. I said, “There’s five other bath places, right?”

We could just move on. Find another place to party.

“Yes, but . . .” Jenny threw a smile at the guys and said, “We can’t leave yet.” She moved to stand closer to her catch. I sighed. I didn’t want to make her have to start over with operation jealousy.

“They could come with us.”

I lifted my chin to look at Lukas, and he tightened his arms around my waist.

Jenny turned and peered past my shoulder. “Who are you running from anyway— Oh!”

“Oh? Oh! What does ‘oh’ mean?”

A smile crossed her face that made my stomach jump in anticipation.

She turned to the two guys and said, “Could you give us just a second?” She took hold of my shoulders and Lukas’s fingernails grazed my skin lightly as she pulled me out of his reach. She moved us over a few feet before asking quietly, “Would the person you don’t want to see happen to be a gorgeous piece of man candy with a buzz cut and biceps that some ancient civilization probably worshiped?”

I swallowed. “Please tell me the reason you know that is because you’re psychic.”

“No, honey. I’ve just got eyes.”

Speaking of eyes, I swear I could feel his on my back, and I thought my spine might curl in on itself from the way it tingled.

“He’s watching me?”

“Like you’re the last piece of cake.”

The water temperature felt like it was rising, and it had already been hot.

Jenny asked, “Just looking for a piece of adventure, my ass. You already have an adventure. Who is he?”

An enigma.

“Just a guy I met the other night,” I answered.

“And why the hell would you not want to see him? Did he have herpes or something? Because that’s a damn shame. Like paint splattered all over a Van Gogh. Or a naked Ryan Gosling. “

“It wasn’t that kind of meeting.”

She clucked her tongue. “Also a shame. So, then why are you avoiding him?”

“It doesn’t matter.”

As intriguing as I found him, I didn’t like the way he made me feel. Jumbled and uncertain and naked in a way that had nothing to do with my current lack of clothing. Lukas was the better option. Easier to pinpoint and control.

“Well . . . you’re right about that. Because he doesn’t seem interested in avoiding you.”

That was all the warning I got before hot breath caressed my ear, and a deep voice said, “Nice to see you again, Kelsey.”

With my heart on pause, I turned and my mouth went dry. I met his dark eyes through the steam, and my paused heart leapt into action.

6

Standing face to chest with a glorious set of pectorals, I couldn’t make my mouth form the appropriate greeting. God bless Bowflex and free weights and whatever other magic gave him that body. Jen was right . . . it was a work of art.

He said, “How are your cheeks this evening?”

Oh, you know, flaming.

“Uh . . . good.”

Good. My cheeks are good.

He stood there, tall and silent and nodding, with that perpetually clenched jaw. The tension between us grew thicker than the steam, and I just couldn’t understand why in the world this guy was standing across from me.

He’d seen me at my worst, and then he’d rejected me. Why come back for round two?

He slid closer to me, and I felt the flow of the water around me change. My body instantly responded to his closeness, and his cocky smile told me he could tell. His arm brushed my chest, and the tips of my breasts tightened. I made a strangled sound somewhere between the wheezing of a fat asthmatic and the squeak of a dog’s chew toy. In other words, the noise that came out of my mouth was light-years away from being sexy. He chuckled and kept reaching past me to extend his hand to Jenny. With his body invading my space, and my face close enough to him that I could see close-up the stubble on his jaw, he focused on her. “Hello, I’m Hunt. It’s nice to meet you.”

“I’m Jenny. Likewise.”

Even his name sent tingles down my spine.

“Is that short for Hunter?” I’d been wondering.

He pulled back from Jen, but stayed firmly inside my personal bubble. His face tipped down toward mine, and he murmured, “It’s not.”

“So your parents just named you Hunt?”

“Not exactly.”

“God, vague much?”

He smiled, and that smile reached into my chest and rearranged everything in me.

“There you go calling me God again.”

Where was a desk when I needed to slam my head against it?

Lukas chose that moment to reappear at my side, and one desk wouldn’t have been enough. I needed a whole fucking classroom.

Hunt glanced briefly in his direction, then at Tau and John standing nearby, before focusing back on me. He said, “I didn’t realize you were here with others.”

I grinned. “You scared of a little competition?”

He laughed, and the sound unrolled down my spine on a shiver. He looked at me like the idea of him having competition was absurd. And damn it if he wasn’t right.

He asked, “What about your other friends? The ones from the other night?”

I shrugged. “We weren’t really friends. But this is Jenny.” I latched on to her like she was my lifeboat.

He smiled. “Yes. We met. A few seconds ago.”

I would welcome Armageddon if it would shut my stupid mouth.

“Right. We’re staying in the same hostel.” A hand slid across the small of my back, a large male hand that didn’t belong to Hunt. Lukas. Damn it. “Because we’re sisters. And it makes sense for sisters to stay in the same place.”

Foot . . . meet mouth.

Jenny stood next to me, a peculiar look on her face. And I could imagine it was odd . . . watching me self-destruct. No need to visit Mount Vesuvius, I was my own natural disaster.

Jenny clapped her hands together. “Oookay, I believe it’s time for drinks. I know I could use one . . . Kelsey?”

Oh God, yes. I could use a vodka IV drip right about now.

But then I looked at Hunt, and remembered where alcohol had gotten me the night we first met. If I hadn’t been so drunk, things could have gone very differently. He wouldn’t have rejected me, my brain wouldn’t currently be a disaster zone, and I would have gotten him out of my system that first night.

But I also needed to relax. He had me wound so tight, that my normal cool, sexy demeanor was nonexistent.

I took a long, slow breath.

“One drink,” I told Jenny.

Then I was going to get things back under control. Life was giving me a mulligan, and I was going to take advantage of that faster than a quarterback on prom night. That is, me taking advantage of the quarterback, not the other way around.

I slipped sideways until Lukas’s hand fell away from my back, and I stood close enough to Hunt that I could feel his warmth even over the heat of the water. I said, “Come with me?”

“I would have thought you had enough to drink the other night.”

I frowned. “It’s just one drink. My first of the night. Come, have a little fun.”

He hesitated.

“Or I can just catch up with you later.” I moved toward Lukas, whose hand was already reaching for me.

I didn’t make it more than a few inches before Hunt’s hand was at my waist, pulling me back toward him.

“Okay, let’s go.”

Lukas frowned, but I wasn’t about to feel bad. Not when I was getting what I wanted. Just the touch of Hunt’s fingers on my waist had my heart sprinting, so I could only imagine what more contact would do. Lukas went to join Jenny instead.

She smiled. “Well, then, to the bar.”

I almost laughed. John was up ahead, no doubt trying to ignore the fact that his sister was now juggling the interests of three men, Tau included.

We followed behind them, and I took a steadying breath. I had no idea what Hunt wanted from me, but I knew what I wanted from him.

One night. Enough to erase the crazy in my brain, and get me back on track.

“Your new friend seems a little reluctant to leave you.”

My brows furrowed, and I followed his gaze not to Jenny but to Lukas, who kept looking back and forth between Jenny and me.

“He’ll get over it. We literally met like two minutes ago.”

“I know. I saw you when you came in.”

My head whipped toward him so fast, I was in danger of pulling a muscle.

He what?

“I really enjoyed that little spin move you did while you were trying to hide.”

I couldn’t catch a fucking break.

“I wasn’t hiding. I just . . .”

The words evaporated from my tongue. God, that sexy smirk was going to be the death of me.

“Okay.” I rolled my eyes. “So I was hiding. It’s not every day I make a fool of myself. I wasn’t exactly excited about rehashing that.”

“It wasn’t that bad.”

Those are always the words you want to hear from a guy you’re trying to sleep with . . . not that bad.

“What are you doing here?” I asked.

His eyebrows lifted, and it drew my attention to his eyes, the color of a thunderstorm.

“It’s a room full of women in bikinis. What do you think I’m doing here?”

I tried not to let the sour taste of those words show on my face.

“I meant what are you doing here? With me.”

We climbed the few steps that led out of the pool, and as gravity pulled the water back down to the earth, my swimsuit clung tight to my skin. I turned to see him standing still on the top step, his eyes cascading down my skin along with the water. He shook his head, and this time he didn’t force himself to look away from my body like he had the night we first met. His eyes traveled down my frame, and then up again. The tips of my breasts pebbled, either from the cool air or from his gaze, but his eyes stuck there for a few moments before skipping up to my face. His voice rough and raw, he answered, “What was the question?”

I wanted to smile, but I was so turned on just from the way that he looked at me, that I couldn’t seem to remember how to command all my muscles to work.

“I asked what you were doing here with me.”

He stepped up out of the bath to tower over me, and he didn’t seem to have any issues controlling his facial muscles because his sexy smirk was back. “Oh, you mean you asked a stupid question?”

God, he thought he was so adorable.

And he was. Ugh.

“You still haven’t answered it.”

“Yes, well.” He reached out one finger, and collected a drop of water off my collarbone. “You make it hard to think straight.”

And that was an answer I would take any day.

Feeling a bit more in control, I turned to follow Jenny, looking back at him over my shoulder as his eyes trailed down my body again. I held back a smile and said, “Come on, soldier. You can finish staring at me at the bar. I promise I’m not going to disappear.”

His eyes flicked up to the ceiling, and he mumbled something I couldn’t catch under his breath. Whatever it was, I had him on the ropes. Point, to Kelsey.

There were three bars set up around the bath, which was good considering how many people were here. The group had managed to snag a few barstools at the nearest one and were ordering when Hunt and I caught up. I leaned over the bar, simultaneously allowing the bartender a good look at my cleavage while also giving Hunt a clear view of the ass that I had promised him as he sat on his barstool.

“Gin bitter lemon,” I ordered for myself, then looked at Hunt. “What do you want?”

“Nothing. I’m good.”

I rolled my eyes and said, “Make that two gin bitter lemons.”

In comparison to last night, I felt completely in control. Or I did, until I felt two fingers dip under one of the strips of my swimsuit that wrapped around my waist. Then I was tugged backward away from the bar into the space between Hunt’s knees. His hands rested on my hips, and my eyes fluttered closed.

This put every other night of my so-far glorious vacation to shame.

The stubble on his chin grazed my shoulder and he said, “Whatever happens tonight . . .”

Whatever. Whatever? Please let us be thinking of the same whatever.

“Yes?” I breathed.

“Don’t throw up in the pool.”

Damn it.

Point, to Hunt.

7

I pulled out of Hunt’s grasp as a laugh rumbled deep in his chest.

“Just for that, funny guy . . . you’re buying.”

Our drinks arrived, and I raised an eyebrow at him in a challenge. While he stood to pay, I stole his barstool. It was both bizarre and empowering to be in a completely normal setting like a bar, but in a completely abnormal outfit that wasn’t much of an outfit at all. But I wasn’t complaining. It gave me the chance to get a good look at Hunt and his beautiful back—sculpted in muscles and cloaked in tan skin.

My military suspicions were confirmed by the USMC tattoo above his right shoulder blade. It was a lesson in self-control, tracing the letters with my eyes but not my hands.

He turned to face me, drinks in hand, and I didn’t even bother pretending like I wasn’t ogling him.

He was ogle-able. And he knew it.

A laughing Jen leaned over and clinked her glass with mine, but I couldn’t tear my gaze away from Hunt.

Jen whispered in my ear, “Not that you would know it, Miss Distracted, but Operation Tau is going very well.”

“Sounds good.”

“And I’m guessing you won’t be coming home with us tonight?”

“Sounds great.”

I bit my lip to hide a smile, and Hunt’s eyes devoured me even as I sipped the sweet drink, savoring the smooth taste. His gaze flicked to his glass for a second, then back to me.

“So, Hunt,” I asked. “Where are you from?”

“Where am I not from would be the easier question.”

“Military brat?”

He smiled, and it took me right back to that first sighting. It was almost offensive how gorgeous he was. He was like that smart kid in class that ruined the curve for everyone else. Only instead of being good at equations, he was just good at existing. I crossed my legs, and his eyes followed. He said, “Are you calling me a brat?”

“If I were going to call you names, brat would not be my first choice.”

His fingers brushed my ankle, and that small touch set my skin on fire.

“What would you call me, then?”

“Well, I’ve already called you soft.” His lovely eyes narrowed. “But I’m not above admitting when I’m wrong.”

His fingers traveled from my ankle up the back of my calf. My muscles flexed on instinct, and I really, really just wanted to skip the witty banter and get to the part where his mouth was on mine. Or on any part of me, really.

“What brings you to Budapest?” he asked.

I shrugged and hooked my foot around the back of his knee.

“Nothing in particular. It just seemed like an interesting place.” I pushed lightly, and he stepped away from the bar, closer to me. “What about you?”

His fingertips were close to the sensitive skin at the back of my knee, and he stood close enough now that if I wanted to wrap my legs around him to tug him forward, I could. He answered, “Following a whim.”

I wet my lips, and his eyes dropped down to my mouth. I was so close to getting him to follow another whim.

I said, “Do you ever get any less cryptic?”

“I thought women liked a mystery.”

His voice pitched low, and it must have hit some special frequency because it sent vibrations all the way through me. Yellow and green neon lights flashed, casting a glow across his face.

“Women love a mystery. But only if we think we can figure it out.” His gaze met mine, the intensity there was at once unnerving and intoxicating. “Are you going to let me figure you out, Hunt?”

He braced a hand on the edge of my stool, and his head dipped down toward my ear. The heat of his breath struck shivers across my skin like lightning. “That’s a two-way street, princess.”

I was about to tell him that he was dodging the question when Jenny popped up over his shoulder, Tau close by her side.

“We’re going back in the bath, you two coming?”

Hunt pulled away, and I fought the urge to wrap my limbs around him to keep him from going too far.

I held up a glass that was still almost full and said, “We’re still working on these. You guys go. Have fun.”

Jenny gave me a quick salute in lieu of a goodbye, and I had a feeling we wouldn’t be seeing each other again tonight.

When she was gone, I took another sip of my drink and met Hunt’s gaze. He wasn’t holding his glass, and when I looked behind him, it was sitting on the bar completely full.

“You’ve not touched your drink. I know it looks a little girly, but I swear you’ll like it.”

He smiled and took a seat on one of the stools that the others had vacated. “I’m okay. Really.”

“Oh, come on.” I slid off my stool to stand in front of him. Leaning against his knee, I said, “Try mine.”

“I’m fine.”

“You’re so serious. Loosen up a little. Have some fun.” I took another sip, then ran my tongue against my bottom lip to catch a stray drop. “Just try it. For me?”

I settled between his knees, and his hands went to my waist.

I imagined what his mouth would taste like, how hot our bodies would burn pressed together. Were his lips as soft as they looked? I could almost feel them, smooth and sure, at odds with the rasp of stubble on his chin. Just imagining it had my body coiling tight. I let out an unsteady breath, and he said, “If you’ll answer a question for me.”

I tilted my head just an inch, and one of his hands cupped the curve of my neck.

“Deal.”

I took another sip of my drink, and then handed it to him. Water dripped off the outside of the glass, and he stared at me for a few seconds. I didn’t get his reluctance, and I wondered if it went back to that chivalry he claimed not to have. He acted like he didn’t trust himself where alcohol was concerned. And I, for one, was one hundred percent in favor of him getting a little crazy. With me, specifically.

He sighed, and his eyes flicked down to the half-empty glass. He pulled it to his lips, and took a quick sip. I gave him a look, and he took the rest of it in one gulp.

I smiled in victory, and I had the overwhelming urge to taste what was left of it on his lips. I was leaning forward to do just that when he said, “My turn.”

I frowned, but a deal was a deal.

He paused, his gaze boring into mine, and his thumb traced my jaw. I could feel the pull of pleasure on my eyelids, and I had to fight to maintain eye contact.

“The other night . . . what did you mean when you said you were tired of being?”

His words crashed over me, and I flinched backward like I’d met a wall of water instead of his curious eyes.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

I turned my face away, but he nudged my jaw back to look at him.

“It’s just . . . I look at you, and I see a beautiful woman in the prime of her life, traveling to exotic places, with the world at her fingertips. But I think that’s just what you want people to see.” I glanced around me, panicked and uncomfortable, as he continued. “And maybe I love a mystery too, because I can’t seem to make myself stop thinking about what’s underneath all that, what you don’t let people see.”

His other hand came up, one finger grazing my temple like he could unlock some secret gate there. I flicked his hand away, and pulled out of his grasp.

“I told you . . . I don’t know what you’re talking about. I was wasted. You shouldn’t take one person’s drunk ramblings as truth.”

With my back to him, I leaned against the bar, and picked up his abandoned drink, taking a long pull.

He said, “I don’t believe you. I think it was the most honest thing you’ve said to me. Maybe to yourself, too.”

Jesus Christ. Like I needed him trying to play therapist.

“Again with the knight-in-shining armor bullshit. I don’t need you to take care of me.” I hadn’t needed that for a long time. “You don’t know anything about me. So whatever you think you’re doing, whatever you’re trying to fix in me, you can fuck off.”

I took another big swallow of his drink, but I didn’t taste any of the sweetness of it.

“Hey, I’m sorry. Don’t be upset.”

I could feel him at my back, and my heart was beating up in my throat. How had this derailed so quickly? I’d thought we were heading in the right direction.

“I’m not upset.” I finished his drink in another big gulp, and then tried to wave down the bartender. Before he could see me, though, Hunt took my hand and pressed it flat against the bar. He stood close behind me, and when he breathed in, his bare chest brushed my back.

He said, “Kelsey, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have pushed. But don’t drink because you’re mad at me.”

I angled my head back at him, not bothering to turn around. “Apology accepted. And I’m drinking because I want to.”

“Just talk to me for a second.”

I’d had quite enough talking for the evening.

I raised my other hand to get the bartender’s attention, and Hunt spun me around, pressing me back into the bar.

“What the hell is your problem?”

“I just needed to talk to you for a second.”

“So you manhandle me like a caveman? Jesus!”

His lips curled into a devastating smile, and I swear if he made some crack about me calling him Jesus, I was going to smack that smile right off his face.

“I just wanted to apologize.”

“You already did that.”

“I know. But I really am sorry.”

“I don’t think you are. There’s this pattern that keeps cropping up, where you judge me when you have no right to do so. And when you’re not judging me, you’re prying into my life.”

“I’m not judging you. I promise. And the rest? That’s just the soldier in me . . . I’m too straightforward. If I want to know something, I just ask. If I want to do something, I do it.”

I rolled my eyes. That much was abundantly clear.

“Yeah, subtlety is definitely not your strong suit.”

His smile widened. “No. It definitely isn’t.”

“Well, then. If you’ll let me go, I think I’m going to go find Jenny and the others. Since I’m not allowed to order another drink and—”

I didn’t get to finish my rant as his hands cradled my jaw, and he kissed me.

8

I froze for a few seconds, in denial that this was actually happening. His lips brushed mine softly once, then twice. I exhaled and his grip on my jaw tightened. Then the softness disappeared as his mouth covered mine. He kissed me carefully, thoroughly, like a man who knew that desire hid with the devil in the details. He angled my head, explored my mouth, and I gave up control to him.

The first taste of him made my toes curl, and when he tugged me forward, bare skin colliding with bare skin, my brain took a much-needed vacation.

He kissed me feverishly, fiercely, like I was a battle he wanted to win, and with all the desperation of a man with nothing to lose.

I gripped the back of his neck and returned his kiss, faster and harder, want quickly burning into need. A low groan spilled from his mouth into mine, and his hand left my face to smooth across the curve of my ribs to the middle of my back. Fire followed his touch, and when his fingers tangled in the ties of my swimsuit, my back arched, pressing us tighter together.

He nipped my bottom lip, and I dug my fingers into his shoulders. His lips coasted down my chin to my neck. The heat of his breath touched my skin first, followed by the tip of his tongue. He pressed me back against the bar, and I was glad for the support at my back because I suddenly felt dizzy.

I pulled in a breath and even though there was no space between us, I tried to move closer. He was hard to my soft; and for a moment it felt as if my brain detached from my body, like I could see the way his hands clasped me tight and his body curled over mine, but I couldn’t feel it. The world took on that hazy quality of a dream, and a whimper escaped my lips at the thought that this might not be real.

Then his teeth grazed the sensitive skin over my pulse point, and the world snapped back into focus.

It was deliciously real.

He hummed against my neck, the movement of his mouth like a foreign language on my skin—exotic and unpredictable, and sexy as hell.

His kisses burrowed beneath my skin, sparking every nerve ending in my body. And like his kisses really were electric and short-circuited something in me, my legs grew weak, almost numb beneath me.

I took hold of his jaw, just the faintest feeling of scratches against my palm from his facial hair. Pulling his face up to mine, I met his cloudy eyes.

“I think I like your lack of subtlety.”

That familiar smirk tugged at his lips seconds before he tugged my mouth back to his. We were touching—from lips to toes—only touching. His hands gripped me tightly, but only in innocuous places. An ache bloomed low in my belly, and the neglected parts of my body were practically singing with need. I wanted him so bad, I was dizzy with it.

Really dizzy.

I began to have trouble matching his pace, unable to move my lips fast enough. I pulled back. My head was heavy, filled with sand, and I had to clutch his shoulders to keep from toppling backward.

“Wow.”

His forehead leaned against mine, and he growled. “I should have just done that from the start.”

I tried to agree, but he must have kissed away some of my brain cells. I couldn’t get the words to leave my mouth, like there was a disconnect between my body and my brain.

His fingers brushed my cheek, but I couldn’t feel it. That was odd. How much had I had to drink again?

The dizziness swarmed in my head, thick and buzzing, and the world began to move of it’s own volition in my peripheral vision.

“Don’t tell me you’re speechless, princess.”

A giggle poured from my mouth, and he looked as surprised by it as I felt. I let go of his shoulder to cover my mouth, and without that grip, I began tipping sideways.

“Whoa!” His arms wrapped around my waist, and he pulled me up against him. My head tipped forward, too heavy for my neck to hold up, and I lay my numb cheek against his chest.

“Kelsey?”

I tried to open my eyes and look at him again, but my eyelids were so heavy. I felt like I was on some atrocious carnival ride, one spin or flip away from coming apart at the hinges.

Was his saliva alcoholic? I didn’t understand how I could be feeling this way after one and a half drinks. That’s all I’d had, right? He’d finished the last of mine, and then I’d had his.

“My cheeks,” I mumbled.

His hands settled low on my back, hot and possessive. “What about them, princess?”

I tried to shake my head, but all I managed was to turn my head, my lips grazing the center of his chest. He sucked in a breath, and his grip tightened.

I leaned my forehead against him and whimpered a little. I could feel my insides pushing and pulling, reminiscent of the way I’d felt the other night when I’d been sick. But that didn’t make any sense.

He cradled my jaw, and lifted my head back. Our eyes met, and his went from interested to confused in seconds flat.

“Kelsey? What were you saying about your cheeks?”

“Can’t feel.”

“You can’t feel your cheeks?”

I couldn’t feel anything.

“Shit.”

He tilted my head back farther, searching my eyes. The neon lights overhead flashed, blinding me. Black splashed across my vision, and I pulled away, stumbling. He caught me, holding me so tight against him that there was barely any weight on my feet.

He opened his mouth, but no words came out. He looked at me with dark, glassy eyes and a hanging jaw. He reminded me of a broken doll. I reached out and touched his lips, and his mouth closed. He looked less broken now, but his eyes were still clouded.

“Kelsey, you didn’t have anything to drink earlier, did you?”

I opened my mouth to say no, but my tongue felt too big for my mouth. So, I shook my head instead.

“Damn it. My drink.”

He lifted me up and sat me on the nearest barstool, and then he turned and called the bartender.

“This drink,” Hunt said. “Did you see anyone mess with it? Anyone touch it besides me or her?”

I didn’t hear if the bartender replied. My body just felt so heavy.

God, I was exhausted. When did I sleep last?

I didn’t even realize I was falling until Hunt’s arms closed around my middle, and he righted me. His face appeared before mine, our foreheads pressed together. He said something, but the sound was delayed, a couple seconds behind the movement of his mouth, and I couldn’t make sense of it. Hunt said my name, then again a few more times. I laughed because the more he said it, the less familiar it sounded.

“I’m taking you home,” he said.

I sighed. That sounded perfect.

I placed another kiss on his sternum, and then lay my head against him. I felt his heavy exhale above me. I wanted to keep kissing him, until there was no breath left in his lungs . . . or mine. But I was so tired. I touched his chest, directly over where his heart should be, and the calloused skin of his fingertips touched my bare waist in a grip that was strong and possessive and maddening.

“I’m sorry,” he said, low in my ear. “This is my fault. I should have been watching.”

Everything was spinning, while my cheek lifted up and down with his heavy breaths. I was on a carousel, moving in too many directions at once.

I wrapped my arms around his neck, wanting to reassure him. My fingers were numb, and all I got was pinpricks of feeling when I tried to move them.

Then his arms swept beneath my legs, and he held me against his warm chest, and I sighed in relief.

“I’ve got you, princess. You’re safe. If you can hear me, no one’s going to take advantage of you. I promise.”

I managed to mumble, “Bummer.”

He released a heavy breath. “You’re something else.”

I really hoped he didn’t start talking about me being a piece of work again. His arms were so warm, and I’d never felt so comfortable.

We started moving, and Hunt asked me questions in a low, rumbling voice.

My head felt thick and clouded and my body outside my control. It took all my focus to string together words to answer him, but somehow, despite all of that, I was always aware of Hunt’s hands and his breath and his heart beating firmly underneath my cheek.

When I opened my eyes again, the world was a kaleidoscope of lights and colors and gray, gray eyes. Just when I thought I knew where I was and what was happening, everything would rearrange into something new and confusing.

Hunt’s eyes, though, they were constant. And they were dark and deep and so very unreadable. My head was in his lap, and the world was careening, circling and sprinting around me where I couldn’t follow and keep up. Everything tilted, and Hunt’s hand laid flat against my stomach to steady me.

I felt sick, but somehow that cleared my head a little, made it easier to think.

“What’s happening?” I mumbled.

“We’re in a cab. I can’t be certain, but . . .” His jaw clenched, and a storm brewed in his gaze. “I’m pretty sure someone slipped something in that drink while it was sitting at the bar.”

That’s what this was? Suddenly the warmth and the heaviness didn’t feel comforting and safe. It felt suffocating. I could feel my heart trying to beat faster in my chest, but the heaviness was there, too.

“Fuck,” I groaned.

“I tell you that you’ve been roofied and that’s all you have to say.”

“You tell me I’ve been roofied and expect me to say more?” I couldn’t say more. I wouldn’t. I didn’t even want to think about it.

His expression said he was pissed, but the hand on my waist and the other stroking through my damp hair told a different story.

There was a softness to him after all, and I was glad for it, glad that I wasn’t alone for this. Because if he was right . . .

Don’t think about it. Nothing happened. You’re safe.

I laid a hand over his on my stomach, and tried to just feel and breathe. There was no use in thinking about what could have happened. Just as there was no use in thinking about the past.

I must have fallen asleep again because next thing I knew Hunt was pulling me out of the cab and up into his arms. I had that strange out-of-body sensation again. I watched the way he cradled me—careful and strong, almost as though it was happening to someone else. He didn’t even break a sweat as he carried me into the lobby of a hotel.

He didn’t stop at the desk, so I guessed that this was where he was staying. My stomach clenched.

In the elevator, I blinked up at him, and in my dazed state I saw one thing clearly. It was the way he looked at me, like he already knew me inside out, like he knew something even I didn’t—that was what made me desperate to pull him closer and so eager to push him away. I didn’t know if he looked at everyone that way or just me.

“You scare me,” I said.

His brow furrowed, and his mouth opened, but no words came out. He took a breath and then very slowly said, “You have nothing to be scared of. I won’t . . . I wouldn’t. I’ll help you get to bed, and then I’ll leave, get another room.”

He thought I didn’t trust him . . . that he might do something.

“Not that. I don’t think that.”

“Then why do I scare you?”

“Because I don’t want you to see.”

There was a small part of me that knew I should shut my mouth, that I was saying things I shouldn’t, but that part of me felt like it was on the other side of a cement wall. It was too far away and too hard to understand.

“See what?”

He shouldered open a door and I answered simply, “Me.”

9

He was silent as he led me across the dark room and lowered me into a chair. He lay my purse and clothing at my feet. I’d checked those things. He must have picked them up, but I couldn’t remember when. He knelt in front of me and perched one hand on the chair beside my thigh.

“Why wouldn’t you want me to see you, Kelsey?”

My head was clear enough to order my mouth to stay shut on that one. I was not about to bare my soul to him. I’d lived my whole life as the confident girl, the girl not afraid to be bold or brash or independent. But that was a part I played, just like any other. Thick skin and a mask were necessities of my childhood. But when you grow up wearing a mask, you never really learn the face beneath it. I could guess at the me that hid underneath, though. It was the opposite of my illusion: ugly and afraid and not worth the cost of my manicure. If I lost my mask, if I let it drop, I’d have nothing.

“Kelsey, look at me.”

My lids were heavy, and my vision blurry, but I made myself focus on him.

“You are beautiful, that’s all I see.”

I tried to smile, but I couldn’t. Not when I knew how thin a shield that beauty was . . . how weak.

He watched me for a few seconds, and fatigue folded over me like a wave. My head started to droop, and it took all of my strength to keep my neck straight.

He cleared his throat once, twice, three times. Or maybe it was just once, and time or my mind had splintered. He said, “I, um, we should get you out of your wet swimsuit.”

I yawned and said, “Okay.” I tried to stand, but my legs collapsed beneath me. He caught my arms, and my chest slid against his. The world came quickly back into focus, and my breath caught.

Hunt cleared his throat again, and looked away. My swimsuit consisted of straps of fabric that wrapped around my chest, the small of my waist, and then tied onto my bikini bottoms. I reached for one of the knots tying my suit together at my hip, but my fingers felt useless, like all my bones had disappeared. Even when I managed to grip the fabric, I wasn’t strong enough to do anything with it.

My muscles tingled with fatigue, and I felt dizzy.

“I can’t.”

The strength of gravity seemed to double, and I just couldn’t stay upright anymore. Hunt was holding my arms, but the rest of my body began to slump.

“It’s okay. I’ll help. It’s okay.”

He lowered me into the chair, but then took a few steps back. He blew out a harsh breath and ran his hands across his head and down his face.

He mumbled, “What the fuck am I doing?”

He flexed his fists and rolled his neck, and I was too tired to do anything but watch the way his body moved, broad shoulders sloping toward muscled arms.

He said okay a few more times to himself, grabbed something from a suitcase, and then returned to me.

He knelt again and said, “Here, slip this on.”

I tried to raise my arms to help him slip the dark gray shirt on, but my arms remained stubbornly at my sides. He pulled it over my head, and it smelled like him. I closed my eyes to breathe in the scent. He picked up one of my hands, and I managed to grip his fingers. He smiled reassuringly, and then maneuvered my arm through the sleeve. He did the same with my other arm, and his hand accidentally brushed my chest. I let out a small noise, almost a mewl. His grip tightened around my hand, and he closed his eyes for a few seconds. After a labored pause, he apologized and finished moving my arm into place.

Carefully, he set my hand down by my side, and then walked to the other side of the room. With his back to me, he hooked his hands around his neck, and stood still and silent.

Tension bled from his flexed arms to his rigid back. I wanted to stand up, cross the room, and trace the lines of his body. I wanted to press myself against his back.

But I couldn’t.

“Okay. Next step,” he said, focusing on me like I was a problem to solve, a task to be completed.

He crossed the room and reached a hand around my back and another under my knees to lift me. With me in his arms, he bent and dragged back the covers from the bed. He laid me against the cool, clean sheets, and I shivered. He turned on my bedside lamp, and knelt beside me. I inclined my head to the side and met his dark gaze. The dull yellow light cast shadows over the angles of his face, accentuating his strong jaw and straight nose.

I thought he’d given up because he pulled the covers over me. I shivered again, and closed my eyes. Then I felt the brush of his fingertips under the covers against my hip. I pried my eyes open to see his chagrined smile.

“Are you that scared of seeing me naked?”

He finished untangling that first knot with ease.

“I’m not scared, sweetheart.”

The ties pulled loose, and he must have thought I was the scared one because he said, “I promise I won’t look.”

He reached farther under the covers to slide the strip of fabric off my stomach, but the rest wrapped beneath me, around my back to my chest.

“Can you lift yourself up? That might be easier.”

I tried to press my hands against the mattress and arch my body, but I was too far gone. The alcohol or the drugs or whatever had hit me hard enough that I felt almost paralyzed by exhaustion.

“I can’t.” I hated the tremble in my voice and how weak it made me sound, but I felt like my body had turned on me, and I was no longer in control.

Panic unfurled slowly, like the opening of a flower. I made myself keep my eyes open and focused. I knew what I would see if I let them close.

Hunt sat on the edge of the bed beside me.

“Wrap your arms around my neck, and use me to pull yourself up.”

Slowly, I managed to snake my arms out of the covers. He made sure the blankets stayed in place before pulling me up and helping me to hook my hands around his neck.

“Just hold on.”

He snuck his hands beneath the oversized T-shirt, and I felt him pull the fabric of my swimsuit, but it didn’t come undone. It just shifted the rest of my suit.

“Damn it. The other piece is strapped over this one. Hang on.”

He slipped a hand under the other strip, and held it out so that he could slip the other underneath it. My arms ached, so I dug my fingers harder into the back of his neck. He sucked in a breath, and his hands at my back faltered.

“Hunt?”

I watched his Adam’s apple bob as he swallowed.

“Yeah?”

His fingertips skated across my lower back, dragging the fabric along, too. I skimmed one hand from the back of his neck to his jaw and said, “Tell me your other name. The one most people don’t call you.”

His eyes searched my face, flicking briefly from my lips up to my eyes.

“You won’t remember it tomorrow, sweetheart.”

“Doesn’t mean I don’t want to know, sweetheart.”

He quirked a smile, but it disappeared almost immediately. He finished working the strap through, and the hand that had been holding up the other strap pressed against my bare skin. His long fingers spread across the entire expanse of my back, and the room seemed to amp up several degrees.

“Jackson. My name is Jackson Hunt.”

I smiled, and he returned a small one of his own.

“Well, Jackson Hunt. Stop being a pansy, and just take my clothes off.”

He chuckled, low and raspy, and it built into a full, barking laugh.

“You’re something else, you know that?”

“Like you said, I won’t remember it tomorrow. Let’s just get it over with.”

He groaned and scraped his fingernails against the stubble along his jaw. He mumbled something under his breath that sounded like, “But I’ll remember.”

Exhausted and cold and tired of waiting, I eased myself back on the pillow, his hand dragging from my back to my side as I moved. I did my best to shove the covers down. The T-shirt was bunched up around my rib cage.

He jerked, turning his face away. “Jesus, Kelsey.”

The cool air embraced me from the waist up, my skin tightening. “It’s not that big of a deal.”

“It is, though. I can’t take advantage of you like that. Not when you’re not sober enough to make decisions with a clear head.”

I groaned. “You’re not taking advantage of me. Been there. Done that. It felt nothing like this.”

His head snapped to mine.

“What did you say?”

I was so tired now that I could feel the tears gathering at the edge of my vision.

That’s all it was. Exhaustion.

“Nothing.”

“Kelsey—”

“It doesn’t matter. Just help me. Please? Please.”

I hated the desperation in my voice, but I needed this to be over, and I needed to stop thinking.

After a heavy sigh and a few seconds of staring at the ceiling, he pulled the covers the rest of the way down, and started working on the other knot. When he started unwrapping the swimsuit, his eyes locked on my face.

He leaned down until only a half a dozen inches separated us. His face hovered over mine, and a slow burn stole past the fog in my head. He snuck a hand beneath my back and lifted up my midsection. I swallowed, and he yanked the fabric out from underneath me. He pulled hard enough that the bathing suit slipped off my shoulders and down to my elbows.

I arched my back a little bit more, and my belly grazed his chest. He made a noise low in his throat and closed his eyes. That sound bled through my skin and muscles and lodged itself deep in my bones.

Quickly, he finished unwrapping the fabric, and then pulled the suit free. I heard the wet slap of the fabric as it hit the ground, and though he wasn’t touching me, one of his hands was still under the T-shirt, his hand pressing down into the mattress an inch away from my bare skin.

His eyes opened, and the space between us crackled with energy. His eyes dropped to my lips, and his breath fanned across my mouth.

I whimpered, and he growled a four-letter word.

“Jackson.”

I closed my eyes and tilted my chin up. My muscles tightened in anticipation. His wrist grazed my ribs, and his lips dipped toward mine.

This felt more like being drugged than anything else.

At the last second, he swerved and pressed a kiss to my cheek instead. He stayed there, his lips and stubble brushing against my skin, and said, “I can’t. Not like this. If I’m going to cross this line, I sure as hell want you to remember it.”

“It’s not crossing a line if I want it.”

I held on to him as tightly as I could manage in my current state.

“I want you, too. But you have no idea how many lines I’d be crossing, even if you were sober.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means I’m getting you ready for bed, and then I’m saying good night.”

“Then get me ready for bed.” I took his hand and guided it down to the material at my hips. He hooked two fingers under the fabric, and then started to pull, down my legs and past my feet. When his gaze wasn’t on my face, it was directed up toward the ceiling.

He pulled the blankets all the way up to my chin, the smooth sheets sliding against my bare legs. I caught one of his hands at the top of the blankets, keeping it close.

“Don’t go.”

He ran a hand over the stubble across his jaw.

“I have to. This isn’t a good idea.”

“I don’t want to wake up alone. If I don’t remember . . . I’ll . . . it will kill me. You don’t know . . .”

He was doing it again . . . studying me, and whatever he found made his lips curve into a frown.

“Jackson, please.”

“Okay. Just . . . just give me a second.”

I relaxed, the panic in my gut loosening. I listened to him moving around the room and then the bathroom, too tired to lift my head to actually watch.

After a few minutes, he flipped off the lamp beside the bed, dousing the room in darkness. I waited for the bed to dip, to feel the electricity that I knew would come from having him close to me.

I waited and waited, but it never came.

“Jackson?”

I heard something creak in the direction of the chair I’d been in earlier, and then his voice came from the same side of the room.

“Are you okay? Do you need something?”

“No.” I relaxed back against the mattress. “I just . . . thank you.”

“Anytime, princess.”

I closed my eyes, and I gave into the weight in my limbs, the pressure behind my eyes.

I’d thought my memories of that night would overwhelm me, that I would see him. But against all odds, I felt . . . safe.

With Hunt only a few feet away, I slept.

10

Gentle light poured through window, but it felt more like a full-out assault to me. My limbs were slick with sweat and tangled in my sheets. Just turning my head away from the light felt like an earthquake was rattling through my skull.

“Fu . . .” I didn’t even have the energy to finish the curse.

I pulled the pillow over my head, and pressed my pounding forehead into the mattress, then forced my way back into oblivion for a few more hours.

When I woke next, the light was less severe, but my hangover was not. My stomach pitched and rolled like I was adrift at sea, and I barely had time to acknowledge that I was in an unfamiliar hotel and to find the bathroom before I was sick.

There were a few things in this world that I hated.

PMS.

Pennies.

Close talkers.

Fran Drescher’s voice.

People who say fustrating instead of frustrating.

And throwing up. Which I had done twice this week.

With my throat burning, my eyes watering, and my neck sweating, I lay my head feebly against the toilet seat. I rested against the cold porcelain for a few seconds before hurling again.

Life.

Maybe I was doing it wrong.

Again and again my stomach contracted, pushing and pulling until my organs felt like rubber bands. Long after my stomach was empty, I stayed hunched over the toilet with tears streaming down my face, too tired to think or move unless my body forced me to.

It must have been an hour before I felt the chill from the bathroom tile against my bare legs and realized I wore nothing but a man’s T-shirt. I thought back to the night before, but the last thing I remembered clearly was arguing with Hunt. Things after that went gray and then black, and even the things before it were fuzzy. I looked back down at my bare skin and around me at the unfamiliar bathroom. Had I gone home with Hunt? I’d certainly been hoping for that. At least, I think I had been. And perhaps the better question . . . if I had, where was he now? I stretched, searching for the telltale soreness of a night spent not sleeping, but my whole body was aching.

There had been another guy, the one before Hunt had showed up, but I couldn’t remember his name. Jesus, how much had I had to drink?

I’d worked long and hard in college to have gold-medal worthy tolerance, but for the life of me, I could only remember taking a few sips of alcohol the night before. I’d had hangovers from hell in the past, but none of my nights out had ever been so bad that I blacked out. This made absolutely no sense, especially considering I’d been determined to take it easy last night.

Despite my hollow insides, my stomach began to sink.

What if this wasn’t because I’d had too much to drink?

I remembered being frustrated with Hunt and going up to the bar. I closed my eyes, straining to remember. I recalled a snippet or two of conversation, and . . . one drink. I remembered having one drink. Maybe two, tops. I gripped the toilet and slowly pulled myself up to my feet. My legs shook like a newborn deer. I was fucking Bambi, hoping the story would take an unusual twist, and I’d be the one facing a shotgun. Put me out of my misery.

Maybe then the pounding in my head would stop.

I dragged myself to the bathroom door and surveyed the hotel room.

“Hello?” I called out. “Anyone here?”

As if my stomach gymnastics in there wouldn’t have alerted them to my presence already.

The bed was a mess, sheets and blankets twisted, falling off the mattress. A pillow lay on the floor. But I was alone . . . definitely. And there were no other things but mine in the room. But I couldn’t remember how I got here, and that made my headache seem like a soothing massage.

I pressed a hand to my stomach, and for a reason I felt, but couldn’t articulate, my heart beat faster and my hands shook.

I had done plenty of stupid things in my life.

I’d slept with people I regretted. I’d done things because everyone else was doing it. I’d made the worst possible choices.

But I owned my mistakes. Because they were mine. They’d been my choice.

Except for once. There’d been only once in my life where I’d had no control. That was the moment when I realized that beneath everything beautiful, everything rich . . . there lived an ugly pit that would pull and plunge and smother you if you let it. And once you’ve been there in that pit, it never quite leaves you. You can try to scrub it off or cover it up, but it lives under your skin, unreachable.

My stomach pitched, and I lurched for the toilet again. I dug my fingers into the porcelain until they hurt. I told myself the tears were just a natural by-product of being sick.

Nothing happened. Not last night. Not back then. Nothing happened. So, stop it. Just stop. You’re being dramatic. It was nothing. Nothing.

I wanted to hit something or run or scream. I just needed to do something. But the only thing I could get my body to do was to curl up on the cold tile floor.

You’re being overdramatic.

God, I’d heard those words so many times, they just happened, like muscle memory. I shivered and pressed my cheek into the tile, hard.

It had taken me so long to stop feeling guilty, to ignore the shame. And now I could feel the ugly emotion curling and winding through my gut like weeds.

I didn’t know what happened last night, but whatever it was, it hadn’t been my choice. And I had promised that would never happen again. While trying to stay still for my nausea’s sake, I slid my hands across and down my body, looking for a clue or hint of what might have happened to me last night. I was scared to even think the word that hung unsaid on the tip of my tongue.

You weren’t raped. You’ve never been raped.

I thought it again. I thought it half a dozen times.

It was a familiar mantra, and it helped about as much now as it had then . . .not at all.

No matter how many times I thought it, no matter that there was nothing torn or painful, I couldn’t stop the tears choking at the back of my throat.

If someone was going to drug and rape me, they wouldn’t have left me in this nice hotel room. There were no marks or bruises that I could find. I was making a big deal out of nothing.

I always made a big deal out of nothing.

So, I pushed it away. I forced myself off the floor. I willed myself into the shower stall and turned the water as hot as I could stand it.

I kept chanting, You’re fine. Nothing happened. You’re fine. You’re fine. You’re always fine.

And I was fine . . . until I wasn’t.

Until the warm water hit my face, and a sob wrenched from my lungs. Until my legs gave out, and my knees slammed into the tile. Until I could no longer pretend that this epic failure was the trip of a lifetime and was going to miraculously show me whatever path my life was supposed to take. That it was going to fix me.

If I couldn’t manage to be happy here in this gorgeous, exotic city, how could there be any hope for the rest of my life? I had everything I could want, but it never stopped—the ache, the emptiness. Nothing ever satisfied it.

I sat on the shower floor and pulled my knees up to my chest. I leaned my head on my knees and let the water pelt my back.

I hated myself for the weakness, for my inability to just deal, but there comes a point when you’re so far down in the pit that there is no light at the end of the tunnel, not a pinprick or a soft glow. There is black and more black pressing into you, choking out the world. And asking how you got there and why you can’t get out is a pointless exercise because you’re too deep to do anything about it.

I knew other people had it worse. I knew that. I knew that what happened when I was twelve could have been a lot worse.

I just wished that I knew why I couldn’t fucking let it go. Every time I thought I had, life tripped me and shoved my face into the muck of my past, and taught me just how far I was from being over it.

Maybe I should just book a flight back to the States. I could visit Bliss in Philly, build up my resolve, and just go home. What was the use in fighting it?

Whatever I’d thought I was going to do here—the adventure and the living that I’d been looking for—wasn’t happening. If anything, I was more confused and more lost than before. I’d been trying to outrun my issues, racing from bar to bar and city to city, but after a while the differences in location didn’t matter. Because I was the same in every city. Inadequate.

It was stupid, but in my head this trip had become the indicator for the rest of my life. I’d thought it would jumpstart something, that it would give me the momentum to move forward. I had pinned every hope, every doubt on this trip, intending it to fulfill the former and dash the latter. Unfortunately, it was doing the opposite.

Maybe it was time to cut my losses.

The permanent knot in my stomach loosened slightly.

The water battered my back, and I took each tiny blow, willing the water to take some of me with it. Slowly, slowly the tension melted out of my muscles, my lungs lost that aching feeling, and the sting of emotion at the back of my throat receded.

Life was easier when you stopped caring, when you stopped expecting things to get better.

Feeling more in control, I dragged myself off the shower floor. I shut off the water, and reached for a towel.

Then I scrubbed.

At my hair. My face. My skin. I scrubbed myself dry while all my hopes for this trip, for life, twisted down the drain.

I left my hair wet and wavy, and collected my things from where someone had placed them neatly at the foot of the bed. I balled up my wet swimsuit in the T-shirt I’d been wearing and did the walk of shame wearing the wrinkled shift dress I’d worn yesterday before the baths.

It was possibly the shamiest walk of shame in the history of all shaming.

But at least it was short.

I exited the nice boutique hotel to find myself on a familiar block. I was across the street and just a few buildings down from my hostel.

“Jesus . . .”

I jogged across the street, and pushed open the door to the hostel. I reached in my bag for my phone to see what time it was. I didn’t actually use the phone to call anyone. It was more of an emergency kind of thing. And it had all my music. I was still fishing around in the bottom of my bag when I entered the dormitory with my bed to see Jenny, John, and Tau packing up their things.

I gave up my search for my phone.

Tau saw me first and nudged Jenny.

“Kelsey! Where did you go last night, you little minx?”

I opened my mouth to tell her where I’d been, that I’d been just across the street, but then pulled my lips closed. I threw on my most convincing smile and said, “Oh, you know me.”

There was no point in telling people. Been there. Done that. Fucked things up even worse. Besides . . . there was nothing to tell. Nothing happened. And it’s not as if we were really friends anyway. They were little more than cardboard cutouts to me. Superficial people to be with and be seen with. And I was the same to them.

“Oh my God,” Jenny said. “I freaking love you. Was it the army guy? I bet he was fantastic. Come out with us and tell me everything.”

I moved toward my bed to put down my things. I’d not found my phone yet, but I was fairly certain it couldn’t be much later than noon.

“You’re going out now? It’s so early.”

Jenny shrugged. “We’ve got to check out in, like, ten minutes, but our train doesn’t leave until tonight. So, we figured a little day drinking was in order. You know, to end our Budapest weekend in style. Come with us!”

I worried my bottom lip between my teeth, unsure how to get out of this.

“I don’t know if I’m up to day drinking, honestly.”

“So come for the company,” John said.

I didn’t think I was up to the company either.

The hesitance must have shown on my face because Jenny picked up her backpack and handed it to Tau. “You guys go check us out,” she said. “I’ll be right there.”

John waved on his way out, and Tau nodded. Then Jenny turned on me.

“Okay, what’s up? I know post-coitus glow, and you don’t have it. So where were you really last night?”

I plopped down on the bottom bunk bed that I was currently calling home. The mattress was so thin that I could feel the wooden slats below it.

“Nothing. Just . . .” I sighed. “I’ve just had a bad week is all. Last night just continued my slump.”

“It’s probably just mental. Maybe you need a change. New atmosphere. You could start fresh.”

That’s all I’d been doing. Starting fresh. But I was learning that the stench of the past tended to cling despite changing locations.

“I don’t think that will help. I think I’m going to go home.”

“Are you serious?”

I threaded my fingers together in my lap and ran my thumb across my palm.

“Yeah.” I nodded and said more firmly, “Yeah, I am.”

She ducked underneath my bunk and sat down beside me, the bed groaning. “You can’t. Not yet. If you go home now, when you’re unhappy, that’s the only way you’ll remember this trip. Go home on a good note at least.”

I brushed my thumb across my palm again, scraping lightly with the nail of my thumb.

“You’re not wrong.”

“Of course I’m not. I get being homesick. And the culture shock can come a bit out of nowhere and bite you in the ass. But you’re going to want to look back on this trip fondly. As a good thing . . . right?”

“Right.” I nodded. Jenny’s advice sounded a lot like what I would have told myself. That is, if I weren’t so mixed up and broken down. It was stupid to try to pin all my hopes on this trip. I was expecting too much. Too much pressure.

I still thought going home was the best choice, but I was pretty sure I could handle one last hooray.

“Thanks, Jenny.”

She smiled, and lifted one shoulder in a shrug.

“I’m the queen of sabotaging good things, but I’m at least pretty good at recognizing the same tendency in others. One more trip. Do something you’ll remember, something impossible to regret. Then take that moment home with you.”

I nodded, emotion tickling at the back of my throat.

She slipped off my bunk and headed for the door. “Facebook me and let me know how it goes.”

She was almost out the door when I called, “Jenny?”

She balanced a hand on the doorjamb. “Yeah?”

“Would you recommend Prague as a place to remember?”

She smiled.

“Hell, yes, I would. And I happen to know that a train is heading that way in just over eight hours.”

Prague it was, then. My last adventure.

11

Even the train station in Budapest was beautiful. It was all archways and glass windows. The glittering night sky was visible through the windows that swept across the arched ceiling. The station was cast in a low yellow light, and the balmy night air crept in through the open archways over the train tracks. I arrived about forty-five minutes early, but didn’t see Jenny, John, or Tau anywhere.

The train Jenny had told me about traveled overnight and arrived in Prague just after dawn. I went ahead and purchased a ticket for a couchette in a random compartment, just in case I didn’t find them before the train left. There was probably very little chance I would have been able to get in the same train compartment as them anyway.

I took a seat on a quaint wooden bench. I still couldn’t find my phone, and I was working on the theory that I’d lost it sometime during the night of oblivion. Unable to listen to music, it was just me and the quiet station, permeated by the humming of the tracks as a train approached.

That hum grew into a roar, and the wind whipped my hair around my face. And for a second . . . for one tiny second, I felt good. The worries rolled off my back, and it hit me where I was and what I was doing. I was in a gorgeous European city, where most people didn’t speak English. The train station was so grand, it was easy to imagine how magnificent it had been when it was first built. There was a wide, bustling world out there, and I was a part of it.

Sure, I had no fucking clue what I was doing with my life or where I fit in this world, but I was a part of it all the same. I’d left footprints across the globe, and though you couldn’t see them and they didn’t necessarily matter, I knew they were there. And that was enough for now. It had to be enough.

The train pulled to a stop, the wind died down, and with it that spark of something more.

The moment was fleeting, but it told me something important. There was hope in this mad world, if I could keep it protected from the darkness.

My train arrived just a few minutes prior to the scheduled time. I picked up my backpack, and did one last sweep of the platform to look for Jenny and the guys.

I didn’t see them, but maybe I’d be able to find them once we got to the station in Prague.

I stepped off the platform and up onto the stairs leading into the train. An attendant helped direct me toward my compartment. I slid open the door and shouldered my hulking backpack through the narrow opening. The compartment held six bunks that folded out from the wall bunk-bed style. There were three on each side, each with a pillow and a blanket. I checked my ticket to find that I was on one of the middle bunks. I was not looking forward to climbing into that space. There was only about two feet between the top of my bunk and the bottom of the one above me. Not enough space to sit up unless I wanted to crack my head against the couchette above me.

Now that I knew where I was, I exited my compartment, following the flow of people looking for their own places. I peeked past open doors, checking for a familiar face. I walked nearly the entire length of the train before an announcement came over the speakers. It started in Hungarian, but I didn’t need to wait for the translation to know what it meant. We were leaving. And I still hadn’t seen Jenny or the guys anywhere.

I was about to turn around and go back to my compartment when I heard a commotion. The train started moving, but the attendant was still at the door, calling out something in Hungarian.

While I stared, a hand took hold of the bar next to the stairs, and a running body pulled itself up onto the train and into the cabin. The person held out a ticket to the conductor, and after they spoke for a few seconds, stepped out into the light.

A small part of me had thought maybe it was Tau or John, and the others would be pulling themselves onto the slowly moving train any second now.

It wasn’t.

But the face was a familiar one after all.

The train picked up speed, and I had to brace myself on the wall to keep from falling. He finished tucking his ticket into the pocket of his dark jeans, slung low on his hips, and then his eyes met mine.

Hunt.

I had the strongest urge to run. Or to throw myself into his arms.

He moved forward, reaching a long arm up to the ceiling to help keep his balance.

“You left,” he said, his expression troubled.

“I—what?”

“And you left this.”

He reached into his pocket again, and pulled out my cell phone.

I stretched for it. “Where did you get that?”

“You left it in your room.”

“What?”

My room? The hotel room?

He passed the phone to me and said, “I came over this afternoon to check on you, but you were already gone. I went to your hostel, but you were already gone from there, too. I got lucky and ran into Jenny and Tau at a bar near the hostel. They said you were leaving for Prague tonight.”

I was still stuck on that first sentence. “You came over . . .”

He had been there last night. He could tell me what happened. He was obviously involved with me ending up in that hotel room. Did he pay for a room for me? How did we go from arguing to him taking care of me? The empty space in my head was infuriating.

His eyebrows tilted, his tanned skin wrinkling across his forehead. “You didn’t read my note, did you?” I didn’t even have to answer before he was replying, “Damn it. I’m sorry, Kelsey. I thought you would have seen it beside your bed.” He came closer, until I could have reached out and traced a finger along the bare strip of skin that showed every time he checked his balance against the wall or ceiling. “I should have stayed. I never meant for you to wake up that way, confused and scared.”

“I wasn’t scared.”

My eyes stayed steady, and my lip didn’t wobble. My voice was calm and even.

He paused, his mouth still open in the shape of whatever he’d been planning to say next. “Kelsey . . . you don’t have to do that.”

“Do what?” I looked away, unnerved by the way he seemed to see right through me.

“I promised you I would stay, so that you wouldn’t wake up and not know what had happened. And I was going to stay, I just . . . I’m sorry.”

If he’d been there, I wouldn’t have freaked out. I wouldn’t have had to think about the past at all.

“Why didn’t you?”

He cleared his throat and scratched at his neck. “I—uh. I needed a bit of distance. I booked the room across the hall.”

I wanted to ask why, to push for more of an explanation, but I didn’t want him to know that I cared, and that I had been more than scared. I’d been terrified, split open, and even now I was only barely stitched back together.

The train was at full speed now, and the conductor was sliding open a compartment just a few doors down to check people’s tickets. I needed to get back to my seat. I was the one who needed distance now. But I had to ask, “Did you just jump on a train to Prague solely to bring me my phone?”

He smoothed a hand over the stubble on his jaw and shrugged.

“Are you crazy? It’s just a phone.”

“And it’s just a train. If I weren’t on this one, I’d be on another one. Prague is as good a place as any.”

I pushed my phone into a pocket on my backpack and surveyed him. He was a soldier . . . or had been. His hair was still cut short, so either he preferred that style or he’d been in service very recently. But it sounded as if he was wandering just as aimlessly as I was, and I wondered briefly what he was hoping to find here. If he was having better luck than me.

The conductor moved onto the next compartment. I pointed behind me and said, “I better get back to my compartment. You said you saw Jenny?”

“This afternoon, yes. But not since I arrived at the station.”

“Oh. Okay. Thanks.”

I turned, adjusting the backpack on my shoulders, and heading back the way I’d come. He followed behind me, going to his own compartment presumably, and I wasn’t sure whether I should keep up conversation or just maintain the illusion that we’d parted ways.

What exactly did one say to an incredibly hot guy who’d rejected you, hit on you, pried into your personal life, and then possibly took care of you during a drug-induced evening that you can no longer remember?

My resolve to not tell anyone about last night to avoid the pity and the questions and the fallout didn’t work so well when there was someone else here who’d experienced it, too. If we talked about it, there would be no pretending that it didn’t happen. And as much as I was dying to know, I also knew that there was bliss in oblivion.

I moved through one, two, three train cars in silence. And when I was a few feet away from the door to my compartment, I stopped and faced him.

“What did the note say?”

He pulled up short. His mouth opened and closed. It opened again and he said, “That everything was okay. That nothing bad had happened to you. That you were safe.”

“That’s it?”

He balanced a hand on the wall next to me.

“Those were the important things.”

“And the unimportant things?”

“I told you that you could call me by my first name. You can call me Jackson.”

“Does that mean I’m no longer most people?”

He nodded.

“So what am I, then?”

“I’m still figuring that out.”

I cleared my throat, feeling like if I turned away from him, the hook he’d sunken under my skin would tear right through. So, I didn’t turn. Without looking, I gestured behind me and said, “This is me.”

He stepped to the side and held open the door for me. I passed through, waiting for the pull, the tug to turn around and say one more thing or see him one more time. And it wasn’t so much a force as a tingle spreading down my back. When I turned, worried that I waited too long, the door closed, and he was on this side of it.

The tingle spread to my fingertips, and he threw his pack onto the luggage rack that hung from the ceiling.

Quietly, so as not to disturb anyone else in the compartment with us, I said, “Are you following me?”

He smiled unabashedly and said, “Absolutely.”

What do you say to something like that? I stood there gaping, my mouth opening and closing like a fish, and he smiled. Even though I couldn’t put images or memories to what had happened the night before, my body seemed to remember. I felt both relaxed and exhilarated by his presence.

He touched my shoulder in a gesture that seemed not quite intimate, but familiar. He leaned close to whisper, “Good night, Kelsey.”

I struggled to swallow and said, “Good night.”

I watched him fold his too long body onto the couchette in the middle, the one directly across from mine.

“Jackson?”

He’d been shifting and turning, trying to get comfortable, and he paused.

“Yeah?”

“Thank you for watching out for me last night.”

The look he gave me buried the hook even deeper in my chest, and suddenly I was scared to know what had passed between us last night for an entirely different reason. This beautiful, mysterious man had seen me at my worst twice now, and he was still there across from me.

In every city so far, I’d picked up temporary friends. Some were locals. Some were other travelers. But I never had any issue letting them go. I moved on to a different city, and didn’t think twice about them.

But I hoped Hunt would be different. I wanted him to stay.

And at the same time, I was terrified of what that meant, and what it would do to me if he didn’t.

12

The couchette was too firm to feel like a bed, and sleeping with my backpack at my feet to keep it safe didn’t make for the most comfortable position. Despite that, the low rumbling and gentle swaying motion of the train seduced me into the arms of sleep only a few minutes after I lay down my head. I was still fatigued from whatever had happened to me the night before. I was too exhausted to even stress over Hunt sleeping in the bunk across from me.

Minutes or hours later, I was jostled out of my sleep by the departure of the person on the bunk above me. His bag hit my knee as he climbed down from his bunk. My eyelids felt heavy and swollen, but as I watched him leave, I caught sight of Hunt on his bunk. A dull yellow light shone from above his bed, painting him in highlights and shadows. He lay scratching away at something in a journal. It wasn’t the continuous flow of handwriting, so I guessed he was probably drawing.

I watched him as he focused on one corner of his paper. His tongue darted out to wet his lips, and the muscles of his shoulders tensed as he made short, precise strokes on the page. I found myself wishing I could draw too, so that I could capture the power and simplicity of him in that moment.

He glanced up, and his eyes widened when he saw me.

After a few long seconds he whispered, “Hi.”

“Hey.” My throat was dry, so my reply was barely audible.

“Everything okay?” he asked.

I nodded and rolled onto my side to face him. I tucked my arm beneath my pillow and asked, “You’re not going to sleep?”

He closed his sketchbook and tapped his pencil against his lower lip. As if I needed anything else to draw my eyes there.

“Maybe in a little while.”

“Were you drawing?”

He nodded. “It’s an old habit. It calms my thoughts when I can’t sleep.”

“Does that happen a lot?”

“Sometimes.”

Something rustled in the bunk below me, followed by a breathy moan and noises that were not what you wanted to hear coming from the bed below yours. I met Hunt’s gaze, and we both burst into silent laughter.

He placed his pillow over his ear and flipped off his reading light.

“That’s my cue,” he whispered.

I followed suit and pulled the small pillow over my ear, resting my head on my elbow instead. I stayed staring at the place where Hunt’s face had been before the lights went out, wondering if he was looking at me, too.

My eyes were drooping, and sleep had almost claimed me when a light flashed through the train window and gave me my answer.

Our eyes met, and my stomach lurched despite the smooth motion of the train. The darkness took over again a second later, and I was left trying to calm the unsteady beat of my heart enough to fall back asleep.

When I woke the next morning with grimy teeth and oily hair, Hunt was fast asleep.

Thank God.

If I looked half as atrocious as I felt, Big Foot could beat me in a beauty contest. My back ached, either from the stiff bed or from carrying my massive backpack with me through multiple countries. The underwire of my bra had begun to cut into my skin, and the marks itched.

I leaned over the edge of my couchette and saw that everyone was gone but Hunt and me. I pulled my makeup from my bag and did my best to salvage the greasy, smudged mess on my face. I found a piece of gum for my morning breath, and pulled my limp hair into a high ponytail. Feeling a little more alive, I climbed down from my bunk and peeked past the curtain through the window. We were stopped, and people streamed off the train in large numbers.

I went to the other side of the compartment and slid open the door. Judging by the lines of people waiting to get off the train, I was going to guess that we were in Prague.

Damn it. I’d meant to get off the train as quickly as possible so that I could look for Jenny. I pulled my backpack off my bunk, sliding it onto my back. The weight pulled down on my shoulders, and I swore this bag got heavier by the day.

I almost left.

Or I told myself I almost had. I don’t think I actually got more than one step toward the door before I turned to a sleeping Hunt.

Almost like he could sense my presence, his eyes snapped open the second I took a step toward him.

He rubbed a hand across his eyes, and then across his shorn hair.

“Hey.” His voice was rough with sleep, and that hook beneath my skin pulled taut.

“I think we’re here,” I said.

He nodded, and with that sleepy look on his face, he looked younger. Softer.

“Damn, I haven’t slept that well in a while.”

He stretched, and I drank in the flexed muscles of his arms and the strip of hardened skin between his shirt and his jeans.

Before he could catch me staring, I said, “Seriously? I’m going to need a massage just to recover from that sleep.”

He shifted his legs over the edge of the couchette, and then hopped down beside me.

“I’m used to sleeping in an uncomfortable bed. Feels like home.”

Definitely military. I had a brief flash of memory of a USMC tattoo across someone’s back and knew it had to be his.

I said, “Well at least one of us feels good.”

He reached forward and curled a hand around the back of my neck. His fingers kneaded softly, and goose bumps prickled across my skin. The gesture was intimate, and the need to know what happened the other night rose up again like bile. And before I could think too much about the answers I didn’t want to hear, I said, “What happened the other night?”

He hesitated, and then his hand slipped off my skin.

“Why don’t you tell me what you remember, and I’ll fill in the blanks.”

I leaned my shoulder against his bunk and squinted up at him.

“The last thing I clearly remember is arguing with you. I’ve got bits and pieces of other things. Conversations. I remember holding a drink, maybe two, but that’s it.”

“Nothing else?”

He looked both relieved and disappointed.

I swallowed and shook my head.

He sighed and touched my shoulder, lightly this time and only for a few seconds.

“Let’s get off the train, and then I’ll tell you whatever you need to know.”

I nodded. “I need to look for Jenny, too. We were supposed to meet before the train, but I couldn’t find her.”

“I’ll help you look.”

I followed behind Hunt, trying to remember for sure where that tattoo had been. Before he descended the stairs down onto the platform, he said, “By the way, that argument we had? You probably don’t remember this, but you totally apologized and said you were wrong. Just so you know.”

I scoffed, and pushed him to the stairs. “Even without my memory, I know that’s bullshit.”

He took the stairs quickly, and then held out a hand with a smile.

“It was worth a shot.”

He helped me down the stairs and released my hand quickly after my feet were on the platform.

“Better luck next time, soldier.”

I flashed back to last night, to before the argument. I remembered the way he looked at me, and I could almost recall the way it had felt when he’d trailed his fingers up my leg. And now he only touched me for chivalry’s sake. What did that mean? We’d argued, but he still took me home, so the argument couldn’t have been that bad. But he was treating me differently. The question was why.

Together we searched the platform, looking for a familiar form. I climbed the stairs leading up into the main part of the station, but even from that vantage point, I didn’t see Jenny. We walked from one end of the station to the other, talking as we searched.

Even though he’d promised answers, I didn’t ask any questions. Not yet. I kept wavering on whether or not I actually wanted them.

Instead, he asked, “So what are you going to do in Prague?”

I shrugged. “I’m not really sure. Something fun. Something to remember.”

“Like what?”

“I don’t know. An adventure. I don’t want to just do the tourist thing. I want to do something original, you know?”

He nodded. “I get that.”

I checked the stalls in the women’s restroom while he waited outside, and I did the same while he checked the men’s. After nearly half an hour, we exited the station in a last-ditch effort to see if perhaps they were waiting outside.

They weren’t.

“Well, what do we do now?” Hunt asked.

“We?”

“I’m following you, remember?”

That was one of the few things I remembered.

“I don’t know. I guess we’re on our own.”

I could have made more of an effort. I could have found Internet access somewhere and messaged her on Facebook. And maybe I would later. Right now, I was more intrigued with this “we” idea of Hunt’s.

“In that case, let’s go explore Prague.” He hitched his backpack higher on his shoulders and started walking.

I stayed where I was and called, “Should we find a place to stay? I think they have a metro system here and trolleys.”

“We’ll get to all that. For now, let’s just walk.”

My jaw dropped. He couldn’t possibly serious. I was tired and cranky and my backpack was heavy.

“Why would we do something as stupid as that?”

He smiled. “Because you wanted an adventure.”

Then he started walking, and this time he didn’t stop when I called. I stood in disbelief for a few seconds before jogging to catch up with him. My lungs protested from the twenty seconds of almost-running, so I had a feeling they would start an all-out revolution on this “adventurous” walk.

I said, “I can have an adventure without gaining bunions and ruining my pedicure.”

He shook his head. “I’m fairly certain it’s in the dictionary that it’s impossible to have an adventure while worrying about things like pedicures.”

Hunt had picked up a map at the train station, and he said there was a neighborhood not too far away that should have plenty of inns and hostels to choose from. We’d go there first.

It wasn’t exactly my idea of an adventure. I still would have preferred a taxi or the metro. But I did have to admit, it was refreshing to walk the stone sidewalks and take in the architecture. There were plenty of modern buildings and restaurants, but occasionally we’d turn a corner, and I’d feel like I stepped straight into a fairy tale, complete with stone gargoyles staring down at us from half the buildings we passed.

Hunt and I argued over how to pronounce words we saw on signs. Some of them used almost every consonant in the alphabet with only a few vowels. We argued about what the words meant. I always chose the most unlikely meaning possible, just to see how riled up I could get him.

“There is absolutely no way it means that.”

“You don’t know. Do you speak Czech?”

“Maybe I’ll learn, just to prove how ridiculous you are.”

“Good luck with that, soldier.”

It was entertaining enough that I didn’t pay too much attention to the slight ache in my feet or the hitch in my lungs or the pinch in my back from the pulling weight of my bag. Or not for a while anyway. After about an hour, my feet were bitching and my back ready to mutiny. I had to concentrate on breathing and talking so that I didn’t start panting. Then I looked up at one of the buildings we were passing and stopped in my tracks.

“Jackson! Do you know where you’re going?”

He held up the map and said, “Of course I do. We’ll be there any minute now.”

I let my backpack slip off my shoulders and plopped it on the sidewalk. I was not moving one more step.

I pointed and said, “Why is it, then, that we’re passing the Vodka Jell-O Shot place again?”

“I told you, Kelsey. There is no way Minutková Jídla means vodka Jell-O shots. That’s clearly a restaurant.”

“Yeah, a restaurant that serves Jell-O shots.”

“It has to be something to do with a minute or minutes.”

“That’s because it’s instant Jell-O! But the point is . . . we’ve already been here.”

He looked then at the restaurant, and I saw the confirmation on his face.

Fan-fucking-tastic.

“We’re lost.”

“We’re not . . . well . . .” He consulted his map again, twisting it in few different directions and said, “We might be a little lost.”

“This is your idea of adventure? I thought soldiers were supposed to be good at navigation.”

“I have a solution,” he said.

My backpack was starting to look like a very tempting chair, but I convinced myself to stay standing. I placed my hands on my hips and said, “Let’s hear it.”

He crossed to me with the map in his hand, and came close enough that he could probably smell the sweat trickling down my back. I should have been self-conscious, but when I craned my head back to meet his gaze, his smile tore through my thoughts like a tornado, and left them scattered and in pieces. He leaned in, and my heart jumped.

He reached out an arm, and dropped the map in a trash bin just behind me. He stayed there, our chests less than an inch away from touching and said in a low, deep voice, “Problem solved.”

13

That’s your solution to getting us lost?”

He shrugged. “If we’re not trying to get to any particular place, we can’t ever really be lost. We’re just exploring.”

“But we need to find a place to stay and put our things and—”

“Later. It’s still early, Kelsey. We’ve got all day.”

He might be patient, but I wasn’t. I was just about to demand that we find a place to stay or get a cab when his hand touched my elbow and skimmed down to my wrist.

“Trust me,” he said.

I shivered.

I did trust him . . . which made abso-fucking-lutely zero sense. My memory of the night before was a black hole. I should be wary of him. I sure as hell shouldn’t be alone with him now, not without knowing what happened last night. But with his hand circled around my wrist, he could have led me anywhere.

And now I was supposed to go off with him, no plan, no map, no idea where we were heading? It was the opening plot of a horror movie. I might have been in Hostel, the reality TV version.

I made myself say, “Tell me what happened first.”

His hand slid down from my wrist, and he caught my fingers between his.

“I wouldn’t hurt you, Kelsey. And I wouldn’t let anyone else either.”

“So, someone drugged me. Then what?”

“I don’t know that for sure. I just know you were fine. Feisty and ready to take my head off. Then we—”

“We what?”

His eyes dropped to my lips, and he shook his head.

“We were talking, and it was like you were drunk out of nowhere. You were babbling and slurring your words, and you couldn’t stand up straight.”

“So you took me to a hotel?”

“I didn’t want to leave you in a hostel, not when you’d be passed out cold and sharing a room with a dozen people. I took you to my hotel room, then I got another one for me.”

“That’s it?”

“I suppose I could also talk about you calling me a pansy for not taking your clothes off.”

“I did WHAT?”

He chuckled and bent, scooping up my backpack. He threw my bag over his shoulder along with his. Then he tugged on my hand, and started pulling me down the street.

I could have dug in my heels and refused. Or maybe I couldn’t have. Not where he was concerned.

“HOLD ON. You can’t say something like that and not elaborate.”

He smiled. “You can when it’s a bribe. I’ll tell you later. After I’ve shown you my kind of adventure.”

My mind steered straight into the gutter every time he mentioned an adventure. It was inevitable with a guy who looked like him.

He took a random turn, and pulled me along.

I said, “For the record, I think this no-map thing is a terrible idea.”

“Noted.”

“Things could go incredibly wrong.”

“Or incredibly right.”

I dragged my feet a little as we walked, but I was more intrigued than I let on. With him carrying my backpack and our fingers laced together, I was fine with wherever we went.

We walked a few blocks before happening upon a metro stop. He glanced at me over his shoulder, and then pulled me toward the stairs.

“Oh, so now we don’t have to walk to have an adventure?”

He shot me a look, and I said, “Fine. I get it. Trust you.”

We descended the stairs, and I expected something dark, dank, with that lovely decay-meets-urine smell that seemed to hang around most subway stations. Shockingly, the station was shiny, clean, and modern. Hunt pulled me over to a large map of the metro stops. He dropped both our bags on the ground, stepped in front of me, and said, “Close your eyes.”

I tried not to look skeptical.

One thing I’d learned in life: the phrase “Close your eyes” was usually either followed by something very good (i.e., kissing) or very bad (i.e., murder, pranks, or something gross placed in your hand).

I was really hoping this would fall more on the kissing side of the spectrum. His hands squeezed my shoulders in encouragement, and I let my eyelids fall. The anticipation coated my skin, a thin frost that had me shivering. One hand left my shoulder, and I felt him walk around to stand at my back. His breath touched my neck, and the heat melted the frost. I had to concentrate to keep from falling back into him.

“Don’t open your eyes,” he spoke into my ear.

I couldn’t manage to piece together words myself, so I nodded, and his cheek grazed mine.

“Ready?”

That was all the warning I got before he took hold of my shoulders and began to spin me.

“Are you kidding me?”

“Keep your eyes closed!”

He spun me three times, then stilled my body with his hands.

“Point,” he said.

“Where?”

“Anywhere.”

I threw my hand up and he said, “Open your eyes.”

He reached around me and placed his finger on the metro stop closest to where I’d pointed. Malostranská. “That’s where we’re going,” he said.

“Really?”

He picked up our bags and said, “Really.”

“What if it’s a terrible neighborhood? It could be dangerous.”

“I told you I would never let anything bad happen to you.”

“Some things in the world are outside even your control.”

His shoulders tensed, and his gaze darkened. “I know that. Believe me . . . I know.”

A haunted expression stole over his face, filled with ghosts and shadows. It was the kind of look that told me more about him than any words he could ever say. He meant it when he said he would protect me. It was written as plainly across his face as whatever tragedy tore through his memories because of my words.

I couldn’t look at that face and not trust him.

I laced my fingers with his and said, “I’m in.”

When he smiled, it was almost like those ghosts had never been there.

We bought our metro passes, and together figured out which train to take. The metro platform looked like something out of a science fiction novel. Everything I’d seen of Prague before this looked like I’d stepped into the past, but this was the opposite. The walls and ceilings were composed of gold, silver, and green tiles with hundreds of small domes that formed one long tube. A thin, bright line ran the length of the curved ceiling, casting the whole tunnel in an eerie glow.

The train was quiet as it sped into the station, but my hair tossed in the wind it created. The train car we entered was already pretty full, and new riders streamed in front of and behind us. I was still searching for a place to sit or stand or even grab hold when the train started moving. I teetered sideways into my neighbor, then felt Hunt grip my arm and pull me back toward him.

“Grab on, princess.”

I clutched at his waist, and used his body to steady myself.

He spoke into my ear. “I meant grab the overhead bar, but that works, too.”

I said, “I don’t think I can reach it.”

In reality, I didn’t even want to try. I much preferred holding on to him.

The train was so packed that at any given time I was touching at least three people. On the opposite side of Hunt, a tall guy in his midtwenties with shoulder-length hair smiled down at me every time I brushed against him. The train slowed as it came into the next station, and Hunt’s hand gripped my hip to keep me steady. It stayed there even once we started moving, possessive and strong. I could feel the heat from his hand through my jeans like a brand.

As soon as a seat near us came open, he nudged me toward it. I collapsed back onto the bench. I gestured for him to hand me my backpack, but he shook his head.

“I’m fine.”

He stood in front of me, directly between me and the long-haired guy, blocking me like a bodyguard. I’d be pissed if it weren’t so hot. He lifted both hands above his head to hold on to the bar, and it revealed that same section of skin at his waist that had been driving me crazy for the better part of twelve hours.

My mouth went dry.

Would it be weird if I reached out and touched the toned muscle there? With my face?

If he weren’t currently glaring at the long-haired guy, I’d think he was doing this on purpose.

We pulled into the station I’d chosen, and Hunt picked up my hand again as the train slowed to a stop. I followed him out of the station and up to the street, and even once we were out of the crowds of moving people, his hand stayed tight around mine.

Whatever had happened between us last night . . . it had changed him. He was touching me again now, but it was different than the way I could remember him touching me last night. Now he touched me like he knew me, not like some stranger in a bar. He looked at me when he thought I couldn’t tell. And he wasn’t asking questions, at least not any prying ones.

Something in my stomach began to cave in, and I could feel it falling away.

“Nothing else crazy happened last night, right?”

“You mean besides your pansy comment?”

That actually sounded exactly like something I would say.

“Yes, besides that.”

“You might have declared your love for me once or twice. Asked to bear my children.”

I rolled my eyes. “Be serious.”

“You don’t think a declaration of love is serious?”

“I don’t think a declaration of love happened.”

“Are you remembering more?”

“No, I just know myself. I might get touchy-feely when I’m drunk, but it’s the other kind of touchy-feely.”

He nodded, and no more jokes came, so I guessed that I had hit it on the head. He didn’t know my secrets. I’d just hit on him. A lot if I could guess. That’s why he was acting differently. And that I could deal with.

He tugged on my hand, and together we surfaced out of a stairwell into our spontaneous destination. The neighborhood was quaint and picturesque with narrow, winding, cobblestone streets. Those streets were dotted with trees under a blue, blue sky.

“You’re right,” Hunt said. “This neighborhood is incredibly dangerous. Downright terrifying. I’d understand if you wanted to go back.”

I swatted at him, but he ducked my blow, laughing.

“Come on, princess. Let’s see what kind of trouble we can get into.”

I wanted to get into all of the trouble with him. Every kind. Multiple times preferably.

We wandered for a while, turning when something looked interesting, taking our time, just admiring the scenery.

(I was totally counting Hunt as part of the scenery.)

“So where to next?” he asked.

“Um, straight, I guess?”

“I meant after Prague. Where are you jetting off to next?”

I sighed, and wiped at a trickle of sweat on my forehead. “Nowhere.”

“You’re staying here?”

“No. I mean I’m going home. I think.”

I pulled my hair over my shoulder, trying to keep it off my heated neck.

“You think? Are you homesick?”

If home was my past, sure. Otherwise, not a chance in hell.

“It’s complicated,” I said. “I don’t know what home is anymore.”

“I think home is wherever you are happiest.”

I wanted the ease and joy of my college friends. At eighteen, they’d been my first real taste of family, and now that family was broken up into tiny pieces and scattered all over the U.S. It wasn’t fair that I only got to keep them for four years before they went back to their real families or started new ones with stupid British boyfriends.

“What if home’s not a place you can ever go back to?”

We turned from the road we’d been following onto a path that led into a park. The long line of trees and sweeping fields of green relaxed me.

He said, “Then you find a new home, a new place that makes you happy. It’s not a once-in-a-lifetime deal, Kelsey. People find home in new places, new dreams, new people all the time. Home should feel effortless, like gravity.”

I didn’t trust gravity. It seemed to always be pulling me in the wrong direction.

“It’s not that simple,” I said, then I pulled away and walked a little faster, hoping he’d take that as a clue to change the subject.

“Of course it’s not simple. The best things usually aren’t.” He caught up beside me and said, “Why go home if it’s not where you want to be?”

“Because I don’t know what else to do.”

He took hold of my elbow and pulled me to a stop. “You could keep traveling.”

“I’ve done that. It’s not working.”

“What do you mean it’s not working?”

I wasn’t about to tell him that it wasn’t working because I was still depressed. This guy had seen more vulnerability from me in a few days than anyone else had seen in years.

“I just mean . . . I’m not having as much fun as I thought.”

“Maybe you’ve been doing it wrong.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

He let go of my elbow to rub his hand along his jaw. When he spoke, he did it slowly as though he were choosing his words carefully.

“You said you wanted an adventure. What’s the most adventurous thing you’ve done?”

I’d done plenty of adventurous things. I’d lived completely in the moment, exactly like I’d planned.

But when I thought back, trying to pick a moment for him as proof, each day kind of bled into the next. I mean, I’d met different people, and I’d gone different places, but the end result had always been the same. We ended up at a bar or a club. Drinking, dancing, and sex.

I opened my mouth, but I couldn’t say any of those things out loud.

He continued, “Tell me this. Ignoring the fact that you’re in a different place with different people, have you done anything drastically different from what you would do back home?”

I swallowed. And I had to tuck my pride away to admit, “Not really. Not unless you count today.”

He smiled.

“The best parts of life are the things we can’t plan. And it’s a lot harder to find happiness if you’re only searching in one place. Sometimes, you just have to throw away the map. Admit that you don’t know where you’re going and stop pressuring yourself to figure it out. Besides . . . a map is a life someone else already lived. It’s more fun to make your own.”

I knew, logically, that he was right. As long as I was trying to force myself to be happy, I never would be.

“Don’t think too much,” he said. “Just decide on something you want to do. The first thing that pops into your head, and do it.”

I wanted to kiss him.

There was absolutely nothing I wanted more.

My eyes found his lips, and if ever gravity had been pulling me in one direction, that was it. I pulled up on my tiptoes, balancing a hand on his shoulder. Before I could even get close, he cleared his throat and took a step back.

Just do anything but that, apparently.

14

Damn it. Why did I keep doing this to myself? That made twice I’d been rejected by him. Maybe more, considering I couldn’t remember half the time we’d spent together.

I could spend time with him without throwing myself at him. I could do that. Though, I didn’t particularly want to.

I sighed and looked away. Maybe a hundred yards away was a playground. He’d asked me what I wanted. And other than kissing him, that was what I wanted.

I wanted a way back to swings and slides and simplicity. A way back to when a butterfly could cheer me up, and a series of puddles could make my day. A way back to a time when happiness wasn’t something I had to search for . . . it just was.

So, I took off toward the playground, eyeing the swings and seesaw and merry-go-round. There were these bizarre ceramic creatures that were kind of like a cross between dinosaurs and Gumby. I made a beeline for the merry-go-round. I sprawled across the flat surface and waited for Hunt to arrive. He dropped both of our bags a few feet away and said, “This is what you want to do?”

I shrugged. It was option number two, but it worked.

“Well then, hold on.”

I gripped the metal bar closest to me, and he set me spinning. He pulled harder, and I spun faster. It was stupid and childish, but it definitely required no thinking.

“Faster,” I yelled.

Hunt gave one more big push, then jumped on the merry-go-round with me. It was moving so fast, he nearly missed, and he had to pull himself the rest of the way on. It was so strange to see him—masculine and reserved—struggling to stay on a merry-go-round. I burst out laughing. Once he managed to lie flat on his back, he laughed too. I lay back beside him, struggling to breathe through my hysterics. But every time I pictured him jumping onto that overgrown child’s toy, I descended into giggles again.

This funny thing happens when you graduate college. You hear so much about being an adult that you start to feel like you have to become a different person overnight, that growing up means being not you. And you concentrate so much on living up to the term “adult” that you forget growing up happens by living, not by sheer force of will.

Looking up at the tree branches spinning and spinning overhead accompanied by the pink and purple palette of the morning sky, I felt younger, or maybe just my age. We lay beside each other laughing at nothing and breathing in everything until the merry-go-round slowed to a stop.

His arm pressed again mine, and when I pulled myself up onto my side, I could feel in my gut that I knew what it was like to kiss this man. That I’d kissed him before. I couldn’t remember it. Not in images. But I could feel it. My body remembered.

Maybe the spinning had cleared my head a little too much because I said straight out, “You kissed me.”

“What?”

“Last night. You kissed me, didn’t you?”

He pushed himself up into a sitting position, resting his elbows on his knees. He gripped the back of his neck with one hand and said, “It was before I realized you’d been drugged. After that I didn’t . . . I wouldn’t.”

I knew it.

He grabbed one of the bars and slid off the merry-go-round. Without meeting my eyes, he looked around the playground and said, “What’s next?”

I let him change the subject, even though I wanted to push it. Instead, I let him push me on the swings, each touch to my back like a pulse of electricity.

We played on the seesaw, a physical representation of our time together if ever there was one. I gave Hunt my camera, and he took pictures of me sitting atop one of the huge ceramic dinosaurs. Carefully, I held onto the dinosaur’s head and stood up on its back.

For the first time, I looked out and saw the view on the non-Hunt side of the playground, and nearly toppled off dinosaur Gumby.

It was a panoramic vista of Prague, and it was unbelievable. The city was a sea of orange roofs outlined by a winding river and dotted with cathedral spires. Bridges stretched across the river, beautiful and strong. Here up on this random hill in a deserted playground, we had our own private view of the city. It was beautiful. And I had a feeling we never would have found it if we’d looked through guidebooks or searched on the Internet. We didn’t have to share this with other tourists. It belonged to us.

I slid off my dinosaur and made my way closer. A railing lined the edge of the walkway. Plants with small yellow blossoms sprouted everywhere, and other white blossoms like snowflakes dotted the path.

I stared, mesmerized.

“I think you found it,” Hunt said.

I spun, smiling, and leaned back against the railing. His steps stuttered, and he paused for a few moments. His eyes swept from me to the landscape at my back, then returned to me. His jaw went slack, and he blinked a few times. My smile widened.

“What did I find?”

It took him a few seconds to answer, but when he did a chill chased down my spine.

“A little piece of home.”

He was right. I felt lighter. It wasn’t quite the effortless happiness of college, but it was certainly the closest thing I’d felt in a long time. There was just one thing I couldn’t let go of.

“Why won’t you kiss me? You did it last night. Why not now?”

“I wasn’t thinking things through last night.”

“And you are now?”

He nodded.

“And what are you thinking?”

“That I want to keep you.”

“Keep me?”

“Keep seeing you, I mean. I like you. I think we could have fun together. Have adventures together.”

“A kiss sounds like a pretty great adventure.”

“I think it’s smarter if we stay friends.”

“You promised to fill in the blanks from last night. This is a blank.”

“Kelsey—”

“It’s not that big a deal. It’s just a kiss.”

He gave me a dark look that made it hard to breathe. My lungs seemed to deflate, swathing around my heart. It was a very good thing there was a railing behind me, or I might have gone toppling backward.

He stalked forward, and I gripped the cold metal of the bar behind me.

“A trade, then.” He tipped his head down with a smile. “Give me a week. Travel with me for a week. If I can’t find the adventure you were looking for, then we’ll go our separate ways.”

I’d thought before that gravity pulled me toward Hunt, but it was more than that. He was the gravity. In that moment, he was the push and pull that held my universe together.

“One week for one kiss? That’s kind of a steep price.”

“That’s the deal.”

He was so close, my skin felt like it was humming. I could hear the beat of my heart in my ears like the flap of wings, speeding up, trying desperately to stay afloat.

“Okay. I’m in.”

His smile wasn’t just bright. It was illuminating. And for the way warmth spread through my skin, I would have believed that there were two suns in the sky.

Without even a peck, he turned and walked away. He picked up our bags from where we dropped them by the merry-go-round, and looked back at me.

“I said okay,” I called, wondering if somehow he’d misunderstood me.

“I’m going to kiss you, princess. But not now, not when you’re telling me to. Not when it’s just something you want to check off a list. I’ll kiss you when it counts.”

Hunt took one look at the hostel name—the Madhouse—and raised an eyebrow at me. He may not have been convinced, but when we entered and I saw the Jack Kerouac quote across the wall, I knew it was perfect.

I read aloud. “The only people for me are the mad ones, the ones who are mad to live, mad to talk, mad to be saved, desirous of everything at the same time, the ones who never yawn or say a commonplace thing, but burn, burn, burn like fabulous yellow roman candles exploding like spiders across the stars.”

I might have gotten a little caught up in my performance. I was an actor after all. But sometimes someone else just gets the words so right that you feel like they read them off your own heart.

Hunt’s eyes stayed fixed on me, and he reached out, but didn’t touch me. His hand hovered like I was an artifact, a work of art that would be compromised by the brush of his skin. Still looking at me, he dropped his hand and said, “Two beds, please.”

We settled into a coed room with six other beds, and I tried not to think about the fact that his bed was right by mine. That if we both reached out in the middle of the night, our fingers would touch. We locked up our things, even though everyone else in the hostel was already out for the day, and he said, “What now?”

I could have asked to find Jenny. But seeing as we were alone, I saw a better opportunity. I moved to sit beside him on his bunk, close enough that my knee touched his when I turned to face him.

“That’s your decision,” I said. “You’ve got me for one week.” I leaned back on my hands, and watched his eyes dip down to my body. “So, Jackson, what are you going to do with me?”

He touched his fingers to his chin, and his gaze swept over me.

“I’ve got a few ideas.”

“Yeah?”

“I do.”

He bent over me, and my elbows shook. Low on my spine, a tingling sensation spread. It reminded me of when you shake a can of soda. You know what will happen as soon as you open it. You can somehow sense all the built-up energy inside, but the idea of opening it is just too tempting.

“I’ve got a pretty good idea, too,” I said.

He hummed, and the scruff on his chin just barely grazed my collarbone. My head fell back, and his breath roamed free across the skin of my neck. His lips brushed across my pulse point in an almost kiss, and all my muscles locked up tight. His mouth moved to hover above my ear, and my arms shook so badly I expected them to give out any second.

He hummed again, and I could feel the vibration against my skin even though we weren’t touching.

His mouth brushed the shell of my ear in a second almost kiss, and he said, “Not yet, sweetheart.”

My arms gave out, and I flopped back onto his bed with a groan.

His smile was maddening and mischievous.

He gripped the bed frame, and pulled himself up off the bunk, leaving me lying alone on his bed.

What a tease.

“How do you feel about heights?”

15

You’re crazy,“ I said.

“You wanted adventure, Kelsey.”

“I thought you meant more spontaneous subway rides and playgrounds, not jumping off a bridge!” I heard the scream of the girl I’d just watched disappear over the edge, and I dug my fingers into Hunt’s arm.

“I can’t.”

I’d been on bridges higher than the Zvikov Bridge before, but not ones I was supposed to leap off of. My heart was about to bust out of my chest, and Hunt was grinning like a madman.

I turned to flee, and Hunt pulled me back, his hand settling at the base of my spine. It was almost as if he knew that that’s where I felt him most intensely. When he was near, my spine became a live wire, sending shockwaves down to every last nerve ending.

His touch only amplified that.

“You’re going to love it.”

“Do you have a death wish?” I asked.

“I promise it’s going to be fine. We’re not going to die. We can jump together if that will make you feel better.”

“Oh, I didn’t mean the jumping was going to kill you. I meant I was.”

“You can kill me after the jump.”

“What if I’m too dead to kill you?” I was a little embarrassed at how hysterical I sounded.

He laced his fingers with mine, and squeezed my hand as he pulled me forward.

“Trust me.”

I did. But that only made me more scared. Trust was a key that gave him access to places far more breakable than my body.

It took all of my concentration to keep from crying or throwing up or both as the instructor began hooking us up to the same bungee cord. We were harnessed and strapped and lectured, and the only thing that kept me from having a complete mental breakdown was the fact that Hunt and I were chest to chest as they hooked us together. His proximity and his warm breath fanning across my forehead were enough to distract me from my impending death.

They had us move closer to the ledge, and I let out an involuntary squeak of fear when I saw the river winding away from us so far below.

Jackson slipped a hand around my neck and tilted my head up toward his. He placed a sweet kiss on my forehead that made my heart beat faster rather than calming me down. My heart scampered up and hid at the back of my neck, pulsing where Hunt’s hand still rested.

All I could think was . . . that better not count as my kiss.

He said, “Just try it for me. I’ll try something for you later. Whatever you want.”

I took a slow, deep breath and nodded.

Once we were all attached, the instructor began adjusting our hands and our bodies to match the appropriate form. My head was tucked into the crook of his shoulder, and his into mine. His skin smelled like the forest around us, but sweeter. We both had one arm wrapped around each other. We laced our fingers and pointed our other hands out toward where we would jump.

“It’s like we’re dancing,” Hunt said, his mumbled words drumming against the sensitive skin of my collarbone.

“Then why didn’t you just take me dancing? At least the tango wouldn’t kill me.”

His chest bounced with laughter below my cheek, and then they were counting down.

“Jackson . . .” I couldn’t get out anything but his name.

Then, like he could read my mind, Hunt quoted the Kerouac quote that had been at our hostel. “Mad to live, Kelsey. This is living.”

He pressed another kiss to my shoulder, and his lips were still there burning against my skin when we went over.

The world paused for one brief second, and my eyes took in the architecture of the land below us. Hunt’s arm squeezed around me, and then the peace ended. The wind slammed into me, the ground rushed forward, and my heart got left behind somewhere up above me.

Then I shrieked. A glass-breaking, eardrum-shattering kind of shriek that echoed off the canyon, reverberating back at me from all sides. The cord pulled tight, my insides seemed to resist and pull in the other direction. Despite the tug, we kept falling and falling, and the river rushed up at me, dark and unforgiving. I released Jackson’s hand to wrap a second arm around his body. I squeezed as tightly as I could, but it was only half as tight as I wanted. I opened my mouth to cry out, and then suddenly we jerked to a halt and were moving back up again.

I thought maybe the ascension wouldn’t be so bad, but then our bodies twisted and flipped, and I might have lost a few other vital organs to the same place my heart disappeared to.

We started dropping again, and Hunt shouted in excitement.

“Oh my God!” I screamed. I couldn’t believe I was doing this.

This time I squeezed my arms around him not because I was scared, but because a feeling bubbled up inside me, potent and wild, and I just wanted to hold it all inside.

When we started up again my scream turned into a laughing cackle that would have made Ursula or Maleficent proud.

Hunt was right. It was fun.

I screamed some more just because I could, and because hearing the sound ricochet around the canyon felt like Hunt and I were the only two people in the world. It felt unreal— like I was two parts soul, one part body.

We bounced around a few more times, and I got the courage to let go of Hunt, to stretch my arms down toward the earth below us. I twisted away from him and looked around us and back up to where we’d jumped from.

“You dead?” Hunt asked.

“No.” Not by a long shot. In fact, I’d never felt so alive.

I smiled widely, and Hunt smiled back, and I knew my heart was back in place because it thumped so hard it was almost painful.

And then I didn’t have to ask if the time was right, and he didn’t have to tell me. Our lips pulled together like they’d been replaced by magnets. And all that energy that had sparked inside me began to unspool. I could feel it unwinding around my ribs, pulling from my fingertips, pushing into him.

His hands dove into my hair, and he kissed me like we were still falling, like this is how we were meant to spend our very last moments. His lips pressed hard against mine, and blood pounded in my ears in time with the thrust of his tongue.

I wrapped my arms around his neck, pulling myself as close as possible. But still I wanted closer. I wanted to hook my legs around his waist and feel the skin beneath his clothes. The air pushed against us, soft and sweet, and completely at odds with the frenzy occurring underneath my skin.

Something tugged at our ankles, and we started to rise. I whimpered into his mouth, not ready for the moment to end.

His mouth answered with a faster pace, breath escaping as we shifted and tasted and savored every last second. We didn’t pull apart until we had to, until it was time to set foot in the real world again.

Maybe it was the fall or the blood rushing to my head or the reverberations of my universe finally snapping into place, but I had to grip the instructor’s arm to keep from falling as he unhooked me.

We didn’t talk as we were set free from harnesses and cords. But his gaze was like a touch—tender and aching and possessive.

We walked away that day. We took a bus back to the city. My feet hit the hard cobblestones step after step, but when I climbed into the bed opposite Hunt’s that night, I was still falling. My head hit the pillow, but I swore I could feel the rush of wind past my body, could hear it in my ears.

Hunt said something about my inner ear, said it would go away in a day or two, but I wasn’t so sure. In the quiet night, I wondered if it was only the beginning of something bigger. One long, exhilarating, terrifying fall. One without the safety of harnesses and cords and a plan. One with no guarantee that I wouldn’t hit rock bottom.

I woke up angry the next day.

I wasn’t PMSing, and no one had done anything to piss me off (yet). I was just sour. And it was only made worse when I hopped on one of the hostel’s complimentary computers to check my e-mail.

Bliss had arrived in Philadelphia, and there was a full novel in my in-box gushing about her apartment and the neighborhood and her perfect boyfriend.

I felt like a complete bitch when I closed the message without replying, but anything I would have written then would have caused problems anyway.

And then because I was a masochist, I decided to read the e-mails from Dad. Or his secretary anyway. I skimmed through the dozen or so messages in my in-box, most of which were an account of my whereabouts and my spending habits.

There was no need to worry about Big Brother with a father like mine. I imagined he had assigned his secretary to monitor all of my actions through my bank account.

It was so fucked up.

Not the money part. I was used to that. My only brothers and sisters were bank accounts, and I always came in last.

It was fucked up that he thought he could control everything. He thought himself the great puppeteer, managing and enacting it all.

It was fucked up because I was all too familiar with the fact that he couldn’t control everything, but he was still pretending like he could.

I wondered what he would do if I told him I’d been drugged. He’d blame me, say it was my fault for being a moral degenerate and spending all my time in places where people got drugged. That much, I knew. But I wondered what he would do after that. Would he care? Would he want me to come home? Or would he sweep it under the rug, smudge it with an eraser, tell me I was being overdramatic again?

While I was sitting at the computer another e-mail came in.

Secretary Cindy, who I had never met and was probably the same age as me, wrote:

Your father thinks it’s time you start making arrangements to come home. Your mother has a charity party coming up the week after next, and he’s trying to land a new account with a very family-focused company. He’d like you to be there to make a good impression. Follow the usual dress code, he said. I’ve attached a document with a couple of options for flights home. Please look it over and let me know which works best for you.

Unbelievable.

That answered my question about him caring. I knew Mom was just a prop to him. That was why he let her drink herself stupid every day. He let her buy whatever she wanted. They ignored it when one or both of them cheated.

Because in my family all that matters is what people see.

They didn’t see Dad’s business partner touch me when I was twelve. There was no mark on my hand from when he made me touch him. The only mark from something like that rests under the skin.

So, of course, it didn’t count.

When Jackson called my name and stepped into the computer room, I closed the window without replying. Not that the “Fuck off” I’d been planning was much of a reply anyway.

“What’s up?” I asked.

“Grab your things. We’re heading out.”

“Heading out where?”

“Out of the country.”

I slid off my stool, but when I tried to move closer, he kept a careful distance between us. Frustration fizzled on my tongue.

“We just got to Prague yesterday.”

“And now we’re leaving Prague today. You only gave me a week, and there’s a lot I want to do.”

There was a lot I wanted to do too, but he’d barely looked in my direction for more than two seconds since our kiss.

Not even bothering to muffle my grumbling, I shoved my things into my backpack and left behind the Madhouse hostel. If only I could have left behind my shitty mood, too.

At the train station, I asked, “Will you tell me where we’re going now?”

Hunt just smiled. I loved and hated that smile.

“Why are you doing this?”

He said, “Wow, you really don’t do well with surprises, do you?”

I rolled my eyes, and crossed my arms over my chest.

“I mean all of this. Why do you care?”

Normally, I never would have asked a question like that, not from guy that I was trying to hook up with. Especially not when the answer could be that he didn’t care, not really. He certainly didn’t have any qualms about rejecting me.

But I’d spent days with him, and almost everything I knew about him was from observation alone. I mean, it was like pulling teeth just to get him to tell me his first name.

“Because I wanted you to come with me. Do I need another reason?”

“Do you have one?”

He shrugged. “No one likes traveling alone.”

And that was the Hunt one-two punch. Pull you in and then plow right over you. Give you the most intense kiss of your life, and then pretend like it never happened and let you fester in your sexual frustration.

I stayed quiet on our way to the station and as we boarded a train to somewhere in Germany. As soon as we were moving, I folded my arms over the top of my backpack, and used them as a pillow.

Just for once, I wanted to know where I stood with him. I wanted to shake him until some actual answers popped out, rather than his charming, sweet noncommittal words.

We changed trains that afternoon in Munich, and even though the train was fairly empty, Hunt sat beside me.

I tried not to react, because any reaction I had was going to be bitchy. Instead, I fished my phone out of my bag and stood to place my backpack in the luggage rack above our heads. I sat back down beside him and slipped one earbud in. I was searching for a song when he said, “You’re mad at me.”

I glanced at him briefly, then pressed play.

“No, I’m not.”

I’d just put in my second earbud when he tugged them both out.

“Yes, you are. I might have spent the last few years in various deserts with mostly men, but I’m not so far removed that I don’t know that ‘No, I’m not,’ means ‘I most definitely am.’”

I sighed. “Jackson, I’m not mad. I promise. I’m just tired.”

“But you slept on the last train.”

“I didn’t mean that kind of tired.”

“You’re tired of me?”

I groaned and ran my hands across my face.

“I’m frustrated. I don’t know what you want from me.”

The look in his eyes reminded me of an ache, the kind you ignore for as long as you can, until you wake up in the middle of the night, short of breath, sweating, and unable to deny it any longer.

He didn’t know what he wanted from me either.

“I want several things from you, Kelsey. But at the moment, I just want a friend and to travel.”

I didn’t even hear the second part of his sentence. I was still hung up on the “several things” he wanted from me, and imagining what they all might be. Maybe I wasn’t sure exactly what I wanted from him either.

He wasn’t a hookup. He wasn’t the kind of guy I could walk away from the morning after. But I also wasn’t sure I wanted the kind of thing I couldn’t walk away from. Because I was good at walking away.

I nodded. “Friends. Got it.”

A few hours later, he tugged out my earbuds once more and said, “We’re here.”

“And where is here?”

“Heidelberg.”

I looked at him. “Again, I say, where is here?”

“Still in Germany.”

“Okay, then. And what are we doing here?”

He pulled my pack down from the luggage rack for me and said, “There’s something I want to show you. Now, enough questions.”

I followed him off the train. I waited while he asked someone for directions, and then left the train station with him.

Heidelberg was small and quaint, though not that different from several other cities I’d already seen in Europe. There were cathedrals and narrow roads and a river. It was almost sundown, and the city was quiet and almost deserted. Hunt paused and turned in a circle, searching for something. When he found it, he smiled. I followed his gaze to a castle that sat perched on a hill overlooking the city.

It was both decadent and decaying, emerging out of the dense forest, seemingly untouched by modern society.

“You’re taking me to a castle?” I asked.

He smiled. “Come on, princess.”

I stared at him, unsure whether I should be frustrated by even more mixed messages or whether I should just be glad to have someone like him trying to make me happy. I could do worse than a friend like Jackson Hunt.

But he could be even better as something more than friends.

I knew how badly things could turn out when one friend was attracted to another. I’d had a front-row seat for the epic disaster that was my friends Bliss and Cade.

But there was a difference with Hunt. I knew he was attracted to me. I might have been drunk that first night, and I might have forgotten most of the evening at the baths, but I could never forget that. And that kiss . . . damn.

He wanted me. But there was something holding him back.

And not knowing pissed me off to no end.

We were on day two of our weeklong trip, which left me five and a half days to figure out what was holding him back and get rid of it.

Sure, it could backfire in any number of ways, most likely to my detriment. But if I had to get my heart shredded into confetti, he certainly wouldn’t be a bad way to go.

I looked back at the castle, and then at Hunt. I placed a hand on his shoulder and raised up on my tiptoes to place a quick kiss on his cheek.

“Thank you, Jackson.”

I let my hand coast down his chest as I turned away and began walking toward the castle. I heard his slow exhale behind me, and knew my plan was officially in motion.

We made our way through the city, and arrived at the edge of the town just as the sun started sinking below the horizon. A stairway led up toward the castle, and my feet hurt just looking at it.

“You’re kidding, right?”

“Come on,” he said. “It won’t be that bad.”

“Um, you don’t get to assume things like that. People assumed the Titanic was unsinkable, and look how that turned out for them.”

“All I’m hearing are excuses, which doesn’t sound like someone interested in an adventure to me. In fact, I dare you to race me to the top.”

“You dare me? Is that supposed to make me suddenly eager to participate?”

“I’m daring you to have an adventure.”

“Well, do I get to dare you to do something later?”

He gave me a knowing look, and I was pretty sure he knew exactly what kind of dare I wanted to give him.

“Within reason, yes. And if you win the race, I’ll even make it two dares.”

I had a feeling that “within reason” was going to bar most of the dares I would think of. I said, “So, this is how this adventure is going to work? You force me to do something I don’t want to do, then I return the favor, and somewhere along the way we both miraculously start to have fun?”

“Sounds about right. It will be an epic montage when they make the movie about our lives.”

“My life, you mean. I’m the princess here. You’re just my guide.”

He rolled his eyes. “Then let me get your bag, your highness.”

He took my pack and his and hid them both beneath the leafy branches of a nearby bush. He said, “Wouldn’t want anything to weigh us down during our race.”

I shook my head and moved toward the stairs. Each individual step had a white painted number on it, starting with a number one on the first step. “How many steps do you think there are?” I asked.

“I guess we’ll find out when we get to the top. You ready?”

I nodded.

“On your mark,” he said. “Get set. Go!”

We took off running, and the little white numbers blurred into unreadable splotches as I took the steps as quickly as I could. I managed to stay with him through the first twenty steps or so, but then he started pulling away.

My killer stilettos kept my legs in decent shape, but not as good as something like, I don’t know, being in the army.

By the time I got to step number seventy-five, my calves were burning. By one hundred and two, my lungs had joined the party. By one hundred and thirty, I was ready to cut off my own legs just so I had an excuse to never take stairs again. I paused for a few seconds, panting, and looked up.

Hunt was God knows how many steps ahead of me. Fifty maybe. And he was just over halfway up the stairs.

“Screw this,” I whispered. I sat down on one of the steps, wiped a little dirt and grime on my hands and my shins, and then gave an elaborate (and maybe slightly overplayed) cry, followed by a low, painful whine. I clutched at my ankle, and bit my lip, and waited for—

“Kelsey? Are you okay?”

Bingo!

I didn’t look up at him, but stayed focused on my ankle. I said “Jackson” just loud enough so that he could hear me, then I sucked in a loud breath.

Thirty seconds later, he slowed to a stop beside me. He knelt on the stair below with hands outstretched and said, “What happened?”

I’d not blinked since I first decided to fake the injury, but I did then and the water that had been building in my eyes ran down my cheek, and I met his gaze.

“I fell,” I panted. “My ankle.”

He touched my leg, just above where I was gripping my ankle with both hands, and I hissed.

He jolted backward, apologizing.

“It’s okay,” I said. “It’s just tender. God, it hurts so bad.”

I wrung out a few more tears for effect.

“Do you want to go back down?” he asked. “I could carry you.”

“No, I . . .” I paused for effect. “I’d like to see it. I know I acted like a bitch at the bottom, but this was really sweet, and . . . never mind.”

“No,” He said. “I’ll carry you up instead.”

“I couldn’t ask you to do that. It’s a long way. I can try to walk.”

I was going to try to stand, fake another cry and collapse back down, but I didn’t even have to work that hard. Before I could try, he stood and scooped me into his arms. I gave a cry of delight that I quickly masked as pain, and buried my face into his neck so he wouldn’t see me smile.

16

The ascent to the castle was slow with Hunt carrying me, but I didn’t mind the extra time snuggled up against him. His arms were like bands of steel around me, but his breath against my forehead was warm and soft.

“You still okay?” he asked, and I nodded.

I gave a small whimper just to enjoy the way he pulled me even closer in response. I had both arms wrapped around his neck, and ever so slowly I let one of my hands begin to wander. I used my fingernails to lightly scratch down the column of his neck, and had to hold in a laugh when his step faltered.

He cleared his throat and kept walking.

He walked, and I documented his reactions, like the way his eyes closed for just a second when my fingertips brushed the hinge of his jaw below his ear, and the hitch of his breath when I dug my fingernails into his shoulder after a particularly “painful” jostle of my ankle.

I could feel his fatigue by the time we hit step 250, and decided to take pity on him. I lifted my head and said, “Jackson.”

I wasn’t prepared for how close our lips would come when his head turned toward mine. A knot of desire tightened low in my belly, and my thoughts fled.

“Um . . .I . . .”

The word want didn’t do justice to how badly I hoped he would kiss me again.

His steps slowed to a stop, and my heart went epileptic.

I could have kissed him myself, latched my mouth to his and held him tight. But I wanted him to come to me. I was tired of feeling him pull away. And if I had my way, within five and a half days, I’d have him completely. So I flicked my eyes to his, enjoying the strain I saw in his gaze, and practiced patience. My plan would fall apart faster than Lindsay Lohan post-rehab if I gave in now.

I said, “I can walk now.” Then added, “If you’ll help me.”

He didn’t argue, probably because he was glad for the distance. He set me down gingerly, and then wrapped an arm around my waist. I threw my arm over his shoulder, and then slowly we tackled the stairs again. I had to keep reminding myself not to forget that I was supposed to be injured.

When we hit stair number three hundred, we were only about ten to fifteen steps from the top. I sucked in a breath and winced. Hunt stopped and faced me. “What’s the matter? Did you twist it again?”

“I don’t know. I . . .” He knelt beside me to take a look, and soon as he was down, I took off running up the last of the stairs.

I heard him laugh when I hit step number 310, and I screamed in victory when I hit the last step, number 315.

I turned to find him slowly walking up the steps, shaking his head. His lips were pressed into a thin line, but I could tell he was holding back a smile.

“I won,” I sang tauntingly. “I wonder what I should dare you to do.”

Hunt approached me slowly, like a predator stalking his prey and my stomach fluttered in response.

I paused to pretend to think about possible dares, and I was too busy gloating to notice him run up the last few steps. I shrieked when he lifted me up and threw me over his shoulder.

“Hunt!” I yelled.

“You’re unbelievable,” he said.

I laughed. “I’m going to pretend that was a compliment.”

“Oh, it was, princess.”

“Then, put me down.”

“No can do.”

I struggled a bit, pretending to be unhappy, but the truth was . . . Hunt had a fabulous ass. And I had a fabulous view.

“What are you going to do to me?” I asked.

“I haven’t decided yet. Maybe this place has a dungeon.”

I whistled. “Kinky.” He pinched the back of my thigh, and I yelped.

I couldn’t see much (other than the aforementioned glorious backside), but the sun must have fully set because the sky in the distance was a vivid purple. I glimpsed a few other tourists wandering the castle grounds out of the corner of my eye. I took a wild guess and said, “Put me down, Jackson. People are starting to stare.”

“Let them,” he said. “It’s a nice view.”

Well, at least we were on the same page.

I swatted his back and said, “You’re just a sore loser.”

“No, I’m just a guy, probably not the first, to fall for one of your schemes.”

And now I had five and a half days to get him to fall for another.

I said, “I’ll be good. I promise. Unless you want me to be bad, of course.”

He laughed, but the sound was strained. Then without warning he flipped me back over and deposited me on my feet. I gave him a sly smile and he said, “You’re trouble.”

“Me?” I faked innocence.

He shook his head. “Come on, princess. Let’s see the castle before I decide to toss you in a fountain.”

“Wet T-shirt contest? Only if you jump in the fountain with me.”

I’d been mostly joking, but he actually looked tempted.

Typical.

He said, “I might have to find you a new nickname. I
don’t think you’re proper enough to be a princess.”

“You know the nice ones always have a naughty side. Mine just happens to outweigh the nice by a lot.”

He looked at me, and I was beginning to think I wouldn’t need those five and a half days to break him down.

“Let’s go explore before I . . .” he trailed off and shook his head. “Let’s just go.”

I resisted the urge to do a celebratory dance for his crumbling resolve, and focused on sightseeing. The castle was gorgeous with grand architecture and even grander ruins. Vines and moss grew over steps and up the stone walls, and it was like a fairy tale.

It was now almost completely dark, but the castle was lit up beautifully. Between that and the view of the city down below, there was something stunning everywhere I looked.

But it was Hunt my eyes kept going back to.

We arrived too late to tour the inside of the castle, which apparently housed a gigantic wine barrel that held over fifty thousand gallons of wine.

“We might have to come back to see that,” I joked.

“No time. We’re on a strict schedule.”

And yet we were currently leaning against a wall, quietly surveying the moonlit city down below us.

“So, we can’t have maps, but we have a schedule?”

“You only gave me a week. So, yes. We’re on a schedule.”

“So what if I decide to stay longer than a week?”

“I’d like that.”

He didn’t look at me as he said it, but stayed focused on the city below us. I tried to read his expression based on his profile, but it wasn’t happening.

“And you don’t have anywhere to be? No one you have to go home to?”

“I’m yours for the foreseeable future.”

As a friend. Greeeaat.

Should I be reading something into this? Did he have a girlfriend back home? Is that why he pushed me away? But then what the hell was he doing here in the first place?

I didn’t get any answers before he started pulling me toward the stairs. We didn’t race this time. The view was too good to speed up. Black bleeding into purple bleeding into a village that looked plucked from another century. Halfway down my stomach growled loudly. Hunt smiled and draped an arm over my shoulder, like it was the most natural thing in the world. He said, “Let’s go get you some food.”

This was what friends did apparently.

His arm stayed around me as we arrived back at the base of the hill and wandered back into the city. We found a small café that was empty except for us and one other couple. The owner was also our waiter, and spoke broken English.

“Welcome.” He gestured between Hunt and me and said, “Beautiful couple. Have seated.”

He put us at a small table in a corner surrounded by artwork and candles. Hunt dropped his arm from around my shoulder and pulled out my chair for me. I smiled in thanks. His hand brushed through my hair and across my shoulder when he walked around to take his seat. I shivered in response.

He said, “Cold?” and I shook my head.

Seriously. This guy fucked with my head like nothing else.

“So what’s next on our schedule, soldier?”

“More trains.”

Blech.

He laughed at my expression and added, “It will be worth it when we get there.”

“There?”

“Italy.”

I resisted the urge to squeal. ITALY. Who doesn’t dream of going to Italy? And talk about making it easy to seduce Hunt. If I couldn’t do it in Italy, someone should take away my vagina because I didn’t deserve it.

“I’m guessing by your smile that you approve of the next leg of our trip?”

“I do.”

“Good, because we’ve got fifteen hours of traveling in front of us.”

I blinked. “Are you trying to kill me?”

“Of course not, princess. We could fly if you’d rather, but I thought since you already had a Eurail pass, you’d prefer to go by train.”

My whiny rant was cut off by the arrival of the owner with our menus, which were in German.

Awesome.

The owner gestured between Hunt and me and said, “Together? New married?”

I started to shake my head, and Hunt said, “Yes. We’re on our honeymoon.”

I raised my eyebrow at Hunt, and he shrugged.

Mind. Fuck.

The owner clapped his hands, smiling and nodding, and held up a hand. “Wait.”

He scurried off, and I faced Jackson. “So . . . husband, huh?”

“Maybe it will get us a free dessert.”

I narrowed my eyes. “Are there any other perks that come with being your fake wife?” Because I could totally get on board for some wifely duties.

“My company isn’t enough?” he asked. He shot me a charming smile that could have knocked down a row of girls like dominoes.

“I’m not going to feed your ego.”

I picked up my menu and started browsing through it for anything that looked familiar. But it had been a long day of traveling and trickery, and all the strange words and letters were just jumbled on the page.

“Speaking of feeding,” Hunt said. “Ordering should be an interesting experience.”

“What? You mean you don’t speak German, just like you don’t speak Czech?”

“Well, I’m definitely not trusting your translations. That’s for sure.”

The owner came back with two glasses of red wine, which he placed on the table between us.

“For you. For marriage.”

I smiled. This fake marriage had perks after all.

“Danke,” I said to the owner.

He placed his hands over his heart and nodded. I took a quick sip from my glass and smiled my approval. He pointed to my menu, and I panicked.

I pointed at the first thing I saw.

Schwarzsauer, which sounded suspiciously like Schwarzenegger when I said it, but the owner nodded all the same.

“Yes. Yes. Gut.”

Then he turned to Hunt, who looked just as lost as I did. He pointed at something and the owner said, “Yes. Himmel und Erde. Is you say, ‘Heaven and Earth.’”

Great. I got the terminator, and he got heaven and earth. The owner took our menus and left. I picked up my glass, smelling the dark, fruity scent.

“Are you not going to try it?” I asked.

Hunt eyed the glass for a moment, and then shook his head. “No.”

“Do you want a beer? We are in Germany, after all.”

“Thanks, but I’m okay.”

“All right, spill. You’re what twenty-five—”

“Twenty-seven.”

That made him five years older than me.

“Okay, so you’re twenty-seven, which is—*newsflash*—old enough to drink.”

“I’ve done plenty of drinking before, Kelsey. I just don’t do it anymore.”

“Bad experience?”

“Bad life.”

His hands were stiff and jerky as he unfolded his cloth napkin.

“What happened?” I asked, then regretted it a few seconds later. He’d been charming and funny for most of the day, and a dark cloud rolled over him. He had the same tension in his shoulders as the first few times I saw him. “That was stupid. You don’t have to tell me anything.”

“No, it’s fine. It was what always happens with alcohol. A
little became a lot, and my life unraveled around a bottle.”

“So you’re . . .”

“An alcoholic, yes. I was up to one-year sober this time. Or I was until the other night.”

“Was?” I asked. I wracked my brain to try and remember if I’d seen him drink anything. Maybe he’d fallen off the wagon right before I met him.

“I took a drink that night at the baths.”

“When?” I searched through fuzzy memories.

He shrugged. “It doesn’t matter.”

“What do you mean it doesn’t matter?”

“It just doesn’t. It happened. It’s over.”

A thought stuck in my mind like a thorn. And maybe it was part memory or just because I knew myself, but I said, “It was my fault, wasn’t it? Whatever happened . . . you broke your sobriety because of me.”

My stomach clenched, and I felt sick. Maybe I drove everyone to drinking. Not just my mother.

“No, princess. It was my choice. Don’t take that on you.”

He didn’t deny it though. He didn’t deny it, and my head was spinning. He continued, “It’s not my first time off the wagon, and it probably won’t be my last” His eyes shot to the wineglass, and he added, “But I’m good for now.”

I cleared my throat and pushed my chair back.

“I’ll be right back. I’m just going to go to the bathroom.”

I tried to make a graceful exit, but the owner ran over as soon as I stood up. He asked me something in German that I didn’t understand. I just smiled and said, “Bathroom? Um, toilet?”

Nodding, he pointed me toward a dark hallway in the other corner of the restaurant. I ducked my head and practically ran away.

17

I opened two storage closets before I found the unmarked bathroom, and stole my way inside. I braced my hands on the porcelain sink and leaned my head against the cool glass of the mirror. I don’t know why it was affecting me so strongly, but I felt like I’d been punched in the gut.

Jackson was a good guy. A great guy. I’d gotten myself drugged, and he took care of me. I’d oscillated between epic screw-up and bitch at light speed, and he was still here. And somewhere in between all that, I’d ruined a one-year accomplishment.

Now wonder he kept rejecting me.

Not for the first time, I had to wonder why. Why did this great guy give two flying fucks about me? I think he cared more about what happened to me than I did.

It didn’t matter where I was or how many planes or trains I’d taken to get there, the darkness always caught up to me. Not because of bad luck or karma or anything like that. Disaster followed me because I was the disaster. I was a walking, talking hurricane, and my idea of living was taking everyone down with me.

I looked up into the mirror. It was circled by rusting metal, and the low yellow light overhead glowed in the reflection. And there in the center was a girl with pale hair and pink lips. Beauty Queen material. That was what my mother had always said growing up. She wanted me to be the next Marilyn Monroe. She’d tell me that on mornings when she was drunk and retired to bed because of a “headache.” But beauty was a poison. A lie. It was a facade, and nothing more.

When I looked in the mirror, all I could see were the things they tried not to see. The bags under my eyes. The smudged mascara and sunken cheeks. The too-thin arms and the lines around my mouth from frowning. But those imperfections had nothing on the ragged soul that resided underneath.

That was the thing I couldn’t change. I could paint over it with makeup. Distract myself with parties and guys and traveling. But you can’t run from who you are . . . not forever.

And here in this small café in this small German town with possibly the most perfect guy in the world . . . it had finally caught up to me.

A knock sounded on the door.

“Kelsey?”

Jesus. How was I supposed to face him when we both knew he was better off without me? We should just scrap this whole weeklong trip, and go our separate ways. He could continue going wherever he was going. I could go back to Texas and find out if they had rehabs for self-destructive bitches.

“Just a minute.”

He didn’t listen, because a few seconds later the knob was turning, and the door that I hadn’t locked was swinging open.

I rushed to wipe at the mascara under my eyes, and grabbed a paper towel to pretend like I’d been washing my hands.

“Hey,” Hunt said.

“Jesus. Impatient much? If you have to go that bad, I’ll get out of your way.”

I was almost past him when he caught my elbow and turned me toward him.

“Don’t,” he said. “Don’t do that.”

“Do what?”

“Pretend that you’re okay when you’re not.”

Funny thing, that. You have to know what’s real to stop pretending, and I lost sight of that a long time ago.

“I’m not pre—”

“Kelsey.”

Fuck.

His eyes. His goddamn eyes drilled into the very core of me.

“Why do you care?” I was horrified to hear the hitch in my breath.

“Why wouldn’t I care, princess?”

“Because I’m horrible. All I do is screw things up. Including you. You should be running as fast as you can in the other direction.”

“But then who would carry you when you fake-twist your ankle?”

I choked on a laugh, which turned into a sob, and I covered my face with my hands before he could see me fall apart. “See? Horrible.”

He pried my hands away, so I just turned my face down.

“You’re not horrible, Kelsey. You are vibrant and beautiful, and you burn. Burn so vividly. Fires can damage, but they’re also beautiful and vital and they can purify and give the chance to start fresh. You’re not horrible. Not at all.”

I wanted to listen to him, wanted to believe the things that he was saying, but my brain could only seem to zero in on the fact that he knew I was destructive, too. I’d spent my whole life wanting to be something more, to be noticed, to burn like Kerouac’s roman candles, but I’d never stopped to think about the harm I could do.

“I think I should go home,” I said.

His hands on my elbows pulled me in closer, and he said, “I don’t know what to do to convince you.”

“There’s nothing,” I said. “There’s nothing you can do.”

I gave him a sad smile, and the hands on my elbows slipped around to the small of my back, and his lips claimed mine in a scorching kiss.

Except that. You can do that.

I resisted for a second, trying to pull back, but his arms wrapped all the way around my waist, crushing me to his chest, and a few seconds of resistance was all I had in me. I clutched at his back, my fingers scrabbling to hold on to him. His tongue slid between my lips, gliding alongside my own.

This was burning. The heat, the fire between us blazed, and I couldn’t be close enough to him. I let one hand trail down to his lower back, and slipped it beneath his shirt to press into his heated skin. At the contact, his kiss turned frenzied, and I felt the cool porcelain of the sink bump against my lower back. I dug my fingernails into his skin, and a rumbling groan poured from his mouth. The arms around my waist slid to my hips, and he lifted me up and onto the sink.

“I should stop,” he whispered against my mouth.

I hooked my legs around his waist and pulled him into me. I found that spot at the corner of his jaw just below his ear that I knew affected him and pressed a light kiss there. Then I grazed the sensitive skin with my teeth, and heard his hissing breath above me.

I said, “Don’t you dare.”

I returned to his lips and used the hand not under his shirt to pull his face closer to mine. My back pressed against the mirror, and the cool contact sent shivers across my warm skin. His hands slid from my bare knees up my thighs to the edge of my shorts. His fingertips dipped beneath the hem, ticking the skin of my inner thighs, and drawing a low moan from my mouth.

I tipped my head back against the mirror, and his lips trailed down my neck. I was so undone by him that my hands and legs were shaking, but that didn’t stop me from desperately pulling him closer. I traced the firm muscles of his back with one hand, and his hips pressed harder into mine in response.

I could feel the length of him pressed against the zipper of my shorts, and his mouth was working complete and utter magic on my neck, and I was certain that at any moment I was going to fall apart. I was going to burn so hot and so fast that I would just disintegrate in his arms.

His hips rocked into mine, his arousal pushing right at my core, and I arched into him moaning. He kissed from my neck down to my collarbone, and then nudged my shirt aside to place a hot kiss just above the line of my cleavage.

I reached my other hand down, intending to pull his shirt up and off, when a knock sounded on the door.

It was hesitant, and the voice that followed was the sweet café owner.

He said, “Food, sir. Madam.”

Hunt’s head dropped into the cradle of space between my neck and shoulder, and he groaned. “Damn it.”

Was it terrible that I didn’t care about going back out there? Sure, it would look bad, but we were newlyweds. Or they thought we were. I was all for staying in here and finishing what we’d started.

But before I could piece together the right words for this proposal, Hunt had stepped back and turned to face the wall.

I thought of staying there. Maybe I could tempt him back into another kiss. But then he groaned and cursed again, running his hands over his eyes and up to his shorn hair.

He wasn’t embarrassed. I was fairly confident he could have shaken something like that off with a smirk or a shrug. This was different. He was angry at himself. And the sweet glow of desire that had blocked out my earlier insecurities and fears faded, and I felt more ragged, more destroyed than ever.

It was fitting that Hunt had brought me to this particular town with this specific castle when there were so many other castles to choose from. Because this one, though beautiful, had been ravaged by time and left behind, broken and ruined.

I slid down off the sink, my legs still shaky from our kiss, and Hunt turned.

He said, “I’m sorry, Kelsey. I—”

“Don’t, Jackson. Just don’t.” Whatever it was, I didn’t want to hear it.

I reached for the door, and he pulled me back to him once more.

He pressed a hard kiss against my temple, sweet, but still tinged with anger. He said once more, “I’m so sorry.”

Then led me out of the bathroom.

The owner had fled after his little declaration, thank God. Hunt pulled my seat out for me once more, but there was an intensity between us now that hadn’t been there before.

Before there had been attraction and maybe friendship. And those things were there still, but had morphed into something more. The attraction was stronger and tinged with the darkness that only comes when you can’t have what you want.

Each step, each breath took on a voice, and I could hear it whisper why. It wasn’t enough to think of this gap between us as a line or a wall. I needed more than a metaphor. I needed to know what exactly stood between us.

We spent the rest of the evening pretending that the darkness wasn’t there, pretending we hadn’t just shared the most intense kiss of my life. We forced ourselves to talk and laugh over anything that could be even remotely deemed funny, like the fact that the food I’d ordered was some strange soup that looked like a mixture of oil and blood and smelled like whatever dead thing the blood had come from. I used one of my dares to make him switch food with me because if I had to touch that stuff, I was going to be sick all over the table.

By comparison, his meal was mashed potatoes with onions and some kind of blackened, oozing sausage. I would definitely be avoiding the sausage, but the mashed potatoes looked promising. That is until I took a bite and found lumps of something sweet that might have been apples mixed into the potatoes.

Heaven and Earth, my ass.

We kept up our facade through the entire meal. Hunt took my hand as we stood to leave, and we both thanked the owner, who had been smiling like a maniac since Hunt and I stepped out of the bathroom together.

He came forward and grasped our linked hands in his.

He said something in German that I didn’t understand, but I got the feeling it was a blessing, not that we deserved it.

Our hands stayed linked as we made our way through the darkened city to the train station where we’d first arrived.

“We’re leaving now?” I asked.

Hunt nodded. “I thought you’d rather travel through the night. But we can find a place to stay if you want.”

He didn’t look at me as he offered. Clearly, the idea of being anywhere near a bed with me right now was out of the question.

“No, the train is fine. We have a schedule to keep after all.”

I’d like to think I kept most of the sourness out of my tone, but the slow sink of his shoulders said otherwise.

18

I might have said to hell with Hunt’s issues and demanded we find a place to stay if I’d had any idea what I was in store for that night. I thought we’d be on another overnight train like the one we’d taken from Budapest to Prague. Instead, he’d lined up a series of seven trains. SEVEN. For a total of roughly fifteen hours.

It was a recipe for disaster (me being the disaster, of course).

The first train was just twelve minutes and took us to another station in Germany. From there we had just over ten minutes to jump on board another train to Basel, Switzerland. That one was about two and a half hours and filled with restless attempts to sleep on my backpack or the window or whatever surface looked appealing to my bleary, bloodshot eyes. Because I sure as hell wasn’t talking to Hunt, not without biting his head off.

We arrived in Basel just before midnight with six minutes to transfer to our next train. Hunt had to pick up my bag and pull me along at a run to keep us from missing our train.

I collapsed into the first two open seats I could find and said, “Remind me to never go on The Amazing Race. This is not as fun as you would think.”

We took that train, transferred to another in Olten, and arrived in Bern, Switzerland, roughly an hour later. We weren’t in any one spot long enough to even think about sleeping, which left me plenty of time to seethe in my frustration.

“Just keep thinking of Italy,” he said. “It will be worth it when we get to Italy.”

“Is there a shower, the world’s softest bed, and a professional masseuse waiting for us in Italy? Because that’s the only way I can see this being worth it.”

Exhausted, we arrived in Bern and I said, “Where to, captain?”

He pulled out the printed schedule that the ticket seller in Heidelberg had given him and flipped through the pages of timetables and information.

When he found the page he was looking for he said, “Oh.”

“Oh? What does oh mean?”

“We have a little more time for this transfer is all.”

“How much is a little more time?”

He scratched absentmindedly at his jaw, still staring at the paper instead of meeting my eyes.

“How much more time, Jackson?”

He offered a sheepish smile and said, “Five hours?”

“My brain is too foggy with sleep to pick which way to kill you, but give me five minutes and I’ll figure it out.”

“Kelsey—”

“Sharks,” I said. “I would like to give you a few paper cuts and feed you to sharks.”

“I don’t think there are sharks in Switzerland.”

“Then I’ll find an aquarium!”

“I’m sorry. I should have paid more attention when she gave me the itinerary. I was just concentrated on getting there. But it’s going to be okay. We’ll kill some time. Maybe go get some food.”

“It’s one in the morning, Hunt.”

We did manage to find a McDonald’s that was open, though. So, I had to eat my words.

I said, “McDonalds in Switzerland is not exactly my idea of an adventure.”

He didn’t have to know how much I was worshiping these fries at the moment, though. After our last food adventure with apple mashed potatoes and blood soup, McDonald’s fries were more valuable than gold. When we’d approached the restaurant and gotten our first whiff of fried goodness, I was two minutes away from falling on my knees and proposing to the pimply counter attendant just to get some freaking fries.

I made myself eat slowly, but every time Hunt looked away I did a Hoover vacuum impression and inhaled the stuff.

With my stomach achingly full, we made our way back to the train platform. It was summer, so it wasn’t exactly cold, but the night wind blew in from the openings on the tracks, and I shivered. We found a bench on the platform our train would leave from roughly four hours later, and started making camp. Hunt pulled a jacket from his backpack, and handed it to me. I turned it around backward, and used it like a blanket.

“Come here.” Hunt took a seat and pulled me closer to him, his hands reaching underneath the coat to touch my shoulders.

“What are you doing?”

“Just relax. You’re tense and tired.”

And bitchy. That was the word he didn’t and probably wouldn’t say.

“You wanted a professional masseuse in Italy. Well, this is Switzerland, and I’m no professional, but I bet I can get the job done.”

His thumbs pressed into muscles that ran from my shoulders to my neck, and I swear my whole body went numb for a few seconds. Words fled my mouth, and all I managed was an unintelligible noise of approval.

Screw having a professional masseuse. It was so much better when he touched me.

“Is that okay?”

Okay was beyond my vocabulary at the moment. My eyes nearly rolled back in my head and I said, “Huh?”

“Harder?”

I groaned. He was so not helping my sexually starved brain.

“It’s perfect.”

His hands traveled the landscape of my back from the path of my spine to valley of my waist. I melted in his arms until I felt like I was no longer solid, as insubstantial as water cupped between his hands.

Those hands skated across the sides of my rib cage, and my body jerked in an involuntary shiver.

“You okay?”

Yeah, there was no way I was managing words right now. I was just as turned on now as I was by that kiss in the bathroom. Maybe more now that I’d brought up that particular memory. So, I nodded.

I pulled my legs up to my chest and rested my cheek against my knees. Then I gave myself up to the glorious manipulation of his hands, and I let myself imagine what might happen if I turned around and straddled his lap and kissed him senseless like I wanted to. I imagined it so much that I fell from wishes into a dream.

When I woke, I wasn’t leaned forward against my knees, but back against Hunt’s chest, settled between his legs. We were turned sideways on the bench, and he was propped up against his backpack, and I was propped up against him. My knees were still bunched up because the bench was too short, and the armrest at the end of the bench kept me from stretching out my legs. But it wasn’t the mildly uncomfortable position that woke me.

It was the gentle stroke of Jackson’s fingers along my ribs from just below my bra to my waist and back again. It was soothing and maddening, and I was hyperaware of everywhere that our bodies touched. The rise and fall of his chest beneath me was like the rise and fall of ocean waves, and my feelings for him were just as tumultuous. I’d given up trying to decide what was the right thing to do in this situation or what I thought was best. The truth was . . . I didn’t want to think. And when we were touching like this, I didn’t have to. I could just feel.

While his hand was stroking down to my waist, I shifted and turned onto my side. I laid my head against his upper body, pulled one arm up to my chest, and casually tucked the other around his waist. When I’d turned, his hand had shifted from my side to my stomach, dragging my shirt up on accident.

I held my breath, hoping that he would stay exactly where he was, that he wouldn’t pull his hand away. The second stretched on until I was wound so tight from anticipation that I thought I might explode. Then his tentative touch turned sure and his hand pressed closer to my stomach, half his hand touching bare skin.

We both knew the other was awake, but we lay still as if we weren’t. It was like a game to see how close we could get to the line without crossing it. The hand that I had so casually wrapped around his waist slipped underneath the back of his shirt, pressing into the same skin that I had dragged my fingernails across a few hours ago. I didn’t push further, not yet. And neither did he. But I lay there, my heart beating wildly, staring out at the empty train tracks and absorbing the warmth from where our bodies aligned. Still cradled between his legs, my hip was even with the juncture of his thighs but not quite touching. After a few minutes of stillness, I slowly edged my way closer to him. Our bodies pressed more intimately together, and my head rested higher on his chest so that my lips were nearly at his neck.

His head moved, his cheek pressed against my forehead. I could feel him looking down at me, but I couldn’t meet his gaze. If we didn’t look at each other, neither of us had to think. I didn’t have to think of how I could screw this up, and neither of us had to think about whatever it was that made him keep pushing me away. We didn’t have to do anything more than touch. His touch was all I needed to erase the rest of the world.

I could still feel his eyes on me, and I willed him to turn away. After a few more long moments, I felt him exhale, and I seemed to sink further into him. He turned his face more so that the edge of his lips touched my forehead, and the hand on my waist began the same slow stroking motion that he’d started on my side, but this time his hand slipped completely beneath my shirt.

That was where it started. Those soft touches. Each one pulled us a little closer. Each one gradually smudged that imaginary line between us.

And soon, the pull between us wouldn’t just erase that line. It would obliterate it.

19

When our train came, we didn’t talk about what was happening between us. I slipped Hunt’s coat all the way on, we gathered our things and boarded. On the train, I sat next to him, he lifted the armrest, and we wordlessly fell back into each other’s arms.

We did the same on the next train that took us from Brig, Switzerland, to Milan, Italy. I assumed that was our final stop, but when we boarded one last train to Firenze, in Florence, I was glad for one more chance to touch him. Because I wasn’t sure this weird peace would last once we emerged back into the real world.

But despite my intentions to savor our closeness, fatigue caught up to me and I was asleep within ten minutes of the train taking off. I didn’t stir again until we were pulling into the station a little over an hour and a half later.

Hunt’s fingers were combing through my hair and he said, “We’re here.”

I yawned and pushed myself up off his chest. His eyelids were heavy, and I knew he probably hadn’t slept at all. His face was normally all angles and hard edges, but sleepy, he looked younger, less intimidating.

He yawned, and I laughed because he was just so damn cute.

“I thought we’d start by just walking around the city. Maybe go see the statue of David. Eat some gelato.”

I caught his yawn and said, “Sounds good, but . . .”

I trailed off, unwilling to admit how exhausted I was. Thankfully he did it for me.

“But sleep first?”

“Oh, please God, yes.”

He laughed and agreed.

We stumbled from the train station, little better than zombies. A hostel was out of the question. It was almost impossible to sleep during the day at those because you shared a room with so many people, so we stopped at the first decent hotel we found a few blocks south of the station. I didn’t even have the energy to read the name. It was too long. It started with a B and ended with hotel, and that was all that mattered.

I leaned my head into Hunt’s back as he spoke to the concierge, and then handed over my credit card.

I didn’t think about much at all until we arrived at our room, and found a giant king bed in the middle of it.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t think to ask for two beds,” Hunt said. “I’ll go back down.”

“No, don’t. That bed looks amazing, and I’m going to collapse if I don’t get into it right now.”

“Are you sure?” he asked.

I didn’t bother answering. Instead, I kicked off my shoes and collapsed onto the bed still fully clothed.

“Oh God, I have never been happier than I am in this moment.”

I heard Hunt’s faint laughter, and then I was out.

I woke later as Hunt pulled back the covers and maneuvered me beneath them. A certain familiarity crept through my bones, like this had happened before. I peeled my eyes open, and found Hunt. He must have showered because his face was still slightly damp, and he was wearing nothing but a pair of pajama pants that hung low on his hips. His abs could have rivaled all of Tuscany for the most gorgeous rolling hills I had ever seen.

He pulled the covers up to my neck, and then stepped away from the bed. He settled onto the burgundy sofa situated across the room on the opposite wall.

I said, “What are you doing?”

“Ssh. Just go back to sleep.”

“No, I’m not letting you sleep on the couch, not after the night we’ve had. If you’re too afraid to sleep in the same bed as me, we’ll go downstairs and get a different room.”

I pushed back the covers and started crawling out of bed. He was off the couch and in front of me before my feet even settled on the floor.

“Don’t, Kelsey. Just go back to sleep.”

I set my lips in a firm line and scooted over, leaving space for him to climb in.

“You’re not going to let this go?” he asked.

I shook my head.

“The couch is actually pretty comfortable. And it’s not a good idea to—”

Tired of the same old argument, I grabbed his hand and tugged hard. He toppled on the bed next to me, and I said, “No more excuses.”

My patience had been brushed away by every smoothing stroke of his hand across my waist last night. It disappeared like sand in the wind bit by bit until all that was left was the longing underneath.

Still gripping his hand, I laid back and turned on my side, facing away from him. I tugged on his hand until he lay behind me, and then I let his hand drop onto my stomach.

I wasn’t going back to how we were before. I was sick of the will he–won’t he. I just wanted to be close to him. The consequences be damned.

His body was stiff behind me at first, and he was holding his arm so that it made as little contact with me as possible. I snuggled back into him, and he froze.

“Jackson . . .”

I let his name hang in the air, and after a few moments he relaxed. His arm curled around my waist, and the movement of his chest grew to match my own as we fell into sleep.

I woke again in the afternoon, and sunlight was pouring through the window, stronger than a jack and coke, hold the coke. I rolled over to get away from the light, and abruptly met the wall that was Hunt. He lay on his back, completely dead to the world. I’d only ever seen him sleep on that first train ride to Prague, and then it had only been a few seconds before he woke up.

In sleep, I got to study him in a way I hadn’t been able to so far. He had a small scar that ran through his right eyebrow, and another on his chin. His nose wasn’t quite as straight as I thought it was, but had a slight bump at the bridge. I wondered if he’d broken it before.

His chest I’d seen several times, but that didn’t make it any less mesmerizing now. It too had several scars, one toward his shoulder that was small and thin, and I guessed was from a surgery. Another on his side was more jagged, and spanned the length of several ribs.

When I’d soaked in as much of him as I could without turning him over or removing those pajama pants that framed his hips so deliciously, I decided to try to catch another hour or so of sleep. Gently, I laid a hand across his abdomen. When he didn’t wake, I laid my head across his chest.

I’d barely released a satisfied sigh when I was flipped over onto my back, and my shoulders were pinned to the mattress. I cried out in shock, and then in pain at the force Hunt exerted on my shoulders. He was strong and all of his weight was bearing down on me, bending my shoulders back in a way they definitely weren’t meant to. His eyes were wild and dark and unseeing. His breath came in heavy, shaky pants, each one punctuated by a little more pressure on my shoulders.

“Hunt,” I said, but he didn’t react. I bent my arms at the elbow, and managed to grasp at his forearms. “Jackson. It’s Kelsey. Wake up.” I whimpered, desperate to make the pain stop. Louder, I said, “Jackson, please wake up. You’re hurting me.”

I don’t know if it was time or my words or something else that snapped him out of it, but he released me, and a look of horror dropped down over his previously blank expression.

Even though it was over, his breathing was still harsh and uneven, and it was several long seconds before he said anything.

“Oh God. I’m so sorry, princess. I’m sorry.”

His expression crumbled, ruins hidden in his eyes, and he started crawling backward to get off of me.

My hands shot out, and I gripped his arms.

“Don’t. Don’t do that.” I repeated the words he said to me in that café bathroom.

“Kelsey . . .”

I tugged on his arms, but they were immovable stone columns. I said, “Come back to me.” I tugged again, and this time the stone gave way. His hip hit the bed beside mine, but his chest draped across mine. He dropped his face into the hollow between my neck and shoulder, and his hands went to my shoulders, his touch now soft and soothing.

“I’m sorry,” he said again.

“Ssh.” I wrapped my arms around his shoulders and held on to him as tightly as I could. I didn’t know what plagued him, but I could guess, and all my guesses put my problems to shame.

“I never wanted to hurt you,” he whispered.

This was why he’d pushed me away. He’d thought I couldn’t handle this or wouldn’t want to. But the truth was . . . I’d grown up in the kind of world where people hurt you on purpose. To prove a point or to play a game. I’d take Jackson’s kind of hurt any day.

“Hey,” I said, pulling his face up until his eyes met mine. “You haven’t hurt me. I’m fine.”

He shook his head. “You don’t know, Kelsey. There’s this thing . . .”

“We’ve all got things like that, Jackson. I don’t care.”

I grasped his jaw and pulled his lips closer to mine.

Millimeters away from my mouth, he jerked back. “You should care. You don’t know anything about me.”

“Then tell me.”

He rolled over onto his back next to me and ran his hand across his face. I shifted onto my side, and laid my head on his chest.

He said, “Kelsey . . .”

I closed my eyes, settling into him. “You’re going to have to pry me off because I’m not going anywhere. And I can be pretty damn stubborn.”

He paused, and then breathed in an impression of a laugh. After a few seconds, breathing became breathing again and the laughter disappeared, but his arms settled around me. And that was enough.

We stayed locked together in bed for the rest of the day. Sometimes sleeping. Sometimes not. But no matter how we shifted or in what positions we lay, we never stopped touching for more than a few seconds.

And each time I was shocked by the ache I felt in those moments. It uncoiled quickly, piercing and pulling and opening a hole in my chest that echoed like an empty cavern until his skin met mine again. Each time I would sigh in relief, and hold him tightly, probably too tightly for a few seconds. But he never said anything. Neither of us did. Not about his dream or the way I was clinging to him. Not about the darkness that was so clearly lurking in both of us, filling up the spaces between the skin and muscle and bone.

We didn’t say a word, and I was reminded of those first few seconds when we’d leapt off the bridge in Prague. There had been so much noise and fear and adrenaline, but most of all there had been a permeating, inevitable, and calming silence as we fell and fell and fell.

When we finally climbed out of bed, we spent the evening walking around Florence. We did get that gelato. And we saw the replica statue of David outside the museum, which was close enough to seeing the real thing for us.

We had dinner on the garden terrace on the roof of our hotel, and we slept in each other’s arms again that night.

But still . . . all we ever did was touch.

And feel.

20

I was fairly certain that Hunt had meant to leave and jet off to another place the next day, but he hadn’t counted on spending the whole first day in bed. I’d thought once that Hunt was like gravity, but the real gravity was between us. Neither Hunt nor I had anticipated how much that pull would take over.

It was irrational, but I kept feeling like we’d lose whatever this was if we left our little hotel in Florence. Sometimes, I felt like we’d lose it if we even left the bed. It was an awful thing to be terrified of waking up, of standing, of going outside.

It was stupid, and when I wasn’t petrified, I was berating myself for it.

I was not this girl. I was not the girl who let her whole world revolve around a man. But then again, I’d never really let my world revolve around anything else but me. Now that I had stepped out of the center, and put someone else there, it was hard to go back.

So, he didn’t admit it, but I think he changed his plan. Instead of heading to another city, we stayed in Florence. Sometimes we ventured outside the city, like the day we took a bike tour of Tuscany. We spent an entire day, exhausted and sweaty, exploring hill towns that weren’t the typical tourist destinations. In most of the towns, we were the only tourists to be found. Hardly anyone spoke English, but they were so excited to have us.

In one village, we toured an art studio where the artist worked with alabaster, crafting everything from statues to lamps to chess sets. I bought a pale alabaster heart pendant, and looped it onto the necklace I was already wearing.

Outside one walled city, we found the most stunning ruins of a Roman theater. We couldn’t get very close, but we found a great view of it from the wall of the city, and I told Hunt everything I knew about Roman theaters. I told him the Roman names for all the parts of the structure like scaena frons and the cavea and vomitorium. I’m sure he didn’t care, let alone remember what I said a few minutes later, but he listened and smiled.

We biked along the winding roads, sometimes going hours without seeing a car. We stopped and had a picnic lunch in the grass. I stared up at the sky, finding shapes in the clouds while Hunt drew in his sketchbook. Me, I think.

When we saw a town in the distance, we went there, having no idea what it was called or where we were heading. I had the most delicious homemade pasta in someone’s actual home. We’d been looking for a restaurant, and were instead invited inside by Giovanni and his wife.

And even though the day was amazing, and we could have stayed in any of those towns or kept exploring forever, we couldn’t bring ourselves to move on. We rented our bikes for a second day and rode off in a different direction, meeting new people and exploring new places, but both days we were back in Florence by nightfall. Back in our sanctuary of silence where we didn’t have to question or label or analyze anything between us.

It was perfect.

Except for the fact that I was wound so tight from being close to him, from touching him that at times it became difficult to sleep at all.

He fell asleep faster and faster each night, and I stayed up longer and longer, my body aching from neglect. On the fifth night of our weeklong adventure, I couldn’t take it anymore. While he slept, strong and silent next to me, I let a hand trail down my stomach, and into the pajama shorts I’d worn to sleep that night. I was already slick and aching, and just the first touch had me pointing my toes and closing my eyes.

I sucked in a breath and bit down on my lip to stay silent, but my body was buzzing with pent-up energy. It was the same buzz I felt coming off stage, high from the lights and the applause and the attention. Only this all came from him. From
being near him and being unable to have him.

I circled my fingers, my back arching with pleasure.

I was so caught up and focused on my own touch that I didn’t realize Hunt was awake until he gripped my wrist, pulling my hand up and pressing it against the pillow above my head.

My eyes snapped open, and my jaw dropped. I didn’t know what to say. But I knew I was turned on even more by the sight of him leaning over me, and the feel of him pinning my wrist. I whimpered, and his eyes were so dark, they shone black.

Without saying a word, he touched the flat of my stomach, and then replaced my hand with his. The calloused pad of his middle finger pressed against me, and a galaxy sprung up behind my closed eyes as I bucked up into him. He pressed again, circling this time, and I didn’t have to be quiet now. I cried out and with my free hand, I gripped the wrist of the hand that shackled mine above my head.

He leaned over me, his head finding the hollow where my neck sloped into my shoulder. He inhaled deeply, the tip of his nose trailing a line up my neck. His finger swirled around my most sensitive part again, and I was so close already.

My fingernails dug into his wrist, and something like a growl tore from his mouth. He pressed his finger down, hard, and that was all it took to send me over the edge. I came apart with a low cry. Nearly a week of built-up of frustration lit and burned in my blood, and the rush of pleasure started in my head, as bright and deafening as a fireworks show. It shot down my spine to my center, and then flooded out to every part of me.

I arched up into him because the only thing that was missing was his mouth on my mouth, his skin on my skin. But before I could even drag his head up to mine, he rolled away from me and off the bed. He stalked into the bathroom without a word. As I lay in bed, my bones gone soft, I heard the shower switch on.

We woke up on the sixth day of our adventure, and neither of us mentioned what occurred the night before. Hunt’s eyelids were heavy as though he didn’t sleep, and I didn’t know what to say to make him stop feeling guilty. I didn’t know why he should. And every time I let myself brainstorm, my heart seized up the same way it did whenever I had to get out of bed and leave our sanctuary behind.

We only had two days left in Hunt’s week.

Two days.

And even though our deadline was arbitrary, I didn’t think we’d make it past that deadline without talking about something. And I was afraid that something would bring this all to an end.

With my now-routine morning regret, I rolled out of Jackson’s arms. He stopped me with a touch to my elbow. I turned and was struck by how surreal it was to see sheets draped over his bare chest. Our few nights together felt like years, and yet I knew so little about him. It wasn’t unusual for me to share a bed with someone I didn’t know, but it was unusual for me to be bothered by it. Maybe it was because in addition to not knowing his mind, I’d not learned his body either. His hand tickled at my elbow again, and he said, “Sorry about the nightmares.”

He’d had several last night after the thing we apparently weren’t talking about. Instead of curling into me after they were over, he took to pacing the room or sketching at the window.

“It’s okay.”

I shifted to leave again, only to feel his hand wrap around mine. He played with my fingers for a few seconds, as if that was the only reason he stopped me. Then he asked, “Tell me about your life back in the states.”

Not a subject I particularly wanted to hash out this early in the morning, but he obviously wanted to talk. Maybe talking about this would help him talk about the rest.

“Like what? It’s nothing that interesting.”

“Tell me about your favorite Christmas growing up.”

“You’re kidding, right?”

“I’m serious. I’m trying to get the full picture of Kelsey Summers.”

It wasn’t a pretty picture, but if he wanted it . . . “Fine,” I said. “My favorite Christmas has got to be by default the one before the first one I can remember.”

He looked down, squeezing my fingers between his own. “That’s really sad.”

“Yeah, well, my family is sad.”

“What made it so bad?”

I propelled myself back against the pillows, letting go of his hand.

“Can we talk about something else?”

He wanted to push. I could hear it in the silence, in his careful breaths, in the creak of the bed as he leaned forward for just a few seconds before rolling away.

“You go shower. I’ll figure out what we’re doing today.”

God, we were both so bad at this. There was no way it could work, not that I really even knew what “working” would entail.

Released from his questioning, I fled for the bathroom.

I took my time, enjoying the way the hot water loosened my sore muscles, but ever conscious of the other body just outside the bathroom with only a wall between us.

I decided we’d been still long enough. Neither of us was good with words. We were action people, which was why last night had worked. We didn’t talk. Maybe it was time for a little push. So when I got out of the shower, I ignored the pile of clothes in the bathroom and exited the room in my towel.

“I told you everything is fine.”

I said, “I forgot my—”

Then stopped because Hunt’s back was to me and he was on the phone.

He whipped around, and I lowered my voice, “I, um, I forgot something. Sorry.”

In a quiet voice, he said into the phone, “I have to go now. No. No. Thank you, but I have to go.”

He lowered the phone, but I could still hear the faint sound of someone talking on the other end before he hung up.

I picked up a pair of socks, the first thing I saw in my backpack, and said, “Who was that?”

“What?” He didn’t look at me. “Oh. Just the concierge, wondering if we’d decided when we were checking out yet.”

I stood there, a puddle collecting on the floor below me, in nothing but a towel holding a pair of pointless socks, and still he didn’t even glance my way.

I couldn’t tell whether I was more distressed by his lack of reaction or the tense set of his shoulders. A conversation with the concierge shouldn’t do that. And if he was only asking if we were staying, shouldn’t that have been a simpler, shorter call?

Maybe he was just tense about us, and the phone call had nothing to do with it.

I stayed staring for a few more seconds before fleeing to the bathroom. I had almost closed the door when I heard him ask, “What do you think about taking a train to the coast? Maybe the Italian Riviera?”

I poked my head back out of the bathroom, and he was sitting stiffly on the bed, his hands clenched into fists at his side.

It looked like we’d be saying goodbye to our Florence refuge after all. Perhaps our secrets were getting too big for this small room.

I said, “Okay. Sounds good.”

The words echoed off the tile walls around me, and I felt that hole in my chest opening up, and the fear creeping in.

The small village of Riomaggiore was set into a cliff side on the Italian Riviera, and I knew from the moment that I stepped off the train that I was going to love this place. The air smelled fresh and salty, and the wind curled up from the ocean, tossing my hair. At the edge of the train platform was a wall, and beyond that a turquoise blue sea.

I rushed to the edge, desperate to soak in the view. Craggy black rocks were decorated with white sea foam, and stood out against the vibrant blue waters. Waves crashed against the rock, and I swear I could feel the spray all the way up on the platform.

I squealed and threw my arms around Hunt’s neck.

“This is good?” he asked.

“Very good.”

This was worth leaving Florence.

Hunt had told me on the train where we were going. There were five villages collectively called Cinque Terre that sat along the coastline. They were part of some kind of protected wilderness area or park, so there was almost nothing modern about the villages, just the train in and out. We would spend today and tomorrow, our last two days, exploring and hiking from village to village.

If all five villages were as beautiful as this train platform, I was sold.

We left the station and headed to the city to find lunch and a place to stay. There was no lack of either. We stopped at a small restaurant, and I had the most delicious pesto in the history of the universe. I didn’t even particularly like pesto, but Cinque Terre made me a believer.

The waiter at the restaurant recommended a family down the road that rented out an apartment attached to their home. On the way, I marveled at the village. The homes were stacked up like building blocks and painted in vibrant colors. There were orange and yellow and pink buildings with blue and green and red shutters. Everywhere I looked was something worthy of capturing in a picture—from a fading turquoise door, whose stories you could almost detect through the splintering wood and peeling paint, to a small boy, skin tanned from the sun, with bare feet toughened by rough roads and the sweet cradle of a soft stray cat in his arms.

Hunt’s hand touched the small of my back, and I leaned into him instinctively. “This is wonderful,” I said. “I just . . . I’ve never seen anything like it.”

“So have I done it?” he asked.

“Done what?”

“Given you an adventure?”

I stopped, and looked at him. His face was tense, and I got the feeling he was asking about something more than if I was just having fun.

The sea and sky joined in a dark blue horizon over his shoulder, and I wanted to stop time. A picture could never be enough to capture this moment, and I was afraid if I didn’t imprint it upon my brain I would forget the breeze rustling the laundry hanging out of the shuddered windows, the shine of the sun off the water, and the deep gray of Hunt’s eyes. It would be a crime to forget those things. I wanted to stop time because that one-second pause wasn’t big enough to feel the things my body wanted to feel and think the things my mind wanted to think. So, I told him honestly, “Adventure doesn’t seem like a big enough word for what this has been.”

His smile put the sun to shame.

He draped his arm across my shoulder, and we went to see about a room.

Each of the villages was connected by both a train and a path. After settling into our cozy, albeit simple, private apartment, we set out to explore. We chose the path because there was no way that Hunt would let us get away with the train. Not that I would have even wanted to.

We followed the trail map from Riomaggiore to the beginning of the path that would lead us to Manarola. The path was named Via dell’Amore, the lover’s path. Carved out of the side of a cliff with a flat stone trail, the path made for a pretty easy trek between the first and second village. It wrapped around the cliff, giving us a beautiful view of Riomaggiore as we left, and the ocean as we moved forward.

The path led us to a stone alcove with window openings that allowed us to peer out at the water and rocks below. As we moved farther through the tunnel, I started to notice locks hung from the railing and ropes on the ceiling and every available surface. There were locks of every size and shape. Some were shiny and new, while others were rusted and aged, but there had to be thousands of them in all.

Following the locks led us to a chair that had been sculpted out of stone. The seat was big enough for two and the back had been carved to look like two people kissing. The chair was placed in a stone archway with railings behind it to keep the chair and people from tumbling into the ocean below. Not that you could see the railings anymore. They were covered in locks, overflowing. There were locks hooked onto other locks, framing the lover’s seat with the help of an ocean backdrop. The chair and much of the tunnel around us were covered in graffiti, but it didn’t matter. You could feel how special this place was. The horizon lined up almost perfectly with the lips of the lovers, as if the sea and sky and life converged to make this perfect representation of what it means to be with another person. The permanence of it.

I didn’t know how many couples had placed locks around this chair, nor did I know how many of them were still together. But it didn’t matter. When you love someone, really love someone, it’s a lasting mark on your soul. There’s a lock on your heart that you’ll carry with you always. You may lose the key or give it away, but the lock stays with you all the same.

A man approached us, and asked if we’d like to buy a lock. He had a box with all different kinds, and I started to say no, but Hunt said, “Why not?”

He handed the man some cash, and picked a lock out of his assortment. The lock he chose was plain, but sturdy.

“Where should we put it?” he asked.

I looked at the chair, but the way my heartbeat lurched made me look for another place, a place with less pressure. I took a few steps farther down the tunnel toward where it opened back up to the regular path. At the mouth of the tunnel, I could see locks hanging down near the ceiling.

I pointed and said, “There.”

Up close I could see that netting had been placed around one of the boulders on the side of the cliff, and locks had been clipped to that net. This was perfect. We were still leaving our mark, but without it meaning more than I was willing to say.

“I’ll lift you up,” Hunt said.

I took the lock from him, and he bent, wrapping his arms around my knees. He pulled me up, and I balanced myself with his shoulders. When he was standing upright, I put one hand up on the boulder and picked up a piece of the netting. I opened the lock, slipped it around a bit of the rope, and clicked it closed.

I smiled.

“All done.”

Hunt loosened his arms around my knees, and I slid down his body. And just like the lock, it felt like we had clicked into place.

21

Heat crackled across my skin. Hunt’s gray eyes bore into mine. And my gaze was drawn to his lips. Those lips. I had spent days thinking about those lips, maybe even days looking at them. I’d agonized over Hunt’s excuses and what might be keeping us apart, about what he wasn’t telling me. But here with the ocean at my back and the memory of that lock against the skin of my palm, I couldn’t think of a single reason. Or maybe I just didn’t want to.

I tipped my chin up, and he tipped his down. The world shrunk to include only the space between our lips, space that only our breath crossed.

My heart was about to beat out of my chest, and I swear I could hear his beating, too. I knew he wanted this just as much as I did. And I was tired of letting some imaginary line dictate my actions. So, I leaned in, and for the barest of seconds my bottom lip grazed his. And that small world, expanded, exploded, and we were at the fiery hot center of it.

I pressed my lips harder against his, curling my hands around the back of his neck. And for just a second, he pulled me in closer. My chest smashed against his. My feet left the ground, dangling centimeters above the stone path. My head was spinning with want.

Then just as suddenly, he released me. My feet hit the ground. My head stopped spinning. But I felt dizzier than ever.

He said, “Kelsey, I can’t.”

“You can’t? It seems to me like you just won’t.”

“You don’t understand.”

I stepped out of his arms, and backed away to the other side of the path.

“You’re right. I don’t understand. I don’t understand what about this is not okay.” People were starting to stare, but I didn’t care. “I don’t understand how we can spend every waking moment together, how you can touch me, how we can sleep in the same bed, sleep in each other’s arms, but this? This is somehow not okay? No, I don’t understand that. I don’t understand how you can kiss me the way you kissed me and feel the way I know you feel, and keep pushing me away. But I’m done trying to figure it out.”

I spun and ran through the tunnel, passing the lover’s seat that moments ago had seemed so poignant and perfect a representation of what I wanted and where I thought Jackson and I were heading. Maybe they didn’t choose locks because love is permanent. Maybe they chose locks because emotions bind us into place. They weigh us down. They pull your heart into a thousand different directions until the only option left is for it to break.

That chair was stone, stuck forever in that chaste kiss. It was hard, cold, and lifeless. A lot like Hunt could be at times.

So, I ran, my sandals slapping against the stone path. The tunnel was dark with rectangles of light pouring in through the window gaps. I got far enough away that I couldn’t feel Hunt’s gaze on my back or the gravity that pulled us together. Then, I slowed. My breath rasped like the sound of fabric tearing, threads ripping apart.

And then because the universe has impeccable timing (and because it hates me), a droplet of rain splashed against my forehead. Followed by a second and a third. Then the sky opened, and dumped an ocean on my head.

I yelled, “Fuck! Of course.” I looked up at the sky, raindrops pummeling my face and yelled, “Thank you. Thank you so much.”

The hard path jarred my ankles as I ran, but I kept running, more concerned with finding shelter. I could have turned back and headed for the tunnel, but then I’d have to face Hunt again.

No, thank you. Not after I literally ran away from him. Not after he pushed me away at every turn.

The stones turned slick under the downpour of rain, and my foot slid. I tried to catch my balance, but there was nothing to hold on to. I teetered backward and prepared myself for impact.

But my back didn’t hit rock, well, not the rock path anyway. A familiar pair of arms circled me. I saw Hunt’s soaked tennis shoes first, but I would have known it was him regardless. Even soaking wet and pelted with rain, I felt a shock of warmth at his touch.

“Are you okay?” he asked.

I jerked out of his arms. “I’m fine.”

I continued down the path, walking as fast as I could on the uneven, slippery stones.

“Kelsey, just wait.”

I yelled back. “I’m tired of waiting, Jackson. I think I’m done.”

I followed the path down into the village, and the streets were grimy with mud. I could feel tiny drops flicking up and landing on my calves and thighs.

I reached the home where we were staying, and ran up the rickety stairs that led to the apartment upstairs we’d rented. I threw open the door, and slammed it closed behind me.

I knew it was childish, and I couldn’t keep him out there in the rain, but it felt good all the same.

I tore off my sandals, splattering mud and water on the floor and my clothes. Then, maybe because I was crazy or because I was a mile past giving a shit, I tugged my soaking shirt over my head. It hit the ground with a slap at the same time that the apartment door blew open.

I heard it slam back against the wall once, then again, knocked by the wind. I turned and found Hunt frozen in the doorway.

His eyes went to the bare skin of my stomach, slick with rainwater and pebbled with goose bumps.

Spitefully, I said, “You’re welcome to stay outside. You know, if this is another thing you can’t handle.”

He stayed locked in the doorway, his hands gripping the jamb.

I unbuttoned my shorts and slid them over my hips, letting them fall to the ground.

I said, “Actually, I dare you to come inside. I still have one dare left from Heidelberg. So, I dare you to come inside and kiss me.”

His body leaned into the room, but his grip stayed tight on the entryway, and his feet firmly planted on the porch. His face screwed up like he was in pain, but he dropped his head and looked away.

I scoffed. “That’s what I thought.”

I spun and walked toward the shower in the corner of the room. It wasn’t even a room by itself, just a raised tile platform circled by a shower curtain. I turned the knob, and heard the pipes whistle at the same time the door slammed closed.

I’d thought maybe he’d left, but then I heard his gruff voice behind me say, “Fuck it,” and his hands seized my waist and pulled me back against his chest.

His wet clothing met my bare skin, and I shivered from the cold. His mouth found my neck, and those shivers became tremors. He nipped the juncture of my neck and shoulder, and I stumbled forward into the spray of the shower.

I gasped when the water hit me, and he squeezed my waist, pulling my hips back against his. One of his hands trailed upward and cupped my breast through my wet bra, and my head dropped back against his shoulder with a moan. He spun me around, and my back hit the tile wall just below the showerhead. Water spewed down onto both of his, but he didn’t seem to notice as he dragged my mouth to his.

God, we needed to argue more often.

He kissed me hard, his tongue prying my lips open. He cupped my jaw, and angled my head to kiss me deeper. I grew dizzy with desire as his mouth plundered mine. I grasped his forearms, my fingernails biting into his skin.

I was still frustrated and angry, and so was he. That made the connection between us all the more explosive.

I reached greedy hands for the bottom of his shirt, desperate for skin on skin. I ripped the shirt over his head. Water ran down his face and chest in tiny rivers, and I wanted to taste each one. I couldn’t resist touching him. I started at his chest, pressing both my hands flat against pecs, and he groaned in response. I slid my hands down to his abs, dragging my fingernails lightly over his skin. He growled, his fingers digging into my skin. I dipped my head, and licked at a trail of water at the center of his chest.

He gripped my jaw and pulled my face up to his. “You’re irresistible.”

I would have taken it as a compliment if he didn’t seem so pissed about it.

Okay, maybe I took it as a compliment either way.

“That’s funny,” I said. “Then what the hell took you so long?”

I curled my fingers over his shoulders, and his hands slid down my body. His thumbs pressed into my hipbones hard, his fingers splaying over the curve of my ass. And the only answer I got to my question was him tugging my hips forward to meet his. His strength undid me, sending every nerve ending up in flames.

His arousal pressed against my stomach through his jeans, and I sucked in a breath. He took advantage of my open mouth, his tongue winding and flicking against mine.

His hands explored my body, bold and strong like his kiss. My heart felt like a bird loosed from a cage, like it couldn’t stay perched in one spot in my chest.

He slid a hand up my back, unsnapping the clasp of my bra with ease. He broke our kiss just long enough to pull the fabric from between us, before crushing me against him again. I heard the wet slap of my bra hit the tile floor.

When my bare chest met his, a growl sounded low in his throat. His mouth pressed and pulled and coaxed mine into movement, and time seemed both too fast and too slow at once.

When my lungs burned for air, I pulled back, panting.

I said, “You’re the most confusing person I’ve ever met, and sometimes I hate you.”

Not the most romantic thing to say, but it was honest.

He pinned me back against the wall again, and this time gripped my wrists, locking them in place above me, too.

He growled, “This counts,” before nipping my bottom lip.

I didn’t know what he was saying, but I nodded because his leg pushed between mine, anchored at the juncture between my thighs, and every shift or movement caused something to rend and then mend inside me.

“Say it.”

I arched my body into his, pulling at his shoulders.

“Say what?”

“Say that this is real. Tell me it counts.”

He pressed his forehead against mine, and that thing that tore inside of me was so loud that it had to be real. Something hung in the space between my heart and lungs, detached from where it had been.

“This is real.” I shivered, suddenly cold under the spray of water.

He released my wrists and turned off the shower, pulling me out into the bedroom. Water streamed down our bodies, forming a puddle on the floor, but he didn’t even give it a second glance. He wrapped an arm around my waist and the other around my thighs, lifting me up above him. His head was in line with my stomach. He paused to taste the wet skin just below my breasts, and I closed my eyes. I clenched his shoulders, every muscle in my body pulling tight as his tongue darted out to flick over the sensitive skin of my ribs.

I said, “Jackson.”

I didn’t know what I was going to say next. It could have been more angry words or confusion or a romantic declaration. But I forgot it completely when he lifted his head higher, and took the pebbled tip of my breast into his mouth. I cried out.

Slowly, he loosened his grip, letting me slide down his body the way I had out on the path. But now, our wet skin melded together. My softness pressed against his hard muscle, and all I could think of were four-letter words.

When our faces aligned, he said, “This is what I should have done out there. This is what I’ve wanted to do a thousand times over.”

He claimed my mouth in another kiss.

I opened to him immediately, his tongue tangling with mine. He tasted like warm summer days and hurricanes, like everything I wanted and everything I didn’t know I needed. He caught my bottom lip between his, sucking and nibbling, and I was reminded of the first time I saw him. That terrible kiss in the ruin bar brought Hunt into my life. I never thought I would be grateful for the worst kiss of my life, especially not while enjoying the best.

He kept one arm banded around my ribs to hold me up, and the other dragged down my back to my ass. He cupped me, grinding me against his hips, and I wrapped my legs around his waist for better friction. But then I wished I hadn’t because my legs met his wet jeans, which I wanted off. Like ten minutes ago.

My fingers found the waistband of his jeans. I was pressed too tightly against him to manage the buttons, and I whined into his kiss.

I tugged on his jeans, and felt him begin moving toward the bed.

He dropped me on my back without warning, and I bounced against the mattress.

Shocked, I yelled, “You—”

I swallowed whatever insult had been coming when he flicked open the button of his jeans and slid them down over his naked hips.

When I managed to pick up my jaw, I followed his lead, slipping my underwear over my hips. I kicked them off, leaving us both bare before the other’s gaze. We were getting the sheets wet, but who the hell cared? For several long seconds, we both just stared at each other, drinking in the sight that for so long we’d denied ourselves.

Hunt smiled darkly and said, “My imagination didn’t do you justice.”

“Imagine me naked a lot, did you?”

“Only every other second.”

I smiled and the last of my frustration fled to be replaced by anticipation.

I sat up so that my face was level with his abdomen.

He ran a gentle hand through my hair. I turned into his touch and kissed his wrist. Then I leaned forward and licked a stray water droplet from his bare hip.

His hand tightened in my hair, and he exhaled sharply.

I circled my hand around him, and he choked out a groan. He stayed still for a few seconds, his eyes directed toward the ceiling.

“Why didn’t you?” I asked. “If you thought about me so much, if you wanted me . . . why push me away?”

He pulled my hand away from his body, kissing the back of my knuckles instead.

“I couldn’t do this lightly. Not with you. I needed it to mean as much to you as it meant to me.”

He leaned down and kissed me sweetly on the lips. So sweet it burned, like sugar around the rim of a Molotov cocktail.

Gripping my hips, he slid me back farther on the bed, until just my feet were dangling off the edge. I sat up on my elbows and watched him as his eyes surveyed me from head to toe.

He picked up my right foot, and placed a tender kiss on the inside of my ankle. That kiss started a fire deep in my bones that ran through the rest of me like a lit fuse. As he kissed my calf and the inside of my knee, my bones melted down to liquid. His hands started at my heels and ran up the backs of my legs, tickling the sensitive skin. I squirmed, pulling my knees together, and he placed a hand low on my abdomen stilling me.

“Patience, princess.”

I had no patience left. Especially not if he was going to do the same thing he did every other time and pull back when he came to his senses.

I said, “You’re not going to change your mind, are you, Jackson? Because I can’t keep doing this.”

He said, “I hope you can keep doing this. Because I don’t plan on letting you out of this room until my seven days are up.”

22

His mouth trailed up the inside of my thigh, and I was breathing so heavy that I was on the verge of hyperventilating. One of his hands still pressed into my stomach, and the other pushed my knees apart. His teeth grazed my skin, and my hips bowed up.

He was going to kill me.

I could actually die like this.

“Please,” I said.

“Please what, princess?”

His breath fanned across my inner thigh, and just that was enough to send shockwaves of pleasure through me. The hand on my stomach slid down to the juncture between my thighs, and I completely lost it.

I turned my head to the side, and swallowed a moan.

His fingers drew me to the edge, working me until all I could do was whimper and breathe, whimper and breathe.

“Tell me what you want,” he said.

My body clenched around his fingers, and all I could say was “You.” His thumb pressed hard against my most sensitive spot just like it had the night before, and I said, again, “Oh God, you.”

All I knew was that he was too far away, and I didn’t need any more foreplay. Our whole damn relationship had been foreplay. I wanted him now.

I reached a hand down toward him, and he laced his fingers with mine. I tugged, and he stood from where he’d been kneeling. I pulled again, and he put his knee on the bed between my thighs.

He hovered above me, his body lean and muscled, and his eyes predatory. He looked like he wanted to devour me, and I was all too willing to be his victim.

I released his hand to touch his waist, and then I pulled his body down on top of mine. I threw my head back and moaned at the contact.

His mouth went to my shoulder, tracing along the line of my muscle to my collarbone. His thigh pressed up and against my center, and I held my breath. He lifted his head to look at me. When our eyes met, he pressed against me again, and the breath I’d been holding tore from my lungs.

He bent to taste my lips, gentle and focused. I clutched at his back, marveling at the way his muscles flexed and moved as kissed me.

“Please,” I said again. “Please Jackson.”

His eyes softened, and he pressed his forehead against mine. His eyes closed, and he took a slow, deep breath. Then he leaned down and placed a kiss on my sternum, between the swell of my breasts.

“Give me a second.”

He slid off of me, and I felt like I was drowning every second that it took for him to grab a condom and come back to me.

I rose up on my elbows, and he crawled above me. He kissed me sweetly, slowly, and the frenzy of our previous moments disappeared. There was a level of intimacy in just kissing him that I’d never experienced, and it left me excited and terrified of what came next.

Sex had never been a big deal to me. But everything about Jackson was a big deal. I was afraid I wouldn’t be good enough, afraid that I wouldn’t know how to have the kind of sex that meant something. What if when it was over, he regretted crossing that line?

His hand smoothed over my cheek and he said, “Don’t. Don’t do that.”

I didn’t know if he knew the exact line of my thoughts or just that I was worried, but it soothed me all the same.

He kissed me, and then slowly eased me back on the bed. He lay beside me, and I turned on my side to face him. I laid my head on his arm, and he pulled me into his chest, just holding me for a moment. We’d held each other like this before, but this time was different. My heart was thundering, and my skin sang. His hand traced down the line of my spine, and I arched into him. He continued over my hip and down my leg, his fingers curling behind my knee. A zing of electricity shot from my knee up to my core as he pulled my leg over his hip.

Our mouths met and he said, “God, I love the way you taste.”

He leaned into me, situating his leg between mine, and aligning our hips. He pushed inside me, and for a moment my whole body seemed to forget how to work. My blood forgot to pump, my lungs forgot to breathe, and my hips forgot to move.

His hands tightened on me, and he released a low groan into my neck.

He growled, “I love the way you feel.”

Laying on my side like this with our legs twined together, he reached deep inside me. I’d never had sex like this, wrapped up in another person until it was impossible to find the divide between us. His hips withdrew and then pushed again, and the friction had me arching my back.

My hips stayed aligned with his, but I bent backward until my head and half my back rested on the bed. Jackson leaned with me, curling around my body. His mouth burned a hot path from my collarbone down into the valley between my breasts. He kept a hand at the small of my back and used it to pull me in every time he surged forward.

He rained kisses down on my chest, and I clutched the back of his head, needing to feel him, to hold him against me.

He trailed up again, flicking his tongue over my collarbone and scraping his teeth against the column of my throat. My skin broke out in goose bumps, and I shuddered in his arms. He placed a kiss on the underside of my jaw, and I dipped my head down to meet his.

His tongue plunged into my mouth, mimicking the deep movement of the rest of his body, and I clung to him as he wrung pleasure from my body with each slow thrust.

“Kelsey,” he whispered.

I had to pry my eyes open, and even then each time his skin slid against mine I had to fight to hold up my eyelids. He pressed his forehead into mine, and rather than falling into his dark eyes, they seemed to pour something into me. Confidence, maybe. Or affection. Whatever it was, I stopped worrying about how this would play out. I stopped thinking of the ways I was inadequate. I stopped everything that didn’t have to do with this moment.

He said, “God, do you have any idea what you do to me? Any idea how long I’ve wanted you?”

I didn’t have any ideas about anything, except that I was so close.

I hooked my hand around his hip, my fingers splaying from his lower back to the curve of the rest of his body. I pressed my fingers into his skin, my fingernails spurring him on.

“Harder,” I begged.

His hips pushed forward, and I felt it all the way to my toes.

He slid the arm out from underneath my head and lifted himself up. He kept one knee between mine, and our hips fitted together. He used the leg I’d had around his hip to guide me onto my back. Then clutching my leg to his chest, he gave me exactly what I asked for.

His hips rolled into mine first, as I adjusted to the new position, then rocked forward harder. On his second thrust, I reached up and pressed my hand flat against the headboard.

His pace shifted from slow and steady to fast and hard and the bed creaked beneath us. I sucked in a breath, holding it as I drew closer and closer, and then I was falling all over again. Falling from that bridge. My heart in my throat. Falling for him. My heart in my hands. Falling apart. Falling together.

Falling into place.

It felt like hours before my heartbeat slowed, and I was strong enough to open my eyes.

When I did, my head was both clouded and clear. I couldn’t have remembered fractions or the state capitols or maybe even my name. Those things had been locked behind a wall of bliss. But Jackson’s face above mine? That was clear, as was the way just the sight of him made my heartbeat pick up again.

He lowered my leg to the outside of his hips, so that he was cradled between my thighs.

He leaned down and teased my tired lips with his own.

He said, “I could watch that a hundred more times. A thousand.”

I scrunched my nose up, certain that I’d probably made some hideous face in the throes of the moment. He smoothed the lines on my forehead with his thumb and said, “ I want to memorize the way your eyes clench shut and you bite down on your lip, so that I can sketch your expression from memory. I want to know the exact angle of the way your neck curves, and how many times your heart beats a minute. I want to know everything.”

I swallowed, my heart speeding up when it should have been slowing down. There were things about myself that even I didn’t want to know, let alone share them with him.

Changing the subject, I asked, “So you don’t regret crossing that line?”

His mouth trailed across my jaw, and he hummed under his breath.

“I can still think of a few other lines I’d like to cross before the night is through.”

He rolled, pulling me on top of him, our bodies still intimately connected. The friction teased my sensitive skin, and I had to steady myself with my hands on his chest.

He traced the curve of my body from my breast to my waist to my hip and said with a wicked grin, “You’re adventurous, right?”

Now, this was the kind of adventure I was always on board for.

Hours stretched into days, and we only left the apartment in Riomaggiore when we had to. We got whatever food and supplies we needed, but we never lasted very long before our tastes turned away from food.

Our seventh day came and went, and neither of us made any move to leave or end our time together. And I began to understand the Via dell’Amore a little more, that chair and all those locks. I realized it wasn’t the lock that mattered so much as the fact that it required a key.

Jackson had found every little sensitive nook that made my toes curl and my eyes roll back in my head. He knew what made me hold my breath and what made me cry out his name. He unlocked my body, and in doing so unlocked doors that held nothing but stale air and bad memories.

If I believed the stories I learned growing up, God made the world in six days and on the seventh day he rested. I wondered if, like me, the eighth day was when he watched it all begin to unravel.

23

I woke, my breaths pushing from my lungs like broken glass. Jackson wasn’t in bed beside me, and I curled into a ball, glad for his absence.

Pieces of my dream were slipping away, and I couldn’t decide whether I wanted to try to hold on to them to examine or to push them away so I wouldn’t have to.

I’d been twelve again, but in that way that dreams don’t make sense, I was also twenty-two. Mom and Dad were arguing in the kitchen, and Mr. Ames, Dad’s business partner, had come upstairs. He said he was looking for a bathroom, but there were two on the bottom floor. He touched my shoulder. He told me I was soft. And like those animated flip books I played with as a kid, the sheets of my dream began to fan, and it wasn’t Mr. Ames’s hand against me, but the boy I’d lost my virginity to just a year and a half later.

He trailed his fingers to my neck, and then down to my chest. The pages flipped. More hands, a different one on every page. Some looked familiar. Some didn’t. But with each page, the hands swept across my body. The pages flipped and the locations began to change along with the hands—the back of a pickup truck, my freshman dorm, my apartment, a few hostels.

The scene shifted, and it was me and Mr. Ames in all those places, and I screamed and cried long after the dream had shifted on to a new person, a new place. And each hand carved away a part of me, sanded and chiseled until I was hollowed out, a wisp of a girl.

I pulled away, crying, and stumbled from a hostel bed to my parents’ living room couch. This time I was just me, present day, but my parents looked down at me like I was still only four feet tall.

Dad was talking, saying I was blowing things out of proportion. He morphed into Mr. Ames for just as second as he said, “Quit playing the victim.”

Mom asked me questions, asked me how Mr. Ames touched me and where. When I showed them, when I put my hand to my chest . . . I knew what was coming next. I knew the words like they were carved into my skin, like the pulse of my heart beat them out in Morse code.

I waited for them, cringed for them, begged for them because I needed to hear that it didn’t count.

But instead, my world was filled with Hunt, with his all seeing eyes, with his blistering touch, with his consuming kiss and the words, “Tell me this counts.”

His hands, large and callused lay atop my chest where the heart beneath had been sanded down to a tiny thing. In my dream, he held my crumbling body, and he told me that it was okay. His touch was soft and perfect and exactly what I wanted, but I didn’t stop crumbling in his arms, no matter how gentle he was.

That was when the lies I’d built so high that they scraped the sky shattered. Every brick I’d laid between me and that day when I was twelve crumbled as if they were made of something less than sand.

Because it mattered.

Who touches you, whether it’s your skin or your soul, matters.

I sat, huddled alone in bed in that Italian apartment, shaking from a dream that I knew was nothing more than synapses firing in my brain, collecting recent thoughts and putting them together regardless of sense or order. I knew that’s all it was, but things didn’t always have to make sense to be true.

And I could feel every hand that ever touched me, the ones that I’d welcomed along with the one that I didn’t, as if they were bearing down on me, pushing me below the current until I had no choice but to breathe in that shattered glass of truth.

It all counted.

Hunt walked through the door of our poisoned oasis, held up a bag, and said, “I’ve got breakfast.”

It took everything in me not to cry. Because he was perfect. So goddamn perfect. And I was a mess.

“Thanks,” I shrugged, the corners of my lips jumping briefly in a similar motion. “I’m not hungry, though.”

He laid the bag, probably containing some kind of pastry on the bedside table, and toed off his shoes.

Lifting one knee up onto the bed, he smirked, before crawling toward me. “I can think of a few ways to work up your appetite.”

He pushed my tangled hair to the other side of my neck, and lowered his mouth to my shoulder. I closed my eyes thinking he might be just the thing to clear away the cobwebs from all those newly opened doors.

Instead, his kiss was like a puncture wound, and I couldn’t decide which part hurt worse—the beginning or the end, the knife going in or pulling out. His sweet kiss only made me think of all the other kisses I’d given away without a thought. It only made me think of how much I didn’t deserve him. Or rather . . . he didn’t deserve to get stuck with someone like me.

I moved away from him in the guise of facing him instead.

“How long have you been up?”

He settled back against the headboard. “A while.”

“Couldn’t sleep?”

I wished I had never gone to sleep.

“Something like that.”

“More nightmares?”

He took hold of my waist, and pulled me back between his thighs. My back rested against his chest, and he tucked his chin over my shoulder.

“Enough about that. Any thoughts on how you’d like to spend the day, princess?”

The scruff on his jaw grazed my neck, and I shivered.

His hand smoothed up my thigh, and panicked, I said, “Let’s go out.”

He paused for a few seconds, and then wrapped his arms around me in a loose embrace.

“And do what?”

“I thought you were the one with all the plans.”

“Yes, well.” He pulled me close. “I’m easily distracted.”

God, first I can’t get him to make a move, and now he’s full of them.

“What about swimming? There was that swimming hole that the lady at the restaurant mentioned.”

“As if I could say no to you in a bathing suit.”

I donned the same swimsuit I’d worn that night in Budapest. His eyes went dark when he saw me, and he grasped one of the ties hanging off my hip, tugging me forward.

Against my better judgment, I melted into him. His touch was an addiction, and addictions don’t become any less desirable when they’re joined with pain. He kissed me, and his lips were an introduction to light after a life of darkness. The brightness hurt, but not nearly as bad as the thought of a life wasted in the black.

I made myself step away before I fell into pieces at his feet. I peeled his hands off my hips and said, “Later.”

Later, when I could get a grip. I just needed to shove all these emotions and memories into a box and pack them away into the back of my mind. Then things could go back to normal.

I saw his eyes drop to my lips, and I knew what he was considering, so I moved toward the door, putting several feet between us.

I said, “Absence makes the hard grow fonder.”

I turned the doorknob, and he embraced me from behind.

“I don’t think I could be any more fond of you.”

We followed the lover’s path once more toward Manarola. When we passed our lock at the mouth of the tunnel, he pulled me tight against his side and kissed my temple.

The easy path led us into the village within ten to fifteen minutes. Manarola sat perched on a rocky outcrop of land right on the coastline. It was even more colorful than Riomaggiore, and seemed to be more reliant on the sea than the first village. There were boats everywhere we turned, even if we weren’t down by the water.

We had some of the best gelato of our trip so far at 5 Terre Gelateria e Creperia. Another couple there directed us toward a swimming hole down by the rocks. The village streets declined steeply as we approached the harbor, and the swimming hole that the couple had mentioned was a natural pool encircled by rocks. Judging by the dark blue color in the center, I’d say it went fairly deep, too. We could climb down onto the rocks ourselves or there were some ladders that led down to the ocean. But it was a warm summer day and the water was already crowded with tourists. I saw a pasty, middle-aged, white man in his forties strip down right there on the rocks to change from his clothes into his swimsuit.

Hunt pressed his face into my hair, laughing.

We knew there were more places to swim in the other villages, so we decided to pass on that particular swimming hole and keep exploring.

The path that led from Manarola to Corniglia, the third village, couldn’t have been more different from the lover’s path. It was more of a true hike, winding upward away from the coast to the rocky hills. Eventually, the rocks gave way to green fields of lemon and olive trees, and grape vines and wildflowers. The smell of sea salt combined with the perfume of the flowers, and when Hunt caught me sniffing repeatedly at the air, he laughed.

I laughed too and shoved him. “What? It smells good.”

He dropped a kiss on my shoulder and said, “You smell good.”

Each time he said something like that, an ache formed in my chest. Not in my heart. Or my lungs. But in hollow places, in the gaps. Like a phantom limb, it ached in the places where I had lost a piece of myself along the way.

As we neared the village, we could see it set up above the rocks. As it turned out, there was a long flight of stairs at the end of the path that led up to the village. And based on our recent experience with the epic stairs in Heidelberg, I knew enough to know that getting up to the village was going to be a bitch.

I looked at Hunt.

“Don’t even think about pretending to sprain your ankle again. I’m on to you.”

I smiled. “I would never use the same con twice, sweetheart.”

Desperate to avoid the stairs, I started looking for another option to get up to the village. Maybe a train or a funicular. Instead, I stumbled upon some hand-drawn signs on a rock that said, “Guvano Beach” with an arrow. The word secret was scrawled above Guvano, and I was sold.

“Jackson!” I yelled. He followed, and together we took off in the direction of the arrow.

But it quickly became clear that an arrow was not going to suffice, and we had no clue where to head next. We walked down to a nearby house and an old woman stood hunched and sweeping on the porch.

Hunt tried to talk to her, but she didn’t speak English. I said, “Guvano.”

Her expression changed, her mouth making a small “o” and she nodded. She gestured for us to go around behind the houses and then mimed pushing a button.

We stood there unsure, and she gestured us away with her broom.

“Um . . . okay.”

Hunt took hold of my hand and together we walked behind a few houses down an ever-steepening slope until we found an old abandoned train tunnel. Another scrawled note said Guvano with an arrow through the tunnel. We found the button that the woman must have been referencing, and it said lights in both Italian and English above the button. Hunt pressed it, but nothing happened. He pressed again, still nothing.

“Let me try.”

Pitch-black.

We found a breaker box, and flipped every switch. Nothing.

“Are we doing this?” I asked, eyeing the dark path of doom ahead of us.

I mean, I wanted a beach, the more private the better. And since it seemed we had to travel to hell and back to get to this one, I was willing to bet it was pretty private.

Hunt shrugged his backpack off one shoulder, and pulled it around in front of him. “Hold on.” He rifled through his bag and came back with a cell phone.

“You have a cell phone with you? How did I not know you have a cell phone?”

He shrugged.

“I don’t really use it. For emergencies only, you know.”

I pulled mine out of my backpack and followed his lead. “Mine too.”

We passed through the entryway. The cell phone lights were feeble in the vast darkness of the tunnel, and it did little more than light up our arms and give us a vague, shadowy view of our feet.

I grasped Jackson’s elbow, and we shuffled slowly through the tunnel as it sloped downward. It was dank, and I could feel the grime settling on my feet as we walked, but I kept telling myself it would be worth it once we got to the beach.

We walked for a few minutes, and I kept expecting to see a light at the end, but there was nothing. The darkness stretched on forever and ever as we walked down and down, our footsteps echoing through the empty chamber around us.

When we were about ten minutes into the tunnel, a low rumbling began below my feet and then migrated to the walls. I heard the whisper of tiny pebbles falling and scattering to the ground. I looked at Hunt in horror, but it was too dark for me to see his face.

I clutched his waist and said, “Jackson. Train!”

The second word was drowned out by the roar of a train passing by. Not through. By. Still squeezing Hunt with all my might, I realized it was in the tunnel next to us. I breathed a sigh of relief that was swallowed by the noise of the train, and Jackson brushed a kiss across my forehead. I was too numb to react.

After that, we walked a little faster and within minutes we saw the light at the end of the tunnel.

We jogged the last one hundred yards or so, just ready to be back in the daylight. Here in this decrepit tunnel, I desperately missed the sweet air that I’d been enjoying earlier on our hike.

I tried not to think about how closely this resembled my earlier thoughts in the room. Thoughts about light and darkness. I was doing everything I could to not think about this morning and that stupid dream.

We emerged out into the sunlight, and it pierced our eyes at first. I squeezed my lids shut, and waited to adjust to the light. When I looked again, I saw a man waiting at the end of the tunnel, and we had to pay him five euro for the use of the passage.

Hunt was skeptical, but I rolled my eyes and pulled the money from my pack. I was reaching to hand him a few coins when a man about Jackson’s age walked past completely nude, a lit cigarette dangling from his mouth.

My jaw went slack, and I dropped a euro. It went skipping down the rocks in the direction the naked man had gone.

I laughed hesitantly, and fished out another coin for the tunnel troll.

Hunt said, “Are you sure you want—”

“We’re already here, aren’t we?”

I gripped his hand and pulled him away from the tunnel down toward Guvano Beach. It wasn’t a sand beach like I had pictured; instead, it was rocky like the rest of the villages, a small pebble slope that reclined into the water. There were less than ten other people on the beach, half of them completely naked.

We walked past a nude man and woman sun-bathing on a nearby rock and Jackson said, “Before you ask, no.”

I pouted. “Aw . . . come on. Don’t tell me you’re self-conscious. Believe me, you have nothing to worry about.” “I was talking about you, actually. But no, I’m not doing it either.”

“Me? Are you telling me what to do?”

I stepped away from him and pulled my sundress over my head. His eyes raked across my swimsuit-clad body. And he reached a hand out to the small of my waist. His thumb grazed the underside of my breast and he said, “I’m not sharing you with complete strangers.”

I slipped off my sandals too and said, “Look around, Jackson. They could care less. Besides . . . this is an adventure.”

My argument fell flat because he never took his narrowed eyes off of me.

I stepped out of his reach, and my hands went to the tie at my waist that kept the straps wrapping around my body in place.

His eyebrows pulled down into a warning glare. “Kelsey.”

“Jackson.” I smiled back.

This was good. This was what I needed, to live in the now and let go of the past. If I could cement myself in the present, all the craziness that had been drudged up could be washed away.

Slowly, I untied the knot at my hip. When I finished, the strap unfolded, uncovering more of my stomach. I let it hang down behind me while I reached for the knot on my other hip. When this one was untied, I would be able to unwind the suit completely, baring much more than my stomach to the air and sunlight.

“Kelsey, you’re not funny.”

I pressed a hand to my heart, pretending to be wounded. Then I smiled, and pulled down the fabric over my chest just a little, just enough to tease him.

He gave me a heat-filled look. Whether that heat came from anger or something else, I wasn’t sure. Nor did I care.

“What?” I shrugged. “Nobody likes tan lines.”

I untied the second knot, and started unwrapping the fabric, but before I could reveal much more than my stomach, Hunt charged.

He threw me over his shoulders, stopping me from unwinding into nudity.

“Jackson Hunt! You can’t just do this every time I do something you don’t like.”

“It’s worked pretty well so far.”

He started wading into the water with me on his shoulder. Two could play at this game.

I reached down for the waistband of his swim trunks, and tried to push them down over his hips. One of us was going to be naked one way or another.

I didn’t get his trunks down but an inch before he tugged me over his shoulder and tossed me into the water.

The salty water went up my nose, and I rose out of the water coughing, and Hunt burst out laughing.

“Oh, you’re going to be sorry, Hunt.”

I pushed the soaking mane of hair back from my face and glared at him. I backed away, knowing I’d need space for my next maneuver. When the water was up to my ribs, and I was far enough away from him that I felt sure he couldn’t get to me quickly, I grabbed my bathing suit top and tugged it over my head without unwrapping it the rest of the way.

The cool air hit me first, and I managed a small smile before Hunt reached me, and shoved me under the water, which seemed a little colder on this second dunk.

Thankfully, I kept my head above water.

“Jackson,” I tried to stand, but his hands shoved my shoulders back down at the same time that a wave crested against my back.

The bathing suit slipped out of my hand, and when I tried to reach down and grab it back, I came back with only water.

“Uh-oh,” I said.

“What does that mean? Are you okay? Did you get stung or cut yourself?”

I held off answering for a moment, hoping his fear for my safety would soften his reaction to the fact that I now had no way of covering myself up.

“This is your fault,” I prefaced.

“Kelsey, just tell me what happened,” he yelled.

“I might have lost my bathing suit.”

His lips pulled into a thin, angry line.

I smiled.” Adventure?”

He shook his head, and exhaled through his nose.

I swam backward a ways, and he followed. Then I lay back and let my body float up, my chest rising above the water. “Adventure,” I teased again. I waited for him to say something, but I seemed to have distracted him from his anger.

His eyes were glued to my chest, and I smiled in victory.

“You could join me, you know.”

He was still almost fully clothed since he hadn’t bothered to take off his shirt or shoes before dragging me into the water.

He looked tempted, so I added, “We could swim out a little farther.” I pointed to an outcropping of rocks on the side of a cliff that was far enough away from the beach for us not to attract too much attention. “You could put your clothes there until we’re ready to go back.”

It was remarkably easy to get him to agree with me while I wasn’t wearing a top.

Once we reached the rocks, I slipped off my bathing suit bottoms and the now ruined sandals that I’d been wearing when he tossed me in. He followed suit, shedding his shirt, shorts, and shoes.

Then we were naked and somewhat alone in a blue green ocean.

Treading water, we moved closer to each other, until our knees bumped.

“It’s later,” he said. “You did tell me later.”

I swallowed. I could do this. It was a matter of will power. Of control. I wanted this.

He touched a strand of my wet hair, and I wrapped my arms around his neck. My wet breasts smashed into his chest, and he said, “All right, maybe I’m a little okay with nude beaches.”

Shivers chased across my skin. I pressed my cheek to his, concentrating on breathing. His tongue tasted the salt on my shoulder, and I dug my fingernails into his back, not because of desire, but because of fear.

I wanted his touch to heal the hurt. I wanted to lose myself in his kiss, so that I could forget. But he didn’t heal or eclipse, he illuminated. Every single second I spent with him was perfect, which somehow only seemed to excavate more pain.

I pulled his head away from my shoulder, needing a break. His eyes locked onto mine, deep and warm. I wasn’t sure exactly what I saw in his gaze, but it felt too big to fathom, like explaining the unexplainable. Like seeing the light of a star and knowing that light is billions of years old. Like the way time slows near a black hole.

And as we stared, unnamed truths passing between us, Hunt’s kicking feet weren’t enough to keep us afloat. The water moved from my chest to my shoulders, from my shoulders to my neck.

And I thought drowning was the perfect word for the way he made me feel. Drowning after a life of drought.

He laughed and said something about deep water not really being the ideal place for the kind of exploring he wanted to do. I might have laughed. Sound was muted, like we’d slipped below the water, and I was still trapped there beneath the surface.

We slipped our clothes back on, and Hunt tried to make me take his shirt.

“I’ll just have to take it off when we get up there. I’m not wearing your soaking wet shirt when I could put my sundress back on.”

Reluctantly, he agreed.

He didn’t put his shirt back on. And when we were close enough to shore that our feet could touch, I climbed onto Hunt’s back, and he carried me out of the water, my bare chest hidden against his back.

He found a small, rocky alcove and he tried to block me from view as I changed, even though no one on the beach was even paying attention to us. Then together we headed back for the tunnel.

I stopped him and unzipped one of the pockets on his bag.

“Let me get your phone.”

“Kelsey, wait—”

I’d already grabbed the phone and swiped my finger across the screen.

He had seventeen voice mail messages.

My brows furrowed, and I looked up at him. “I thought you said this phone was just for emergencies. Why haven’t you listened to your voice mails?”

“Because they’re not emergencies. I’m sure of it.”

I asked, “Who are they from?”

“Nobody important. We should hurry through the tunnel. We’ve got to head back to Riomaggiore for the night.”

I should have pushed. I should have dug my feet in and refused to move until he told me the truth. That’s what I should have done.

I didn’t.

I let him take the phone, and I followed him into that pitch-black tunnel without saying a word.

He kept my hand clasped loosely in his, and I began to consider what I really knew about him. Which was not a hell of a lot. And the more I thought about that, the more I was certain that he was hiding something from me, something that would break apart our already fragile relationship.

Still, I didn’t ask. Not even in the tunnel where he couldn’t see my face, and I couldn’t see those eyes.

Because there was a part of me, small but not silent, that saw this as an escape. It was the same broken part of me that preferred the dark to the light. If I didn’t know his secret, he never had to know mine.

24

We didn’t sleep together that night. Not because either of us made an excuse, but just because. When our backs hit the mattress, both of us were so in our own worlds that the thought of closing the distance between us never occurred. At least not for me.

The room was pitch-black. The village was so untouched by society that they didn’t even have street lamps. The occasional house would have a light out front, but not ours.

The darkness was filled with silence covered in stillness, and when I listened for Jackson’s steady breathing, I couldn’t hear it.

I wondered what kept him awake. Could he tell I’d been off? Could he feel the way I recoiled when he kissed me? Or was it his own secrets that kept his brain moving, unable to rest.

I’d thought I was exploring the world, but maybe I’d been running. Maybe I’d been running for a very long time, and perhaps he was, too. And whatever he was running from—a girlfriend, family, a mistake—it wasn’t giving him up easily.

The silence grew a heartbeat, and I listened to the rhythm to pass the time, until finally Hunt’s slow breaths joined the symphony, and I could relax. I slipped off the bed, not to go anywhere, but just because I needed to be on my feet.

I shuffled slowly, my hands outstretched until I found the wall, then I sunk into it, pressed my cheek against it and tried to breathe.

You’re overreacting.

The thought came automatically, like a song on repeat, and it nearly swept my feet out from under me.

Those words had been thrown at me too much, and I’d taken them up like armor, and I’d used them to close off all the ugly emotions inside of me. I guess I’d had to sacrifice some of the good ones, too. Because now that those were back, all the ugly ones were, too.

The effort of pretending all day today had worn on me like sandpaper, and my skin felt raw. There was a truth that I needed to face. It screamed from the back of my mind, and I didn’t think I could survive listening to it.

I needed something to drown it out.

I didn’t think as I fled that tiny apartment. I pulled on a pair of shorts and some sandals. I told myself that my nightgown top could pass for a blouse, and I descended the rickety stairs slowly, ignoring the impulse in my blood that told me to run. Far and fast.

Riomaggiore wasn’t exactly the picture of nightlife, but I found a bar by looking for lights and listening for people,

It was filled with mostly tourists, and I took an empty seat at the front. I told the bartender to bring me anything, anything at all.

He started telling me about a special lemon liqueur called limoncello that was homemade from the lemons his family grew. I tuned him out and reached for the small glass he held, and tipped it back in one go.

I’d expected it to be sour, but it was bittersweet. It tasted like lemon drops with just a hint of Pledge, but I didn’t care.

“Sip!” The bartender mimed sipping, like maybe I was misunderstanding his broken English. I understood it perfectly.

I held up a finger and said, “Another. Wait, no. Bring me the bottle.”

His brows furrowed, and I said louder, “The whole bottle. All of it.”

I laid a few of my largest bills on the counter, probably twice as much as the bottle was worth, but I didn’t care. I took the neck of the bottle when he handed it over, and I tipped it straight back.

It burned, but not enough.

Alcohol was supposed to sterilize, right? Because I needed that. I needed to burn out the infection and numb my wounds.

A guy came up to talk to me, and I was so at a loss for what to do that I felt the tears collecting like rain at the back of my throat. In the end, I sent him away, even as I thought about following him.

I’d come here with every intention of losing myself the way I used to. I just wanted it to stop hurting, and it hadn’t hurt so badly when I’d spent every night in a bar with a different guy. It had been a different kind of pain then. Hollow, almost. The pain of absence. Like missing someone you haven’t seen in a long time. That, at least, was the kind of ache you could learn to live with.

This current pain was sharp. Unexpected. And I couldn’t control it. Sometimes it happened when Jackson would touch me, but often it didn’t even take that. Just a thought or a feeling or a memory could conjure it. And each time I felt like my lungs had been punctured and I was drowning without any water.

I took another swig from the bottle, and it was too damn sweet for a moment this sour.

The only thing I could think of was that this was the price of trying to be whole again. I’d turned myself off all those years ago, so that I wouldn’t have to feel the things I’d lost. And unbeknownst to me, I was losing more of myself every single day. The universe wouldn’t let me move on without feeling those things.

But maybe I could get stuck again. Maybe I could find my way back to that stagnant life where nothing ever changed, and things were never very bright, but they weren’t too dark either.

I could find my way back there. I could. And it would be better when I did.

“Kelsey?”

No. No, please, no.

I took a bigger gulp, hoping it would transport me out of this moment. I was like a child wishing for Narnia in a coat closet, but I wasn’t so naive to believe I would get what I wished for.

“Kelsey, what are you doing here?”

God, I didn’t know how to answer. I didn’t know whether to be cold and push him away or to fall into his arms. Either option would hurt, and that’s what I was trying to avoid.

So, I stayed silent and took another drink.

“Hey,” he snatched the bottle from my hand. “Look at me. You don’t need that.”

I pressed my cheek against the cracked, worn wood of the bar, and watered it with the steady leak at the corner of my eye. I squeezed my eyes shut and mumbled, “Just leave me alone. Please. Leave me alone.”

“Princess, what’s the matter? What happened?”

“Nothing happened. I’m fine. Can’t a girl get a drink?”

I reached for the limoncello, but he stepped between the bottle and me.

“Not like this. Not in the middle of the night, still wearing what you wore to bed.” His fingers plucked at the lacy strap of my top, and he continued, “Not when you’re clearly upset. I don’t know what happened, but this isn’t the answer. I’ve been there. I thought it was the solution, but it only amplified the problem. Come talk to me.”

“I am the problem! Don’t you get that? This is who I am. This is the only way I can survive.”

“That’s not true. You have so much more than this. Whatever you’re running from, it’s just a thing, a memory. It can’t dictate your life.”

I pushed my hands up into my hair and squeezed, trying not to cry.

“It already did. And now it’s not just one memory . . . it’s a thousand. And I can’t run. This isn’t me running. This is me giving in.”

I raised my hand and called the bartender. He started moving my way, but then Jackson pointed a finger at him and said, “No. Don’t give her anything else.”

Damn it. Now I was going to have to search for another bar because Hunt was sure as hell more intimidating than I could ever hope to be.

“I understand what you’re doing, Jackson. And it’s sweet, and I’m thankful, but it’s not going to work. Let me save us both the time and the trouble.”

We had only known each other a matter of weeks, and already the darkness had crept in. If we couldn’t beat it at the beginning when everything was fresh and the emotions were the most intense, there was no hope for a future here.

He moved in close, gripping my jaw and drawing my eyes up to his. “I told you the night we met that I didn’t care what you think you needed, and now is no exception. I’m not letting you do this.”

He took hold of my elbow and started pulling me out of the bar.

I tugged my arm loose, and stumbled back a few feet.

“You can’t just drag me along or throw me over your shoulder to get what you want, Jackson. Not this time. You’ll only make it worse.”

“Make what worse? Explain to me what’s happening. What’s changed?”

“Nothing.” I pulled at the corner of my lips like puppet strings. “That’s the point. I’ve been acting like I’ve changed. Like I’m the kind of person who can run away for an adventure with you or waste days in your bed. Like I’m the kind of person who can fall in love. I’m not. That part of me disappeared a long time ago.”

I brushed past him and out into the night, wondering if there would even be another bar in a village like this.

“Is this because of what happened when you were younger?”

I froze, stiff as a stone. I could feel the tiny pebbles that had snuck between the bottom of my foot and my sandal. I could hear the scratching noise in my lungs from trying to inhale and hold my breath at the same time. I could sense Hunt at my back by following the waves of my panic like sonar. I turned. “How do you know about that?”

“You said something . . . the night you were drugged. No details, just that . . . you knew what it felt like to be taken advantage of. I didn’t want to push you to talk about it if you weren’t ready, but I’ve been picking up clues, and if that’s why this is happening, you have to know it wasn’t your fault. Whatever was done to you . . . it was outside your control.”

“That’s not why I can’t do this. It’s a part of it, yes. It’s what came afterward, the part that was in my control.”

That’s what was killing me.

“Just tell me what you’re thinking. Talk it through. Maybe that will help.”

That was the last thing I wanted to do. The more I opened up, the more it hurt. That’s how all of this shit started.

I turned and started walking, the slope of the village down toward the water making it impossible to do so slowly.

“I’m not letting you walk away from this,” Jackson said behind me. “I’ve watched you let go and open up. I’ve watched your smile change from forced to brilliant. I won’t watch you back peddle just because it’s hard.”

I turned, furious.

“Screw you. You don’t get to belittle what I’m feeling and tell me I should suck it up. That’s all I’ve ever done is ignore what hurts, and look at where it’s fucking gotten me.”

His hands cradled my jaw, his fingertips pressing just hard enough that it cut through the haze of alcohol.

“I’m not belittling how you feel. I would never do that. I’m just asking you to let me in. Let me feel it with you.”

I tried to pull my face away, but he held strong. “You don’t really want that.”

“Try me.”

Rage bubbled up in me. I couldn’t tell what from or if it was for him or myself. All I knew was that I was overflowing with it. I pushed him away, his fingertips scrabbling at my cheeks.

“You want to hear it? Fine. It’s a simple story really, about a pretty girl who was pretty stupid. She let a man touch her because she was scared to say no, and then she told her parents because she was scared to say nothing. Then they were scared to do anything that might ruin their pretty little lives, so they told the girl that it was nothing. That just being touched wasn’t enough to fight for. Too scared to prove them wrong, she kept going like it was nothing, and she let more people touch her, never knowing that she was handing out pieces of herself. Or, hell, maybe she knew deep down, and she just hated herself so much that she was glad to be rid of them. And life wasn’t pretty, but it also wasn’t scary until she met a man with two names who touched her without taking and made her miss the pieces she had lost. And now things aren’t just scary, they’re fucking terrifying, and I can’t do it. I can’t live like this, knowing all that I’ve ruined and that it can’t be fixed.”

He caught my hands as they pulled through my hair, and pulled my body against his, and I felt all the holes in me. My sobs echoed through them like caverns, and I never would have thought empty could be made of such weight.

I couldn’t breathe around it.

25

A tightness was forming in my neck, like it was clamped in a slowly tightening vise.

Crushing.

Constricting.

If I didn’t get outside, I’d never be able to breathe. If I didn’t get outside, it felt like I was going to turn inside out, that my body would just give way and my insides would pour out. Wait . . . I was outside. It was dark and the air was cool, but I still couldn’t breathe. Why couldn’t I breathe?

I had to hold on to Hunt to keep from stumbling backward and falling. Panic pooled in my body, lapping around my chin, threatening to pull me under any second now.

“Sit down.”

Hunt’s face appeared in front of me, blurry then clear, blurry then clear.

“Kelsey, just sit down.”

Now that I thought about it, my legs were shaking. I didn’t think I could walk long enough to find a place, so I just reached for the gravel road.

Instead, Hunt scooped me up and placed me on a bench. I looked around. We were in a boat. A boat of blue that someone had tied up outside their pastel green house. The details helped somehow, so I searched for more. Dark green shutters. Three floors. A mangy dog sleeping on the porch. A child’s toys forgotten in a corner.

Hunt was there beside me, asking me questions. His mouth was moving forever before I was able to understand him.

“You’re having a panic attack. Breathe. Just breathe. Close your eyes.”

I did what he said, and all I could say was, “Sorry.”

I was many things, but mostly I was sorry.

“Oh, princess. Don’t be. You never have to be sorry with me.”

I noticed my chest jumping before I noticed I was crying. “You’re okay.” His voice was deep and calm, and he pulled me into him. It didn’t make sense, but with my face buried in his shoulder, it was somehow easier to breathe.

“I don’t know where to start. I’m not that good with words. I’m a visual person. I know what I see, and I know that you are not missing any pieces. Not any, sweetheart.” My lungs ached, and my head spun. I held him tightly just waiting for it all to stop. “You’re bruised and battered from dealing with things you should not have had to face, but you are not less because of that. You’re more.” His hands smoothed through my hair, gentle and soothing. “Your parents were wrong. What happened to you was wrong. And they should have fought for you. You were brave enough to tell them, and they failed you, and I’m sorry. And I’m sorry that you had to learn how to medicate your own pain, and it’s not your fault that you had to do that. Someone should have been there to help you in another way. They weren’t, and that’s awful, but it’s also over. And this time I’m here, and I’m telling you there are other ways.”

I pulled back, wiping at my wet cheeks and said, “I thought that’s what you would be. I thought being with you was helping—but, oh God, it hurts worse.” I curled over onto my knees, as if making myself the smallest target possible would keep the pain from finding me. “Being with you made me realize what I’d been missing.”

“Shouldn’t that make you happy? That being with me feels good?”

“It does make me happy. When it doesn’t make me sad. I don’t know how to balance the two.”

His hand slid up my back, and then he pulled me up, prying me open. His hand curved around my cheek, and his thumb brushed over my bottom lip. “Not how you tried tonight. That doesn’t balance anything. It throws away the scale. I did the same thing once on leave. I went back to that life, tried to drink away what I saw in the sand. It made it easier to face when I was drunk, but twice as hard to see when I was sober.”

“God, I’m terrible. Making this huge deal when you’ve seen so much worse.”

“Stop.” He pulled my face close. “Don’t do that. Your parents may have made light of what happened to you, but there was nothing light about it. I signed up for the military. Mine was a choice.”

“So how did you deal with it?”

He smiled. “Trial and error.” His eyes dropped to my lips. “And I make sure there’s always another option that I want more. Just stay with me. We’ll beat it together, okay? Say you’ll stay with me.”

I swallowed, hoping that was enough. “Okay.”

“Okay?”

“If you’ll tell me one thing.”

“Anything.”

“The voice mails,” I began, and he tensed immediately. “There’s not . . . someone back home waiting for you is there? A girl?”

“Oh God. No, Kelsey. There’s no one but you. I swear.”

I nodded. “Okay.” Anything else I could deal with.

He pulled me into his lap. And this time, at least, it didn’t hurt.

We spent another few days in Cinque Terre, airing out our issues on hiking trails and ocean-side cliffs. There was no magic fix. I had trouble sleeping, and so did he. We reverted back to the way we’d been in Florence, finding sanctuary in simple touches only.

Jackson decided we needed a change of scenery to shake things up, so we went to Rome.

How crazy was that? Need something different, so hop on over to the home of arguably the most powerful ancient civilization. No big. For the first time, we acted like tourists, and I didn’t even care.

It was easy to pretend in the daylight. We were both good at that.

We took a walking tour of the city, saw the Colosseum and the Roman Forum and the Theater of Marcellus. Rome was a city I’d studied extensively in my theatre-history class, so I became a walking Wikipedia page as I told him about how the Colosseum had worked and the other crazy things the Romans did for entertainment.

“Mock sea battles,” I said. “They would actually fill up an entire arena with water, and watch two ships full of people battle until one sunk.”

“Sounds awesome.”

“Hell yes, it does. Except for, you know, the hundreds upon thousands of people who probably died.”

“Right, of course,” he said, laughing. “You know, you seem to really love this stuff.”

“Rome? I don’t think there’s anyone in the world who doesn’t love this stuff at least a little. Thank Russell Crowe.”

“No, I mean, the history. You could be a teacher.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Me? Um, I would probably cuss out a student on the first day.”

I thought about that day in Budapest with my young artist. It had been exciting, helping him, but I’d also wanted to punch that bully in the solar plexus.

“No, you wouldn’t. You would be great. And all your students would actually listen because you’re gorgeous.”

“Yes, that’s what qualifies me for being a teacher. Having boobs.”

He shrugged. “That would have been enough for me when I was in high school.”

I shook my head and changed the subject. “I know you told me you don’t have anything waiting for you back home. Does that mean you’re still in the military?”

“Not anymore, no.”

I touched his shoulder where I knew he had a thin scar, wondering if that had something to do with it.

“And you don’t have anything to get back to?”

“I told you, Kelsey.” He pressed his forehead against mine. “I’m all yours.”

That night, he set out to prove it. Slowly, like we were starting all over from scratch.

He kissed me until there was no trace of pain in his touch, until I couldn’t remember any other lips but his.

He found every little sensitive nook that made my toes curl and my eyes roll back in my head. He knew what made me hold my breath and what made me cry out his name.

He particularly enjoyed that discovery.

He explored my body like he was the very first one, and in many ways, it felt that way for me, too.

He held me close, his fingers wrapped up in my hair and our bodies connected. His breath tickled across my lips, and I thought . . . this is what it means to trust someone.

I didn’t realize I was crying until he kissed away the tears.

I didn’t realize a lot of things when I was caught up in him.

From Rome we headed to Naples, where I had three goals: pizza, Pompeii, and more pizza. And maybe to surreptitiously take pictures of Italian men in suits that I thought could be part of the Mafia. But that was an unofficial goal.

We boarded a regional train from Rome and found an empty compartment in the last car. There were three seats facing each other on each side of the compartment. Hunt took a seat by the window, and I sat in the middle and snuggled up against him.

“So, I was thinking we might go to Capri after Naples. It’s not too far.”

“Are there more nude beaches?” I asked.

He pinched my side, and I squealed, contorting my body away from him. He pulled me back to him laughing, and the train slowly pulled out of the station.

I said, “Fine. Then I’ll have to go shopping for another swimsuit.”

He shrugged. “I’m okay with that. As long as you model the options for me.”

I said, “I think I can handle that,” and launched myself into his lap, giggling.

He slid away from the window a little, so my knees could fit on either side of him. His eyes flicked to the compartment door, checking that the curtain was drawn.

“Now, this is by far the best way to travel.”

I found that spot on his jaw that drove him crazy and concentrated my energy there. His hands gripped my hips, pulling me down against him.

“Kelsey.”

I ground my hips against him, and his head dropped back against the seat with a groan. God, I would never get tired of doing this to him.

“Kelsey, how are you feeling?”

“Really?” I pressed my chest against his. “Do you actually have to ask that?”

He pulled my hands from his shoulders and pushed them down by my thighs. “I didn’t mean that. I meant about the things we discussed in Cinque Terre. These days in Rome have been fun, but I need you to be honest with me and tell me where you’re at.”

“At the moment, I’m in your lap.”

“I’m serious. There are some things I want to talk about, but I don’t want to push you too fast.”

That didn’t sound even remotely like a way I wanted to pass this train ride.

I pulled his face forward and said, “Kiss now, talk later.”

“Kelsey—”

“I don’t know, Jackson. I don’t know how I feel yet. I’m so used to pretending, to shoving it all away and pasting on a smile that sometimes I don’t even realize I’m doing it. I’m trying, but I don’t know.”

His eyes searched mine for a few seconds, and I saw something flicker there that looked like pain, and I didn’t want him to pity me any more than he already did.

So, I leaned down to kiss him again. He hesitated, and I pulled his bottom lip between my teeth. His hips lifted up into me, and his mouth seized mine.

“Irresistible,” he breathed.

“So you keep telling me.”

His hands ventured up from my hips to tease the skin just below the hem of my shirt. Then he stopped teasing and slid one hand up my spine to the clasp of my bra. My whole body seemed to bloom at his touch, like my heart expanded and my ribs had to unfold like petals to make room.

He broke our kiss and said again, “Kelsey.”

“Jackson.” I rocked against him again, and his body locked up, his grip so hard on me that it was almost painful. Almost. Really it just made me want him more.

“I didn’t think I would feel this way.”

“What way?” I asked.

“Like life is worth living again.”

I pulled back so that I could look into his eyes, and that feeling, that attachment I’d felt to him was no longer a hook, but an anchor buried deep in my rib cage.

“I didn’t believe you when you told me I would find another place to call home.” I kissed him tenderly, trying to pour all my gratitude and affection and all the other unnamed things that I felt into my kiss. “This feels like home.”

26

We subsisted on pizza, gelato, and coffee for two full days in Naples before taking a train out to the ancient city of Pompeii. I was so fascinated by the history there, and the way their lives were so perfectly preserved by the volcanic eruption that stopped this place in time. We wandered the ruins, looking at the frescoes and columns and homes that had been left behind.

There were stray dogs everywhere, and a small mutt with gorgeous blue eyes that I named Chachi followed us for almost the entire day. The ruins held not one, but two theaters. Yet, all that paled in comparison to seeing the plaster casts of the bodies. When the town had been buried, the people were buried along with it. And when the ancient city was rediscovered, the people had returned to dust, but the shapes of their bodies in their last moments were preserved in the volcanic rock. There were people with their hands over their mouths or trying to shelter another person. Some had barely even had time to protect themselves before they died.

And now they were frozen in time, stuck forever as an example of the tragedy that took place here.

I could identify with that. Despite being able to move and breathe and talk, I’d felt stuck for a long time, leaving a past I wanted to forget and headed toward a future I didn’t want. Until Hunt.

He made me feel like I didn’t have to keep heading in the same direction. I’d thought I needed this trip to give me a story, one that I could take with me through the rest of my miserable life for comfort or consolation. But he made me think I could have a bigger story, one that didn’t end when this trip was over.

Maybe being a teacher wasn’t such a bad idea after all. My father would scoff at the idea, and think I could do so much better. But history was filled with stories, some good and some bad, and I loved the way those stories made history about more than just dates and names and places. History was filled with people just like me, who just so happened to make a choice that impacted the way the time unfolded. I was so eager to leave my own mark on the world, but maybe I was meant to study the mark of others.

“What are you thinking about?” Hunt asked.

“History.”

“Yours or the ancient kind?”

“Both.”

He laid a hand across my shoulder and asked, “And what have you come up with?”

“Just that history matters. Mine, and yours, and the world’s. The past is frozen. Written in stone. But the future isn’t.”

As we explored more history over the next few days, I thought a lot about the future. Jackson and I went scuba diving to look at another ancient city just off the coast of Naples that had sunk into the sea hundreds of years ago.

I watched him swimming past coral and fish and Roman statues that had been claimed by the sea, and knew that I wanted him to be a part of my life. But I didn’t know how to tell him that.

Sure, we’d said things that implied what we meant to each other, hints at how we felt. But actually talking about the future and how the two of us fit together in it? That was uncharted territory.

Even at just a few weeks, this relationship felt more serious than any of the others I’d had in my life. I’d never felt this way. I was used to the kind of relationship where the guy was more interested than I was. I spent my time worrying about when the guy would say he loved me, and how that would ruin the delicate balance of our relationship. I’d never been on the other side, wanting to say those words, but terrified that I was just feeling caught up in the moment. Terrified that I was wrong or that he wouldn’t say them back.

But I could feel our trip drawing to a close.

And I needed to know that I would see him again.

We took a boat to the island of Capri the next day. If ever there was a perfect place to broach the topic of a future between us, it was Capri. The crystal waters, high cliffs, and green landscape made the island look like paradise.

Indeed, it was so much of a paradise that it took us nearly an hour to find a place to stay.

Every place we found was already fully booked. Tired of lugging our packs around, we stopped at a small coffee place with an Internet café attached. Jackson searched for a place to stay while I caught up on my e-mail.

I sent a Facebook message to Bliss telling her about my adventures, but I left out any mention of Hunt. It wasn’t that I didn’t want her to know about him. With the way I felt, I wanted the whole world to know we were together. But . . . I didn’t want to say anything until I knew for sure that this would last.

With a degree of unease, I opened my e-mail just to check and make sure there wasn’t anything super important that I’d been neglecting.

As expected, I had over twenty unread messages from my father’s secretary. I didn’t have the patience to read them all. Except for the last one.

That one was from my father. Or at least my father’s e-mail.

I hesitated. Then opened the message.

Kelsey,

Your mother and I are very disappointed that you’ve neglected to answer our e-mails during the last few weeks. We expected you home for the charity event, and you caused your mother and me both great embarrassments with your absence.

You might also think of your mother. It’s not good for her to worry about you.

If you’re going to waste your life and spend all my money, you could at least have the decency to let us know you’re okay. If I don’t hear from you, I’m hiring a private investigator, and he will bring you home.

Sincerely,

Richard N. Summers

That was my dad. Good ole Richard N. Summers. Gotta love being treated like an employee by your own father. I almost hit reply. I had so many things I wanted to say to him, “I’m alive, douche-bag” being just the first.

But I believed him when he said he’d hire a private investigator. We’d gotten in the habit of paying in cash because they hadn’t really taken cards in Cinque Terre. I don’t think I’d used my card since Florence. He’d have a hell of a time finding us. His patience had run out, and if I told him where I was now, the odds were he’d have someone here tomorrow to drag me home.

Or I could keep going, and maybe it would take him another week or two to find me. I’d stopped using my card to pay for things after that last e-mail in Prague. I only withdrew cash from an ATM when we were leaving a city and moving on. So, other than the occasional ATM transaction, he wouldn’t have much to go on.

Tomorrow, I told myself. I’d take care of it tomorrow. I didn’t want him dragging me home, but I was also tired of running. If I had learned anything on this trip, it was that running from something didn’t mean it stopped chasing you. And I was tired of living life with all my problems nipping at my heels.

Today, I would talk to Hunt and find out where this was going. And then depending on how that went, I’d e-mail my father tomorrow. Either to tell him I was coming home . . . or to tell him something, anything that would let me hang on to this paradise a little longer.

“You ready?” Hunt asked over my shoulder. “What are you reading?”

I closed the window and logged off the computer.

“Just an e-mail from my father. Still trying to control me even with an entire ocean between us.”

He frowned, and I linked my arm with his. “It’s fine. I’m done letting him interfere with my life.”

It took several long moments for his eyes to clear, but then he smiled at me.

I asked, “Did you find a place for us to stay?”

“I did. It’s kind of a trek from here, so we should get whatever we need for our stay now so we don’t have to come back to the city center unless we want to. But the good news is it’s not far from a harbor where you and I have a reservation for a boat tour around the island.”

“Sounds perfect.”

We gathered our things, did a bit of shopping (including a new swimsuit for me), and found a taxi to take us to the bed-and-breakfast where we were staying.

I closed myself in the bathroom to change into my bathing suit, a simple black bikini top to go with the old black bottoms that I hadn’t lost in Cinque Terre.

I looked in the mirror, trying to gather my courage. Instead, I marveled at the way I had changed in the last few weeks.

In that bathroom in Heidelberg, I’d looked in the mirror and been disgusted with myself. I had looked sad and small and pathetic and ragged. Now . . . I looked happy. I mean, sure, I was tired from all the traveling and lugging my backpack around. My brow was lined with sweat from the non-air-conditioned taxi that had brought us here. And I was wearing just a dash of mascara, and nothing more. I had definitely looked prettier. But happier? Never.

That was all the pep talk I needed.

I pulled on another sundress, opened the bathroom door, and located Jackson sitting on the bed. I took a running leap, and threw myself at him.

His reflexes were too fast for me to surprise him, so instead he caught me, and rolled me underneath him.

I laughed, and he looked at me with such tenderness in his eyes. He propped himself up on one elbow, and ran his fingers through my hair splayed across a pillow.

“Someone is happy,” he said.

I nodded, and pulled him down for a kiss. I wrapped my legs around his waist, and he lowered himself down on top of me.

I hummed into his kiss and said, “It appears someone else is happy, too.”

27

We were five minutes late for our boat reservation. Totally worth it.

We rented a boat and hired a man named Gianni to captain it for us. Gianni was a plump, older man with a near-permanent frown and white eyebrows so bushy they looked more like a patch of whiskers. But even his grouchy, broken English couldn’t ruin this moment.

Gianni set off in silence, leaving Hunt and me toward the back of the boat just to enjoy the ride.

We rode straight out of the harbor first, the small inlet filled with boats disappearing quickly behind us. Then when we were far enough out that we could only see a few boats like ours out on the water, he turned and began circling the island.

I leaned back against the seat cushions and placed my feet in Hunt’s lap with a quick smile. His returned smile was devastatingly handsome. He glanced at an oblivious Gianni, and lifted up my foot, placing a sensuous kiss on the inside of my ankle the same way he’d done the night we first slept together. A shiver snaked down my spine, coiling low in my belly.

After a while, we settled into a comfortable silence. The boat’s motor was too loud to allow for much conversation anyway. So, I leaned back against the cushions to watch the land rise and fall around us, and Hunt pulled out his notebook, scratching away at another sketch.

Once we’d seen a good portion of the island at a distance, Gianni brought us close to the land again, this time a section devoid of a harbor and seaside buildings. He began to slow. The water below us was a vivid turquoise, but as we came into shallower water, we could see straight through to the fish and coral that lined the ocean bottom.

There were numerous other boats ahead of us gathered around one outcropping of rock. Gianni slowed to a stop and lowered a tiny rowboat into the water off the edge of our larger boat.

Gesturing toward an opening in the rock, he said, “Grotta Azzurra.” I took a wild guess, and assumed that Azzurra was related to the word azure.

“Blue?” I asked.

“Sì, Blue Grotto.”

He motioned for Hunt and me to climb down the ladder on the side of the boat, and into the canoe/small boat/thingamajig. Jackson went first, and I followed, and then Gianni came down last. It was a seriously small boat. I was a little worried about how it was going to handle the three of us. But I wasn’t going to argue with Gianni’s very serious eyebrows.

He pointed toward the mouth of the cave again, and said, “Grotto.”

I moved closer to Hunt to make a little room, and he pulled me into the V of his legs.

Gianni rowed us toward the grotto, where we waited in line as other small boats like ours entered and exited the cave. We had to duck our heads just to fit under the overhanging rock, but as soon as we got inside, I knew how it got its name.

The waters inside the dark cave glowed a florescent blue. At first, I thought it was just a reflection from the light coming from the mouth of the cave, but the light seemed to be shining up from underneath the water. I dipped a hand under the surface, and it too glowed blue.

“Wow.” My voice echoed around the cave, bouncing back at us from craggy walls.

Then our surly guide began to sing, and my jaw dropped in shock.

His voice was low and rich as he sang a song in Italian, slow and mesmerizing. The sound echoed around us, filling the chamber, and making my breath catch in my throat.

Jackson’s arm tightened around my waist and he rested his lips against my shoulder.

Too quickly, Gianni was maneuvering the boat around and we were heading back for the bright light of the opening. I wanted to slow time down, to freeze us in this moment for just a few seconds longer.

I turned my head and met Jackson’s eyes. They looked almost blue in the cave, and my heart beat at a frenzied pace. Before I could change my mind, I said, “I’m falling for you.”

His eyes searched mine, and I felt like I was falling still, waiting for him to answer. My ears rang like I was plunging toward the earth, and my eyes watered like the wind was flying directly into my face. And I waited. And waited. His expression, unreadable.

He opened his mouth, and my heart leapt in my chest.

Then Gianni said, “Duck.”

Hunt’s large hand cradled my head, and he pulled us both down as the boat glided underneath the rock. My heart was splintering, cracking and peeling every second he stayed silent.

But I shouldn’t have worried.

The very second we were past the overhang, he pulled me up and pressed his lips to mine in the perfect, scorching kiss.

He didn’t say anything. Just melted me with his mouth and pierced me with his eyes, and I supposed I would have to settle for that. He was an action-over-words kind of man, and I liked him that way.

After that, Gianni led us to a private inlet. He tied the boat to an outcrop of rock, gestured for us to jump out, and then pulled his hat down over his face for a nap.

Jackson and I took advantage of the privacy, and with the help of a not-too pointy rock face, we managed to achieve what hadn’t been possible out in the deep water at Cinque Terre.

When we returned to our room that night, our skin was several shades darker, my hair smelled of salt, and we’d managed to get salt and sand in a few inconvenient places.

We both needed a good shower.

“You go first. It’s going to take me forever to get everything out of my hair.” “I could help.” As appealing as that sounded, I knew where it would lead, and I was honestly too tired to even think about sex standing up, let alone perform it. “Thanks, Casanova, but let’s just get clean first. You can get me dirty again later.”

“Looking forward to it already.”

I laughed, and turned to throw my things at the foot of the bed. They hit the floor, and then an arm swooped around my waist, spinning and dipping me backward.

He kissed me slowly, the scruff on his chin tickling my skin. I was constantly amazed at how every kiss with him felt different, felt new. I hoped it would always feel that way.

He stood me up and gave me one more quick kiss.

He said, “I’ve not been this happy in a long time. Ever. Maybe.”

“Me too.”

He whistled as he retreated to the shower, and a smile burst open on my mouth, impossible to contain. I closed my eyes, and stretched out my arms like I’d just finished the only race that mattered.

God, he was perfect.

Well, except for the mess factor, but I could live with that. He’d dumped his things by the door, and I began moving them to the desk.

I could see his phone in the open outside pocket of his backpack, and in a small moment of curiosity and desperation, I picked it up.

I unlocked it. Not to search it, not really. Just to see.

My stomach sank.

Twenty-nine voice-mail messages.

Twenty-nine.

My finger hovered over the screen, and I wanted to listen. Just a quick check, just to make sure they were really nothing to worry about. I touched my finger to the screen, but then immediately pulled it back.

I wasn’t going to be that way. Jackson had been so good about respecting my privacy as we got closer. He hadn’t pushed even though it had been obvious from the very beginning that that went against his nature. He’d done so much for me, more than I could put into words.

I wouldn’t betray him like that. I couldn’t.

I returned the phone as I caught sight of his sketchbook. Somehow the impulse to know what he drew in there was even stronger than the one that wanted to listen to the phone calls.

I told myself I was just going to pick it up, but when I did, a few loose sheets of paper drifted to the floor. I scrabbled to pick them up. I picked up a few sheets, sliding them back into the book. When I turned the last one over, I froze.

For a few seconds, I thought it was the drawing that I’d gotten from that little boy in Budapest. It was the same fountain. I recognized the man at the top, proud and bare like he’d risen up right out of the sea. The same thoughtful women sat below him, their shoulders hunched, their bodies smoothly sculpted.

The drawing was different, though. Darker. Whereas the boy had drawn the world as he saw it, trying to capture the reality of the curves and the physicality of nature, this drawing seemed . . . sad. The shadows melted into each other, throwing the statues into sharp relief. This drawing gave words to the stone women, frozen forever in time, unable to do anything but exist. The boy had only begun to sketch me into the picture, so that I was almost a ghost, little more than a smile, blonde curls, and a flowing dress.

I was a ghost in this drawing, too. Not because I wasn’t fully realized, but because I was. I sat on that bench, both stiff and somehow wilted at the same time, and I watched the world around me with longing buried beneath detachment, covered over with a paper-thin smile that was little more than a smudge on the page.

I looked to the bathroom, where Jackson was currently just on the other side of a door. Maybe I hadn’t imagined him that day. There’d been a glimpse, just the briefest sight of a head that might have been his, but I’d written it off as wishful thinking.

But if he had this, if he drew this, he had to have been there.

I stopped worrying about getting the chair wet, and I stopped worrying about privacy as I took a seat to scan through the rest.

I’d thought I might find comfort in his sketches. He’d seen right through me with his sketch of Budapest. He’d seen that I was hurting when I was only just coming to terms with it. I wanted to see what he saw now. He was so confident that I could beat the darkness in me. Maybe he saw something I didn’t.

I flipped open the sketchbook, full of hope and fear, wishing that somewhere in those pictures I would find my next foothold, a hand to pull me up.

Instead, they sent me tumbling over the edge.

28

Your turn, sweetheart.”

I couldn’t look at him. I was barely holding it together, and I knew if I looked at him, I was going to fall to pieces. I just wanted to rewind time, take back a few more precious seconds of happiness. I would have cherished them more if I’d known they were coming to an end. But that’s life, I guess. We’re always a half a second late and one word short of what we really need.

“Kelsey? You okay?”

Jackson walked toward me. He reached out, skin to skin, and I moved so fast that my chair toppled over.
“Don’t touch me. Don’t you dare.”

His expression crumpled like a discarded ball of paper, and it looked so authentic, so real that my heart jerked.

I threw my gaze up to the ceiling so that I wouldn’t have to see, so that I wouldn’t get fooled again.

“I don’t understand,” he said. “Did I do something?”

There weren’t words for the horror I felt, so I grabbed the sketchbook off the seat of the stool next to me, and slapped the picture of the fountain in Budapest onto the bar.

“That was the day after we met.”

I covered it with a second picture of me sleeping on the train from Budapest to Prague. My face was soft, angelic even, but still sad.

“A few days later.”

“I—” He opened his mouth, maybe to make an excuse, but I cut him off with another sketch.

“And that’s me in front of the monastery in Kiev. Now, I’m not great with time and dates, but that’s roughly a month ago. A month.”

“Kelsey, I can—”

I slammed down another page, and I felt the force echo up through my elbow to my chest.

“And here’s Bucharest. I’m not in this first one, but, oh, look, there I am.” I laid a second and a third. “And I sure as hell don’t remember seeing you at that club in Belgrade, but I guess you were. You captured the light perfectly on that one, by the way.”

I went to lay down more sketches, angry and fighting with tears, but my hands shook. Like leaves, the papers drifted to the ground. Places I’d seen. Cities I’d visited. The last month of my life sketched out in black and white.

“Kelsey—”

“Just explain something to me, Hunt. Is it a game? Or are you a stalker? Are all those missed calls your parole officer? I called you a serial killer that first night or, well, the first night for me. I’d been kidding, but maybe I’d known something was off even then.”

“I swear it wasn’t like that, Kelsey. I know it looks bad, but it was never my intention to—”

“To what? Follow me across a continent? Worm your way into my life? Into my bed? God, but you were fucking patient, weren’t you? If you’d slept with me that first night, I would have left and been on my way. But no . . . that wasn’t enough.”

He gripped my shoulders, and for the first time, fear coiled around my anger because I had no idea what he was capable of. Even now, I had no idea what he wanted from me.

“It’s not a game. I meant every moment, and I can explain all of this if you’ll just give me a chance.”

A vibration buzzed on the desk, and I snatched Hunt’s phone from where I’d set it down.

I held it up to him. “Or I could find out the truth for myself?”

He threw out a hand as I pressed answer, but I ducked, pulling back a few feet. I stood near the door of the bar and pressed the phone to my ear.

I saw Hunt’s expression first—devastated and defeated. Then I heard a familiar voice through speaker.

“It’s about damn time, Hunt. Tell me what the hell my daughter is doing or you’re fired.”

The phone slipped from my hand, and time seemed to move into slow motion as it dropped. My heart fell at the same speed, long enough that it could have passed through galaxies before it hit the floor. The phone at least made a satisfying crack when it landed, but the crash of my heart was nothing more than a dull, hollow thud.

“Not just a stalker. A paid stalker.”

I guess it wasn’t me he wanted something from after all.

It’s a quiet thing when your heart breaks. I thought it would be loud, louder even than the air rushing around us when we’d dove off that bridge. I thought it would drown everything else out.

But it happened like a whisper. A small, clean split. It broke in a second, and the pain was little more than a pinprick.

It’s the echo that kills you. Like the echo inside the Grotta Azzurra, that tiny little sound kept bouncing around the cavern of my ribs, getting louder and louder. It multiplied until I heard a hundred hearts breaking, a thousand, more. All of them mine.

“Kelsey, just listen.”

How could I listen? I couldn’t hear anything over this pain.

Outside. Outside maybe the sound would have somewhere to go. I grabbed my bag. It didn’t have everything in it, but it had the most important things. It had what I needed to run.

I blew past him, and I didn’t even look at his body, at the towel slung around his hips. I couldn’t let myself. My mind was decades ahead of the rest of me. My body still remembered the shape of his and that damn gravity still pulled and pulled and pulled.

So I pulled back, and broke out into a run.

I thought I would make it farther, that maybe I could make it down to the main road, and for once there might be a taxi nearby without having to wait or call.

He overtook me before I’d even worked up a sweat. He’d pulled on a pair of gym shorts and two unlaced tennis shoes. He panted like he was running from the devil himself.

“Don’t come near me.”

“I never meant to hurt you, Kelsey. I love—”

“Don’t say it. Don’t you fucking say it.”

“I didn’t mean for this to happen.”

I didn’t know whether to cry or scream or collapse, and my body shook with the force of everything pent up inside me.

I scoffed. “Yeah, I can see how you just did this all by accident. You accidentally followed me all over Europe, and accidentally got paid for it. Shit like that happens all the time.”

“I was going to tell you.”

“I don’t care. It wouldn’t have mattered. I told you about my parents. I told you about everything.”

“I know. I know. And I haven’t talked to your father in weeks. You saw the voice mails. I’ve not told him anything important.”

I was moving to dart around him, but I stopped cold.

“When was the last time?”

He hesitated.

“Damn it, Hunt. When was the last time you played spy for my father?”

“Prague.”

Oh, God. I was going to be sick.

Prague was everything, the beginning of it all. We’d met before then, but I couldn’t even remember half of that now. Prague was where he’d spun my cares away on that merry-go-round. Prague was where he convinced me that I could find another place that felt like home, or another person even. Prague was when I’d started falling.

Goddamn it.

He continued, “You used your card at the hotel in Florence, and he called then on the room phone.”

I knew something had been strange about that phone call with the concierge. He’d lied to me.

“But Kelsey, I swear I didn’t say anything. And I made sure we left the same day.”

That was why we’d left and gone to Cinque Terre.

Even when I thought I was free, I wasn’t. I was a bird with clipped wings.

When I thought I was having the adventure of a lifetime, I was a dog on a leash taking a stroll through the park.

And when I thought I was in love, it was a lie.

I’d wanted a story, and this was it.

And, boy, wouldn’t it make a great one when I was old and unhappy and bitter.

It unfolded just like the rest of my life so far. A smile to my face, and a knife in my back. A hug in public, and a thinly veiled disdain at home. A pretty face and a rotten soul.

I was a fool to think my reflection had changed.

“I checked in when we got to Prague, while you were in the bathroom looking for Jenny. I still knew so little about you, and the night with the roofie had scared me. I didn’t know what I was dealing with. But that was the last time. Once you and I started getting to know each other, I ignored his emails and his calls.”

“Did you tell him I’d been roofied? Did he even blink a fucking eye?”

“I didn’t tell him. I thought . . . I thought that would come better from you.”

“Too bad. You missed your shot to see just how much my family can suck.”

“I know you’re angry, and you have every right to be. But please . . . just listen. Just let me explain.”

“It doesn’t matter what your explanation is. Don’t you get that, Jackson?”

“No one’s called me Jackson since before I joined the military. No one but you.” “That’s supposed to make me feel better?”

“Jackson was the old me. The kid from a fucked-up family where money was more important than love and society more important than the individual.”

“If you’re trying to bond with me, it’s too damn late.”

“By age seventeen, I was having a glass of whiskey for breakfast. I had to be completely smashed just to get out of bed. I drank myself out of college. I hurt myself and my friends and everyone who cared about me. Even when I was trying not to, I hurt people. I guess I’m still doing that.”

I felt the tears gathering in my throat, and I tried to will them down.

Quiet and cold, I said, “I guess you are.”

“I joined the military mostly to piss off my father, not unlike your reasons for going on this trip.”

I hated that he thought he knew me. And hated even more that he did.

“At first, I was miserable there, too. I got in trouble. I pissed people off. I pissed myself off. But then I got transferred to a new unit, and . . . they got me. Don’t get me wrong, they called me out on my bullshit and beat me into place, but they understood and they helped. They were like family. My first real taste of what it was supposed to be like. I got sober. Slowly, and with a lot of missteps and failures. But I got there. And life started to look up. I started to believe that things could be better. That I could be better. You would have thought I was in paradise rather than Afghanistan for the way I felt. I couldn’t have been happier. Then one day we were following intelligence and checking out an old meetinghouse that was supposed to have been abandoned. Only it wasn’t. The thing blew with my unit inside. I was near a window, and managed to jump and avoid the brunt of the blast. But I separated my shoulder when I landed and had half a dozen bones broken by debris. In a flash, I lost everything I’d gained. I was medically discharged, and I spent the next six months going to five AA meetings a week just to keep from diving into a bottle of booze to forget that I’d ever known what it was like to be happy.”

“Did you forget?” I asked, my jaw clenched. Part of me wanted to rub salt in his wound, and the other part wanted to know if there was hope.

“Not for a second.”

“Good,” I ground out.

“My father is the one who brought me the job. Your father wanted someone to keep an eye on you and make sure you didn’t do anything stupid. Who better than a soldier to keep you safe? I said okay to get my dad off my back. I thought it would be an easy job. Good money, free traveling, and maybe the chance to take my mind off my problems. But then I watched you falling into my old patterns. I watched you heading down the same road, and I just wanted to save you from it. I wanted to keep you from going through what I went through.”

“So you pitied me? Fantastic. Please keep talking. You’re making me feel so much better.”

“I didn’t pity you. I hated you.”

“Keep it coming, Casanova.”

“I hated you because you made me face my past. But once I did that . . . once I acknowledged it, I started to notice the ways you were different from me. I meant what I said in Germany, Kelsey. You burn so brightly and beautifully. You light up a room when you walk into it. I watched people flock to you city after city, bar after bar. You just . . . even at your most miserable, you had more life in your pinky than I had in my whole body. And when I stopped hating you, I started wanting you. And then I didn’t stand a chance. I tried to stay away, but I just . . . I couldn’t.”

He looked at me with such longing that my heart seemed to turn, like his eyes were a magnet, trying to pull it from my chest.

I believed him. There was too much pain in his voice and shame in his body to not believe that he hadn’t meant for this to happen. But that didn’t take my pain away or my shame at being fooled.

I waited to make sure he was done talking, and then I said, “Okay.”

I turned to walk away and he yelled at my back, “Okay? That’s it?”

“Yes, okay. I understand. Thank you for explaining. Goodbye Hunt.”

“Don’t go, Kelsey. Please. I’m sorry. I’ve never been more sorry. I was going to tell you everything as soon as I thought you were strong enough to handle it.”

I stopped, but didn’t turn around as I said, “Of course, I can handle it. It’s nothing, really. Just another thing that wasn’t real.” I could feel myself falling back into that familiar pit, that place where I’d wasted so many years. “It was just another thing that doesn’t count.”

29

A month later, and I still couldn’t run fast enough to get away.

I tried Greece.

The ruins reminded me of Rome.

The islands reminded me of Capri.

It all reminded me of Hunt.

So, I moved on.

Germany had too many castles.

Austria, too.

Every river bisecting a city sent me running.

Every playground played my heart, and I lost.

You don’t realize how many bridges there are until the sight of one collapses something inside of you.

I came close to giving up hope, to believing that I would never find a place that could ever feel like home. I couldn’t return to the place I grew up. That house was a graveyard, a memorial to things lost and problems gained. And some part of me ached in every new place, like old wounds that protested at every shift in the weather.

But then I realized when no place felt like home, I had one other option. In Madrid, I found a quiet spot in my hostel, which translated to a maintenance closet full of cleaning supplies that itself probably hadn’t been cleaned in decades.

I settled my laptop on my knees, and Bliss answered my Skype call in seconds with a banshee scream.

“Oh my God. Never wait that long to call me again. My crazy has reached embarrassingly new heights in your absence.”

My voice choked over the words, “You? Crazier than you were? Impossible.”

“Kelsey? Are you there? It sounds like you’re breaking up.”

Breaking apart was more like it.

I pressed my fist against my lips, hard. Bones pushed against teeth, both as strong as I wanted to be.

“I’m here,” I said. “Can you hear me now?”

“Now I can. Loud and clear, love.”

“Oh, honey. Stop talking like your boyfriend. It’s just creepy without the accent.”

“Jetting around the world made you judgmental.”

“All that sex you’re having must have damaged your brain because I’ve always been judgmental.”

Bliss laughed and then sighed on the other line, and I wondered if I would have sounded like that if I’d ever gotten around to telling her about Jackson before all this.

“Oh my God, Kels. I can’t even. I think I might actually be addicted to him.”

I made a sound that fell somewhere between a laugh and a groan because I knew what that felt like. And withdrawals were a bitch.

“Just enjoy it,” I said. While it lasts.

“What’s the matter?” Bliss asked.

“What do you mean?”

I thought I’d been hiding it well. God, was I such a mess that it just seeped out of me and across international phone connections?

“You’ve got that sound,” she said. “Your acting voice.”

“I don’t have an acting voice.”

“Oh, honey. You do. You know . . . it’s that thing where your voice gets deeper, and you suddenly have very good enunciation. You get louder too, projecting like having a deafening volume makes you more believable. It’s an actor tick. We all have one. Now fess up and tell me what’s wrong.”

I thumped my head back against the wall and sighed. “Everything. It’s all wrong.”

“Well . . . start at the beginning. Tell me what went wrong first.”

That much was easy. “Me.”

Telling Bliss about my childhood was both shockingly easy and incredibly difficult.

Over the years, I’d learned how to twist the truth about my past, so that I could participate when friends told childhood stories without giving up my secrets. Like any other role I played, I took liberties. I painted a picture of the cool, rebellious girl with an appetite for adventure. Now I had to break that illusion to reveal the real girl, not cool or rebellious . . . just lost.

And though it was a hard story to start, it was easy to keep going. I told her about Mr. Ames and my parents. And I told her about how I’d learned to cope and that that only ruined me more in the end.

I told her everything.

Except for Hunt.

I opened my mouth to say something, but the words just wouldn’t come. I didn’t know how to talk about him without disintegrating into despair. I couldn’t explain what he’d done to me without explaining how different he’d been, how different I’d been with him. I wasn’t a relationship kind of girl. And maybe Hunt and I hadn’t had a real relationship, but it was the realest thing I’d ever had. Which only served to make me realize even more how twisted I’d let myself get. If I tried to talk about him . . . I’m not sure what would happen, but the clenching in my stomach told me that I was scared. Scared of falling for him all over again in my mind, only to have to relive hitting bottom.

I kept quiet. Maybe I was ashamed of being fooled. I hoped that was it.

But an inkling in the back of my mind told me that there was something else. Despite being hurt and furious, I didn’t want Bliss to think badly of him.

Man, how fucking crazy was that?

I should tear him to pieces, rake him over the coals, and let Bliss join in. That’s what I should have done.

Bliss said, “You know what you need to do, don’t you Kelsey?”

“Try to outrun my troubles through a dozen different countries?”

It hadn’t been working so far, but maybe twelve was the magic number.

“I think you know how well that’s been working.”

It’s one thing to know something for yourself. It’s worse when everyone else knows it, too.

“Abysmally. What’s your point?”

“You’ve got to face your parents.”

“No. No, Bliss.” The laptop suddenly burned too hot against my legs, and the closet felt too small. “I can’t. I can’t go back there. Not now. Things are . . . complicated.”

I didn’t know who I was more angry with . . . Hunt or my father. But I couldn’t stomach the thought of seeing either of them.

“You don’t have to go back. But you spent too long accepting their lies as truth. You need to tell them how wrong they were.”

My heart was beating too fast. I hated that I was so scared of this.

“It won’t change anything. You don’t know my parents.”

“You’re not doing it to change them.”

Damn it. Goddamn it. When the fuck did Bliss’s ramblings start making so much sense?

“I’ll think about it,” I said.

“Kelsey, you have to. You can’t hide from it anymore.”

I banged my head against the wall behind me a few more times, furious that she was so right.

“Fine. I guess I don’t have anything to lose anyway. At the very least, it will feel really good to tell them off.”

“You don’t have anything to lose?”

“Not really. I, uh, went a little crazy a few weeks back. Might have given my credit card to a stranger and told him to have at it.”

“Oh my God, Kels. Your dad is going to go ballistic.”

Good. At least then, we could both be pissed.

“I’m sure Dad had the account frozen in no time.”

“But what are you doing for money? Where are you staying?”

“Chillax, babe. I’m fine. Don’t worry about me. I got a decent chunk of change before ditching all daddy-related items. And my Eurail pass is good through the end of the month.”

Don’t ask me what I was doing at the end of the month. No. Fucking. Clue.

“Then what?” She just had to ask. “How will you get home?”

I’d really grown to despise that word, but for a language as vast and repetitive as English, I’d yet to find a synonym that held the same immeasurable meaning.

“I’m staying here, Bliss. At least for now. I’ve been looking for jobs—”

“You don’t have to do that. Let me talk to Garrick. Between the two of us, we could probably manage to cover a decent portion of your ticket.”

“I can’t—”

“You can stay with us here in Philly for as long as you need. Our apartment is small, but we have a couch that folds out into a bed. It might smell a little mothy. We got it from a used furniture place, but it—”

“Thank you, but no.” I could almost picture her jaw snapping shut to form a frown. “Money isn’t why I’m staying. You were right. There are some things I need to work out, including talking to my parents. Until I do, it won’t matter where I go. My issues will follow. Spain seems like as good a place as any to put my life back together. All matadors and bulls and red capes. Should be good inspiration to face things head-on.”

I sounded twice as confident as I actually felt. I wondered if I would ever be able to stop pretending. This was how it started last time. First, you pretend for others, then you pretend for yourself. Then you pretend because everything is a lie, and you have to keep the cycle going.

Bliss said, “Speaking of matadors . . . any dangerously sexy Spanish men I should know about?”

“I’m taking a break from that, too.”

I couldn’t even think about sex right now. It just . . . it wasn’t what it used to be for me, like a word with a new definition.

Silence took up the other end of the phone.

“I think that’s smart, Kels. You’re going to get through this. You’re bold and brave and strong. You’ll be fine.”

“You’re obligated as my best friend to say things like that.”

“It’s the truth. The only reason I’m as happy as I am now is because one night in a bar, I borrowed your bravery. Have I ever thanked you for that, by the way?”

“You have, and you’re welcome. But I’m not nearly as brave as I pretend to be.”

“Bull-massive-shit. Do you realize how much courage you had to have to tell me about all this? It took me until senior year to even admit to you that I was a virgin.”

I gave an almost laugh. “Oh, those were the days.”

“Feel free to relive my moments of awkwardness if it cheers you up.”

I smiled, small but real. “Thanks for the pep talk. And for listening.”

“Of course. I love you.”

“Like family,” I answered. The only one that mattered to me now.

“Call me again soon!”

“I will. Bye, Bliss.”

Hunt was many things, many of them not good. But in this what instance, he’d been dead right.

Because even as the cold concrete floor kissed my skin, and the stringent smell of cleaner dulled my senses, I excavated a full smile. It had been brief—like a too-short touch— but I had felt it.

Just a whisper of home.

30

After months of wandering and wanting with no direction, it was good to finally have a tangible thing at which to direct my energies.

A job. Money. A place to stay.

I could handle that.

As it turned out, there was a high demand in Madrid for English-speakers to teach or assist in classrooms in bilingual programs. I’d never been a teacher, but I had a degree. And Hunt’s mention of the career had stuck with me. After growing up in Texas, I had enough basic Spanish skills to get around. When I saw the ad in an English-language newspaper in my hostel, and it said no teaching experience was necessary, I knew it was perfect. Like when you find the perfect dress that somehow makes you feel better for having slipped it on.

I applied for a work visa and contacted the Ministry of Education. By the end of the month, I had a job as a Language and Culture Assistant. Well . . . two jobs, technically: one working part-time with teenagers and the other working with younger kids. Plus about four private lessons a week to help make ends meet.

New Life Realization #1:

Being an adult is hard work. I know people tell you this growing up, but it doesn’t really sink in until you’re living it, waist deep in the swamps of no-free-time and not-enough-money.

New Life Realization #2:

It’s worth it.

It was a new kind of satisfaction, being on my own and being okay. More than okay, I was good.

I had a job. Okay, lots of them. I had an apartment, too. And I’d sent a letter to my parents.

I’d poured out every bitter hurt and vulnerable thought I’d ever suppressed and sealed a slice of my heart inside an envelope. It wasn’t the bravest way to face them, but the words were brave, and that was enough for now.

Predictably, I didn’t hear back. I hadn’t expected to either. Answering would acknowledge that there was a problem, and they much preferred to pretend those didn’t exist. Even now they were probably telling some atrocious lie about why I wasn’t around.

I was surprised by how little that bothered me. I wondered if everyone experienced a moment like this—a moment where you realize you’ve outgrown your own parents. Not just because I didn’t need them anymore, but because I’d finally realized that they were as stuck as I had been. I saw them with a kind of clarity that it’s impossible to see when you’re a kid, and when you’re parents are the end all and be all of your life.

A reply did come eventually, but not from my parents.

“Carlos? What is this?”

Carlos was nine, and had the biggest attitude in class by far. That’s probably why I adored him.

“My homework, Miss Summers.”

“Not that, I mean this.” I held up the sealed envelope he’d turned in with his work.

He smiled, a heartbreaker smirk in the making. “That’s for you, Miss.”

“And what is it?”

He shrugged in that way that kids do when they don’t know or care about the answer.

“Where did you get it?”

“A man.”

“What man?”

“I don’t know. Americano.”

Señora Alvez, the lead teacher, shushed him. “English only, Carlos.”

I didn’t ask any more questions because I didn’t want to get him in trouble. But when Señora Alvez began her lesson, I slipped my finger under the lip of the envelope and pried it open as quietly as possible.

I’d never really seen Hunt’s handwriting, but I recognized it anyway. It just . . . looked like him. Strong. Meticulous. Aggravating.

I couldn’t read the words. I wouldn’t. But I counted one, two, three pages, and a sketch. The playground. The one from Prague.

My heart seized up, ice cold, frost spreading over the prison of my rib cage and piercing my lungs. My hands trembling, I shoved the papers back in the envelope and stood. Señora Alvez stared at me, and my blood roared in my ears.

“I have to—I need to—” God. All I wanted to do was scream obscenities, but I was in a classroom full of children. “I have to go.”

I didn’t give an explanation as I bolted for the door. Let them think I was sick. Because I was. To my very bones.

I signed out in the office, this time lying about not feeling well. Then I left for home. I had the strangest instinct to run as I walked the blocks to my apartment. I wasn’t ready for this. I’d pieced together the other parts of my life, but this . . . this was still so raw. And the body’s instinct when wounded was to jerk away when touched, to run to prevent more injury.

Running wouldn’t have done any good, though, because there was another letter waiting at my apartment. I picked it up from where it had been dropped outside my door. I didn’t know whether to crush it or tear it or hold it tight.

I settled for ignoring it.

But they kept coming. There was another slid under the classroom door when I arrived on Wednesday morning. They came through the mail. My landlord brought me another.

I threw them on my desk unopened, but every time I entered my apartment, they called to me.

A week after the first letter appeared, I came home from work to find the tenth letter on my doorstep. Rather than adding it to a pile, I fished a marker out of my purse. (My God, I kept markers in my purse. I was such a teacher.)

Across the back I wrote, “Still following me? Still not okay.”

Then I left it on my porch where he would presumably find it the next day.

The next letter came from Carlos. He dropped it off at my desk the one day without the pretext of homework this time.

“The American man said to read them, and he’ll stop following you.”

“Carlos, I don’t want you to talk to that man again, okay? If he comes up to you, just walk away. Don’t take any more letters from him.”

I thought maybe that had worked, that he’d finally taken the hint because I didn’t see another letter for a week.

I was relieved for the first day or two. But then I started to look for them. I started to wonder why they were missing, why he’d stopped now. And more than anything . . . I wondered what they said.

But I couldn’t read them. I wanted to stay mad. It was safer to stay mad. But considering the way the absence of the letters made me feel, there was no way I could actually read their contents and stay strong.

The following week, though, I realized he hadn’t stopped writing the letters—he’d just been waiting. I walked through the school courtyard on Monday, and saw a group of my kids gathered outside the doors, Carlos in the middle.

He was handing something out, and when I got closer, they all switched to whispers and not-so-subtly stared at me as I passed. When the students took their seats that morning, every desk in the room had an envelope, all for me.

I was angry and relieved, and a giant mess of wants.

I trekked home that day with my arms full of envelopes and a head full of frustration.

I thought about doing something to prove a point. I could throw all the letters out where he would find them. I could burn them. I could tear them up.

Or I could open them.

Maybe if I showed that I had opened them, he would stop.

So, I plucked one out of the pile, my skin suddenly buzzing. I tried to swallow, but something knotted in my throat.

It’s just a letter. Just words. Probably words that you’ve already heard.

The shaking spread from my fingers to the rest of my body as I tore open the letter.

A sketch tumbled out first.

Even without having been there, I knew it was Venice. There was a gondola passing by a home that seemed to sit directly on the water. There were balconies with roses, and it looked so impossible and beautiful that I felt myself tearing up.

The letter with this one was short.

I can’t go anywhere beautiful without thinking of you. Hell, who am I kidding, I can’t go anywhere period without thinking of you. I wanted to take you here. I know there’s no excuse for what I did. I could explain the ways I reasoned with myself. I could explain that I needed the money, the job. I could explain that I waited because I was worried about you. But the real truth is that I just didn’t want it to end. I knew you’d leave when you found out. And I just kept telling myself . . . one more day. But if there’s anything I learned with you, it’s that one more day was never enough.

I sunk down to the floor at the edge of my bed, a noise pulling from my chest that I couldn’t even put a word to. It wasn’t crying. It was something deeper. It unraveled from my lungs, low and keening and hollow. If I had to guess . . . I’d say it was what it sounds like to miss someone. To feel their absence like a second skin.

I picked up another letter.

This time, the sketch wasn’t of a beautiful sight or a grand city. It was four men in military fatigues. Their faces were detailed, realistic, alive. So either he sketched them from a picture or they were burned into his memory.

I remembered what he’d told me about his unit, and how he’d lost them, and I gave up trying to wipe away the tears that rolled down my cheeks.

I’m sorry I didn’t tell you more about me. That I didn’t open up. It’s just . . . I thought I lost all the parts of me that meant something when I lost these guys. They were family. That’s why I liked to jump off bridges and climb cliffs and do whatever other crazy stunt that could make me feel something. But even that had stopped working . . . until I met you. You made me feel more with a look than I felt jumping out of a plane. I felt more adrenaline from your touch than when I was moving into enemy territory or taking fire. I know how crazy I sound. I know how crazy this all is. And I’m probably doing it all wrong. But my only excuse is that I’m crazy about you. And life is not living unless I’m with you. You’re my adventure. The only one I want to have. So, if this doesn’t work, I’ll try something else. If the military taught me anything, it was to be persistent. To weather the storms. So, that’s what I’ll do.

I opened every letter.

My bedroom was a sea of paper, words with the depth of an ocean and sketches with all the power of the tide. When I had read them all, when the words had filled the empty spaces he’d left behind, I wrote a letter of my own and put it outside my door.

31

I sat on the swing, my heart hurdling back and forth even though I was still. What if he didn’t come? The letter disappeared while I was at work, so unless there was a mail thief in the neighborhood, he’d gotten it.

I’d given him directions to get here, but what if they weren’t good enough? Or what if I’d waited too long?

I squeezed the chain links of the swing until they imprinted on my palms. I ducked my head, and closed my eyes, trying to stay calm. This situation was mine to control. Nothing had to happen unless I said so. This was my choice.

“I’m glad you gave me directions. I’m afraid the picture wasn’t very . . . ah, informative.”

My head popped up, and Hunt was there, his tall frame blocking out the sun and casting me in shadow. It took a few long moments for me to focus, for me to do anything other than stare at him.

It sounds cliché, but I’d forgotten how gorgeous he was. I’d forgotten the way that smile was magnetic enough to pull the sun across the sky.

He was holding one of the pages from my letter, my attempt to sketch the playground where I’d set for us to meet.

I shrugged, the weight on my shoulders almost too heavy to lift.

“I’m not an artist,” I said. “Stick figures and squiggles were about the best I could do.”

His smiled widened, and his eyes skipped across my face like he couldn’t quite believe I was there.

“I like the stick figures. I’m guessing the tall one is me?”

God, he couldn’t even tell which one was the girl. How embarrassing.

I didn’t know what to say. I’d called this meeting. I should be the one to say something, the one to take control. But when I looked at him, my mind was full with all the things that had happened and all the things that hadn’t. And he looked at me like a man that had been starved. Of food and light and attention and everything.

“Have you been here before?” he asked.

I cleared my throat. “Not the playground, but I come to the park sometimes. It’s nice. Relaxing.”

Silence settled again, loud and uncomfortable.

I said, “I read your letters,” at the same time that he said, “I’m sorry.”

“You did?” he said. “I’m sorry if I went overboard. In my defense, the whole classroom thing was Carlos’s idea.”

Of course. Carlos wasn’t just a messenger. My favorite student was a co-conspirator.

“No.” I cleared my throat again. My mouth was dry, and words kept tangling on my tongue. “The letters were . . . good. I mean, excessive, yes. But they were good.”

His hands were shoved into his pockets, and I could see the way his firsts were clenched tight beneath the fabric.

“You hurt me,” I said.

His expression contorted, pain and shame written in his features.

“I know.” His voice was thick, deep. “The biggest mistake I’ve ever made. And I’ve made a lot.”

I didn’t know what the right answer was here. I didn’t know what I was supposed to do.

My heart and every romantic comedy ever made told me I was supposed to leap into his arms and forget it all ever happened.

My head told me to run. To close myself off. To never let him close, never let anyone close.

And me . . . the me that was neither my head, nor my heart, but something else . . . it told me that there was no right answer. Forgiving him would be hard and painful, but so would living without him. I didn’t know if I could ever trust him again. But I knew I wanted to.

I wanted to be able to leap into his arms, and believe that he would catch me. I wanted the confidence I’d had when we toppled over the side of that bridge in Prague.

I said, “What I felt for you”—he stood up straighter, and I watched his mouth purse and straighten, riddled with tension—“it’s never been like that. Not with anyone. But you have to understand, my whole life was built on lies. And I’d felt that way for you because you were the one thing that felt true. Real.”

I didn’t know how to make it work, how to make it hurt less. All I knew was that I was done living out of fear. Afraid of everything. Of growing up and growing old. Of living and of love.

I was happy here in Madrid. It was a different kind of happy than what I’d been with Hunt, less incendiary, but it was stable. It didn’t burn me up, but it filled some of the empty spaces.

I looked into his gray eyes. I could forget a hundred things looking into his eyes, but could I forget this? He must have seen my walls weakening, because slowly, he approached me. He knelt before me on the swing, and ever so slowly, his hand touched my cheek.

“Every day. I will prove every day how much you mean to me. How real this is. You told me once that history matters, but it’s frozen, set in stone. This is part of our history. I can’t change it or undo it. But it doesn’t have to dictate our future.”

Our future.

Those two simple words hooked into my heart, and it felt almost like we’d never been apart. Like I’d just been sleeping.

I’d known I wanted to see him when I came here today, and I had thought about the possibility of us being together, but I hadn’t honestly known if I could handle it.

But now, I was making the decision. I could.

Because every time, every single time, I would choose our future over my future. Because in my wildest imagination, I couldn’t imagine how the best future without him could even compare to the worst future with him. Because even though the life I’d made here in Madrid filled the empty spaces, I didn’t burn without him. Of all the things I’d wanted in life—the places I wanted to see and the things I want to accomplish—the thing I’d always wanted most was to be the kind of person that burned.

I leaned into his hand, and said, “Jackson?”

His breaths were shallow, and I could imagine the way his heart was beating. As fast as mine, I guessed.

“Yes?”

“Do I have another dare left?”

His lips pulled into a smile, the faintest dimple showing in one cheek.

“You can have as many dares as you want.”

“Good. I dare you to kiss—”

I didn’t even finish the sentence before his mouth was on mine. He stood bent over me, his hands cradling my face, and he worshiped my lips like it was the first time we’d touched in a thousand years.

His tongue swept across my lip, and my belly tightened just at the memory of how he tasted. His lips pushed harder, and on the second sweep of his tongue, I opened to him. Our tongues touched, and he groaned, his fingers pushing back into my hair.

I shivered, and released the death grip I had on the swing to reach for him. With him standing and me sitting, I couldn’t wrap my arms around him the way I wanted. Before I could order my legs to stand, he took hold of the swing chains, and pushed me back and up, like he was about to set me swinging. Instead, he pushed me just high enough that my mouth was level with his and nudged my knees apart to settle between them.

It was my turn to moan into his mouth, as his body was brought in line with mine. His hands slid from the chains to my back, and he tugged until my chest smashed against his. I wrapped my arms around him, and the familiar feel of his muscles beneath my fingertips made me ache with want.

“God, I’ve missed you,” he murmured against my lips.

Missed didn’t even begin to describe the feeling that simmered through my bloodstream. With his lips on mine, and his hips pressing intimately against my center, I couldn’t even understand how I’d lasted as long as I had.

He leaned harder into me, pushing back against the swing. His hardness pressed against the zipper of my jeans, and I saw stars just from the friction.

I whimpered. “Maybe we should move this off the playground.”

“No one’s around.”

I’d have to take his word for it because his lips didn’t leave mine long enough to look around. His tongue curled around mine, and I was shaking against him. My hands, my arms, my legs—all of them trembling and weak with desire. I wound my hands together at his neck, afraid I wouldn’t be able to keep them up if I didn’t.

He pulled back to release a breath, and I tasted him on the air. He kissed me again, softly, teasing and nipping at my swollen lips. He hummed, and I felt the vibrations slink their way beneath my skin. His hands sank into my hair, like fingers sinking into the sand, into my soul. He rested his forehead against mine, and gave a chagrined smile.

“Okay, so there might be people around. But in my defense, I was too preoccupied to really see them.”

I probably should have been embarrassed. But in truth, I didn’t even care enough to look around and find the, no doubt, scandalized family who’d witnessed our reunion.

Gradually, he backed away until my swing lowered back into place. My legs were still shaking when I stood in front of him. Immediately, he reached out to touch me again, his hand curling around my neck and tilting my head back.

His gaze tore through me just like the first night we’d met. I wanted nothing more than to take him back to my apartment and continue our reunion.

I said, “Let’s go home.”

He kissed me again with the same detail, the same intricacy I saw in his sketches. Fire raged everywhere our skin met, and he said, “I’m already there.”

Acknowledgments

Wow. The release of this book coincides almost exactly with the day I published Losing It in October of 2012. Dramatically doesn’t seem like a strong enough word to describe all the ways my life has changed. You’d think after a year it would feel less surreal, but it doesn’t. I want to pinch myself because this is all more than I could have ever dreamed. I am so very grateful to God and luck and family and friends and every minuscule happening that brought me to this moment. These two words will never be enough, but thank you.

To my fans: You. Are. Incredible. I cannot even begin to express how awesome you are and how much I adore you. Thanks for all your messages and tweets and e-mails. Thanks for telling me how much you love my characters, and for drawing awesome pictures for me and making gorgeous icons. Thanks for spreading the word to your friends and family and complete strangers. Thanks for coming to see me at signings and for making what I do so much fun. Please don’t stop. Tweet me. Facebook me. Attend signings. Sometimes I get busy writing and am a little slow on the replies, but I promise I read and love everything you say.

To my family: You keep me sane. Thanks for watching my cat while I fly off to amazing places (and have a bazillion flight problems that cause me to have to spend the night in some not-so-amazing places). Thanks for reading my things when I need help, and thanks for understanding when I hole up in my apartment for weeks and don’t call or visit. Thanks for always being supportive and cheering me on. Thanks for making me who I am. Without your love and care and criticism (and that time my sisters locked me outside in the Texas heat), I wouldn’t have become this person who gets to do what she loves for a living. Mom, thanks for listening to me prattle on about plots and publishing for hours even when what I’m saying makes no sense and there’s no solution to be had.

To my friends: Thanks for being my second family, and for being my home. Much like Kelsey, it kills me that you’re all scattered so far and wide across this world, but I’m so thankful to have you in my past, present, and future. You guys helped teach me who I was, and I always feel like I’m at home when I’m with you. Kristin—you know all the reasons I love you. Stop letting me go so long without visiting. I miss you. P.S. Let’s go back to Europe. Lindsay—thanks for the stories and the texts that make me laugh (and make everything better). Thanks for always being my first reader, and for introducing me to Doctor Who. Patrick—gah. I cannot even begin to describe all the things I need to thank you for. You’re amazing, and anytime I forget to tell you, feel free to punch me (just not in the face). To Ana, most of my books are written to you in some way. I just hope you always know you’re not alone. And because Bethany would kill me if I didn’t do a full list: Thanks, Bethany, Joey, Shelly, Sam, Murmur, Daniel, Matt, Karina, Tyler, and gah . . . I know I’m missing people. Thank you all. Especially my BUT family. HSFAC will always be home to me.

And to “my” people: Suzie—you are a rockstar. You don’t know how grateful I am I didn’t read your newest blog post before querying you. And there must be something in the water over at New Leaf because Kathleen, Pouya, Joanna, Danielle—you’re all rockstars. Thank you. Amanda—you were my cheerleader and my lifesaver in this book. Thanks for being so flexible and so kind and so generally awesome. Best. Editor. Ever. Jessie—I love you like Draco loves Hermione (in my imagination, anyway). To everyone at Harper: I couldn’t have wished for a better home. Thanks for all the support. To Kelly—thanks for dealing with my mess and for being the sweetest, most talented lady ever. To Jennifer—I hope you enjoy Jenny’s character that I wrote for you. You’re an awesome fan. To Sophie, Jennifer, Monica, and Kathleen—thanks for the blurbs. You guys are the best. And to all of my author friends that I’ve met over the past year . . . your amazingness could fill a whole book.

And finally, thank you for reading. I hope you enjoyed Kelsey and Hunt’s story. I hope it will encourage you to go after what you want, to take a leap. As a brilliant author once said (and an amazing class at VCFA will tell you) . . . Jump off the cliff, and build your wings on the way down.

KEEPING HER

A Losing It Novella

CORA CARMACK

DEDICATION

For Ana

You are going to do so many great things. And I can’t wait to witness them.

And to the #TeamGarrick street team

I pretty much adore you all. And I hope the universe gifts you each with a gorgeous guy with a lovely accent.

CONTENTS

Dedication

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

1

Garrick

THE ALARM SOUNDED too early.

I smacked it into silence, and then reached for Bliss. I found only rumpled sheets and empty space. My eyelids felt like they’d been weighted down by sandbags, but I sat up and pried them open.

My voice was graveled with sleep when I called out, “Love? Where are you?” Something clanged in the kitchen in response. I sat up, fatigue wiped away by the realization that Bliss was up. And she was cooking.

That couldn’t be a good sign.

I threw back the covers, and cool morning air assaulted my bare skin. I pulled on a pair of pajama bottoms and a T-shirt before padding down the hallway to the kitchen.

“Bliss?”

Another clang.

A muttered curse word.

Then I rounded the corner into a war zone.

Her wide eyes met mine. Her face, her hair, our tiny nook of a kitchen was covered in flour. Some kind of batter was smudged across her cheek and the countertops.

“Love?”

“I’m making pancakes.” She said it the way one might say, “I didn’t do it” when held at gunpoint by policemen. I cast my eyes down to keep from laughing, only to be devastated by the bare legs stretching out from the oversize T-shirt she wore. My T-shirt. Damn.

I’d loved her legs from the moment I’d first seen them while helping her with a burn she’d received on my motorcycle. They drove me to distraction just as much now as they did then.

I could have studied for hours the shape of her thighs and the way they flared out toward her hips. I could have been swept away by the feeling of possession that swelled in me at seeing her wear my clothing. There were dozens of things that I wanted to do in that moment, but an acrid smell tickled my nostrils, and a few tendrils of smoke began to creep around Bliss from the stove at her back. I lurched for the pan, where I found a blackening, misshapen lump of something. I pulled the pan off the stove, and heard a slight hitch in Bliss’s breath behind me.

Another bad sign.

As quickly as I could, I tossed the “pancake” into the trash, and deposited the pan in the sink. I said, “Why don’t we go out for breakfast?”

Bliss smiled, but it was one of those watery, wavering kinds of smiles that made every man want to run for the hills. I’d become well accustomed to Bliss’s panic freak-outs. But crying . . . that was still a terrifyingly unfamiliar territory.

She collapsed into a nearby chair, and her head thumped down onto the table. I stood there, clenching and unclenching my fists, trying to decide on the best course of action. She turned her head to the side, pressing her cheek against the table, and looked at me. Her hair stuck up in every direction, her bottom lip suffered under her teeth, and the look in her eyes pulled at something in my chest. Like an itch at my heart. All I knew was that something was wrong, and I wanted to fix it. The how was the question.

I moved forward and knelt beside her chair. Red lined her eyes, and her skin was a shade paler than normal. I asked, “How long have you been awake?”

She shrugged. “Since around four. Maybe closer to three.”

I sighed and ran a hand over her unruly hair.

“Bliss . . .”

“I read and did some laundry and cleaned the kitchen.” She looked around. “It was clean. I swear.”

I laughed and leaned up to press a kiss to her forehead. I pulled another chair around, and took a seat beside her. I laid my head down beside hers, but she closed her eyes and flipped her head around to face the other direction.

She said, “Don’t look at me. I’m a mess.”

I wasn’t about to let her get away with that. I slipped an arm underneath her knees and tugged her into my lap. She whined my name, and then buried her head into my neck. I took hold of her jaw, and made her meet my gaze. It couldn’t be a coincidence that this was happening on the day we were set to leave for London to meet my parents. She’d been remarkably calm about it until now. “Everything is going to be fine, love. I swear it.”

“What if she hates me?”

That’s what this was about. My mother. Bliss could barely handle her own overbearing mother; it seemed cruel that the universe had seen fit to give us two. But I was far more worried about what Bliss would think than what my mother would think. Bliss was honest and sweet and genuine, and my family . . . well, not so much.

I forced a smile and said, “Impossible.”

“Garrick, I’ve overheard enough phone calls with your mother to know she’s very . . . opinionated. I’d be stupid not to worry about what she’ll think of me.”

“You’d be stupid to think that anything my mother could say would matter.” And it wouldn’t matter to me. But it would matter to Bliss. Late at night when our apartment got quiet, the image of my mum as predator and Bliss as prey kept popping into my head. One week. We just had to survive one week. I stroked my thumb across her jaw and added, “I love you.”

So much that it terrified me. And I didn’t scare easy.

“I know . . . I just—”

“Want her to like you. I know. And she will.” Please God, let my mother like her. “She’ll like you because I love you. She might be a bit abrasive, but like any mother she wants me to be happy.”

Or at least I hoped that was how she would see things.

Bliss’s chin tipped up slightly, bringing her lips closer to mine. I felt her breath across my mouth, and my body reacted almost instantly. My spine straightened, and I became acutely aware of the bare legs draped across my lap. She said, “And you are? Happy?”

God, sometimes I just wanted to shake her. In many ways, she’d overcome the worst of her insecurities, but in moments of stress they seemed to all come rushing back. Rather than wasting my breath answering, I stood with her cradled in my arms, and headed for the hallway.

“What are you doing?” she asked.

I stopped for a moment to press a hard kiss to her mouth. Her fingers laced around my neck, but I pulled back before she could distract me from making my point. “I’m showing you how happy I am.”

I nudged the bathroom door open, and leaned past the shower curtain. Bliss squealed and held tighter to my neck, as I turned the shower knobs with her still in my arms. She raised an eyebrow, a sly grin sneaking across her lips. “Our shower makes you happy?”

“You make me happy. The shower is just multitasking.”

“How very responsible of you.”

I kissed a smudge of pancake batter off her cheek, and smiled.

“Yes, that’s the word.”

I set her down on her feet, but her arms stayed tucked around my neck. When she smiled at me like that, I forgot all about the flour on her face or her wild bed head. That smile went straight through me and settled somewhere in my bones.

I kissed her on the forehead and said, “Let’s get you cleaned up.”

I found the hem of her oversize T-shirt, and began pulling it over her head. I’m not sure where the T-shirt ended up because when I realized she was wearing nothing underneath it, my vision narrowed to encompass only her.

God, she was gorgeous.

If you would have told me two years ago that I’d be getting married to a girl that I’d met just over a year ago, I would have called you mental. My romantic history was so horrendous, I’d never really thought of myself as the marrying type. Until her.

Bliss cleared her throat, and my eyes went back to her. To her mouth. Her chest. The small of her waist that seemed perfectly sculpted to fit in my hands.

She was the ultimate game changer. I hadn’t known what it was like to meet a person so full of joy that just by being near her, I was elevated to a happier place. I’d never been with someone who was able to captivate every part of me—mind, body, and soul.

Body, of course, being my primary focus at the moment.

Her bottom lip stuck out, calling to me, and she said, “How long are you going to make me stand here naked while you’re fully clothed?”

I took a seat on the toilet, and smiled cheekily up at her. I leaned back, laying one leg across my other knee, and said, “I could do this all day.”

And I wasn’t lying. I wanted to study her, to memorize her, to be able to close my eyes and see her perfectly as she was.

She rolled her eyes. “Yes, well, it might be a little awkward if I were to stay naked all day. Though it would make going through airport security much simpler.”

I barked a laugh, and she added, “Wasn’t your goal to distract me and make me less self-conscious? You’re falling down on the job, Mr. Taylor.”

Well, I couldn’t have that, now could I?

I gripped her waist and pulled her forward until my chin brushed the skin just below her belly button. She shivered in my arms, and the reaction sent my blood screaming through my veins. I let my lips graze her just slightly and said, “You have nothing to be self-conscious about.”

Her hands laced into my hair, and she looked down at me with glazed eyes. Firmer this time, I dragged my lips over her belly button and up to the valley made by her ribs. I tasted flour on her skin even here, and smothered a laugh.

Above me, she sighed and said, “You’re back on track with that distracting thing.”

Suddenly impatient, I stood and pulled my shirt over my head. I was rewarded with a breathy sigh and a bitten lip that made it incredibly hard not to be cocky. And not to take her right then.

She swallowed, drawing my eyes to her neck. God, I didn’t know what it was about her neck, but it was constantly my undoing. I felt like a teenage boy, wanting to mark that pale, unblemished skin as mine again and again. I brushed a thumb over her pulse point, and she swallowed again, her eyes wide. I laced my fingers through her sleep-addled curls, and tilted her head back.

“How about now?” I asked.

If she was even half as distracted as I was, I’d say I’d done my job. Her eyes pulled away from my bare chest and she said, “Uh . . . what?”

I laughed, but the sound stuck in my throat when her slim fingers smoothed from my chest down to the waist of my pajama bottoms. Her fingers curled around the band, and I swallowed. Looking down, I could see the way her curves reached out toward my body, and I wanted nothing more that to seal our bodies together.

Before I completely lost my train of thought, I said, “No more worrying about my mother, right?”

For either of us.

She gave me a half-glazed glare.

I used one hand to pull her closer, and the other to cup her breast. Then I repeated, “No more worrying.”

“Do you promise to do this every time I do worry?”

I gave a quick pinch to the tip of the breast in my hand. She flinched, and then moaned. Her eyes fluttered closed and her body swayed toward mine.

She breathed, “No worrying.”

And I thought, Thank God.

Because I couldn’t wait another second.

I crushed my lips against hers, wishing for the hundredth time that I could just permanently affix our mouths together. Every part of her tasted divine, but her mouth was my favorite. It was so easy to lose myself in kissing her, mostly because I could tell she was doing the same. Her body pressed against mine, and her fingernails dug into my shoulders like she was dangling off a cliff, and that was the only thing holding her up. The harder I kissed her, the harder her nails bit into my skin. I trailed a hand from her neck down the line of her spine, and her mouth broke away from mine. She shivered in my arms, her eyes closed.

I leaned my forehead against hers, and pulled her bare chest to mine. Between the shower steam and her skin, our tiny bathroom felt like a furnace. I never would have thought I could feel such peace while my heart hammered and my skin burned, but that’s what she brought me. I’d always thought love was this complicated, messy, frankly ugly thing. Possibly because, growing up, I’d not had much of an example for what a relationship should be. I didn’t know it could be any other way. But Bliss chased away the gray and made everything seem black and white. No matter the question, she was the answer.

She was my everything—the lungs that allowed me to breathe, the heart that had to beat, the eyes that let me see. She’d become a part of me, and all that was left was a piece of paper to tell the world we were as inseparable as I already felt we were.

It was just a piece of paper. The feeling mattered so much more, but a part of me sang with nervous energy demanding we make it official. Soon. It was the same part of me that worried about how Bliss would react to my family . . . to the way I grew up.

She stepped out of my arms, biting down on her already red and swollen bottom lip. Then she pulled back the shower curtain and stepped into the tub.

I hated the fear that chased the heels of my love for her.

Despite the fact that our relationship had begun in the most troubling and impossible situation—between teacher and student—things had been almost perfect since then. A rose-tinted world.

But it couldn’t stay that way. Logic, reality, and a lifetime knowledge of my mother made me certain of that. The feeling always came out of nowhere. I’d be watching her, touching her, kissing her, and then suddenly, for one infinitesimal moment I’d feel like it was all about to come crashing down. Like we were balanced on a precipice, it felt inevitable that eventually we would fall. I didn’t know how it would happen. Her insecurities. My stubbornness. The interfering hand of fate (or family). But for a few seconds, I could feel it coming.

Then always, she would pull me back. Those seconds of inevitability and uncertainty would dissolve in the sheer magnitude of my feelings for her. The doubt would be erased by the touch of a hand or the quirk of a smile, and I would feel like we could hold off that fall for forever and a day.

She did it again, peeking one last time around the shower curtain wearing nothing but a smile. I heard the water pattern change and knew she’d stepped under the stream of the shower. So I pushed my worries away in favor of a much more pleasant use of my time.

I kicked off the last of my clothing and joined her in the steam. We weren’t in London yet, and I wasn’t going to let fear steal another second of perfection from my grasp.

As long as we both kept pulling each other back, we’d make it. We’d keep our rose-tinted world.

2

Bliss

OUR MORNING IN the shower turned into a morning back in bed, and that miraculous man loved every ounce of stress from my body. Seriously. I think his tongue had some kind of special ability to melt my bones because I felt so relaxed that I was practically liquid. Just call me Alex Mack.

“That, Mr. Taylor, was a very good answer to my question.”

His fingertips tickled the back of my knee and his mouth moved lazily across my shoulder. I shivered as he said, “What was the question again?” The hand on my knee trailed up the sensitive skin on the inside of my thigh. “I got distracted.”

I swallowed.

We did distraction so well.

“I asked if you were happy.”

His hand continued farther up until his touch made my back bow and my head fall back.

“Right. That was a stupid question.”

I wanted to swat him, but I had an unsurprising lack of control over my limbs thanks to his very focused ministrations.

“It’s not stupid,” I squeezed out through clenched teeth. “I can’t read your mind. Sometimes I just need to hear it.”

He leaned over me, his hair mussed, but his eyes thoughtful. “And I’m bad at saying it.”

“Only sometimes.” Or sometimes I just needed to hear it more. I told myself that I was being stupid, but hating my insecurities didn’t make them go away.

He shifted over me and settled into the crux of my thighs. Still sensitive from our last go, I whimpered when his body pressed into mine.

“In that case, you should know that every time I do this”—his hips shifted—“I am incredibly happy.”

Somehow through all the sensation I managed to roll my eyes.

“We’re talking about two different kinds of happiness.”

He shook his head, and lowered his lips to my ear. “There’s only one kind. Whether I’m inside you or lying beside you or touching your hair or listening to you laugh, it all means the same thing. If I’m with you, I’m happy.”

God, he was good. At everything.

He hit a sensitive spot inside me, and the word good tumbled from my mouth by accident.

He chuckled darkly. “Are you grading me? I thought I was the teacher here.”

I pulled his mouth to mine to shut him up, and then wrapped my legs around his waist.

“I’m not grading you. Your ego is big enough already.”

He laughed and continued distracting me through the morning and a good portion of the afternoon.

It worked for a little while, okay maybe a long while. But when we boarded the flight late that night, no amount of flirting or touching or whispers in my ear could get my mind off the plethora of potential disasters that awaited me in London.

I knew almost nothing about his family. Except that his mother terrified me. She scared me by proxy, just based on the look on Garrick’s face while he talked to her on the phone and the sound of her voice leaking from the speaker. When I saw her name on the caller ID, it was like seeing the Dark Mark hovering above my apartment.

What if she took one look at me and confirmed what I already knew to be true? Garrick was too good for me.

Don’t get me wrong. I wasn’t awash in self-pity about it because . . . hello, I got the guy. No complaints here. But that didn’t mean I was too stupid to know that he could have someone prettier or taller or with less frizzy hair.

But he was with me. As long as I didn’t screw it up, of course.

And God knows I was good at screwing things up.

So I sat in my seat on the plane as everyone else around me slept, including Garrick, and I drove myself crazy with worry.

If the weight of my stress were real, there was no way this plane could have stayed in the air. We’d start plummeting and spinning and then some brave soul would throw me out the side door for the good of everyone and scream, “Lighten up!” as I fell to my death.

That was another thing that could go wrong. I could fall to my death on the stairs at Garrick’s house. Wait . . . did they have stairs? I should have made him detail it all for me. Maybe I should wake him up and ask him now about the stairs. And for a description of the entire house. And backgrounds on his parents and everyone he had ever met. Maybe he could just keep talking, so that I could stop listening to my own thoughts.

I started to reach for him, but then brought that same hand back to thump against my forehead.

Seriously, Bliss. Chill out.

That was my mantra for the rest of the trip. I repeated it in my head (and possibly out loud) as I pressed my forehead against the cool glass of the airplane window, and tried to get some sleep.

The mantra worked about as much as my attempts to sleep. Fitfully I moved between the window, the seatback tray, and Garrick’s shoulder, trying to find a place to lean my head that didn’t feel horrendously uncomfortable. I didn’t get how I could sleep on Garrick’s shoulder anytime at home, and now when it was my best option for slumber, it was like trying to rest my head on a pillow of glass shards covered in ants dusted with anthrax.

I’d switched back to the seatback tray, folding myself over onto it, when Garrick sat up and unbuckled his seat belt.

I woke him up.

Girlfriend Fail.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered.

He reached between me and my current resting place, found the metal fastener of my seat belt, and clicked it open.

“What are you doing?” I asked.

He didn’t even talk, just gestured with his hand for me to stand.

I fumbled to put up the tray and stand in the low space. My head craned to the side to fit under the overhead bins, and he pulled up the armrest and slid over into my spot. With his hands on my hips, he deposited me in his old seat, and then he turned toward me and leaned his back against the window. He opened his arms to me with a sleepy half smile, and I fell gratefully into his arms. With my head perched atop his chest, I sighed in relief.

“Better?” he asked, his voice raspy with sleep.

“Perfect.”

His lips brushed my temple, and then sleep was almost as irresistible as he was.

I WOKE A few hours later to find light peeking through the plane windows. Two women were whispering quietly a few rows behind us in a familiar lilting accent. And it hit me. We were almost in London.

I was going to be in London.

God, all those months of seeing Kelsey’s pictures and hearing about her travels, and I had been raging with jealousy. And now it was my turn.

I wanted to mind the gap at the tube station and eat fish and chips and try to make the Queen’s guards laugh. I wanted to see Big Ben and the Globe and the London Bridge and Dame Judi Dench. Or Maggie Smith. Or Alan Rickman. Or Sir Ian McKellen. Or anybody famous and British, really.

Holy crap. This was really happening.

And I wasn’t just a tourist. I was visiting with someone who’d grown up in the city. With my fiancé.

Take that, world.

“You look happier.”

I pulled my head away from the window to find Garrick awake and staring at me. I gave a small squeal and launched myself at him. I locked our mouths together, and for a moment he sat still and shocked beneath me. Then his eyes closed, his hand cupped the back of my neck, and he kissed me so thoroughly that I almost forgot about London. Almost.

I broke away, grinning, and he said, “Not that I will ever complain about moments like that, but what’s gotten into you? You waited a little late if your goal was to join the mile-high club.”

I swatted his shoulder playfully, and then placed another quick kiss on his mouth because I couldn’t resist. I said, “You’re English.”

He smiled and blinked a few times. “Yes. Yes, I am.”

“And we’re about to be in England.”

He nodded slowly, and I knew I sounded crazy, but I didn’t care.

“Yes. We’ve only been planning this visit for a month.”

“I know . . . I just . . . it didn’t hit me until now that we’re in London. Or about to be, anyway. I’ve been worrying so much about your mother that I hadn’t really thought about it. I’m going to London! Eeep!”

He chuckled, small and quiet, and brushed his fingers across my lips to quiet me. Right. People were sleeping. Then, like he couldn’t contain it, he laughed louder, completely disregarding his own warning to be quiet.

“What’s so funny?” I asked.

Slowly smothering his laughter, he used the hand hooked around my neck to pull my forehead against his. Our lips brushed just barely when he said, “You make me happy.” I smiled my approval, and he added, “Marry me?”

My heart flip-flopped, like my unsuccessful pancakes from this morning were supposed to.

“You’ve already asked me that, and I already said yes.”

“I know. It’s unfair that I only get to ask you that once, though.”

Melting. So much melting.

I reached up and brushed my fingertips along his jaw. He hadn’t shaved in a few days, so the hair there was rough and masculine and unbelievably sexy. He closed his eyes and leaned into my hand the way that Hamlet did when anyone but me was playing with her. Stupid cat.

I said, “Yes. The answer will always be yes.”

He took my hand from his jaw and brushed his lips across my knuckles. My insides went as gooey as the nearly congealed breakfast the flight attendants had passed out. He kissed the ring on my third finger, and who knew the engagement ring was an erogenous zone?

“I’m going to hold you to that. I know how much you love accents, and I’m going to have much more competition in that arena here.”

I laughed. “I hadn’t even thought of that! Just think, a whole country full of British men! I could—”

He tugged me forward and silenced me in my favorite way.

“That’s not funny,” he said. “It’s bad enough that I’m about to have to share you with my family.”

Ugh. I was going to ignore that whole family thing. I’d been enough of a Debbie Downer already to last the rest of the trip.

“Remember that time we met and you said you weren’t the jealous type? Remember the time that was a big fat lie?”

Ah well. Jealousy looked really good on him.

“It wasn’t a lie. I just hadn’t ever met anyone worth getting jealous over until you.”

I slid my arms around his waist. “Are all British men such smooth talkers?”

“No. Just me.”

“And James Bond.”

“Right. Of course.”

“Fine. I guess since James is fictional, I’ll have to keep you.”

“You couldn’t get rid of me if you tried.”

“I’m not trying.”

A flight attendant tapped me on the shoulder and asked us to please prepare for landing. I guessed what she really meant was to stop molesting my boyfriend in public.

God, airlines. Stingy with the peanuts and the fun.

I wasn’t sorry, but I blushed anyway because that’s the only thing my traitorous body was good for. I faced forward, but noticed a woman sitting across the aisle staring at us. She had her elbow on the armrest and her cheek propped up on her hand, gawking at us like we were her in-flight entertainment. My small blush spread like a wildfire across my whole face and down my neck.

Maybe we had been making a bit of a scene.

Garrick didn’t seem to mind the attention, his chest bouncing with silent laughter. I flicked his arm, and tried to ignore the woman, who was still staring.

Garrick said again, “Marry me.”

Oh, now he was just showing off.

I heard the woman aww next to us, and I swear to God I expected her to pull out a bag of popcorn or something.

I flicked his arm again, and he just laughed. I leaned my head back against the seat as the plane began to slow and dip, and I tried to get my blush under control.

Garrick stayed smug beside me as we landed and taxied to the gate. I was glad we were near the front of the plane, so that we could grab our things and get away from our audience. I pulled my purse from under the seat in front of me, and moved to flee.

“Wait,” the woman said. “Aren’t you going to answer him?”

Garrick chuckled and added, “Yes, aren’t you going to answer me?”

My chin dropped, and I floundered like, well, a flounder.

He was really going to make me do this with that woman watching. And now that she’d said something, a few others were paying attention, too. I pressed my lips together, and glared at him. As an actor, I should be better at handling attention, but it was different when I was playing a part. I got to turn off my brain and think like someone else.

Reluctantly, I said, “Yes.”

“What was that, love? I couldn’t quite hear you.”

Cue eye roll. “I said yes.”

Garrick turned to the people surrounding us and practically yelled, “She said yes!”

Gradually, the cabin broke out into applause, and I threw him a look that was one part I’m-going-to-murder-you and three parts get-me-out-of-here-now-kthxbye.

Garrick soaked up the applause with a charming smile while I looked on, probably barely more attractive than a radish. I turned to flee and tripped over something. I couldn’t actually see anything, but I swear there was something.

I power-walked off the plane and resisted the urge to run down the walkway and into the terminal. Garrick caught up to me just as I passed through the door, and looped an arm around my neck.

“You know I love it when you blush.”

“And you know I hate it.”

“It reminds me of your face the second time we met, that morning in my classroom. The most inappropriate time and place to ever be turned on, but you’ve got a take-no-prisoners kind of blush. My body didn’t give me much of a choice.”

He was only saying that to make me blush more. You would think that I’d be a bit more comfortable talking about sex, now that I’d had it and all. You would also think that at my age I would be able to successfully insert the straw into a Capri Sun juice pouch. I was 0–2 there.

So I let him enjoy my embarrassment. And I enjoyed the way his side was pressed against mine. Fair trade.

3

Garrick

I WAS STILL a bit bleary-eyed as we waited through the long line for immigration, then picked up our bags, and passed through customs. Bliss vaulted between exuberance and silence, more of the latter, as we got closer to our final destination.

Outside the airport, I tucked Bliss under my arm, needing to feel her, to feel some sort of control as her panic began to bleed into me. I was halfheartedly trying to flag down a taxi to take us to my parents’ place in Kensington when I heard someone shout, “Taylor! Garrick Taylor! Look over here, you prat!”

Bliss had already stopped and was staring at two idiots down the pavement, yelling and waving their arms. The first idiot had dark skin and a buzzed head that had been covered in dreads the last time I’d seen him. That would be Rowland. And paired with the second idiot, Graham, who looked enough like me to pass for my brother (a scam we’d used more than once when we were kids), they meant trouble.

I passed a hand through my hair and smiled. “Bloody hell.”

What in the world were they doing here?

“Friends of yours?” Bliss asked.

“Very old friends.”

Bliss and I turned around our luggage and barely made it a few meters before Rowland was tackling me.

“Ricky!” he yelled, messing with my hair.

I heard Bliss say, “Ricky?” over my shoulder before I shoved Rowland off. Glaring, I said, “That nickname wasn’t okay in secondary, and it isn’t okay now.”

Graham said, “Oh, come on, brother. At least let him have a little fun. You’ve not visited in ages. Though I can see why.”

I didn’t have to look to know he was staring at Bliss. Not only did Graham and I look alike—tall, blond hair, blue eyes—but we had the same taste in women. I had mostly been joking with her earlier about finding another guy, but now it wasn’t so funny. I shook my head at him and pulled her closer to me.

“Bliss, these two gits are my old mates, Rowland and Graham. We came up together. And this is my fiancée, Bliss.”

God, it felt good saying that.

“Her name is Bliss? Or is that your nickname for her because she’s really good in—”

“Rowland,” I warned.

He shrugged and shot Bliss a cheeky smile. She was grinning at both of them, her cheeks a brilliant red. And as good as it was to see them, I was not even remotely keen on sharing her.

I asked, “What are you lot doing here?”

Rowland said, “We phoned your dad and told him to tell your mum that your flight had been delayed by a few hours.”

“Why would you do that?”

Graham grinned in Bliss’s direction and said, “Because we wanted to meet your girl . . . before your mum tore her to pieces.”

I saw the blood drain from her face, and she went from red to white in seconds. Well, there went the last of her calm.

“Garrick!” Her hand connected with my arm, and then again with my chest.

Throwing a glare at Graham, I caught her hands and pulled her close.

“He’s joking, love. It’s all going to be fine.”

Please let it be fine.

“Or after a few pints with us, it will be, anyway,” Rowland cut in.

“It’s the middle of the day,” I said.

Rowland shrugged. “We’ll make sure there’s some food had somewhere in there.”

Bliss had her arms crossed over her chest, glaring at me. She looked so bloody hot when she was angry that I almost didn’t mind.

I said, “Thank you both for coming. And for managing to piss my future bride off in record time. But it was a long flight. I should probably just get Bliss home.”

When I reached, her hand flitted out of my range and then came back to poke me in the chest. “Oh no you don’t, Mr. Taylor.” I heard Rowland laugh behind me. She continued, “You are not depriving me of the chance to gather some much needed liquid courage or to question your friends.”

Graham whistled. “I like this one.”

That much was uncomfortably clear.

I met her eyes, and she wasn’t backing down. I pressed my lips together into a thin line, but her eyebrows just rose in answer.

“Fine. Okay.” I turned to my old friends and added, “One drink. With food. One hour. That’s it.” They held up innocent hands in surrender, and started leading us down the pavement.

Over his shoulder, Graham said, “Damn, Taylor. Did teaching suck all the fun out of you?”

“Something got sucked while he was teaching.”

I shoved Rowland from behind, and he launched forward several feet, cackling.

“What?” Bliss asked. “What did he say?”

“Nothing. Just being a prick.”

Rowland kept his distance as he led us to the same old Peugeot he’d been driving the last time I’d lived in London nearly eight years ago. It was funny how little some things and some people changed.

I’d changed . . . that much was for sure. In turns, I’d been just as elitist and judgmental as my parents or I’d rebelled and battled that with tremendous levels of stupidity and trouble. It was only in the last two years that I’d started to feel like I’d finally found a reasonable middle ground. I could only pray to find something similar today with my parents. I could only pray that this whole trip wouldn’t blow up in my face.

I helped Bliss into the backseat, and then turned to Graham before sliding in after her. He didn’t just look like a brother to me; he’d felt like one for most of my life, too. And when I left this city, I’d left that friendship, too. I’d only just recently reached out to him to reconnect.

I said, “It’s really good to see you, mate. Sorry that I’ve done a botch job of keeping in touch.”

He clapped me on the back and shook his head. “Don’t worry about it. I get why you stayed away. And things seemed to have worked themselves out just fine.” I peeked into the car, where Bliss was smiling and listening to some no doubt filthy story that Rowland was telling her from the driver’s seat. I smiled. “Yeah, things have worked out perfectly.”

I climbed into the backseat and pulled Bliss over to meet me in the middle. My old mates might have been troublemakers of the highest order, but they did have one thing going for them; Bliss was the most relaxed I’d seen her in the last week.

Maybe it was a good idea to just let loose for a little while. We both needed it.

I brought her head close to mine, pressing my nose into her curls as she laughed at the ridiculous voice Rowland was doing in imitation of his mother. Her warmth, her scent calmed me. And she made me see London in a new light. She made me see it how it was before my parents and all their pressure and manipulation had made me want to leave.

Again and again, Bliss seemed to be my new beginning, the thing to help me let go of the past and move forward.

She rested a hand on my thigh and looked up at me. I must have been tuned out for longer than I realized because she asked, “You okay?”

I laid my hand over hers and said, “Just glad to be home and to have you with me.”

She turned her hand over and laced her fingers with mine, and Rowland made gagging noises in the front seat.

“Oh shut it, Row. You’re just jealous because you haven’t yet managed to hold on to a woman for more than one night.”

“Managed? Managed? I should win an award for that. It’s harder than you think.”

Bliss snuggled into my side and asked, “So how long have you known Garrick?”

Rowland answered, “I’ve only known him since secondary.”

“High school,” I translated for Bliss.

“But Graham and Garrick have been attached at the hip since they were in nappies.”

“Diapers,” I added.

“Hey, she gets the gist of it. No need to translate every bleeding thing I say. I’m speaking English.”

“So what you’re saying,” Bliss began, leaning forward between the two front seats, “is that Graham is the one to go to for the embarrassing stories?”

“Excuse me.” I poked her in the side, and she squirmed away from me.

“Oh come on. Like you don’t know enough embarrassing things about me. You’ve been there for too many of them.”

“Do tell,” Rowland said, his eyebrows waggling at us through the rearview mirror.

“Don’t. You. Dare.” It was her turn to poke me.

“Wait.” Graham turned in his seat to face us. “Are you talking about being all hot for teacher?”

“Garrick!” I had a feeling I was going to be hearing my name in that tone all too often on this trip. “You told them?”

“I told Graham. Since Rowland doesn’t seem too surprised, I’m guessing he’s been filled in.”

Bliss bent and buried her face in her hands. “Oh my God, I’m so embarrassed.”

“Why would you be embarrassed?” Rowland asked. “You can’t get much hotter than a schoolgirl fantasy. After Graham told me, I had dreams for a week featuring girls in our old school uniforms.”

Bliss gave a garbled groan and sank even further until her face rested against her knees. I was still learning the intricacies of speaking Bliss, but I was fairly certain that groan meant that she thought she was dying of mortification.

I leveled a stare at him and said, “Thanks a lot, mate.”

Then I ran a hand across the curve of Bliss’s back and said, “There’s no reason to be embarrassed, because we didn’t do anything wrong. I don’t ever want to have to lie about us again.”

Call it an issue. Call it baggage. But I really hated lies. They’re ugly things, festering like wounds, spreading like disease. They’re winner-less crimes that hurt everybody in the end.

I felt her back rise and fall in a heaving breath beneath my hand. “You’re right.” She sat up, and I kept my hand between her and the seat. “I’m not sorry, and I’m done being scared of it.”

“Thatta girl,” Rowland said.

“That’s my girl,” I said into her ear.

“You hold on to that thick skin, sweetheart. Let Graham and I treat you to a few pints and you’ll have armor by the time you’re standing in the Taylors’ grand foyer.”

“You have a grand foyer?” She paled.

I scratched at my neck and said, “It’s really only slightly grand.”

“What about stairs? Do you have stairs?”

I nodded.

She threw her hands up. “That’s it. I’m gonna die. I knew it.”

I saw Rowland and Graham glance at each other in confusion, then look at me. I shook my head because I had no idea. Maybe I could be a bit lenient about that one-drink rule.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, but you’re not going to die. It’s just a house. Nothing to worry about.”

It really was just a house. I’d not ever really thought of it as a home.

She took a breath and nodded. Sitting up taller, she gave me a determined look.

Stairs. Cats. I loved the woman, but God knows I didn’t always understand her. She was so afraid of little things—mothers and fancy houses—but when she set her mind to something, she tackled it with such ferocity. Big things. Scary things.

Her career in Philly. Life after college. Falling in love with me.

I was the one that struggled with the big picture. I never quite knew what I wanted until it had already slapped me around a bit.

Or until she walked into my life with an imaginary cat.

“SHE DOESN’T NEED another one, Rowland. She’s good.”

We were both good. If I drank any more, I wouldn’t have a filter by the time we met my parents, which was a bit like not having a life raft on the Titanic.

“Oh, come on. What’s the point of working in a pub if I can’t get my friends completely sloshed?”

There was something terribly wrong about being in a near-empty pub midday and having as much alcohol as we had.

“I don’t know . . . gainful employment? Saving up to finally stop living with your parents?”

“Ssh!” He waved a forceful hand at me, like the two people in a booth across the bar were going to hear.

“First of all, that was cold, mate. And second, I have my own flat. It just happens to be above my parents’ garage. That doesn’t count as living with my parents.”

“Whatever helps you sleep at night, Row.”

“Just for that . . .” He poured another glass and slid it in Bliss’s direction.

I snatched it away as she reached for it, and pulled it away from her.

“Hey!” Her bottom lip curled into a pout. An almost irresistible pout.

“Sweetheart, I think you’re fine without it.”

She teetered toward me on her stool, wrapping a hand around my neck. Her fingers tangled in the hair at the base of my neck and she said, “Well, if I can’t have it, you should drink it.”

Rowland cut in, “Now, that is a plan. Maybe another drink will make you less of a bore.”

“I’m not boring.”

Graham gave a loud snore, pretending to sleep with his head balanced on the top of his mug.

Bliss laughed raucously, and the only thing that kept her from toppling off her seat was my hand at her waist. Graham’s eyes opened, and he winked at her before giving another overdramatic snore.

That did it.

I took hold of Bliss’s stool and dragged it over right next to mine. She squealed and fell into me. I tried to not to look too obviously annoyed at Graham as I draped my arm over her shoulder and took a swig of beer.

Rowland cheered, Bliss hummed against the skin of my neck, and I told myself one drink wouldn’t hurt.

Famous last words.

4

Bliss

“OKAY, NOW WE’RE really done,” Garrick said, his voice deep and hypnotic.

I didn’t want to be done. This was so much more fun than meeting his parents. I rested my chin on his shoulder and said, “Just one more.”

He glanced down at me and said, “Trust me, love. You’re going to want to stop now. Otherwise you’ll be making up songs and talking about how good I smell and getting inappropriately touchy.”

I laid my cheek down on his shoulder and slipped my fingers just below the collar of his shirt. “I thought you liked it when I was inappropriately touchy.”

Garrick stilled my hand at his neck and said, “Not when we’re about to meet my mother.”

Oh God. His mother. It shouldn’t be funny, but I found myself laughing anyway. I had to laugh . . . or I might cry. I know he said that Rowland and Graham were joking, but I was fairly certain he was just trying to keep me from running.

Rowland said, “Your mum will understand. The two of you are practically on a honeymoon already. It’s pretty nauseating.”

Graham added, “Of course she’ll understand. I mean, she’s your mom. It’s not like she hasn’t had sex before.”

Oh God. Now I was going to laugh and cry.

Graham leaned around me to look at Garrick, whose face was scrunched up in possibly the only unattractive expression I had ever seen on his face. Taunting Garrick further, he said, “I bet your parents are doing it right now. Sneaking in a quick shag while your flight is ‘delayed.’ ”

Garrick slid off his stool. “And . . . that’s our cue to call it a night.”

“And call a therapist.” Graham smiled.

“And get coffee,” I added. Definitely coffee.

Garrick stood behind me, and his warm hands gripped my shoulders. I leaned back and tilted my head until my head rested against his stomach, and I was looking at him upside down. I blinked. Or I meant to, anyway. Instead, my eyes stayed closed, and the dark swirled with color, and I had the sensation that I was tumbling down a long black hole. I peeled my lids open, and then had to squint against the light of the bar. Between being upside down and being two drinks past the point of caring, the world was horrendously disoriented. “I think . . .” I looked up at Garrick. “That I drank too much.”

Garrick nodded, and if his heavy-lidded eyes were any indication, he wasn’t exactly sober, either. Or he was turned on. Or both . . . hopefully.

He said, “I think I’m friends with a couple pricks.”

Graham stood, leaving his half-empty beer on the bar. “Take it easy on the mushy stuff, Taylor. We know how much you love us. No need to make a spectacle.”

“Let’s just get out of here,” Garrick said.

I agreed by looping my arms around his waist and laying my head against his chest.

Rowland said, “At least she’s relaxed now. I did you a favor.”

I was gloriously relaxed, in fact. And I figured . . . maybe we could stretch out this fake plane delay for a little longer, get a little time on our own in the city before I had to walk the plank. I slid my hands down to the leather belt that wrapped around his hips, and lifted up on my tiptoes. Humming, I found the warm crux where the muscles of his shoulder flowed into his neck. This was the perfect part of him. When I took a deep breath, I could almost imagine we were alone, and I was surrounded by him.

Garrick cleared his throat. “Maybe a little too relaxed.”

I opened my lips and tasted perfection, too. A small noise of satisfaction rolled from my lips, and somewhere behind me I heard, “Rowland really did do you a favor.”

Gently, Garrick pushed me down until my feet were flat on the ground, and I could no longer reach his neck.

He held up his middle finger toward his friends. Graham raised his eyebrows, and Garrick seemed to realize we weren’t in the States anymore. He blinked and shook his head, and then added a second finger. It looked like a backward peace sign, but I knew it didn’t mean that. Not here.

Graham shook his head. “Damn it. The Americans got to you.”

Garrick flipped him off with two fingers again, this time with a bit more conviction. I watched on, only vaguely aware of what was happening, until the both of them burst into laughter.

I rolled my eyes.

Men.

Garrick kept a tight hold on my hand as we left the pub, and then we headed back to the car we’d arrived in. Garrick lowered me into the backseat first, and then climbed in after me.

I neglected the seat belt in favor of wrapping myself around Garrick. I found that spot on his neck again and sighed. “You really do smell so good.”

He laughed. “You always say that, especially when you’ve been drinking.”

That’s because it was true. I’d never really gotten scent as a turn-on. When I’d bought cologne for previous boyfriends, it kind of all smelled the same to me. I usually made someone in the store pick for me. But with Garrick . . . God, I just wanted to be surrounded by his smell all the time. If I couldn’t be near him, I wanted to wear his clothes or sleep on his side of the bed.

I was a creeper. I could accept that.

Maybe it was the alcohol or being in a foreign city or the fact that this was the first time we’d really been out drinking together since the night we met; Whatever it was, I wanted him, so bad that my skin itched to touch his. I fiddled with one of the buttons on his shirt, trying to act as innocent as possible. And then ever so slowly, I slipped his top button open. His head didn’t move, so I went for a second button.

Apparently one button was my stealth limit because he totally caught me. I smiled up at him as sweetly as I could and slid my fingers under his shirt to the bare skin of his chest. His chin dipped, and he stared at me in warning, but he didn’t stop me. I trailed my fingers across his collarbone and from his shoulder back down to his chest. He watched me with dark eyes, and the arm draped over the seat behind me came down around me. His fingertips slid under my shirt to curve over my shoulder.

Shifting, I faced him, leaning my other shoulder against the seat and draping my legs over his lap. Immediately, his other hand curved around my calf.

I might be clueless about a lot of things, but I knew my fiancé. He was definitely a leg man.

Between his touch and the alcohol, I felt light-headed.

That might have been mostly the alcohol, considering how heavy my head felt and the way the world in my peripheral vision kept swooping and spinning. His fingertips found the back of my knee, and I giggled at his touch.

“Aw, man.” Rowland said from the front. “You two are like a bunch of randy teenagers.”

I felt like a teenager. I hadn’t been this drunk in ages. I was too busy working and working and then working some more.

Being an adult blows.

I tilted my head up to Garrick and said, “I can’t feel my lips.”

“Here, let me check.” His mouth slanted over mine, his tongue dipping between my lips, tangling with mine. He tasted like beer and himself, and I realized that he’d had almost as much to drink as me. He pulled back. “Nope, they’re still there.”

He grinned playfully, and that was when I knew he’d had plenty to drink. Laughing, I hooked my arms around his neck, and lay back against the seat cushion, pulling him with me.

“Hey, hey now!” Rowland called. “No sex while I’m driving. That’s a public hazard.”

Garrick’s lips ran down my neck, and I couldn’t seem to make myself stop giggling. I called back to Rowland, “So pull over.”

“Are you seriously going to have sex in my car? Because that’s hot. Can she be on top?”

Garrick said, “Eyes on the road, Rowland! No one is having sex.”

I frowned, and he kissed my puckered bottom lip. He muttered, “You are a public hazard.”

Graham leaned around his seat to look at us. “You two don’t need coffee. You need a fucking tranquilizer.”

Groaning, Garrick’s hands slipped off my body to brace against the seat. He pushed himself back into a sitting position, and I whined at the distance.

Whined. I would have been embarrassed if I wasn’t so turned on.

He clenched his fists and tilted his head back against the seat.

Of all the times for him to practice restraint. I was going to burn up in my skin here.

Staring up at the ceiling, he spoke, his voice strained. “Sorry about that.”

“Sorry?” I asked. “Who’s sorry?”

“I’m not!” Rowland said.

I trailed my fingers over his arm. “I’m sorry you stopped.”

Garrick glared at Rowland in the rearview mirror until his eyes focused back on the road. Then he turned to me and pointed at his friend. “That’s why I’m sorry.”

Somewhere in my body, I was fairly certain I still had a brain. And it had probably been shouting at me for a while. But my hormones must have had fucking megaphones because that’s all I could hear. I sat up, my arms and legs shaky with pent-up need. My shirt was twisted, and you could see the blue lace of my bra and the swell of my chest peeking out from the neckline of my shirt. I adjusted it quickly, glancing to see if Rowland or Graham had seen, but luckily they were still looking ahead. My eyes skipped to Garrick’s dark gaze. Yeah, he definitely hadn’t missed it.

A bolt of electricity shot through me, and I pressed my thighs together, trying to relieve something, anything. Garrick leaned over and his lips brushed my ear. So not helping the situation. As I tried to keep from squirming, he said, “As much as I’m dying to have you right now, you’re mine. And I don’t share.”

I swallowed, and squeezed my legs tighter. This was somehow the worst and best moment of my life. In fact, most of our relationship fell into those categories. Best boyfriend. Worst embarrassing moment. Best kiss. Worst excuse ever. Best (well . . . only) sex. Worst timing. But I could take all the worsts, if the best always followed.

His nose brushed my jaw and his breath fanned across my neck, and I swear my body shook in response. You would think with the morning he’d spent distracting me before our flight, I wouldn’t be so desperate for him now, but I was always desperate for him.

Plus, even though we lived together, I never saw him enough. Between plays and the additional jobs it took to pay our rent in Center City, it felt like we were always on the go. I couldn’t remember the last time we’d gone out for a night together, at least not when we hadn’t just finished a show and weren’t exhausted.

All those years of making up excuses not to have sex, and now I was busy trying to think of an excuse to ditch his friends and his parents and keep him all to myself.

His lips brushed against my ear again, and I dropped a hand to his thigh and squeezed. I wasn’t sure whether I was signaling him to stop or to give me more; I just knew I was dying from his proximity alone. A low rumble spilled from his throat, and I glanced up front to make sure his friends weren’t watching. They weren’t, so I took a chance and slid my hand a little higher.

I didn’t get but an inch before his hand clamped down on mine. Against my ear, he growled, “You really are a hazard to my health.” I just squeezed his leg again, and leaned my head to offer him more of my neck. He nipped my skin there and then whispered, “We’re going to meet my parents. We’ll smile and talk long enough that they feel like they’ve met you, then we’re finding a place to be alone. My bedroom, the bathroom, the kitchen, I don’t care where. The only thing I care about is fucking you so hard you can’t see straight.”

Annnd . . . aneurysm.

The air fled my lungs like I’d been punched in the chest, and I blushed so hard I felt like my blood was boiling. Seriously. It had turned so hot in this backseat, I was going to have a freaking heatstroke. And I had to bite down hard on my lip to keep in the string of unintelligible noises building on my tongue.

Garrick and I had sex. Often. Good sex. But in the spectrum of intercourse (oh God, only my brain would think spectrum of intercourse at a time like this), we made love. It was intense and sweet and perfect. I don’t know if it was the alcohol or my actions that pushed him to the other side of the spectrum, but I knew I was wound tight enough that another minute of him whispering in my ear could probably send me over the edge. That was probably why my arms and legs felt like Jell-O when we stood in front of his parents’ door, and he rang the bell. Though I’m sure the alcohol and the stress and the traveling didn’t help.

“This is going to be okay, right?” I asked. “You can’t tell I’m drunk, right?”

And would his parents be able to tell that I’d just been dying to screw their son in the backseat of a car like a high school prom date? That I was still dying to?

I could picture it now.

Hi Mom and Dad, this is my girlfriend—

HARLOT!

Then they would make me sew a red A on all of my clothing, and I did not look good in red, what with all the blushing. Plus I’d barely passed my costuming class in college. Needles and me don’t mix.

A hand came down on my shoulder, and I jumped. Rowland smiled, “You’re good, Bliss. You’re going to be a smash. Just wait.”

Right. I was going to be fine.

Garrick rang the doorbell a second time, and when no one answered, Graham said, “Told you they were shagging.”

Throwing a glare over his shoulder, Garrick took a deep breath and squared his shoulders. I stared, and for the first time realized that he was as nervous as I was. Oh hell, if he was nervous I was doomed. My odds were looking about as good as a main character in Game of Thrones.

He turned the knob. It gave way in his hand, and the door swung open to reveal a darkened entryway. My footsteps echoed as we stepped inside.

“That’s strange,” he said, his voice echoing, too.

Did this mean we could just go straight to his bedroom? Because oh my yes, thank you.

The open door let in just enough late afternoon light to reveal a strip of empty . . . well, foyer. Never thought I would have the need to actually use that word in real life. The windows were covered by heavy curtains, draping the rest of the place in darkness. I reached for the wall beside the door, running my hands along it looking for a switch.

I wasn’t sure which of my many issues to blame when my forearm collided with something cool and smooth and vase-shaped, knocking it sideways. When I tried to catch it and missed, I was blaming my sex-distracted thoughts. When I heard it crash and shatter against the floor, I was blaming the alcohol. When the light flipped on revealing a seriously grand foyer, a large group of people streaming into the entryway holding champagne flutes, and an elegant and terrifying woman that could only be Garrick’s mother staring in horror . . . well, that’s when I knew it wasn’t any of those things.

It was just me . . . failing at life again.

Behind me, Rowland broke the silence with a tentative “Surprise?”

No . . . me being a disaster of awkward proportions was the least surprising thing ever. I’d made a smash all right. Like I was the Hulk’s cousin.

Bliss SMASH.

5

Garrick

THE CRASH OF the vase echoed through the foyer for several seconds afterward, and each reverberation seemed to cause my mother’s expression to contort further.

I’d always thought I was fairly good at thinking on my feet and reacting in a crisis (and looking at my mother, this definitely counted as a crisis). For the life of me though, I couldn’t think of a single thing to say. Maybe I was out of practice or maybe there still wasn’t enough blood flowing through my brain, but either way only one word was going through my mind.

Fuck.

And not the kind I’d had in mind.

Luckily, my father, ever the composed businessman, covered for us all.

“Well . . . wasn’t that quite the entrance?”

The crowd laughed, and I could almost feel the heat of Bliss’s blush from here. The entire downstairs was brimming with what seemed like every person I had ever met, and plenty that I hadn’t. And I hadn’t the foggiest clue about what they were doing here.

Dad crossed to Bliss, and she looked queasy enough to pass out. He was immaculate in a dark suit that contrasted with his silvering hair. He picked up her hand and kissed the back of it. Her eyes flicked to mine, surprised.

Dad said, his voice loud enough for everyone to hear, “Don’t you worry about it for one second, sweetheart. I’m sure at some point in his life Garrick had already broken that old thing and glued it back together.”

Mum would have flayed me. She loved that vase. But the people laughed, and the room collectively sighed in relief. Dad was good at that kind of stuff. He could charm any conference room, any party, any seminar. It was the one-on-one things he couldn’t do.

Dad helped Bliss step over the glass shards, and that made me spring into action. We crossed to each other, but Dad stayed in between us. Still holding one of her hands, he clapped me on the shoulder and looked out at the crowd.

“Well, we wanted a surprise engagement party, and we certainly got a surprise.” Everyone laughed again. Dad squeezed my shoulder and said, “You all know my son, Garrick.” I spotted a few business types in the crowd—salt and pepper hair, pristine suits, impeccable ties. I sure as hell didn’t know them. Mixing business with family as always.

“He graduated at the top of his class, and his mother and I were ready for him to go to Oxford like all the other Taylor men.” Here we go. Time for the not-so-sly insults about how I’d ruined our family legacy. “But children have to make their own way, or they’ll only pretend to grow up. I’m proud to look at him and see the man he has become.”

I tried not to gape. My mother and I spoke often enough, but I couldn’t even recall the last time Dad and I had actually spoken. He’d been furious when I left, and certain that I’d ruined my life. Was it possible that my parents had done some changing of their own? This new leaf threw me off balance, and suddenly all I could think about was the scent of beer on my breath and how disheveled I probably looked. “He left us to make his own way and moved to America, where he’s already managed to become a university professor at his young age.”

Okay, so his storytelling was a bit selective considering I was no longer a professor. But it was a compliment nonetheless.

“He’s become a fine man and has now brought home this lovely, unpredictable young woman to join our family.” He turned to Bliss, holding up her hand. “We’re so happy to have you here, Bliss.” Then he turned out to the crowd. “We’re happy to have all of you here to celebrate their engagement with us. Please, eat, drink, enjoy yourselves. Though perhaps keep an eye on the decor.” He winked, and Bliss laughed, completely charmed.

He presented her hand to me as people around the house clapped, and then without actually saying a private word to either of us, retreated to a group of men in suits.

I wanted to punch myself. People laughed and aww’d at his performance, and I’d been sucked in just like the rest of them. Like I was sixteen all over again, I churned with rage and wanted to storm out of the door.

So much for that new leaf.

He’d thrown this stupid party to impress people, and he’d made it a surprise so that I couldn’t object. Just once I would love to see my father try to do something important without an audience.

I schooled my face into a blank expression, and then concentrated on Bliss. I placed a kiss on her temple. She hugged me, and against my chest, I heard her say, “Kill me. Just put me out of my misery, please.”

“And leave me to be miserable without you? Never.”

“So selfish.”

“When it comes to you? Absolutely.” Already I wanted to just take her away, to just be the two of us again. I sighed and looked around. Some people were staying in the foyer, others were streaming into other parts of the house, laughing and drinking, and grabbing hors d’oeuvres from passing waiters.

I said, “I guess our odds of finding somewhere to be alone just got significantly smaller.”

She looked up at me and frowned. She looked so disappointed that my stomach clenched with desire all over again.

Just a few hours. This thing couldn’t last forever.

“I’m so sorry about the vase. And for making such a scene.” Her face scrunched up like she was going to cry, and my method of dealing with her tears yesterday morning probably wasn’t going to fly in this room full of people. I smoothed a hand over her hair and said the only thing I could.

“Marry me?”

Her eyes turned sad.

“Garrick, not now.”

My heart twisted. It was another one of those moments. “Yes, now, love. Marry me.”

“Still? You know I’m just going to keep breaking things.”

“And you know I’m just going to keep loving you anyway.” Her frown twitched, and I added, “Besides . . . not marrying you would break me.”

The frown softened, and she blinked away the film of tears in her eyes. “Me too.”

“It’s settled then. You’re stuck with me forever.”

She shook her head and made a noise that sounded like disbelief.

My biggest fear was that someday she would talk herself out of our relationship. That she would shake her head and listen more to her own poisonous thoughts than the words coming out of my mouth.

I kissed her cheek and whispered in her ear, “We are forever. If you don’t believe me, I’ll have to make you. As soon as we find that place to be alone.”

I only got a faint pink in her cheeks as she looked down at her feet, but I’d take it. After a second, she tipped her head back and groaned, a sound that went straight through me.

She said, “I’m wearing jeans.”

I nodded. I loved those jeans. They fit her perfectly.

“And by the looks of it, I’m in a room filled with people in designer dresses. And you’re crazy if you think this foyer is only slightly grand. There’s a freaking chandelier.”

“Luckily that can’t be knocked over.” Mum’s voice was like whiskey, it came off smooth, but ended with a burn.

“Mum.” It was halfway between a greeting and a warning.

“Hi sweetheart.” She leaned up and kissed my cheek before turning to Bliss.

“Mum, this is Bliss. Bliss, my mother.”

She smiled. “What a name.”

Bliss knotted her fingers together. “Um . . . thank you?”

Mum’s smile was all red lips, white teeth, and sugared kindness. It was the razor-sharp tongue behind those teeth that I was worried about.

“Mrs. Taylor,” Bliss began. “I am so sorry about the vase. I don’t even know how to begin apologizing.”

“Then don’t.” God, my mother’s voice should be listed on WebMD as a cause of frostbite. “It was just an accident after all.”

“I am so very sorry though. And so thankful that you’ve welcomed me into your home. It’s so nice to meet you. And I’m just so, so happy to be here.”

“So you are. And we’re happy that our Garrick has come home. And brought you along, of course.”

“Yes, I’m so happy to be here.”

“You’ve already said that much.” She turned to me then. “She’s very sweet, Garrick. Is it just the clumsiness she’s overcompensating for? Or something worse?”

And so it began.

I laughed like she was joking. Because that’s how you have to handle my mother. She wants a reaction, and humor is the safest one. I kept laughing, and after a few moments, Bliss’s uneasy laugh joined mine.

I changed the subject before Mum could point out that she wasn’t, in fact, joking.

“Was this party your idea, Mother?”

She gave me a look before rolling her eyes toward Dad. “Your father wanted to make sure you and your fiancée had the best welcome possible.”

Read: He wanted to take advantage of the opportunity to show off. The “best welcome” was just the company line. And though my mother certainly had her issues, I loved her for not even pretending to go along with it.

“Right. Thanks for that.”

She gave a single, solitary chuckle and took a long drink from her champagne. Mum hated events like this. I suppose that was at least one thing that she and Bliss had in common.

I saw Bliss fidgeting with her shirt and shifting her feet.

“Mum, would you excuse us for a moment? Since we had no warning, we’re not quite dressed for a party. We’ll get changed and then come back down.”

“Of course, dear. That’s definitely a good idea. Just casual party attire will do fine.”

As we turned to grab our luggage, Bliss said, “In what world is this casual?”

My world, unfortunately. Or my old one anyway.

I took her bag for her, and said, “We’re upstairs. I’m right behind you.”

I didn’t have to tell her twice. At the speed she went, I’m sure she was tempted to take it two stairs at a time.

I directed her toward my old room. She breezed through the door, and didn’t stop until she had thrown herself facedown on the bed with a groan.

“I’m never going back out there. I’ll climb out the window.”

I parked our luggage just inside the room, and then shut the door behind me. I took a seat beside her and laid a hand on her back. “Look on the bright side, we’ve got some alone time after all.”

She rolled over, putting herself farther away from me.

“Sorry, but I’m not exactly in the mood anymore.”

I winced.

“Bliss, I—”

She pushed herself up and off the bed and began pacing. “Why couldn’t you just tell me that she was going to hate me? Why tell me again and again that I was worrying over nothing when I clearly wasn’t?”

“I didn’t want you to worry. I thought things would go smoother if you were calm.”

“Have you met me? Smooth is not an option I come with. If you’re looking for smooth, maybe you should look elsewhere.”

Mid-pace, I caught her by the elbows and made her face me.

“Don’t do that. Don’t push me away.”

She covered her hands with her hands and took a deep breath. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that. I just . . . I didn’t expect it to be like this.”

“What does that mean?”

She shook her head, and dropped her hands to look up at the ceiling instead. “Nothing. It’s . . . nothing.”

She pulled away and went to her suitcase. She went to put it up on the bed, took a long look at the white bedding, and then laid it on the floor.

“Bliss, talk to me.”

“Do you think this is okay? It’s the best I have.” She stood, pulling a simple blue cotton dress from her bag.

“Bliss, you can wear whatever you want down there. I only said we were going to change to give us a break.”

“Right. Maybe I can find some decent jewelry. Just give me a couple minutes.” She took the dress and a few other items, and disappeared into the bathroom. The door closed behind her with a click, and it was my turn to throw myself back on my bed.

I stared up at the ceiling and cursed under my breath.

Maybe my fears were warranted after all.

6

Bliss

THIS WAS A joke. A massively unfunny joke.

I’d fixed my hair, retouched my makeup, donned my best outfit, thrown on my best jewelry, and I was fairly certain that their toilet bowl scrubber still cost more than my entire outfit.

Why hadn’t he told me?

I got that he didn’t talk about his family much. They clearly weren’t close. God knows I didn’t talk about mine much, either, except to complain. But you’d think he could have just taken half a second to drop a quick “By the way, my family is loaded” into conversation.

If I was worried that Mrs. Taylor might think I wasn’t good enough for her son before, it was pretty much a solidified fact now.

I didn’t fit here. At all. Not even almost. One of these things is really not like the others.

And to make matters worse, Garrick looked perfect when I exited the bathroom. He’d donned a button-up shirt and tie to go with his khaki pants, and he looked effortless. Unlike me, he fit.

And a small, niggling voice in my mind asked how it was possible then that we fitted together? I shook my head to clear my thoughts, and Garrick crossed the room to place a kiss on my forehead.

“You look lovely.”

I smiled, but I didn’t feel it. “Thanks. So do you.”

“Everything is going to be fine.”

He’d said that so many times that it didn’t mean anything anymore. Like when you say a word too much and it stops sounding like itself and feels alien and foreign in your head.

“Let’s go then,” I said.

His hands cupped my jaw, and he leaned in for a kiss. I tilted my head back away from him.

“You’ll get lipstick on you.”

“I don’t care, love. The only thing I care about right now in this entire house is you.”

My resolve melted, and he brushed a feather-light kiss across my lips, somehow coming out lipstick-free. He laced our fingers together and planted another kiss on the back of my hand.

I wanted the gesture to be comforting, but it only made me more unsettled. It only made me wonder more what he could possibly see in me.

Together, we descended the stairs back into the jungle of champagne flutes and designer handbags and outfits that put mine to shame. It was a forest of self-esteem issues waiting to happen, and I was smack-dab in the middle of it.

We’d barely made it two feet past the base of the stairs before we were intercepted by a group of people.

“Garrick! So good to see you!”

He let go of my hand to greet a guy about Garrick’s age. He had dark hair, combed perfectly, and wore a suit. Again, I say, in what world is a suit casual?

“John, it’s good to see you, too. This is my fiancée, Bliss.”

John turned to the side and a woman stepped up beside him. She, too, had dark hair, fixed into a perfect bun at the nape of her neck. I concentrated on not touching my out-of-control curls in response.

“Lovely to meet you, Bliss. This is my wife, Amy.”

I smiled. “It’s nice to meet you.”

God, this was repetitive.

She laughed. “Oh no, the pleasure is all mine.”

I was probably supposed to say something more, but all that came to mind was insisting that the pleasure was actually mine, like a freaking tug of war. But that would have been a lie anyway, so I just stayed silent.

After a few painful seconds, Garrick added, “John and I went to school together.”

John nodded, his smile plastic. “I loved your father’s reminder that you were first in our class. Still can’t get away from coming in second even all these years later.”

Garrick laughed, and I could tell he was uncomfortable by the stiffness of his hand when he laced our fingers together again. But you would never know it from his face.

Maybe that’s what I needed to do to get through this. I needed to act. I needed to turn off Bliss and become someone else, someone who fit in this place and knew what to say and what not to say. If I became that someone else, I could separate my thoughts from my own worries and maybe get through this night intact. The stage was the only place I ever really felt confident, and I could use a bit of confidence at the moment. So that’s what I did. I played a part.

“So John,” I asked. “What have you been doing since the last time you and Garrick saw each other? Catch us up.”

“Well”—he kissed the back of Amy’s hand—“I got married. Beat you on that front, at least.” God, this guy was a prick. No wonder Garrick was so stiff. “I’m now working as a software designer.”

“A software designer? That’s interesting. I bet that’s challenging.”

“Oh, not really. It’s a bit boring really. Though I’m sure in comparison to what Taylor over here is doing these days, it probably looks like brain surgery.”

I laughed, thinking with each little chuckle how satisfying it would be to punch him in the face.

“Well, some of us are blessed to have careers that we love and are simple because we love them. Others get jobs that are, what did you say? Boring? But maybe someday you’ll grow to love it.”

Garrick lowered his head and gave a cough that was suspiciously laugh-like and said, “It’s was nice chatting with you John, Amy. But we should probably make the rounds. Lots of people to see.”

Once he’d led me a few feet away, his shoulders began to bounce in laughter.

He said, “I realize I’m being redundant now, but I just can’t help it. Marry me?”

“You’re going to make me wear out the word yes.”

“Nah. I’m saving that goal for our wedding night.”

Miraculously, I managed to keep my blush to a minimum. I had a pretty tight rein on my reactions at the moment.

He walked me through the rest of the room talking to more old classmates, friends of the family, and neighbors. They were old, young, male, female, and I held my own. I wasn’t quite as charming as Garrick. That wasn’t humanly possible for me. Or most people, really. But I did okay. I watched people’s expressions change as they talked to me. They went from wary or amused (probably due to my entrance) to smiling and accepting.

I took a deep breath, and felt proud.

Garrick brushed a kiss against my cheek, and said, “You’re doing wonderfully. See? Nothing to worry about.”

I smiled, but there was a sour taste on my tongue. It was a good thing . . . that I could force myself to fit here in his life. I just wished I hadn’t had to be someone else to do it.

Almost as if she could sense my vulnerability, his mother made her reappearance then. She kissed Garrick’s cheek, and surveyed his outfit. “Better. Much better.”

She glanced briefly at my dress, but didn’t say anything.

“Everything going okay? I saw you talking to Mrs. Everheart. Is she well?”

“When is she not well?” Garrick asked. “How old is she now, a century?”

Ah. I nodded, remembering who they were talking about now.

His mom shrugged. “Who knows? I wouldn’t be surprised if she outlasted me just to spite all those grabby children of hers, dying for her inheritance.”

I took a deep breath, and tried not to let it show how disgusting I found this whole thing. That old woman, Margaret was her name, had been so sweet. She reminded me of Cade’s grandma, and the time he’d introduced us during college. She was kind, but you could definitely tell she was a firecracker underneath. That her own children would just see her as dollar signs was terrible. And that Garrick’s mum and even Garrick didn’t seem appalled by it . . . that was even worse.

Mrs. Taylor turned her eyes on me then, and said coolly, “So, Bliss, tell me about yourself?”

Not such a difficult question. But did I answer genuinely? Or did I tell her what she wanted to hear?

7

Garrick

BLISS HESITATED, THEN opened her mouth to speak. But she was interrupted by a bellowing voice calling my name.

“Garrick! Son!”

We both turned to look. My father called my name a second time. He waved me over and said, “Come here for a second.”

I sighed.

“Just go,” Mum said. “You know he won’t let it go until you do.”

“He’s just going to drag me into some conversation about business. I don’t want to subject myself to that, and I certainly don’t want to subject Bliss to that.”

“So leave her with me.”

I tried not to look too alarmed by that. “Oh no, Mum. That’s okay. Bliss and I would rather stay together, since it is our engagement party.”

“Nonsense. I’m sure Bliss could use a break from you anyway. If you’re anything like your father, you’re nauseatingly cheerful.” That might be one of the nicer things I’d ever heard her say about him. “Besides, if you’re only giving me a week with my future daughter-in-law, I’m going to need all the time I can get with her.”

She spoke like a trainer trying to break in a horse, or an interrogator trying to break a witness. And from the look on Bliss’s face, you’d think she was going to be waterboarded instead of subjected to conversation with my mother.

I stared into Bliss’s wide eyes. I didn’t want to leave her alone with my mother, but she had been holding her own since we came downstairs. And Mum had on her business smile, and I knew I wasn’t going to win this one. Truthfully, there was no arguing with either of my parents. If my dad wanted me to go talk to him, I would have to. And if Mum wanted Bliss to stay with her, she’d get her way. That’s why I hadn’t bothered with telling them when I decided to leave London. God knows we’d spent enough time arguing about a thousand other things. Like a pendulum swing, the more I grew up, the farther I swung from my parents’ beliefs and habits in every respect. So I’d waited to tell them I was leaving until I was already in the States and called from a pay phone.

My last year before uni, life just started moving so fast. Things were unraveling quicker than I could take hold of them, and it felt like trying to stop a boulder from rolling down a hill. My life was falling into these predetermined paths, and it didn’t even really feel like I was living as much as reacting. I hated it, but I didn’t know how to stop it, other than to leave. Clean slate.

My father called my name again, and I sighed. “Fine. But I’m not spending all night talking to clients or business prospects or whoever he’s playing tonight.

“I’ll be quick,” I promised Bliss. Her expression was blank, and I couldn’t tell now how she was feeling, but her frequently flushed skin looked a wee bit pale. I kissed her forehead, and then did the same to my mother.

“Be nice,” I murmured.

Mum gave a single, solitary chuckle. That was either a very good or a very bad sign.

Two minutes. I’ll be back in two minutes.

I gave Bliss one more parting kiss, and then feeling like the worst fiancé ever, I left her to fend off her shark while I faced mine.

Already eager for the conversation to be over, I stepped up to my father’s group and said, “Yes, Dad?”

“Oh, good. Garrick, you remember Mr. Woods. You did that summer internship at his firm.”

Advertising, I think? Honestly, I couldn’t remember. Dad pushed me into so many internships, they all ran together.

“Of course, Mr. Woods. It’s nice to see you again.”

Mr. Woods was old, in his sixties or seventies maybe. He wore large glasses and his hair was a pale white. His smile made all the wrinkles around his mouth more pronounced, and his skin was worn and wrinkled like old leather as I shook his hand.

“And you as well. That’s a lovely fiancée you have there.”

I smiled. “Thank you. I love her very much, and she keeps my life interesting.”

He barked a laugh, his wrinkles almost disappearing for a second as he did.

“You’re just as spirited as I remember you. Your father has been filling me in on your life in the States. Quite impressive.”

I resisted the urge to roll my eyes. My father had no doubt embellished to the point that I’d probably become the youngest tenured professor at Harvard or some other nonsense.

I shrugged. “I wouldn’t say it was all that impressive.”

“Not easily satisfied. I like that. You’ll be outdoing your father in no time, I’m sure.”

Dad laughed and hooked an arm around my neck like we were wrestling, “Not without a fight he won’t.”

It was all so staged, so forced. And I couldn’t tell if everyone else felt it, or if they were so accustomed to it that they didn’t even notice it anymore.

The men and women gathered around us laughed, and I followed out of habit.

Eight years.

It had been over eight years since I’d moved away, and in less than an hour, I was already getting pulled back into the lifestyle I hated. Fancy parties, nice things, expensive clothes, all covered by a layer of fake so thick that it choked out every real emotion.

It had to have been two minutes by now. And even that felt like two minutes too many.

“It was so nice seeing you again, Mr. Woods, but I should get back to my fiancée.” I nodded at the rest of the people in the group and said, “Ladies. Gentlemen.”

“Just one second before you run off, Garrick.”

I stopped short, and tried not to look aggravated.

“Yes, Mr. Woods?”

Gradually, the others around us began to break off until it was just my old boss and my father.

“I wanted to talk to you about a job opening—”

Jesus. Not even a decent night’s sleep before it started.

“Oh, sir, I—”

“Now hear me out. I have a PR position open, the same division where you did your internship actually. And I’ve been through half a dozen men in the last three years for this position. They’re all smart enough, but they’re just missing that special quality that attracts people, that makes clients feel at ease. They’re not like you or your father.” I tried not to bristle at being compared to my father and the quality I despised most in him. “I remember you doing fantastic work in your internship. And by the sound of what your father has told me, you’re quick to adapt and learn.” He pulled out a business card from his pocket and held it out to me. “Just think about it. Give me a call, and we’ll talk it all through. It doesn’t hurt to just consider it.”

I looked at the card, but didn’t take it.

“That’s very kind, Mr. Woods. But Bliss and I have no plans to move to London.” I directed my last few words to my father, as firmly as I could without seeming angry.

For the first time, my dad cut in and said, “Maybe it’s something you should think about, Garrick. It’s a good job.”

I’m sure it was a fine job. But it wasn’t a coincidence that this interest was coming now with my father watching on. He was a puppeteer pulling strings, but I’d cut mine a long time ago.

Mr. Woods added, “If it makes a difference, I’m sure it would be a significant step-up in pay from teaching, and we’d cover your relocation.”

If it were a significant step-up from teaching, it would be about three or four steps up from what I was doing now. It had been difficult segueing back into part-time work and small contracts from my comfortable job at the university. But we were making it.

I took the card just to end the ambush and said, “I’ll think about it. But I really am happy where I’m at.”

I could feel my father’s stare, but I didn’t meet his gaze.

I nodded at Mr. Woods. “It was nice seeing you again. Thank you for coming. Enjoy the party.”

Then I turned, and stuffed the card into my pocket. I made it just a few feet before my father stopped me for our first private conversation of the night. In years, really.

“I know what you’re thinking, Garrick, but you should give this job a fair shot.”

“I have a job, Dad.” Several, actually.

“But this is a job that could really lead somewhere. If you keep doing what you’re doing, you’ll be forty and working at a restaurant to make ends meet. These kinds of opportunities won’t be around then.”

“Thanks for the confidence, Dad.”

“Don’t give me that. You’re an adult. You don’t need me in the stands cheering you on and lying to you. You’re about to have a wife, a new life. What you need is to grow up and get a real job. Something with real benefits.”

Oh, the irony of him lecturing me on what was real.

“Thanks for the talk, Dad. But I need to go find Bliss and Mum.”

I maneuvered around him and left before he could drag me back into the argument. I was halfway across the room before I really looked around.

Bliss wasn’t where I’d left her. And neither was my mother.

8

Bliss

GOD, HIS MOM should have been a lawyer instead of working in finance. Just her stare was like a fishing hook, luring all my secrets out of me. And I was the poor fish, dangling on the line, a rusty piece of metal tearing me open. An hour alone with her on the stand, and I would be in the fetal position, reciting the traumas of my childhood, like that time Jimmy pantsed me at the top of the slide during recess in third grade.

“And have you two set a date yet?”

I almost asked her if she would prefer to choose for us.

“Well . . . we’re not set on anything yet. But we were thinking maybe June. Or August.”

“Of next year? Oh, that could definitely work.”

“This year, actually . . . ma’am.”

“This year? But that’s only a couple months from now.”

“I know, but we weren’t thinking of anything big. Just a small ceremony for close friends and family.”

“But you won’t have even been engaged for a year at that point.”

This was one thing I wouldn’t submit to her on. There was no way in hell that I was waiting over a year to get married. Garrick and I had had enough waiting for a lifetime.

“Yes, but we’ve been together over a year.”

“No, you—” His mother stopped, her brows furrowed and one finger in the air. “Wait, you’ve been together over a year?”

I nodded, and then immediately wished I hadn’t. Her eyes narrowed, and she fixed me with a look that was more sledgehammer than fishhook.

“I was under the impression that the two of you met in Philadelphia. But Garrick would have been teaching in Texas a year ago.”

I swallowed. God, please don’t tell me that Garrick hadn’t told them about how we’d met. After he told Graham and his big speech about not lying or being ashamed, I had just assumed that he’d told them, the basics anyway.

Based on the calculating look on his mother’s face, I was going to say that was a big, fat no. “So the two of you met in Texas?”

I tried to say yes, but really I just made noises and nodded.

“How old are you, Bliss?”

I could have narcolepsy! That would get me out of this question, right? I could just pretend to pass out. Or maybe I could really pass out?

My non-answer must have been enough to confirm things for her because she spun on her heel and started in Garrick’s direction.

I darted around her and held my hands up.

“Mrs. Taylor, wait. We didn’t do anything wrong. I promise.”

“Oh, sweetheart.” Her smile gave me chills. “I don’t think you did anything wrong.”

“You don’t?” I was shocked into silence.

“No, dear. My son is the one who has done something wrong.”

I flinched back like she’d slapped me. I had enough doubts about Garrick being with me in my head, all of which seemed to have compounded in the hours since we’d arrived. I didn’t need her adding any more to that. I stood up taller, and in my plain clearance dress, I faced off against her immaculate, no doubt heinously expensive cocktail dress.

“With all due respect, Mrs. Taylor. You’re wrong. Your son loves me. And I love him. We’re both adults, as we were when we met. If you make a big deal out of this now, you’ll only ruin this party and possibly the already unstable relationship you have with your son. He’s twenty-six, almost twenty-seven years old. He has a career and a fiancée, and you’re not going to win any battles by treating him like he’s a kid again. He’s an adult,” I reiterated, though that was another word that had been said and thought so many times it was beginning to lose its meaning. “We both are. How we met doesn’t matter.”

Her red lips flattened into a line, and her gaze felt sharp enough to slice bread. She made this sound in her throat, not quite a laugh, more like a noise of surprise. “You have a head on your shoulders after all.”

Hey there, backhanded compliment. We’ve been seeing a lot of each other.

She was the one missing vital organs . . . like a heart. She stared at me for a few moments longer, and then smoothly turned her back to where Garrick was standing.

“Two questions, Bliss.”

Did I really just talk her down? Holy crap.

“Yes, ma’am.”

She clicked her nails together and looked away from me as she asked, “Would you like to have lunch on Thursday?”

I was so shocked, I nearly choked on my saliva, which would have totally ruined the whole head-on-your-shoulders moment from a few seconds ago.

I forced myself not to say, “Um,” and continued, “Yes. Lunch. I would like that.”

“Fantastic. And the last thing. You want to get married soon?”

“Yes, ma’am, we do.”

“Are you pregnant?”

I blanched and said firmly, “No. Absolutely not. I’m not . . . we’re not . . .”

I stopped. Full stop. Screeching-tires-stopped. I resisted the urge to reach for my day planner. I didn’t have it anyway. I’d left it back in Philly. But I have a vague recollection of jotting down a note to get my birth control prescription refilled.

How long ago had that been? I’d been finishing up that run of Peter Pan and we were doing the maximum number of shows a week because it was selling so well. Things had been so busy, and . . . damn it.

“I—”

I closed my gaping mouth and gave her a tight smile. I shook my head and said, “No. Nothing like that.”

Shit. Why was my memory such a blur? This is what happened when you worked multiple jobs with no consistency, and you did the same shows day in and day out. It became really fucking hard to distinguish one day from another.

Mrs. Taylor said, “Okay then. I’ll let you get back to my son.”

I nodded, already a thousand miles away.

“And Bliss?”

I lifted my head and met her cool gaze again.

“No more breaking things, okay?”

“Right.” I gave a pained laugh. “Of course.”

She walked away, her heels clicking against the marble floor, and I should have felt relieved to see her go. I should have been glad when Graham and Rowland came over to check on me, but I wasn’t either of those things.

Because if I was remembering correctly, I was late.

And I was going to be sick.

“DIDN’T REALIZE YOU were that pissed. You must be a real lightweight.”

Rowland and Graham were waiting when I got out of the bathroom, and I didn’t know whether I wanted to find Garrick or avoid him, whether I wanted to scream or cry or throw up some more.

“I just . . . I need to sit down for a bit.”

“We’ll go in the sitting room,” Graham said.

Damn it. This place would have a fucking sitting room. My parents were proud of their newly remodeled bathroom, and this place was practically a palace.

And the room was even nicer in real life than in my imagination. It was much more chic than the Pride and Prejudice–era room I had pictured. And there were people milling around, standing near the floor-to-ceiling windows and luxurious curtains. I found an empty cream-colored chaise lounge and collapsed onto it, too distressed to even worry about getting it dirty.

I could be remembering wrong. I hoped I was remembering wrong. But the last time I could recall being on my period had been that final week in Peter Pan. It’s why I forgot about the pill pack because we weren’t exactly in danger of getting pregnant then. And that was . . . what? Six weeks ago? Maybe five? Either way, it was more than a month. But sometimes people were late without being pregnant. That happened . . . right?

I could totally be jumping to conclusions.

Or there could be something growing inside of me.

God, that sounded so sci-fi movie.

What did I know about being a mom? What did I know about anything? I was a total mess. I couldn’t even do my own taxes, or survive an engagement party, or turn on a fucking light without breaking something. And I was supposed to grow and raise another human being?

My child would be so socially inept that it wouldn’t even be able to walk upright or speak in complete sentences or be around other people.

I would give birth to a hermit child.

Breathe. Breathe.

Damn it. That reminded me too much of Lamaze, and I felt sick again.

What if it turned out like Hamlet the devil cat and it hated me?

Shit. Shit.

I really just wanted to shout that word at the top of my lungs, but probably not the time and place.

“Is she okay?”

I opened my eyes to see a tall blonde, whose legs put mine to shame. She wore a short, black sheath dress with kick-ass turquoise heels, and there was basically a model standing over me as I panted and tried not to lose the remaining contents of my stomach.

Thanks, world. I appreciate it so much.

“Now is not a good time, Kayleigh,” Graham said.

“Did something happen? They didn’t break up, did they?”

Why did she sound hopeful?

Rowland spoke before I could, “No, she’s just not feeling well. We’ll find you later, Kayleigh.”

“Oh, okay. Well, feel better.”

I hated when people said that. Like I could just magically make that happen. Or like I didn’t already want that desperately. But gee, thanks for the recommendation.

When she was gone, I looked at Rowland. “Who was that?”

He looked at Graham, and maybe some of Mrs. Taylor’s perceptiveness rubbed off on me because I just had a feeling. “Is she an ex?”

“Ehh . . . umm . . . uhhh . . .”

This day could stop getting worse at any time. Any time now. Really.

“Why would his parents invite an ex to this?”

“Well, Kayleigh is a friend of the family. But we’re guessing that Eileen, Garrick’s mum, was keen on causing some problems because . . . well, Kayleigh’s not the only one.”

“Seriously? How many?”

Rowland looked at Graham again, and I was on the verge of strangling him. If I was pregnant, I could just blame it on the hormones. Call it temporary insanity.

“How many, Rowland?”

He scratched at his head. “Well, it’s not like I’ve counted.”

“Guess.”

“Man, did Eileen give you some of her super powers?”

“Rowland,” I snapped.

“I don’t know, ten.”

“Ten?”

Garrick had ten ex-girlfriends here.

Garrick had ten ex-girlfriends before he’d even gone to college?

And that was just the ones who’d showed up here. No telling how many more there were.

Hey, Universe? Think you could take a break on the whole raining-down-shit-on-Bliss thing? I’d appreciate it.

I stood to go back to the bathroom when Garrick stepped into the room. “There you are. I was a little worried my mother had killed you and was hiding the body.”

I didn’t laugh.

“Are you okay?” he asked.

I started to nod when Graham answered, “She’s feeling sick. And she might have just met Kayleigh. And Rowland has a big mouth.”

“Jesus.”

He reached a tentative hand out to touch my shoulder.

“On a scale of one to ten, how angry are you?”

I pressed a hand to my temple, where a dull throb was beginning to form, and said, “Tired.”

Rowland said, “Oh, well that’s good.”

I heard a thwack that I guessed was Graham smacking him upside the head.

Garrick laced our fingers together, and kissed the back of my hand. “Come on. We can go ahead and go to bed for the night. It’s a bit early, but we can blame the jet lag. No one will miss us.”

Only the ten ex-girlfriends here to get him back. Yeah, I was totally good with going to bed early.

I said good-bye to Rowland and Graham, and wished Rowland luck at landing one of the exes. Then I let Garrick lead me out of the sitting room, and toward the staircase that wound up from the dining room.

His mother intercepted us just before we got to the stairs. “Where are you two going?”

“Bliss isn’t feeling well. And we’re both still adjusting to the schedule. We’re going to retire early. I think we’ve seen the majority of the people you care about us seeing.”

I didn’t look her in the eye, scared she would be able to read my mind with her freaky Slytherin stare.

“Oh, that’s too bad. I have the guest room all set up for her.”

Garrick tightened his grip on our luggage, and maneuvered around his mother and onto the first couple steps.

“That’s not going to happen, Mum. Her luggage is already upstairs, and we’re not accustomed to sleeping apart.” I blanched. If he said that to my parents, he would be staring down a shotgun. “We’ll be in my room.”

I let myself glance at his mother. She took a deep breath, and then her eyes met mine. Despite feeling miserable, I squared my shoulders and raised my eyebrows in a look that I hoped said, I told you so.

As long as it didn’t say, I totally lied to you and might actually be pregnant after all.

I followed Garrick up the stairs, still trying to wrap my head around this evening. Should I tell him? What if I was just remembering wrong? I didn’t want to freak him out over nothing.

I should just wait. I’d keep thinking back. Maybe I’d forgotten something or was remembering the days wrong. Or I could go buy a test.

Yes. That’s what I should do . . . to be certain.

I was so eager to brush my teeth that I didn’t even say anything to Garrick before I retreated into the adjoining bathroom. And maybe I would just check one more time to make sure I hadn’t started in the last ten minutes.

Garrick knocked on the door a few minutes later, and who would have ever thought I’d be willing my period to start?

His voice was soft, tentative. “Are you okay, love?”

“Yeah. I’m okay. I’ll be out in just a second.”

I took a deep breath.

There was no reason to panic yet. I’d told Eileen that I was an adult, and it felt good to stand up to her. To say that and actually mean it. It was especially important that I act like one now. Because if I was . . . if we were pregnant, there was a lot more at stake than a visit to meet the parents and a stupid broken vase.

So tomorrow I would get a pregnancy test. People did that all the time. And it came back negative all the time. Tonight I just needed to put it out of my mind and get some rest. I would only make myself sick again worrying about it.

The bathroom door squeaked as it opened, and Garrick turned from where he was changing clothes. He was just sliding a pair of pajama pants up over his hips, and if that wasn’t the perfect way to clear my thoughts, I didn’t know what was.

9

Garrick

BLISS STOOD FRAMED in the bathroom door, and I was at a loss for how to act. I had no idea how things had gone with my mum or afterward. All I knew was that she was quiet. Too quiet. And as much as I didn’t want her to be feeling ill, I hoped that that’s all it was about.

“How are you feeling?”

She crossed her arms over her stomach and said, “Okay. I think it was just . . . a long day. And it got to me. I’m fine now.”

“And my mother?”

“Should be a Disney villain.”

I exhaled a laugh. Even sick and stressed she was . . . remarkable.

“But that was okay, too?”

After a torturous moment, she nodded. “I think so. We came to an understanding.” That sounded ominous. “She invited me to lunch the day after tomorrow.”

My eyebrows shot up.

“That means it went more than okay. It went well.”

A small smile blossomed across her face. What was that science theory? Every action has an equal and opposite reaction? Seeing her smile lightened me. She anchored my thoughts, recentered my focus, balanced my life. And I needed that . . . desperately. Being back here . . . it was strange. I was struggling to walk that line between being polite and friendly, and falling back into my old ways.

“Now about these exes . . .”

Speaking of old ways.

“Exes?”

“Oh yes. Rowland estimated there were about ten in attendance.”

Goddamn it, Rowland.

I closed my eyes to resist the urge to go downstairs and mangle him.

“I’m sure he was exaggerating.”

The arms crossed over her stomach raised to cross over her chest, and she looked so deliciously bossy. Couldn’t we just skip this part and get on to what we’d planned earlier?

“Do you have that many exes here in London?”

I wracked my brain for a way that this conversation wouldn’t be disastrous.

“I don’t know that exes is the right word.”

“So they weren’t all relationships? What . . . just sex?”

I grimaced. Guess we were cutting to the chase then. I didn’t so much like this bold side of her when it was directed at me.

“Bliss . . . I was a right prick when I lived here. You would have hated me. My parents were not so good at the parenting aspect of life. They gave me money and a long leash, and like a stupid teenage boy, I took advantage of it. Often. Things are so beyond different now that that feels like a different life. A different person. And it was, really. When I left London, it was a rude awakening to live life outside this bubble of money and influence and tradition. But it was good for me. I grew up. I found something I really love, which led to finding someone I really love. If there were girls from my past here tonight, I didn’t notice them. They don’t matter. Nothing about this place matters at all in comparison to you.”

She chewed on her bottom lip for a moment, surveying me. There was just a hint of a tear shining in the corner of her eyes, then she closed her eyes and shook her head. “It’s impossible to be mad at you. This is setting a dangerous precedent for our relationship.”

That was a good sign.

I stepped forward and settled my hands on her hips. “I like that precedent.”

Her hands came up to my chest. “I know where you get it from. Your charm. Your father joins you and James Bond as a smooth-talking Englishman. He was really nice about the vase thing.”

I groaned. “He is a smooth talker, yes. But don’t let him fool you. He’s not nearly as nice as he pretends to be.”

She traced her fingers along my jaw and pulled my face down toward her. “What does that mean?”

I shook my head. “Nothing you need to worry about. We just have different priorities is all. Business and money and class always come first to him.” I laced my fingers at the back of her neck and grazed her jaw with my thumbs. “I may have inherited some things from him, but not that. You will always come first. Our family will always be my primary concern.”

Her eyes were wide and glassy, and I didn’t know if that look was because of something I said, or just the long day getting to her again.

She said, “It’s funny how children end up being so different from their parents.”

“It’s funny how we managed to grow into reasonable people despite our crazy parents.”

She swallowed and laughed once. “Right. How does that happen?”

I pulled her into my arms, laying my cheek against her head. Her hair smelled sweet and calming, like lavender.

“Let’s go out tomorrow. I’ll show you around the city. I just need a break from this house.”

“Sure. That sounds great. I need to run to the store anyway. I forgot a few things.”

I kissed her forehead. “Like what? We might have whatever it is.”

She pulled back. “Oh, it’s nothing important. Just some little things.”

She went to her suitcase on the floor and bent to gather her pajamas.

I stepped up behind her. “You sure you’re not feeling sick anymore?”

“No, I’m fine,” she called over her shoulder. “I just had a moment, that’s all.”

“Good.” I swept an arm under her legs and pulled her up into my arms. “Because I’m pretty awake. But I’ve got an idea of how to tire myself out.”

She dropped the clothes she’d picked up to clutch my shoulders, and her pretty little mouth formed a circle. That was all it took. No matter that there were hundreds of people downstairs, and we were in my parents’ house. I wanted her as badly as I ever had.

I walked her toward the bed and she said, “Garrick! The people downstairs.”

“Won’t hear a thing unless you plan on screaming my name. In which case, it might be worth it.”

She swatted my shoulder, and I deposited her on the bed.

“What if your mother comes upstairs?”

I knelt at the foot of the bed and slipped off her shoes.

“Then we’ll have another awkward occurrence to add to our repertoire.”

“That’s not even remotely funny, Garrick.”

I kissed the inside of her knee and said, “Do you see me laughing?”

She swallowed, and her eyes followed my hands as I reached for her. Her cotton dress was stretchy, and I slipped the straps down over her shoulders easily. It fell around her waist, revealing more skin to me. She wore a lacy blue bra that looked sweet and innocent, and damn if that kind of thing didn’t always do me in.

“Do you have any idea how hot it is to think of having you here in my old room?” She shook her head, but her tongue darted out to wet her lips, and I think she knew exactly what I meant. “It reminds me of last year.” How much it had fucked with my brain to think of her as a student, and how very little it did to deter my feelings for her. If anything, I wanted her more. “Every class I was so tempted to ask you to stay after everyone left. Even though your friends were outside and anyone could have walked in, all I wanted to do was touch you. Taste you.”

Her eyes were large and dark, and her breath hitched. I kissed the side of her knee again and ran my hands up her thighs to the hem of her dress.

She asked, “Why didn’t you?”

“Because that wouldn’t have been fair of me. So I had to settle for my imagination.”

Thank God I didn’t have to do that anymore.

“And what did you imagine?”

I leaned over her and laid her back against the bed. Her arms stretched out across the mattress, and she looked up at me with wide, apprehensive eyes. It reminded me so much of the night we met, and all my blood rushed south so quickly that black spots dotted my vision.

I slipped my hands under her dress and said, “I imagined a lot of things. I thought about having you against the wall back behind the curtains.” She closed her eyes and fisted the blankets in her hands. “I saw you in that skirt you wore the first day of school with your legs around my waist.”

I hooked my fingers around her underwear and slid them down her gorgeous legs. “I wanted you in every seat in the audience.” She made a low noise and tried to sit up, but I braced a hand on her stomach to hold her in place. “I wanted you in every seat so that you wouldn’t be able to sit anywhere in that theatre without thinking about me.”

“That was already true.”

I smiled. “Good to know.”

She laid both of her hands over mine on her stomach, and held my hand tighter against her for a second. She said, her voice small and quiet, “I love you so much.”

I stood and leaned over her so that I could see her face. She blinked a few times, and I couldn’t read her expression. It was sad and happy and confusing, and she had never had this kind of response in bed before.

I didn’t know what was going on, but I could feel the panic rising under my skin, at the back of my throat, in the lining of my lungs.

“Are you sure you’re okay?”

She shook her head until her expression cleared, and then smiled. “Yeah . . . just thinking about the future.”

My heart jerked in my chest, and I tried to explain away the sadness and the fear I saw in her eyes. They didn’t have to mean she was having doubts. They could mean a thousand other things. But for the life of me, I couldn’t conjure one more possibility.

I dropped a kiss on her lips and said, “I did promise you forever. That’s a lot of future.”

She nodded, and then after a too long moment she smiled. “I’m sorry. But do you think we can . . . just go to sleep? I’m sorry. I know I said I was fine, but I’m feeling a little off after all.”

I took a deep breath and tried not to read too much into this. She’d been sick. It didn’t have to mean anything else. But damn it, now I couldn’t think about anything else.

As calmly as I could I brushed her hair back and kissed her forehead. “Of course. Can I get you something? Water? Medicine?”

She swallowed and shook her head. “I think . . . I think I just need some sleep.”

I nodded. “Of course.”

I folded down the blankets, and she slid between the sheets, still only half covered by her dress. I took another deep breath that did absolutely nothing to relieve the pressure in my jeans or the pressure in my head.

I kissed her cheek one more time.

“I love you,” I said, slowly, deliberately. I needed her to hear that through whatever noise might be happening in her head. “Get some sleep. I’m just going to go take a quick shower.”

“I’m sorry,” she called again as I walked away.

“No need to be sorry, love.”

Unless she was saying sorry for something else, something she hadn’t said.

“I’ll make it up to you,” she said.

“Also not necessary, though I do like the sound of that.”

She pulled the blankets up to her neck, settling back on the pillow. I switched off the lights and said, “Good night, Bliss.”

Then I ended our roller coaster of a day with an ice-cold shower and too many worries to count.

“WAIT, WAIT! JUST one more!”

“Bliss, there are children waiting.”

And they probably hated us, but I was just so glad to see her smiling that I didn’t care.

“Yeah, well, they all just jumped on the bandwagon. Most of them weren’t alive when I read Harry Potter for the first time.”

I turned to the Canadian family behind me and said, “I’m so sorry. This is the last one, I promise.” Then I took one more picture of Bliss pretending to push the luggage cart through the wall at the Platform 9¾ monument at King’s Cross Station.

A little boy stuck his tongue out at Bliss as we left. I pulled her away before she could follow suit.

“That kid better watch it. I’m totally a Slytherin.”

I shook my head, smiling.

“Love, I’m going to need you to pull back on the crazy a bit.”

“You’re right. Realistically, I’m a Ravenclaw.”

I laughed. Even when I didn’t quite get her, I loved her. Probably because I didn’t get her. She knew who she was, and she didn’t ever compromise that. Not even for me.

I chuckled.

“What’s so funny?”

“I’m just imagining you with kids someday. You’ll probably end up fighting them to play with the toys.”

I didn’t notice that she’d stopped walking until I went to round the corner, and she wasn’t beside me. I turned and she was still standing a few feet back.

“I was joking, love.”

She crossed her arms over her middle and shrugged. “I know that.”

“Then why do you look so freaked out?”

“I just didn’t realize you thought about stuff like that.”

Oh God. The last thing I needed on this already stressful trip was to scare her off with talk of kids, not when she seemed mostly back to normal today. I could be really thick sometimes.

I laid my arm across her shoulders and said, “Whatever thoughts are unspooling in your mind, stop them. I’ve still got a lot to show you, and I was only having a laugh.”

“Right, where to next?”

“Well, we’ve seen the Globe.”

I felt her relax beside me as we walked, and she said, “You mean the replica of the Globe.”

“Close enough. We’ve done Big Ben, the Parliament, the Tower. What about the Eye?” I asked.

“Is that the giant Ferris wheel thing?” I nodded. “Yes, let’s do that!”

Just spending the day with Bliss and introducing her to my old city was enough to erase some of the messiness of last night, to erase some of my worries. She really must have just needed sleep because this morning, she was as perfect as ever.

“Can we stop by a store first?” she asked. “A pharmacy? I just wanted to get something in case I start feeling sick again.”

“Of course,” I kissed her temple, and we headed for the tube that would take us to the other side of the city.

10

Bliss

WE STOPPED AT a small store that was just a little bigger than a convenience store. It had food and toiletries and a random assortment of items, but the pharmacy in back was my concern.

“Would you mind grabbing me a drink?” I asked. “I’m going to run to the bathroom, grab that medicine, and I’ll meet you back up here.”

I didn’t wait for Garrick to agree before I turned to walk away. I headed for the pharmacy at a stroll, glancing behind me to see when he was no longer looking. When he turned, I picked up the pace and began scouring the shelves for pregnancy tests. It took me three tries to find the right aisle, and then all I could do was just stare at the display.

Why did there have to be so many?

There were brand names and off brands, digital and sticks and cups, one lines and two lines and plus signs and the signs of the apocalypse.

And oh God, why was this so terrifying?

Maybe I should just get one of each.

Then I looked at the price.

Eh . . . probably just one would do for now.

I grabbed the stick one with the plus sign, and bolted for the pharmacy counter at the back. An Indian guy in glasses was typing away at the computer.

“Excuse me?” He looked up. “Can I check out here?”

“No ma’am. Cashier is up front.”

Fabulous.

I grabbed a couple other things. Ibuprofen and sunscreen and a box of tampons (wishful thinking). I gathered all the items in my arms, hiding the pregnancy test behind them all. Then I went to the front to meet Garrick.

He stood holding a bottle of Coke, smiling and perfect, and God, I wanted to tell him. But his comment about kids earlier had my head all twisted. I’d thought about telling him then, but then he’d been so insistent that it was a joke that I started to worry that he would freak out. I mean, why wouldn’t he? We’d only been together a year. We were just about to get married. There were probably prison cells roomier than our apartment.

I waited until it was our turn to check out and then I turned to him and said, “Oh honey, I’m sorry. Would you mind switching that out for a water instead? Or maybe juice? I just think that would be better for my stomach.”

As soon as he was gone, I dumped all of my things on the counter and thrust the pregnancy test at the cashier.

“Can you ring this up first?”

The girl on the register was blond, couldn’t be much older than sixteen, and she laughed at me. Actually laughed at me.

“Look, I realize this is crazy. But please. Just do it quick.”

She shrugged and said, “He’s going to notice sooner or later.”

I so did not need attitude right now.

She scanned the test, and I shoved it in my purse just as Garrick came around the corner. He set the water on the counter, and then scanned my things.

“I thought you were getting medicine?”

Excuse me, sassy checkout girl, could I borrow your register for a moment to smash against my face?

I picked up the bottle of ibuprofen and shook it.

“I’ve been having headaches, and I think that’s what caused the nausea.”

The girl snickered when I said nausea. It probably didn’t bode well for my future as a mother that I really wanted to punch this teenager.

Garrick took the bag from her as I paid and carried it outside for me. On the sidewalk, he said, “You could have told me. I’m not that naive.”

I choked on the sip of water I had just taken and said, “What?”

He held up the bag, and I could see the box of tampons through the semi-transparent plastic. “This? The painkillers? You could have just said you were having your monthly.”

Only I could suffer the humiliation of discussing a nonexistent period with my boyfriend.

“Oh, I’m not. No, these are just . . .” I totally blanked. “It was on sale.”

He raised an eyebrow. “So you decided to buy it now?”

I was going to look into a career as a mime. Because that appeared to be the only way I was going to stop saying stupid things.

I took the shopping bag back and stuffed it in my giant purse. “How close are we to this Eye thing?” I asked.

We turned a corner, and he pointed up ahead to a giant white Ferris wheel. “Very close.”

Glad for the change in subject, I listened to him explain that the Eye had been built while he was in school, and that on New Year’s they actually fired off fireworks from the Eye itself. He explained that we’d board one of the pods while the structure was still moving, albeit very slowly.

We had to wait in line for a little while, but since it was a weekday it wasn’t too bad. With our fingers laced together, we stepped to the front of the line, the first people to board the next pod.

Another ten to fifteen people boarded with us, and we found a spot at the window that would give us a good vantage point as the wheel continued its slow rotation upward. Garrick said one revolution was about thirty minutes, so I held on to the bar and he wrapped his arms around my waist. He placed his cheek against mine, and together we watched the city become smaller and smaller as we were pulled up into the sky.

The Thames twisted along beside us, steeples and skyscrapers punctured the clear blue day, and little dots of people moved below us in the distance. Up here they looked remarkably small, and there were so many. Some were in line for the Eye, others hustled along the busy streets. I could imagine each one of them wrapped up in their thoughts, contemplating their dreams, falling in love, getting news that changed their entire world.

In life, it’s so easy to get tunnel vision, to imagine this world is a movie set and your story—what you see through your eyes and think with your brain and feel with your heart—is the only thing that matters. But the world was so much bigger than that. Life was so much bigger than that. Sometimes, I couldn’t understand how it could hold all of us, all of the hope and hurt of humanity.

It was just as remarkable to think about the fact that at this very second, a new life could be forming inside of me. I didn’t understand how I could hold that, either, how I could have another person who would be entirely dependent on me. The camera of my life was very focused. There was Garrick, of course, but both of us were concentrated on our careers, on establishing ourselves. But if we had a baby that would change everything for both of us. Our lens would have to refocus, adjust. It couldn’t just be about us anymore.

I could feel the warmth of Garrick’s hand against my belly through my thin shirt, and thought . . . the responsibility wouldn’t be entirely on me. Yes, Garrick was a guy, and yes, most of them were terrified of commitment and babies and all those kinds of things. But he was different. This was a man that would hold my bag of tampons without any complaint, a man that didn’t get angry when I stopped him right before sex, and a man that loved me and cherished me despite all my oddities and issues.

He interrupted my thoughts to point out the window. “Over there, that’s where we were this morning. That’s the church we walked by. And that way is my parents’ place. You can also see the primary school I attended there. Graham and I were in trouble almost every day. Our mums threatened to send us both to boarding school.”

It was the worst transition in the history of the world, but I looked over my shoulder at him and blurted out, “I bought a pregnancy test.”

“What?” He didn’t say it like he was shocked or horrified. More like when someone just didn’t quite hear what you said.

So I continued, “At the pharmacy. I was being weird and sending you off to get drinks because I was buying a pregnancy test, and I was scared to tell you.”

That time I got a reaction.

His hands dropped from their spot on my stomach, and he moved to lean on the bar beside me. His eyes searched my face, and I thought the silence would kill me, tie my windpipe into a pretty little bow, and suffocate my brain.

“Say something.”

He opened his mouth, but nothing came out for several long seconds until, “You’re pregnant?”

Okay. Correction. Say something that actually gives me a clue as to how you’re going to react.

“I don’t know. I’m late. I think. It could be nothing. ”

“Or it could be something.”

Damn it, why couldn’t I read his inflection?

“It could be. Because . . . well . . . I forgot to refill my prescription. For the Pill. Things got busy, and it slipped my mind. It’s still so new to me, and I—”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

I was going to go crazy if he didn’t say something more definitive soon. I sighed and looked out at the city. We’d just reached the peak of the wheel, and the pod gave a panorama view of the city. I gripped the bar that kept people back from the glass and said, “I was scared. The thought of having a kid is scary. I still feel like a kid myself sometimes. And we both work so much, our apartment is tiny, we live in this huge, sometimes dangerous city that we can barely afford already, and we’ve not really talked about having kids. When they do get mentioned it’s this vague, far-off thing in the future, and I didn’t know how you would feel. So I was going to wait until I knew for sure. Or until I could get home to look at my calendar.”

“But?”

My breathing was too loud in my ears, almost deafening. “But I didn’t want to be scared alone.”

His hands cradled my face, and he touched his forehead to mine. My breath hitched. He said, “You don’t ever have to be.”

I let out a small sob and held tight to him. He lowered one hand to my waist, his thumb brushing over my belly.

“Do you think . . . Do you feel like you are?”

I shrugged my shoulders. “I can’t tell. I’m exhausted, but that could just be jet lag. I’m emotional, but that could be because I’m a social cripple who breaks expensive vases as a first impression. And I did get sick yesterday, but only once, so that could have just been the fatigue and shock.”

He nodded, this time slipping his hand beneath my shirt to touch my stomach.

“If I am . . .”

“Then everything will be okay. All of those things you said are true, but we’ll be okay. You will be an extraordinary mother, and we’ll do whatever it takes to take care of our child.” He smiled and shook his head, “Our child. Wow. That’s what’s was bothering you yesterday?”

I nodded, and he exhaled in relief. That was a good thing, right?

“Does that mean you’re okay with this?” My heart was skipping.

“It means I love you and want to marry you and call you the mother of my child. It doesn’t matter to me what order it happens in.”

I leaned my head down against his chest, and suddenly the weight of my body felt like too much. His hand slid around to my back, and he pulled me in until my stomach pressed against his. I let him support more of my weight and said, “We do have a tendency to do things out of order.”

“The world has given us plenty of surprises, but each one has turned out better than the last. I have no doubt that this will be the same.”

He lifted my head up and caught my lips in a kiss.

We spent the rest of the ride ignoring the skyline for each other, and by the time the pod let us off back on solid earth, a really small part of me was actually beginning to hope for that plus sign.

11

Garrick

“THANK YOU FOR squeezing me in today, Mr. Woods. I really appreciate your time.” He stood from behind his massive black desk, and came around to meet me.

“Nonsense. Anything for the Taylors. I’m just glad you decided to reconsider. You’ll call me after you’ve talked to your fiancée?”

“Yes sir. I’ll talk to her tonight.”

“Fantastic. I think this could be a really good match, Garrick.”

“Thank you, sir. I’ll give you a call tomorrow.”

A knot sat heavy in my stomach as I entered the elevator, and rode down the thirty-seven floors back down to the lobby. It had started yesterday when I’d called to set up the interview, and now it felt like it took up my entire midsection. Maybe it had actually started on the Eye. Or when Bliss took that first test, which had been negative. I’d almost canceled the appointment, but the instructions on the pregnancy test box suggested taking multiple tests, so I’d gone out to get another one.

That one had been positive.

Bliss took two more this morning, both negative, and we eventually decided that we were just testing too early. She wasn’t sure exactly how many days she was late, but she guessed just a few, and everything we saw on the Internet suggested testing after a week.

So we decided to wait.

That seemed to be a staple in our relationship.

But whether she was pregnant or not, that didn’t change the facts.

She was about to be my wife. We didn’t have the money for a child any more than we had the money for a big wedding or a honeymoon. Neither of us had health insurance.

I loved acting, but how was I any different from my father if I chose to do that over providing for my family?

When Bliss had met me out on that empty stage after that performance of Pride and Prejudice and I’d gotten down on one knee, everything had changed. She had to be my priority. My job was to take care of her, and if that meant taking a job in London that made more money, then I would do it. Sure it was a job in my father’s world, a world I had never wanted to be a part of, but I knew taking this job would make me different from my father, regardless of whether we appeared the same on the outside.

London had an even better theatre scene than Philadelphia, so Bliss could continue working here, and I’d make enough that she wouldn’t have to work another job, she could just audition. And I . . . I would see her on stage, and that would have to be enough. I’d discovered my talent for theatre because pretending came so naturally to me. It was my way of life growing up. But I’d fallen in love with theatre when I found that it was the only kind of pretending that could also tell a truth. It would hurt to leave that behind, that feeling that I was a part of something bigger, something greater.

I would just have to learn how to find that same feeling in the audience.

Besides . . . marrying Bliss, starting a family, that was my something bigger.

The company would cover our move and health insurance. Baby or not . . . this made sense. It was the right thing to do. The smart thing.

I kept replaying all my reasons as the tube rocked back and forth on the tracks on my way back to Kensington. Bliss was out at her lunch with Mum, but we should be getting home around the same time. I needed to have all my thoughts laid out when I told her.

I wasn’t sure how she’d react to the idea of leaving the States. She’d seemed really excited about coming to London, but visiting and living here were two very different things. But besides a slow start, she’d really held her own here. It was an almost seamless transition, actually. Even better than I’d hoped.

It would be okay. This would make everything okay. And Bliss could stop worrying about the pregnancy because this job would take care of everything. And after a couple years in this job, I could probably find a comparable one back in the States if she wanted to go back.

I arrived back at my parents before Mum and Bliss, and surprisingly met my father on the way in the door.

“Oh Garrick, I’m glad I caught you. I swung by to pick up some things on my lunch. How did the interview go?”

Of course he would know. I hadn’t told anyone, but he must have heard it from Mr. Woods.

“It went well. I’m going to talk to Bliss about it tonight.”

He nodded, pulling his BlackBerry out of his pocket after it buzzed.

“Good.” He started tapping away at a message, and with his head down said, “You’re making the right decision, Garrick. The smart one.”

The knot in my stomach soured as he literally took the words right out of my head.

I wasn’t like my father. We were different. This was different.

He left with one more proclamation that this was the right thing, and I had the massive, empty house alone to fill up with thoughts.

I’d taken a turn of pacing and sitting and stressing in nearly every room in the house by the time Bliss arrived home. It was hours after I expected them, and I was in the dining room, drumming my fingers against the long table, when the front door opened, and I heard laughter.

“Did you see her face? I haven’t laughed so hard in . . . well, decades probably.”

“I thought she was going to murder me, right there in the shop.”

“I thought I was going to lose a lung laughing. You don’t know how much I can’t stand that woman.”

I crossed into the foyer, and Bliss and my mother were smiling like the oldest of friends.

“What have you two been up to all day?” I asked.

Mum waved a hand. “Just causing a bit of mischief. It comes quite naturally to your future wife.”

Of that, I was very well aware.

“And where have you been all this time?”

“Oh, here and there. Don’t worry. I took good care of her. And I was nice, as you put it. To her anyway.”

Bliss laughed, and whatever I was missing, it must have been one hell of a story. And I wanted to hear it . . . later. Right now I had about a thousand things to get off my chest, and I had everything I wanted to say arranged in my mind. I needed to say it before it all came tumbling down like a house of cards.

“I’m glad you two had fun, but can I steal her away for a while?”

“By all means,” Mum said. “Steal away.”

I held Bliss’s hand as we climbed the stairs up to my room. I shook my head, chuckling. “Unbelievable. How do you do it?”

Deadpan, Bliss said, “I knocked down five racks of clothing at some upscale boutique she took me to. Seriously, it was horrifying. The most expensive domino line in the history of the world.”

I burst out laughing.

She said, “That’s about how your mother reacted, too. She was civil before that, but then it was like some kind of flip had switched. We had a blast.”

This was a good sign. A great sign. Maybe she would want to be in London.

“My mother is all work. Today was probably the most fun she’s had in ages.”

“It was good for me, too,” she said. “Listen, I—”

“I need to talk to you about something,” I said.

“Oh.” She frowned. “Of course. Go ahead.”

I sat her on the edge of the bed, and out of habit my eyes went to her midsection. I think I’d looked at her stomach more in two days than in the entirety of our relationship before now.

“I did something today. Something a little crazy.”

“Okay,” she said tentatively, her fists clenched on top of her knees.

I blew out a breath.

“I interviewed for a job.”

“You what?”

“I know, I know.” I paced the length of the carpet in front of her. “I know it’s out of nowhere, but an old boss talked to me about it at the party the other night. I didn’t think anything of it until yesterday, but it solves all of our problems. The money is great, and they’ll pay for us to relocate. We’ll have health insurance to cover the birth. We’ll be able to afford to live in a very safe part of the city with good schools. You can audition here, and you won’t have to worry about working any other jobs.”

“You interviewed for a job here in London without telling me?”

“I haven’t accepted it.”

“You sure as hell better not have accepted it.”

I was mucking this up completely. I forced myself to stop pacing and kneel in front of her on the bed.

“I know this is a lot. I’m only asking you to think about it, to think of all the problems it could solve.”

“What about all the problems it creates? I’m already booked for a show in the fall.”

“You’d have to give that show up if you’re pregnant anyway. You’d be showing by then.”

She stood, and then it was she who started pacing.

“We don’t even know if we’re pregnant yet. You want to uproot our entire life on a possibility?”

I took hold of her elbows and said, “No. No, of course not. We can wait to answer until next week, until we know for sure. But even if you’re not pregnant, Bliss, you might be someday. This job is a rare opportunity. Most people have to work their way up for years to get this kind of job.”

“And what kind of job is it?”

“What do you mean?”

She gripped my shoulders like she wanted to shake me. “What will you be doing? You love theatre. You said it made you grow up. It led you to me. You’re going to leave that for what? A job behind a desk?”

“I love you, more than I’ve ever loved acting.”

She pulled her elbows out of my grasp and threw up her arms.

“What does that have to do with any of this?”

“Bliss, I’m doing this for you. For us.”

“Well, stop.”

I shook my head. “What?”

“You heard me. Stop. I didn’t ask you to do any of this.”

“You don’t have to ask.” I dragged a thumb across her jaw. “I just think it’s time for a bit of realism. It would be stupid not to take this job.”

“I’m hearing a lot of stupid things at the moment.”

Okay. So she wasn’t excited about the idea of living in London.

“Damn it, Bliss. We need this. I’m trying to grow up, to get a real job, and be an adult about all this.”

“Being an adult doesn’t mean you change everything about yourself. You were an adult already without this fancy job and the money.”

“But now I can be an adult that can provide for you.”

“You already provide all I need. You said we needed a dose of realism?”

“Yes. We do.”

I could see that now.

“You said almost the same thing to me on the first night we met, on the night we kissed. We were talking about theatre, about Shakespeare.”

“Bliss—”

“I never would have even stopped at that table if you hadn’t been reading those plays. We would have met for the first time as teacher and student, and nothing would have happened between us. We might not have fallen in love if you hadn’t been the assistant director for Phaedra. You proposed to me on stage, Garrick. Our whole life is theatre. The love we have is because of theatre. I associate all of our greatest moments with a play. If we’d thought about what was safe or smart when we met, we wouldn’t be together today. And you’ll always be the man that encouraged me to follow through on my dreams, the man that taught me how to make the bold choices and go after what I wanted. You said you weren’t like your father. He’s supposed to be the one whose primary concern is money.”

“The money is just a means to an end. You and the baby are my priority.”

“If you really want to do something for me, you’ll turn down this job.”

“Bliss, just think about it.”

“I am thinking about it. I’m thinking about how I fell in love with a man who told a classroom full of seniors that the hardest thing about this life isn’t landing roles or having enough money. It’s keeping up your spirit and remembering why we chose theatre in the first place. So take your own advice, Garrick. You could have had this life all those years ago, but you didn’t want it. You wanted something different. Something better. And either you still want that other life, that life with me. Or you don’t. But I would leave before I’d let you ruin your own dream.”

The silence detonated in my ears. My heart was raging in my chest, and I felt like my ribs were going to crack if it beat any harder. I couldn’t lose her. I wanted her more than I wanted anything else. She eclipsed every dream, every desire, every doubt.

“Bliss—”

“I mean it, Garrick. I appreciate what you’re doing, and I get it. I love you for being willing to do this, but it’s not worth it. Not if you stop being you.”

She took my hand and pressed it to her stomach. “If we did have a child, and he came to you with something like this, would you tell him to take the money, to take the job that didn’t mean anything? Why am I even asking, I know what you’d say. You’d tell him to do the thing he loved, the thing that made him feel more alive. Life’s too short to waste time living it any other way.”

She was right.

Damn it. She was right.

The knot in my stomach loosened, and I released a heavy breath.

“How is it that you know me even better than I know myself?”

“Because I love you.”

My heart sprinted, and the force of each beat drew me closer to her. Every time she said those words . . . every time it felt like the first time. I wrapped my arms around her and pulled until I had her feet dangling off the floor. I kissed the corner of her jaw and returned the words.

“But if we’re pregnant . . . there are so many things we’ll have to overcome. It’s going to be hard with our lifestyles.”

She threaded her fingers through my hair and said, “Your mother took me to see a friend of hers who’s a doctor.”

I met her gaze, and set her feet back on the floor. “You told my mother?”

She shrugged. “That woman has a way of prying out my secrets.”

“And?”

“And I’m not pregnant.”

I swallowed, my stomach twisting with a combination of emotions, too vast for me to really identify.

“You’re not?”

She shook her head. “The doctor said she thinks it’s probably just stress that’s thrown off my cycle. Probably the combination of all the work and thinking about meeting your family.”

My heartbeat was slow, but loud in my ears.

“So . . . so we don’t have to worry about any of those things.”

“Not now, no.”

For the life of me, I couldn’t tell if I was disappointed or relieved. Not about the baby. The job though . . . that felt like I was a hundred times lighter.

“You okay?” she asked.

I kissed her forehead, then the tip of her nose, followed by her lips. I absorbed the calm from her warm skin, breathed in the balance from her closeness. I said, “Yes. I’m more than okay.”

She nodded. Her expression was just as hard to read, and I got the feeling that she was just as confused about how she felt as I was.

“Garrick? One more question.”

“Anything.”

Her smile widened, brilliant and beautiful. All her confusion disappeared.

“Marry me?”

Half a dozen responses flitted through my mind, from simple to snarky. But there was one thing that would always be true about me. I preferred action to words.

So, I pulled her close and answered her as thoroughly as I could.

Ever wonder what Garrick was thinking in LOSING IT?

Turn the page for a full access pass to your favorite British professor’s inner most thoughts, from four key scenes from LOSING IT…

Happy Reading!!

The One Where They Meet

When the bartender asked me what I wanted, I almost told him one of everything. Getting mind-numbingly pissed wouldn’t bode well for my first day of work, but it would make me feel better.

So, I settled for a bourbon and took a seat in the back of the bar.

I laid the book containing the complete works of Shakespeare on the table, and fixed it with a glare.

I couldn’t believe I was teaching Shakespeare. When Eric had told me, he looked at me like he expected me to throw a damn parade. I suppose all Brits are supposed to love the guy, or Americans think that anyway.

So I’d bought the stupid book, threw it in the saddlebag on my motorcycle, and then put off making lesson plans for that class until the last possible minute.

Lesson plans.

What the hell had I gotten myself into?

My life in Philly had gone up in flames, and I’d thought this job was my way out, my open window. I was only thinking about getting away when I jumped, not about the pavement I was hurdling towards.

When I couldn’t put off reality and lesson plans any longer, I’d gone out to my bike to get the book, and I’d forgotten that the door to my new flat automatically locked behind me, and left my key inside.

So while I waited on a locksmith, I decided a drink was in order. Or several. Anything to help me swallow down a bit of Shakespeare before I had to teach it tomorrow.

Life, meet pavement.

I opened to Romeo and Juliet first and then immediately flipped another chunk of pages. No, thank you.

Macbeth.

At least that one was bloody.

If I remembered correctly, it was the shortest Shakespeare play, and I’d still never managed to get all the way through it. The history of the play’s cursed performances was infinitely more interesting than the play itself.

I dragged myself through the first act. The writing in this damn book was tiny, and every time I turned to a new page filled with miniscule print, I had to battle thoughts of suicide… and book burning.

I’d just gotten to the scene where Macbeth hallucinates a floating dagger as a sign that he should kill Duncan.

I swallowed a yawn.

I could go for a floating dagger right about now.

“If that’s supposed to be a way to pick up girls, I would suggest moving to an area with a little more traffic.”

A voice broke through my boredom, and I looked up to something much more preferable to a floating dagger.

I said, “Excuse me?”

My distraction was brunette with pale, almost porcelain skin that nearly glowed against the tiny black top she wore.

She said, “Shakespeare. No one reads Shakespeare in a bar unless it’s a ploy to pick up girls.” People actually did that? Jesus. “All I’m saying is you might have better luck up front.”

She put a hand on her hip, and gave me the cheekiest smile. I took it as a sign from the universe that I could be done with Shakespeare for the evening.

I smiled and said, “It’s not a ploy, but if it were, it seems to me that I’m having great luck right here.”

A faint blush chased across her cheeks, and that tempting smile froze on her face. I used a napkin to mark my place in Macbeth. Her eyes went a little wide, and the hand on her hip dropped. Her back straightened and she said, “You’re not trying to pick up a girl?”

Confusion crept across her eyes as the blush crept from her cheeks down her neck. It was a lovely neck.

I said, “I wasn’t.”

But this seemed like a much better use of my time.

Her eyebrows lifted, and I couldn’t help my grin. She’d come over blazing, and now she looked like I’d pulled the rug from beneath her feet, and maybe the floor too.

I turned my head to the side, trying to figure her out. Her outfit matched her bold approach, but as my eyes were drawn back to her face, I noticed how little makeup she wore. Maybe that was why her blush was so vivid.

“What’s your name, love?”

She pressed her lips together for a moment, like she was trying to keep herself from speaking, but then she said, “Bliss.”

I eyed her, trying to decide if she was playing with me.

“Is that a line?”

Her blush migrated to her collarbone, drawing my eyes to the curved neck of her shirt. My mouth went dry. I cleared my throat, and dragged my gaze away from her chest.

She said, “No, it’s my name.”

For months, I’d been pushing any interested girl away. Because even though Jenna and I had been split up, I knew it would make our already messy issues messier if I started seeing someone else. And despite the fact that she’d turned all our friends except for Spencer against me, the last thing I wanted to do was hurt her more. For the thousandth time, I wished I’d never crossed that line from friends to lovers. If I hadn’t, I’d still be in Philly. I’d still be acting, instead of running away here to teach. I’d still be happily ignoring all things Shakespeare.

But I wasn’t in Philly anymore.

Jenna wasn’t going to walk past or hear it from a friend.

There was one benefit to letting my former best friend run me off, and she was standing right in front of me.

Bliss. I smiled. What a name. Maybe the universe thought I was dense, and decided to be especially overt with its signs.

I said, “Lovely name for a lovely girl.”

I pushed the Shakespeare book over until it sat forgotten at the corner of my table. I’d spent long enough wallowing over the disaster that was my life in Philly, and I’d carried that over to my new life here.

Sure, being back in Texas at the same Uni I’d attended wasn’t something I’d ever thought I would do, but I had some ideas about how to make the most of it.

I told her about the mishap with my apartment key, and then talk turned to Shakespeare. She looked intrigued, so I tried not to grimace too much.

I said, “Don’t tell me you’re a Romeo and Juliet fan?”

For a brief second, my stomach dropped. It wasn’t that I was against the idea of love, but I just didn’t get their relationship, or the way women fawned over it. Romeo goes to that party obsessed with another girl, and then somehow in a matter of hours, he and Juliet fall so deeply in love that they’re willing to risk everything just to be together?

Doubtful.

Bliss answered, “Othello actually. That’s my favorite.”

Now that was a relationship that I bought. Obsession can be an even more powerful motivator than love.

“Ah. Fair Desdemona. Loyal and pure.”

Looking at Bliss, I understood that obsession even better. The way her skin flushed set my blood pumping. I wanted to trail my fingers across her collarbone, just to see if her skin was as soft as I imagined it would be. But I had a feeling that I wouldn’t be able to stop there.

She started to stay something, but stuttered over her words. Flustered, she was even more attractive. She was real, unlike half the bints I’d dated over the years.

Finally, she managed, “I like the juxtaposition of reason and passion.”

As a soon-to-be teacher, I probably should have been impressed by her thoughts. As a man, I was only really paying attention to that last word.

“I’m a fan of passion myself.”

I’d always been direct, probably because I’d grown up with a mother who never filtered her thoughts, not because she couldn’t, but because she didn’t like to. She liked to watch people squirm.

I’d quelled that directness with Jenna, and ignored the gut feeling that told me we were better as friends. I thought that just because I wasn’t initially interested in her didn’t mean I couldn’t be. Look where that had gotten me.

From now on, I was following my gut. And it was pulling me toward this girl in a way I hadn’t felt in a very long time.

I said, “You haven’t asked me my name.”

She cleared her throat, and I knew she was nervous. Nervous was a good sign.

She asked, “What’s your name?”

“Join me, and I’ll tell you.”

She took the seat across from me, and my lips spread in a victorious smile.

I told her my name and that I was going to buy her a drink.

“Then we can chat some more about reason… and passion.”

And then maybe we’d have time for some hands-on study, too.

I waived down an employee and asked for another bourbon. When the waiter turned to Bliss, he put a hand on her shoulder and said, “I remember—Jack and Coke right?”

A few strands of her caught beneath his hand and laced between his fingers. I stiffened. I’d been thinking of touching her hair since she sat down, wanting to run my fingers through it, and now a waiter had beat me to it.

I’d never been particularly jealous, but when he winked at her, I felt the liquor sour in my mouth. Her eyes stayed locked on him the entire time he stood by our table, and I was fighting cave man impulses to pull her chair around to my side of the table and away from him.

He started to leave, but then said, “Should I tell your friend up front that you’ll be back?”

Still not looking at me, she said, “Oh, um, sure. I guess.”

When he finally left, I took a long, slow breath.

And then because I’d given my gut free reign, I said, “You know, sometimes I wonder if Desdemona was as innocent as she let on. Maybe she knew the effect she had on guys and enjoyed making them jealous.

Her eyes met mine, and she leveled me with her stare. I saw that brassy girl who first spoke to me step back into the ring.

“Or maybe she was just intimidated by Othello’s intensity and didn’t know how to talk to him. Communication is key, after all.”

That was definitely something I could give her.

“Communication, eh?”

“It could have solved a lot of their problems.”

It could have solved a lot of mine, too. But this was a new town, new leaf. Instead of cave-manning her chair over to mine, I picked mine up and placed it directly next to hers.

“In that case, I’ll endeavor to be as clear as possible.” She smelled sweet, floral. I resisted the urge to lean in to her ear and communicate exactly what I wanted to do to her. Instead, I said, “I’d rather you didn’t go back to your friend. Stay here with me.”

I tried to make it sound like a question, but my gut had other ideas. I was not going back to Shakespeare. And I was not giving her up to some friend. Or that damn waiter.

“Well, my friend is waiting. What will we do if I stay?”

I had to bite my tongue to keep from uttering something that would scare her off. Instead, I did what I’d been longing to do and reached forward to touch her hair. It was soft and the low light in the bar picked up strands of gold among the brown. I brushed it back over her shoulder, revealing that delicate neck that was still painted in tones of red. And I couldn’t stop myself from touching her there, too. I trailed my fingers over her skin, pausing at the place where I could feel her blood pulsing through her veins. Her heartbeat was almost as fast as mine.

This was what was missing with Jenna. I’d loved her. A part of me still did, despite how shitty everything had turned out. But there had never been this primal need to touch her, to keep touching her whatever the cost.

“We can talk Shakespeare.” It was a small price to pay, really. “We can talk about anything you want. Though I can’t promise not to get distracted by your lovely neck.” I trailed my fingers up smooth skin to her jaw. I followed the curve of bone to her chin, and narrowly resisted continuing up to her lips. I used a finger to crook her chin forward, drawing her closer to me. I felt her inhale, and it was like she’d sucked the breath right out of me. She was a distraction, every part of her. I said, “Or your lips.” She bit down on her bottom lip, staining it red. God, she looked good in red. “Or those eyes.” A deep blue green. “I could woo you with stories about my life, like Othello does Desdemona.”

“I’d rather not parallel our evening with a couple who ended with a murder-suicide.”

And she was funny. Even better. Maybe Texas wouldn’t be so bad after all.

“Touché. I don’t care what we do as long as you stay.”

After a torturous pause, she said, “Okay.” Her voice was low and breathy, and I fisted my hands to keep from pulling her to me.

“Maybe I should lock myself out of my apartment more often.”

A small smile unfurled across her lips, and I was a goner. I couldn’t take my eyes off her lips, not even when her friend called. She took the call, but I didn’t hear what she was saying. Her mouth mesmerized me.

I liked her. Enough that I wanted to see her again. Logically, I knew I should cool it and take things slow, if that was the case. But the part of me that wanted to see all of her and see it now spoke so much louder.

My resistance was shaved down to a miniscule thread when the waiter came back with our drinks. His eyes fixed on Bliss and barely left her as he set down our drinks. I slipped my arm around the back of her chair, and it took all of my restraint not to lower it to her shoulders.

When we were alone again, she asked, “Are you the jealous type, Garrick?”

Right now? Absolutely.

“Not really.” I shrugged.

She raised a disbelieving eyebrow, and I smiled. She didn’t seem angry, so I wasn’t about to feel guilty.

“Maybe this discussion of Othello has set me a bit on edge.”

I was halfway to obsession already.

When she hinted that we go back to my place to wait on the locksmith a few minutes later, halfway went out the window.

I kept up conversation as best as I could, but my mind was already wandering onto other things, like how the short ride to my apartment wasn’t short enough. Like the way her hair would look spread across my pillow, how her hips would feel in my hands, and what her lips would taste like.

It was akin to ignoring an itch. Every second that passed, my world seemed to narrow until I couldn’t focus on anything else, but how badly I wanted to close the distance between us.

And like a tiny pebble causing an avalanche, she looked up at me from beneath her lashes and gave me an opening, a window.

And I took it.

And the walls of self-control I’d been straining to hold up crashed completely. I took hold of her elbow, and pulled her to her feet. And I followed the pull in my chest straight to her lips.

She froze against me, and I wanted to bloody pummel myself. I waited for her to shove me away or slap me, but that didn’t come either. I’d already hung myself out to dry, what was the harm in tightening the noose a bit?

I pulled her bottom lip between my teeth, and felt her shiver. She swayed toward me, and her neck tilted back. I threaded a hand through her hair at the same moment that her mouth opened.

Another window.

The first taste of her would have been worth any pummeling she or I would have given. By the second, I was addicted. Her hands pulled at my back, and I was starving for her. I tugged her closer, until the curve of her chest pressed against me, but it still wasn’t close enough.

I needed more.

So, I slipped my hand underneath the hem of her top, sliding my fingers across her lower back. Her skin felt like silk, and I traced the slight dip just to the side of her spine. I spread my hand, wishing I could touch more of her, sink my fingers deeper. A moan flowed from her mouth into mine, and I pulled back, wanting to touch more of her. My hand on her neck was heading for the hem of her shirt when my peripheral vision reminded me exactly where we were.

Damn it all.

I looked back to her lips, pink and slightly swollen, and God I wished we weren’t in public. She leaned closer, tempting me almost past what I could bear. I couldn’t look at those lips anymore. I dipped my head down toward her shoulder, inhaling her sweet scent.

My resolve broke for a moment, and I tasted the skin of her neck just for a few seconds.

With my eyes close, I tried to pull myself back together.

I said, “Sorry. Got carried away.”

The One Where They Meet… Again.

When I woke Monday morning, I thought maybe I’d dreamed her. That she was the strangest, most elusive siren ever. Or maybe that the universe was punishing me for breaking Jenna’s heart.

Mostly, I spent my morning guzzling coffee and resisting the urge to walk back over to her apartment and knock on the door.

I would give it a few days, and then go back. See if I could make sense of whatever the hell happened the night before. It was obviously an excuse, but I just couldn’t understand why. I’d given her several opportunities to get out, but she’d been the one to keep pulling us along. So, either I’d done something wrong or… I had nothing. I had to have done something, said something that made her change her mind, to make her literally run away from me.

I left bright and early to get to the university. As I settled onto my bike, I couldn’t help but think of the burn on her leg, and wondered how it was. That could be my excuse to check in on her. Maybe tonight. That would be long enough, right?

Damn it.

I made myself focus on the road.

It was strange to pull onto campus and not have to join the hordes of students circling the parking lot like vultures for a spot near the Fine Arts building. Instead I zipped around the lot and pulled into one of the reserved faculty spaces.

I pulled off my helmet and shook the hair out of my face.

Faculty. Jesus.

I was less than an hour away from being a professor. People in their twenties, only a handful of years younger than me, were going to call me sir or mister. I could almost hear the ominous slasher movie music playing behind my thoughts.

I had a real job. I was a real adult.

And I’d done it by accident.

I’m not sure if everyone feels this way or just actors, but I felt like I was in a movie as I entered the building, and made my way to my office. Well, Professor Jackson’s office anyway. I kept expecting to see a camera out of the corner of my eye or a catchy and yet appropriate song underscoring my movement. It was that surreal.

Sometimes in life you make these tiny little choices that at the time seem miniscule in the grand scheme of things. But you veer a little left, then a little more, and more, and then suddenly you’re facing an entirely different direction and have no idea where you’re heading.

My first class of the morning was a group of graduating seniors in their last semester. What could I possibly offer them? I’d been out of college just long enough to rack up even more debt in the form of a post-graduate degree, work less than a year in the regional theatre scene before mangling my personal and professional life into an unrecognizable carcass of failure.

My first lesson plan should be called: Life. No one knows what the hell they’re doing.

I sunk into professor Jackson’s chair, surrounded by his books and his files and his things, and rubbed at my eyes.

I had to believe there was a reason.

I had to believe that even though nothing about my life made sense at the moment, I was getting to where I was supposed to be.

I had to believe that even though I couldn’t see the map, and I was making wrong turns and taking not-so-short cuts—the destination was there.

Maybe I was supposed to be here. Maybe I was supposed to lock myself out of my apartment, and meet Bliss. And as bizarre as it seemed, maybe it was a good thing that she’d run out on me. I liked her. She was sweet and silly, and when everything else seemed complicated, being with her felt simple.

There was more than a one off there.

A knock on the office door pulled me out of my thoughts, and I sat up straighter at my desk. The department head, Eric Barnes stood filling up the doorway, his hands in his pockets. He was a lanky man, twice my age, and had taught me theatre history and directing in my days here, among other things.

“You get all settled into your place?”

I smiled, trying not to think too much about last night, and said, “Yes, of course. Thank you.”

I stood, and he leaned over the desk to shake my hand.

I felt again, like this was some movie, rather than my life. Five years ago, I’d been getting sloshed and doing impressions of him and the other professors in a room full of college friends. Now, he was my boss.

“I thought I’d go down to your first class with you to get you all introduced. Most of the students will have heard the rumors of your coming by now, but I’ll be there just to get you settled.”

“Of course. That would be great. Thank you.”

I felt like a bobblehead, nodding along and just spouting ‘thank you’ every few seconds.

He said, “I think you’ll like this group. They came in the year after your class left, and they really stepped up. They’re a strong group.”

“Good. That’s good.”

God, I hoped I was better at figuring out what to say during class.

“ I think you’ll have a blast teaching them. But make sure to hold your ground, too. They’ll push the line as far as you let them. But be firm, and keep them on track, and you’ll do fine.”

“Right.” Be firm. God, I was going to make a bleeding mess of this whole thing.

“You’re looking a little yellow, Garrick.”

I forced a smile and said, “Just a bit of nerves, that’s all.”

“You’ll be fine. You may not feel experienced enough to do this, but you’re still light years beyond these kids. Most of them leave college, determined and passionate, and half of them give up within the first year. You’re past that phase. You’re in the trenches, but you’re still hanging on. Your perspective will actually be more valuable to them than a seasoned professor who has forgotten what it’s like to go on a dozen auditions a week. This is a clean slate. These kids don’t know you, and you don’t know them. Just tell them what you wish someone had told you when you’d been sitting there. It’s a simple as that.”

It did seem simpler when he put it that way.

I didn’t have to have all the answers. I just had to get them past the first hurdle.

I nodded. “Thanks Eric. That helps a lot.”

He gave that cheesy teacher shrug that said, ‘I do know what I’m talking about.’ He clapped a hand on my shoulder. “Let’s go down and get you settled. You’re in the blackbox.”

My nerves spiked, and I turned to my desk, desperate for anything to stall. I grabbed a pen. What I was going to do with it, I had no idea, but I felt better holding something.

“Okay,” I said. “Let’s go.”

We descended the stairs in silence, and as soon as we entered the theatre wing, I could hear the students in the green room down at the far end of the hallway. They were laughing and screaming, and someone was playing music, and I envied them. I missed being where they were… not just in the green room, though I did miss that. I missed being on the cusp of things. That feeling before you jump when you know you’re going to fly, so falling doesn’t even cross your mind. I missed feeling like I had all the time in the world.

We entered the small theatre, and I smiled. I inhaled the familiar scent of dusty curtains and old furniture and props. Black, moveable curtains encircled the entire room, and the flexible seating was set up in a thrust style with risers on three sides of the audience. A prop table had been pulled to the middle of the room, along with a chair. I took a seat, but that didn’t feel right, so I stood. Then I tried leaning on the table, but it tipped under my weight, so I settled for standing with my hands in my pockets.

Eric laughed at me, and said, “It’s actually kind of refreshing to see you like this. You’ve always been very confident and comfortable, even as a student.”

I cleared my throat.

Yes, well. I was a bit off my game lately.

I uttered, “I’m fine,” just as the door swung open and students started filing in.

“Eric!” A few of them called as they piled onto the chairs in the center section. A pretty redhead turned toward Eric and said, “Did you miss us over the holidays?”

Eric laughed. “I’m saving my missing until you’re all gone for good.”

She held a hand over her plentiful chest and frowned, “I’m hurt. You’re going to cry for days when we graduate. Admit it.”

I cleared my throat, and pulled my eyes away from her. The last thing I needed was to get caught ogling a student. I squeezed the pen in my hand and tried to clear my head. Last night had really done a number on me. The sooner I saw Bliss again and got things settled, the better.

For the most part, the students ignored me.

Well, they stared, for sure. But they went back to their conversations, talking about who had said what and who was seeing whom. It was like looking into the past and seeing my class right before we graduated.

I started labeling them as my friends from college. The red head was Emma definitely. Spunky and pretty, but a little bit off-putting. There was another guy they called Dom that was hands down Jack from my class. He tried too hard to be cool, and every time he spoke I saw half a dozen eyes roll.

This was simple. I could do this.

By the time nine A.M. came, and Eric introduced me to the class, my nerves had all but disappeared. This would be no different than the conversations my friends and I used to have before graduating. We debated the pros and cons of graduate school and regional theatre and moving to New York. Only now, I had the added benefit of having already made those decisions, as had my friends. At least now, I knew what the hell I was talking about.

He was mid-sentence when the loud theatre doors creaked open. Those things had ruined many of my own attempts to sneak in and out of class in college.

Eric called out, “Late,” and two girls called back, “Sorry, Eric!”

They pushed through the curtain, snickering, their coffees held in front of their bowed faces.

The first was blonde, again pretty.

I hadn’t anticipated this particular issue with teaching.

Eric took a breath and started talking again, but I didn’t follow what he said. The second girl had lowered her coffee, and even though her head was bowed searching through her purse, there was something about her that pulled my eye.

Something about her hair and the curve of her back was familiar, and I wondered if maybe she was the little sister of someone I’d gone to school with. That happened a lot, family legacies.

Then she lowered her bag and leaned back in her chair, casting light onto her face. I knew when I saw her lips, those lips that I’d spent so long staring at the night before, but I told myself it wasn’t possible.

But as I took in her pale skin, her small nose, and her faintly pink skin, my world flashed hot and then cold. I squeezed the pen in my hand, and felt the plastic crack under my palm.

A roaring filled my ears, and it took me several long seconds to realize it was the students clapping, and not my world coming apart at the hinges.

Then her eyes flicked up to mine, blue and wide and so familiar that my whole body tingled with recognition.

Her jaw fell open, and it was like there was a wall in my brain that I couldn’t get a thought past. I knew I should look away. I knew I should acknowledge whatever Eric had just said and the other students in the class.

But more than all of that, I knew her. Bliss.

And I wished to God that I didn’t.

I was back in that surreal world, like a movie. And everything that had seemed simple and right turned out to be a complicated bloody mess.

The One Where He Changes His Mind

I could die happy watching Bliss dance. She held her hands up to her chest, opened her mouth in a silent scream, and bounced from side to side. She shook her head, her hair whirling.

Just watching her made me feel younger, happier. And I loved that she could be this girl—carefree and exuberant—and also put forth the kind of performance she’d given yesterday at auditions.

Her performance burrowed under my skin and tore me open. She transformed on stage, and she took us all with her.

Last night had been the hardest night yet to stay away from her. Seeing her out with her friends, celebrating, I had wanted her to be with me.

I tore my eyes away from her waist and the strip of skin revealed there as she danced.

I said, “I’m guessing you saw the list.”

She froze, and it was so hard to hold in my laugh. I imagined the blush creeping across her skin, and then got to see it a few seconds later as she turned.

“Hi Garrick.”

I would never get tired of hearing her say my name.”

“Hello Bliss. Congratulations.”

She ran her hands through her hair, taming it, and I had to fist my hands to keep from assisting.

Every morning when I woke up, I told myself this wasn’t a big deal. I could handle it… resisting her. But then I would see her in person, and it would be so much harder than I anticipated.

She said, “Thank you. I’m, uh, pretty excited.”

“As you should be. Your audition…” There were so many things I wanted to say, but all of them seemed too telling. I stepped closer, and lowered my voice so no one else could hear. “Your audition was fantastic. There was no competition.” Then again, I was biased. I never saw anyone else when she was around.

Her voice was breathy and tempting when she said, “Thank you.”

“But Friday night…”

“Oh God—”

There were so many things I wanted to say about that night. How much I’d hated seeing her with Cade, how tempted I’d been to accept her invitation and join their party. I chose the most innocuous of my thoughts.

“As ridiculously cute as you were, please don’t get that drunk again. Eric will need you to be at your absolute best for this role.”

“Of course.” Her eyes were wide and panicked. “Absolutely. I promise.”

“And… I was worried about you too.”

Mostly that.

“Oh.”

I looked from the circle of her lips to the wisps of hair that still stood out of place and down to the leg she’d burned on my motorcycle.

“I don’t like being worried about you.”

She looked up at me from beneath her lashes, and I couldn’t resist not touching her in some way. I restrained myself to just touching a curl instead of her skin.

She smiled, and it devastated me. Leveled me completely.

“You should probably worry about yourself. Calling me ‘cute’ again is bound to get you injured, possibly maimed.”

I loved when she got cheeky. With how she made me feel, I might willingly let her maim me.

Like her skin was magnetic, my hand in her hair swayed in, and my knuckles brushed against her cheek.

I should have held my tongue, but I had impulse-control problems where she was concerned. “Since I can’t very well call you the alternative here, ‘cute’ will have to do for now.”

I’d just have to call her sexy in my mind. And maybe someday…

I cleared my throat and put a few feet between us. That was dangerous territory, thinking we had any possible future. I was her teacher, and she had Cade, and that was only the beginning.

I said, “why don’t you go take a seat for class?”

She left and I took a few moments to collect myself and put on my teacher persona before I had to face her again.

When class ended, I was eager to escape up to my office for a break, but then Bliss re-entered the theatre with Eric. I’d forgotten he wasn’t to talk to her about callbacks tonight.

She took a seat right beside me, and I concentrated on not reacting to her presence. The last thing I needed was for Eric to detect whatever was going on between us. Or not going on.

I looked at her, and her expression was strained, lined with fear. I wanted to take her hand and put her at ease, but I settled for a smile instead.

Eric said, “Bliss… I have to admit I’m surprised.”

She exhaled sharply, her hands fisted, and I realized what had her so scared. She thought she was in trouble. She thought we were in trouble. I wanted to assure her, but she didn’t look at me again. Her dread-filled eyes stayed locked on Eric. I hated that I’d even put her in a situation where she felt she had to be afraid.

When Eric began talking about her audition and callbacks, she released an audible breath. I didn’t realize how tense I was until she relaxed, and I allowed myself to follow.

That evening she took a seat in front of me in the theatre while Eric went to grab a few last minute things before callbacks started.

She sat stiff and uncomfortable. I leaned down, wanting to say something to diffuse the tension, but she beat me to it.

She said awkwardly, “Hey… friend.”

I laughed. How was it that even when she was adorable, I found her irresistibly sexy?

I said, “Not quite believable, but A for effort.”

She scoffed. “Someone’s an easy grader.”

“Someone just has a soft spot where you are concerned.”

She shivered slightly and tipped her head to the side. My eyes went to the neck that had fascinated me from the beginning, and I clutched the back of her seat to keep my hand occupied.

I had to learn how to hold my tongue around her.

“Sorry,” I said. “Sometimes I forget.”

Wishful thinking, mostly.

One of these times that wishful thinking was going to get me into serious trouble. Or slapped. If I were a better man, I would have backed off by now.

Instead, I leaned closer. I cleared my throat and said, “I have to ask you something.”

“Okay.”

Before I could let reason catch up to my impulses, I said, “Cade.”

She turned, and the scent of her hair nearly did me in.

She raised an eyebrow and said, “That’s not a question.”

Ah, hell. I’d already gone this far.

“You’re still with him?” I asked.

“With him?”

Damn, she was really going to make me say it.

“I just—I can’t tell. You still sit together in class, but it’s different now. So, I thought maybe you two had broken it off.”

Hoped was the better word. I had not business hoping for that kind of thin, but it was one of those things you just couldn’t fight. Like the sun rising in the sky, the coming of spring, the fall of rain. Hope wasn’t something I could turn off; no matter how much easier it would be to do so.

She said, “There was nothing to break off.”

“What?”

“Yes! Cade and I aren’t together. We never have been.”

That hope burned so bright that there were two suns for just a moment.

I tried to make sense of everything that had happened. I thought for sure it all had stemmed from Cade—her leaving the night we first met, that crazy cat excuse, all her odd behavior since then.

She insisted, “I didn’t run out because of Cade. I had to get my cat…”

I signed. “Bliss, I’m not an idiot.”

“I have a cat! I do! Um… she’s gray and adorable and her name is… Hamlet.”

My brows furrowed. “You have a cat named Hamlet?”

“I do.” She was so confident. “I definitely, definitely do.”

Maybe I was completely off. I hadn’t exactly had the best judgment as of late. It was possible I’d misjudged everything. Maybe.

“Fine. So, if you’re not dating Cade, what’s going on between the two of you?”

Her cheeks began to pink before she even answered, “Nothing.”

So maybe I wasn’t so far off after all.

“You’re a terrible liar.”

“It’s nothing. It’s just something that happened Friday when I was… how do you British people say it? Pissed? Sloshed?”

My stomach sank like it was weighted with concrete.

“Did you sleep with him?” I asked.

Just the words made me nauseated. If I let myself think beyond that, I’d go mental. I didn’t realize I had a death grip on the back of her chair until she said, “What? No!”

The relief was overwhelming.

“Good.” That was an understatement.

“Garrick…”

I was so glad I couldn’t even conjure an ounce of guilt. I was tired of beating myself up over this.

“What? Just because I can’t have you right now, doesn’t mean I’m okay with him having you.”

God, it felt good to be honest.

She blinked and shook her head. “I’m going to pretend you didn’t just refer to me like property to be owned.”

“Can’t we own each other?”

If I was going to go around feeling guilty all the time, I sure as hell intended to do something worth feeling guilty over.

“What has gotten into you?” she asked. “I thought you promised me we wouldn’t do this again.”

Now that Cade was out of the picture I was having trouble remembering why I made that promise.

“I don’t know. I just… I’ve been going crazy thinking about the two of you together.”

“We kissed. Nothing else.”

Those words stung like a slap, and I flinched back.

She added, “It was just a kiss. It didn’t mean anything.”

“I don’t want anyone else to kiss you.”

Just knowing my lips hadn’t been the last to touch hers made me want to do something bad… something I definitely should do when Eric could walk back in at any minute.

“Garrick…” I didn’t like that exasperated tone she kept using, but I’d take it as long as she kept saying my name.

“I know I’m not being fair.” The way things had happened between us… that wasn’t fair either. “I’m being a right bastard actually. I keep telling myself to leave you alone, but the truth is… I’m not sure I can. And now that I know you’re not with Cade…”

“What are you saying?”

I was tired of saying everything. Words just got in the way. Words made me think I had to stay away from her, and for what? A job that was only lasting a few more months anyway?

No, I’d had about enough of words.

I’d always been an action kind of man anyway.

The One Where Bliss Gets Her Way, and Well, Garrick, too.

Let’s Just Say Ways Are Had

My girl was made of joy.

It seeped from her every pore, shined from her eyes, and sang with the sway of her hips. I watched her jumping on her bed, screaming silently into her hands, and I knew then that I wanted to make sure she was this happy always.

With a smile, I asked, “What are you doing?”

She squealed and collapsed onto her mattress, and I couldn’t put into words what her adorable look of shock made me feel.

You think you know what an emotion feels like—grief, anger, jealousy—but then a moment will come along so fierce in it’s effect that it redefines the feeling and puts what you thought that emotion was to shame.

Bliss redefined happiness for me.

With her hands crisscrossed over her chest like her heart was about to leap out of its cage, she asked, “What are you doing here?”

“I saw your car outside, so I came over. I didn’t realize you’d already started the party without me.” I loved that she didn’t even try to hide her embarrassment with me anymore. She’s accepted it. “I take it you’re excited about how the show went tonight?”

She climbed off the bed, stumbling over nothing. My smile spread wider.

She said, “The show was great, but I’m glad to be home.”

She put a hand on my chest as she said the word home, and I wondered if she could feel my heart jump toward her touch. I grabbed her waist and pulled her forward into a hug. I closed my eyes, put at ease by the familiar smell of her hair and warmth of her body.

One month. One month, and she would be mine-- no hiding, no lies, no worries. Just us.

“You were great tonight.” Great was an understatement. She got better every time I saw the performance, braver and bolder and more beautiful. “And now I get to have you all to myself.”

One month from now, I was going to steal her away from the world. Maybe we’d go somewhere. We could take a trip; find a place where no one knew us. Maybe drive down to Galveston and the coast. It was a long drive, but it would be worth it to see her in a bathing suit, to have her really all to myself.

“How was the celebration?” I asked. I was pretty damn proud of myself that I didn’t toss her over my shoulder as soon as the show was over, and kidnap her. I’d given her some time with her friends. Well, as much as I could bear.

“Good,” she said. “Really good. I’m going to miss everyone when we graduate. It’s a little crazy to think that’s only a month away.

I grazed her pink cheek with my thumb, and said, “One month.”

She smiled, and I leaned down for a quick taste of the joy on her lips.

Her arms went around my neck, and her mouth pushed harder against mine.

“Mmm...” She was going to be the death of me.

I slid my hand up from her waist the to curve of her ribs. Her shoulders pulled back, pressing her chest closer to mine. I opened my mouth, and her tongue slid in, eager and impatient.

I needed to get this girl on stage more often if this was what it did to her.

Our mouths tangled, and our bodies followed, pulling closer, exploring. I had to concentrate to keep my grip on her body light. But her kisses were intoxicating, coaxing me closer and closer to losing control. Her arms slid down my chest, and my spine tightened with a shiver. She slid one hand beneath my shirt, and pressed her fingers into my lower back. I could feel the five little points pressing into my muscle, and I flexed my hands to keep from pulling her hips tight against mine.

But feeling her body, pliant and warm, beneath my hands did nothing to help me stay in control. And I had to stay in control. I didn’t want to spend the night with a foot between us on the couch because I couldn’t keep myself in check. I loved her. I should be able to kiss and hold her without needing more.

Her other hand slid over my abdomen and up to my chest, and I exhaled heavily from my nose.

Shakespeare. Maybe I should recite Shakespeare. Surely my abhorrence for the stuff could balance out my obsession with the little vixen in my arms. I was trying to decide on a play when her hand on my chest, pushed, and I fell back onto the bed that sat behind me. How did the bed get behind me?

I didn’t have time to pinpoint the moment our position had shifted before Bliss straddled me, and my whole body became painfully aware of how very not in control I was. Her hips tilted against mine, and I swallowed a slew of curse words.

“Bliss.” My voice was barely audible. Who could think about things like speech when it took all of my willpower not to toss her on the bed and introduce myself to all the parts of her I’d not had the privilege of meeting.

She pulled back, and I resisted the urge to say thank you. I took the reprieve and with it several deep breaths. When I was a little farther away from the edge, I opened my eyes.

She was biting her bottom lip, and I forced myself to look away and meet her eyes. Then I wished I hadn’t. There was a glint there that I didn’t see often. A few times on the night we first met and on the rare occasion since. It was a boldness in her gaze that told me in was in a hell of a lot of trouble.

She reached down, and then her sexy but tame dress was travelling between us, and over her head. A noise-- one part barbaric and one part pain-- escaped my throat, and it was like trying not to look down when you’re standing on the a tightrope wire. When her chest brushed not-so-innocently against mine, I couldn’t resist anymore. I looked down.

I sucked in a breath, and then it stuck in my throat.

She was stunning. The most gorgeous fucking thing I’d ever seen. Not touching her was torture.

Shakespeare. Shakespeare. Think about Shakespeare.

“Bliss. You’re overestimating my self-control.” With my jaw clenched and every muscle in my body pulled taut, Batman had better inflection than I did.

“Oh, I’m pretty sure I estimated your control... perfectly.”

Her hips bore down into mine, and I knew I wasn’t going to make it. I was ten seconds away from touching all of her or having to bolt to stop myself. Her breath fanned across my mouth.

I perched a hand on her back, and tangled another in her hair. Just to keep her balanced, of course. And to hold her back, if I needed a second. Her hips rolled into mine again, harder and on purpose, and I nearly lost it.

My hand dug into her back, and my other fisted in her hair.

“Bliss,” I warned.

She blinked up at me, sweet and innocent. Or playing at it anyway.

“Garrick.”

“This is the opposite of slow.”

I should take my hand off her back. Touching her made this harder.

She swayed toward me, and every place we touched—from the slight graze of her lips to her chest to those damn hips—felt like it had been set on fire. She grinded into me, and I was acutely aware of every article of clothing that stood between us. Namely, I was very away of how few there were.

She whispered, “I think we’ve gone slow enough.”

If that meant what I thought it meant... God, just thinking about the possibility made black dance around the edges of my vision. I wrapped my arm completely around her waist, stilling her hips, but also bringing her closer.

“What does that mean?”

“It means...” Her fingers fiddled with the hem of my shirt, “that I’m done going slow.”

She pulled my shirt, and I was too much in shock to do anything but follow. I raised my arms, and then her bare skin slid against mine, and I was gone. Adrift at sea. Lost in space. Catapulted into an oblivion where nothing mattered but the thin space between her body and mine.

“I’m going to need you to be very clear about what you’re saying right now, Bliss.”

Her eyes met mine, wide and a little afraid. She kissed me, and I wanted to crawl under her skin, to be surrounded by her.

She pulled back, and added another quick, sweet kiss. In a small voice that was completely at odds with fire she’d been playing with so far tonight she said, “Make love to me?”

Who knew a voice so small could send tremors through my heart? God knows I wanted her, had wanted her from the moment I met her. But we’d made a deal.

“Bliss, you don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do for me.”

One month. As difficult as it was to wait, I never wanted her to regret a single thing about our time together. There was something both empowering and terrifying about knowing I would be her first. It meant she was mine, totally and completely. And if I didn’t fuck anything up, she could stay only mine. But it was also an incredible amount of pressure.

She said, “What about tonight has felt like I was being forced to do anything? In fact, I feel a little like I’m forcing you.”

Her shoulders hunched, and she pulled away from me every so slightly. I could see the weight beginning to drag down the corners of her lips, so I kissed it away. I used the hand in her hair to angle her head, and I kissed her with zero restraint, with almost no softness. I made sure she knew exactly how much I wanted her. So much that I felt like I was going to spontaneously combust beneath her.

My heart was hammering when I pulled back. “You’re not forcing me to do anything. I just want you to be sure. You can say stop at anytime.” And I would want to shoot myself in the face, but I would stop. Something flashed in her eyes, and my heart twitched with a nervous electricity. This was happening. I pulled on an easy smile and added, “You don’t need to make up a new pet.”

Her hands settled on my shoulders, and she stood. My body felt incomplete without her wrapped around me.

“If you’re going to keep trying to talk me out of it...”

My hands shot out with possibly the fastest reflexes of my life. I curled my arms around her, pulled and spun, placing her on the mattress beneath me. I held myself above her with one arm. Just seeing her laid out beneath me raised something like hunger inside of me.

“I wasn’t trying to talk you out of anything. I was trying to be a gentleman.”

But now that I was above her, and I could see the way her body moved with each pant of breath. Gentleman was a foreign word. She tucked her fingers into my belt loops and pulled me down on top of her. Her body molded to mine, and I held myself up on one elbow, just enough that I could look her in the eye as the weight of my body pressed into hers. She bit her lip, making me desperate to kiss and bite across her pale, pink skin.

“Do me a favor? Be a gentleman tomorrow?”

I said something. It might have been words. Then I let down the walls of control, and I kissed her hard and fast and with every bit of fire that I’d spent weeks trying to tame.

I lost myself in her—in the beads of sweat across her collarbone, the valley between her breasts, the snare of her legs around my hips.

And I didn’t want to be found.

Maybe that is the point of love, losing yourself entirely to another person.

Only it doesn’t feel like you’ve lost anything at all.

SEEKING HER

A Finding It Novella

On sale January 2014

Read Jackson Hunt's side of the story…

A few months after being honorably discharged from the military, Jackson Hunt is still struggling to adjust back to the real world. He needs to get a job and find a sense of normalcy if he's going to keep his own demons at bay. The job that falls into his lap, though, is anything but normal.

Bodyguard (and baby-sitter) to spoiled-rich-girl Kelsey Summers isn't exactly what he'd been looking for, but it's a chance to travel, to get away from the home that has felt stifling ever since his return. It would be a pretty sweet gig if it weren't for the fact that Kelsey's father doesn't want Kelsey to know she's being followed. Hunt feels guilty (and a little bit creepy) as he watches her from afar. She's vibrant and infuriating, exciting and reckless, mysterious and familiar. When he sees her falling into the same patterns that he suffered years ago, he decides it's time to stop watching and help her instead. But getting to know her is more difficult than he thought, especially because the more he knows her, the more he wants her.

Click here to pre-order Seeking Her.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Cora Carmack is a twenty-something writer who likes to write about twenty-something characters. She's done a multitude of things in her life-retail, theatre, teaching, and writing. She loves theatre, travel, and anything that makes her laugh. She enjoys placing her characters in the most awkward situations possible and then trying to help them get a boyfriend out of it. Awkward people need love too.

Like Cora Carmack on Facebook and follow her on Twitter.

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Copyright

LOSING IT. Copyright © 2012 by Cora Carmack.

EPub Edition December 2012 ISBN 9780062273253

FAKING IT. Copyright © 2013 by Cora Carmack.

EPUB Edition JUNE 2013 ISBN 9780062273277

FINDING IT. Copyright © 2013 by Cora Carmack.

EPub Edition SEPTEMBER 2013 ISBN 9780062273307

KEEPING HER. Copyright © 2013 by Cora Carmack.

EPub Edition SEPTEMBER 2013 ISBN: 9780062299260

All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this ebook on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.

Epub Edition © OCTOBER 2013 ISBN: 9780062332844

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HarperCollins Publishers Ltd.

77-85 Fulham Palace Road

London, W6 8JB, UK
http://www.harpercollins.co.uk

United States

HarperCollins Publishers Inc.

10 East 53rd Street

New York, NY 10022
http://www.harpercollins.com