THE PROFESSOR’S SECRET

A STEAMY STUDENT-TEACHER ROMANCE COLLECTION

A HOT AS F$#K ROMANCE COLLECTION

PIPER LAWSON     SAFFRON A. KENT     VIVIAN WOOD     V. F. MASON     ROXIE NOIR     JESSA YORK     LAUREN SMITH     CARI QUINN & TARYN ELLIOTT     DARCY ROSE

CONTENTS

Foreword

Crave

Piper Lawson

Crave

1.  Olivia

2.  Olivia

3.  Olivia

4.  Olivia

5.  Olivia

6.  Olivia

7.  Sawyer

8.  Olivia

9.  Olivia

10.  Olivia

11.  Olivia

12.  Olivia

13.  Sawyer

14.  Olivia

15.  Olivia

16.  Olivia

17.  Olivia

18.  Sawyer

19.  Olivia

20.  Olivia

21.  Olivia

22.  Sawyer

23.  Olivia

24.  Olivia

25.  Olivia

Books by Piper Lawson

About the Author

Acknowledgments

The Unrequited

Saffron A. Kent

I.  The Starlet

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

II.  The Trespasser

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

III.  The Harlot

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

IV.  The Fire-Breather

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

V.  The Rule-Breaker

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

A Note to the Readers

Acknowledgments

About the Author

Also by Saffron A. Kent

The Patron

Vivian Wood

Author’s Copyright

1.  Kaia

2.  Calum

3.  Kaia

4.  Calum

5.  Kaia

6.  Calum

7.  Kaia

8.  Calum

9.  Kaia

10.  Calum

11.  Kaia

12.  Calum

13.  Kaia

14.  Kaia

15.  Calum

16.  Calum

17.  Kaia

18.  Calum

19.  Kaia

20.  Calum

21.  Kaia

22.  Calum

23.  Kaia

24.  Calum

25.  Kaia

26.  Calum

27.  Kaia

28.  Calum

29.  Kaia

30.  Calum

31.  Kaia

Chapter 32

About Vivian Wood

The Professor and His Obsession

V. F. Mason

Prologue

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

Epilogue

Santiago’s Conquest Excerpt

Also by V. F. Mason

Acknowledgments

Contact

The Hookup Equation

Roxie Noir

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

Chapter 42

Chapter 43

Chapter 44

Chapter 45

Chapter 46

Chapter 47

Chapter 48

Chapter 49

Chapter 50

Chapter 51

Chapter 52

Chapter 53

Chapter 54

Epilogue

About Roxie

Mr. Marshall’s Method

Jessa York

Also by Jessa York

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

39.  Chapter 39—A Few Months Later or An Epilogue of Sorts…

40.  Chapter 40—Or—What’s Next?

Acknowledgments

About the Author

The Darkest Hour

Lauren Smith

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

Epilogue

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Other Titles by Lauren Smith

About the Author

Perfect Pitch

Cari Quinn & Taryn Elliott

Perfect Pitch

Acknowledgments

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

Raw Rhythm

Found in Oblivion

Oblivion World

Quinn and Elliott

Taryn Quinn

Follow Us

About the Authors

Extra Credit

Darcy Rose

Extra Credit

1.  Ava

2.  Andrew

3.  Ava

4.  Andrew

5.  Ava

6.  Andrew

7.  Ava

8.  Andrew

9.  Ava

10.  Andrew

11.  Ava

12.  Andrew

Epilogue

About the Author

Copyright© 2022 Hot As Fuck Romance dba Vivian Veritas LLC

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

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CRAVE

OFF-LIMITS #1

PIPER LAWSON

CRAVE

OFF-LIMITS #1

Turns out the beautiful man from the club is my new professor...

But he wasn’t when he kissed me.

Olivia Barclay has never set foot in a strip club. She’s definitely not a girl who would dare seize the stage. But when she learns her ‘perfect’ boyfriend has been cheating, she lets loose for the first time.

From the moment Sawyer rescues her in the parking lot at Velvet’s, Olivia realizes he’s what she’s been missing. The way he touches her sets her on fire.

But one mistake becomes two when she learns Sawyer isn’t only the passionate, mysterious man she stayed up all night with...

He’s her new professor.

Sawyer Redmond had it all, until it was stolen from him. For the next year, he has one job to do. Too bad Olivia calls to him like no woman has.

He wants to challenge her, break her, own her. But she’s a student, and completely off-limits. Claiming her could cost him everything.

But when has that ever stopped him?

1

OLIVIA

Gravel scrapes the soles of my Louboutins as I trip across the parking lot in the dark.

“The shoes are fucking hot,” Kat says.

“They’re not rated for off-roading.” I send up a silent prayer for forgiveness as I dodge the empty beer cans and my roommate laughs.

The sign on the single-floor building in the middle of nowhere says “Velvet” in pink neon. The glow lingers in the corner of my vision when my friends line up at the bouncer, whose eyes have been on us since I was halfway across the lot.

He glances at Kat’s ID, then Jules’, but frowns at mine. “I don’t think so, sweetheart. You’re drunk.”

“I’m the designated driver. I haven’t had anything harder than soda tonight. You try walking across gravel in these.”

“Yeah, I don’t think so.”

“I’m better behaved than anyone in there,” I insist. “Not my fault these shoes were designed with smooth surfaces in mind.”

He stares at me like I’m nuts. We’re running low on options.

I look around, assuring myself there’s no one else watching. “Fine. Would a drunk person be able to do this?”

I reach for my shoe and bend my knee, pulling my foot up to the apex of my thighs. Then I take a breath and lift it higher, straightening my leg so it’s extended alongside my upper body.

His eyes round. He might’ve snuck a peek or two at the strippers who work the stage, but I’ve got moves he’s never seen.

Releasing my leg, I grab my ID out of his hands and follow my friends inside.

“That was badass. Where have you been hiding that?” Kat shouts over the music as we head inside.

“Don’t worry about it,” I toss back. “Tonight’s about celebrating your birthday and living life like a normal”—a glance back at the bouncer, grateful he didn’t notice or care that our licenses were fake—“twenty-one-year-old.”

I reach into my bag to pull out the Queen B tiara, and my roommate’s eyes light up.

Kat’s been bugging us for the past year to visit a part of town that’s the opposite of the one starring in the glossy university recruitment brochures.

My corporate father and socialite mother would lose their shit if they saw me in a place like this. But we’re here for Kat, and as much as this isn’t a place I’d choose to spend my night, it’s not about me. It’s about friendship.

Kat sets the crown in her dark hair and tugs us toward the bar. There’s no point trying to score a booth around the perimeter since Velvet is full. We wedge in, Jules calling for vodka sodas for her and Kat, and a Diet Coke for me.

On stage is a woman who looks too beautiful for this place. She winds around the pole, shifting toward the edge of the stage to drop her hips into a seductive slide.

A piece of hair escapes my tidy top knot to tickle my neck, but as I reach up to tuck it back in, I realize there’s no runaway hair. Only a bead of sweat.

When the dancer finishes, a woman dressed in a black T-shirt with the Velvet logo claims the mic.

“Shh, this is it,” Kat breathes, and I arch a brow.

“This is what?”

“Amateur night!”

“You’re not going up,” I say, horrified.

Kat grins. “The prize is five hundred bucks. That’s a hell of a birthday present.”

She brushes off her hands and joins the throng of girls by the register, returning a few minutes later with a white “Hello my name is” sticker that says “Cherry” stuck to her low-cut black tank.

“Subtle,” Jules deadpans.

I turn back toward the stage but end up doing a double take on the way.

Down at the other end of the bar is a man who’s so beautiful I nearly swallow my straw. His navy dress shirt is rolled to the elbows and tugs over broad shoulders as he reaches for his drink. Dark hair extends past his jaw. Add that to the straight nose, firm mouth, eyes that scan the room…

Those eyes stop when they meet mine.

It’s electric, the connection. I swear he looks into me, through me. Fire grabs my core, making my breasts tighten.

“Liv. You okay?” Jules asks.

I blink, ripping my gaze from his. “Yeah.”

I shake off the unsettling attraction.

He’s the opposite of my boyfriend, Adam, who’s blond and athletic with an easy smile. He’s from the right family, has the right hair, and is point guard on the basketball team.

“No fucking way.”

Kat’s pointing at a booth in the back, where a couple of guys from the basketball team sit, plus one I don’t want to recognize.

Adam is sprawled across the bench with a half-naked woman bent over him, her boobs swinging dangerously close to his face.

My throat tightens as I wait for him to push her away.

Instead, he shifts back, grinning, and invites her closer.

“Unbelievable,” Kat bites out. “I’m going to fuck him up.”

Jules squeezes my shoulder, and I shake her off.

“Don’t, Kat. It’s probably some basketball team thing.”

I turn toward the front, ignoring the back of the room and the burning behind my eyes.

What I didn’t tell Kat or Jules to avoid spoiling the birthday vibes is that when I showed up at his house yesterday morning, a girl was slipping out of his room.

Something in my chest popped like the cork on bad champagne.

I told myself if I dated Adam, at least one part of my life would go as planned. After twelve years of wasted ballet, I couldn’t be a dancer like my mother, but I had him.

We’ve invested three years. We’ll figure this out. Maybe he screwed up, but he loves me.

I wonder if love feels the same for him as it does for me. If it’s that dull reassurance I dig my fingers into when I’m feeling lost or if it’s something else entirely.

The MC calls the contestants to the stage to explain the rules. “Each contestant has two minutes to dance, then the crowd will vote. First up is Brandy.”

The first girl stands up as they play “Pour Some Sugar on Me.”

She gyrates her hips, swinging around the pole, clearly drunk.

The next is a little better but not much.

At one point, a woman in the crowd yells, “Camera!” and security descends on a guy filming from inside his jacket with a phone to drag him out of the club.

It’s comforting to know they enforce the “no videotaping” rule. The idea of dancing here on a dare and a few shots of vodka coming back to haunt you in perpetuity thanks to the internet is horrifying.

“Cherry!” the MC calls after a few minutes.

“That’s you, Kat,” Jules says, jarring me out of my numbness.

She gets up from the bar but trips. “Whoa. I can’t, guys.”

“You didn’t pre-game that hard,” Jules points out.

But Kat holds up a flask inside her bag I haven’t seen before.

Shit.

Jules motions to the bartender for a water, but movement catches my eye. In the back, the woman dancing on Adam takes his hand, and he follows her with a shit-eating grin toward a doorway with a beaded curtain.

Bile rises up my throat.

I slept with Adam three months into my senior year of high school, after his parents’ party for winter break.

He said he liked that I made him wait.

Apparently, he likes that this woman won’t.

I pull out my phone and type out a text.

Liv: I can’t do this anymore, Adam. I want to break up.

After I hit send, he glances at his phone, shakes his head as if he’s the one who can’t believe me, and follows the woman through the curtain.

My chest squeezes. I told myself I’d let him off the hook if he convinced me what happened with the blonde was a one-time thing.

But it’s not.

That callous dismissal of my text burns more than the jealousy. I’ve always tried to be the daughter my parents want, the girlfriend Adam needs, and none of it matters.

“‘I Love Rock and Roll,’” starts up, its catchy hook emanating from the speakers.

The MC shouts for Cherry one more time.

“Liv?” Kat’s peeling off the sticker and holding it out, her eyes imploring. “Do it for me?”

I’m not the girl who takes her clothes off when she’s angry.

I’m the one who makes the other person feel comfortable, especially if they’re the person who screwed up.

But the crowd’s sneering faces blur together, and that cork in my chest is back in place, the contents of the bottle under more pressure than before.

I take the sticker and press it to my sleeveless white D&G tank top tucked into denim shorts.

When I start through the crowd, there’s a wave of cheers. Each step is more confident than the last.

On stage, the bright lights are familiar, even if the audience of drunk and leering townies isn’t.

The last time I danced for a crowd was years ago. Before…everything.

I catch the eye of the beautiful guy at the bar. He’s not leering. He’s watching as if I’m the only person in this bar worth looking at.

The awareness is back, a tingling that cuts through my numbness. I’m borrowing from the conviction in his eyes.

I stop in front of the pole, then reach back to wrap my hand around it. My back arches, and cheers go up.

I have what Kat calls “a great rack.”

I call it “destroyer of dreams.” When I turned sixteen, my boobs came in, and my ballet instructors crossed my name off their lists.

Tonight, no judgmental ballerinas are watching, and no beer bottles trip me up.

I lift my leg behind me in an arabesque. My fingers grab my stiletto, and I tug it toward the back of my head.

The more the crowd cheers, the deeper I go into the music. Into my own head.

The rhythm is low in my gut, and my feet move without instructions.

The tension feels raw and real and true.

I catch his eye again. His nostrils are flared, his jaw tight. For an instant he sees me, unlike everyone else in my life.

I pop my feet wide and sink into the splits.

It’s not until I start to roll out of the pose that the sticky floor registers.

I’m barely up to standing when the woman in the uniform is over to me, grabbing my hand and lifting it high.

“Our winner!” She passes me a check. “We have a tradition. You know what it is.”

I don’t notice the buckets at the side of the stage until two women dump them over me.

The shock of cold drowns me in a wave that steals my breath.

It’s not water. It’s vodka.

I’m soaked from my shoulders to my toes. My nipples are hard points through my shirt. The only thing still dry is the check in my fingers, its amount less than the price of my alcohol-drowned outfit.

The shock eats into my power trip from being on stage as I stumble down the steps.

“That was epic, Liv!” Kat bellows when I reach them.

Jules bites her lip. “Are you okay?”

“Totally.” My arms fold over my chest and the wet fabric sticking to my skin makes me cringe. “I’m going to the car for a sweater. Happy birthday. Cherry.”

I pass the check to Kat with a wink. She tries to give it back, but I refuse, pushing through the crowd to the exit.

My white Audi is conspicuous in this parking lot. Most of the rest of the cars are more like the Dodge pickup between my car and the club, though there’s a beautiful black Mercedes on my opposite side.

I glance back at the club as I fish the keys from my bag.

That’s when a group of guys emerges from the door. Adam’s one of them, and another guy pulls out a vape pen as they laugh.

“How was it?” one of the other guys asks.

Plink.

I sink to my knees to follow the keys I’ve dropped.

It’s dark, and I fumble around under the edge of the car. My eyes burn, a tear escaping down my cheek.

The crunch of gravel behind me makes me freeze. “This the after-party?”

I swipe at my face because crying in front of other people is a sign of weakness. When I turn, my heart stops.

It’s the guy from the bar. The beautiful one who watched me.

Up close, I’d peg him at late twenties, maybe thirty. He’s tall and broad, dark hair grazing his jaw until he shoves it back impatiently.

“I’m not here to perv on you. I’m heading out.” He glances at the pickup truck. “Wanted to make sure you weren’t driving drunk.”

“I’m getting a change of clothes.”

His gaze drops to my chest. My nipples are still sticking through the shirt. “Good call.”

He starts toward the hood, probably to round to the driver’s side of his truck, but I grab his sleeve.

“Don’t leave. That’s my boyfriend. Ex-boyfriend,” I amend, the word I’ve never used before echoing in my ears. “If you move your truck, he’ll see my car.”

The gorgeous man looks between the Dodge and the Audi.

“Just...wait until they finish their vape?” I plead.

He doesn’t respond but doesn’t move either.

I unlock the car and lean into the back seat, rummaging for my sweatshirt. My fingers sink into the soft fabric of the hoodie.

“What are you doing here?” I ask over my shoulder.

“Came to town for some unfinished business.”

He’s facing the other way to either give me privacy or stand watch.

I tug the sticky shirt over my head, wadding it into a ball and dropping it on the back seat.

“I meant at a strip club. You don’t look like the type to ogle tits and drown your sorrows.”

The low rumble of laughter behind me makes my skin tingle. “You don’t look like the type to shake your tits to forget your problems.”

I pull on the sweatshirt and shift back out of the car, the hood still up around my head. “So what’s your excuse?”

I catch sight of my reflection in the passenger mirror—smudged makeup, hair plastered to my head except for a chunk that’s gotten pulled out to hang alongside my face. But the man turns back to me before I can even think of trying to fix it. “I hate doing what people expect.”

“So you didn’t ogle my tits?” It’s not like me to tease a stranger. Blame it on the vodka fumes.

“I’m a man who appreciates beautiful things.”

The heat in his eyes steals my breath. It’s like he’s talking about watching fireworks or a once-in-a-lifetime meteor shower.

He does a double take at the logo on my chest.

“Russell U. You’re an alum, too?”

Before I can respond, riotous laughter goes up from across the lot.

“Fucking A, Adam!”

“Ignore him,” he murmurs. I blink up at the man in front of me, who tugs the hood off my head. “Why’d you want me to watch you dance?”

“What makes you think I did?”

“You wanted everyone to, or you wouldn’t have been up there. A woman like you is desired. I think you’re tired of the reason people desire you.”

There’s no reason I should be smiling tonight, but the way this man looks at me, like my life isn’t over, has me gulping night air.

“I’m Sawyer.” He bends to pick up something from the ground. The sticker from my shirt. “Nice to meet you, Cherry.”

“Come on, let’s get out of here.” A voice carries on the breeze.

Adam and the other guys cut across the lot, and my heart rises up my throat as I scan the lot and notice the RU Basketball bumper sticker on the Jeep in the next row.

If they don’t notice my car, they’ll still notice me when they head this way.

I duck behind Sawyer. “Quick. Act like you’re my boyfriend.”

A brow lifts. “You want me to pick a fight with you?”

Despite everything, I laugh. “That’s what you think of? No, just—” I grab his jacket collar and drag him down to the ground with me.

I land hard enough the gravel scrapes my knee.

We’re crouched between the cars. He’s inches away, and my heart skips because of how he’s looking at me. Not me on stage. Me in my hoodie, makeup smudged.

“You didn’t want me to argue with you,” he murmurs, a mocking lilt to his voice. “You wanted me to kiss you.”

I’m not sure I was thinking at all when I said it. But heat strokes down my spine at the thought of his mouth on mine.

“You make it sound so sexy,” I whisper.

“It is sexy.” His throat flexes, and the way he says that word is the hottest thing I’ve ever heard. “A kiss is a promise. A declaration of intent.”

“Most guys think anything less than a blowjob doesn’t deserve their attention.”

Sawyer shifts closer, his gaze knowing. His lips are an inch from mine. I’ve never felt this kind of chemistry with anyone, and he’s practically a stranger.

His fingers find my hair, and I think he’s going to tuck it behind my ear but he doesn’t—just strokes the back of his hand down my cheek.

“Do me a favor, Cherry. Don’t judge me by that tool.”

Before I can respond, he leans in and brushes his mouth over mine.

He’s warm and firm, confidence without arrogance, and every slide of his lips is pure fucking finesse.

His fingers find my chin, holding me in place. When he changes the angle, taking me deeper, I can’t help but open under him.

The gravel is rough on my bare knees, but his kiss is exquisite. He’s exquisite. A soft sound escapes me, but it’s lost in his mouth.

When he pulls back, it’s all I can do not to say wow.

His breathing is rough, too, those gorgeous eyes dilated in the dark.

“You taste like trouble.” A thrill races through me. “I’m going to give you my number.”

“You’re asking me out?”

The surprise on his face is chased by a grin. “Tonight, you’re going to let me know you got home safely.”

And what about tomorrow?

But as he takes my phone and types in his contact, I’m relieved. Adam cheated on me, and I’ll break up with him in person tomorrow...but this is moving fast.

I survey the parking lot. They’re gone.

I tuck my phone back into my purse and straighten to test whether my knees still work.

He’s up the next second too, tall enough his jaw is eye level on me. He checks his watch. “You have to work early too?”

I can’t tell him I’m a college junior, and tomorrow is the first day of classes in my third year.

“Let me guess. You’d rather take a bullet,” he murmurs.

“You could say that.”

“I know the feeling.”

What could he dread? He’s gorgeous, confident, charismatic in a doesn’t-have-to-try way. If adulting is an art, this man is Rembrandt.

“I hope tomorrow’s better than you expect. Don’t let anyone drag you down, Cherry.” His gaze fixes on my legs, and he bends to brush my knee, loosening the bits of gravel stuck to it.

With a look that’s pure heat with a side of regret, he rounds my car, heading for the Mercedes on the far side.

I want to beg him to stay when I realize…

The truck isn’t his.

Sawyer could have left anytime without my ex spotting me.

He didn’t.

When he peels out of the lot, disappearing in a glimmer of red taillights and New York plates, the next breath I take is cold night air and engine fumes.

Nothing ever tasted so good.

2

OLIVIA

2:12 AM

Liv: Got home safe. I’m never getting the vodka out of my hair.

2:17 AM

Unknown: You look good dirty. But if it’s bothering you, I could come help you wash it out.

2:21 AM

Liv: What a gentleman. Thanks, but I should be fine as long as I don’t stand too close to any bonfires this week ;)

2:24 AM

Unknown: Please don’t. It would be a crime to watch tits like yours go up in smoke.

2:27 AM

Liv: Wow. That’s the nicest thing anyone’s ever said about my tits.

2:30 AM

Unknown: To your face.

2:41 AM

Liv: LOL

2:45 AM

Unknown: I’ve been called a lot of things, but never a gentleman.

2:51 AM

Liv: Are you one?

2:53 AM

Unknown: Do you want me to be?

3:01 AM

Liv: No. I’m over gentlemen.

3:03 AM

Unknown: Bold statement.

3:07 AM

Liv: You know something…Tonight on stage is the first time I’ve felt brave in a long time.

3:15 AM

Liv: Okay, that was my weird disclosure to a virtual stranger. Now it’s your turn to tell me something or I’m going to go to sleep feeling like a moron.

3:17 AM

Unknown: Well we can’t have that.

3:19 AM

Liv: Are you being sarcastic? Wow, you’re REALLY not a gentleman.

3:20 AM

Unknown: Hah, I was thinking.

3:22 AM

Unknown: I’ve been dreading today all week. I haven’t been to this town in years. Me being here is going to cause all kinds of problems. The past should stay in the past.

3:24 AM

Liv: That’s impossible. Your past makes you who you are.

3:26 AM

Unknown: Beautiful and wise.

3:28 AM

Liv: More compliments? And here I thought all you liked about me was my tits.

3:28 AM

Unknown: Not even close.

3:30 AM

Liv: Maybe today will be better than you think.

3:31 AM

Unknown: It’s already exceeded my wildest expectations.

On the first day of classes, the campus is buzzing.

Sororities are rushing. The frosh will be embraced by upper-year students.

It’s an orgy of newness and adventure and acceptance and possibility, and both years, I’ve loved it.

Except both years, I didn’t dump my boyfriend the night before.

“I hope your first day of school is everything you want. Remember, first impressions linger. Say hello to Adam for us.”

My mother’s voicemail rings in my head as I search my closet for outfits.

I stretch on my toes, feeling for my Givenchy denim miniskirt on the top shelf. It’s stuck under something, and when I tug it, a cardboard box falls to the floor. I shove the spilled contents, pink and black fabric and feathers, back inside and replace the box.

After dressing, I fasten my hair up in a simple French twist and straighten the full-carat diamond solitaire around my neck.

My mom is right about one thing. First impressions linger.

I reach for the phone on my desk, resisting the urge to read last night’s texts for the millionth time.

Sawyer hadn’t put his name in my contacts, and I didn’t add it because it felt like a secret between us. Naming him in black and white pixels would make him less mysterious.

He said he had to work today. I hope I see him again because I can’t stop thinking about that kiss.

Not that I’m looking to jump out of a three-year relationship and into…whatever it would be with a guy like Sawyer, but I’ve never experienced that kind of connection I felt with him last night.

On impulse, I tug a couple of pieces of hair out of my twist to frame my face before heading out to the living room.

“You look cute.” Jules bursts into our shared apartment on campus in shorts and sneakers.

“Thanks.” I grab my soft gray Ted Baker sweater that feels cozy and sophisticated at once from its hook by the door. “You’re up early.”

“Went for a run. Five miles.”

I check my nude lipstick and add some bangles of Kat’s. We have an open-door policy for borrowing clothes, instituted when we became roommates.

“Want breakfast?” I ask, grabbing a yogurt from the fridge.

“No thanks. I’m late already and need to shower. You seen Kat?”

We stick our heads in her room, but she’s already gone. Her computer sits open to the homepage of Russell University Download. We’ve all lost hours falling into the rabbit hole of gossip on R.U. DOWN.

When I eat my yogurt, a text from Adam comes through.

Adam: Hey babe. We should talk.

Now he wants to talk?

I shove the phone in my bag without responding.

The Stevenson dorm is newer than the stone and ivy buildings, made for upperclassmen in apartment-style residences with three or four rooms each.

As I take the stairs down and start across campus bound for my first class of the new year, I tug the arms of my sweater up to my elbows.

At the end of August, the campus is in full summer bloom. It’s postcard perfect with green hills, manicured pathways lined with flower beds, Greek Row at one end, and the elm forest beyond that separates it from the bad part of town east of campus. The good part of town is west, brushing up against the stone gates like rich people rubbing elbows at a charity event.

I wave to some other classmates as I arrive at the stone lecture hall.

“Did you hear?” asks Madison, one of the handful of girls in my cohort. “Professor Lancaster died last week.”

“What?” My fingers tighten on the strap of my bag so hard it hurts. “That’s impossible.”

She shrugs, her red ponytail sweeping over one shoulder of her Russell Engineering hoodie. “Just passing along the news. I don’t know what happened. There’ll probably be some TA to make a cursory statement today, then he’ll let us out until they can find a replacement.”

He couldn’t have been more than sixty. His tough exterior hid someone who genuinely wanted his students to do well.

An arm hooks around my neck, and I look up to see Kat.

“You’re coming to my engineering class?” I ask as we head inside the building, the wood floors of the theater-style lecture hall creaking under our feet.

“I don’t have class until ten thirty. Need to keep an eye on you given what happened with Douchewad. You’re too nice a person to treat him the way he deserves.”

“I’m not that nice.”

“Liv, you brake for squirrels. And frogs. And a dragonfly that one time—”

“You’re exaggerating. Besides, animals deserve kindness.”

“Unlike Adam.”

I take a slow breath. “We’re done. I texted him last night.”

Her brows shoot up but I’m grateful for her company when Adam walks in and claims a seat behind us.

When I chose the same major as my boyfriend, I pictured us at graduation together, our proud parents in adjacent seats in the audience.

This scenario never entered my mind.

Adam’s hands find my shoulders, and I resist the urge to shove them away as I turn.

“Babe. I heard you were at Velvet last night.” His blue eyes search mine, concerned. “That’s not your scene.”

“It’s not,” I reply, “but I saw you at Velvet. And you weren’t alone.”

The rest of the class has gone quiet.

A throat clears behind me. “Welcome to mechanical engineering. We will be creating many things in this class. Drama is not one of them. Check your personal lives at the door.”

The voice is masculine and irritated, and from the echo, it’s coming from the pit at the front of the hall.

“Jesus,” Kat breathes.

I face the front, and my entire body tightens.

The man at the head of the class is tall and broad. His beautifully cut jacket sets him apart from even the upper-crust academics at Russell while his dark jeans and too-long hair say he doesn’t give a fuck.

But it’s his gaze that pins me to my seat, that has heat crawling through me as recognition flares in Sawyer’s eyes.

In the light of day, the man I passed the better part of an evening with is more beautiful than I remember.

I swear he memorizes every inch of the sweater clinging to my breasts, the bangles on my wrists, the hair I spent an extra half an hour washing and styling after its misadventures last night.

“Damn,” Kat exhales next to me. My roommate shifts, chewing on her pencil and arching an eyebrow. “Think he fucks students?”

I kick her under the desk.

Sawyer finally breaks our loaded eye contact, turning to the rest of the class.

“My name is Professor Redmond. You’ve more than likely heard the untimely passing of Professor Lancaster. I will be filling in.”

Professors don’t “fill in” at our school. They’re carefully chosen from mountains of elite applications.

But he continues. “I am the founder of a Manhattan company that develops technology solutions for a range of industries. My undergraduate and master’s degrees were here at Russell.”

The Sawyer Redmond at the head of the class is definitely the man I met last night. But with me, he was mysterious and playful. This version is cool and condescending.

I check my phone, remembering a meeting I had scheduled with Lancaster this week to discuss our design projects.

It’s still in the calendar. Eerie. Untouched.

Yesterday, everything was familiar. Today, nothing is.

Emotions collide in my chest, but none of the biggest ones are about Adam. Instead, I’m sad about Professor Lancaster, elated to see the man I met last night, and horrified to see him here.

“Well, that was exhilarating,” Kat breathes as class wraps up. “Catch you later to get ready for the Omega party?”

“Sure,” I say distractedly as she takes off.

What’s etiquette for learning the man you kissed the night before is your new professor?

I can’t make eye contact and then leave without talking to him.

So I join a line of students at the front of the room.

Sawyer dismisses the first couple of inquiries fast.

The third person in line is a guy named Royce. He comes from a blue-collar family in town and is here on scholarship.

“Professor Redmond, will you be supervising the Stars Engineering Contest design team?”

“No.”

“Professor Lancaster always supervised,” Royce presses.

“I’m not him.” The words are low, Sawyer’s smooth tenor lifting the hairs along my arms.

No, you’re not.

When he turns his gaze on me, a spike of awareness stabs through me.

Dark, hooded eyes read my soul, seeming to strip away my clothes, my skin, even my thoughts.

“Yes?”

No.

This is wrong. It’s wrong that he’s here, that I feel as if I want his protection again, that the thing I want his protection from is the fucked-up reality I walked into this morning.

I’ve thought about you every damned second since we talked.

“Professor,” I start, the word feeling heavy and loaded. “Do you know if there will be a service for Professor Lancaster?”

“You’ll have to contact the department.”

“Babe?” Adam jerks his head from the doorway.

Sawyer spots Adam, his gaze narrowing.

The girl behind me bumps me hard, and I drop my tote. Sawyer and I bend at the same time to grab it.

His arm brushes my breasts, and I suck in a breath at the jolt of electricity.

“Sawyer…”

“It’s Professor Redmond to my students.” He stares at my red knees an extra beat, but when his gaze finds mine, it’s scorching. “Today and every day.”

“Liv, wait up.” Adam chases me down halfway across the hill, falling into step with me as I make my way toward the Atrium to grab a coffee before the next class. “About last night...”

I turn to face him, my heart thudding against my ribs. “The part where you went to a private room with a stripper? Or the part where I texted you, and you didn’t even acknowledge me?”

He sighs and shifts his bag on his back as if this conversation is the most irritating part of his day.

I always tolerated his moods because I reasoned he had the same pressures as I did, only more so because he’s going to take over his father’s company. Now, I think I’m over tolerating it.

“Go ahead,” I challenge. “Tell me it was a mistake.”

“It wasn’t a mistake.”

My chest aches, which is stupid. This guy I thought I loved cheated on me, and I still want his approval.

“But I don’t think you want to break up,” he goes on, “or you would’ve broken up with me ages ago. Our moms probably have the wedding venue booked.”

The wind picks up, tugging at the oak branches. It reminds me of the time I ran away near Halloween when I was nine. I rebelled against the new intensive schedule of dance and dieting my mother prescribed and insisted “she didn’t love me, and I didn’t love her.”

I made it to Central Park. Police officers approached me near dark when the pink sweater in my backpack wasn’t enough to keep me warm against the cold.

In the town car on the way home, my mom wouldn’t let go of my arm, her grip punishingly tight.

“Love is someone who is required to come and find you when you’re stupid,” she had said under her breath. “If you give that person too many reasons, they’ll stop coming.”

I shake off the memory, shoving the hair out of my face. “We’re not getting back together.”

Adam exhales. “College is a time to learn who you are. If we don’t live a little now, we’re never going to get the chance.”

“Love isn’t about being reckless, Adam. It’s about security and knowing someone will be there for you.”

I turn my back without waiting for a response.

The day I told my parents I intended to enroll in engineering, they were horrified. My mother made me promise I’d consider transferring to a more “appropriate” major.

But I explained I wanted to be with Adam, which seemed to placate them.

It was mostly true. What I learned around the same time was that I like making things. With my brain, my hands.

When I took science in high school, I was going through a tough time with dance and struggling with my body. Science didn’t give a fuck about my arches or my boobs. Though I wasn’t valedictorian or even close, it was liberating to immerse myself in a world where my results weren’t left to the whims of another person.

This spring when I built a battery to power Kat’s laptop after hers broke mid-essay right before finals, I felt as much pride as when I got into ballet school. More, because nothing my body or my mom did could take it away.

After my history elective, I tote the treat I picked up at the Atrium to the engineering department.

“Hey, Betty. Happy first week of class.”

The department admin looks up from her work. She must be well into her sixties, but her bright red hair is a curly mop on her head, and her shimmery purple eye shadow makes her kind eyes pop. On a floor occupied entirely of men, she’s a shining beacon—literally.

When I pass her the teal cupcake with gold sparkles on top, her eyes dance. “That’s sweet of you, hon.”

“They had them decorated in RU colors. The whole varsity look made me think of you. Get a look at the football team yet?”

“Oh, I’m keeping a close eye on those boys. The QB thinks he’s all that, but it’s the new runningback who’s got the best chance of making the pros. Mark my words.”

“Listen, I wanted to ask if there’ll be a service for Professor Lancaster.”

She sighs, her usually bright face filling with emotion. “You heard. Awful. No one knew he was sick. We’ll notify all students by email.”

“Can you…” My throat closes up. “Please make sure I get it? He was a special man.”

Betty reaches out to pat my hand, her bracelets jangling. “You’ll get it, Livvy.”

Satisfied, I start to turn away but catch sight of Royce, the guy from class who approached Professor Redmond this morning.

He stares at the bulletin board, eyes glazed over.

“What’s wrong?” I ask.

“If we don’t have the Stars contest, I’m fucked, Liv.”

Design projects are a chance to build something from the ground up and compete for a national prize that includes money and visibility. We’ve had a team planned since the spring, though Royce organized it, and I was probably only invited because I was in earshot when he invited Adam.

“You’ll have lots more time,” I point out. “The project would take a ton of hours, every week all year, with no guarantee of winning.”

Royce doesn’t look consoled. “You don’t need this, but I do. It wasn’t just something to put on my resume. It was going to be my ticket to a job after school. Not all of us have their life scripted for them and paid for.”

I ignore the jab.

My problems and Royce’s are different. But our new professor dismissed him without even listening.

I can’t change that Lancaster’s gone. But if I can fix this for Royce, it’s something I can do for a person who deserves it.

I return to the desk, and Betty looks up. “Professor Redmond said he’s not supervising the design contest. Who else could do it?”

Her lips press together. “Most professors are fully committed for the semester. So good luck getting someone.”

When I turn back to tell Royce I’m not giving up, he’s already gone.

3

OLIVIA

“Did you see your hottie on R.U. DOWN?” Kat nudges me as we shift into seats at the University Center with our lunch trays. “There’s a whole thread devoted to Sawyer Redmond. With pictures.”

She holds out her phone and points at one of him walking across campus. “This one’s my fave. I posted it myself.”

“Kat!” I exclaim.

“What? I had a sighting after psych and had to document it for posterity.” She shrugs. “It’s like the Nature channel. Hotties in the Wild.”

Jules claims the chair next to me, shoving her bright ponytail behind her.

Set amidst the aging stone buildings that house faculties from English to engineering, the UC is a modern installation. Three stories high with glass from ceiling to floor, its upper levels are home to the central administration while the lower level is food vendors and seating, the bookstore, and student services.

Looking out on the university’s main outdoor square and the hill beyond from our seats, it’s a great place to people watch and feel as if you’re at the very beating heart of campus.

Of course, some students would argue that R.U. DOWN is the heart of campus. But it’s only a website. Here, you can practically taste the history, the opportunity, the challenge to take the world and make it your own.

Today’s definitely been a challenge, I decide as phone buzzes.

Unknown: You can’t call me Sawyer.

My heart kicks. Why is he texting me after he all but told me to fuck off?

I hear his voice in my head, but instead of imagining the cold tone from this morning, I picture the warm one from last night as I type out a response.

Liv: You already pointed that out. In front of the entire class.

After I hit send, my pulse accelerates.

I’d never dare talk to a professor like that.

But he’s not a professor. At least, he wasn’t my professor the first time I met him. There must be some rule that says I get more leeway given he’s had his tongue in my mouth.

Unknown: You should have told me you were a student.

Liv: Because I should’ve known the hot guy who saved me was going to be my professor?

Unknown: You let me believe you were older. Since you’re a junior, I’m guessing you aren’t even twenty-one.

Liv: You didn’t have a problem with it last night when you kissed me.

Liv: And complimented my tits.

Liv: And offered to come over and wash my hair.

Hmm. Too much leeway?

There’s no answer, which irritates me. The way guys have been acting lately—mostly Adam, but partly Sawyer too—has that champagne cork in my chest ready to pop again.

Liv: I’m pissed too.

Unknown: Why?

Liv: I met a guy who wasn’t a dick. It was refreshing.

Dots blink on my screen, then stop. Finally, a new message appears.

Unknown: Tell me the kid in class who called you babe wasn’t the ex from last night.

My jaw nearly hits the table. He’s giving me shit for daring to call him by his first name, then weighing in on my dating life?

Liv: Why do you care, PROFESSOR?

Unknown: I don’t care. But if that’s who you spend your time with, it’s no wonder meeting a real man does it for you.

Asshole!

“Who’s blowing up your phone?” Kat leans toward me. “If it’s Adam, I’m gonna tear him a new one.”

“It’s not.” I shove the phone away under the weight of two all-seeing roommate stares. After the week I’ve already had, I can’t keep one more thing inside. “Can you keep this in the vault?”

Jules turns to make sure no one’s looking, and Kat bares her teeth at a group of girls who start to take the table next to us then think better of it.

We do the secret handshake we devised last year after Jules’ parents split up and we spent the weekend inhaling popcorn and watching The Parent Trap remake. We might not be able to control the world, but knowing your friends have your back is the best comfort there is.

“Professor Redmond,” I say, “was at Velvet.”

“I knew he looked familiar!” Jules exclaims.

“How did I miss that?” Kat demands.

“You had a prior commitment with vodka. Which reminds me…maybe you should go easy.”

She waves a hand. “It’s fine.”

Jules and I exchange a look, and Kat tugs down the front of her shirt. “I said I’m fine, okay? I want to hear about the hottie.”

I stab a piece of salad with my fork. “He came out when I was changing at my car. He didn’t know I was a student, and we had a connection.”

“Connection like…he smiled at you?” Jules asks, her eyes shining.

“Or connection like you fucked like animals in the back of your car?” Kat drawls.

The idea of Sawyer shoving me down in the back seat and yanking up my shirt, his mouth on my chest and his fingers between my thighs sends heat spiralling through me.

“He kissed me and asked me to tell him I got home safely.”

Kat pushes her tray away, its contents forgotten. “That’s it, I’m officially calling the first Hoes Over Brews of the semester.”

Jules rolls her eyes. “We’re in the dining hall. There’s no beer here.”

“I don’t care. This is too juicy to wait.”

Hoes Over Brews is what we call our girls’ night. Good pints and good advice from friends have gotten us through some dark times during the first two years of college.

“You realize you have what everyone on campus wants,” Kat states.

I glance at my meal. “A chicken Caesar salad?”

“A direct line to the hottest guy on campus. One that would make Adam look like a pussy.”

Heat traces down my spine at the idea of hooking up with Sawyer.

“He’s a professor. That’s strictly forbidden.”

Kat’s eyes glint. “And totally hot. You should bang him.”

“You would say that.” My roomie has a habit of leaping first, looking…never? But it’s impossible to blame her, especially given how she spent most of her childhood.

“He’s gorgeous, but it’s dangerous,” Jules says. “Russell U isn’t the kind of place to look the other way.”

“It’s exactly the kind of place to look the other way,” Kat argues. “Besides, Liv’s dad is a major donor.”

“Which means he wouldn’t appreciate hearing about a faculty member giving it to his baby girl,” Jules insists.

I hold up a hand. “Leaving parents out of this, what self-respecting woman would fuck their professor?”

Kat props her chin in her palms, blinking with mock innocence. “The kind of woman who gets off on the power dynamic as much as he does.”

A shiver of anticipation runs through me.

“Kat, I have enough people telling me what to do in my life.”

Besides, any interest Sawyer had in me is gone now that he knows I’m a student. And there’s no way I’d sleep with him after the shit he gave me in class and about Adam.

Last night all I saw was the mysterious, intense, reckless side of Sawyer Redmond. Today, I got the stubborn, demanding asshole side.

So why do you still want to text him back and tell him you and Adam are done? That him calling you babe was just Adam being Adam?

“You’ve dated Adam as long as you’ve owned a vibrator,” Kat responds. “So I’m going to let you in on a bit of secret wisdom as someone who’s eaten a lot more...variety. Taking orders in your personal life, like where to go to school or who to date? Not sexy. Taking them in your private life…” She dangles her spoon, batting her eyes and licking its length before Jules grabs it out of her hand. “You might like it.”

Omega parties are the epitome of Greek life.

Jules and Kat and I spend an hour getting ready before heading over to Greek Row.

I’m still seething over Sawyer’s texts. I’ve read the last one so many times I can see it when I close my eyes.

If that’s who you spend your time with, it’s no wonder meeting a real man does it for you.

I wish he didn’t do it for me, but he does. He says he’s setting boundaries, meanwhile he’s trying to provoke me.

We’re heading up the steps of the frat house when I turn to take a pointed, duck-faced selfie with a throng of partiers visible over my shoulder.

I type out a text and send it along with the picture.

Liv: Just checking that you approve of who I’m spending my time with, Professor.

Adrenaline surges through me as I hit send.

I jump when my phone buzzes in my hand.

It’s not him, though. It’s my mom.

“Olivia. What on earth did you say to Adam? I hear you had a disagreement.”

I swallow the groan. How did word get back to her this fast?

“It was more than a disagreement—“

“I don’t want to hear it! You know who his parents are.”

They own the biggest construction firm on the East Coast. My dad’s in finance, and this particular merger of families would make up for the fact I was born with a vagina.

I picture my mother’s unlined face, her filled lips. She had me at twenty-five, and now at forty-five, she still blames me for her near-perfect figure being marred.

“I know what happened,” she says at last.

“You do?” I didn’t expect her compassion, but God, do I want it.

“Engineering is too demanding. It’s shifted your priorities. Your father and I agreed to let you pursue this. But we’re concerned for your well-being. College is a stressful time, and you’re not making good decisions.”

The lawn is full of already-drunk partiers, and I brush an invisible piece of lint off my skirt with sober hands.

“I’m worried about Emma,” she goes on. “She’s barely talked about cheerleading this year, and she’s started socializing with some less than appropriate students at school.”

My stomach clenches. My amazing sister, a junior in high school, is sensitive and creative. I can’t stand the thought of anyone—including my mom—crushing that out of her.

“You should be a better example for her,” Mom goes on.

“She’s a teenager, she’s figuring out who she is.”

“The rebellion is not appreciated. You never rebelled like that.”

Not in public.

“I’ll talk to her when I’m home on the weekend,” I say at last. “And I’ll talk to Adam, too.”

I hang up, frustrated as I stalk through the frat house and into the backyard.

I’m not taking him back, but my mom will lose her shit if she finds out we split without me warming her up to the idea first.

A text appears on my screen.

Unknown: I was wrong.

Liv: So now you approve of the company I keep?

Unknown: No. Wrong when I said you were beautiful and wise.

Because a girl with a brain can’t go to a frat party?

Unbelievable.

As I shove the phone away, a guy in boxers and a beanie with the frat’s logo bearing a tray of shooters steps on my foot as he stumbles past. Pain shoots up my leg and I suck in a breath, cursing.

My gaze follows to see him set the shots on a floating raft in a kiddie pool.

Adam and some friends are next to the pool, Solo cups in hand. A cheer goes up at the sight of new drinks but I’m only focused on my ex.

I stalk over, my heels sinking into the soft grass. “You told my mom we had a fight?”

He’s wearing a Lacoste polo I got him for his birthday in the same blue color as his eyes. He checks me out in that quick way people do when they’ve been together a while. “My mom wanted to confirm I was going to your parents’ for dinner this weekend. I said I wasn’t sure the invitation still stood.”

I’m about to let it slide when I glance past him to see the blonde who walked out of his room, heading over with two cups.

She doesn’t notice me as she grabs the back of his collar, reaching around to pass him the cup. “Fucking love this shirt on you.”

No. This is not happening.

I shove him backward, and he grabs for her. Their arms windmill as they land ass-first on the raft in the kiddie pool.

Hollers go up, and as petty as my action was, it feels good. As if for once, I exerted force on the world and it responded.

I spot Royce nursing a beer in the corner with some friends, looking miserable. I know what it feels like to have doubts about your future.

He’s bet everything on the Stars contest, working his ass off through the school year and over the summer to be ready.

If he can’t compete, the biggest opportunity of his life will be gone before it’s even started thanks to circumstances beyond his control.

Not if I can help it.

4

OLIVIA

I head to the engineering building fifteen minutes before Professor Redmond’s first class, per the online department schedule.

“Twice in two days.” Betty’s lined face creases as she smiles.

I lean an elbow on the desk. “I need to get into Professor Lancaster’s office. I lent him a couple of books, and I was hoping to get them back.”

“It’ll have to wait until Professor Redmond is here. He’ll have my ass if I let you in. You can wait on the bench outside his office. Actually, I need him to sign these papers saying he won’t supervise the design team. Can I trust you with these?”

I flash my best smile and take the papers. I have no intention of letting him sign them.

Last night at the Omega party, I locked myself in the bathroom to research Sawyer Redmond. Turns out he worked with Lancaster, then left the academic world after finishing his Ph.D. When he co-founded his company five years ago, there was speculation he had sold out.

So why is he back?

Not my problem. He might not want to be here, but he has a responsibility to his students.

I’m going to remind him.

I head down the hall and sit on the bench.

The sound of doors clicking closed and the elevator have me looking up every minute. No professor.

I check my phone. He’s teaching a class in fifteen minutes. Maybe he won’t stop at the office first…

“Sawyer Redmond,” a smug voice comments from down the hall.

I sit straight up, my bare thighs pressing against the wooden bench.

“Being dean seems to have made you even more self-impressed.”

The man is kind of a creep.

“Careful. Some people might love seeing your face around here, but I know exactly what you did and why you left your company.”

I strain to hear, but then he comes around the corner and pulls up when he sees me.

His gaze is hot and flustered. He scans me from head to toe, my shorts, the black tank top, the Tory Burch flats.

“Olivia,” I say at last, realizing we haven’t actually met.

“I know.”

He unlocks the door, pushing it wide. I’m aware of every inch of his body, broad and strong and oh-so-close. Today he’s skipped the jacket, opting for a navy button-down shirt. His hair tickles the collar.

“I’m here to talk about the Stars Engineering Contest,” I say to preempt his assumption I’m here to stare at him. Or beg him to kiss me again.

He rounds the desk as I follow him inside, dropping his bag onto the seat. “Don’t bother. I’m not an academic with ambitions for knowledge and teaching. I have an agenda.”

“Collect shot glasses from America’s seediest strip joints?”

Irritation clashes with amusement on his face. “I’m headed to class.”

“The winners get funding, mentorship, and basically a ticket to work anywhere they want,” I continue. “We have a team, but we need a faculty supervisor.”

I set a folder on the desk between us, but Sawyer rounds to the window without even glancing at the paperwork.

“See those students out on the hill?” he murmurs, and my gaze follows his. “They’re eager, impressionable, malleable. The next generation of leaders. Hundreds of researchers across the country would kill for this position. But that’s not why I’m here.”

I cross to stand next to him, pulling up when his shirt brushes my arm. “Then why are you here?”

That scornful mouth is inches from mine. His contempt should turn me off, but it’s the opposite. I’m used to people pulling their punches, my mother’s thinly veiled disapproval or Adam’s banal smiles.

Professor Redmond’s restless energy is a dog whistle to some dormant instinct.

“You don’t know me, Olivia, but I know you. You have a designer wardrobe. A country club father and a yacht club boyfriend and a need for approval that runs so deep they’d have to cut it out of you.”

Anger flares in my chest, singeing my lungs. “That’s not true.”

“I’ll make you a bet. If I can guess what you were doing this morning in one try, you’ll get out of my office and stay out.”

My attention drops to his watch. I thought it was a Rolex, but it’s not. The face is made of rock or stone, a rough surface under glass. It’s clearly custom, but the opposite of what’s on trend.

It’s as if he has money, and he wants it and he hates it at the same time.

“And if you can’t guess, then you will supervise the Stars team,” I counter.

Surprise flickers across his expression. “Why do you care so much?”

I think of Royce. “It’s a huge opportunity for some people. And most of us don’t get endless chances.”

Before he can respond, a clearing throat in the doorway makes us both turn.

“Miss Barclay.” The dean looks me up and down, his gaze lingering. “I hope your parents are well. And Jean and David.”

“They are, Dean. I saw them last weekend.”

“Very good. We’re glad to have you back on campus. We are particularly proud of our female engineering students.”

I force a smile.

“I’m sure we’ll see more of one another. Stay out of trouble.”

The dean’s gaze flicks to the other man, lingering. Does he know what happened?

Impossible.

Still, I can’t breathe until the dean continues down the hall.

“Jean and David?” Professor Redmond asks when the dean is gone.

“Adam’s parents.”

“Adam is the supposed ex. Do all your exes call you babe?” The judgment bleeds out of his tone.

I don’t have any other exes. I’m not about to say it, because he’s already looking down his straight nose at me.

“You made it clear you’re not interested in getting to know me, Professor Redmond. So go ahead and guess what I was doing this morning,” I prompt, folding my arms.

His attention drops down my body, a lingering perusal that has the hairs lifting on my neck and arms.

“You woke up in bed with your vaping prince. Made plans to meet your friends to get your nails done.”

I cock my head. “Which of those is your guess?”

“Neither.”

He grabs me, and I suck in a breath as he turns me to point to the streak of crimson paint along the side of my bicep.

Shit.

“You were…redecorating your dorm room.”

“Wrong! We had an engineering orientation week event. We wake up the first years and paint the bell Russell red with them. It’s been a tradition for decades.”

He arches a brow, dismissive, but triumph surges through me.

“Betty wanted me to bring you these forms confirming you won’t be taking over Lancaster’s role as team supervisor. Since you lost our bet, you don’t need them. You do need this.”

I lift the folder with the information on the Stars contest. My hand brushes his arm as I pass it to him.

“You were prepared for this ambush,” he mutters.

“Not just tits.”

His eyes flash at the reminder of our texts before his attention shifts to the papers. I’m giddy with victory.

“You weren’t so grumpy when we texted Sunday night.”

His biceps flex under the shirt. Thick, dark lashes twitch as he scans the forms. “You weren’t such a brat when you moaned in my mouth.”

My head snaps around.

There’s no way he said that.

He flips the switch on the shredder beneath the desk and feeds the papers from Betty in.

“I’ll meet with your team. If your concept is solid and worth my time, I’ll supervise.”

“But…Those weren’t our terms.”

He cocks his head. “The only rules I play by are mine. Take it or leave it.”

Definitely not a gentleman.

“What choice do I have?”

“You always have a choice, Olivia. Even when you can’t control the rules, you decide whether or not you play the game.”

As I head out of the engineering building, I catch sight of the bell painted crimson outside and pull up.

“Son of a…”

The window of Sawyer’s office has a perfect view.

“What are you making?” Kat asks at the UC later that day as she nods at my sketch.

“Last year, we decided our Stars submission would focus on one of the biggest problems in applied engineering: tracking control. Let’s say you’re landing a rocket on Mars,” I go on at her blank look. “It needs to land gently to avoid damaging it or anything it lands on.”

“This is exactly what keeps me up at night.”

I roll my eyes. “There are a lot of applications besides space. Rescue missions. Surgeries. Some of the biggest medical companies are developing instruments to do repeated tasks, or work so fine even the best surgeons in the world don’t have the dexterity to do.”

There’s huge money in this area, which is why Royce is interested in making a name and finding a job.

Still, once we have a supervisor, we have to qualify a prototype. Which means we first have to build one.

After a full day of classes and a quick dinner, I head to the meeting at the Engineering and Design Lab, half a floor with state-of-the-art equipment for robotics, CAD, and machining.

When I arrive, Madison is already getting comfortable.

I check my phone. “Have you seen the guys?”

“Not yet.” She shifts back onto a stool. “I know we talked about building a tracking mod last year, but that’s going to be way too complicated. I made some revisions. Since I’m going to be the team lead.”

“We didn’t decide that.”

Royce is our coder. Adam’s along for the ride, but he’s not bad at building. I’m doing hardware and software integration. Madison does design, but apparently, she wants to run the show.

Her gaze narrows. “I’m the only one with leadership experience.”

“I’m not saying I have a problem with it, but we need to discuss it as a group.”

I don’t want to run the show, but I don’t want her to run over our ideas either. Royce wants this badly, he’d be the best choice.

The two guys trip in the door together, laughing. They stop when they see us.

“Boys. We decided I was going to be team lead. Help Olivia remember.”

Madison was the only other girl who wanted to be on a design team, but now I’m regretting that she’s included.

“Trouble in paradise?” Motion by the door has us turning.

Professor Redmond is there. He must be done teaching for the day, and fuck me if he’s not walking sex. The sweater pulls across broad shoulders and strong arms, his hair falling across his face.

“Professor,” Madison gushes. Apparently, I’m not the only one affected. “We didn’t see you.”

“Where’s the prototype?” He looks from one of us to the next, his attention finally landing on me. “The rules say you need to qualify one in thirty days.”

“We were starting tonight,” Royce fills in. “But I was working on some code over the summer—”

“Who’s the team leader?”

“I am,” Madison said, confident.

Madison and I look at each other.

Adam crosses to me, leaning in close enough I’m aware of Sawyer’s heavy gaze when Adam murmurs, “Who else is it gonna be, Liv. You?”

Before I can say that’s not what I meant, the lab is plunged into darkness.

Madison shrieks, and I jump.

“The fuck?” Adam demands.

“This must be a prank,” I say. Or the byproduct of one. Engineers play the most pranks during the first week of school.

A light goes on. Sawyer’s phone.

The rest of us follow suit, reaching for our devices, but Madison’s already speaking up. “I’ll call the campus facilities department and get them over here.”

She dials a number and starts to talk but is cut off when she’s put on hold.

Our professor is right. We can’t waste time. No one notices as I slip to the door and down the hall.

I’ve spent many hours in this building, and my key card opens the boiler room.

I prop the door open for any extra light from the emergency strips in the halls and pop open the fuse box.

“What are you doing?” Madison’s voice makes me stiffen.

“The fuse for the lab is blown. More than one, it looks like.”

“Maintenance won’t come until morning.”

I brush past her for a toolbox.

Footsteps in the hall have the hairs lifting on my neck.

“Professor,” Madison says when the footsteps stop nearby. “She’s going to burn the place down.”

What the hell? It’s not like we were best friends, but it seems as if she has it out for me.

“Madison, give us a moment.” Professor Redmond’s voice is deadly low.

Her footsteps and the light from her phone disappear down the hall.

“What exactly are you doing, Olivia?”

“Trying to get the power back on. I get that we’re supposed to wait for the facilities guys, but we don’t have time to waste, and—”

“Fix it. And make it fast.”

Sawyer’s not saying no, like my parents and Adam.

He’s saying full steam ahead no matter the consequences.

It’s exhilarating.

I turn to the industrial shelving on the far wall, poking through bins in search of a replacement fuse.

The man in my space follows, holding the light. “Do I want to know how you have a key for this room?”

“I rehearse my dance moves in here between amateur nights.”

“You are quite talented. You must have attended stripper school.” His voice is warm in the dark.

“Of course. I have badges for spins, pole work, and of course I got the highest merit for my vodka absorption skills.”

“Really?”

“No. But I did take ballet my entire life.”

Nothing in the first bin. I turn to the second.

“You’re full of surprises. You also failed to mention your team was in shambles when you recruited me.”

Sure, what he walked in on a few minutes ago probably wasn’t what he expected.

“I don’t know what’s up Madison’s ass. But since Adam and I broke up—”

“Those words, ‘broke up,’ don’t mean what you think they mean. The common interpretation is that you’re no longer spending time together. The nicknames stop. So does the touching.”

“Why do you care?” If I didn’t know better, I’d think he was jealous. Which is impossible.

“I don’t enjoy watching smart girls waste their time chasing useless tools.”

“Well, at this moment, I’m only chasing a useful tool.” I find the fuse, triumphant, and cross back to the box.

“He was the perfect boyfriend,” I hear myself say. “Until he wasn’t.”

“What changed?”

“He cheated on me.” I take his hand and move it to where I want the light. A shiver of awareness runs through me that lingers after I pull my hand back.

“There’s no such thing as the perfect boyfriend, Olivia. But any man who decides you’re not enough is severely damaged. He doesn’t deserve to look at you.”

The fierceness in his voice nearly makes me drop my tools.

“You wouldn’t understand,” I murmur. “Our families go way back. It’s not as simple as me deciding it’s over. There are moms and dinners and a whole array of plans that are bigger than either me or Adam.”

“Tell them to live their own lives and stay out of yours.”

I laugh under my breath as I work. “A lot of people are invested in your life, Professor.” It sounds like a name when I say it, not a title, and I lick my lips. “There’s a whole thread about you on R.U. DOWN.”

“Are you what?” he repeats, confusion blurring with irritation in his voice.

“It’s a campus website where people post social information, gossip, events, conspiracy theories…”

“Which am I?”

I grin. “All of the above.”

He shifts closer, and I get a hit of his scent. Clean, male, dangerous. I force myself to focus when he says, “I told you coming back here would be terrible.”

When I realize he’s referring to our texts Sunday night, before he turned into an asshole, my chest expands with hope.

“It doesn’t have to be. If you don’t want undergrads hitting on you, then stop dressing like that. And you should probably cut your hair. Don’t frown so much.”

“Frowning is what lands me on R.U. DOWN?”

“Just the way your mouth looks when you do.” I shake my head to clear it, because I’m dangerously close to flirting again. “Do you know what’s happening with Lancaster’s house? Like his fish. Has anyone taken care of them?”

“Doubt it.”

My hands shake with dismay. “It’s important. I’m not talking about goldfish. It’s this huge tank with clownfish and—”

“You’ve been to his house?”

I don’t want to get into the details. “That’s not the point. Someone needs to check on them.”

His light moves to his face, and I’m struck by how handsome he is.

Attraction curls in my stomach, tracing up to my breasts and making my nipples pull tight against my bra.

“If I promise to feed the fish,” he drawls, “will it get this fuse fixed faster?”

“Yes.” I turn back to the fuse box, relief letting me breathe more easily. “Why do you hate Lancaster? I thought he was your supervisor when you went to school here.”

I work away, the silence stretching long enough I think he didn’t hear the question.

“Worse,” he says at last. “The man was my father.”

I turn toward him, bumping against his chest when he’s closer than I expect. I lift the light to my face so he can see me.

This whole week, I’ve been thinking Sawyer Redmond didn’t give a shit about anyone, including the man he replaced. But his dad just died and he’s been trying to cope with it in the best way he can.

That’s why he was dreading this week.

“I’m sorry,” I murmur. “God, Sawyer, I’m so fucking sorry.”

“Don’t call me that.” The biting edge is there in his voice, and I ignore it.

We’re close in the dark, but I step closer.

When my hands find his arm, he jerks, and my other palm lands on his chest.

He hisses out a breath but doesn’t pull back. I can smell him, warm and intense. And he feels amazing beneath my hands.

“Olivia…” he warns.

Before I can overthink it, I press up on my toes and brush my lips across his.

I have no idea what I’m doing except that I need to be close to him, to show him that I’m here for him.

He’s hard and delicious, and when the phone clatters to the floor, light extinguishing…

It’s us in the dark.

This was a bad idea. I’m regretting my impulsiveness even as I soak in his closeness, his warmth, the feel of his firm lips beneath mine.

Then everything changes.

His breath shudders out. His hands find my sides, sliding down to squeeze my ass as he kisses me back.

My shoulders hit the shelf as he shoves me into it, his lips never leaving mine.

I reach up to grab his silky hair to anchor myself against the attack of his mouth and hands.

I know what I felt in him before, those emotions roiling beneath the surface—grief. Anger.

He looses them all on me.

I’ve never been touched like this, but it’s raw and thrilling. I’m coming unhinged with every sweep of his tongue.

The building might be short on power, but there’s no lack of sparks flowing between us. I’m a live wire in his hands.

Sawyer seeks out my need to be perfect and destroys it.

“Professor?” calls Madison from the hall.

We jump apart, panting.

I twist around and fumble for the breaker. Moments later, everything turns back on.

“Yes! Guys, the power’s back!” she calls.

Her voice recedes the other way.

I open my eyes and realize I’m locked in the crosshairs of my professor’s warm, dark stare.

My sexy, fantasy-worthy professor I just made out with.

His gaze lingers on my mouth. My chest heaves with shallow breaths.

“After you.” Sawyer holds the door, and I move past, my shoulder brushing his arm.

We return to the lab. Neither of us says a word.

“Finally.” Royce and Adam look up from their phones where they’re playing a game.

Madison folds her arms. “As the team lead, I’m concerned Olivia’s poor judgment tonight will interfere with her ability to work on the project.”

“You can forget that concern because Olivia is team lead,” our professor says evenly.

My jaw drops, but Madison looks almost comically offended.

“But we voted…”

Sawyer shuts her down with a look. “I expect drawings in my email tomorrow morning and a prototype before the weekend.”

5

OLIVIA

Unknown: Tell me you got home safely.

The message arrived when our team was wrapping up after midnight, culminating in an email of the drawings to Professor Redmond.

When I’m back in our apartment, Kat’s door is shut, and Jules is listening to music in her room.

After brushing my teeth and dropping into bed, I type out failed messages. I had no idea Lancaster was your father. You must be devastated. I can’t imagine what it feels like.

In the end, none of it feels sufficient. So I summon my nerve and press his contact.

“Olivia,” he answers. “What’s wrong?”

He sounds restless. Like a caged animal prowling.

“I’m home. But I wanted to finish what I started to say earlier about Lancaster—I mean, your dad.” My heart thuds dully in my ears. “I’m glad you told me.”

I grab for the curtains of the window over my bed, pulling them back to look out at the dark sky peeking through the ghostly trees.

All night, I’ve been thinking of the kiss, plus what happened before. I’ve replayed our interactions through this new lens. How even though he was charismatic that first night, he was dreading the day. How angry he was when I brought up Lancaster in class.

“He was a good person,” I say. “I’ll miss him, and I can understand why you’d miss him too—”

“We hadn’t spoken in years, and he wasn’t a good person.”

His harsh words shock me.

Before I can respond, he continues. “What was your relationship with my father?”

My hand tightens on the phone. “I was his student. He believed in me enough to encourage me to do the Stars contest. But, I can’t be team lead.”

It would be one thing to let myself down, but I don’t want to let the team down. Royce is the smartest of all of us. He’s a better option.

“You’re my choice. If you don’t accept, you can find another team lead and another supervisor.”

Which means it’s over before it’s started.

“That’s not fair.”

“Of course it’s not, Olivia. You walk around without a hair out of place. Get another few buckets of vodka dumped on you and maybe you’ll realize the world isn’t as tidy as you’d like it to be.”

His words get under my skin. “I know the world isn’t tidy. Just because I try to be a good daughter and a good girlfriend doesn’t mean I’m oblivious.”

“Then stop going along with it. How long are you going to let some preppy little shit yank up your skirt and eat your perfect pussy because you think you should?”

My hands fist the duvet. I should tell him to mind his own damn business.

What comes out is, “He doesn’t.”

Dead air fills the line.

Adam has gone down on me, but it’s not a regular thing. He always made a point of how it was for me, which made me feel like I should enjoy it more than I was, and guilty when I didn’t.

After an excruciatingly long pause, Sawyer says, “You’re going to hang up and go to sleep. But first, I’m going to tell you something that’s not very professorial.”

Just one thing?

Every part of this conversation has been over the line.

“You’re asking my permission?”

“Yes.”

“Fine.” I’m dying to hear what he’s going to come out with next.

He doesn’t disappoint.

“A real man would make you his every meal, Cherry.”

Fire streaks between my thighs.

He says it as if he’s starving now, and I can’t help imagining what it would be like to have my professor find that kind of satisfaction in me. Whether he’d slowly drive me crazy, those dark eyes on my face to absorb every gasp and shudder, or just yank my legs wide and devour everything he found.

“Goodnight,” he says, but I grip the phone tighter.

“Wait!” I’m not ready for him to hang up. “Um…You don’t look like Lancaster.”

“He was my foster father. He took an interest because I was smart. Disruptive, according to any teachers I had, but quick. A lot of kids who caused problems ended up in situations far worse. Everything I earn while I’m in town, I’m donating to support kids in a similar position.”

My heart aches for him. “That’s decent of you.”

“It’s not a choice. It’s something I have to do.”

So he doesn’t want to fuck it up.

Like it would if someone found out what we did and he got fired.

“Go to sleep,” he says. “It’s late. You’ll have classes in the morning.”

When I clasp the phone to my chest, I’m more awake than before.

“We’re having a small dinner party Saturday evening. I’ll set out the Chanel dress. And your father and I want to talk with you about school.”

The short conversation with my mother has me groaning from the time I shift out of bed and stare in the bathroom mirror.

She’s going to try to get me to drop engineering and hold next semester’s tuition over my head to do it.

I try to pay attention in class, including Sawyer’s.

He hasn’t cut his hair. Or stopped frowning. He’s the object of every girl on campus’s fantasy.

As far as I know, I’m the only one he’s made out with, and who knows he’s Lancaster’s kid.

“Human beings are made to invent,” Sawyer opens in class. “Stripped of curiosity, we die. But there’s a difference between intellectual curiosity and commercial innovation. A gap every person in this room wants to cross, judging by how much you’ve invested in this education. Who knows the prerequisite to invention?”

“Fat R&D budgets,” Royce comments, and a few people laugh.

Sawyer smirks. “Failure. Every success, from the light bulb to the suspension bridge to the moon landing, stands on a grotesque pile of broken dreams, terrible fucking ideas, and ruined reputations.”

I shiver a little at the last part.

Madison raises her hand. “Professor, your company has an exceptional track record…”

Why doesn’t she drop on her knees and offer to suck him off?

Great. Now I’m jealous.

“…What do you think separates the people who’re successful at creating the truly great innovations?”

He doesn’t blink. “They’re brave enough to risk ending up in the pile.”

At the end of class, students line up to swamp him with questions.

He holds up a hand and reaches for his phone. Moments later, a photo comes through by text.

Lancaster’s fish feeding.

I smile and text back.

Liv: Now you have to keep feeding them

Unknown: Dammit. You have a bad habit of leaving out pertinent information where I’m concerned.

My laughter echoes off the walls as I head down the hall.

That afternoon, I meet Royce, Adam, and Madison at the lab to work on the deadline our professor gave us.

Madison’s still pissed I was made team lead. I don’t tell her I’m still thinking about it. Adam seems to sense my distress about the deadline and helps focus the others.

“There’s no way we’ll have a prototype by the weekend,” Madison says.

“Come on. It doesn’t need to be a refined model. Just a mounting base and a robotic arm. If we can get it to grip and lift a Pringles container in the air, that’s enough.”

“You shouldn’t have promised Professor Redmond.”

I lift my hands in the air. “What did you want me to tell him? It was a condition of him supervising.”

“You heard him talk about failure. This could be a lesson. He wants us to implode. If we fail to qualify, he doesn’t have to keep supervising the rest of the year.”

Okay, so that hadn’t occurred to me. I hate the doubt that creeps in, but I shove it away to focus on our work.

I get Madison alone in the hall on the way back from a bathroom break. “What’s your problem with me?” I ask. “I don’t want there to be competition in our team.”

She folds her arms, unmoved. “You might be naïve, but you’re not stupid. You can’t possibly be oblivious to what happened.”

Madison shoves past me, leaving me speechless.

I try to rally the rest of the team. By the end of the night, we’re all fighting, and the machine is no closer to working.

“I’ll walk you home,” Adam says when we decide to call it for the night.

“Hard pass—”

“Just because we’re broken up doesn’t mean I’m gonna let you walk across campus alone in the dark.”

I wrap my sweater around me against the cold as we brush through the doors.

At this time of night, Russell U is a quiet kind of beautiful. The paths crisscrossing through campus are lit with lantern posts. The library is still open while most of the rest of the buildings are shut and dark.

“I get that you want to win this,” he says. “I want to win, too. Basketball isn’t gonna be my future even though Coach thinks I could get drafted. My dad would murder me.”

“You’d really sacrifice your future for the one they picture for you?”

“Isn’t that what you’ve always done?”

I turn that over as we pick a familiar path down one of the brick laneways that leads from engineering to the other side of campus where I live.

A few steps along, my phone buzzes with a text.

Unknown: Did you finish in the lab for tonight?

Sawyer must have seen it booked out by our team in the schedule.

Liv: Just leaving, Professor. I’d tell you about our progress, but it’s top secret.

Unknown: Tell me you’re not walking alone.

Liv: Adam’s with me.

“Let me guess, you’re late for a reality TV binge session with Kat and Jules?” Adam asks.

“Something like that.”

There’s no immediate response to my text, and I tuck the phone away.

“Come for dinner at my parents’ this weekend,” I say, thinking of my mom’s call. “I don’t want to get back together, but I can’t tell them about us until after I get the tuition money for next semester.”

He frowns. “This is a bad idea.”

“You owe me.”

His groan fills the night. “Fine. But don’t blame me when this blows up in your face, though.”

“What do you mean?”

The grin I used to look forward to is patronizing. “Babe. You’re out of your depth.”

Before I go to sleep, I send off a text.

Liv: I’ll do it. I’ll supervise the team.

6

OLIVIA

“Are they all broken?” I ask.

“Still taste good.” Royce devours a handful of Pringles pieces shattered during our prototype testing.

We built a platform with a metal arm attached to it, but the gripping part proved harder than we thought, and when the arm swung into the air, it dropped the container. The chips crashed to the ground every time.

Finally, we had a breakthrough and managed to get lucky once—the machine held the container for three long seconds before it fell.

We emailed a clip to Professor Redmond just in time to meet his weekend deadline, and we’re now bound for a party with a bag of Pringles containers.

On impulse, I send off a private text—a selfie of our team with the primitive robot. In it, I’m wedged between Madison and Adam, whose arm is locked around my neck to hold us steady as I take the picture. Royce is positioned behind the robot like he’s licking it.

Liv: We made a thing. You proud, Professor?

I lower my phone as Adam catches up, popping the lid on one can. “You do the honors.”

Somehow, there’s one perfect, intact chip on top.

“Oh my God, that’s good,” I say.

He grins, his gaze flicking over my outfit.

I didn’t have time to change before the party, and I’m wearing a black sleeveless top, a black leather skirt, and tennis shoes. My sweater is tossed over the strap of my bag given the hot day, leaving my tank clinging to my body. My hair is still mostly in the knot on my head, but it was falling in my face as we worked.

“You gonna fix that before we get there?” Adam pokes at it with a finger.

I feel the messy bump. “Fuck it. I like it.”

I’m still turning over what he agreed to do for me this weekend as we head for the frat house. Things with my parents are far from stable, but Adam’s like their snake charmer. One hit of him and they’ll simmer down.

As we reach the frat house, I check my texts. Still no return message from Sawyer.

What’s he doing on a Friday afternoon? What about Friday evening?

Just when I’m about to put the phone away, it jumps in my hand.

Unknown: I expected better.

Unknown: But by all means, go celebrate your mediocrity.

My stomach sinks.

He hates our work. My work, because I’m the team leader.

What more could we have done in the past week? Sure, there was some friction getting off the ground, but we busted our asses to meet his deadline.

A lump rises up my throat. This entire week, I’ve been so focused on the attraction between us, I didn’t realize how much I wanted to please him, too. Sawyer’s move to appoint me team lead gave me the idea I could actually do this. I borrowed his confidence, and hearing him take it back guts me.

“You want to bang him.”

I shove my phone in the butt pocket of my skirt halfway up the steps to look at Madison. “We broke up.”

“Not Adam. Professor Redmond. I see how you look at him.”

I square to face her. “You want me to say he’s hot? It’s not a crime to notice.”

Her gaze narrows. “Everything I have, I’ve worked for. It must be nice for things to fall into your lap. Of course, it probably helps when you spread your legs.”

She leaves me speechless, and it takes a minute for me to head inside to find my roommates.

“What’s wrong?” Kat asks when I cross to them, immediately reading my face.

“Madison thinks everything falls into my lap.” I take the drink she offers and drain it in one long gulp.

My roommates exchange a look.

“Which is crazy,” I press, grabbing another drink from a passing frat pledge with a tray, “because I don’t have anything figured out. The only guy I want doesn’t want me.”

I drink this cup too.

“He’s reckless, and dangerous, and when I’m with him, it’s like he’s this storm I want to walk into and get carried away.”

The idea of it sends shivers through me.

“Liv, I—”

“And the thing is,” I interrupt, crumpling the empty cup in my hand, “I’ve always done what I should. And I don’t want to do it anymore.”

Even if Sawyer felt the same—which he doesn’t, because he just told me I’m not good enough—he’d get fired, and we’d be out of this competition, and my hopes of landing a career in this field would be shot. I’d forever be the girl who slept with her professor to get ahead.

“What’s that beeping?” Jules asks.

I hear it too.

It’s coming from…

I grab the phone in my pocket, turning up the black screen with the dial pad.

Unknown

Call duration: 54 seconds

No.

I butt-dialed Professor Redmond, literally.

Did he hear me talk about him?

This is humiliating. I’ve been saying how much I want him, how he affects me, and he feels nothing.

Before I can decide what to do, the lights in the party dim, and an image is projected on the wall.

“Ladies and gentlemen, Omega fraternity presents a mashup for your viewing pleasure.”

The first thing I notice in the video is the familiar neon lights.

The second is the classic party anthems, drowned out by the hollers in the background.

When a woman appears in the frame above the crowd, grabbing a pole like a lifeline and grinding on it, my stomach knots.

“Is that...from Velvet?” Jules gasps.

“There wasn’t supposed to be a video,” I say, numb.

But there is.

One girl, then another.

Finally...me.

I can’t look away.

Adam appears at my shoulder with a drink. His gaze lifts to the screen and locks on it. “What the fuck?”

“Shit,” Madison breathes behind me. “The second this hits R.U. DOWN, you’re over, Olivia. You’ll have to leave Russell. Your parents won’t let you go anywhere. They’ll lock you up until everyone forgets. What will that take, years?”

I pull away, turning on my heel.

“Liv!” Adam calls.

I ignore him and shove out the door, tripping on Solo cups.

My eyes burn as I stalk down Greek Row. I don’t know where I’m going, but I need to get out of here.

Instead of turning left to walk across the campus, I continue straight and onto the street north of the school with the big, beautiful houses with stone walls and curved gables.

I stop halfway down and stare up at the façade.

There’s no car in the driveway, save Lancaster’s. No lights on in the windows.

I round the side of the house to the sprawling, familiar backyard.

It’s not like the campus. No eyes to judge me. No expectations.

I yank off my shoes and lie on my back, letting the cool grass thread between my toes.

My life is over.

Okay maybe not actually.

But Olivia Barclay dancing on stage at a seedy strip club on amateur night might as well be a sex tape.

“You’d probably tell me to get over it,” I murmur to the sky.

There’s no answer. Lancaster, who was a part of my life in a way no one would understand, is gone.

He never told me he was sick. Never warned me he’d be leaving so abruptly.

The stars shine at me through the gap in the trees on either side of the yard.

I pull up my phone, hoping the video isn’t online. But when I open the R.U. DOWN page, it’s there. With comments.

SUBJECT: OB dropping like it’s hot at Velvet

—Who’s OB?

—Olivia Barclay

—Great tits. Needs more ass to balance them out.

—What a slut. I’d pay her to dance.

I tried to do the right thing my entire life. In one week, I managed to fuck it up.

The sound of car doors slamming has me jerking upright.

Someone’s here.

Lights go on in the house. I bolt upright, grabbing my shoes, and try to sneak quietly around the driveway to the front.

When I spot the familiar Mercedes sitting in front of Lancaster’s, I freeze.

I make it halfway down the driveway, creeping along the asphalt.

When I trip on something, the pain makes me gasp.

The front door cracks, and I hear voices from the house.

I duck low, holding my foot. It doesn’t seem to be bleeding, so I set it down and start to make a run for it.

I’m shoved up against the car. The breath leaves my body in a whoosh.

“What are you doing, Olivia?”

Sawyer’s here. Not here at the house, but here in my space. He’s wearing a dark shirt over jeans, his hair coming loose from where it’s tied back. His dark, male scent invades my nostrils.

“Have you been drinking?” he presses.

“I’m not drunk. Maybe this would be better if I was.” I laugh. “This is your fault. If you hadn’t made me team lead, my ass wouldn’t be all over the internet.”

In the light of day, I’ll probably decide I’m being unreasonable, but this isn’t the day.

His jaw tics, his eyes unreadable in shadow. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“It’s easy for you, isn’t it? Telling the world to fuck off. Nothing throws you, not your dad dying, not starting a new job, not making an entire campus swoon over you. But me? I’m breaking.”

My eyes burn.

“I hate that Lancaster’s gone. That he died alone. I hate that there was a side of him that I didn’t know. One that hurt you.”

I think of Adam.

“I hate that the guy I spent three years of my life with cheated on me, and I hate how much I don’t care.”

Finally, my attention turns to the man in front of me.

“Mostly, I hate that I met you Sunday night because I let myself believe I was wrong about the world and my imperfect, insignificant self, and you were going to prove it to me.”

The first tear slides down my cheek. I start to swipe it away, then stop.

“But it’s a lie. You’re one more thing I shouldn’t want and will never have.”

I sneak a hand into his pocket until my fingers close around the object inside. I withdraw the phone and lift the screen before he can stop me.

Call from: Cherry

His eyes darken, a million emotions colliding within them.

I kept him as Unknown in my phone because it preserved the way we met, how mysterious and different he was.

He did the same. I’m Olivia in class, but after hours, I’m still the girl he met at Velvet.

“Sawyer? Is everything okay?” A woman’s voice comes from the house.

He shoves me down. His grip on my hair forces my head against his chest, and the car and his body block me from view.

“Be right there,” he calls back.

My eyes close as I breathe him in, feel his hard muscles beneath me.

Who’s the woman? Was he on a date?

There’s a click far away. The front door closing.

“Sawyer,” I say.

It’s two syllables, but sounds like an entire story, with a beginning and an end and a hundred triumphs and heartbreaks in between.

He drags my head up. He’s so close I can see his eyelashes when he blinks.

I lick my dry lips and say it again. “Sawyer. Sawyer—”

“Stop.”

“Why? Just because her parents hooked up a few years before mine, she gets to call you by your name and I don’t?”

I hope he hears the attitude and not the hurt beneath it.

“You can regret meeting me, Cherry.” His voice is low, like the crunch of gravel under tires. “But I don’t regret meeting you.”

His thumb strokes my cheek, clinging to my damp skin.

The first brush of his lips is a rough slide of warmth, a hint of wine and comfort.

I inhale that and his scent—dark, masculine. He’s a drug I don’t want because I know he’ll melt my resistance.

But when my lips part to tell him, everything changes.

Sawyer shoves me up against the car. His body crowds me, one hand spanning my stomach.

His tongue tattoos mine.

Deliberate.

Devastating.

I thread my fingers in his hair, but he pins my wrist in a lightning quick move. He grinds against me, his hardness digging into my stomach. He’s big and thick and so turned on.

I rub my breasts on his chest, needing friction, needing anything.

His hands streak under my skirt, up the insides of my thighs.

It feels so good and I arch to get closer. More.

Sawyer’s breathing gets rough, and he slips around the fabric panel to press where I’m suddenly wet.

His thick finger probes me until he’s all the way in, his knuckles digging into my skin.

My head falls back to hit the car, my eyes unseeing on the sky above us.

Pleasure. Need. Torture. He delivers all of it until I’m gasping, clenching around him.

I’m throbbing, alive, and raw.

The touch of his fingers has me careening off a cliff I never saw approaching, biting my cheek to swallow the sounds of my own pleasure.

After, he pulls back an inch, my rough breath mingling with his in the cool night air. He’s braced against the car, panting.

My heart hammers against my ribs and in my ears. My face stings from salty tears.

Sawyer rubs a damp finger along my lower lip. Then his mouth finds mine once more, as if needing to savor every part of me.

“First lesson, Cherry,” he rasps against my lips. “Perfect is boring. Trouble tastes sweeter.”

If that was the first lesson...

I want the second.

7

SAWYER

It’s amazing how many people think a car is a mode of transportation.

The Mercedes I bought three years ago wasn’t necessary or even convenient in New York. People who drive cars like mine buy one as a trophy, a rite of passage, or a fuck you to everyone who doubted them from the time they were young.

But as I turn down my former street Saturday morning, my grip tightening on the leather steering wheel, there’s no one to receive the universal bird I’m flipping.

My dad’s car is at the end by the detached garage. After I park my Mercedes and cut the engine, I stare at the Buick a moment before heading up the stone steps to the front door. It’s my third time here this week, and I’m not ready to give up my reservation at the Marriott.

Now, as my feet creak on the faded wooden porch, emotions wash over me that I didn’t expect at all.

Anger. Defiance.

Regret.

When I got word he was dead, my first thought was, this is a stunt. He’s trying to get my attention.

It worked.

On impulse, I press the doorbell.

There’s no echo of chimes, like there was in the years I lived here.

Perhaps like the rest of the house, it fell into disrepair and was never attended to. He took interest in a narrow range of things, and everything else—everyone else—was neglected.

A noise behind me makes me turn, but it’s only a car passing on the road. A stranger waves, but I don’t wave back.

My gaze fixes to the spot I found Olivia last night.

I’m here with a mission, and she could ruin my chances of accomplishing it before I’ve even started.

I should’ve known she’d be trouble the second I saw her dance at Velvet, her body as sinful as her face was sweet. Not to mention when she showed up in my class.

But when she appeared in my driveway, glaring and cursing at me like I’m the devil in her life? Yeah, I pushed back.

I didn’t plan on things going as far as they did, but when I touched her, she flew apart in seconds. As if she’s been waiting for me.

My phone vibrates with an email from the web host of R.U. DOWN.

Thank you for making us aware, the email reads. We are taking steps to remove the content…

This morning, I tried to make sense of what Olivia said about her ass being on the internet. Didn’t take me long to find the video.

Watching it, I was transported back to that night.

But whoever filmed it through the crowd didn’t see what I saw. Neither did the students saying heinous shit about her.

So I sent a scathing takedown demand, pointing out how it would bite them to have an under twenty-one student filmed at an adult venue without her consent.

Satisfied, I take a step to one side, reaching for the stuffed mailbox.

My shoe goes through the wood.

I fall, landing on an uneven surface two feet below. “Fucking hell.”

“Need help?” A voice calls from behind me.

I glance over my shoulder to find a guy around my age with a strong build and trimmed dark hair, a Heineken in one hand. His jeans are dark and clean, his T-shirt new.

“Well, look who it is.”

Daniel extends his free hand to help me up.

My pants are ripped, and it feels as if a hundred splinters have found their way into my thigh.

“You gonna bleed out?” he asks cheerfully.

“One can hope.” I probe my leg. The fabric is torn but the skin underneath is only scratched. “What’re you doing here?”

“We’ve been friends since we were kids.” He nods to the house across the road with gleaming white woodwork, a wraparound porch, and a round gable on the right side. He glances at the iron ring on my pinkie finger. “You suck at visiting. It’s been three years since I accepted a teaching position at Russell. Two since my parents sold me the place.”

I bend to inspect the hole in the porch. When I pry the edge of a board with my fingers, it crumbles in my grip.

“You’re not helping the reputation,” Daniel says.

I brush my hands off and look up at him.

“The street.” He gestures along the tree-lined drive. “It’s Cypress Lane, but apparently the students call it Hot Profs Lane now. These houses”—he points to at least six—“are all faculty. The school has brought in a lot of younger assistant professors who lucked out finding homes so close to campus.”

I have things to accomplish with this house—including, it appears, replacing the porch. The welcome wagon wasn’t part of the plan.

But Daniel’s the closest thing to a best friend I have.

“You want to come in for a drink?”

He holds up his beer. “You would say that seeing as how I’ve already got one.”

My friend’s grin is contagious, and I can’t help smiling too.

I unlock the door with the key and step inside.

The floorboards creak under my feet as I cross the threshold.

I don’t have far to go. The fish tank is in the living room, blue angelfish and some smaller yellow fish, under the image of the moon landing, across from a faded leather couch and chair. The television in the corner is tiny—a twelve-inch box that was here when I was.

“Huh. Did not know he was a fish guy,” Daniel comments.

“You haven’t been over here.”

“Nope. He’d say hi when I said it first, but kept to himself for the most part.”

I shake my head. “It’s remarkable he’s invested in any living thing.”

A slim, shiny black fish I hadn’t noticed before slips out from between some grasses.

“Probably a surrogate for you. That’s Sawyer.” He points to the fish. “Looks stubborn.”

I shake my head and grab the fish food off the coffee table. When I toss some of the flakes in, the fish descend.

I could never decide which part of my upbringing made me hard. Being given up by my parents, or being chosen and raised by a man who only wanted me for my abilities.

There was no love, except doled out as payment for performance. No joy, except in knowledge.

“So how long are you back?” Daniel takes a sip of his beer.

“Not long. I’m here to cover a class and sort out his assets. Had a realtor here to take a look at the place. She thinks there’s some fixing up to do before selling.”

“I can recommend some tradespeople, if you like.”

I nod. “Thanks.”

Because I’m here to teach my dad’s class, go through his shit, and get out of here.

Low profile. No attachments.

Olivia would more than interfere with that.

She could blow it up entirely.

I lift my phone and snap a picture of the fish eating. Because she probably wants another update.

Her trusting eyes flash in my mind. She tries so hard to be good for other people. The way she ambushed me at Lancaster’s office, unwilling to leave until I agreed to supervise their project…

I should have said no.

But I wanted to show her that the assholes she’s pandering to aren’t worth it. Life is a never-ending string of places to invest your time and energy, and she’s standing in the wrong line.

“How’s your kid?” I ask, reminding myself Daniel’s here.

“He’s doing okay. School was rough, but he’s working things out. I’m trying to find him some new hobbies.”

“I’m sorry. About your wife.”

Daniel’s grin fades. “Me too. It was good of you to—you know. What you did.”

“Don’t mention it.”

He looks around, as if hoping she’ll appear from some dusty corner.

“I know what it’s like to leave things unsaid,” he goes on. “This place is a new start for me and Andy. Maybe it will be for you, too.” He lifts his beer in a toast. “To new beginnings.”

I clink the tin of fish food against his bottle.

New beginnings are a lie. But for now, it feels good to pretend.

8

OLIVIA

My fingers are wet.

Not damp, but genuinely wet. Possibly dripping on the expensive dining room area rug.

Dammit, Kismet.

A light “thwap” sound comes from under the table, and I clear my throat to cover it up.

“Everything all right?” my mother asks.

“Great.” I plaster on a smile and wipe my hand on my napkin before settling it into my lap.

The dog noses my palm, demanding more table scraps with prim authority. As if she always lived in the eight-figure townhouse, and never on the streets.

As much as coming home has its downsides, seeing the poodle mix I found and named and begged my parents to keep is one of the best parts.

“Sounds like you’ve been dabbling in some new ventures,” my father says to Adam.

Adam sets his wine on the table fast enough it clinks his plate.

Is he picturing the blonde or the stripper?

“Your father tells us they’re purchasing another firm,” Dad continues, steepling his hands on the table and ignoring the plate of salmon in front of him.

Relief crosses Adam’s features. “They’re calling it a merger, because most of the engineers will keep their jobs. But there are no questions as to who’s calling the shots.”

Our townhouse has designer textiles and rare art. The first time I came home from school, seeing it with fresh eyes, it was almost as if its occupants wanted you to forget there were people living here.

But all I have to do is survive tonight without calamity.

My parents sit at each end of the table. Another couple, clients of my dad’s firm, sit on my side, my sister Emma and the clients’ their two children opposite. One is a boy Emma’s age. Another, a girl the same age as me.

“Dad,” I murmur, leaning toward the head of the table as the other guests strike up a conversation about their Labor Day party in the Hamptons. “Can you send me the money for my tuition and fees for the winter? There’s a discount on residence when it’s paid in full early,” I remind him.

“We’ll discuss it after.”

I glance at Adam, my evidence of how well I’m playing the part I set out to for my parents’ sake, at least until I can figure out how to tell them we split and the future my mother pictured for me isn’t going to happen.

“Olivia.” It’s the daughter, Mari. “You go to Russell U, right? Your name is everywhere since yesterday.”

“Why is that?” my father asks, leaning in.

Mari squirms, realizing everyone’s listening.

No. No, no no.

Her younger sibling speaks up first. “That’s the girl dancing in the video you couldn’t stop watching.”

“What video?” My mother’s voice rises.

Emma’s gaze drops beneath the table and it takes a moment for me to realize what she’s doing.

“The strip club?!” she blurts before I can stop her.

Everyone falls silent.

After the dishes are cleared, my parents’ guests make their excuses.

“What the hell happened?” Emma demands in the hall as our parents say goodbye to their guests and Adam paces the living room. “You don’t do crazy things. You’re the golden child. Did you lose a bet?”

“It was my roommate’s birthday. I had a lapse.”

Kismet leans against my legs, reminding me her dinner scraps were hardly sufficient compensation for spending the last two weeks away from her.

Emma lifts her phone to watch the video again, and I swipe it out of her hand. “Come on, enough.”

She groans in protest.

I’ll always see my kid sister when I look at her—the one who was terrified by thunderstorms, who colored her first white dress green with markers and insisted on keeping invisible friends until she was in the eighth grade.

I went to the summer camps and debutante balls my mom wanted me to so Emma could opt out if she wanted.

I wanted her to be free.

I still do.

“You must have more exciting things to think about than your sister’s weekend plans.”

“You mean her second dance career?”

I swat at her arm and she yelps, ducking away with a grin.

Kismet lets out a tiny bark at being left out of the game.

“There’s this guy,” Emma starts, scratching the dog behind her ears. “He has a bike, Liv. Like, a motorcycle. It’s hard to compare to a guy who’s rough and looks at you like he might kiss you or kill you. Have you ever felt that?”

Emma glances at Adam, biting her cheek. “Of course you haven’t.”

But her dreamy smile has me remembering the guy I shouldn’t be thinking of either.

The front door clicks shut and my parents appear in the hall, looking livid.

“My office. Now.”

Kismet ducks her head and whines at the sound of my dad’s voice. She starts to follow me into the office, but he shuts the door leaving only a crack of light. Even my dog doesn’t dare push her luck.

There’s nothing more heinous than watching as my parents inspect a video of me dancing. I shift on my feet, waiting for the explosion.

“What the hell were you thinking?” my dad bites out when he shoves the phone away. My mother keeps watching, horrified.

“We’ve given you everything and you waste what gifts you have,” my mother says.

I bristle. “I didn’t waste anything. It was one mistake and—”

“This isn’t even our biggest problem. The firm is facing setbacks.” My father shifts in his seat. “Some major tech investments failed to come to fruition.”

It’s not so much my father’s words as the pained way he says them that makes the floor slip out from under me.

“So what does that mean?”

“We’re postponing our Aspen holiday. And the renovations we planned for the townhouse are on hold.”

“Are we broke?”

“Goodness, no,” Mom whispers tightly, her fingers digging into my dad’s shoulder.

My chest twists. “Okay, so what’s the problem?”

“You’re a grown woman, and you can’t rely on your father forever.”

“That’s why I’m in school. When I’m finished, I’ll get a job—probably a good one, and—”

“Making enough to rent some studio apartment is no way to live.” My mother’s gasp fills the room. “You need to think seriously about a situation that will provide for you and your family. You have parents who’ve done everything for you, a sister who still needs you. That boy”—she lowers her voice and jerks her chin toward the door—“is the answer to everything you want and deserve. You’ve been building toward this for years. And now you’ve gone and ruined…”

The door swings wide and she trails off.

“It wasn’t her fault. I put her up to it.” Adam crosses the carpet and wraps an arm around my shoulders. “It was an irresponsible prank and I’m sorry.”

I stare at him. He’s laying it on thick and they’re buying it.

Did he overhear what my dad was saying? No, for all Adam’s flaws and indiscretions, listening at a door isn’t him.

But a week ago I didn’t think sleeping with strippers was, either.

So what’s his angle?

My father smiles faintly. “Olivia, we’ll table this conversation for tonight.”

When I walk Adam to the front door to say good night, I grab his arm before he can leave. “What was that about?”

He turns on the step. “You danced because of me. Because you were jealous.” He scans my body, lingering. “I wish you’d gotten jealous sooner.”

Before I can stop him, he brushes his lips across my cheek and shifts into the waiting town car.

9

OLIVIA

Monday morning, I join Jules for a quick run. We go down Hot Profs Lane, and I tense as we pass Lancaster’s house.

There’s no sign of Sawyer’s Mercedes. It makes me feel as if I imagined Friday night altogether.

“I forgot to tell you. An alum donated a chocolate fountain,” Jules calls after I shower and finish getting dressed, heading out into our living room.

“For the dance?”

“Yup.”

My roommates and I have served on the committee for Fall Ball, an annual campus charity social and fundraiser, each of the last two years. Tickets are taken care of and the event is happening in less than a week, which means coordinating the last of the decorations and auction items.

“His classmate gave an ice sculpture, and he didn’t want to be outdone,” Kat declares from the kitchen.

The oven door creaks, and I crane my neck. “Wait—you’re baking something before nine in the morning?”

“Is there pot in it?” Jules calls.

“New project.” Kat sets a cookie sheet on the stovetop, gesturing proudly to the form standing straight and tall in the middle.

The terracotta colored “project” has a wide base, a slightly narrower column and a flared tip. I’m astounded the entire thing didn’t topple in the oven.

“Wow.” My brows shoot up. “That’s not…”

“…a sex toy?” Jules finishes.

“A handmade, non-toxic, one of a kind sex toy.” Kat beams. “It’s made out of clay and the glaze is non-absorbent.”

“It looks a little…optimistic.” The thing is the size of a prizewinning zucchini. “Do you need to sign a waiver to use it?”

“No waiver. And you’ll thank me.”

Before I can tell Kat there’s no way I’m sticking that inside me, Jules leans closer. “Is it dishwasher safe?”

“Trust me. This will be your new best friend. You’ll want to handwash it. I’m sure you want to try it, but it needs to cool off first.”

“Of course,” I say, solemn.

“How was your weekend at home? Did your parents disown you?”

“Almost.” I explain what Adam did.

“Huh. He’s still an asshole.” Kat checks her phone. “But the video’s been taken down.”

“Seriously?”

I check over her shoulder and sure enough, the entire thread’s been deleted.

Did Adam do that?

It’s a bright spot in a messed-up few days.

But as I head to class, I realize the video wasn’t taken down soon enough.

Making my way across the hill to my lecture hall, I feel eyes on me, and see small groups of students turn inward when I approach.

Inside my building, things get worse. I ignore the snickers and whistles as I enter the lecture hall. A few shouts of “encore” follow me, including from a group of guys by the door.

A few rows back, Adam waves, slinging his arm over an empty seat next to him.

I pretend not to notice and drop into a seat in the front row instead.

I’m unpacking my books when the TA walks in instead of Sawyer.

“Professor Redmond had another commitment today,” the grad student confirms.

I swallow the disappointment.

It’s not healthy to be this obsessed with a man, especially one who’s got secrets and his own agenda and possibly even a girlfriend.

Even if it’s impossible to shove him from my mind altogether, I’ve got discipline. I’ll focus on other things.

I start a list on a sheet of paper.

How to be a badass:

1. Date who I want. (And not who I don’t.)

2. Pursue my own career and personal interests.

3. Become financially independent.

That one might be a stretch right now, but it’s top of mind since the weekend.

Growing up, I fantasized about freedom but rarely considered the flip side of it—needing to take care of everything for myself.

When I pull up my phone to browse through local job listings, I know exactly how to start.

After finishing classes for the day, I dig out long-unused slippers, tights, and a leotard from my closet before heading to the studio in town.

I’m not sure of the parking situation, so I take the bus rather than my car into Elmwood.

The sign for TwinkleToes graces a three-storey Victorian house. But when I head inside, it’s completely refreshed.

The walls are clean and white, the trim a blue so warm and dark it’s nearly black.

An elegant, slender woman with sharp eyes and chestnut hair looks up from a desk in an office off the hall.

“Hi. I’m Olivia. I’m here about the posting for a dance teacher.”

“Did you apply on JobsApp? HireBunny?”

I shake my head, a sinking feeling in my stomach until she says, “Good. I have no idea how to manage all those computer postings.” My lips twitch as she rises and holds out a hand. “I’m Theresa. And I remember you from Velvet.”

“Was everyone there?” I ask as I shake her hand.

“I own it.”

She follows me out into the hall, where empty coathooks line one wall beneath the stairs. “Changerooms are at the end. The other studio is upstairs,” she says.

Part of the other wall has been replaced by windows, and beyond, a dozen girls are practicing.

“I hope this isn’t your recruitment.”

She laughs. “No. We have two studios, and they’re all full with classes until ten at night. You ever teach dance?”

“Not really. But I took it for a long time.”

“I could tell from your performance.” She’s not judging, just stating a fact, and she’s the first person in a while who doesn’t seem to think I’ve fucked my life by a sixty-second dance. “I opened this studio two years ago and it’s expanding. I’m run off my feet here during the day and at the club at night.”

“Can I ask what the pay is?”

Theresa tells me, and I cringe inwardly. I’ve only ever worked for my dad’s company in the summer, and I’m pretty sure they paid me way more than most interns make because this amount doesn’t sound like very much.

She checks her watch. “We have a new batch of guppies coming in at four. Why don’t you give it a whirl?”

“Guppies?”

“Six- and seven-year-olds.”

I shove the pay from my mind and focus on the opportunity. “I’d love to.”

Ten minutes later I’ve been to the pristine changeroom and emerged in a black leotard. Children are funneling in the front door.

They’re cute. Girls in tights with hair bows.

A little boy with dark, shaggy hair and serious eyes bumps into me.

“What’s your name?”

“Andy.”

“Hey, Andy. I’m—”

“This is Miss O,” Theresa informs him.

I sound like a dominatrix. I bite my cheek. “Nice to meet you.”

Hands appear on the boy’s shoulders to steer him toward the room.

Familiar hands, with an iron ring on one finger.

I force my attention up dark jeans, a sweater that clings to every muscle and plane.

“Hello, Miss O.”

If Sawyer’s as surprised as I am, he’s doing a good job covering it up.

“Parents wait here, or outside.” Theresa ushers me and the kids toward the studio.

The entire time I’m teaching, I’m freaking out. Does Sawyer have a kid?

I feel his gaze on me through the glass but force myself to focus on the class itself.

It’s more an exercise in babysitting but when I can tell they’re getting bored, I have them turn toward one another and do pirouettes. Andy’s the only boy.

“Boys don’t do barrettes,” one of the girls says, and Andy frowns.

I feel for him—the rejection, the frustration.

“Boys absolutely do pirouettes.” I think of turns in second position, which require more core strength than most women have.

By the time we’re done, the kids spill back out, some tired, some hyper.

Andy looks around for a moment before Sawyer waves to him.

He doesn’t look like Sawyer. But then, Sawyer didn’t look like his dad. Maybe Andy’s adopted—

“Miss O?” Theresa’s voice has me turning back. She smiles. “You’re hired. We’ll work out the scheduling later.”

“Thanks.”

“Let me drive you home,” Sawyer says when I approach.

We haven’t spoken since he made me shatter into a million pieces with his hands and mouth. Every part of me tenses, but I want to know the truth. He accused me of keeping secrets, but he’s the expert.

“If I can change first, I’ll take the ride, but I can walk from your place.” Lancaster’s house is only a few blocks from where I live.

He nods and I trade the leotard for my street clothes, leaving my hair in the prim bun.

We get into the car, Sawyer fixing a car seat I didn’t notice before we get going.

Andy talks happily in the back. “Miss O, you’re my favorite teacher.”

Despite the tension, I can’t resist smiling in the rear-view mirror. “Thanks, Andy.”

“And you’re pretty. Isn’t she pretty?”

Sawyer glances over. “She’s very pretty.”

Warmth spreads through my chest and I clear my throat. “Is he…?”

“My neighbor Daniel’s son,” Sawyer explains.

Relief floods me. “He’s why you took the day off.”

“Daniel had an emergency and asked me to watch him.”

The streets pass, and I soak up the glint of afternoon sun and the scent of leather beneath me and the man at my side.

Andy starts to sing to himself about a baby shark.

I lower my voice. “Do you want kids?”

“Never.”

“I do.”

“You’re barely old enough to have them.”

“That’s not true. I’m old enough for a lot of things.”

Sawyer’s grip on the wheel tightens as we pull into the driveway at his house. By the time we get Andy out of the car, a tall man with straight dark hair and a broad grin is crossing to us from the house across the street.

“Hi, little man.”

“Daddy!” Andy throws his arms around the man, who boosts him up.

“Everything good?” Sawyer asks.

“It will be. Thanks again. Hi, I’m Daniel.” He holds out a hand, and I realize this could get awkward.

“Liv.”

“Miss O taught us to make barrettes today,” Andy informs his father.

“Pirouettes,” I mouth, and Daniel grins.

“Ah, you’re the dance teacher. This is good. After last week he wasn’t sure he wanted to go back.” Daniel turns to Sawyer. “You both need to come over for a beer. I’ll get Andy’s dinner fixed. Yeah?”

“Fine,” Sawyer agrees first.

I’m still surprised.

“What do you do, Daniel?” I ask as we head through his gorgeous house, a Queen Anne style like most of the ones on this street.

“I’m a professor at Russell.”

I cut a look at Sawyer. “A professor.”

“How about you?” Daniel asks me.

“I’m in engineering, like your friend.” It’s strictly true.

“Beautiful and intelligent. I don’t know how you get the luck.”

“It’s not—” I start, but Sawyer cuts me off.

“Me neither.”

He strokes a finger down my arm.

No way.

He wants to pretend we’re together?

It’s confusing, and thrilling. Some kind of game, or perhaps a test.

When Daniel excuses himself to help Andy, I lower my voice. “What are we doing? He’s a professor.”

“He’s my oldest friend.”

That sets me back in a different way.

Daniel returns, and Sawyer’s gaze narrows with suspicion at my slow smile.

“So Sawyer tells me you two go back,” I start.

“Yeah, we grew up together. I lived across town, but stayed for undergrad too. Just moved back recently.”

“What was he like in school?”

Sawyer stiffens next to me, but Daniel jumps on the game with a grin. “This guy was crazy. Reckless. He’d jump off the highest diving board at the pool before he even knew how to swim.”

Reckless.

It feels like the right word for him, but it’s dangerous at the same time.

“Have you decided what you’re doing about your dad?” Daniel asks.

“The department notified his colleagues, and most of them want to fly in for it.” A grimace. “He’s being cremated, which means we can delay the service a few weeks.”

We finish our drink and thank Daniel before heading out again.

“Have you fed the fish since the first time?” I ask as I start down the porch, Sawyer leading the way.

“Yeah. After the first one turned belly-up, I figured I should do the others.”

I’m already sucking in a breath when he smirks. “It was a joke. You want to see them?”

“No.” In the middle of the street, I pull up. “Do you have a girlfriend?”

Sawyer follows my gaze to the spot by the car where he touched me Friday. “You’re jealous.”

“I’m not jealous. I don’t like cheaters. Plus, I want to know where your fingers were before they were on me.”

“In you,” he corrects.

Why is that so much hotter?

“Whatever.”

“She’s my realtor.”

I hate how relieved I am, but knowing he didn’t walk away from me and into another woman’s arms lifts a weight I didn’t realize I was carrying around.

“I trust your ass is off the internet.” His change of topic is so smooth I almost miss it.

“How did you…”

“I had it taken down.”

My chest expands until it feels as if it might burst.

He did that for me.

Not because he’s my professor. Because whether he’ll admit it or not, he cared. Like he cared about his friend enough to watch his son and take a day off to do it.

“I should be getting home.” I shoulder my bag, full of textbooks and lab reports.

He grabs my wrist. “That’s it. No ‘thank you, Professor’.”

“You did a single nice thing. They don’t give medals for human decency.”

My answer angers him more. “If I’m such a cretin, why did you get a ride back with me?”

“Why did you pretend we were together in front of Daniel?”

A car comes down the street, and Sawyer uses his hold to tug me to the side of the road.

“You won’t tell me, then I’ll tell you,” I say as the vehicle passes. “It’s because you are reckless. You give me shit for wanting to be perfect, as if you have a monopoly on empowered living. But you’re not free, and you’re not happy. So stop telling me how to live my life as if you have all the answers.”

His attention drops to my throat. “I wanted to know what it would feel like if you were mine.”

My heart kicks in my chest as emotions collide inside of me. Gratitude and longing, regret and frustration.

He wanted to spend time with me. In a strange way, having his friend there made it safe—safe because we couldn’t do anything, and because Sawyer trusts Daniel.

But Sawyer’s grieving, and I can’t afford to be caught up in whatever game he’s playing. He’s beautiful and dangerous and fucked up, and the most I’ll have of him is a few stolen touches in a driveway that leave me wanting more.

The bag on my shoulder is heavier than it was moments ago.

“It would feel like make-believe, because I can’t do this. And you?” I think of what would happen if a professor was caught with his student. “You really can’t do this. And we…” I take a breath that does little to steady me.

We just fucking can’t.

I’m used to self-discipline, to denying immediate pleasure for eventual satisfaction. But I can’t remember wanting something as much as I want to lose myself in his tormented eyes.

“What if I don’t accept that?”

“If you don’t accept that,” I say as I pry his fingers off my arm one at a time, “then you’re not as smart as I thought you were, Professor.”

His gaze burns my back all the way to the end of the block.

10

OLIVIA

When I get to calculus Tuesday, Adam is waiting by the entrance to class.

“Hey.” He holds the door, his gaze flicking over my outfit.

“Hi.”

A guy in the second row, Remi, holds up his phone and follows my steps across the room.

“Dude, what are you doing?” Adam demands.

Remi lowers the phone with a grin. “Figured there might be another dance. Didn’t want to miss this one.”

Adam snatches the phone from his hand and throws it on the floor.

Remi protests as he lunges after it, uttering a string of curses. I walk past him and claim a seat in the first row.

“People are still giving you shit for that?” Adam asks under his breath.

“It won’t go on forever. The video’s down at least.”

I start to set my books on the empty seat next to me but Adam drops into the spot first.

He did save my ass this weekend.

“Thanks for covering for me with my parents,” I say. “You didn’t have to do that.”

“I wanted to. How’s Fall Ball prep going?” He pulls out his notebook. “Let me guess, Jules is adding artistic flair and Kat’s bossing everyone around.”

My lips twitch. “Pretty much. Jules and Kat are picking up the slack because I’ve been preoccupied with this project.”

Professor Redmond responded to our team email with comments, saying what we sent him was a start but needs to be more advanced. He sent a massive list of articles for us to read.

It’s more encouraging than his “I expected better” text last week, but it reminds me we have a long way to go.

“I ordered two new books from the bookstore.” I nod to my bag with a yawn. “Plus, I was up until three watching robotics videos and reading articles on my computer. I see lab results every time I close my eyes.”

“Anything I can do to help?” Adam leans in. “I want to win, too. Basketball isn’t gonna be my future, no matter how much I’d like it to be. And, for what it’s worth, there would still be a job for you at my dad’s company once it’s mine.”

I dig out a blue pen from my bag, plus the pink one I use for figures and underlining. “Thanks.”

“When you started in engineering, I figured it was about me. Or to prove something to your parents.”

“Maybe it was,” I admit.

“But it changed.”

“I’d rather bust my ass learning something for me than for someone else, or because I think I should.”

He frowns. “Back in high school, we used to talk about our dreams. But you’ve been distant all year.”

I glance up at him in surprise. “That’s not true. You stayed over at least two nights a week.”

“You were there, but you weren’t there. You ever think maybe that’s why I pulled away in the first place?”

Our calculus professor walks in, and I’m grateful for the excuse to turn toward the front.

“How does it work? If we win this competition,” I ask Royce.

I’d emailed him to see if he would meet me privately in the lab that afternoon.

Adam’s comments stuck with me long after class. Maybe I was distant with him. But it doesn’t make up for how he acted, and the fact that for the first time, I want to do something for me.

“Winning? Hah. We’ll do well to get through Redmond’s Everest-sized pile of articles.”

“I read half of them last night. Though the dynamic systems model one was a little over my head.”

Royce cocks his head, impressed. “I’ll get to that one tonight and we can talk about it.”

Except for the email to our entire team, I haven’t heard from our professor for the last twenty-four hours.

It’s unfair given how I left things between us, but I miss his texts. The black and white pixels made me feel connected to him, as if he was there even when I wasn’t looking.

When I finally tried to go to sleep, I found myself thinking of Lancaster’s fish tank, the incredible ecosystem he filled it with.

On impulse, I typed out a message.

Liv: You better still be finding time around assigning all those articles to read to feed the fish.

It wasn’t crossing a line.

I’m interested in ensuring Lancaster’s expensive, beautiful fish survive.

My professor is taking care of them.

At lunch today, I got a picture of the tank with a piece of paper stuck to the outside of the glass: the front page of the newspaper with today’s date and headline, kidnapper style.

I laughed until my face hurt.

“First off,” Royce continues, bringing me back, “winning is unlikely. There are more than a hundred teams, and we have to qualify.”

I fold my arms. “But once we qualify.”

“If we qualify,” he goes on, grinning, “the top three teams—judged by a panel of industry sponsors—get access to two hundred grand each, and the number one team gets a million to invest in R&D, salaries, whatever they want as long as they progress their idea.”

“Wow.”

“But first we have to get through regionals—a weekend in New York with a ton of competition. We have to demo a functioning prototype and be in the top half of the field.”

Okay, so it won’t be easy. What else is new?

I might not immediately grasp advanced topics like Royce does, but I know what it means to push myself every day to do things I didn’t know were possible. Dance taught me that much.

“Do you think what we’re building is enough to win?”

Royce rubs a hand over his neck. “I don’t know. The winning projects tend to have lots of applications.”

I circle our project, inspecting the single two-jointed arm hanging off the platform. It looks like…a student project.

“Redmond’s right. This isn’t there,” Royce emphasizes.

“Yet,” I correct, determined. “It’s not there yet.”

“What are you guys looking at?” I ask Kat and Jules Wednesday morning when I leave the shower, still wrapped in a fluffy towel.

They spring apart.

“Just boys being assholes,” Kat insists.

But I hold out a hand, and she eventually turns the phone around.

On the screen is a video of a dancer working a pole, dipping and grinding and showing her seriously impressive body in a string bikini and barely-there bra, her nipples sticking through the net mesh.

Except my face is crudely pasted over hers.

“This is on R.U. DOWN?”

“No. But there’s a link to it there.”

Enough.

I bypass my usual choice of clothing and grab a short, pleated skirt and shirt that leaves two inches of skin around my waist bare.

I rummage through my makeup drawer and grab a deep plum lipstick I bought for an event last year, then slick it on.

Instead of pinning up my hair, I leave it straight. The soft curtain tickles my ears and neck as it swings around my face and slides over my shoulders.

Getting ready takes long enough I don’t have time for breakfast. So, I shove a red apple in my bag on my way out the door.

When I walk into class at eight twenty-eight, every set of eyes is on me.

Adam straightens in his seat on the far side of the room.

Remi, in the front row nearer to the door, reaches out to grab my thigh.

“Fuck, baby, bring that ass on over here.”

I pull up and square to face him. “Because it’s okay to comment on a girl’s body whenever you want, right? That’s why we’re here, for guys to pass judgment.”

Surprise crosses his expression. He recovers with a slow grin. “My dick likes you fine. You’d grind on it like the slut you are.”

He’s disgusting, and the girl my parents raised is horrified.

But there’s a part of me deep down, a stubborn spark that wants to fight rather than run.

I drop my attention to his belt. “Women do that out of necessity, Remi, not pleasure. Your dick’s probably too small to feel otherwise.”

The classroom explodes with gasps and laughter, and Remi’s face turns purple.

“Mr. Attwood.” Sawyer’s voice has the hairs lifting on my neck. “Eyes front and reattach your jaw. If a woman wants your attention, she’ll let you know.”

Another round of hollers go up.

I turn to see our professor setting his bag on the desk at the front.

It’s only been two days since I’ve seen Sawyer, and I feel starved for the sight of him. He’s wearing dark pants and a pale blue shirt, and he hasn’t shaved. As if he’s been busy, or distracted.

“Miss Barclay…sit down.”

First, he had that video removed. Now, he tries to rescue me in class.

It feels personal.

Instead of being grateful, I’m annoyed.

Remi might be an asshole, but I don’t need Professor Redmond saving me, either.

I take one of the only free seats at the far side of the room.

He talks us through stress analysis of mechanical components. He knows his stuff, but seems extra irritable.

Welcome to the club.

I press so hard taking notes that my pen rips through the paper.

“Friday morning is a quiz,” he informs us with fifteen minutes remaining in class, and my hand shoots up.

“Friday is Fall Ball,” I say. “Professors let students out.”

He cocks his head. “The dance is in the morning?”

“No, but I’m on the events committee for student council, plus Engineering Society is sponsoring this year. A bunch of us need to set up.”

Heads around the class nod.

Sawyer crosses to my side of the room, and when he looks up at me it’s the closest I’ve been to him in days.

“Do you know how much a class costs at this institution?”

“A lot.”

“But you don’t know how much. Because your parents pay for it.”

I ignore his digging. “Some people would say the most important lessons are learned outside the classroom.”

“You’re going to learn more from hanging banners than in my class?”

There’s a dangerous edge to his voice. But it’s been a rough week, and I’m tired of being the one to act like an adult in the face of people who won’t.

I shrug, glancing at the clock. “Maybe.”

“Then don’t let me keep you.” Sawyer crosses to the door and holds it wide.

The room has gone silent. All eyes are on me.

I grab my bag and head for the door.

“My office. After class,” he mutters as I brush past him.

My bare thigh bounces on the bench outside Sawyer’s office. He’s keeping me waiting on purpose.

If this is some kind of lesson, it’s not going to work.

I’ve been there ten minutes when my stomach growls.

I pull out the apple I packed, and am about to bite into it when he saunters down the hall.

“How nice of you to show up,” I comment.

“Had something to do.” He unlocks the door and I follow him in.

He rounds the desk and sets his books on the top before lifting that scorching gaze up my body—slow—finally settling on my face.

“Why do you want to go to this dance?”

Every inch of him is tight, and the softness in his voice sets me back. “You called me in here to ask that?”

“If I’m considering letting you out early for the event, I’d like to understand what I’m letting you out early for.”

“I’m on the dance committee. We handled everything from logistics to ticket sales to decorations. Plus Fall Ball is a charity event, so there’s a silent auction and sponsorships. It’s our job to make sure it looks perfect.”

I turn the apple in my hand, admiring its gleaming, red, unbroken surface.

“Perfect is overrated.” His mouth twitches, but I shake my head. There’s no way he’d understand this.

“Shitty-looking auction tables don’t get good bids. Besides, I’ve had my dress for ages.”

I cross to the bookshelves, running a finger over the spines.

“I understand there’s been some fallout from the video taken at the club, despite its removal from R.U. DOWN,” he says. “I trust that’s what this”—I glance over and he nods to my outfit—“is about.”

I shrug. He’s trying to get under my skin and I’m not in the mood for it. “Just felt like a change.”

None of the books I lent Lancaster appear to be here, so I take a step toward the next shelf. It also brings me closer to Sawyer.

“You were going to end up in a wrestling match with Attwood.”

“And?”

“And he’d enjoy it too damn much.” Sawyer leans an elbow on the back of his chair. “If you want to dress like that, don’t do it for them. Do it for you.”

I turn to face him, the bookshelves forgotten. “Tell me you didn’t call me in here for some weak PSA.”

I lift the apple to my lips, my teeth breaking its skin. Sweetness flows into my mouth, and I watch him watch me as I reach up to wipe away a spot of juice from the corner of my mouth. “Are we done here?”

Sawyer’s gaze heats.

There are rules for my relationships with everyone in my life: my parents, Adam. With my professor, those rules have been broken, leaving tantalizing emptiness in their place.

I’m halfway out of the room before he calls, “We’re not done. Shut the door.”

His voice has dropped an octave in an instant. Whatever thoughts he was thinking have turned undeniably darker.

I grip the apple harder. I should walk away, but I want his attention. I crave it.

The door clicks closed, and my heart starts to race as I turn back to him.

“We are not equal,” he murmurs, rounding the desk. Every muscle is taut. “You are not my colleague. Not my girlfriend. You are in my class.”

“Is that why you haven’t shaved in two days? You’re too busy preparing scintillating lectures on mechanical components? Which, by the way, are identical to Lancaster’s. You might want to put in more effort given all the money our parents are paying for your class.”

His gaze narrows. “Stop.”

I lick my lips, glancing back at the door. “Make me.”

Since I met him, I’m less compliant than I was, less inclined to follow whatever rules the world set for me.

With him, I can feel the thrill of saying what I want, and being a brat without repercussions.

Except the look in his eye says there are about to be repercussions.

“I have a lesson for you. Learn it, and you can take Friday’s quiz early and skip class.”

I raise a brow. “Can’t wait.”

Whatever test he wants to give me, I can handle it. I’m up to date on the readings. Each graph on my most recent lab report has been triple checked. I could probably pass the midterm even though we haven’t finished all of the material yet, and—

“Elbows on the desk.”

My heart stops.

He gestures to the surface as if he’s offering me a cup of coffee and not a place to lie down in front of his hungry eyes.

Asking him to repeat it isn’t an option. It’s clear from his expression that what I heard is exactly what he intended to say. When he reaches for the cuffs on his shirt to roll up one sleeve and then the other, my pulse stutters back to life.

I could walk out of this room without a backward glance. No one but us would know if I deleted Sawyer Redmond from my phone and never spoke to him again except when I’m surrounded by a classroom of engineering students.

But I don’t want to give in. And if I leave, I won’t find out where this leads.

He holds out a hand for the apple. With a moment’s hesitation, I relinquish it.

Shifting my weight forward, I place my arms on the smooth wood desk.

He steps behind me, close enough I get a hit of his addictive scent.

His hand brushes the back of my bare thigh. I have a sudden urge to press back against him. But the second I move, he steadies me with a hand on my hip.

His touch travels up my skin, teasing, assessing.

My body throbs. I want to squeeze my legs together because this ache is getting intolerable fast.

“Wider.” He kicks the inside of my ankle, and I step further apart without thinking. Sawyer’s dress shoes appear on the carpet between my feet.

I want him to touch me like he did last week. I need the adrenaline, the feeling like I can do anything and be anything.

“You liked telling that kid he can’t get you off,” he says.

“Standing up for myself isn’t a crime. If that’s what this is about—”

“In my class, I make the rules. Now lift your skirt or I’ll do it for you.”

I nearly die. The idea of what he might do after makes my hands fist on the desk.

But we’re in his office. There’s no way he’ll take this further. He might be reckless, but he’s not insane.

“Then do it,” I dare him.

All of a sudden, cool air hits my thighs. The fabric of my skirt tickles my strip of bare waist as I stretch over the desk.

I’m standing in the middle of his office, exposed to his gaze.

“You walked away from me the other day,” he growls. “I need to know whether it was because you don’t want this, or because you don’t want to want it.”

I don’t know what “this” means, but I want it more than anything I’ve experienced in my twenty years.

I swallow, a vein pounding painfully in my forehead. “It doesn’t matter what I want. We can’t.”

“On the contrary. What you want is the only thing that matters.”

The laughter of students on the path outside the engineering building drifts through the crack in the window.

They might as well be miles away.

When he grabs the side of my panties and drags them down… they’re forgotten altogether.

He squeezes my ass with a rough hand, and it feels so good. My eyes shut and when I arch back into his touch, he doesn’t try to stop me.

The low sound from behind me could be a groan.

“Every word you said was true,” he murmurs. “He can’t get you off. Neither can that ex of yours. Because neither of them sees who you really are.”

Sawyer brushes a finger right next to my center. Pleasure shoots through me, leaving my knees trembling.

Yes. More.

But as soon as he’s there, he’s gone.

“Lift your feet.”

I do, each in turn and only half aware of what’s happening.

The next second, the hem of my skirt tickles my thighs again as Sawyer flips it back down.

“Good. You can leave.”

Confusion has my brain glitching. I flex my sweaty palms on the desk before shoving off it to face him.

“You’re joking.” I’m pissed off from the confrontation with Remi, turned on from arguing with him, and he expects me to walk out the door like this? “It’s windy. And I have two more classes today.”

Sawyer balls up the fabric of my panties and tucks it in the breast pocket of his jacket. “You should’ve thought of that sooner.”

I tug down my skirt, trying to cover more of myself and failing. “You want everyone on campus to see me.”

“I want you to take ownership of your actions.” His dark eyes flash. “When you danced on stage at Velvet, you acted like a woman who owned her choices. Then you retreated back into your shell. You’re better than that.”

Sawyer reaches past me for the door, opening it with a soft click.

“Here.” He sets the apple back in my palm, bite marks facing up. “You look famished.”

11

OLIVIA

“Dammit. Can I use the straightener?” Jules calls from the bathroom.

“Second drawer,” Kat shouts back as I zip up her red cocktail dress. “I thought you were wearing your hair up?”

“That was the plan. It’s rebelling.”

Kat lunges across the room for her Solo cup and we head out to the living room.

“AGHHH!!” Jules stands in barefoot in a simple green sheath, wild-eyed. Her hair is half pinned on her head, chunks sticking out in every direction.

My dance recital experience kicks in faster than you can say “bobby pins.”

“Hey. We can get through this.” I squeeze in to the bathroom behind her, the taffeta layers of my black floor-length gown crunching as I slide through the door. “You want it up?”

“Yeah.” Jules huffs out a breath. “But it was supposed to look more like this.” She makes wave-like motions at the front of her head, and a smooth stroke across the back.

“Then that’s what we’ll do.”

Kat sticks her head in the door, reaching for her perfume bottle on the counter. “You didn’t want to go with her tonight?”

Jules wrinkles her nose. “No. I need to keep you guys out of trouble.”

I feel for my roommate. She’s had an on-again, off-again thing with a girl since freshman year. I want to shake the other girl and tell her to get her shit together, because Jules is smart and kind and anyone would be lucky to have her.

Half an hour later, we’re ready.

My phone buzzes on the counter.

Emma: Send me pictures from Fall Ball!

I text her back a selfie of the three of us posing in our dresses.

Emma: UGH! I’m jealous.

Emma: We were supposed to go to Josie’s parents’ place in Tuscany for her birthday this weekend but Mom made up some lame excuse and won’t let me.

Weird. Mom loves for Emma to socialize with Josie, whose family has more vineyards than children.

Unless Dad’s company’s problems are bigger than he let on, and he didn’t want to spring for part of a charter flight and a birthday present to match.

I shove the family drama from my mind. Tonight I want enjoy the result of our hard work.

Fall Ball is on campus at the University Center, so we decide to walk.

If there was any question whether tonight was special, it’s obvious the moment you catch sight of the building.

Strings of fairy lights gild the trees, whose leaves have turned burnt oranges and yellows in the fall.

Inside, there are more fairy lights, plus gold balloons and decorations from tiers of pumpkins painted white, black, and gold.

Hundreds of students already line the room, and music drifts from the band in one corner.

My heart lifts. It’s really beautiful.

Adam and some other guys ambush us when we arrive.

My ex greets me with a purple orchid corsage. “For you.”

“Cheesy,” Kat informs him.

He smoothly flips her off.

“Adam, I’m not here with you,” I say.

“But I saw this and it made me think of you. It’s like the one I got you for prom, remember? If you won’t wear it, then a perfectly good flower died for nothing.” He slips it on my wrist.

Whatever. It’s a flower, not an engagement ring.

The band chafes and I adjust it. A pin scratches my skin, a bead of blood appearing moments later. I press my hand to the tiny wound.

When I look up, my gaze locks on a man on the other side of the crowd.

Sawyer Redmond is gorgeous in a dark suit cut to fit his sharp shoulders and lean hips. His hair loose around his face, he’s ruthless, and almost painfully beautiful.

Did he come to see me?

The thought is strangely romantic, until I see a stunning woman in a fitted silver cocktail dress cross to him and whisper in his ear.

I duck through the crowd, heading for the bar. I grab a gold napkin off a stack of them and press it to my wrist.

“Using your fake ID again, I see,” a familiar voice comments from behind me.

“Is this the realtor again?” I can’t resist asking as Sawyer orders a water. “The only bedroom she’s interested in selling is hers. To you.”

He gets his water and turns back to the crowd of dancers. We’re standing a respectable distance apart, not looking at each other, but neither of us moves.

“Faculty don’t usually bring dates,” I inform him.

“She invited herself. And I’m new.”

“Meaning you don’t know how things are done.”

“Meaning I don’t give a shit how things are done.”

His flash of teeth makes my heart skip.

I’m thrown back to lying across his desk, him flipping up my skirt and palming my ass and dragging down my underwear.

My gaze flicks to his jacket pocket as if I expect to see the fabric peeking out.

Before I can answer, a guy from the organizing committee wearing a suit and a panicked expression flags me down.

“Olivia! There’s an emergency in the dining area.”

I head that way without hesitating.

The normal seating has been removed for tonight’s event, replaced by long tables filled with every kind of treat imaginable.

At the center is a three-tiered chocolate fountain. Dark rivers spill over the concentric circles, but there’s steam coming up from the middle and there are chunks in the glossy candy.

“It’s overheating,” I mutter to no one.

“The bigger problem is who put it next to the ice sculpture?”

I spin to see Sawyer behind me, surveying the scene in amusement.

I bite my cheek to keep from laughing. “Hey. We had some very dedicated volunteers who spent all day setting up.”

I duck under the tablecloth to unplug the fountain.

Sawyer’s there with an extended hand when I rise.

“Thanks,” I murmur.

“You and your friends spent all day working on this. Why?”

“We spent all day and half of this week and planning for the past six months,” I correct. “We met after Fall Ball in our first year. Adam and I were arguing about something. I needed air and went outside. I ducked behind the tree out front and tripped over Jules, who was sitting on the ground. She’d brought a date, this girl she hit it off with in orientation week, but it turned out she was just using Jules for attention.” She still does, I don’t say. “Then Kat showed up in a ballgown with a flask, and the rest is history.”

“You were in the same program.”

“No.”

“Same dorm?”

I shake my head. “We were just random atoms colliding. And we never separated.”

His eyes soften. “Have you always taken care of everyone?”

His description makes my brows lift. “If you can do something to make another person’s life a tiny bit better, wouldn’t you?”

He cocks his head, looking around. “When I was an undergrad, this was smaller. Less of a spectacle.”

“I’m surprised you came. You don’t seem like the school spirit type.”

“I wasn’t. But all the girls came. And even if dating wasn’t my thing, I always liked sex.”

His wolfish smile could melt panties for miles. But more than that, I’m having fun with him. We’re talking like two normal people. No agenda except enjoying each other’s presence.

“And that was how you dealt with pressure. Sex.” My attention shifts to a platter of strawberries on the table so I don’t lose myself in his eyes. “What do you need a pressure release from now?”

“A new project with a former rival. We’re going into business together next year.”

I grab a strawberry and freeze with it halfway to my lips. “The same thing you were doing with your old company?”

He shoots me a look, as if he’s not going to answer, but relents. “We were immensely successful, and on the way to bigger things still. One tracking mod I built from the ground up secured eight figures in government funding, and private companies were banging down the door to buy from us after we commercialized it.”

Damn. Guys my age beat their chest for scoring a decent internship, but my professor has made huge achievements as a student and in industry. It’s admirable, and sexy.

I pop the berry into my mouth, thinking as I chew and swallow. “And that’s what did it for you? The money?”

“The money didn’t suck, but no, that didn’t ‘do it for me.’” His mouth twitches. “We worked on applications from space exploration to medical devices. Landing a rover on a lake on Mars or performing surgery on premature babies. It will all be infinitely attainable with the right combination of human ingenuity and problem solving.”

He’s beautiful and utterly confident, but more than that, his determination is addictive.

“So if it works, what then? I mean…” I go on at his incredulous look, “We can conquer the moon, but what happens to what we leave behind? We conquer something, we stop looking after it.”

“Like what?”

It takes no time to come up with an example. “The fish in Lancaster’s tank. Their habitats are being eroded.”

“And you care because…”

“I know what it’s like to be what’s left behind.” I play with the flower on my wrist, its natural beauty at odds with the modern building. “Engineers are smart. But they spend more time asking ‘how’ than ‘why.’ Maybe they should ask why more often.”

“Perhaps they should.” His gaze lingers on me, intensifying as I grab another berry and bite into it.

“It’s Regal Plum.”

“Excuse me?”

“My lipstick,” I murmur, emboldened by the fact that we’re in public, on as close to neutral ground as possible. “You’re staring at my mouth, so I figured you wanted to know what color my lipstick was.”

“Could be. Or, it could be I’m remembering you lying across my desk, your panties in my pocket and your mouth sticky from that apple.”

In an instant, I’m flushed everywhere.

“But you’re probably right. I’m sure it was the lipstick thing.” He smirks.

Two students wheel a table of crowns and sashes toward the stage.

“Fall Ball court,” I manage, recovering.

“That’s what the voting was on the way in.”

I nod. “There’s a short list every year based on service and popularity. We should probably go that way.”

We’re nearly back to the other room when the speakers crackle to life.

The university administrator on stage begins to announce the court. We watch as the first two students go up and accept their recognition.

“So pretty do-gooders parading around for attention.” He snorts. “Hard pass.”

“For contributions to the Fall Ball organizing committee…Olivia Barclay.”

Sawyer laughs silently beside me. “They must’ve voted before the chocolate fountain started smoking.”

I flip him off, which only elicits a bigger grin.

“Get your do-gooding ass up there.”

I make my way up to the stage, spotting Kat with a group of classmates on the way. She winks gleefully. Probably stuffed the ballot box.

The woman handing out awards sets the crown on my head, but as I smile at the crowd of students, it feels empty.

After, there’s a dance for all members of the court.

Someone taps my shoulder, and I turn to find Adam. “Come on. You’re not gonna dance alone, are you?”

I lift my hand to his and place the other around his neck. We move around the dance floor to the music, the corsage itching my wrist as we move.

After a few turns around the floor, Adam pulls me closer.

“You look incredible,” he murmurs, an appreciative expression on his face. “I miss seeing your face.”

“You see me in class, and for the design project.”

“But it’s not the same.”

I let myself get caught up in his deep blue eyes. He’s always been handsome and charming. Since high school, half the female class and some of the guys wanted him. Back then, I was honored he took an interest in me.

“I wish I could see you more.” He pauses. “I told Coach I can’t be pulling extra practices around the clock. I want to take you out.”

“That’s sweet, Adam, but—”

“You don’t have time now,” he finishes. “I respect what you’re doing with the team. But I told you, I can get you a spot at our company. Let Royce be the smart one and Madison be the driven one.” I stiffen and he plows on. “Or, if you don’t want to do engineering, you can do whatever you want.”

“So we get a tux and a white dress and book a five-star hotel for hundreds of our closest friends? Toast to a future like our parents’ past? Because you know that’s what my mom wants.”

“Come on. You’ve never pictured it? You’d look gorgeous. You are gorgeous.”

“But what happens after the wedding day?”

“We go on like we have been.” He frowns. “It’s a good life, Liv. Whoever or whatever’s got you thinking it isn’t is dead wrong.”

Could I do what my mom wanted? Put myself on the line to give security to not only myself but our family?

I always enjoyed the way Adam held me—steady, easy. As if the room revolved around me, if not his world. But now, I’m searching the crowd over his shoulder.

After the dance, I’m on my way back from the bathroom when someone grabs me and drags me past a row of coats into a semi-dark service hallway.

“Why do you let him look at you like that?”

The light overhead flickers. My pulse accelerates as I stare up into my professor’s reckless face. “I can’t control how people look at me.”

“You spend enough time trying. You’re locked into a dance, and not the one happening on the floor.” He brushes a thumb over my lower lip. “I bet you suck him off with that perfect mouth, and thank him after for the privilege.”

I slap his hand away. “And you wish it was you.”

He’s vibrating with intensity, and when I look down, his pants are tented.

It’s true.

He might hate my dress and my hair and the fact that I try to follow the rules, but he wants me.

I’m not a toy to be forgotten and discarded like with Adam, or a chess piece to be used like with my family.

“Tell me you’ve thought about it,” I whisper.

On the other side of coatcheck, the sounds of The Weeknd stream through the speakers as the party rages on.

My professor’s hand trails down my neck. His touch skims over the cleavage exposed by my dress, dipping between my breasts to yank me closer.

“I met a woman at a club. She was brave and sexy, and yeah, I thought about how much fun we could have. But you? You’re a scared girl and you proved it again tonight. So dance all you want with that ‘gentleman’ of yours. I don’t want anything from you.”

Sawyer and I can’t be together.

He knows how futile this is, and yet, he’s here with me.

I fuck him up every bit as much as he does me, and right now, I need that twisted reciprocity.

But if I do this, everything changes.

School is about trying new things and finding out who I am. I don’t want to leave as the same girl who arrived.

The floor is dusty. I adjust my skirt before sinking to my knees.

“What are you doing?” Sawyer’s voice is raw.

The coarse fabric of my dress rubs my bare legs as I reach under his jacket. My fingers shake as I flick the button on his pants open and work the zipper down over his thick, rigid cock encased in black boxer briefs.

I tug the waistband down enough to wrap my hand around him, his shaft like steel and satin, and his jaw clenches.

“Cherry…”

He’s going to tell me to stop. But when issues a raw command, it’s not the one I expect.

“Open your mouth.”

It’s on.

Every second with this man is a challenge, a thrill, but instead of running away I want to squeeze my eyes shut and hold on tight.

He rubs his cock over my lips, the slick precum sticking to my skin. It’s beyond sexy, knowing he’s so turned on. That I’m the cause of it.

I shift forward, eager to wrap my lips around him, stretching to fit him in. The instant I succeed, he groans his approval.

He’s huge and silky on my tongue. My thighs squeeze at the thought of what I’m doing, what we’re doing.

“Relax.” He brushes my jaw, and I try. The moment my mouth opens wider, he slides deeper on a shaky inhale. “Fuck, yes. Now suck me.”

I suck until my cheeks hollow.

His shallow breathing is the best reward. His fingers twist in my hair, yanking hard enough my scalp hurts. “You’re so fucking sweet. I need more. Tell me I can have your mouth.”

I’m not sure what he means but he’s so reverent, I try to nod.

Sawyer takes the crown off my head and slips the edge under the top of my dress, rubbing the plastic across my swollen nipple. The lazy way he does it to get a response makes me shudder.

“He’s going to walk you to your door tonight. Try to kiss you, because he wants to win you back, but knows you’re not going to let him fuck you.”

I shift on my knees, trying to pull away but he fists his hand in my hair.

He pulls the crown out of my dress, tosses it down the hall.

“You’re going to feel me when he does.”

He drags my head back, slides further down my throat. My gag reflex kicks in and his eyes darken.

He won’t hurt me. I trust him.

When he starts to thrust, his grip is relentless, holding my neck and head while he fucks me. I try to relax my jaw, let him slide down my tongue.

If I wind up with strep throat, I’m demanding an extension on my class deadlines, Professor Redmond.

The thought makes me giggle. Which, in our current position, makes me choke.

He pulls out immediately. “What the…Are you laughing?”

I try to hide my grin. “No.”

Sawyer curses. “What am I going to do with you, Cherry?”

He sounds genuinely bewildered as he leans back against the wall, shoving a hand through his sweat-damp hair.

My gaze drops to the steel rod between us.

“Oh, don’t worry. We’re definitely doing that,” he promises. His husky voice is tinged with humor but the words are a warning.

I open my mouth obediently, and he slides back in. This time his fingers sift through my hair. He’s caressing me, not gripping me.

His strokes grow faster, shallower, and when I feel him tighten, I barely have time to inhale once before he’s coming down my throat.

I swallow the endless stream of him, transfixed by the way his head is thrown back, jaw clenched and eyes dark slits of awe and approval. I’m on my knees, yet it’s the biggest high I’ve ever felt.

Before I can recover, voices sound down the hall.

I shove off my knees and he helps me scramble to standing, moments before a group of drunk students stumbles around the rack of coats toward us. I turn my back toward them and hold my breath until they’re past.

I want so much more, but we can’t. It’s lucky we weren’t caught.

My stomach rumbles, catching us both by surprise.

“Did you eat dinner? Other than strawberries,” Sawyer demands, and I shake my head.

“We were too busy getting ready. Maybe I’ll grab a shrimp cocktail.”

He frowns. “Eat something. But not the shrimp. Daniel got food poisoning from them one year.”

I roll my eyes. “I don’t know where your Fall Ball committee got their seafood back in the day, but I assure you our suppliers are excellent.”

Sawyer adjusts his pants, tucking his shirt back in with a mocking expression. “Back in the day? It was ten years ago, not a generation.”

His exasperation makes me grin. “Any good memories of Fall Ball?”

“I stole a bunch of cutlery and superglued it to Lancaster’s fence.”

I laugh as I straighten his suit. His grin fades but his eyes stay warm.

“Ready to go back out there?”

“Mm-hmm. If Adam kisses me, I’ll tell him I have strep throat.”

Sawyer snorts. “Text me when you get home tonight.”

“It’s the weekend. You’re off duty, Professor.”

He catches me by my wrist, pressing the wound that’s stopped bleeding. “I mean it. Let me know you got home safe.”

12

OLIVIA

Liv: I’m home.

Unknown: Send me a photo.

I finish brushing my teeth, then open my mouth and take a picture of the inside and hit send.

Unknown: What the fuck is that?

Liv: I thought you meant to check that my throat wasn’t irreparably damaged.

Unknown: For that, you’ll text me every night this week.

I grin.

Madison, Royce, and I meet up in the design lab on Monday. Adam bailed citing basketball practice, but I’m relieved after Fall Ball.

“Have you seen the other projects that won in past years?” I hold out my phone. “They’re really advanced.”

“Right now ours is no better than an arm moving up and down,” Madison gripes from her spot on one of the stools.

“At least it’s not shattering chips anymore,” Royce points out from across the lab bench.

“We have less than a month to get this working to qualify our prototype. An arm is fine,” I continue, “but there are lots of double- or triple-jointed robots out there already.” After getting through Sawyer’s pile of research papers and our conversation the other night, I started reading more broadly. “What if we built something with better articulation? Something inspired by nature?”

Madison sits silent, her gaze fixed on the lab counter.

Royce leans over and snaps his fingers in front of her. “Hey. You there?”

She shifts back on her stool. “What’re you thinking…a tail?”

I lean in. “With more joints and more range of motion, it could perform more complex tasks.”

I’m getting swept up in the possibilities. I get what Sawyer was talking about at Fall Ball: the high that comes from creating a masterpiece that moves and responds and solves problems of its own.

“We’d need more budget for materials, and extra lab time but I can text—I mean email—Professor Redmond.”

Madison groans loudly and Royce looks between us.

“I’m gonna give you five.” He grabs his phone and heads for the door.

“Royce!” Madison shouts. “What the hell?”

He flashes a peace sign over his shoulder, then disappears.

Madison and I are alone.

“When the video from Velvet was posted, I thought you were in the right place at the right time to see it,” I say at last. “But I’m not sure that’s true.” Her reaction wasn’t so much surprised delight, but satisfaction. “You’re the one who posted it.”

She slaps her notebook loudly on the tabletop. “I’m not admitting to anything.”

She did it. I know she did.

I pace the room before turning back. “Why do you hate me?”

Madison flips both palms in the air. “I don’t hate you!” I wait her out. “You don’t even want to be here. For the first two years, you were like an extension of your boyfriend. Yet professors always notice you. Last year with Lancaster, I asked to be his research assistant. He said he wasn’t taking anyone on, but you were around him all the time. And it’s even worse with Redmond.”

Guilt edges into my righteousness. But there’s no reason for it to—it’s not like Sawyer gives me special treatment. Does he?

“Do you know how many women are in our year of engineering?” I ask.

“Twelve.”

“Out of sixty students,” I confirm. “You posting that video for everyone? It was deliberate and it hurt me.” Her gaze drops to the floor. “I don’t want to fight with you. But you’re making it damned hard not to.”

Liv: I need something, and you’re the only one who can give it to me.

Unknown: If you beg, I’ll think about it. Tell me what you want, Cherry.

Liv: Five more hours a week of DL for the next month.

Unknown: You want me to get you lab time?!?

Liv: Pretty please? I want it, Professor.

Liv: I need it so badly.

Liv: Only you can give it to me.

Unknown: You’re being ridiculous.

Liv: Is it working? ;)

Unknown: I checked the schedule and moved a few things around. I can get you three extra hours a week. But you better still be sleeping and eating.

“Bullseye,” Jules croons as the dart lands in the center of the board.

She high-fives Kat before dropping onto the stool across the table at our bar. “Bet you can’t match that.”

“I’ll take that bet,” I decide, grabbing the darts and setting up. “If I win, I get the rest of your six-pack of yogurt in the fridge.”

“Weird,” Kat comments.

“I haven’t had time to go grocery shopping this week.”

“Which is why we’re here,” Jules points out.

The week has flown by thanks to assignments, labs, and tying up loose ends from Fall Ball.

I’ve seen Sawyer in lectures, and once in his office with a string of students behind me in the open doorway waiting their turn.

After what went down between us, not being alone with him is brutal. Texting him every night reminds me he’s close, but he feels so far away.

Now that it’s Friday, my roommates dragged me out for dinner and drinks.

“Homecoming’s next weekend,” Jules reminds us and I groan.

“My parents are coming. We need to do the whole song and dance.”

“But Emma will be here, right?”

“Yeah, at least there’s that.”

We head home from the bar arm in arm.

When I trip in the door, tugging off my boots, my phone rings.

“Ignore it. We need to watch a movie,” Kat demands.

When I finish fighting with my boot and take in the number on the screen, I shiver with anticipation. “In a bit. Start without me.”

I’m breathless when I make it into my room.

“Hi, you,” I answer.

“Are you drunk?” Sawyer’s voice is surprised.

“A little. Just went out with my roommates.”

At the sound of the TV and my roommates laughing, I shut the door quietly behind me.

“And forgot to text me.”

“I didn’t forget.” The buzz from the alcohol is still going strong in my veins. “I wanted to put it off. I hate saying good night to you.”

“Tough. You earned it.”

“No, I mean…I like talking to you. But I want to talk to you all night.”

He’s quiet, and I wonder if I was too candid. “All right, let’s talk.”

I grab my earbud headphones off my nightstand, sticking them in. “Why did you leave New York this summer?”

“Do you always ask difficult questions when you’re inebriated?”

“It’s a normal question. Sue me for being curious about the guy I text every night.” I smile as I pad back toward the door, the carpet tickling my bare feet.

Even his sigh is delicious. “A disagreement with my co-founder. He went to great lengths to excise me from my own company.”

“How is that possible? Your name must have been on everything.”

“I gave it up.”

“But I thought you loved your work.”

“The work, yes. The people were disloyal and self-interested. Now, I hope this isn’t what you wanted to talk about, because we’re done this line of conversation.”

I want to press, but I sense he’ll shut down if I do. And more than anything, I want to keep talking to him.

“I’m glad you came to Russell to cover your dad’s classes.” I peer at the trees outside my window. “You told me that night outside your car that you didn’t regret meeting me. I don’t regret meeting you, either.”

The next sigh is even better. “I wish we’d met under different circumstances. You are the last person I should be spending time with.”

“Because you’re my professor.”

Sawyer doesn’t answer, and for a moment I wonder if there’s more to it than that.

Which is nuts, because that’s more than enough of a problem already.

“Come on,” I tease, “messy hall blowjobs at university-sanctioned events aren’t your thing?”

His soft chuckle is my reward. “They are utterly my thing.”

“Knew it.” My smile fades. “But if we were caught, you could lose your teaching job.” I think of the money he’s vowed to commit to foster kids.

“It’s bigger than that, Olivia.”

I straighten. “Bigger how?”

His soft curse sounds louder in the earbud headphones. “Forget it. I’m tired.”

I slip out of my room, going to the kitchen for a glass of water. Kat and Jules gesture from the living room and I hold up a finger.

“You’re working too much,” I say, as quiet as I can to keep from being overheard. “Going through your dad’s things, plus lecturing, plus working on whatever projects you’re planning—”

“What I need is for a certain girl to take better care of herself, and text me earlier in the evening so I’m not up worrying about her ass.”

His tone changes, but I’m wound so tight and he’s unquestionably the reason for it. I want to know him, but I also just want him, and it’s impossible to disentangle the two.

“Because after you text me, you go right to sleep,” I taunt.

I return to my room with the glass of water, chugging half of it on the way. Then kick the door shut with my foot.

“Did you take my underwear to punish me? Or so you could rub yourself and think of me? Because if it’s the second, you should’ve given me a heads-up. I would’ve worn something softer. Lace, maybe.”

“You’re not as innocent as you pretend to be, Cherry. You look like a flower, but you go off like a bomb.”

I laugh under my breath, but the idea of Sawyer using my panties to jerk off is obscenely sexy.

“Are you lying down?” he asks.

“No. I’m leaning against my door, ready to spring into action.”

“What kind of action? It’s late and you’re drunk.”

“All kinds of action. You underestimate me.”

“I’m the only person who doesn’t.” The words send a ripple of pleasure through me.

I shift back, my heart thudding as I stare up at the ceiling. My skin tingles, and my fingers drift across my stomach under my T-shirt, up across my breasts. “I wish you were here.”

“Fuck, so do I. Only then, you’d get no sleep at all.”

“I probably won’t sleep tonight anyway,” I murmur. “Thinking about you, talking to you… it does something to me.”

“Cherry.” His voice is heavy and full.

“Yeah.”

“Pull down your panties. Tell me once you’ve done it.”

It’s as if he said the words against my throat, low enough I could feel them in my breasts, my fingertips. Anticipation shimmers across my skin, dances in the air.

“Okay,” I whisper, working the fabric down over my hips.

“Good. Now spread your thighs.”

I push my thong the rest of the way down, kicking it off my ankle so I can widen my knees. Cool air tickles my skin and my heart races.

“Lick your finger, then rub yourself bare.”

I swallow hard. Sawyer’s in my ears, in my head, telling me to touch myself.

This can’t be real.

But until some alarm blares to jerk me out of my fantasy-driven dream, I’m going along with it.

I slide my hand down my stomach, my thighs already trembling before my fingers find my slick skin.

“Ohh.” The world goes dark as my eyelids shut. “That feels good.”

His laugh is wicked. “I bet you’re slick.”

“Don’t think it has anything to do with you,” I say, breathless. “I watched some very titillating Jeopardy earlier.”

“Intellectual older men are your type?”

“I don’t believe in types. Do you? It means you don’t see a person for who they are.”

“Keep going, Cherry Bomb.”

I bite my cheek against the moan as the contact sends pleasure radiating through me. My knees shake. “I need to lie down.”

“No. You need to come.”

I swallow. It’s hot, what he’s suggesting, but… “I don’t think I can.”

“I felt you come on my fingers in the middle of the street against my car,” he reminds me, his voice warming. “If you need an audience—”

“That’s not it.”

“Do you have a vibrator?”

My heart skips, a flush crawling up my cheeks. “Yes.”

“Get it.”

I reach for my nightstand and pull out a slim vibe that’s my go-to, then return to the door, my reflection in the mirror barely registering.

An eager woman wearing a tank top and nothing else.

“Now slip it inside.”

Under his command, I do just that.

I feel my body make room for the toy. My breath trembles out as I clench around it.

“Now turn it on,” he says.

“My roommates are outside.”

“Do it, Olivia.”

My fingers turn the dial on the end, and the low vibration sends me to another level.

A wave of heat rolls through me and I arch my back, my shoulders digging into the wood.

It’s Sawyer inside me, making me feel this way. Hungry, desperate, aching, wanting...

“Tell me how good it is.”

My free hand skims up my body, rubbing my breast. “So good.”

I’m getting close.

“I need you to remember something,” he murmurs.

“What’s that?”

“This is nothing like how it’ll be when I fuck you.”

Every part of me goes tight—my stomach, my thighs, my chest, my toes.

“OhmyGod.” Pleasure radiates from my core, a violent wave that grips me. I squeeze hard around the toy, twisting and writhing as my release tears through me, wave after wave.

I take out the toy and slide down the door, boneless, until my ass hits the carpet.

My head drops back against the wood panel. My heart hammers in my ears, gradually slowing along with the sounds of his breathing.

“Olivia. Think you can sleep now?”

I blow the hair out of my face. “I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to sleep again.”

His tight chuckle makes me smile as I hold up the sex toy and remember taking him in my mouth at Fall Ball.

He’s definitely bigger than this.

Like, a lot.

“You really want to fuck me?” I blurt.

“More than anything.”

I’ve never had someone want me with that kind of intensity. With Adam or other guys in school, I’ve always felt interchangeable. With Sawyer, it’s as if he sees straight to the heart of me. Like any other girl would be insufficient.

“But,” he goes on, “I need you ready first.”

What does that mean?

He speaks before I can ask.

“We’re doing my father’s service on Saturday.”

I scramble up to sitting. “Homecoming weekend.”

“That’s when his colleagues could fly in.”

My parents will be here, too, for the pep rally and the game the next day. It’s the worst possible time, but I’m not letting Lancaster or Sawyer down.

“I’ll be there.”

13

SAWYER

“Thanks for the help,” I say as Daniel arrives with a truck full of two-by-fours. The realtor suggested shoring up the flower beds in the front, and when my friend saw me outside measuring, he insisted on being part of it.

“No problem. Though given how you fell through the porch, I’m pretty sure this place has bigger issues than the landscaping before you sell it. You get in touch with any of the contractors I sent you?”

“Yeah, but I think I’m going to do the outside myself.”

He shrugs. “Your call.”

As Daniel and I set to work digging a trench around the flower bed, it’s hard to explain why I don’t want to contract all the work out.

Maybe because this place is my problem and I’m going to deal with it.

“You all set for the service?” he asks after we’ve edged the border and cut wood to fit.

“I pulled out some of his old pictures.” Trying to find stuff for the funeral made me appreciate how much shit he had. Books, papers, mechanical components, and computer chips.

His lawyer contacted me about the will, saying the majority of his assets were left to me but a few things weren’t.

I didn’t ask the details, because I didn’t want to know.

I nod to the fence, and one spot that still has the outline of a fork in the paint. “You remember when we did that?”

“Fuck yeah. Hope Fall Ball’s got new cutlery.”

“They seem to. I went last week.”

Daniel wipes the sweat from his forehead with the back of his arm. “Sounds like a terrible way to spend a Friday evening.”

“My realtor wanted to meet up over dinner to talk. I told her I had another commitment. She invited herself along.”

I start toward the pile of cut wood.

“So the thing with Olivia,” Daniel calls. “That’s over?”

A strangled sound, half laugh and half groan, rips from my throat. “It’s not over.”

Ever since Olivia Barclay sucked me off in the hallway on her knees, I haven’t been able to think of anything else.

It was unexpected. I was pissed at her, at that kid Adam who goes through life like he deserves everything.

I shouldn’t have told her to text me every night, but I wanted to hear her voice. Or at least her words.

When she called me last night, the temptation was too much to resist.

I didn’t tell her I was stroking myself too, that her sounds as she came gave me enough material to fuck my hand to for days. Weeks.

She’s innocent and seductive at the same time. I want to bury myself inside her, to watch every thought of perfection drift away when she realizes…

Messy is better than perfect.

Feeling is better than numbness.

The line between control and anarchy isn’t just blurry...straddling it is the only way to live.

I told myself I wanted to break her down, but I also want to build her up. I want to watch her succeed, want her to see she’s stronger than she knows.

“She’s a bad idea,” Daniel says as I return, laying two pieces of wood at a ninety degree angle in the trench we built.

“No one’s going to get hurt.” I hold out a hand for the hammer, and he passes it to me.

“Like no one got hurt in New York?”

The first swing, I hit my thumb as well as the nail and suck in a breath. “That was different.”

“If you say so.” Something light hits me in the back of the head, and I whip around to see Daniel holding a handful of soil and wearing a grin. I shake my head, but it’s impossible to stay mad.

“Save some for the garden, yeah?”

We return to work, securing the frame in place. After years in New York, it feels good to work with my hands instead of only my head.

“It must be a weight off your mind to have this done on the weekend,” he says when we’re ready to add topsoil.

“Was it after your wife’s funeral?”

“Yes and no. Andy’s grandparents made things even more difficult. We got through it but I’m not sure we would have without you.” Daniel rips open a bag and dumps it into the bed. “The way you intervened? It could have gone a lot worse. They wanted to take my kid from me, Sawyer.”

It’s impossible to hide the anguish in his voice.

I rock back on my heels. “I wasn’t gonna watch that happen. There’s no better dad in the world for Andy than you.”

Daniel’s face relaxes into a smile. “I hope you find someone you love like I loved her.”

I shake my head. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but no thanks. I watched what you went through. I don’t need that.”

“How old were you when your mom died? Seven?”

“Six.” The tightening in my chest catches me by surprise.

His eyes search mine, unreadable for once. “It’s okay to be sick of losing people, Sawyer. Doesn’t make you weak. Makes you human.”

14

OLIVIA

“Where are you going dressed like that?” Kat asks from the kitchen.

“Lancaster’s funeral.” I check my makeup in the mirror by the front door and smooth a hand over my sleek, low ponytail.

“Shit, I forgot. So you’re going to go to that instead of the basketball game?”

“I’ll go to both.”

My mom called to say they’d be here mid-afternoon ahead of the exhibition game.

I settled on the black short-sleeved dress with a high collar since I won’t have time to change between the service and meeting my parents for dinner before the game.

Kat appears behind me in the mirror, wrapping her arms around my shoulders.

“Ahhh!” I screech. “Don’t touch me with those.”

She holds her hands—still wet with bits of clay from her latest project—away from my body. “I’m spending my Saturday morning making decorative, artisanal sex toys for my roommates and this is the thanks I get?”

I eye the water dripping from her fingers to the carpet. “I’m an ungrateful friend. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. Jules said she’s spending the weekend with She Who Will Not Be Named,” Kat reminds me. “And I’m going home until tomorrow night. You going to be okay here alone?”

“Of course.” The smile is in place before I’m sure I mean it, but my roommate seems satisfied.

I reach for my shoes. Having painted my toes a deep cabernet last night on a whim, the closed-toed pumps are a safer choice than the black-heeled sandals.

But the moody red matches my emotions today, so I choose the sandals.

The church parking lot is already full when I arrive. The truth that he was so well known and respected hits me.

Lancaster was a big deal in the academic world.

Kat asked me if I was going to be okay this weekend. But I’m not worried about me, I’m worried about the man who lost a father, after a lifetime of loss.

Inside, the pews are beginning to fill. I stand on my toes to search the crowd, there’s no familiar dark head of messy hair. I need to see him. To make sure he’s okay.

I find Sawyer pacing in the back room, his elegant suit at odds with his restlessness.

“Hi. You nervous?” I ask.

He turns, giving me a full view of his tailored suit, the jacket unbuttoned. When he spots me, his dark expression softens. “What are you doing here?”

“I told you I would be.”

“I mean back here.” He glances around the room.

This is a place for family. I’m not Lancaster’s family. And as for what I am to the man in front of me…I have even less right to be here.

Instead of leaving, I square my shoulders and cross to him.

I brush a piece of lint off the lapel of his jacket. He flinches but doesn’t move.

My fingers smooth down the front, slow and steady, and I tug the front closed, fastening the single button.

“Do you know what you’re going to say?”

He nods to his chest, and I reach inside and pull out a sheet of notepaper with every inch filled, half of the words scribbled out with angry lines.

It’s the closest I’ve come to knowing Sawyer’s pain. He doesn’t talk about it, but I feel it coming off the page in waves.

“Albert Lancaster was a monster,” he says quietly. “He didn’t give a shit about the people he was supposed to love.”

“You’re going to lead with that? Sounds like a real crowdpleaser.”

Sawyer shoots me a chastising look. “A person can be an asshole their entire life, but when they die, they become a saint. You’re not supposed to call them on their shit anymore. It’s finally my chance to do it.”

He turns away to pace the narrow room.

Sawyer might be impulsive and reckless, but he’s not going to rip his heart open in front of all those people…is he?

He stops to rest his palms and head against the wall on the far side.

If someone came back, it would be odd to find the son of the man being celebrated today with one of his students.

Odd, but not wrong.

But when he bangs his head against the wallpaper, once, then again, and again, I can’t stay still.

I cross to him and wrap my arms around him from behind. He stiffens under my touch, his body warm and hard.

“I’ll stand by you if you want to tell that room the man he was to you.” His jacket is rough against my lips as I speak. “But don’t do it for them. Do it for you.”

His rasping breath is painful to hear, and I hold him tighter as if I can fix this, can fix him.

“There were good moments,” he murmurs at last. “When I figured out something he’d been trying to teach me for ages. When he let me help him on a new project. The fucked-up part is I remember them all, because they were so few and far between. It’s not fair.”

“No, but maybe we’re built to remember the good times, even if they don’t happen as much as we want. It’s not a bug in our human code, it’s a feature.” Memories float to the surface of my mind. “I went to see him for the first time because I planned to drop engineering, starting with his class, and I wanted a signature. He asked me why I was leaving. I said I felt awkward around my classmates, geniuses like Royce and legacies like Adam. Even the girls didn’t want to team up with me because they thought I was a liability.”

Sawyer searches my face but doesn’t say anything. I continue.

“Lancaster told me I didn’t need anyone’s permission to drop out, but I also didn’t need permission to stay. That if I was waiting for another person to approve, I’d be waiting a long time.” My lips curve at the corners. “If it wasn’t for him, I would’ve dropped out.”

“You’re saying he was a better person than I give him credit for.”

“We’re all better and worse than anyone gives us credit for.”

He grabs the back of my neck and leans in, his forehead pressing against mine.

I can’t tell if it’s a minute or an hour before a voice in the hall calls, “Sawyer?”

We spring apart.

“Are you ready?” the minister asks, appearing in the doorway.

Sawyer nods and I head down the hall and take a seat in one of the middle pews.

The minister says a few words before Sawyer takes his position at the front.

“I’ve been trying to put into words what Albert Lancaster was. Which is difficult because words were never currency in his house. If I had to choose ones I’d say he was extraordinary. Unexpected. Iconoclastic.”

Gradually, my body relaxes as Sawyer runs through his father’s achievements, ending on a story about what a genius the man was. How he believed in a better world than the one we existed in.

Even if he couldn’t bring his son along for the ride.

Why didn’t you? I want to ask Lancaster. Because the son in question is amazing. Raw, passionate, beautiful.

“You knew him well?” A man in the pew next to me leans over to whisper.

I nod slowly. “I think I did.”

Now, all he’s left behind are his work, and the man at the front.

I stare at the dark red toes peeking out from my sandals.

Sawyer wants me to experience the world. So did Lancaster. They went about it in different ways, Lancaster through patience and quiet belief, Sawyer through provocation.

After, Sawyer’s swept up with other people, but when I get a reminder notification on my phone of a dinner reservation, I spot a text.

Unknown: Thank you.

Two simple words, freely given. My heart expands.

Liv: You were amazing. I’m going to meet my family for dinner before the basketball game.

When I shift into my car, I add one more.

Liv: Text me tonight.

“Too bad Adam couldn’t join us for dinner,” Mom says at halftime from our seats in the second row.

“He had to get ready with the team.”

I’m only half watching, still thinking of Sawyer. Emma’s next to me on her phone, Mom and Dad on my opposite side.

“He’s very talented,” my father says, nodding toward the bench.

“Would you say anything if he wasn’t?” I tease.

“I don’t need to hear this from you, Olivia. I’ve dealt with enough bullshit these past two weeks—”

“I was joking.” They still think I’m with Adam. It helps that we’ve barely seen him, though he seems content enough to hold up the charade for now.

I re-cross my legs, and my mother stares at my toenails and black outfit.

“Please tell me you’re not about to hit some gothic phase. This look is too austere.”

“I was at a funeral,” I remind her. Then turning to my dad, I say, “since you’re here, I thought we could discuss my tuition for next semester.”

“Olivia!” he hisses. “Not now. I want to have a nice evening with my family.”

Impatience eats at my insides.

Earlier at dinner, he was approached by a stream of former classmates and faculty in town for homecoming, too.

He acted like he always had, but as they talked about real estate and markets and trips and policy, he seemed agitated.

My phone buzzes.

Unknown: I’m at the game. Where are you?

The hairs on my arms lift in awareness.

When I look up, my gaze locks with Sawyer’s. He’s at the end of the row, and heading this way.

It’s one thing for my home life and what I’m experiencing with my professor to clash in my head. Having them clash in reality isn’t only confusing, it’s dangerous.

He stops in front of us. He’s changed since the funeral, now wearing dark jeans and a white shirt rolled up to his elbows and open at the collar.

“Professor Redmond. Mom and Dad, this is my engineering professor. Adam’s and mine,” I amend.

They shake hands, my mother looking like she can’t decide whether to stare at Sawyer’s muscled forearms or turn her nose up at his casual clothes.

Emma nudges me. Your professor? OMG, she mouths.

“Mr. and Mrs. Barclay. You must be proud of Olivia. She’s one of the most hardworking students in my class.” I turn to stare at Sawyer, warmth spreading over me as he continues. “Her team’s submission has a legitimate chance at regionals at the end of the month.”

A bewildered look crosses between my parents. “Her what?”

“This must be Adam’s project,” Mom decides. “Olivia, I didn’t realize you were participating.”

Sawyer frowns, looking between us.

Let it go.

I’ll tell my parents, but not until I can get tuition for next semester. They’ll say I need to find the right partner, Adam or someone like him, and the Stars project is only a distraction.

Because there’s no way I could secure the kind of future they want for me, expect for me, myself.

“Could I have a word?” My professor’s gaze is firmly on me. I follow him around behind the bleachers.

He pins me to them, his breath hot on my face. “Care to fill me in?”

“They don’t know about Stars. Engineering was never a major they wanted for me, it was one they permitted because it was a way to stay close to Adam.” He blinks, incredulous. “I play along because I have to, not because I want to. You wouldn’t understand.”

“Try me.”

I lift my chin. “I’m doing this for my sister.”

“So she can learn that the way to get ahead is by bending to other people?”

“No! I want her to be free. Who do you think pays for my school? My life? And Emma’s, too? And if that wasn’t enough, my dad’s company is having problems. I don’t know how bad they are, but it’s worse than they’re letting on. If I don’t keep up appearances…I could lose everything.”

Sawyer’s chest rises and falls, agitated. “But you’ve already lost. If you try to appease them, you lose yourself. You want to be a big girl? That doesn’t come from dancing on a pole or blowing your professor in a dark hallway.”

I wrench out of his grip. “Easy for you to say! You can go wherever you want and say whatever you want, because you aren’t responsible for anyone else. You’re an island.”

I turn away, still fuming.

When I return to my parents, my father is chatting with another couple. “Olivia, I have some former classmates for you to meet.”

“It’s so kind of you to come all this way with your family to support your boyfriend this weekend,” the woman says warmly, nodding to the bench where Adam sits in a huddle with his teammates.

I look between them and my parents. “I go to Russell. This is my school, too.” My toes clench in my shoes. “And it’s not Adam’s engineering team,” I say to my parents. “It’s mine. I’m the team lead, and it’s a prestigious competition.”

I grab my things and bolt for the doors right as the game resumes.

15

OLIVIA

“Where do you think you’re going?” a familiar voice rasps in the dark when I reach the sidewalk outside.

“Home.”

My heels click on the concrete path as I stalk away from the athletic center. Sawyer follows a few paces behind.

“Maybe I don’t know your life,” he calls. “But I saw you with them tonight, saw the way you looked as if all you wanted was to get out of there…I wanted to take care of you.”

His rough voice is at odds with the gentleness of his words.

My chest tightens. “I appreciate the sentiment. But like I told you, I’m going back to my dorm. You can’t come. Even if…”

“If what?”

If I wanted you to.

Even with Kat and Jules gone for the weekend, it’s too risky for a faculty member to be seen near my dorm room.

When we get near the doors of my building, I tense up. There are half a dozen students in the foyer, plus more with parents strolling outside. Some are taking pictures in front of the elm trees that ring the building.

It’s dark out here, but inside, the lights are bright.

“Which one’s you?” Sawyer asks under his breath.

I peer around the side of the building, nodding to the second-floor balcony. “Third one from the end. That’s our living room.”

He looks around, his gaze landing on the trees outside. “Meet you up there.”

“What? How?”

But he tosses me a grin and makes me go inside.

I run up the stairs and burst into the apartment, dragging open the patio door.

“Oh my God. You’re insane! Did anyone see you?”

He’s already hauling himself over the wall of our balcony, grunting with exertion.

“Nope. It’s dark, and I’ve done this before. It’s been a few years,” he admits at my incredulous look. “Come on. Did you eat dinner with your parents?”

“Kind of.” I mostly pushed the food around my plate.

“I’ll make you my specialty.”

He follows me inside and searches through our cupboards. “How are you alive?”

“Knowledge sustains me.”

I love having him in my space. He’s big and male and surreal, and I soak in the sight of him moving around our kitchen like a pirate, his long hair tousled and the white shirt untucked on one side from climbing the tree.

“You’ve been alive, what, three decades and this is your specialty?” I ask when he pushes a PB&J sandwich and a glass full of ice water over.

“No. But it’s the best I could do under the circumstances.”

I reach for the sandwich but he holds out a hand to stop me.

“Wait.”

He grabs the knife and cuts off the crusts. My heart does a little flip.

“I can’t believe you just did that.”

“Looked like you needed it.”

How does he see me? And want to take care of me?

I take a bite, chewing while he watches as if I might spit it out.

“That’s good.”

“You bet your ass it is.” He grins and turns to set the knife in the sink, but freezes.

“What’s wrong?”

Sawyer reaches for something in the sink, turning and holding up the enormous clay “sculpture” Kat made earlier.

“Is this…”

I choke on the sandwich, coughing until it’s gone down the right way. Then I grin. “Is this what?”

“When you called me that night, is this the toy you used?”

I die.

I’m face-first on the counter, my shoulders shaking with laughter.

“It’s Kat’s,” I say when I can breathe again, wiping the tears from my eyes. “She calls them her art. She says it’s functional but given the dimensions, my guess is it’s more…decorative.”

“I see.” He sets the thing on the counter as if it might leap up and bite him.

“Are you intimidated?”

“No.”

“Really?”

He leans in and brushes the corner of my mouth, finding a bit of peanut butter. Then sucks it off his finger in a way that makes my stomach flutter. “Not even a little. What else did you want to do tonight?”

God, there are so many ways I’d like to spend an evening with him.

“One thing springs to mind.”

An hour later we’re sitting across from one another. Sawyer drums his fingers on the table before sneaking a brick out of the tower.

“It’s going to fall.”

“It is not.”

The bricks wobble, and I suck in a delighted breath.

But he slides the brick out and the tower remains upright.

“Hah!” he exclaims. “Your move.”

I screw up my face and start poking at wooden pieces to see if any are free.

They’re all gone.

I reach for one on a side that’s more securely anchored. Then close my eyes and slide it carefully…

The tower stays standing.

“Voodoo magic,” he declares.

“Physics,” I correct, solemn. “The best of all the sciences.”

His lips twitch. “Your sister is lucky to have you.”

“Sometimes I’m not sure.” The change of subject makes me lean back on my hands.

“I would’ve killed for an older brother or sister. I might’ve turned out better if I had one.”

My gaze drags over his body, lingering on his face. “You turned out fine to me,” I say softly.

He smiles. “She looks a lot like you.”

“One of Adam’s friends called her Olivia The Second when she started at our high school, promising he’d to get in her pants by winter break. I told him if he touched her I’d cut off his balls with a nail file.” I arch a brow. “So don’t get any ideas.”

He grabs the table, hard enough the tower comes crashing down. “I’m not a cradle robber.”

Can nobody take a joke tonight?

He takes our glasses to the kitchen while I collect the JENGA pieces, one at a time.

“I just…don’t want you thinking this is something I do,” he says at last.

“This? Playing JENGA with younger women?”

“Exactly.” There’s a hint of teasing in his voice, but underneath, he’s serious.

When he returns, I stand, folding my arms. “Right. And why would I think that?”

His gaze searches mine. “Because I’m used to people thinking the worst of me.”

The low confession is startlingly raw. To the world, he’s capable, even arrogant, flaunting the rules at every turn.

But he has reasons to be that way. Every scar he carries was a gaping wound he tended, healed until it was almost invisible.

I want to kiss him so badly.

Sawyer steps closer, tugging out my ponytail and pushing his fingers through my hair. It feels so good, and I barely resist the urge to moan.

He twists a strand around his finger. “You always had it long?”

“Since I was six. I was so proud I grew it past my shoulders. My mom sent me to school with it in braids, but I took it out because I liked the feel of it down. Then a boy at school came up behind me and stuck gum in the ends. When my mother found out, she said it was my fault and cut it all off.”

“The gum.”

I shake my head. “My hair. She used kitchen scissors, she was so mad. Had to call a stylist to come to our house and try to turn it into a bob after, but it was barely long enough for that. But”—I suck in a breath—“we all have our shit, right? Better she take it out on me than on Emma.”

I lift my gaze to find Sawyer watching me. “She has a problem with a single hair on your head ever again, you send her to me.”

Warmth spreads through my chest at his fierce protectiveness. I don’t know what I did to earn it, but I don’t ever want to lose it.

He does a double take at the tidy rows of blocks on the table. “You even store your JENGA set perfectly. You are a nerd.”

He grabs me, tossing me over his shoulder.

I gasp, grabbing onto his waist for balance. “You’re the one with post-grad degrees.”

He drops me on the couch, and I bounce, breathless. He shifts over me, holding himself up on his elbows.

He’s fun, this version of my professor. I didn’t expect the playfulness, but damn, it’s addictive.

“Did you ever play games with your dad?” I ask. Not an epic conversational segue, but it’s all I can come up with given how close he is.

“He kept a Go set in his office at home.” Sawyer tucks a piece of hair behind my ear. “I hated it, he was better than me.”

“Better than me, too. There’s a set in his office at the department,” I remind him, thinking of the thousands-year-old strategy game displayed on the shelf behind Lancaster’s desk.

He cocks his head. “You played him?”

“Once or twice.” I reach up to touch his face, afraid of breaking this spell between us. “You want to talk about what happened today?”

He’s warm under my hand, and when my thumb brushes up his jaw, he shudders. “No.”

He reaches for me, grabbing my face between his palms.

Sawyer kisses me with hunger. His firm lips rub across mine, coaxing mine apart.

He’s hard and commanding. A brick wall with an agenda.

When his tongue sneaks inside my mouth, I arch against him. Need streaks through my body, starting at the places we’re touching and echoing deep in my stomach, my breasts, between my thighs.

But the connection between us is more than that. It’s the understanding, the feeling of being trapped expecting more from someone we trusted but knowing we can’t complain.

His touch moves downward, squeezing my breasts, smoothing over my waist. I feel him dig his fingers, straining my panties tight across my skin through the dress.

I start to reach for them when he pulls back an inch.

“Leave them on.”

He stands and lifts me in his arms, backing me toward a doorway.

I blink my eyes open. “Not my room.”

Laughing, he steers us toward one of the other two, slamming the door behind us with a finality that vibrates through me.

Sawyer doesn’t look around, as if the world doesn’t matter.

He sets me on the edge of my desk, shoving back the chair.

“You didn’t want me to leave them on in your office,” I pant.

“My father’s office.”

“It’s yours now.”

My hands find his shirt, unbuttoning all the way down without tearing my mouth from his.

“You’re mine now.”

He lets me off the desk long enough to unzip my dress and tug it over my head. When it’s on the floor, he takes me in, gaze ravenous.

I’ve never felt as good as when Sawyer looks at me.

“The other night on the phone…that was unreal.”

He shoves down the cup of my black bra and drops his head to my hardened nipple, sucking.

My fingers twist in his hair, tugging him closer. “I wish you could’ve gotten off too.”

“I did.”

He rubs his fingers against me through my panties. I’m already beyond wet.

“I haven’t been able to stop thinking about it,” I admit, the words spilling out now.

“What do you think about?”

Every breath is a futile attempt to get enough oxygen to my lungs. I’m overwhelmed by him, by the way he wants me. I’ve never known there was a desire this strong.

“Your face between my thighs.”

I suck at asking for what I want, especially when it’s something I’ve been told I shouldn’t ask for. But with him, it feels easy. Natural.

“I think about that, too. Especially since it’s not something you’ve had much experience with.” His eyes darken.

I hope he doesn’t think I’m entirely naïve.

“Do you trust me, Cherry Bomb?”

“Yes.”

When he pulls my thong to the side, I can’t think anymore.

Sawyer shifts down my body. I’m not scared, only excited.

I want to like this, but I want him to like it, too. Is that even possible?

“So fucking gorgeous.” He presses my thighs further apart, as if admiring one of the paintings hanging in my parents’ living room.

A flush crawls up my cheeks. I try to close my legs an inch, but he holds them wide.

I’m completely exposed and vulnerable. When he tugs my hips forward, my hands brace behind me for balance.

His gaze flicks up to meet mine for a heartbeat, and the heat and intensity in it shakes me to the core.

He lifts two fingers to my lips. The light pressure coaxes me to open and I take both in my mouth. The sudden invasion is strange, but I like having him in me this way. My tongue sneaks forward on instinct, wrapping around him, exploring him.

When he pulls his hand back, there’s a little pop from me trying to keep him inside.

“Good girl. Not that we’re going to need it,” he murmurs as he lowers his hand.

I swallow. There’s suddenly way too much saliva in my mouth.

He strokes me where I’m aching, two wet fingers touching me at once, and the world explodes.

He feels so good. Everything feels so good when he’s stroking me, rubbing little circles that make my core tingle and my fingers dig into his neck.

He shifts closer, his warm breath landing where I’m bare and making me tremble.

Yes.

Yes, please.

I need…

His tongue brushes me, sweeping a long path up that ends with a stroke over my clit.

But then he pulls back.

“Tell me how you like it.” His breath is hot against my skin, his gaze hungry as he looks up at me through dark lashes.

“What?”

“You’ve had enough people telling you what you want tonight. So tell me what feels good. Talk to me.”

The throbbing need in my core turns into a full-body ache.

I want you, looking at me exactly like this. Forever.

The numbers on my bedside clock change, the soft glow from the table lamp familiar.

There’s no hurry.

Only the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen, on his knees in front of me.

“I want your mouth on me. I want to feel your tongue so deep, it’s like I’m burning up from the inside out.”

Sawyer’s jaw clenches as if he’s never heard anything sexier in his life.

My grip finds his hair and guides him back between my thighs. This time, I’m ready. At least, I think I am, until his tongue does that sweeping thing again.

“Yeah,” I sigh. “Right there…”

This time the pleasure comes in a wave, a long, endless swell. The edge comes after, quieter but every bit as insistent.

I fall back, my head touching the wall.

Fuck, his mouth.

His smug, beautiful, sweet, filthy mouth.

There’s a fire starting in my core.

I arch against his tongue.

“Sawyer.”

My moan rips through the stillness of the room, and he stiffens. As if me using his given name is a reminder of how fucking wrong this is.

“Say it again.” His mouth vibrates against me, and all the tension releases in a wave.

“Sawyer. Dammit, Sawyer—”

I’m coming.

My fingers twist in his hair, yanking as if I can control him or me or this.

But I’m so lost and for once, I don’t even care.

Because even though I’m out of control, one reverberation of pleasure crashing into the next, I don’t feel lost. I feel found.

When I recover enough to sit up, he shoots me a dark grin. Then he lifts me and sets me on the center of the bed.

“Like your toes,” he says, grabbing for one.

I grin as I twist away. “Thanks.”

I reach back to unfasten my bra, still awkwardly underneath my breasts, and toss it off the side of the bed.

Sawyer groans. “You just keep getting better.”

“That’s all it takes to bring the great Sawyer Redmond to his knees? Tits?”

“If they’re yours, yes.”

He shifts over me, taking my breasts in his rough palms. His mouth descends, nibbling and licking and sucking every inch of me until I’m writhing on the bed.

I can feel his hardness against my leg, the impossible length and girth of him.

Not so different from Kat’s “art” in dimensions, in fact. But it’s attached to a living, breathing man who turns me inside out.

“You’re stunning, Olivia,” he murmurs in my ear. “I need all of you.”

Sawyer rears back and reaches for his belt, unfastening it with steady hands. Then the button on his pants and the zipper.

Without breaking my gaze, he stands next to the bed and drags his pants off.

His erection stretches the cotton of his boxer briefs, and my pulse thuds in my back.

In my peripheral vision, a photoboard on my bedside table has me closing my eyes.

I’ve only slept with one other person. Even though I want this, so badly, it feels as if so much has changed in such a short time.

“Can we…I need a minute.”

His face slackens in confusion. “Yeah.”

I drop back onto my bed, aroused and embarrassed at once. “I’m sorry. I—”

“Don’t apologize. I have no expectations.”

The bed sinks next to me, and I blink my eyes open to see him lying on his side, concerned.

I run a finger along his collarbone. “What’s this dent?”

“Broke it as a kid. Fell off the roof.”

“You’re joking.”

A head shake. “Hurt like hell.”

“You could’ve come up with a good story.” I play with his hair. “Motocross. Threesome gone wrong.”

He shifts over me, setting an elbow on either side of my head. “I don’t want to make things up. Not with you.”

I can’t feel the wrongness of this moment anymore. All I feel is right here with him, so fucking right. “I’m ready.”

But when I reach for the fabric of his underwear, he shifts away, pulling me down the bed and spreading my thighs.

“What are you doing?”

“Making you come again.”

“We’re not going to…?”

“We have a lot of missed pleasure to make up for. Besides, if you’re screaming my name, I don’t much care how we’re doing it.”

This time, it’s even hotter, because I’m more relaxed.

My hands grab his hair, his back, his ass. I touch him anywhere I want and he finger fucks me with utter entitlement.

“Tell me when you’re going to come.”

“Soon.”

“How soon?”

I groan, sink my teeth into his neck. “Fucking soon, asshole.”

He laughs and three pumps later, I’m clenching around him, pleasure ripping through me.

“It’s Professor Redmond,” he says, swatting my ass lightly when I recover.

“But I like calling you Sawyer.”

His expression is conflicted. “I like hearing it.”

But only here, he might as well say.

This isn’t the real world, it’s a fantasy.

For now, I’ll enjoy it.

This time when his touch returns, it’s a slow stroke that makes me curl up off the bed. But he holds me down with an arm over my stomach.

I do come again, and it’s not an explosion, it’s a slip. My center of gravity being yanked out from under me, a breathless tumble down, down, down.

Nothing feels as right as coming apart in his arms.

When I blink my heavy eyes open, Sawyer’s pulling on his pants. I scramble up to sitting.

“Where are you going?”

“I can’t stay the night.” His hands still on the button of his jeans. “Olivia…”

My throat tightens, because shit. I don’t want him to leave.

But of course he can’t stay. It’s a student dorm. It was reckless enough to come here in the dark, but walking out Sunday morning…he might as well carry a flashing sign saying, “I’m fucking a student, ask me how.”

“Please.” The word surprises us both. “I can sneak you out. Hell, you can stay all day. We’ll lie in bed and eat peanut butter sandwiches, and…”

He shoves his hair out of his face to meet my eyes. Whatever he sees there has his shoulders caving.

He jerks his head and I shift back to make room. Then, jeans still on, he crawls under the covers and tugs me back against his chest.

As I fall asleep in his arms, I think this might be even better than the sex.

16

OLIVIA

I wake up to empty sheets that smell like Sawyer.

The light streaming in around the curtains says it’s morning, but all I can think about is being wrapped in strong arms all night long.

Did he leave without saying goodbye? Disappointment has my heart sinking until I glance over to the nightstand and see his watch.

My lips curve.

He’s still here.

The sound of a door slamming followed by female laughter drifts through the apartment.

What the…

I slide out of bed, grab a robe, and trip across the room to the half-open door.

Kat and Jules are in the foyer, kicking off their shoes.

“Thought you guys were gone for the weekend,” I manage, rubbing the sleep from my eyes.

“We came back early.” Jules hangs up her denim jacket, then cuts a look at the bathroom. “If you’re not in there…”

The shower’s on.

Shit.

We all turn to look at the same time.

“You brought Adam home?” Jules demands.

“I’m going to kick his...” Kat trails off as the water cuts out. Her sunglasses are still on her face and I can’t make out her expression.

I hold my breath for five seconds.

Ten.

The door opens.

Sawyer walks out in a towel.

I can’t breathe, or look at anyone.

It’s not that bad. Not that bad. Not that…

He pulls up when he sees my roomies.

“Um. Professor…Sawyer. This is Kat. And Jules.” I wave a hand between them. No one says anything. “Do you want a coffee? Or pants?”

Kat pulls her sunglasses down her nose. “Don’t put clothes on for our sake.”

Sawyer shoves a hand through his hair and mine isn’t the only gaze that drags down his gorgeous body.

But his attention is squarely on me, his beautiful mouth pursed. “Yes to clothes. Rain check on coffee. Excuse us.”

He grabs me by the tie on my robe and tugs me back to my room.

“What just happened?” Jules asks Kat before Sawyer slams the door.

“Those are my roommates,” I blurt as Sawyer backs me against it. “I didn’t know they’d be coming back.”

His hair drips onto the floor, then onto the skin exposed by my robe when he’s close enough.

Why can’t I stop staring at his body?

“You’re in so much trouble.” He traces the necklace I forgot to take off last night, pressing the diamond pendant at the center against my collarbone.

“They won’t tell.”

“Uh-huh.”

He tugs at the tie on my robe.

Before he can open it, Sawyer’s phone buzzes on my desk.

“You need to get it?” I whisper when he doesn’t move.

“No. But I need to leave.” He crosses to grab the phone. “Daniel’s helping me fix up the house, and the prick won’t let me pay him. Told him I’d watch Andy today.”

“Well, aren’t you Mr. Adorable.” Now that I can breathe, I can’t resist teasing him.

He catches sight of my lazy grin. “I answer to ‘Professor Redmond.’ Or, where you’re concerned, ‘Dear God Sawyer Yes’ will also suffice.”

I laugh, even though his words make me hot all over again. “Nah, I’m going to change your name in my phone. You’re ‘Mr. Adorable’ from here on out.”

The next second I’m back against the door, his hands in my robe and his mouth bruising mine.

I reach for the knot in his towel, ready to demolish it and anything else that comes between us.

Sawyer pulls back with a groan, pressing his forehead to mine. “You’re going to ruin me.”

“I’m not trying to.”

“That’s why it’s working.”

His lips brush my forehead and when he turns away, I could pout. I want him to stay here all morning.

He drops the towel, tossing it on the back of my desk chair.

My heart stops beating.

He’s incredible, his body still damp from his shower. His defined chest and abs leading into a fine line of dark hair that trails down between his legs. And between those legs, he’s long and thick even half hard from our kiss.

Oh my God.

Naked, he looks even bigger than at Fall Ball.

Does a woman need to work up to that?

Before I can ask, he’s tugging on his briefs and pants.

I adjust my robe and get his shirt, passing it to him. He takes it, looks at the photos around my mirror as he shrugs into the shirt.

“This is you dancing?” He points to a picture from an old competition.

“Pointe shoes were my life.” It’s weird having Sawyer see pieces of my past, but good weird, not bad weird. He doesn’t look away as his capable hands fasten the buttons on his shirt.

He tucks his phone into a pocket with a smile. “I’d like to see you dance.”

“Theresa said I could use the studio after classes let out and the competition team is done practicing. But that’s usually late, and I have to get up for early class. Plus, the extra lab time for Stars.”

“Tell me you’re not working on the project today.” He steps close, winding a piece of my hair around his fingers.

“Yeah, after I meet Emma for a bit. Madison will point it out if I’m slacking.”

“I can’t picture you slacking.” He nods to my bookshelf, half full of textbooks. “You know why I made you team lead?”

“Because I jumped you in a utility closet?” I bite my lip and he chuckles.

“Because you don’t give up.” He bends toward me and brushes his lips across my cheek.

“You’re late,” calls my sister over the white picket fence surrounding the patio at Some Like It Hot.

I turn into the café’s walkway and drop into the seat across from her. “By five minutes.”

Of the six tables out front, three are occupied. The mad rush on cinnamon buns seems to be over.

“But you’re never late.” My little sister folds her arms, eyes bright.

“Things change.”

A waitress comes out to greet us. I order a coffee and croissant and Emma opts for a tea as we watch people pass on the cute street.

“How’s cheerleading going?” I ask.

“Savage. Our director came back from camp this summer with crazy new ideas. She’s mostly taking them out on the tumblers.” Emma holds out her arm, displaying a huge bruise.

“Ouch.”

“It’s okay. I’m tough. You know that, right?”

“Of course I know that.” I lean in, brushing her hair back behind her shoulder. “Is that bruise from cheerleading too?” I point to her neck and she grins.

“Nope. I have a fan of my own. I got to ride a motorcycle.” She pulls out her phone, showing me a picture of a boy with dark hair and mischievous eyes straddling a huge bike. “He’s twenty-two.”

Our drinks and my pastry arrive, and I rip off a piece of croissant.

“He looks kind of tough, Ems.”

“It’s not like…if you were dating that professor guy who showed up last night. He must be at least thirty?”

“Not ‘at least.’” I take an extra-large gulp of coffee, burning my mouth. “And it’s not the age that matters. It’s how you connect with another person. You could connect with someone twice your age.”

“Exactly. We have that kind of connection! I can’t stop thinking about him. I want to be around him all the time.”

Damn if I don’t know what that feels like.

I can’t breathe when Sawyer’s around. Every second I’m with him leaves me wanting more. I love every time he shows me one of his scars, not only the ones on his body but on his soul, because he’s used to growling at anyone who gets near.

I love the way he looks at me, as if I’m fascinating and challenging and enough, even when I feel like none of those things.

I love that his laugh makes me tingle, that his touch makes me weak, that his confidence makes me strong.

A bicycle flies by the patio, close enough I feel the breeze on my arms.

“You’re still judging me, I can feel it. Don’t be like Mom,” Emma says.

I straighten. “I’m not like Mom. I’m trying to protect you from Mom.”

“I don’t need your protection. Whatever you’re doing to handle them, don’t do it for me.”

I want to say, but you don’t know what’s happening.

My dad’s car pulls up, parking along the curb.

“How mad are Mom and Dad that I bailed last night?” I murmur.

“On a scale of one to that time I dyed my hair purple right before piano recital?” Emma scrunches up her face. “Twenty.”

I’m glad I stood up for myself, but now in the light of day, I need to deal with the fallout.

I tense as my parents shift out.

“I hope you’re feeling better after last night,” Dad starts as he stops in front of the patio.

There’s genuine concern on his face. My mother’s…I can’t tell from behind her Prada sunglasses.

“I am.” Thanks to Sawyer. “I’m sorry for leaving abruptly.”

Mom cuts in. “And not cheering for Adam? I’m sure that’s not how his future fiancée should behave.”

My dad clears his throat. “Did you girls pay yet? I’ll get the check.”

Emma waves him inside, and follows. “I’m going to use the bathroom.”

Once they’ve gone, I watch as Mom takes the plate with the rest of my croissant and sets it at the edge of the table.

“First, it was an exhibition game. And second…” I take a deep breath. “Adam and I broke up. He didn’t want me.”

“He said that.” Mom’s face pales.

“He showed me,” I say, thinking of the girls he slept with. “I get that you were invested in this, but I won’t tie myself to someone who doesn’t want to be with me.”

“What’s the alternative? Being alone, wasting yourself?”

I think of the man I spent last night with.

Not alone. Not wasted.

“Some things are more important than what you want,” she goes on, her penciled brows lowering. “The security you enjoy pays for what you eat, what you wear, even your precious school.”

“And we might be losing it anyway.” I grab her wrist above the Cartier bangle. “I’m sure what’s happening with Dad’s company scares you. It scares me, too. But I can’t keep trying to be someone I’m not.” The backs of my eyes burn. “On some level, you must understand that.”

For a moment, I swear she’s going to nod.

But her mouth only tightens, her attention shifting to the remainder of my croissant as she rises from her seat. “Just because you’ve quit dance doesn’t mean you should stop caring about your figure.”

17

OLIVIA

“Hoes Over Brews, take two.”

Kat and Jules clink their beer glasses against mine at the bar Sunday night.

“I still haven’t heard why you got home early,” I point out.

“I crashed at this guy’s place, but woke up to him doing laundry.” Kat sways her hips to the music, eyeing up the dart board.

“That’s a bad thing?” Jules teases.

“In the middle of the night. I slipped out of bed to find him in the laundry room down the hall, get this—rolling his underwear.”

Kat tosses the dart, which thuds into the cork an inch from the bullseye.

“Wait, I thought you were going home to see family?” I frown.

“Did that. But I ran into someone I used to hook up with in high school at the grocery store. I have the attention span of a goldfish,” she finishes when I laugh.

“Research shows the average human attention span has dropped from twelve to eight seconds. A goldfish’s attention span is about nine seconds.”

“There you go.” The next dart lands right in the bullseye.

“Did you have any doctor’s appointments?” I ask.

“No. I’ll go at winter break. I’m fine,” she sighs at my look, grabbing me by the shoulders.

“We just want your ass healthy,” Jules prods.

Kat turns toward her. “What about your ass, hmm?”

“There’s nothing wrong with my ass.”

“Exactly. That’s why I want what’s best for you, and She Who Will Not—”

“She has a name. It’s Tess.”

“And she doesn’t deserve you.”

“I want her anyway.” Jules reaches for her beer.

Kat’s gaze meets mine.

The next instant we descend on Jules, a group hug without warning.

“Okay, enough!” she protests, laughing.

“How’s little sis?” Kat asks me. “And your parents?”

“Emma’s good. My parents are having money problems, but they won’t talk about it.”

“What did they say when you told them about Adam?”

“My mom freaked. She’s not in denial about me and Adam, but afterward, she gave me this look of total disdain. As if she didn’t recognize me.”

“Well at least now everything’s out in the open,” Jules says.

The subject of tuition is nowhere near resolved, but I don’t want to dump that at their feet now.

Kat cocks her head. “What about the part where you’re fucking your professor?”

The beer in my glass sloshes against the side as I grab her arm. “A little louder for the people in the back.”

She lowers her voice. “Unless you’re going to claim the man chained to your bed all night isn’t the one grading your midterms.”

I snatch the dart from Kat’s fingers. “He wasn’t chained to my bed. We played JENGA. Things escalated.”

“As they do.” Jules shifts back in her seat.

“You just decided fuck it, let’s be together on campus at a dorm?” Kat asks.

I line up my shot, visualizing the dart hitting the target. When I toss it after the first two of Kat’s, it misses by inches.

“It was his idea more than mine.”

“And how was it?”

I retrieve the darts from the board, a shiver coursing through me. “Insanely good. Like…I didn’t know it could feel that good kind of good.”

Kat hollers and I roll my eyes.

“I know I only broke up with Adam a few weeks ago, but I never felt this way with him. It’s like whenever Sawyer’s close, the world is bigger and more full of possibility. As if every dark moment suddenly has a silver lining.”

“Awww.” Kat bats her lashes. “And it has nothing to do with the fact that he’s built like a god and makes you want to confess all your sins and be punished for them one at a time?”

“Nothing,” I maintain, grinning.

Jules’ expression is concerned. “What happens when he runs into students? You could get in big trouble. Both of you.”

I reach for my drink, but it’s already empty.

He texted me a picture of Andy feeding the fish this afternoon. It melted my heart, but there was none of the usual sexy dig accompanying it, or since.

It’s only been a day, but I expected Sawyer to at least be teasing me about how many times I moaned his name last night.

Unless he’s angry about us getting caught.

He risked everything to spend the night with me. I want him more than ever. Every second of today, I was imagining him touching me again.

“I don’t know,” I admit.

An attractive couple a few years older cuts between us and the dart board on the way to the bar, him grabbing her ass and her dragging his mouth up to hers.

We can’t ever do that, have that, be that. Even our attraction has to be in secret.

The fact that our relationship is completely illicit has always been thrilling, but for the first time, it feels like I’m missing out.

18

SAWYER

“Oof!” Betty trips reaching for the automatic door button outside the engineering building Monday morning.

I run to catch her by her blue football jersey—celebrating the home team’s win yesterday, no doubt.

“What are you doing with all those?” I nod to the stack of files on a cart.

“The dean wanted them for meetings today.”

“They’re not digital?”

She screws up her face. “Most are, but we’re behind on updating historical files. The dean cut the summer student position that used to help me with tasks like this.”

Typical.

I grab the cart from her and wave to the door.

“You’re here early,” she says. “The only students around are still drunk from Homecoming.”

I laugh. “Need to prep for classes. I had less time on the weekend than I expected.”

“Your father’s service was beautiful, Sawyer. I hope you got some time to unwind after.”

Unwind. That’s one word for it.

I followed Olivia home and spent the entire night with her, plus a good part of the next morning.

It was hot, but even more than that, I enjoyed her company.

I didn’t plan on any of it, especially feeling the way I felt with her.

Relaxed.

Whole.

At peace.

When you’ve gone without, it’s hard to know what enough looks like. But with Olivia, the restlessness I’ve always felt goes quiet.

I told her she isn’t perfect, but I was wrong. Her perfection is in her ability to open up despite everything she carries on her narrow shoulders, and the way she listens without judgment. It was all I could do not to grab her parents and shake them until they understood what an unbelievable woman they raised and how much she just wants someone to see her for who she is, not some fake, compliant creature.

Betty and I pull up next to the elevator where she stabs at a button.

Nothing happens. No light on the panel, no whooshing of pulley systems.

“Dammit. Not working,” she mutters.

“How important is this meeting?”

“It’s with the Board of Governors.” She makes a face. “Alumni support is down at the moment. It’s part of the reason the department finances are stretched.”

“I’m offended the dean didn’t come to ask me personally.”

“He wouldn’t ask you if you were the last rich graduate on earth.” Betty’s laugh fades as she eyes up the boxes. “I need to get these upstairs. Guess we’ll take them one box at a time.”

She reaches for the top box on the stack but I wave her off. “Give me five minutes.”

I toss her a grin before running up to my office.

Up there, I search through the closet for some supplies.

It takes no time to rig up a system that runs through a pulley, attached to the top of my window frame, with bungee cords to hold each box.

I lean out the window. “Loop the cord around the box.”

She does it, shaking her head.

When all five boxes are inside, I meet Betty at her desk.

“Well that was the high point of today,” she says, gleeful. “I was starting to wonder if you’d left that smile in New York.”

Before I can process that, she continues.

“The dean is starting to try and poach donors from other departments. Livvy Barclay’s father is top on the list.”

Protectiveness rises up. I don’t want him anywhere near Olivia or her family, especially given their money problems. It’ll only stress her out more.

Of course, I’m doing a terrible job of protecting her so far—I stayed in her damned apartment.

On campus.

Where anyone could’ve discovered us, and hell, her roommates did.

“Don’t worry about department politics,” Betty says, misinterpreting my concern. “We’re all human, Sawyer. He’s trying to do his job like you’re trying to do yours.”

When I reach my office, I pull out a pen from my bag and the materials for the Stars competition.

Thumbing through the pages of the forms, I spot a logo on one corner.

Regionals are in two more weeks. I can use that to pull the dean’s attention to another area that matters to the school: publicity.

“How’s life as an academic?” a crisp voice answers when I call.

“Idyllic, Tate. You should try it.”

My former rival chuckles. “Never would’ve thought five years ago that we’d be going into business together.”

“We should be halfway to a market capitalization of five hundred million by now.”

“Don’t pretend it’s my fault we’re not.”

I turn the pen in my fingers, noticing the logo from my former company wrapped around the barrel. When I toss it in the garbage, there’s a giant blob of ink on the inside of my finger.

“I’m overseeing RU’s submission to the Stars engineering competition.” I reach for a tissue, wiping my hands.

“Small world. Would you believe we’re a sponsor?”

“That’s why I’m calling. I want you to email our dean. Tell him you’re excited about Russell’s submission.”

“Why?”

“Politics. Below your paygrade.”

“I won’t even have to lie. This contest is big, Sawyer. Having a team do well is good exposure for our future endeavors. And speaking of our plans, there’s a big conference in L.A. this winter. Lots of industry contacts. I figured we could both go.”

He tells me the dates, and that it’s a week long.

“I have to teach, Tate.”

“You’ll miss, what, two classes? Three? Get a grad student to cover.”

It’s not impossible, and I did have someone cover for me the time I watched Andy for Daniel.

“I’ll think about it.”

“You’re more serious about this professor thing than I gave you credit for. I’m impressed.”

I can’t tell Tate that it’s not my class I don’t want to leave for a week.

It’s her.

When we hang up, I stare at the ink that won’t come off.

I should walk away from Olivia Barclay. Not only because we were nearly caught, but for reasons I’ve been ignoring since I came to Russell.

Ones I can barely face myself, not to mention admit to her.

I grab one of the Go pieces off the set on the shelf and hurl it across the room. It hits the plaster with a sharp “plink” and drops to the carpet.

A knock has me looking toward the door to see Olivia, fresh-faced and smiling.

She’s wearing a sweater and dark jeans tight enough I bet she’d make that breathy sound I like if I stuck both my hands in her back pockets at once.

I resist the urge to run a hand through my hair to make sure it’s not standing up.

The last time we were together, we were naked—or practically—but the sounds from the hallway remind me this is a different time and place.

Here, I’m a professor. She’s a student.

Doesn’t stop my abs from tightening in anticipation.

You’re so fucked for her.

“What’s that?” I nod to the colorful gift bag, complete with ribbons.

She pushes the door mostly closed before setting the bag on my desk.

I tug out the frothy sheets of tissue arranged in the top, chuckling when I see what’s inside.

“JENGA.”

“I bought it for you in town. Figured it was more you than the Go set.” Olivia bends to pick up the piece from the carpet, her mouth twitching. “Looks like I was right.”

Her consideration shouldn’t suck all the air from the room, but it does. Or maybe it’s the way she’s looking at me, hopeful and earnest.

“Thank you.”

I take the Go game and drop it into a file drawer. Olivia sets her bag on the guest chair and sets the JENGA game up on the corner of my desk.

“There. Now you can play with anyone who comes in.” She smiles, adjusting the edges of the stacked blocks.

“I only want to play with you.”

Her gaze lifts to mine.

She needs to stop looking at me as if I’m the inventor of every good thing in the world.

I can help her claim her power, but I’m not a man she can rely on. The call with Tate reminded me of that.

But I missed her since Saturday, dammit.

She reaches for an inside block near the base of the tower and slides it out, centering it on top. Before letting go, she changes her mind and slides it to one edge—a riskier move more likely to unbalance the entire structure.

“Are you trying to build a tower or bring one down?”

Vulnerability flickers across her face as she cocks her head, making the diamond around her neck sparkle in the light from the window. “I haven’t decided.”

That’s the problem.

This started off as a reckless indulgence. I’m the king of those, I can spot them a mile away. And if it was only me she’d be bringing down, maybe I would risk it.

But it’s her future, too. What we’re doing could be adding to her challenges instead of helping them.

When this thing between us runs its course, I want her to be better off, not worse.

I take my block from the base, setting it to offset and balance hers. “We need to qualify a project in two weeks at regionals. A colleague I’m going into business with is one of the sponsors of the competition. I’d like the team to walk me through a working demo next week.”

“Sure.” She tucks a piece of hair behind her ear, waiting for me to say more.

Like that I keep thinking about how her lower lip trembles when she comes. Or that I could bury my face in her throat, her hair, for hours just breathing her in and never come up for air. How the night we spent together shook me.

I’ve never been one for exercising restraint. Every second of it costs me.

I shove my hands in my pockets, where they can’t reach her. “Thank you for the gift.”

“About the other night,” she starts at the same time.

Fuck, I’m an asshole. I should’ve asked how she was, but the idea of talking about the hours we spent hanging out, the times she broke apart under my hands and mouth, the long night I held her…they all make me want to lock the door and drag her down on the carpet with me until the entire department hears us.

“Are you okay?” I ask, scrutinizing her expression more closely than before. “Do you regret it?”

Her lips curve in disbelief. “Of course not.” The knot in my chest eases. “And I meant it when I said my roommates won’t tell. But we can’t do it again, can we?”

“No. We can’t.”

She nods, resigned. I clear my throat.

“Olivia, I want you to know something. That was one of the worst days of my life. But thanks to you, it was also one of the best.”

Her face lifts, transforming with gratitude. “I’m glad.”

“And I hope I didn’t screw things up with your parents.”

“You didn’t.” She bends to pick up her school bag, flashing an expanse of smooth thigh. “I told my mom Adam and I broke up. For good this time.”

My restraint cracks—a single, tragic faultline of weakness snaking through a stone foundation.

By the time she straightens, I’m across the room.

“I’m proud of you.”

“Yeah?”

I nod. I want to see her tell the truth to herself and the entire world.

Whatever she sees on my face, it’s something I’m going to regret because her throat works, lips parting as her gaze drops to my mouth.

“Sawyer.”

Jesus. If she calls me that at work one more time…

She sneaks a look over her shoulder at the door before turning back to me. “You can fuck me if you want.”

What I want is to get in so deep she can’t get me out. To peel back the layers of her perfection, to strip her down and make her see she’s stronger and more beautiful than even she knows. I wish she could see what I see when I look at her.

“You deserve better.”

The longing on her face dissolves into frustration. “People say that, but what they mean is I should want what they choose.” She shoves the hair out of her face on a long exhale. “I guess I’ll see you in class.”

But as she turns for the door, all I can think is how much better I feel when I’m around her. I want to be with her, but more than that, I want to see her smile. I want to make her smile.

Because, I realize, she feels better when she’s with me.

That possibility lifts the guilt from my shoulders long enough for me to take a breath.

“Olivia.” She pauses, one hand on the door handle. “I’m taking you out this weekend.”

The door shuts. “Like a date?”

“A night off, far from prying eyes.”

Her slim arms fold across her chest, but she’s grinning every bit as much as me. “You’re such a romantic.”

“Friday night.” I catch her lips beneath mine, inhaling her surprised breath. “Now get out of here so I can get some fucking work done.”

19

OLIVIA

“Your date is here!” Jules shouts across our place.

“Already?” I curse and check my outfit.

Sawyer wouldn’t tell me where we were going, but he said it was elegant. And since it’s still early, I’m guessing there’s some transit involved.

So I put on a red fitted D&G dress with long sleeves and a scoop neck that shows off serious cleavage. It’s grown up and sexy, and though I bought it on a whim once, I’ve still never worn it.

I leave my hair down in soft waves. He likes touching it, and I love it when he does.

I head into the living room, half expecting to see him there. But the only person is my roommate, pouring over notes on the couch with a highlighter in her mouth.

“Some guy called from downstairs for Miss Barclay,” Jules says, taking the marker from between her teeth. “Wow. You look hot.”

“Thanks.” My stomach tingles with excitement.

She waves toward the window. “Your prof sent an emissary.”

I grab my heels and head for the door. “Let me guess. You think this is a terrible idea.”

“How much do you like him?”

“A lot. Does that make it a better idea?”

“No. But it makes it more worth the risk.”

I grab a jacket and wave goodbye to my roommate.

Downstairs, there’s a town car nestled amongst four other cars idling near the front doors.

The second I appear, the driver steps out and rounds the car to hold my door. “Miss Barclay?”

“Yes. Thank you.”

The car takes me to Lancaster’s house. It’s not far, but nerves spring up from nowhere.

I play with the buttons of my trench coat.

Open.

Closed.

Open.

Is this really a date, or did he mean what he said and it’s just a way to blow off steam?

By the time the car pulls up to the driveway, there’s no more room for second-guessing.

He’s there. I catch a glimpse of him through the tinted window, and my heart kicks as the door opens.

The hand extended to help me is warm, calloused, and familiar.

Sawyer.

He’s wearing designer denim with a baby blue shirt and dark jacket tailored to show off his strong shoulders and the planes of his torso. His heady, masculine scent drowns me in an instant.

“Hey,” I murmur as I shift out of the car.

His gaze sweeps over me, appreciative. “My God, you’re beautiful.”

I inhale too fast at the expression on his face. “I could’ve just met you here.”

“No. I wanted this moment. To see you step out of that car and know you picked out that cherry red dress for me.”

So definitely a date. My insides clench in excitement.

If my reckless professor does sex well? He does dates really, really well.

We change vehicles, Sawyer opting to drive his Mercedes. Once we’re settled in, the town car long gone, he accelerates out onto the street.

“Now are you going to tell me where we’re going?”

“No. I will tell you the drive’s a couple of hours, so get comfortable.”

I’m not put off at the prospect of spending two hours each way with Sawyer, if anything I’m giddy, plus I’m even more intrigued by the possibilities.

“What if I guess it?”

“Surprises are the break in the monotony of life, Olivia.”

The ride is more than enjoyable. His hair is pulled back with a leather lace and I can’t stop staring at his jaw and his lips.

We talk about things people dating talk about—favorite TV shows, music, hobbies. Sawyer grew up watching the reality TV series Survivor, which makes me snort.

“My dad said he hated it but I caught him DVR-ing it once.”

My smile fades a little thinking of Lancaster. “Do you miss him?”

Sawyer glances over, serious. “Not really. Do you?”

I suck in a breath. “I think of him sometimes, yeah. It feels strange being in a world that he’s not in.”

“You spent a lot of time with him.”

The man beside me is close, and the one we’re talking about is far away.

“Outside of class, he helped me when I needed it. Traded a few book recommendations. I told him he should get the fish, because I thought he’d appreciate something other than his students and work to love.”

When I say it, I realize how that must sound to his son.

“We knew different men,” Sawyer admits. “He was kind and patient with you. I never saw that side of him.”

That comment lingers, echoing in my chest.

I change the subject. “When was the last time you dated?”

“More than a year ago.”

“That long?” I’m surprised. “Have you had to fight women off for the last twelve months?”

It’s meant as a joke but Sawyer’s grip on the steering wheel tightens. “This year didn’t go how I planned.”

“It’s not your fault your dad died. You couldn’t have predicted that.”

He cuts a look at me. “Not everything was his fault.”

I sense there’s something he’s not telling me. “So who was she? The last woman you dated.”

“She worked in advertising in New York.”

I picture her being mature and confident and poised, and shove aside the jealousy. Tonight’s about what we are, not what we aren’t.

“Was it serious?”

“More on her side than on mine. She wanted things to progress. To move in together.”

“Sounds crazy,” I say, deadpan.

He shoots me a self-deprecating grin. “It wasn’t. I get it, it’s what normal people do. But I supposed I didn’t grow up with normal, so by the time I could have it, I found I didn’t care for it all that much.”

Unlike me, Sawyer’s not the kind of person who spends energy trying to fit in. He’ll always stand out.

“Did you love her?”

He shakes his head. “Love is just another form of power. And unlike sex, you can never be completely consenting to someone having that kind of power over you.”

“It sounds lonely.”

The streetlights play over Sawyer’s face as he frowns. “I’ve always done better on my own. I don’t want anyone to depend on me. Dependence is a recipe for cruelty and disappointment. But,” he goes on, voice lifting along with his lips, “tonight will be neither cruel nor disappointing.”

I thread my fingers through his and lay my head on his shoulder as we drive the rest of the way.

In the end, I don’t have to guess where we’re going—it becomes obvious pretty soon that New York is our destination.

When we arrive, he parks in an underground lot near Lincoln Center and walks, hand in mine, around to the entrance.

“We’re going to the Koch Theater,” I guess.

“When was the last time you went to the ballet?”

“Not in years.”

Swan Lake.

The marquee nearly roots my feet to the carpet, but we file into the throng of elegant people.

After claiming our programs, an usher shows us to a box.

The maroon and gold splendor of the theater steals my breath. When I turn to Sawyer, he’s every bit as awestruck.

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” I say.

“Yeah. It really is.”

We settle into our seats and as the house lights dim, he reaches over to thread his fingers through mine like I did to him in the car.

The ballet begins with the celebration of Prince Siegfried’s birthday in an old German castle, and I slip into the music and the movements. My limbs are heavy and restless at once. When the swans claim the stage for the first time, Sawyer’s mouth brushes my ear.

“Are you okay?”

I nod quickly, realizing I pulled away from his touch.

My attention sticks to the ballet until intermission when the lights come up and I take a gulp of air.

The patrons are murmuring appreciatively, talking about the performance or gossiping over their weekend plans.

But Sawyer moves between me and the stage, shifting his hips back against the edge of the box.

“You’re not enjoying this.”

“It’s not that. This was an amazing idea, it just brings back lots of memories. I wanted to dance Swan Lake since I was a little girl. I went as Odette for Halloween three years in a row.” I shake my head, fisting my diamond pendant.

“And did you?”

I nod. “I was cast in a student production, and it was a dream come true. Even the hard parts. The Stars project is nothing compared to ballet rehearsals.”

Sawyer’s attention sharpens. “What happened?”

I drop my hand to the armrest. “My boobs came in. I stopped eating. I figured if I didn’t eat, I couldn’t grow, right? Of course, it’s hard to dance on two hundred calories a day. It worked until I fell over in rehearsals and they took me to the emergency room. The doctors told me to eat more, but it wasn’t that simple. Food was one thing I could control in a sea of things I couldn’t. My mother was furious.”

“Because you weren’t eating.”

“No. Because it didn’t work.”

The house lights flicker, signalling the end of intermission.

Sawyer takes my hand and tugs me to my feet, his expression dark. “Let’s get out of here.”

“We don’t have to leave,” I protest.

He takes me back out to the street, gets in his car, and drives before parking again. This time he strips out of his jacket, tossing it in the back seat before we leave the parking lot.

“The aquarium?” I ask when we stop in front of the building.

“You been?”

“Never.”

A ribbon of giddy anticipation chases through me, at least until I read the hours on the front door.

“It closes in ten minutes.”

Sawyer presses a kiss to my lips. “Uh-huh. Give me two.”

He disappears to speak to the person on duty at the front.

I feel like I’m treading water and trying to catch up, but I don’t hate it. Not even a little.

No one’s ever gone to the effort Sawyer went to for me to make sure I’m having a good time.

“Let’s go.” He grabs my hand and I follow him into the first exhibit.

I stop next to the first tank, my feet rooted to the floor. Inside are dozens, no, hundreds, of little blue fish darting around.

“There are so many kinds and they all have their place in the ecosystem. No pressure to look or be a certain way. There’s so much life. And there’s room for all of it.”

There’s someone cleaning, and Sawyer jogs over to him, asking a few questions then clapping him on the back before returning to me.

“These are fish you’d find in the barrier reef.”

“Oh really?” I bite my cheek. “In fairness, it does say that on the sign.”

He’s not dissuaded. “Yes, but does it say this fish can break off a piece of its tail if a predator catches it.”

I laugh, delighted. “It does not.”

He’s like a kid. It’s impossible not to get drawn in.

“The aquarium is now closing,” comes a PA announcement over invisible speakers.

“Not for us,” Sawyer murmurs.

We make our way from one series of tanks to the next. I gush over sea turtles and anemone as Sawyer reads the informational signs and points out the craziest fish facts.

When we pass through to another part of the aquarium, the huge round tank making me suck in a breath.

The freshly cleaned plexiglass is perfectly clear.

Beyond, half a dozen sharks circle, elegant and deadly. The beautiful creatures could rip my flesh from my bones.

“They’re incredible,” I murmur even as my heart hammers against my ribs, willing me to turn and run.

“Do you know why we’re drawn to dangerous things?” His voice is rough silk as he flips me and presses my back to the glass.

“What makes life exciting,” he goes on, “is knowing we could lose it in an instant. But it’s not about putting our life in someone else’s hands. It’s about taking it into our own.”

His warm breath tickles the skin exposed by the low neckline of my dress. My breasts strain against the material. In the corner of my eye, the sharks swim right behind me.

“You can play the game all your life only to realize winning doesn’t feel as good as breaking the rules.”

The thirty-foot glass wall around us, plus thousands of liters of water and fish and predators make me feel like I’m in another world. But my attention is on the man in front of me. My very own shark, with nothing between us.

I play with his hair at his nape, gathered into the leather binding. “How would you know? I don’t think you’ve ever followed the rules.”

“I tried.” His throat bobs. “God knows I tried to walk away from you.”

His words should be a warning. Instead, they burn away the last of my hesitation.

“Stop trying.”

I bring him to me and crush his lips against mine.

His hands stroke up my bare legs and he lifts me up against the glass. His mouth slides down to my neck, and I arch closer.

I imagine how it would feel to be his girlfriend for real.

Only with me, I want him to say yes.

Yes to intimacy.

Yes to love.

Yes to all of it.

The growing hardness in his pants turns me on like crazy, and he drags my panties to the side, two fingers pressing inside where I’m slick. I gasp, squirming as he probes me.

“Sawyer…” My hips rock against his hand, craving more.

The aquarium might be closed to visitors, but there are staff and cameras. We’re still in public. We need to stop.

Except…

I don’t want to stop.

His expression shifts as I reach for his belt, deal with the zipper on his pants. Then work them down his ass.

He sets me down, then reaches for a condom and rolls it on.

He circles my wrists, yanking them up and together so he can catch them in one strong hand.

I feel him at my entrance. When his hips shift forward, pinning mine against the glass, he nudges me once.

Then sinks inside.

The resistance my body puts up is nothing compared to his determination.

“That’s it, Cherry, take me.” It’s a request with a steel edge, a command wrapped in velvet.

“More.”

He’s so hard, thicker and longer than I’m used to.

“More.”

I breathe through the intrusion, praying the fullness will give way to pleasure.

When he’s all the way in, Sawyer’s groan is full of awe. “Holy shit. You feel too good.”

He’s praising my body, but it feels like he’s praising every part of me. As if I’ve stunned this beautiful man.

My eyes close. He’s so deep, I feel him with each inhale.

It takes a moment to get used to the sensation, both of being pinned to the glass and being filled.

But after a few breaths, the stretch feels less like a burden and more like a tease.

As if there’s somehow even more to experience than this.

I rock my hips, craving friction, seeking more of him the only way I can.

“I think she likes it.” He’s equal parts smug and intent when he pulls out, a long drag that makes me want to protest the sudden emptiness. But before I can, he’s pressing back inside.

Another stroke. Not faster, but more deliberate.

Each angle of his thrust is on purpose, designed to tear a reaction from my sweat-damp body.

Each panting breath at my ear is eager, hungry to take me apart and claim his own pleasure in this frenzy.

I cry out this time.

“That’s it,” he rasps. “Did you know your voice changes when you’re full of my cock?”

My fingers work uselessly over my head. I’m tight, torn, wrenching against his grip on me.

It’s not sweet or tentative.

Sawyer fucks me.

My body. My heart.

If I looked in his eyes right now, he’d see how much I’m feeling in this moment. How utterly ruined he’s making me with every touch, every stroke.

Our noises echo off the glass.

“Let go.” His voice near my cheek makes me shiver.

I can’t tell if the words are his or mine until he says them again. “Olivia, sweetheart. Let go.”

His lips brush my ear and I tremble because it’s gentle and personal. As if he knows exactly what’s going through my head, as if without seeing my face he’s aware of everything in my body, my mind.

Which is impossible.

But when his grip on my wrists relaxes a degree, his other arm wraps around my body to hold me closer while his thrusts slow, deepen.

Oh God.

I turn my face to the side, and he takes advantage. Lips and teeth and tongue devour every inch of my exposed throat and chest.

It’s close, I’m close, and in a second the pleasure in me tightens into a ripe bud that’s about to burst.

There’s nothing I can do to stop it.

My eyes fly open.

A shark with bared teeth swims inches from my head.

The jolt of fear only adds to the sensations. I clench hard around him, pleasure colliding with sharp pain that has every inch of me tightening right down to my toes.

“Fuck yes. Keep coming.” Sawyer’s voice transforms, the softness turning into a growl.

The dirty rasp makes me tremble, turning each ripple of release into its own earthquake.

In another few strokes, he tenses, and his groan in my ear is the sexiest sound I’ve ever heard.

We’re not in New York, dressed in expensive clothes, at the aquarium he bribed his way into. We’re on the edge of a thrilling wilderness I never knew existed. One that would’ve terrified me before him, but now, I want to move further into that tantalizing unknown.

I would give anything to keep feeling this way, but I’m desperately afraid nothing will ever measure up.

20

OLIVIA

“Does it work?” Sawyer asks in the lab Monday.

“Of course.” I sound more confident than I feel.

“We have one week until qualifying. It has to,” presses Madison.

Around classes, the four of us have been putting in a ton of hours on this.

We’ve had issues with hardware, with code, with design. Last night, our invention actually performed the way it was supposed to.

Our professor crosses his arms, his firm mouth pursed. “Let’s see it.”

We demo the robot, putting it through a set of lifting, grasping, and manipulation tasks—first using a tennis ball, then a small spiral notebooks, a tougher object to pick up and work with.

I’m holding my breath as each hurdle is passed.

We’re being judged by a different Sawyer than the one I’ve slept with and joked with and played JENGA with. This man is our professor and his opinion matters.

“Why did you choose three joints?” he asks, his attention laser-focused.

“Madison pointed out that we need to trade off range against risk of failure.” She looks at me in surprise as my hands twist together behind my back. “But we made some improvements to the design and materials this week to ensure it’s robust.”

Adam and Royce talk with Sawyer while Madison comes over.

“He’s decided to at least pretend to be a mentor,” she comments. “What changed?”

“No idea.” But my gaze lingers on Sawyer. His expression is intent as he listens to Royce, even though he stiffens when Adam leans over to weigh in.

His dress shirt clings to his shoulders and arms. The belt resting above his lean hips makes my throat dry as I remember undoing it.

“You can play the game all your life only to realize winning doesn’t feel as good as breaking the rules.”

It’s been harder to hide our relationship since our date.

Not only was the sex totally hot, but the entire night, Sawyer made me feel treasured. Instead of expecting me to behave a certain way, he tuned in to what I wanted. I loved every second with him.

Thank goodness we don’t have a lot of time together in front of other people on campus. But when we are, we need to be more careful.

We will.

“Hard at work, I see.”

We all turn to see the dean smiling from the doorway.

“You’ll be pleased to know there has been external interest in your project. I wanted to see what the talk was about.” He puffs his chest, surveying the robot on the table.

My teammates and I exchange surprised looks.

“Of course. They’ve made significant progress in limited time,” Sawyer says smoothly.

“Good. The five of you will be traveling to compete in Manhattan. I trust you’ll represent the school impeccably.”

“Four,” I correct. “Faculty advisors don’t participate until finals.”

I can’t imagine spending an entire weekend around Sawyer in front of Adam, Royce, and Madison. If they had any idea what was going on, they’d freak out—Adam because he’s my ex, Royce because this project means everything to him, and Madison because she already thinks I get special treatment.

The dean waves a hand. “Nonsense. We need to show everyone we’re supporting our team. Professor Redmond will attend the weekend’s activities, too.”

Sawyer’s gaze locks with mine, and I see the same expression reflected on his face.

This is bad.

21

OLIVIA

I throw myself into working on our project for the last week before regionals.

My dance class is the only relief, and even as I’m teaching the guppies, I’m thinking about the weekend with anticipation and dread.

Friday, we head to New York on the train. The four of us ride in coach, with Sawyer in business.

I remind myself it’s a good thing I don’t have the chance to sneak looks at him the entire trip.

“Our own rooms,” Royce comments as we roll our bags in the front doors of the Hilton. “Department’s sparing no expense.”

I roll my eyes.

“Get a good night’s sleep,” Sawyer instructs. “The competition is tomorrow morning. You can unwind at the reception after.”

“If we get through,” I point out.

“Who’s keeping the robot?” Madison asks.

“I will,” Adam says.

“Don’t use it to jerk off,” Royce warns.

“Just cause she doesn’t like you the way she likes me...”

“Adam. I can’t believe I’m saying this”—Sawyer looks pained—“but do not stick your dick anywhere near that robot.”

When we go to check in, the hotel staff says there’s a mistake. “We only have four rooms.”

“You girls room together,” Royce suggests.

Madison and I might kill each other.

“Or Liv can room with me.” Adam reaches for my bag.

“No,” Sawyer and I say at once.

Madison and Royce exchange a long look, and she finally says, “It’s fine. I’ll room with Olivia.”

We go up to our rooms. The four are on the same floor, two on each side.

Our room is next to Sawyer’s.

Of course.

I feel his gaze on me as Madison and I swipe the keycard and let ourselves in.

Once we’re are inside, she flops down on the bed by the window.

I grab my phone and send a text to Sawyer.

Liv: We’ve got this. We can crush the competition and be completely casual around each other.

Dots appear seconds later.

Unknown: You’ll be pleased to know that Daniel is taking his job of feeding the fish this weekend very seriously.

The photo accompanying the text is Sawyer’s friend giving a thumbs-up in front of the tank. I’d forgotten about the fish this weekend, but I love that Sawyer didn’t.

Unknown: P.S. Your confidence is sexy as fuck.

“You ever get the feeling that it’s easier for guys?”

I drop the phone on the bed, surprised Madison’s voluntarily speaking to me. “Relationships or school?”

“Everything.”

I start unpacking. “Did you watch The Queen’s Gambit on Netflix?”

“Yes. In two days. She drank and got high to deal with her obsessive chess drive and the guys around her.”

“I get that,” I say as I finish hanging clothes in the closet and turn back.

“You want to raid the minibar and pound pills? Olivia Barclay, bad girl.” Madison pulls out some weed that has my brows lifting.

I leave the phone on my bed and follow Madison out the screen door.

Her joint is already lit, the pungent smoke drifting up from the end when I lean over the glass railing next to her.

“It’s only a little,” she says in response to my look. “It’ll help take the pressure off. Otherwise I won’t be able to sleep.”

She holds out the joint and with a moment’s hesitation I accept.

“We have to make our own way,” she tells me. “Guys want to help us, but they don’t really.”

I inhale, the smoke going to my head. “They’re not all assholes.”

“Even if they don’t think they are, they are. It’s not an ethical problem, it’s a self-awareness problem. Take Adam. He doesn’t think he’s a dick. Or Royce. Or Redmond.”

I pass the joint back and wrap my sweater around me against the cool evening air. “Professor Redmond’s nothing like Adam. Neither is Royce, for that matter.”

She shoots me a “get real” look. “Everyone wants Professor Redmond, and he’s untouchable. You think he likes you, but he likes the power.”

I glance toward the next balcony—his.

I wonder what he’s doing tonight. There’s no sign of him, and when we finally head back into the room, he hasn’t texted either. So, I type out a message and hit send.

Liv: I’m glad you’re here with us. As hard as it is to look at you and know we can’t do anything, I’d rather have you standing next to me.

After brushing my teeth and changing into pajamas, there’s still no response.

Liv: Good night, Sawyer.

22

SAWYER

“Sawyer Redmond,” calls a familiar voice across the lobby bar.

I look up from my computer where I’m reading the business news. Tate strolls over to claim a stool next to me at the bar, his suit wrinkled. “It’s not fair. I got in from an overnight flight from Tokyo, and you look like a billboard. Leave something for the rest of us.”

“Plenty of people would agree the world would be better without me. Intellectually. Morally.” I take in his neatly trimmed hair, tugging on the ends of my own. “Even esthetically.”

He orders a drink, smirking. “Did my call to your dean resolve the politics you were hoping to avoid?”

“In a way.” It also resulted in me being here this weekend, but I don’t say that.

“Some days, I’m not sure why I agreed to go into business with you.”

“Because I have vision and you have execution.”

Tate’s a decade older, and we’ve always been competitors. Except when I left my company, I needed to find a new direction. A better one.

“And you’re good at getting what you want.”

“Am I?” I scan the lobby as he gets his drink and takes a sip. “If I’d gotten my way, we would already be in business together.”

“But the world also takes time to forget. What happened earlier this year was unfortunate.”

My hand clenches my glass. The anger and guilt over those events still boils deep inside, overcooked resentment left to simmer for months until it’s black and sticky.

“Those events weren’t my fault. Yet I was left to pay the steepest price.”

“You’re not the only person still hung up on how things ended with your former business partner, which is why we agreed to a cooling off period first. You need to avoid any indiscretions—real or perceived. Plus, we agreed it looks good on our future company to have you at such an esteemed institution in the interim. What’s so bad about being at Russell? Innovative colleagues, dedicated staff, bright students who worship you. I took a look at your team,” he goes on. “Two men, two women. How egalitarian.”

His words are mild but there’s an edge beneath.

“Madison is ambitious,” I start. “Olivia is talented and hardworking.”

I think about the girl upstairs who’s been turning me inside out.

Our date last week changed our relationship—there’s no questioning it, no denying it. It wasn’t only the sex at the aquarium.

Every time I push her, she opens up. Whether she knows it or not, she’s opening me up, too.

Each day I spend with her, I want more.

“The events of last year linger like a bad smell, rubbing off on anyone who comes in contact with them,” Tate says under his breath. “I’m not out to get you. I want to help you.”

That doesn’t soothe my frustration.

I’ve never done well with warnings. But he’s right, she shouldn’t be any of my business.

If anyone were to find out, the future I’ve worked for could be over before it began.

But I’m not willing to walk away from her.

Which means I need to talk to her—to be honest about why I’m here, and what our relationship could cost me.

I glance at my phone to reread the message that came in an hour ago.

Cherry: I’m glad you’re here with us. As hard as it is to look at you and know we can’t do anything, I’d rather have you standing next to me.

My fingers itch to respond. But before I came down here, I glanced out the patio doors of my room to see her outside smoking a joint and having a conversation with her unwanted roommate.

She’s a student. She deserves to be a kid and enjoy this experience with people her own age.

Another message lights up the screen.

Cherry: Good night, Sawyer.

“You sure you still want to go into business with me? Sounds like you’re getting into this whole professor thing,” Tate asks.

I toss my drink back, shoving the phone away. “I’ve never been more certain.”

23

OLIVIA

After taking turns in the shower, Madison and I head downstairs for breakfast.

I read over the rules last night.

Every team has five minutes to present their design to the judges, including their aspirations for what would be completed if their team is chosen to proceed to nationals.

The panel casts their votes, and the top third of teams will continue to the next round.

It’s not until I spot the crowd of students and judges and sponsors that my stomach does a little flip like it used to before a dance performance.

This is a big deal.

My fingers wrap around my necklace.

I want to do well today. Qualifying matters. It’s a chance to prove I can contribute in my own way, that the work I’ve put in this semester and in recent years to this major my parents wanted no part of is paying off.

Only succeeding won’t come down to my well-rehearsed performance of someone else’s choreography, but to our entire team’s ideas and capabilities.

I finally got a message from Sawyer this morning that came in overnight.

Unknown: Sorry. Ran into an old friend and time got away.

There’s no Cherry, no Olivia, and it’s funny how the simple absence of either makes me wish he hadn’t texted at all.

I’m sipping my coffee and eating pineapple when Adam and Royce come down and claim chairs across the table from us. They’re arguing over some comic book Royce brought with him.

My gaze drifts across the restaurant to see Sawyer, looking handsome and remote in a dark jacket and jeans.

“Redmond,” a male voice calls over the hum of chatter.

Sawyer pulls up a few feet from the table as a tall man in a suit with a head of neat, graying hair approaches.

The man grins, clapping our professor on the back. “Surprised to see you up this early after last night.”

“Tate’s a colleague,” Sawyer explains. “We’re going into business together.”

“If he can keep his nose clean.”

What does that mean?

“You’re lucky to have him,” Tate goes on. “This man is one of the brightest minds of his generation.”

“Are you here with a team?” I ask when Sawyer introduces the man.

“No. My company is sponsoring the competition.” He lifts his brows, waiting for a name.

“Olivia,” I supply.

The man’s attention lingers on me. “Olivia. Pleased to meet you.”

Sawyer’s grip tightens on his plate. “See you around, Tate.”

“No doubt. With luck, we can toast at the reception tonight on a job well done.”

As his friend departs, I wish I could ask him what’s wrong, but there’s no time, or place.

“You’re ready?” Sawyer asks.

We nod.

“There’s a faculty supervisor meeting soon. I’ll catch up with you after.”

I stare after him as he leaves, wishing I could ask him what the hell is going on.

“So the demos start at ten,” I say to the team, pulling out the agenda. “The top fifteen teams get through to the second round. It says we need to have the bot in the room by nine”—I skim the text—“or we’ll be disqualified. But Adam took care of that.”

Instead of a quick confirmation, silence meets my ears.

I look up. “Adam? You brought the bot down before you came to breakfast. Right?”

He and Royce exchange a look.

“Shit.”

We race upstairs.

But the wheeled platform is stuck.

“Let’s carry it.”

Royce and Adam heft the robot to the elevator.

It opens on the trade show floor and they look around at the competition. “There’re a lot of teams.”

“It’ll be fine,” Adam retorts.

The door starts to close.

“Guys!” I shout as I lunge for the open door button.

I’m too late, and the door shuts on the final two sections of the mechanical arm.

“What the hell!” Madison punches Royce in the arm.

Adam holds up both hands. “Chill. It’s fine.”

Both sections fall off.

24

OLIVIA

We wheel the robot into position and I’m already sweating.

Sawyer’s still in meetings, plus this is our responsibility.

I need some of the textbooks lined up next to my desk at home. Or a couple of hours with my phone, pouring over videos and articles.

We have neither.

Think, dammit.

Around the room, other teams are practicing with their projects, polishing and finessing. They look capable and competent.

Our decapitated submission stares listlessly back at me.

“Okay, so we can reattach these joints. It’s the only way.” I lift the final segment. “Royce?”

He nods. “But we need to resolder this.” He points to one of the wires responsible for ensuring our commands get translated into movement.

I look up at Adam.

“I brought tools, but we’re out of copper solder.”

“Madison?” I ask, desperate.

She frowns at the machine.

“We’ve busted our asses for this,” I say. “And it’s not ending now. Adam, I know you want to prove you’re good at this. Royce, it’s your future. Madison, show all the teams with guys that we’re better.”

She rolls her eyes. “Team Double V.”

“That’s not our name,” Royce groans.

“We can renegotiate it after we get this fixed.”

There’s no time to go out and buy a replacement.

So I search the room, trying to spot another group who might have what we’re looking for.

A team of four guys a few spots down from us also has a robotics project.

I grab Madison and drag her with me.

“Hey. Do you guys have any copper solder?”

“Yeah,” a tall, freckled guy with glasses responds.

Relief has my chest collapsing. “Amazing. Can we use some? It would be a lifesaver.”

“You didn’t bring extra?” he laughs. “Have you ever entered an engineering competition before?”

“No,” I admit. “Next time we’ll bring backups of everything. But for today, we’d be beyond grateful if you’d share yours.”

They argue internally, a hushed debate I can’t make out.

“How grateful?” another guy breaks their huddle to ask, pointedly checking me out.

“Tell me he didn’t ask me to trade sex for solder,” I whisper to Madison.

“Yeah, I wish I could.”

But unless I do something, our shot will be over before it’s begun.

As intimidating as this room is, the prospect of becoming a real, working engineer has never felt closer.

My hands reach up to unclasp my diamond necklace. I try not to look at how the gem catches the light as I hold it out.

“I’ll give you this. It’s real.”

They exchange looks.

Say no, part of me shouts.

“Deal.”

Madison is strangely quiet as we head back with our prize, a few dollars of cheap materials.

“Do we want to know what you both did to get this?” Royce asks dryly.

Adam’s crouched next to the robot, but he flicks his gaze up and immediately spots my missing necklace.

I hand him the solder. “Just fix it.”

“And the final team to qualify…Russell University.”

We all sag in relief against our table.

“Fuck yeah we did.” Adam holds up a hand, and even I can’t deny him the high-five.

“How does it feel?” Madison asks.

“Better than dancing Swan Lake,” I say.

“What do you think, Professor Redmond?” Royce calls.

I turn to see Sawyer, hands in his pockets, smirking. “It’s passable.”

“Passable? Pretty sure you owe us a beer,” Adam comments.

“You could win the entire competition and I will never buy you a beer.”

I bite my cheek, trying to picture Sawyer doing anything for Adam.

We all head to lunch together and I drop into a seat next to Adam. Madison and Royce start bickering.

Moments later, something brushes my knee under the table.

Sawyer. Awareness lifts the hairs on my neck.

He’s taken the chair on my other side, and his leg rests against mine.

I want to close my eyes at the feel of it.

“Olivia. I’d like a word after lunch.”

The fact that he’s asking in front of the others is bold, and my hand fists under the table.

His gaze hits me square in the chest—the confidence, pride, admiration.

“Of course, Professor.”

I want to bask in it. Instead, I take a sip of my water.

“You gave up your necklace to fix the robot, didn’t you?”

Adam’s voice tears my attention away.

“It’s not a big deal.”

“It is a big deal. You got it for dancing Swan Lake. Not to mention it’s probably worth what, five grand? Ten? I didn’t know you were so serious about this, Liv.”

“Well, I am.”

I feel Sawyer’s eyes in my back.

“Excuse me,” he says. “I need to go do something.”

“You don’t want to talk?”

He turns that over. “Later.”

Before I can protest, he’s gone.

Following lunch, the agenda is filled with informational sessions and meetings.

On the way to the elevator at the end of the day, I run into Sawyer’s friend in the lobby.

“Tate,” he says warmly as I try to remember his name.

I smile. “Right.”

“I heard you had to make some last-minute repairs.”

“There was a challenge in transporting our project,” I say. “I wasn’t about to let this go up in flames.”

“Well, if you win the competition, you’ll have a million dollars. You could get a job working for someone else, or you could invest the prize in R&D to build your company. Set up shop in the Valley, or wherever you want. I could give you advice on that, at the right time.”

“Thank you.” The idea of going into business with Royce, Adam, and Madison feels like a world away, but setting up a company based on the work we’re doing is an exciting possibility.

“You have good advice in the interim. Sawyer’s the smartest man I know.”

I’m still riding the high of success, and can’t resist teasing. “So why is he working with us instead of with you?”

Tate’s nostrils flare, his smile tightening. “Because even smart people do stupid things.”

He continues on his way and I’m left staring after him.

25

OLIVIA

“Cute outfit,” I tell Madison as she turns in the mirror with her blue silk jumpsuit.

“Thanks. You too.”

I pat down my cocktail dress. I pulled my hair back in a sleek ponytail and applied my eyeliner darker than I’d normally do it for a school event. “I don’t look like a stripper?”

She ducks her face, guilt flickering across her expression. “You know that what you did today was really decent.”

“I’m glad we got through.” I square my shoulders, ignoring how bare my neck feels without the good luck charm I’ve worn for years.

My phone buzzes, and I check it.

Unknown: You were fantastic today.

The sadness about my necklace evaporates. I grin and type back.

Liv: I accept payment in the form of lavish praise and orgasms. Speaking of which, you wanted to meet up.

Unknown: Mhmm. I’ll find you at the reception.

“Listen, I’m really sorry about the Velvet video. I did post it, but it wasn’t my idea.”

Madison interrupts my thoughts and I straighten in surprise. “Then whose was it?“

She only shakes her head.

I’m not sure what to say, but I’m grateful for the ceasefire in our hostilities.

So we head downstairs for the reception and join the crowd of students, faculty and industry people milling about the ballroom.

We’re on a different floor than the day’s earlier activities, and it’s strange how now that the competition is done for the day, everyone is friendlier.

Royce looks extra handsome tonight, and he watches every move Madison makes.

“What’s up with you and Royce?” I murmur to her.

She rolls her eyes. “Nothing. And there won’t be. Even if we were good together, I don’t want anything to get in the way of this project. It matters too much.”

But when a captain of another team introduces himself, she allows herself to be sucked into conversation.

“You ever seen The Queen’s Gambit?” he starts. “It must be hard for women surrounded by men.”

“Buy me a drink.”

“It’s an open bar.”

She blinks at him and he leaps into action.

I’m still smiling when Sawyer comes up behind me. “You look stunning.”

“And I’m wearing your favorite underwear.”

“Which are?”

I focus on the room in front of me despite the heat of his attention. “None.”

The soft noise behind me might be a groan. “Olivia…Meet me in the North stairwell at eleven.”

Does he want to hook up here, at the hotel? It’s insane. But maybe we can find somewhere out of sight. If I’m lucky everyone will be drunk like after Fall Ball, and our absence won’t be noticed.

Sawyer’s attention is stolen by some men in suits, and I admire him a moment before turning away.

“Excuse me,” I ask one of the guys from another team, “do you know where the women’s bathroom is?”

They exchange a look. “Do we look like we know where the women’s bathroom is?”

The laughter follows me as I turn on my heel and leave the ballroom.

I search through the halls, and after few moments, I find the bathroom. It’s empty when I slip into a stall.

As I reach for toilet paper, two voices enter.

“…that contract went to Ajax. No one saw it coming.”

“No one? Come on. It’s been a year since their Series B funding.”

They must be sponsors—they sound older than students, plus most students don’t keep up on industry happenings.

I tune them out until one of them gasps. “Oh my God. Did you see him here? He brought a team. I’m shocked he’s in public.”

“Who?”

“Sawyer Redmond.”

“Why did he leave New York?”

“He was screwing his partner’s nineteen-year-old daughter. They couldn’t have him in the company after that.”

The blood drains from my head.

When they leave, I trip out of the stall. My hands brace on the cool marble sink.

It can’t be true. Sawyer wouldn’t have had an affair with a teenager.

But the knot in my chest twists tighter.

He was so angry when he learned I was his student—I thought it was because he knew we couldn’t keep seeing each other, but what if it’s something else?

Plus he’s been tight-lipped about why he left his company. And Tate was cryptic about why he’s not working with Sawyer now.

Is that why he was looking at me suspiciously? He’s worried it’s happening again?

Sweat beads at my neck.

No. Sawyer sees me. He cares about me.

But if I’m not special, if I’m just a type for him…I can’t bear it.

Outside, I grab another drink.

Then another.

Somehow I make it back up to my room.

I pass out on the bed until a pounding on my door wakes me.

“Olivia!” Sawyer’s voice outside my door is insistent. “Are you in there?”

I roll off the bed, tug my dress down and stumble across the floor. The clock says it’s nearly midnight.

I jerk the door open to find Sawyer, shirt rolled up to his elbows, hair wild, expression tight with concern. “You didn’t meet me. I couldn’t find—”

“Did you leave New York because you were fucking your partner’s teenage daughter?”

The words are shards of glass in my throat.

I wait for him to say I’m crazy. But when his nostrils flare, his jaw clenching, the hurt slices deeper.

“Jesus, Olivia.” His head drops back.

“Did you?”

“You seem to think so.”

He’s calm. How is he this calm, when it feels like everything is crashing down around me?

Sawyer shoves a hand through his hair. “You’re talking about a time before I came to Russell. Before I met you.”

He’s the first person in the world who made me feel like he saw me for me. If this is true…then Madison is right and it’s all about the power for him, and it was never about me at all.

My eyes burn. “That’s why you left your company on bad terms you refuse to talk about, isn’t it? It’s why you came here—not only because your dad died, but because you had to leave the city.”

He doesn’t deny it.

Doesn’t do anything but look at me with pity and regret.

“God, I’m so stupid.” It takes everything in me to force out the words. “I cared about you, and this was…what? A game? A challenge?”

The anguish on his face hardens into an unreadable mask. “No.”

“Then what was it?” I choke out.

He doesn’t answer.

The dinging sound from down the hall might as well be from another world.

All I hear is the blood rushing in my ears.

All I feel is agony, because the heart I didn’t realize I gave him before now is breaking.

“We’re done, Sawyer,” I whisper. “No more dates. No more sex. No more texting. This thing between us…it’s over.”

Movement in the corner of my damp eyes rips my gaze away.

Madison stands frozen by the elevator, both hands over her mouth.

She heard every word.

Thank you for reading Crave! I hope you loved Sawyer and Olivia’s story.

Can Sawyer defy his past to win Olivia back when his secrets catch up to them? Find out now in Collide!

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BOOKS BY PIPER LAWSON

OFF-LIMITS SERIES

Crave

Collide

Claim

ENEMIES SERIES

Beautiful Enemy

Beautiful Sins

Beautiful Ruin

Beautiful Salvation

RIVALS SERIES

Love Notes

A Love Song for Liars

A Love Song for Rebels

A Love Song for Dreamers

A Love Song for Always

WICKED SERIES

Good Girl

Bad Girl

Wicked Girl

Forever Wicked

MODERN ROMANCE SERIES

Easy Love

Bad Love

Twisted Love

PLAY SERIES

PLAY

NSFW

RISE

TRAVESTY SERIES

Schooled

Stripped

Sealed

Styled

Satisfaction

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Piper Lawson is a Wall Street Journal and USA Today bestselling author of hot romance for smart women.

She writes about girls who follow their dreams (even the scary ones), best friends who know your dirty secrets (and love you anyway), and complex heroes you’ll fall hard for (especially after talking with them).

Piper lives in Canada with her tall, dark and brilliant husband. She believes peanut butter is a protein, rose gold is a neutral, and love is always the answer.

I love hearing from you! Find me on:

Website | Newsletter

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

I've been longing to write a college romance for YEARS. While I have a couple of stories set there (Schooled and A Love Song for Rebels), it's never been enough to satisfy me. I love the thrills of freedom and first-time-adulthood...the friends and the pressures and the triumphs.

Sawyer and Liv wouldn’t have happened without the support of my awesome readers, including my ARC team. You ladies provide endless enthusiasm, cheerleading, and help spreading the word. I could NOT do it without you, and it would be a lot less fun to try.

An extra shoutout to everyone who read early, commented, brainstormed and hand-held to make this the best story it can be. Tal, Sara, Suzanne, and Tina: thank you for parsing ALL the pages, for catching typos, and for identifying gems of opportunity ripe for polishing. (You all owe me some kidneys.) Plus Maddie, Beth, Anna, Nicola, Annette, your help with the 1.0 version of this story, Tease Me, set the foundation for this entire world.

Thank you Regina Wamba for the perfect image.

Becca Mysoor, thank you for knowing the characters in my head better than I do, and proving it every day. Erica Russikoff, thank you for polishing, cheerleading and catching all the little things.

Thank you Dani Sanchez for your sage advice and for helping my stories find their way to readers who’ll cherish them like I do.

And Annette Brignac and Michelle Clay… I don’t know how I published a sentence before you. Don’t ever leave me.

Thank you all from the bottom of my heart. The best part of author life is having YOU in it.

Love always,

Piper

Copyright 2021 by Piper Lawson Books

Content editing by Becca Mysoor

Line and copy editing by Erica Russikoff

Cover photography by Regina Wamba

This book is a work of fiction. References to real people, events, establishments, organizations, or locations are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission.

THE UNREQUITED

SAFFRON A. KENT

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely

coincidental.

The Unrequited © 2017 by Saffron A. Kent

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

Cover Art by Najla Qamber Designs

Editing by C. Marie

Proofreading by Kaitie Reister & Leanne Rabessa

July 2017 Edition

Published in the United States of America

This one, hands down, goes to my husband. This book wouldn’t be here without him. I’m sorry for all the grief I put you through. You deserve so much better than me and my absent-mindedness, but I’m not letting you go. Also, I owe you a strawberry cheesecake, and I’m gonna make it this time. I promise.

PART 1

THE STARLET

CHAPTER ONE

My heart is not an organ.

It’s more than that. My heart is an animal—a chameleon, to be specific. It changes skin and color, not to blend in, but to be difficult, unreasonable.

My heart has many faces. Restless heart. Desperate heart. Selfish heart. Lonely heart.

Today my heart is anxious—or at least it’s going to be anxious for the next fifty-seven minutes. After that, who knows?

I’m sitting in the pristine office of the school’s guidance counselor, Kara Montgomery, and my heart is going haywire. It’s fluttering, dipping up and down in my chest, bumping against my ribcage. It doesn’t want to be here, because it takes offense at seeing the guidance counselor, which is really just a euphemism for therapist.

We don’t need a therapist. We’re fine.

Isn’t that what crazy people say?

“Layla,” says the guidance-counselor-with-a-psychology-degree/therapist, Ms. Montgomery. “How was your vacation?”

I glance away from the window I’ve been staring out of, forgoing the scenery of the snowy outdoors to focus on the smiling woman behind the desk. “It was all right.”

“Well, what did you do?” She is rolling a pen between her fingers, and then it slips out of her hand and falls to the floor. She chuckles at herself and bends to pick it up.

Kara is not a typical guidance counselor/therapist. For one, she’s clumsy and always appears frantic. There’s nothing calm about her. Her hair is never in place; strands are flying everywhere, and she’s forever running her fingers through them to make them behave. Her blouses are always wrinkled, which she hides under her corduroy jackets. She talks fast, and sometimes things she says aren’t very therapist-like.

“So?” she prompts, giving me her full attention. I want to tell her that her glasses are tipped to one side, but I don’t; she is less intimidating this way. My heart doesn’t need any more threats than what her degree represents.

“Um, I took walks, mostly.” I shift in the cushioned chair, tucking a strand of my loose hair behind my ear. “Watched Netflix. Went to the gym.”

Lies. All lies. I binged on Christmas candy my mom sent—or rather her assistant sent, because my mom didn’t want me to come home for the holidays. I sat on the couch all day and watched porn while sucking on Twizzlers and listening to Lana Del Rey in the background. I’m addicted to that woman. Seriously, she is a goddess. Every word out of her mouth is gold.

I’m not addicted to porn or Twizzlers, however. Those are just for when I get lonely…which is most of the time, but that’s beside the point.

“That’s great. I’m glad.” She nods. “You didn’t feel lonely without your friends, then? It was all good?”

Now, this is what I don’t get: why is she smiling at me? Why are her eyes curious? Is she trying to dig deep? Is she trying to fish for answers?

Her questions could be a cover for other loaded questions, like, Were you good, Layla? Were you really good? Did you do something crazy, like calling him in the middle of the night? Because you’ve done this before when you were lonely. So, did you call him, Layla? Did you?

The answer to all of this is a big fat no. I did not call him. I haven’t called him in months. Months. All I’ve done is stare at his photo on my phone—the photo no one knows about, because if my mom knew I was still pining after him, she’d send me to a real therapist, a real live one who would ask all sorts of questions rather than disguising them with euphemisms.

So no, I did not call him. I have only stared at a stupid picture like a pathetic lovesick person. There, happy now?

I shift in my chair and open my mouth to tell her exactly that when I realize she hasn’t even asked the question. I’m only thinking she has. It’s all in my head. I tell my anxious heart to calm down. Relax, would you? We’re still in the clear.

I exhale a long breath and answer, “Yeah, it was good. I kept myself busy.”

“That’s great. That’s good to hear. I don’t like when students have to stay back for holidays. I just worry about them.” She laughs and her glasses become even more crooked. This time she straightens them up and folds her hands on the desk. “So have you given any thought to what electives you’ll be taking this semester?”

“Sure.”

Of course not. I’m not made for education. The only reason I agreed to college was because I was given the choice between school in Connecticut and the youth rehabilitation center in New Jersey, and I’m not setting foot in New fucking Jersey or going to a rehab center.

“Well?” Kara raises her blonde eyebrow in question.

I lick my lips, trying to think of something. “I think I’m gonna stick with the regular courses. College is hard as it is. I don’t wanna pile on new things.”

Kara smiles—she’s always smiling—and leans forward. “Look Layla, I like you. In fact, I think you’re great. You have great potential, and to be honest, I don’t think you need these thinly disguised therapy sessions with me.”

I sit up in my seat. “Really? I don’t have to come here anymore?”

“No, you still have to come. I’d like to keep my job.”

“I won’t tell anyone. It could be our secret,” I insist. I don’t like to keep secrets, but this one I’ll take to the grave.

“It’s tempting, but no. Cookie?” She chuckles, offering the chocolate chip cookies sitting on her desk, going all friendly on me again.

She gives me whiplash and sometimes I want to ask her, Are you here to analyze me or not? Not that there is anything to analyze. I’m a simple girl, really. I hate winters, Connecticut, and college. I love the color purple, Lana Del Rey, and him. That’s all.

I reach out to take one cookie but then change my mind and take three instead. I never say no to sugar.

Kara watches me carefully and I am about to snap at her when she speaks up. “So as I was saying, I think you have great potential, but you need set goals and you need to work on impulse control.” She gives me a pointed look as I take a bite out of my cookie. “You don’t have any, or at least, what you have is very little.”

“Huh.” I sag back in the chair. “Well, I knew that already.”

Kara threads her fingers together on the desk. “Great. So we’ve already conquered the first step: acceptance. Now we need to work on the next step.”

“And that is?”

“How to control it.”

I hold up my finger. “Way ahead of you there. I’ve totally got it under control.” Kara raises a skeptical brow and I continue, “I’ve been going to all my classes even though I wanna walk around aimlessly all day, and I’ve got C’s across the board even though I hate college. Not to mention, I’d kill for a drag or a drop of Grey Goose, but I haven’t touched any of those things. I don’t even go to parties, because we all know parties are just breeding grounds for pot, alcohol, and sex.”

I shoot her an arrogant smirk then finish my cookie. She can’t get me after that. I’ve been good. I’ve busted my ass to be good.

“That’s commendable. I appreciate your restraint, but that’s also the bare minimum. You shouldn’t be drinking and partying it up anyway.” She pushes her glasses up. “College is your time to learn, to discover yourself, to see what kind of things you like, and for that, we have electives. So, I ask you again, any thoughts?”

Sighing, I look away. I’m back to staring out the window. The grounds are white and the trees are naked. It’s all desolate and sad, like we’re living in a post-apocalyptic world where things like electives are mandatory.

“What are my choices?” I ask.

Kara beams at me, swatting at a wayward curl that’s getting in her eyes. “Well, we’ve got a great writing program. Maybe you should try some of the writing classes.”

“You mean, like, writing writing?” At her nod, I shake my head. “I don’t even like reading.”

“You should probably pick up a book sometime. Who knows, you might end up liking it.”

“Yeah, no, I don’t think so.” I sigh. “Do you have anything else? I don’t think I’m cut out for writing.”

“In fact, I think you’d be great at it.”

“Really?” I scoff. “What do you think I should write about?”

This time her smile is both sweet and sad. “Write about New York. I know you miss it. Or maybe something about winter.”

“I hate winter.” I wrap my arms around my body and hitch my shoulders to huddle in my purple fur coat. Another thing I like: fur. It’s soft and cuddly, and it’s the only thing that can somewhat keep me warm.

“Then why do you keep staring at the snow?” I shrug, and she dips her head in acceptance of my non-answer. “How about you try writing something about what you felt when Caleb left? About the way you acted up?”

Caleb.

I’m jolted at the mention of his name. It’s not an outward jolt, more a tremor on the inside, like when you hear a sudden loud sound in a quiet apartment and you know it’s nothing, but your body tenses nonetheless.

I don’t think I’ve heard his name spoken out loud since I moved here six months ago. It sounds so exotic in Kara’s voice. On my tongue, his name sounds loud, shrill, wrong somehow. I shouldn’t be saying it, but hey, I’ve got no impulse control, so I say it anyway.

I hate her for bringing him up. I hate that she’s going there in a roundabout way.

“I didn’t act up. I just…got drunk…every now and then.” I clear my throat, pushing my anger away when all I want to do is storm out of here.

“I know, and then every now and then, you went shoplifting, crashed your mom’s parties, and got behind the wheel.”

Should therapists be judgy like this? I don’t think so. And why are we talking about these things, all of a sudden? Mostly, we stick to neutral topics like school and my teachers, and when things get a little personal, I evade and make jokes.

This one time when she tried talking about the days leading up to Caleb’s departure, I took my top halfway off and showed her my newly acquired belly button ring, and maybe even the underside of my bra-less boobs.

“I didn’t kill anyone, did I?” I say, referring to her earlier comment about drinking and driving. “Besides, they took away my license, so the people of Connecticut are safe from the terror that is me. Why are we talking about this?”

“Because I think you can channel all of your emotions into something good, something constructive. Maybe you’ll end up liking it. Maybe you’ll end up liking college.” She lowers her voice then. “Layla, I know you hate college. You hate seeing me every week. You hate being here, but I think you should give it a chance. Do something new. Make new friends.”

I want to say I do have friends—I do, they are just not visible to the naked eye—but I don’t, because what’s the point of lying when she knows everything anyway?

“Fine.”

Kara looks at the clock on the wall to her right. “Tell me you’ll think about it, really think about it. The semester starts in a couple days so you’ve got a week to think about the courses, okay?”

I spring up from my seat and gather my winter gear. “Okay.”

“Good.”

It takes me a couple of minutes to get ready to go out in the snow. I snap my white gloves on and pull down the white beanie to cover my ears.

Winter is a cruel bitch. You gotta pile on or you’ll get burned by the stinging wind, and no matter how much I pile on, I’m never warm enough, not even inside the heated buildings. So, I’ve got it all: hat, scarves, gloves, thermal tights, leg warmers, fur boots.

I’m at the door, turning the knob, but something stops me.

“Do you think…he’s doing okay up there? I mean, do you think he misses me?” I don’t know why I ask this question. It simply comes out.

“Yes. I do think he misses you. You guys grew up together, right? I’m sure he misses his best friend.”

Then why doesn’t he call? “Boston is cold,” I blurt out stupidly, my throat feeling scraped. A chill runs through my body at the thought of all that snow up there.

“But I’m sure he’s fine,” she reassures me, with a smile.

“Yeah,” I whisper. I’m sure Harvard is taking good care of their genius.

“You know, Layla, falling in love isn’t bad or wrong or even hard. It’s actually really simple, even if there’s no reciprocation. It’s the falling out that’s hard, but no matter how much you convince yourself otherwise, reciprocation is important. It’s what keeps the love going. Without it, love just dies out, and then it’s up to you. Do you bury it, or do you carry the dead body around? It’s a hard decision to make, but you have to do it.”

I know what she’s saying: move on, forget him, don’t think about him—but how can you forget a love of thirteen years? How can you forget the endless nights of wanting, needing, dreaming? I love you. That’s all I ever wanted to hear. How can I let go of that?

With a jerky nod, I walk out of her room. Outside the building, the air is cold and dry. It hurts to breathe. My heart is still fluttering with residual anxiety when I take my phone out, and stare at the last picture I have of him. He’s smiling in it. His green, green eyes are shining and his plump, kissable lips are stretched wide. It’s fucking beautiful. I don’t think I can ever delete it. Not in this lifetime.

I put the phone away when I see a couple. They are up ahead of me on the cobblestone pathway, and they are wrapped around each other. The girl is cold, her cheeks red, and the guy is rubbing his hands over hers, trying to warm her up. They are smiling goofy smiles, reminding me of a smile from long ago.

Caleb as the ring bearer and me as the flower girl. Caleb stopping in his confident but boyish stride to take my small hand in his, me looking up at him with a frown. Oh, how I hated him in that moment. Caleb flashing his adorable smile and me returning it, despite the frown, despite the strange surroundings, despite the fact that my mom was marrying his dad. I hated getting a new brother. I hated moving across town to a new house with no rooftop garden.

At the fork, the couple takes a right turn and I’m supposed to go left, but I don’t want to go left. I want to go where they’re going. I want to bask in their happiness for a while. I want to see reciprocation.

What does requited love look like? I want to see it.

I take the right turn and follow the couple.

It’s cold, so fucking cold. Also, dark—super dark, and the Victorian lamps flanking the street don’t do shit to light up my path.

But none of that deters me from taking a harried pace. I’m walking down Albert Street, heading toward Brighton Avenue where the university park entrance is. Sleep is hard to come by, especially after Kara mentioned writing about my unrequited love.

Once upon a time, six-year-old Caleb Whitmore smiled at five-year-old Layla Robinson. She didn’t know it then, but that was the day she fell in love with him. Over the years, she tried to get his attention without success. Then one night, in her desperate, desperate attempt to stop Caleb from going off to Harvard, she kind of, sort of…raped him a little bit. She’s not entirely sure. Caleb went off to college one month earlier than he was supposed to and Layla was stuck acting up. The end.

Two years later I’m here, walking the streets, feeling ashamed of my love, ashamed of having ever fallen for my stepbrother and then driving him away.

For the record, Caleb Whitmore isn’t even my stepsibling anymore. My mom divorced his dad a few years ago, but I think some stigmas never go away—like, you don’t sleep with your best friend’s ex-boyfriend, and you don’t date your friend’s brother. Caleb will always be my stepbrother because we kind of grew up together.

I don’t even have memories of the time before him. I can’t remember the house I lived in before I lived with him, except that it had a rooftop garden. I can’t remember the friends I had before he came along. I can’t even remember my own dad before his dad came into the picture.

All I remember is one day when I was five, Mom said we were leaving, and that I was going to get a brother. Then the dark days followed where I cried because I hated the idea of a sibling.

And then a burst of sunlight: a tiny six-year-old boy holding the rings on a velvet cushion, standing next to me. I remember thinking I was taller than him in my frilly, itchy dress, flowers in my hand. I remember thinking that I liked his blond hair and green eyes as opposed to my black hair and weird violet eyes. Together, we watched our parents get married, and together, we grimaced when they kissed each other on the lips.

It was beautiful, with white lilies and the smell of cake everywhere.

Now, I make my way toward the solitude. Slipping and stumbling on the transparent patches of ice, I enter the park. The cold wind curls around my body, making me shiver, but I keep going, my booted feet trudging through the snow. I’m looking for a particular spot that I like to frequent during the nights when I can’t sleep, which happens often.

Unrequited love and insomnia are longtime friends of mine. They might even be siblings—evil and uncaring with sticky fingers.

Frustrated, I stomp and slip, falling against the scratchy bark of a tree. Even through the thick layer of my fur coat, I feel the sting.

“Motherfucking…” I mutter, rubbing the burn on my arm. My eyes water with the pain, both physical and emotional. I hate this. I hate crying. I wipe my tears with frozen fingers and try to control my choppy breaths.

“It’s fine. It’s totally fine,” I whisper to myself. “I’m gonna be fine.” My words stumble over each other, but at least I’m not crying now.

Then I hear a sound. Footsteps on the iced ground. A wooden creak. Fear has me hiding against the tree, but curiosity has me peeking out.

A tall man dressed in all black—black hoodie and black sweatpants—is sitting on the bench, my bench, under my tree with the network of empty branches.

That’s my spot, asshole, I want to say, but I’m mute. Terrified. Who is he? What’s he doing here at this time of night? People sleep at night! I’m an exception though; I’m heartbroken.

He sits on the edge, head bent and covered by the hood, staring at the ground. Slowly, he slides back, sprawls, and tilts his face up. His hood falls away, revealing a mass of black hair illuminated by the yellow light of the lamp. It’s long and wavy, almost sailing past the nape of his neck and touching his shoulders. He watches the sky and I do the same. We watch the moon, the fat clouds. I smell snow in the air.

I decide the sky isn’t interesting enough. So, I watch him.

He is breathing hard, his broad chest puffing up and down. I notice a thick drop of sweat making its way down his strained throat, over the sharp bump of his Adam’s apple. Maybe he’s been running?

Without looking down, the dark man reaches back to get something from his pocket—a cigarette. He shifts, brings his face down, and I see his features. They are a system of angles and sharp, defined lines. His high cheekbones slant into a strong, stubbled jaw. Sweat dots his forehead and he wipes it off with his arm, stretching the fabric of his hoodie over his heaving chest.

Any moment, I expect him to light the cigarette and take in a drag. I realize I’m dying to watch him smoke, to see the tendrils of smoky warmth slip away into the winter air.

But he…doesn’t.

He simply stares at it. Wedged between two of his fingers, the cigarette remains still, an object of his perusal. He frowns at it, like he is fascinated. Like he hates it. Like he can’t imagine why a blunt stick of cancer is holding his attention.

Then he throws it away.

He reaches back again and gets out another cigarette. The same routine follows. Staring. Frowning. My anticipation of seeing what he does next.

This time he sighs, his chest shuddering up and down as he produces a lighter from his pocket. He throws the stick in his mouth and lights it up with a flick of his finger. He takes a drag and then lets the smoke seep out. His eyes fall shut at the ecstasy of that first pull. He might’ve even groaned. I would have.

Watching him fight his impulse to smoke was exhausting. I feel both sad and happy that he gave in. I wonder what I would’ve done in the same situation. Kara’s face comes to mind, her saying I need to work on restraining myself.

I know the smoke coming out of his mouth is virgin, not a drop of marijuana in there, but I want it in my mouth too. I so want it.

Abruptly, he stops and shoots up from his seat, pocketing the lighter. This guy is tall, maybe 6’3” or something. I have to crane my neck to look at him even though I’m standing far away. He skips on his feet, takes one last drag, flicks the cigarette on the ground, crushes it, pulls the hoodie over, and takes off jogging.

I come unglued from the tree, run to the bench, and look in the direction where he vanished -- nothing but darkness and frosty air. I might as well have conjured him up, like a child makes up an imaginary friend to feel less lonely. Sighing, I sit where he sat. The place is cold as ever, as if he never sat there.

My exhaustion is taking its toll and I close my eyes. I breathe in the lingering smell of cigarette and maybe even something chocolatey. I curl up on the bench, my cheek pressing into the cold wood. I hate winter, but I can’t fall asleep in my warm bed. It’s one of those ironies people laugh about.

Drifting into sleep, I pray that the color of the stranger’s eyes isn’t green.

CHAPTER TWO

I live in a tower.

It’s the tallest building around the area of PenBrook University, where I’ve been banished to go to school. I’m on the top floor in a two-bedroom apartment overlooking the university park. In fact, I can see the entire campus from my balcony—the umbrella of trees, red rooftops of squatting houses, spiked buildings. I like to sit up on my balcony and throw water balloons at people down on the street. When they look up, outraged, I duck behind the stone railing, but in those five seconds, I feel acknowledged. They knew someone was up there, throwing things at them. I like that.

The lower floors will be rented out in a few months, but currently I’m the only person living in this posh, luxurious, tower-like building. Henry Cox, my current stepdad, is the owner, hence the early access. My mom thought living in a dorm would make me more susceptible to drugs and alcohol. As if I can’t score here if I want to.

Since my heart is lonely today, I decide to go to the bookstore and get the books on my course list. Might as well since classes begin tomorrow.

I throw on some sweatpants and a large hoodie, then cover myself up with my favorite purple fur coat, a scarf, and a hat. My dark hair falls around my face for extra protection from the cold.

Ten minutes later, I’m at the campus bookstore, pulling up the list of books on my phone. One by one, I collect the required texts in the nook of my arm. I’m sad that it took only a few minutes and now I’ll have to go back to my tower.

Then I get an idea. I walk toward the literature section of the store. Rows and rows of books with beautiful calligraphy surround me in shoulder-height wooden bookshelves. There’s a smell here that I can get used to, warm and sharp. Heaven must smell like this.

Unlike Caleb, I’m not much of a reader. He’s a great lover of books and art.

With Lana crooning in my ears about “Dark Paradise,” I run my fingers over the edges of the books, trying to decide how best to mess things up. My lonely heart perks up. It flips in my chest, telling me how much it appreciates my efforts to fill this giant, gaping hole.

Don’t mention it.

Then I get to work. I trade books on the G shelf with the ones on the F. I laugh to myself, cackling as I imagine people getting confused. It calls for a little twerking so I move my ass—only a little, mind you—to the sensual beats of the song.

As I turn around, my movements halt. The book in my hand remains suspended in the air and all thoughts vanish from my head.

He is here.

Him.

The dark smoker from last night.

He stands tall and intimidating with a book of his own in his hands. Like last night, he is frowning at the object. Maybe it pissed him off somehow, offended him with its existence. If not for the ferocity of his displeasure, I never would’ve recognized him under the industrial light of the bookstore.

He looks different in the light. More real. More angry. More dangerous.

His dark hair gleams, the strands made of wet, black silk. The night muted their beauty, their fluidity. I was right about his face though.

It is a web of square planes and valleys, sharp and harsh, but regal and proud. Nothing is soft about him except his lips, which are currently pursed. I picture the cigarette sitting in his full, plump mouth.

Then, like last night, he sighs, and the violence in his frown melts a little. He hates the book, but he wants it. I think he hates how much he wants it.

But why? If he wants it so much, he should just take it.

My heart has forgotten its loneliness and is invested in this dark stranger now. I study him from top to bottom. A leather jacket hangs from his forearm. He’s wearing a crisp white shirt and blue jeans and…

Oh my God! He’s wearing a white shirt and blue jeans.

He’s dressed like my favorite song, “Blue Jeans” by Lana Del Rey.

My heart starts to beat faster. Faster. Faster. I need him to look up. I need to see his eyes. I will him to do just that, but he doesn’t get my vibes. I’m just about to go up to him when a girl skips into my vision.

He looks up then. In fact, he whips his eyes up, irritated.

They are blue—a brilliant blue, a fiery blue, like the hottest part of a flame, or like the water that puts out that flame.

“Um, hi,” the girl says as her blonde ponytail swishes across her back.

He doesn’t reply but watches her through his dark, thick lashes.

“I was wondering if you could help me get a few books from over there.” She points to the tall wooden shelf across the room that almost touches the roof. A couple of girls are standing by it. They giggle among themselves when he looks over.

Really? That’s so cliché, hitting on a guy like that at a bookstore.

Well, who am I to judge? I’ve done things like that multiple times with Caleb, playing the damsel in distress just so he’ll come save me.

The girl is waiting for him to say something. He’s been holding his silence for the past few seconds, and I begin to feel embarrassed for her. Silence is the worst response when trying to get someone to notice you.

Then he breaks his tight pose and shrugs. “I’d love to help you, but I forgot my ladder at home today.”

Low and guttural—his voice. It’s a growl, really, and it makes me shiver.

He delivers the line with such dryness that even I’m confused. Don’t they have a ladder here at the store? But then the complete, yet fake, innocence on his face tells me he’s making a joke, and despite the shivery skin, I chuckle quietly.

“They have a ladder here. Look,” the girl says, pointing to the dark brown wooden ladder slanting against the bookcase. Her friends are still staring at the exchange between them.

“I see,” he murmurs, scratching his jaw with his thumb and then drumming his fingers against his biceps.

There are tight lines around his eyes, flashing in and out of existence. He’s trying to control himself yet again. He hated the interruption, and now he’s deciding how to deal with it. It’s all guesswork on my part, but I’m right. I just know it.

“I’m totally scared to climb it in my heels,” the blondie explains.

“You shouldn’t be,” he encourages. “I do it all the time.”

“Do what all the time?”

“Climb ladders in my heels,” he deadpans and studies something on the floor—her shoes, maybe? “Ah, I can see where you’re having trouble. Pencil heels. You don’t want to mess with those. Dangerous contraptions. People have lost their lives.”

There’s a moment of silence. Then, “You’re kidding, right?”

“No, I never kid about heels.” He rubs his lips together. “Or skirts that make my calves look slimmer. I never kid about them either.”

“What?” the girl screeches.

He draws back, looking affronted. “You don’t think my calves can look slim in a skirt? Are you calling me fat?”

“Wh-What? I’m not… I never…”

“Yes, so I just had a tub of chocolate ice cream, and yes, I promised myself I’d cut down on sugar”—a sharp, dramatic sigh—“but I slipped up. You think just because you’re blonde and pretty you can question a man’s wardrobe choices?” The blue in his eyes is amused, as are the crinkles around them. I press my lips together to stop the snort from bursting out.

“I don’t…I don’t even know what you’re talking about. I just came here asking for help.” The girl is irritated and indignant.

The crinkles around his eyes snap back into tight lines. “Let me tell you a little secret.” He lowers his voice and I find myself inching closer. “I’m not the helping kind.” He tilts his head to point toward her friends. “You should run along and play with people your own age and IQ level.”

Then he throws the book on the shelf, looks at his watch, and strides away, leaving us both stunned. The blondie huffs and heads toward her friends.

So the blue-eyed smoker is a giant asshole. I feel bad for the girl, even though a trapped laugh escapes me.

If that was his show of control, I don’t know what he’ll do if unleashed. I walk to where he was standing and pick up the abandoned book. A Lover’s Discourse: Fragments by Roland Barthes. It looks harmless enough with an unassuming black cover. I wonder why he was mad at this book. I wonder how our conversation would go if we ever talked. I wouldn’t even know what to say to him, except, Hi, I’m Layla, and you remind me of a song.

Hours later, I’m back at home. I’m tired and want to go to sleep. I don’t even want to watch porn, which I would normally do while munching on my Twizzlers. I don’t watch porn to get myself off, no. I don’t even touch myself. I watch it to feel something, a sense of closeness to someone, maybe. I study the naked, writhing bodies, the erotic frown on the girl’s face, the look of focus on the guy’s. I listen to the sounds they make, albeit fake.

I try to understand their dynamic. It looks surreal to me. I try to compare it with the one time I had sex. It was nothing like that. The guy didn’t look at me like he’d die if he didn’t get inside me, and the girl—me—wanted him to get out as soon as he got in.

Well, that’s what you get when you force someone to sleep with you.

First day of the spring semester. I wonder why they call it the spring semester; it’s still January and freakishly cold. The snow is sprawled around like a white nightmare and the wind blows it sideways, slapping our faces with chilled flurries.

Even so, there’s an enthusiasm in the air. New classes, new professors, new love stories.

The street outside my tower is flooded with people carrying book bags and wearing puffed-up multicolored jackets. I’m bombarded with shrieks of laughter and conversations as I walk down the street to Crème and Beans, my favorite coffee shop.

It seems as if it’s become everyone’s favorite overnight because it’s jam-packed this morning. I wait in a long line that stretches to the back of the store.

The line moves slowly, like molasses, and as I take a step forward, I see him. Again. The blue-eyed smoker. He is up ahead at the counter. I can only see his profile—square jaw and untamed hair—as he steps out of the line, fishes his wallet out, and pays for the coffee.

He walks out, clenching a cigarette between his teeth, and lights it up. No hesitation this time. Has he already lost the battle?

My legs move of their own volition and I abandon the line, running after him. Even the blast of the cold wind isn’t enough to deter me from pursuing the dark stranger.

He is eating up the distance, leaving a trail of smoke behind. He is more lunging than walking with his long legs, and I have to speed-walk to keep up. He walks toward McKinley Street where the quad is located, dodging the stream of people easily. I’m not as graceful. I bump and crash into bodies.

But somehow, I keep the broad line of his shoulders in sight. It’s hard not to, really. He’s taller than most people, his back broader, and I bet when that black sport jacket is peeled off, that back is an expanse of thick cuts and sleek lines, much like his face.

The chilled breeze ruffles his hair and scatters the smoke billowing out of his cigarette. I can taste it in my mouth, taste the ashy smoke and languid relief that only nicotine can provide. This man makes me want to buy a pack of cigarettes and smoke my day away. He makes me want to whip out my fake ID and get liquored up.

That reminds me—I am a good girl now.

So what the fuck am I doing? I’ve got class, and I should be scrambling like everyone to get to it.

But we want to follow him, my heart whines.

Fine. Just this once.

I keep following my smoker. We cross the quad and he climbs the steps leading up to the bridge that stretches over the two sides of campus. I hardly ever take it since all my classes are on the south side, where I live, but we’re going to the north side, I guess.

The other side of campus is quieter. Cobblestone pathways and benches are almost empty. There are hardly any stragglers here. Even the air is sharper as it blows through my loose hair and swishes around my red-checkered skirt. Here, the leafless trees are dense as they line the path, making it seem like we’re walking through woods.

At last, he stops in front of a building and I stop a few feet behind him. The golden letters on the red-bricked high-rise building say McArthur Building, and on the side in a smaller cursive font, it says The Labyrinth—whatever that means.

I enter the building behind him and sounds bombard me from every side. Murmurs, laughter, footsteps. A phone rings somewhere. A drawer is snapped shut. A door thuds closed. It is a hub of activity in contrast to the quietness outside, as though every soul on this side of campus resides within this archaic building.

The floors gleam under my feet and the unpolished brick walls give the space a homey feel. I want to look around and see what exactly this place is, but I don’t dare take my eyes off him. He walks down the hallway and enters the very last room.

I follow him and as I’m about to enter the room, it happens.

He turns and looks at me.

His mysterious, otherworldly blue eyes are on me, and I’m rendered paralytic. I can’t move. I can’t think. His stare lulls me into a foggy stillness.

He leans against something…a table. The windows in the wall behind him let the sunlight in, which dissolves as soon as it touches his body, making him glow. He takes a sip of his coffee and watches me over the rim of the mug. Somewhere along the way he got rid of his cigarette, and oddly, I mourn the loss.

“Hi,” I say breathily.

“Are you going to take a seat?”

His rich, mature voice slides over my skin, causing a slight sting, like that of an aged liquor.

“What?” I ask stupidly, thoughtlessly.

“Take a seat,” he says again, sighing.

“I don’t…”

He stands up straight. “Take. A. Seat.” He enunciates every word like I’m an imbecile. “Or get the fuck out of my class.”

Class. That word pierces the bubble around me, making me wince. I break his gaze and look around. Sure enough, we’re in a class with twenty or so people, and they’re all staring at me.

I look back at him, frowning, and study his features. The aged, mature features. The lines around his mouth and eyes. His confident manner. The fact that he is intimidating when he wants to be.

He doesn’t look like a college-going guy…because he is not.

This blue-eyed smoker is a professor.

CHAPTER THREE

“You’re…a professor.” I repeat my thoughts out loud; I don’t know what else to say.

A tight, barely tolerant smile. “What gave me away?”

Plenty of things, actually. I open my mouth to answer his question but my heart whispers, He’s kidding, you idiot. Sarcasm alert.

Right. I close my mouth but open it again. “I-I didn’t realize that when I followed you here.”

“You followed me.” He’s studying me with shrewd eyes. I wonder what I look like to him—not like that blondie, I hope. Not like anyone else either.

“No,” I answer immediately, without a thought. Did you steal Caleb’s underwear? No, Mom. “Of course not. I mean, I didn’t mean it that way. I just… I didn’t realize this is a class.”

“It is, as you can see.” He puts down his coffee mug, ready to dismiss me. “So either take a seat or get out.”

“Right.” I nod. I’m on the verge of leaving, putting this whole thing behind me, but my legs move forward instead of backward, and then I’m walking through the rows of red plastic chairs. An uncomfortable prickle needles the back of my neck and I know he is watching me.

I take a seat in the back, look up at him—the professor—and find him unzipping his coat. He takes it off, revealing a starched grey shirt over black jeans. As he drapes the jacket over the chair, his movements are deft and fluid, like a melody. I was right—he’s like a song.

The realization brings heat, and I feel hotter than I’ve ever felt in winter. My skin sizzles and my breath skips. It’s so odd. Drops of sweat bead and trickle down my spine.

With trembling hands, I take my white beanie off and shake out my messy hair. Next to go are my fuzzy scarf, my gloves, the purple fur coat, and at last, the black cardigan, leaving me in a full-sleeved white top and red-checkered skirt. I pile everything in the next chair and take a deep breath.

As I look up, my eyes clash with the tiny blue balls of fire. The professor stares at me with a raised eyebrow and hands in his pockets. By the looks of it, he—along with everyone else—has been staring at me for a while now.

“Cold hates me,” I mumble and shrug, jerking my shoulders up.

He shakes his head once and runs his gaze over the class. The students sit on the edges of their seats as they wait for him to speak. I lean forward too. What class is this?

“Well…” He rocks on his heels. “I’m T—”

“We know who you are,” a girl says from the front row, and the entire class breaks into excited murmurs.

Yeah, but I don’t. What’s his name?

“Okay then.” He seems to be a little taken aback at their enthusiasm.

“I loved your latest collection,” she chirps. “I mean, we all did. We even had an Anesthesia night after finals. We read the entire thing. I got the title piece. It’s hands down the best poem in the book.”

Wait, what? He is a poet?

The guy next to her interrupts her. “I beg to differ. I think I like The Nighttime the best. It’s got a certain mystery to it. It starts in one place and then, boom, the ending completely blows your mind.”

“Yeah. See, that’s the thing. I think it’s deceiving the reader. I hate deceiving the reader. I think it’s just cheap tactics, you know. That’s why Anesthesia is the best one. It’s simple and pedestrian and just so powerful.”

“Yeah, it is simple, but Nighttime has…flair to it. It’s dramatic. Sometimes drama is important—big gestures, you know, that kind of thing.”

They argue some more. Words like syllables, stressed syllables, flow, form, rhythm—things I’ve never even heard of—are thrown around. Meanwhile, the professor watches them with a certain shock. It’s comical, really. Finally the girl gets tired of it and addresses him. “What do you think, professor?”

He shakes his head as if waking up from sleep. “Think about what?”

“Drama or simplicity, what do you think is better?” This comes from the guy.

The professor folds his arms across his chest and squints his eyes, as if he’s thinking about the answer. If yesterday’s incident is any indication, he is pretending to indulge them.

“That’s a tough one. I might need something a little stronger than coffee to come up with an answer, and unfortunately, it’s frowned upon to drink in a class. So, why don’t we begin with something a little ordinary? Like names, perhaps?” He lifts his chin to the front-row girl. “Do you want to start us off?”

“Uh, okay.” The girl wasn’t expecting that. “So, uh, I’m Emma. Emma Walker.”

Just like that, the spotlight falls away from him as people start introducing themselves.

He adjusts the cuffs of his shirt, fiddles with the buttons with his thick, long fingers. I feel especially drawn to them. He is a writer. He writes, with those hands. They are little gods, aren’t they? They create things, words, poems. For someone like me, that’s extraordinary.

I’ve got zero knowledge of poetry, but he makes me want to crack open his book and read. Huh. No one has ever made me want to do something as innocent as reading while simultaneously, making me want to get high and drunk.

Who is this man?

He’s like candy-coated toxin.

I’m so caught up in my musings that I almost miss the golden glint of a ring on his hand. For a split second, I’m confused as to what it is. Then I realize it’s a wedding band.

The blue-eyed professor is married.

My heart slows down for a few beats, making me dizzy, and then it picks back up. Thundering, galloping; it’s anxious. I almost want to rub my palm in circles where it’s making a fuss inside my chest. It’s bizarre. What do I care if he’s married?

Biting my lip, I look up and find his gaze on me. It’s one of those things where you accidently meet someone’s eyes. It’s not deliberate. It’s not like he was watching me watch his hands. And yet, my skin crackles with the tiny bit of electricity that is left behind after a gaze touches the body. I shift in my chair, crossing and uncrossing my legs.

Before long, it’s my turn to talk. “I’m Layla. Layla Robinson.”

His focus stays on me a beat longer than it did on other students. “Why do you want to take Introduction to Poetry, Miss Robinson?”

Great. The first thing he asks me is the one thing I have no clue about. Maybe I can say my therapist/guidance counselor suggested I try something new and here I am, but I don’t want him to know I’m crazy.

We are not crazy, my unhelpful heart chimes in.

I sit up straight and clear my throat. “Well, because it’s interesting. I like poetry.”

“What do you like about it?”

My breaths bubble up from my chest but don’t reach my mouth. I can’t exhale a proper puff of air as I contemplate his question. I’m under scrutiny, and I hate it. I feel everyone judging me, picking me apart. It feels like home, and I want to disappear.

But, like always, I keep my chin up and my eyes unblinking. The question churns inside my brain and I have an epiphany.

“The words,” I exclaim.

“Yes?” He raises a sarcastic brow. Asshole.

“It’s like lyrics without music.” I forge on. “It’s so easy to lose yourself in the beat of music, but lyrics keep you grounded. It keeps your mind active, you know. You have to pay attention, listen to it over and over to get its meaning, to read between the lines.” I nod, agreeing with my own analysis. “Yeah. That’s why I like poetry. Because of the words. They ground me.”

The silence is absolute. No one even breathes, or maybe it’s just me who doesn’t. I’ve never thought about lyrics in that way, but maybe it’s true. Words. Lyrics. Poetry. Aren’t they all the same?

The professor has the same look on his face as he did while he watched the cigarette and the book. His control is tick-tocking and I’m afraid. I’m…thrilled, which is a very strange reaction to have.

Then he turns his gaze away. “Let’s discuss the syllabus, shall we?”

A relieved breath whooshes out of me. This man has some serious self-control, if you don’t count the cigarettes. I should take lessons from him. I should register for this class. At least Kara will be happy.

He moves around the desk and fishes out a stack of papers from the drawer. It’s copies of the syllabus. He keeps one and hands the rest to Emma in the first row. For the next few minutes, the room is filled with rustling of papers and scratches of pen.

The sheet reaches me and I see it. His name. On the top right corner of the page with his office number and hours, and his extension.

Thomas Abrams.

Thomas.

Professor Abrams.

I bend down and retrieve a pen from my bag and underline his name. Once. Twice. Three times in purple glitter ink. Then I draw a circle around it. I tell my hands to stop, but they don’t. They dig the nib of the pen in, even more furiously at my protests.

Once we all have a copy, Professor Abrams proceeds to read out the important parts. This class is part workshop and part lit, meaning we will have to write our own poems and have them critiqued, along with reading poems by some famous people. Honestly, I don’t know the names of half of them—Dunn, Plath, Byron, Poe, Wilmot.

Professor Abrams’ voice has very little inflection to it, making me think he doesn’t have much interest in the syllabus. He frowns at certain places especially, like when the syllabus outlines the homework to be given and the grading system.

There are a few moments when Emma tries to engage him in a conversation, but he evades smoothly. I can feel her frustration from where I sit in the last row. Either Thomas Abrams doesn’t care, or he has no idea how to be a teacher. I’m guessing it’s a little bit of both.

Before long, the class is over and we have our first assignment: write a one- to two-page essay on our reasons for choosing this class and authors that inspire us. The assignment is enough to send me dashing and never return to this side of campus.

As I’m exiting, I pause at the threshold and look back. Professor is fiddling with the cuffs of his shirt again, and sunrays reflect off his golden wedding band. Rolling his shoulders, he puts the jacket on and shakes his arms out. Still graceful. Still fluid like a song. Still potent enough to make me shiver.

Before he can catch me staring, I walk away and almost collide with someone out in the hallway. It’s the guy from the front row; I forget his name. He’s got messy hair and black-rimmed glasses. He is cute in a nerdy sort of way with the hood of his jacket crooked around his neck.

“Hey.” He greets me like he knows me.

“Hey?” I cock my head to the side, trying to remember if I know him.

“You’re Layla. Layla Robinson.”

“I am.” Did I do something to him?

“I’m Dylan Anderson. We had history together.”

“We did?”

“Uh-huh. Professor Allen? He used to pick at his nose while writing on the board?”

“Oh yeah. Oh my God, how did I forget that?” I shudder. “Ugh. That was the worst.”

Dylan laughs. It’s a goofy, awkward kind of laugh, and I love it. He turns to the girl who sat beside him. “This is Emma Walker.”

“Hey.” I raise my hand and wave at her.

“It’s nice to meet you.”

Her greeting is wary, and I don’t understand why that would be. “You were in history too?” I ask her.

“No. I passed on that after Dylan told me about the professor.”

“Yeah. You coward.” He elbows her playfully and coaxes a reluctant smile out of her. “She’s a big chicken when it comes to taking risks. We’d decided to do the class together, but then she abandoned me.”

“You’re such a drama queen.” She pretends to be annoyed, but I can see she’s not. She’s loving this, basking in his attention.

They argue some more, and it becomes clear. I am quite an expert at sniffing out heartbreak and one-sided love after years of practice. Emma is in love with Dylan but he doesn’t know it, and that wary glance? She was jealous of me. Me, the discarded girl. I want to tell her she has nothing to be afraid of. I’m not a threat—maybe to myself, but not to other people.

I study them together. Dylan: messy dark hair and hazel eyes with a boyish, somewhat shy charm about him, and Emma: brown hair and eyes, sparkling with intelligence and maturity.

They’re a perfect match. I think anybody who’s in love with anyone is a perfect match. I don’t believe in crap like There’s somebody better for you out there. I don’t want better. I want the guy I’m in love with.

There goes my selfish heart. It’s thundering in my chest with anger and frustration. Why doesn’t Caleb love us?

The clicking footsteps have us turning toward the classroom. Thomas emerges, tall and unapproachable, hardly sparing us a glance. As he passes our little group, I feel the buzz of his energy waking up my body in goose bumps. He strides down the hallway to the stairs at the end and takes them two at a time.

Dylan exhales a sharp breath. “That guy is…not what I expected.”

“Is it me or is he totally boring? He’s nothing like what I was hoping.” Emma frowns, folding her arms. “I thought he’d be friendlier or something, or would at least answer my questions. I was so excited to actually learn something from him, you know.”

Dylan rubs the top of her head playfully and Emma swats his hand away. “Told you. You were expecting too much, Emmy. He’s just a guy who writes poetry.”

“Just a guy!” Emma is enraged. “You have no idea how amazing he is. He’s one of the best poets we have right now. Do you know how many awards he’s won? He’s magic.”

Dylan turns to me. “He’s really not. She’s got a little crush on him, that’s all.”

“I do not!”

Dylan’s eyes hold a twinkle at seeing Emma so riled up, and I chuckle. Guys can be so clueless. He likes her too, he just doesn’t know it yet.

They begin arguing again, and I feel like this is how they are with each other. This is their sacred ritual, and I’m the intruder. I’m about to excuse myself when a series of footsteps thump on the second floor and we all look up.

“What is that?” I ask, wincing.

“The theatre people. They have a conference room upstairs they use to practice when the auditorium isn’t free,” Dylan informs me.

“Wow.” I’m impressed. “You guys have theatre people here?”

Emma laughs. “Yup. This is the Labyrinth. We’ve got all kinds of weirdos and artsy people here.”

After my detour to the north side of campus, I rush back to reality. I attend the rest of my classes in a certain daze, here one second but gone the next. It’s odd, to say the least.

By the end of the day, I’m still trapped in those flaming eyes, looking at the world through a blue fog.

He’s magic.

I don’t know why, but that word affects me so much. Once all my classes are done, I find myself at the bookstore again. This time around, I don’t want to buy a required book or create chaos. I want to get to know him through his words.

His book is called Anesthesia: Collected Poems. According to Wikipedia, this is his first full-length collection of poems. It was released almost a year ago and since then, it has been named one of the best poetry books of the year and has received a bunch of awards. Most specifically, he is the youngest recipient of the McLeod genius grant at the age of twenty-nine. He’s a big deal.

I hold the thin, leafy book in my hands. The pages are crisp white with black, bold letters. I flick through them as Lana’s “Blue Jeans” plays in my ears. My fingers trace the curly letters of his name on the front.

Thomas Abrams.

Thomas, dark smoker and blue-eyed professor.

This side of the store is almost empty. There are a bunch of stragglers in the popular fiction section, over to the left side, partially hidden behind the sprawling staircase and flanking bricked pillars.

Knowing the coast is clear, I bring the book to my nose and smell the clean, sharp pages. I take a large sniff and strangely, catch a scent of warm smoke. I sway with the rush of warmth skating down my spine and the rhythm of the music echoing in my ears. Beginnings of a moan surprise me and I whip my eyes open.

There he is, as if conjured by my own imagination.

The eyes that have been haunting me, following me everywhere today, bore into me and slowly sweep down to the book currently covering the lower half of my face. I feel a tug in my stomach, behind my navel, as though someone is pulling on the silver ring adorning my belly. I clear my throat and lower the book, taking my headphones off.

“I love the smell of books.”

He doesn’t look like he believes me. His contemplative stare makes me aware that I’m wearing layers upon layers of clothing. Too many layers. Too much heat.

I put the book away with trembling hands and shrug. “You can say it.”

“Say what?” He cocks his head, as if analyzing me.

Kara does the same. She tries to figure me out and I hate it, but hate isn’t the word I’d use to describe what I’m feeling right now. It’s something else. Bolder. Thrilling. Unknown.

“Whatever you’re thinking. I can see it on your face—you think I’m crazy, think I’m an idiot for smelling a book.”

I’m waiting for him to acknowledge it, to say, Duh, you’re right, though I don’t think he’d say it exactly that way.

“That’s…impressive.” He nods, his mouth curling into a one-sided smile. “You can read me like a book—though I’d rather you not smell me.”

A surprised chuckle escapes me. “You’re funny.”

“Guilty. One of my many talents.”

“Right. What are your other talents? No wait, I know—teaching, right?”

“Yes. I was born to teach,” he deadpans, his face made of smooth stone except for the deepening crinkles around his eyes.

“Ah, delusion. Got it. You’re insanely talented.”

His beautifully carved jaw tics. “Are you insulting my teaching skills, Miss Robinson?”

My name sounds like tendrils of chocolate in his rich, deep voice. I feel it drenching me in a sticky, excited buzz. How is it that he makes me hot while at the same time giving me shivers? How is it that he does any of these things at all?

“No, Professor Abrams. I wouldn’t dare. You kinda scare me.”

Truth. Absolute and utter truth. He scares me, because he has a strange effect on me, mystical and unprecedented.

“Good. I am scary. Never forget that,” he says approvingly, ready to leave, but then he turns around to face me. “Do you know it’s illegal to mess up the order of the books?”

It takes a moment for me to get what he means. He’s talking about what I did yesterday. “I didn’t—”

He throws me a disbelieving stare. “It was dumb, not to mention ineffective. G to F? No one cares about that. If you really want to scare someone, go with something like S to A. Wider stretch, ergo, bigger panic.”

I swallow. “Okay.”

“Don’t tell anyone I said that.”

“Okay,” I repeat.

He ducks his head down and smiles.

“I thought you didn’t see me. Yesterday, I mean.”

Until I said it, I hadn’t realized I’d wanted him to see me. In another drastic epiphany, like the one I had in class about words, I realize I don’t want to be invisible to him. Not to him.

But why? I don’t get it. What is this madness?

“I told you, I have many talents. Sniffing out crazy is one of them.”

I gasp and he chuckles. He called me crazy. I absolutely hate that, but as I watch him leave, it’s not anger that I’m feeling.

It’s something else. Something magical.

CHAPTER FOUR

I’m dense when it comes to art, be it a book, a painting, or whatever. I don’t understand the allure of it. I don’t understand how bland circular lines on a painting, nonsensical words in a book, or a broken piece of clay inspire devotion in people.

Even so, I’ve read Thomas’ book of poems at least a hundred times since Monday. In fact, this book has kept me company throughout the week when I couldn’t sleep at night. The tiny words on the paper seem to have risen and attached themselves to my skin. I feel them everywhere, all the time, as if I know them. They are my friends. I know where they are coming from.

As if I know what Thomas was thinking when he wrote these lines.

Emma was right—Thomas is indeed a genius. He is magic. He went to school here before moving to Brooklyn, and he was the one who started the Labyrinth, an online journal that features varied pieces from both upcoming and established poets, prose writers, playwrights, and so on.

I’m so far removed from him, from these people, but still, I’m back at the Labyrinth, the artistic maze. I’m skipping political science—the class I missed last week—again, but I don’t care. I want to be inside this mysterious building.

I enter and feel an instant warmth seeping into my body. Now that I’m not in pursuit of someone, I give myself time to study things. It smells like campfire: smoky and marshmallow-y. The sounds are still there, lively and energetic as ever.

My boots hit the polished cement floor as I walk farther in. The walls have a chipped brick façade, giving it an industrial look. It is dotted with countless colored flyers and photos. I take in every single face displayed up there; most of them are group shots, and the location is eerily similar: a bar. The flyers are for readings—some outdated, some upcoming—or for singing auditions, band performances, theatre productions, et cetera.

I turn the corner and almost bump into someone. He’s carrying a stack of papers and speed walking. I mutter my apologies but he doesn’t pay me any mind. A burst of laughter floats out of a classroom and I find myself smiling in return. Running footsteps above indicate that the theatre people still haven’t found an auditorium to practice in.

This place is something, isn’t it? This building is a living, breathing thing.

I go inside the classroom and take my seat in the back like the last time. A few minutes later, Professor Abrams comes in. He takes off his coat and drapes it on the chair, revealing a black shirt that molds over the tight arches of his shoulder and pecs. The languidness in his demeanor while at the bookstore is gone. He’s strained inside these four walls, chiseled from a rock, but no less handsome.

Like last time, he fiddles with the cuffs of his shirt. I realize it’s a ritual of some sort, as if he’s preparing himself for the torture ahead.

“I want a circle,” he declares when he is comfortable with the state of his cuffs.

Confused, we stay still and silent. He studies us with uncanny eyes. “How many of you have taken a workshop before?”

Without giving us a chance to answer, he shakes his head. “Never mind. I don’t care. In my class, you’ll sit in a circle, and…” He folds his arms across his chest. “You’re going to read your work out loud. We’ll take some time to ponder, and then we’ll talk about it. I want everyone to pitch in, and I don’t want repeated comments. If someone has said what you were going to say, then think of something else. Is that clear?”

Not a word, not even a breath.

Professor Abrams lets out a sharp puff of breath. “Are we clear?”

Broken out of the shocked trance, we all nod our heads and spring up from our seats. The room is filled with the screech of chairs being dragged across the floor. Five minutes later, we’re all seated in a semicircle around the professor, who perches on the edge of his desk, elbows on his thighs and fingers laced.

Somehow, I’ve ended up directly in front of him. This is the line of fire, and I’m going to get burned before this class is over.

He straightens and picks up a thin yellow folder from the desk, perusing it. “When I call your name, tell me about your essay, who your favorite author is, and how he or she inspires you and your writing.” He looks up and grimaces. “I’m boring myself just talking about it, but it’s in the syllabus.”

Emma smiles, sitting up in her chair. She is loving the chance to interact with her rock-star poet. Me? I’m crouching, because I completely forgot about the homework.

Hide. Hide.

Just as the thought occurs, I dismiss it. As it turns out, I want him to pay attention to me. I don’t want him to gloss over me like he’s doing other students. I want him to see me even though I’m doing everything I can to curl up and become invisible in a room full of students.

Again, what is this madness?

He keeps reading off names from the list in his hands and dismissing them right as they begin speaking. His eyes glaze over. I can see it. I wonder if it’s visible to other students.

Even though I’m restless, shifting in my seat, fiddling with my skirt and my top, I’m fascinated by how these people talk about their ideals.

I want to be like Hemingway. Direct. Precise.

I love Shakespeare. If I manage to write a single poem like him, I’ll die happy.

I’m fascinated by the passion in their voices, the goals they have set for themselves—to be something, to be someone. It makes me jealous of their brand of love, a love that doesn’t make you selfish or lonely, a love that gives you purpose.

Milton, Robert Browning, James Joyce, Byron, Edgar Allen Poe, Stephen Dunn, Joyce Carol Oates, Gillian Flynn, Jennifer Egan, Neil Gaiman, Sylvia Plath.

I don’t know any of them, and I have an urge to find out. My restlessness is swelling, expanding. My breaths have escalated with the hint of possibility in the air, the possibility to tip over the edge into a different world with brick façades and cement floors, a world with surly professors with eyes the color of hot flame and cool water.

My musings are cut short when Professor Abrams jumps down from his perch on the desk, his hands on his hips. What’s wrong?

“I wasn’t planning on saying anything because it’s none of my business, but I’m your teacher, and apparently I’m supposed to care about these things. Also, I don’t think I can stop myself, but that’s beside the point.” He paces, then pauses to scowl at the class, at no one in particular.

“All I’ve heard so far is how amazing an author is and how you want to write like him or her. I don’t think you understand what inspiration is. It’s not ripping off Hemingway or Shakespeare or Plath. It’s not the ambition to be like someone. That’s no ambition at all. If that’s truly what you want, then I’d rather not teach you. But, unfortunately, I need this job, so…” He puffs out an exasperated breath as he runs his thick fingers through his hair.

“I’m only going to say this once: there’s a difference between writing and creating art. Anyone can write, but only a few can create art, and for that, you need to find your own voice. Reading is good. Read as much as you want, but make your own rules. Don’t just follow. Strive to create something that comes from you. Strive to create your art, not recreate what someone else did, because frankly, you should rather want to be dead than be a rip-off.”

He is panting, his chest punching the taut fabric of his shirt. The hard planes and hollows of his face shift with emotion. This is the poet Emma was talking about. Passionate. Volatile. Genius. Magical.

I’ve got goosebumps under the sleeves of my sweater, followed by flashes of heat. I touch the spine of his book, going up and down the length with my finger. The smooth texture of it causes something heavy to swirl inside my chest. It causes me to bite my lip. As if he’s attuned to my actions, his gaze falls on me. We stay connected a beat before we both look away. For that one beat, I saw his eyes flare, and the blue was so prominent, it took my breath away.

Professor Abrams’ fervent speech has sparked interest and from there, the class practically carries itself. Emma is the first one to ask questions. Who was your inspiration? Who did you read while growing up? Did you always know you wanted to be a poet? Do you write every day? He dodges every one of those, never divulging anything about his favorite writers or his writing ritual—as Emma calls it—answering every question with a question of his own.

I stare at him. I observe him, his little habits. The tic in his jaw when someone seems to bother him. How he swallows down cutting comments when the same someone doesn’t get that he’s irritated. Every time he controls himself, I feel the familiar tug in my belly button.

As soon as the class is over, everyone submits their homework on the desk, reminding me that somehow, I’ve been spared. Happy or disappointed, I can’t decide. I gather up my winter gear, ready to leave, when his voice, sharp as a whip, stops me.

“Miss Robinson, can I talk to you for a second?” Not even a glance at me. His focus is on the essays as he bundles them up.

The room has almost emptied as I approach the wooden expanse of the desk, the solidness separating us. Is it weird that I notice how he’s changed since the class ended a few minutes ago? He isn’t the rigid professor anymore. He is…Thomas.

The reappearance of the guy from the bookstore injects a shot of mischief and boldness in me. I’m reckless in the moment, light and airy. I give him a smile and my most innocent look: wide, blinking eyes and a hint of a frown on my smooth forehead. “Yes, Professor?”

But he isn’t in the mood to indulge. He thumbs through the essays while staring at me, and I know I’ve been found out. Any second now, he’s going to give it to me about my missing homework. My heartbeat gallops.

“What are you doing in my class?” he asks instead, with the typical tic in his jaw. Yeah, I’m in trouble.

“What do you mean?”

“You’re clearly not a poet.” He studies me. “In fact, I don’t even think you like books. So, it begs the question: what are you doing in my class?”

“I like books! I read all the time.” I’m outraged that he knows this about me, that he sees my deception in being here.

But isn’t that what I wanted? I wanted him to see me. It doesn’t make any sense. My reactions to him don’t make sense.

“What was the last book you read?” he challenges.

Yours. But I don’t say that.

“It was called, um, something…I forget the name, but it was about love. Uh, childhood sweethearts getting married and having a bunch of kids.”

“So who’s your favorite author, then? I’m sure you’d remember something like that.”

He is relentless, but what he doesn’t know is that I’m relentless too. “There are too many to count.”

Thomas puts his palms on the desk and leans toward me, curling his athletic body over the desktop. “Name one.”

From this close, I breathe him in, his scent. The intoxicating combination of cigarettes and chocolate is turning my brain to mush. I take a step back. “You know what, I’m late for class, and I have to go all the way back to the south side of campus, so—”

“Name one author you love and I’ll let you go.”

I’m ready to wave the white flag and peace out of here. Instead, another lie blurts out of me. “Sh-Shakespeare.”

The vein on the side of his neck looks alive and breathing, like it could leap off any second, separate from his body, and attack me with the anger pulsing through it.

Slowly, he shakes his head. “Try again.”

“That wasn’t the deal. I told you—”

He straightens and lifts a thick, ridged finger. “One. Just one.”

Oh God. I almost groan out loud as I study the bumps on his finger. It looks worn, well-used. It looks like…yeah, magic, a magic that spins out words and poems, poems I can’t stop reading. I wonder what would happen if he ever accidently touched me. I’d pass out, most likely.

“Y-You. I love you.”

Wait…what?

I clap my hand over my mouth, my eyes going wide. I did not just say that. I’ve never said that to anyone except Caleb—not that he ever understood my meaning. He thought it was in fun, in friendship.

But here and now, I rush to explain, “I mean I love your work. I—”

His jaw is ticking again, but this time around it’s more dangerous, because it comes with a twitch in his right eye. “I know you’re not in my class because you’re not on the official roster, so technically, you’re trespassing, and I want you to stop. Next time, don’t be here.”

I’m tempted to say okay, but the thought of not showing up is even worse than braving his wrath.

“Or what?” I swallow and curl my fingers around the edge of the desk.

“You don’t want to do this.”

“Do what, exactly? This is a class and I’m a student—why can’t I be here?”

He pins me with his gaze before hitching one side of his lips up in a tight, mocking smile. “You really think this is going to work?”

“What are you talking about?”

He leans forward again, and I’m hit by the desire to push this desk away. It feels like miles and miles of ocean rather than a few inches of polished wood. His proximity has upped the sounds of the world. The talking, the laughing, the footsteps. The earth is shifting, rolling side to side, and he seems like the only anchor. How crazy is that?

“You want me to spell it out, huh.” His voice has dropped an octave. Low and gravelly. Words slurring together. “I know your secret, Layla.”

A blip in my heartbeat. Firecrackers burst over my skin at the way he said my name. As far as I’m concerned, my name is average, but his voice, the movements of his tongue against his lips, make it special. A squeaky sound escapes me because I’ve forgotten how to speak.

“You think I don’t know? It’s in your eyes.” He flicks his gaze left to right, studying said eyes. His blue and my violet. The colors with just a pinch of a difference, belonging to the same part of the spectrum of a rainbow.

“What about them?” I breathe at last, gathering my scattered thoughts.

His lips twitch and my cold, dry fingertips want to touch it, feel the tiny dance of muscles. “They do a shit job of hiding your emotions.” His lopsided smile morphs into a chuckle. Dark and rich, like chocolate. We want to taste it. For once, I agree with my stupid heart.

“What emotions?” I’m just saying things now, robotically. A doll made of plastic.

“You have a thing for me.”

It takes a second for me to register what he just said. “Wh-What?”

He draws back and shrugs. “It’s obvious.”

“What?” I screech again. My plastic brain is coming to life. “That’s ridiculous. I don’t…I don’t have a thing for you.” He shrugs again, so cocky and arrogant, as if the whole world revolves around him. My palms ball into fists. “I don’t. I don’t have a crush on you—or on anyone, for that matter.”

Thomas nods. “Sure.”

“I don’t.” I huff out a frustrated breath.

“Okay.”

His careless dismissal, his disbelief, his beautiful, condescending eyes—they make me want to hit him. They make me want to spill my secrets. I’m taken aback. I never want that. I never want anyone to see the dark, needy hole inside me. Even I don’t want to see it.

This is sick, Layla. How can you think that about your brother?

My mom’s voice in my ears angers me further. She pops up every now and then to be my tormentor, to tell me how much I need Kara to straighten me out.

I take a deep breath and tighten my features. I hate Thomas Abrams in this moment, and I want him to know it. My pelvic bone digs into the edge of the desk as I let my anger loose. “I hate to break it to you, Professor Abrams, but old guys don’t do it for me. They’ve got a sickly smell that I don’t like, and correct me if I’m wrong, but doesn’t that thing down there increasingly shrink with age?”

I’m angry enough to not care about what I just said, but not angry enough to ignore the flame flickering in my stomach or to not look at the…thing I just mentioned, the slight bump hidden by the zipper of his jeans. Heat spans the entire length of my body as I imagine what it looks like…bare and hard.

“I wouldn’t know, Miss Robinson.” His soft, smooth voice brings me out of my trance. “I think I have some good inches left in me, but thanks for the tip. Might come in handy in a few years when I start measuring my dick.”

Dick. He said dick. In front of me. His student. Everything about this is inappropriate. My skin is throbbing, pulsating with too much energy. I’m saturated with sweat and tingles.

What is happening?

He shrugs on his coat and buttons it up with deft movements. His eyes are on me as he says, or rather commands, “Don’t be here next time.”

Then he walks out.

The night is sleepless and snowy. I watch the snow through the door of my balcony, pressing my naked body to the chilled glass.

I am hot, too hot. I look down and find myself covered with a constellation of scarlet splashes, almost hiding the web of blue veins under my pale skin. My thighs slip against each other due to the wetness leaking out of me. I break my cardinal rule and touch my swollen pussy. My hips jerk at the sensation. It’s foreign and so fucking good. The folds are creamy and sensitive, begging for something.

You have a thing for me.

That’s all I can hear, all I could hear throughout the day. I shiver, imagining his wispy whispers over my skin.

Yeah, I do.

Somehow, someway, I have developed this crush on him. I know he’s married. I know he’s an asshole, rude and mean and some kind of a genius poet—but maybe that’s the appeal. I don’t want him to love me back. I don’t want the hope of reciprocation. Hope kills. It tortures. I just want this.

This viral need that is eating through my heart, my brain, all my organs, starting up a pulse deep below. It swells and slickens, like every time I watch porn. I never bring myself relief because it feels dirty, illicit to be jerking off to something like that. Besides, after what I did to Caleb, I don’t think I deserve any kind of pleasure. Hence, my cardinal rule: no touching my own body.

But this pulse is hard to ignore. It’s too strong. Too forceful. Too alive, as if my pussy is breathing and has a mind of its own. It’s making me do things. He’s making me do things to myself. He’s making me touch my clit, my slippery cunt. Slow, at first. Slow, measured, lazy circles. Then fast, rushed, frantic flicks that cause my body to writhe. My small tits jiggle and shudder, pink nipples beading in excitement as I twist them with my other hand.

He’s making me play with myself. He might as well be cradling my hand, dusky digits curled over my small, smooth ones. I’m his puppet and he is my invisible master, holding my strings from miles away.

“Thomas,” I whisper and shatter at the same time. I come, wrapped in Thomas’ heat and his poems. The orgasm vibrates through my body, making me moan, exhausting me so much that I have to press my forehead against the chilled glass.

Even through the arousal, I’m aware that it’s wrong and sick and inappropriate. But, it’s also freeing. A cleansing ritual. I’m shedding my old obsession. I’m moving on. Being normal.

Before this, I was Layla Robinson, crazy in love with her stepbrother. Now, I’m Layla Robinson, crushing on her poetry professor.

I slide open the balcony door. The curtains whip and billow in the frosty wind. Snowflakes catch on my fevered skin, cooling me down, freezing me, turning me blue.

And I throw my arms open and laugh.

CHAPTER FIVE

“I’ve got a crush.” I grin at Kara.

“You’ve got what?”

“A crush. You know, when you fantasize about someone?”

“Yes. I know about that.” She smiles. “So who’s the guy?”

“That’s the best part.” I chuckle. “He’s like, the most unavailable guy out there.”

He is my professor, an asshole, and he is married. This crush is triple doomed.

Kara frowns at me and laces her fingers together on the desk. “I’m sorry. You lost me.”

“Don’t you get it?” I spring up from the chair and pace. “It’s hopeless and I know it and I have no urge to date him. No urge, whatsoever. I don’t expect him to tell me he loves me because I don’t want him to and I know he won’t.”

“Because he’s unavailable,” Kara jumps in.

“Uh-huh. That’s right.” Laughing, I sit back down.

“That’s…interesting. Kind of backward, but interesting. But what if it changes? What if you begin to want those things?”

“I won’t, because he’s like cancer.” Kara raises her eyebrows at my analogy. “I know the endgame with him. I know the cancer is going to kill me, so I’m not begging for my life anymore. I just…” Sighing, I try to put my feelings into words. “He distracts me, you know…from Caleb. He makes me feel normal. If I can fantasize about someone else then that means Caleb’s hold on me is weakening, going away.” I swallow as sadness and fear and tiny excitement overwhelm me. “And I want that. I want a life of my own where I don’t think about him all the time.”

Our session goes fast after that. Kara is happy I’m moving on, but I can see the guardedness in her eyes. She doesn’t need to worry though. My crush is harmless, just a distraction, and I need that right now.

After finishing, I go to Crème and Beans to get my coffee fix and run into Emma. She’s at the counter, paying for a large mug of coffee, and I come up behind her.

“Hey.” She waves at me awkwardly, and I do the same. She is still wary of me and I can’t take it, especially when there’s nothing to be wary of.

“So Emma, uh…” She gives me her full attention and I stumble over my words a little. “I don’t…know how to say this but, uh, I’m just gonna say it. I kind of know that you don’t like me for some reason and I also know that you like Dylan.” She freezes, her eyes wide, blush burning her cheeks. “I-It’s okay. I’m not…I’m not judging or anything. I just wanna say that you have nothing to fear from me. I shouldn’t even be on your radar.”

I whoosh out a breath when I’m done. She is in shock, opening and closing her mouth at my frankness. After a few seconds, she manages to gather herself. “I…don’t know what to say. I don’t even know what you’re talking about.”

Denial. I’ve done the same thing before.

“It’s fine. You don’t have to say anything. Just know that I’m harmless.”

At that, she scoffs. “Right.”

“I am.”

“You’re the violet-eyed goddess.”

“Huh?”

She smiles sadly. “That’s Dylan’s nickname for you. He’s crazy about you. Last semester when you guys had that class together? He wouldn’t shut up about how much he liked you.”

“What?” I bark out a disbelieving laugh.

“It’s fine. His feelings are not your fault. I’m being stupid.”

“But he doesn’t have feelings for me.” Emma doesn’t look like she believes me, and I continue, “Do you want me to prove it?”

“Prove what?”

“That he doesn’t like me that way. He can’t. He doesn’t even know me—not like he does you. Trust me when I say this: Dylan likes you.”

Dylan might think I’m attractive, what with violet eyes and black hair, but liking is taking it too far. Back in New York, I always knew guys liked my face—I take after my mom, after all, the beauty queen of the Upper East Side—but they never liked me. All they saw was my beautiful face, never me. I was invisible to them.

Caleb was the only one who knew the real me, but that wasn’t enough.

Hope flares in Emma’s brown eyes and my heart hurts for her. She is me, so very much like me in her unrequitedness.

“I don’t think so.” She shakes her head and sips her coffee.

“Will you at least give me a chance to prove it to you?”

“Okay. Yeah.”

“All right then.”

We throw small smiles at each other and I think this could be the beginning of something. There is a delicate truce between us. I get my coffee while Emma waits for me and then we head out together. She tells me she went to see an apartment a few streets over because she’s planning to move out of the dorms.

“It was the worst. I don’t think I’ve seen such a small room in my entire life, and I’ve been to the city, numerous times.” She shudders.

“Why don’t you live with me?” It’s a spur of the moment decision and I don’t even know I’ve made it until after the words come out of my mouth.

“What?”

“Yeah.” I nod. “I think it’s a great idea. I live just up the street, and I’ve got a spare room you can use.”

“I don’t… Are you sure?”

“Yes. Do you wanna come see it?”

“Right now?” She stops walking. “Yeah. I’d love to.”

“Great.” I grin.

Five minutes later, I let her in my tower. The ground floor smells like paint and new floors. Emma raises her eyebrow at the construction equipment but remains silent. We take the elevator up and she walks into the apartment after me.

Now that she is here, I see the space through her eyes and am embarrassed. The open floor plan has a living room and kitchen separated by a large island, which is hidden under the empty pizza boxes and Chinese takeout containers. A blanket is sprawled on the beige couch with a bag of chips and a package of Twizzlers on it. My laptop sits on the coffee table, lid half open, beside a stack of notebooks.

The only good thing about this large space is the sliding doors that lead to the balcony beyond the kitchen.

I smile at her in embarrassment and walk her to the spare bedroom on the left, adjacent to mine. This room is empty and, quite frankly, the cleanest one in the apartment since there’s no stuff in here.

“This would be your room,” I tell her, almost cringing at what she must be thinking about my living conditions. It feels oddly intrusive and vulnerable to show someone where you live. I’m beginning to regret this idea.

Emma walks in and circles around the room, passing by the closet, the en suite, and at last, standing at the window overlooking Albert Street and the university park. I’m at the edge of the room, feeling anxious. I tell myself it’s no big deal if she hates it, but really, when is rejection not a big deal?

“I love it.” She faces me and grins.

“You do?”

“Yeah. It’s super big. I love the building. The location is great.” She frowns. “Though how much is the rent for this place? I don’t think I can afford it.”

I enter the room and wave my hand at her. “Oh, don’t worry about that. My stepdad owns the building.”

“Whoa, really?”

“Yeah. It’s still not ready to rent out, but they made an exception for me. I call it my tower.”

“So that’s why it looks like a construction zone.” She nods her head as if coming to a conclusion. “You’re rich, aren’t you?”

“My parents are. I’m just lucky, I guess.” I shift on my feet, feeling embarrassed when she remains silent. “What about your parents? I mean, are you close with them?”

“No. I don’t…I don’t talk about them.” Now it’s her turn to be embarrassed, and I want to tell her it’s okay, that sometimes we just don’t get along with the people who gave birth to us, but she doesn’t let me talk. “Anyway, I can’t just not pay rent. I mean, I don’t wanna live for free.”

I puff out a breath, thinking. “Okay, so how about this? You can chip in some other way. Like, maybe you can grocery shop? And also cook? I’m terrible at that kind of stuff. I never remember to buy anything other than Twizzlers.”

Her eyes squint as she mulls it over. “I can do that. I mean, I’m not a great cook, but I do like cooking. I cook for Dylan all the time, so I’m totally in.”

“So you’ll do it? Move in?”

“Yes.” She laughs, and in a surprising act, wraps me in a tight hug. “Thank you, thank you, thank you. I can’t believe I finally found something great. I am so freaking happy right now.”

Her hug makes me feel all choked up, like a frog is croaking in the depths of my throat. “It’s gonna be great.”

“Yes.” She moves away, beaming.

She continues touring the house and balcony. We decide on a move-in day—tomorrow.

“I’d do it today but we’ve got the poetry night and I won’t be able to find anyone to help me move my stuff.”

“Poetry night?”

“Oh yes.” She shakes her head. “I forget you’re new. So every other Saturday we meet up at this bar called The Alchemy, just outside of campus. It’s pretty informal. We read our stuff to each other. Sometimes theatre people do their shows, but tonight is poetry night and I’m reading some of my poems. You should come.”

“Sure.”

I am bundled up in my white beanie and my purple fur coat, which is buttoned up to my chin. My thigh-high boots crunch over the pavement as I reach the red door of The Alchemy and enter.

It’s a small space with exposed brick walls and vaulted ceilings, the kind you find in a church. Wooden beams run along the length of the roof, lit up with Christmas lights. The air is warm and laced with a fruity aroma. Just like the Labyrinth, this place is bursting with energy.

My eyes take in the artwork on the walls, the mock guitars, the musical notes, the framed newspaper clippings, the silhouettes of people dancing in various poses, along with black and white photos of some of the famous writers I’ve only come to know this week.

“Hey, Layla!” I hear Emma’s voice over the crowd and find her waving at me from the bar. “Over here!”

“Hey!” I barrel through to get to her and greet her with an amused smile when I see she’s balancing three drinks in her hands. I take one glass from her and we wind our way through the scattered layout of tables.

“Hey guys, this is Layla, my new roommate,” she says as we reach her table. There are a couple of guys sitting; one’s Dylan, and the other one I don’t know.

“Hello.” I finger-wave at them.

Both wave back and the guy introduces himself as Matt. Dylan stands up and gives me his chair. “Hey Layla. So glad you came.”

Now that Emma has revealed that Dylan likes me, I analyze his behavior. He’s both shy and chatty, adorably awkward. It’s a harmless crush, the kind I have on Thomas, which ties my tongue, gives me wet dreams, and makes my crazy heart pound faster. It’s not easy and comfortable. It’s not what he feels for Emma.

I’m aware that I’m sitting wedged between the two would-be lovebirds, but I’m not budging. I need to prove to Emma that Dylan is into her.

Leaning toward Dylan, I ask, “How are you guys drinking alcohol? Aren’t you all underage?”

Dylan gulps as I shoot him a flirty smile. Emma is sitting strained in her seat. I hope she trusts me.

“It’s all, uh, props. They don’t serve alcohol on Labyrinth night.”

“So what is it that you’re drinking?” I grab his glass and take a sip.

His mouth hangs open before he closes it and clears his throat. “A Hemingway. It’s just…a dummy martini.”

“Sounds boring.” I bat my eyelashes and Dylan almost spits out his drink. I take pity on him and turn toward Emma. Matt is talking to her, but I know she isn’t listening. She is more attuned to what’s going on between me and the love of her life.

I nudge her with my elbow. “Walk with me to the bar.”

I don’t wait for her agreement and get up from my seat. I know she’ll follow. We make our way to the bar and I order a purple drink on their menu, then lean against the dark wood.

“So here’s my plan,” I tell her. She looks sad. “Cheer up. I’m ready to prove you wrong.”

“By flirting with him?”

“Yes, among other things.”

“You know what, I’m just gonna go—”

“Would you relax? I asked you to trust me.” I give her a meaningful look until she nods. “Okay. So I want you to flirt with Matt, or at least talk to him. I’m going to keep Dylan busy, and I bet you anything he’ll come out of this jealous and totally irritated by me.”

“I don’t…” She shakes her head.

“Come on. It’s going to be fun. Besides, he should get a little taste of what you go through every day.”

She scrunches her nose and thinks it over. My drink is here so I take a sip and watch her. “Don’t you think it’s…vengeful to do that?”

“Yeah, it is, but if you don’t do anything, he’ll never realize how much he likes you and will miss out on the awesomeness that is you. Now that’s vengeful.” Emma laughs and I steer her to our table. “Think of it as a favor to him, okay?”

“Okay.”

As we walk through the crowd, my legs come to a halt. I feel something moving inside me. It spans my chest and my belly, going around to my spine, an urgent, incessant pulse. My gaze jumps to the door and he’s there.

Thomas. Professor Abrams. My crush.

Maybe I’m regressing, going back to those precocious years in high school when girls giggle and gossip about their handsome teachers. Back then, everything was invisible to me but Caleb. I never cared enough to look elsewhere or have a life of my own.

But I’m ready now. I need the control back. I need the normalcy. It’s so ironic that the very unrequitedness that destroyed me is going to keep the pain at bay.

Thomas strides to the opposite side of the bar and comes to stand beside another man, one who’s shorter than him and dressed in a more formal style.

I scurry back to the table and take my seat. Emma gives me an admonishing look and I mouth, Sorry. Then I resume flirting with Dylan while Emma talks with Matt.

We’re a sad pair, Dylan and I. While we’re both talking to each other, our attention is diverted. He keeps glancing toward Emma, who has upped her game and is now laughing at whatever Matt is saying. The move may be cliché, but I’m so proud of her. It’s hard to keep my face straight.

And me? I can’t help but shift my eyes to Thomas. He is a tall, dark figure leaning—or rather, sprawling—against a wall, away from the crowd gathered around the table. He’s taken his jacket off, leaving him in a plain black t-shirt. It stretches across his sculpted chest when he runs his fingers through the strands of his hair. He takes lazy sips from the beer bottle in his hands, quirking up small smiles as the shorter man beside him talks.

Just then Emma barks out a loud laugh and Dylan gives up all pretenses of talking to me. “What’s funny?” he grumbles, and I can’t hold back my chuckle.

My intuition was fucking right. Dylan’s such a moron. Shaking my head, I sneak a glimpse at Thomas. This time, our gazes catch. Tiny blue flames stare at me from across the space and I’m suspended in his attention. I have the straw in my mouth, but I’m not sucking on it. I’m not even drawing breath.

He found me.

The thought runs on a loop even when he looks away and turns to the stage. Something tells me he’s thinking of me; I spy the subtle movement of his sharp jaw as he clenches his teeth.

He hates me.

A small smile blooms on my lips. I love that he hates me. See, hopeless. I’ve never loved hopelessness so much before.

I look away when the static of the mic fills the room as Thomas’ friend takes his place on the stage. He announces the commencement of poetry night and introduces Emma.

I wish her good luck as she walks up on the stage with a piece of paper in her hands.

“Thank you, Professor Masters, for the lovely introduction.” She laughs, looking giddy and flushed. “And thank you all for having me up here. I’m going to read something I wrote a long time ago. It’s called You, and I hope you enjoy.”

She looks at the paper once before tucking it back in her jeans pocket. Her gaze falls on Dylan, who sits riveted next to me. She starts with a clear voice and confident demeanor. Her words are simple but filled with longing.

During the entire narration, she never takes her eyes off Dylan, letting him know the poem is an homage to the love she feels for him. It’s beautiful, and for the first time in my life, I feel like I’ve done something right. I’ve brought them together, made both of them the star of the show, and who doesn’t want to be a star? It’s a dream for everyone, that one moment in the spotlight.

People are catching on to what Emma is doing. They watch Dylan’s astonished face and Emma’s flushed one, alternatively. Tears brim in my eyes as I witness their love story reaching its peak right in front of me.

This is what requited love looks like.

Shimmering. Grinning. Teary-eyed.

We want it too.

But I’ll never have that.

CHAPTER SIX

When the poem is done, I notice that Thomas is gone. I look around, but I can’t see him anywhere. I spring up from my seat before the clapping subsides, and no one notices my departure in the midst of love.

The hallway in the back is littered with people leaning against the brick walls, some fondling their dates, some waiting in the bathroom queue. The industrial lights above are dimmed, lending the narrow passageway an intimacy that begs for illicit touches and grey-tinted, slippery kisses.

Thomas might have simply left or gone to the bathroom, but my attention is snagged by the rusted maroon door with the exit sign. It stands ajar, bringing in the chilly draft from the outside. I push it open, stepping into the dark, cold alley. The wall opposite is lined with trashcans.

The cold, stinging air punches my nose and forehead, and I sneeze. Once. Two times. My boots almost slip over the patch of ice on the ground but I manage to keep my balance.

“Fuck!” I right myself, patting my heavy ensemble of a coat, a scarf, and a beanie.

“I don’t think you’re old enough to curse.”

I gasp at the familiar guttural voice. Thomas emerges from beside the fire escape, ringlets of smoke rising from his lips. The yellow light lends him a certain glow. My drunk-on-crush heart jumps in my chest, pounding, pumping my blood furiously.

Even outside, he’s without his jacket, leaving his elbows and his veiny, hair-dusted forearms exposed. What is it with me and his hands? I can’t stop looking at them. I can’t stop imagining them over mine. As if my lust was waiting for a single glimpse of his magical fingers, it bobs to the surface and I’m thrust back into my dark apartment, in front of the sliding door, watching the snow, playing with myself.

“You can stop staring any second now.” He takes in a drag and blows out a cloud of smoke.

“I wasn’t staring,” I lie.

“Sure.”

Thomas leans against the damp wall and crosses his arms across his chest, careful to keep the burning end of the cigarette away. The glowing orange embers tumble to the frosty ground, appearing like fireworks. I almost regret missing out on his battle with his impulse. His flickering anger giving way to his defeat—it’s fascinating to me.

Before I know it, I am walking closer to him, catching a hint of his chocolatey scent, and snatching his cigarette away. I put it in my mouth and almost moan out loud at the relief.

“You’re right. I was staring,” I confess, puffing out smoke. “But only because you’ve got this.”

The hit of nicotine is instant, liquefying. It dissolves my brain, one puff at a time. I’m bolder, invincible with it in my body—or maybe it’s my hopeless crush making me feel immortal tonight.

“Stealing is a sin,” he tells me.

“I’m not stealing.” I smile. “I’m borrowing. And don’t worry, I only borrow things that make me high.”

He shakes his head at me and scratches his jaw. “You probably missed school the day they taught that smoking causes cancer.”

I burst into laughter. His words remind me of the analogy I made to Kara the other day. I look back at his shimmering face. He is like my personal moon—unattainable, to be admired from afar. He is my cancer, slowly killing me, and I don’t even mind.

“I’m not afraid to die,” I divulge, taking another puff. He is watching me with an unknown glint in his eyes. I can’t decipher it, and I don’t want to. Let it be a mystery; mysteries can’t hurt me. “Besides, it’s not impossible that I might have missed that class. I wasn’t the type to attend classes.”

“What type were you?”

“I don’t know, the bad type. I used to cut school. I was always behind on homework. My teachers thought I was a nightmare to deal with.”

“Is that really something you should be telling your professor?”

His hands are in his pockets and his ankles are crossed. He has black snow boots with grey soles, and something about the ruggedness of them makes me smile. “But then you’re not my professor, are you? And I’m not your student. I’m just the trespasser.”

“I’d be careful then. Bad things happen to those who trespass,” he says in a voice that steals my own.

Thomas’ lips twitch with a restrained smile as his eyes rove over my face. My skin flushes, blooms in a million goose bumps. He has become the single point of my focus. He has absorbed the edges of my world, and all I see is his wind-ruffled hair, his magnificent chiseled features. I’m so engrossed in him that I don’t notice his hand reaching over and snatching the cigarette back, until it’s already gone.

“As much as I find you annoying, I’d rather you not kill yourself on my cancer stick,” he says before sucking in a drag.

“Fine. Whatever,” I grumble. “What are you doing out here in the cold, anyway? Without a jacket? Aren’t you missing the readings of your own students?”

He gives me a side glance. “You’re wearing enough clothes for the both of us, and I can ask you the same question.”

“I’m getting fresh air.”

Cigarette clenched in his teeth, he throws me a knowing look. His eyes are saying what his mouth said last week: You have a thing for me.

Like him, I let my eyes do the talking. I narrow them and cock my head to the side. You’re full of yourself.

His chuckle is soft and airy. “Yes, I was too, until you came out and ruined it.”

“You’re such a people person, aren’t you?” I shake my head. “Why did you take this job when you so clearly hate teaching and the students?”

“It’s not just students. I hate all humans, in general,” he explains. “But I still need a job, don’t I?”

“Actually, I don’t think you do. Aren’t you some big-shot award-winning poet? Shouldn’t you be working on your book somewhere? Isolated and drunk, growing out a beard or something?”

“Are you sure you’re describing a poet and not your life goals?”

“I can’t grow a beard. In case you didn’t notice, I’m a girl.”

Something changes in his demeanor. I don’t know what it is, but he seems more aware of me, like I touched him without lifting a finger. It awakens every nerve ending in my body.

“I noticed,” he murmurs.

It seems he also touched me without putting a hand on me because I feel something rustling over my skin, electric and hot, causing seismic shivers. I huddle inside my coat and rub my arms, chasing the sensation away.

Thomas flicks his finished cigarette off and crushes the butt with his boots, the wintry breeze catching his dark hair. “You should probably head back now. Your boyfriend must be looking for you.”

“What boyfriend?”

“The one you were sharing drinks with.”

It takes me a second to understand what he means. “Oh, you mean Dylan?” I chuckle. “It fooled you too? I didn’t know I was that good. I was trying to prove a point to someone.”

“And what point is that?”

“That love doesn’t always have to be one-sided.”

“What do you know about one-sided love?”

“More than you think.”

“Yeah? Did your date ditch you for prom? Or let me guess, he took you out on a date but didn’t call back the next day. Isn’t that how all high school love stories go?”

Anger, hot and fierce, burns through me. How is it that in the last however many minutes, I’ve run a gamut of emotions with him? How is it that with him, all I do is feel and feel until I’m about to burst? And none of this scares me—not his rudeness, not his callous comments. I want to give as good as I get.

“Just because you’ve got everything figured out doesn’t mean you can be an asshole, okay? And what, you can’t fall in love in high school? Is that what you’re saying to me? That age has something to do with love?” I shake my head. “God, you’re so fucking narrow-minded.”

“You think I’ve got everything figured out?”

“Haven’t you? I mean, look at you. People can’t stop talking about how much of a genius you are. The entire class wants to talk to you but you won’t give them the time of day. You’re married, and I’m assuming you got the one you wanted, so what do you know about one-sided love?”

I hate him. I hate him so much. I hate that he’s got it all. I hate that he belittled my feelings for Caleb even though he didn’t know he was doing it. I hate that he is the happiest man alive.

Although, if that’s the case, why doesn’t he look it?

Why are the lines around his mouth tight and rigid? Why is there a heartbreaking sheen in his eyes? His hands are curled in fists. In fact, his entire body is curled, drawn into itself.

“Yeah, what the fuck do I know about one-sided love?” he says at last with a humorless smile.

Oh God, did I say something wrong? Is there something wrong in his marriage?

I know firsthand that marriages aren’t always black and white. My mom is on husband number three. Over the years, I’ve realized that her marriages were convenient. No love. No passion. They were bound to fail.

But I can’t think of Thomas that way. I can’t think of this passionate, surly poet as being anything but in love with his wife, and love has to be enough, right? It has to be. Because if it isn’t, then what else is sacred in this big, bad world?

Then out of nowhere, something else strikes me.

“Hold on, you saw that? You saw that I was sharing a drink with a guy from across the room. Were you…?”

“Was I what? Watching you?” He pierces me with his stare, so intense, so serious.

“Yeah?” I lick my dry, cracked lips. Is it my imagination, or has he moved closer?

Thomas dips his head, catching my confused gaze with his, making this moment fraught with intimacy. “Yeah.” His words drag in a lazy manner. “I was. In fact, I can’t stop watching you.”

How did we get to this? From trading insults and me hating him to this…conversation. My body is going into a weird mode: panicked and aroused at the same time. Sweat runs down my spine and heat fans out in my lower body.

“Wh…?” Words are drying out on my tongue. I can’t…I can’t compute this, can’t compute that he’s been watching me, and yet it has happened twice now—once at the bookstore, and now here. A dangerous concoction of feelings is swishing around in my chest. I can’t recognize them all, but I know I’m afraid, among other things.

Thomas snorts out a chuckle. “Teenagers. I fucking hate teenagers,” he mutters to himself. “You should see your face.”

I growl, enraged. He was fucking kidding.

I growl again. We hate him, my angry heart says. Yeah, we do, I agree.

Thomas is watching me with amused eyes, and that just pisses me off even more. I take a breath, and keeping our gazes connected, lift my right leg and whip it right down on his foot. Hard.

He doesn’t even flinch. Asshole.

“How’s that for a teenager?” My harsh breaths echo around us. In the back of my mind, I know I shouldn’t have done that. This is the reason my mom sent me to therapy. I have zero impulse control.

“I’d say it’s more middle school-ish, but what do I know about what kids are doing these days?” I’m still reeling from what I did, and he takes this opportunity to inform me, “You hit like a girl, by the way.”

“I am a girl.” I grit my teeth. “And I stomped. I did not hit.”

“Either way, it was an assault, and on a teacher, no less.” I feel the rumbles of his chest as he speaks, making me realize how close I am to him, to his body.

It’s warm and hard and breathing. It feels exotic, like something I’ve never felt before, which is an absolute lie because I have felt a masculine body before—the night Caleb and I had sex. Why does this feel so different and new?

I should step back. I know it, but I can’t. My anger is slowly draining out of my body and something else is filling up the emptiness inside me. My unruly foot inches closer, blindly searching for his foot. Once found, I tap the toe of his boot. “You’re not my teacher, remember?”

Thomas looks down at our feet, connected on the ground, my pointed tip attached to his blunt one. It’s a childish gesture without any importance, but still, I love how our feet look on the snow-patched earth. We gaze up at the same time, and together, we swallow, part our lips, exhale foggy breaths.

Before I can analyze what’s happening, the screech of the door opening breaks the moment and I step back.

“Thomas. I had a feeling I’d find you here.” It’s a woman, short and sleek, with a blonde bob.

“Sarah. Want to join us?”

Her shrewd eyes flicker between Thomas and me, and I feel anxious, like I’ve been caught doing something wrong, something illicit.

“No thank you. I—”

“Are you sure? We were having an illuminating discussion about gender roles. Do girls really hit like girls or is it merely a stereotype created by modern literature?”

My breath hiccups as Thomas refers to my stomping so smoothly. I try to school my features, but I know I’m blushing. I hope the dim lighting conceals it.

“I’m sure it’s fascinating,” Sarah says in a suspicious tone. “But you’re needed inside.”

Thomas smiles but I can tell he isn’t amused. “And who’s doing the needing? You? I thought the day would never come.”

Sarah throws him a strained smile. Clearly, these two don’t like each other.

“I like your jokes, Thomas, but I don’t think Professor Masters will be amused to be kept waiting. He wants everyone to meet the stellar addition to our staff.”

“Well, I’ll be right in then.”

Sarah nods, ready to leave, but stops. She focuses on me and I shrink inside my big, giant coat. “Are you new? I’ve never seen you on the Labyrinth night before.”

“Um, yes. I am. I’m Layla Robinson.”

She nods. “I’m Sarah Turner. If you need any help with gender roles in literature, you should come find me. It’s one of my specialties.”

Again, her gaze switches to Thomas, and then it flicks back over to me. There isn’t anything in her eyes that I can decipher, but still, I feel there is something there. With a last glance at us, she leaves, and the breath I’ve been holding whooshes out. “Who’s she?”

Thomas shrugs, whipping out his phone from his pocket. “No one.” His fingers fly as he types something. Once done, he heads toward the street.

“You’re leaving?” I ask.

“Looks like it,” he replies without turning around.

“But shouldn’t you go in there?”

“I wish I could, but I don’t want to.”

He keeps walking and I jog after him. “Why not?” I’m pushing it but I don’t know why.

Halting in his tracks, he turns around. The night is dark and the lighting is atrocious so I can’t really study his expression, but I know he doesn’t like being questioned. “Because it’s almost midnight and if I stay any longer, I might turn into a toad, and I like this getup too much to risk that.”

He turns back around but pauses again. Giving me his profile, he says, “And I haven’t forgotten, Miss Robinson—don’t be in my class next time.”

CHAPTER SEVEN

Emma moves in the next day and it goes smoothly with Dylan and Matt and me helping her. Plenty of heated glances are exchanged between the two lovebirds, and I couldn’t be happier. Turns out, after I left last night, there was a hug with a kiss and an all-nighter where they talked and got their feelings out.

At lunchtime, we order pizza and discuss all things poetry. I ask about Sarah Turner, and Emma tells me she was gunning for Thomas’ job. Apparently it was all pretty much set until Jake Masters, dean of creative writing, brought Thomas in to attract more students to the program, hence Sarah’s hostility; not to mention, Jake and Thomas have known each other since their college days, and, naturally, Sarah doesn’t like that.

It’s a fun afternoon, except for one heated phone call from Emma’s mom. She goes into her room to talk so I can’t hear what they are arguing about. Dylan calms her down though and from there, things get light.

Dylan, Emma, and Matt accept me easily. Apart from a few awkward silences where Dylan and Emma make googly eyes at each other, it feels natural—so natural, in fact, that Matt kind of becomes my favorite person in the world because he loves Twizzlers. We share a pack between us and argue its nutritional values against crappy foods like apples or leafy vegetables. By the end of it all, I decide I really want these fragile bonds of friendships to hold. Loneliness doesn’t feel like an option anymore, not since I stumbled upon the Labyrinth.

Once Dylan and Matt are gone, Emma suggests a walk and coffee. I never say no to either of those, so I pile on my winter clothes and we set out into the quiet Sunday afternoon.

The street is wet and flanked by melting banks of snow. It hasn’t snowed since the semester started so the air seems saturated, swollen with the nightmare of it. We pass by the neighboring buildings, which are smaller than the one we live in, a salon, and a deli before getting to Crème and Beans. The smell of coffee and warm chocolate hits us as we enter.

But it’s more than that. There’s a potency in the air, and I instantly know why. Thomas. He is at the counter, paying for his coffee. He is so tall that he has to lean down to speak to the barista. His fingers flick through the bills in his wallet as he counts them, and hands them over with a distracted smile.

Last night I became his puppet again and played with myself. This time I did it in darkness. It made the strings tighter, more urgent. It made me bolder, dirtier. Criminal, even. Unlike the last time, my fingers plunged in and dug deep, felt the flesh from inside out. It was warm and velvety and dripping and noisy. I heard the sounds my pussy makes when it’s greedy and horny. I never knew. I never knew that part of my body so intimately. It felt brilliant and shameful. I basked in my arousal until I was gasping for breath, gushing cum on my purple sheets. I was writhing on my bed with no control over my body whatsoever. It was scary and erotic as fuck.

“Hey, you coming?” Emma calls out, bringing me out of my lust-induced trance.

Her voice is loud in the otherwise empty café and it snags Thomas’ attention. In a flash, his relaxed stance changes and he is on alert, his jaw pulsing. His reaction is so predictable, his hatred so glorious that I bite my lip to keep from smiling.

My smile is lost when I notice he isn’t alone. There’s a woman a few steps behind him in a loose white sweater and a soft pink coat. Her hair is blonde and smooth with layered bangs falling over her forehead. She is petite, shorter than my five feet six inches, and a lot thinner than me.

Even though I’ve never seen her, I know who she is. She is Thomas’ wife.

She is beautiful. So perfect. Ethereal. Like a soft feather or a soap bubble. Her skin is silky and her lips are pure pink. She seems the total opposite of me. Shy, quiet, and well-mannered.

Having seen them too, Emma makes a beeline in their direction. “Hi, Professor Abrams. It’s so nice to see you here.”

“Yes. Pleasure,” he replies without enthusiasm.

Emma introduces herself to Thomas’ wife with a polite smile. “Um, hi, I’m Emma Walker and this is Layla Robinson. We’re in Professor Abrams’ class.”

“Hello. I’m Hadley,” she says with a slight smile. Her voice…I can’t even describe it. It’s the tiniest of sounds, the lowest of decibels, and so…melodic.

I bet Thomas fell in love with her at first sight. How could he not have? She inspires that kind of devotion.

There’s a clench in my chest, as if my heart is shrinking. I wonder what it takes to be loveable. Maybe you have to be less crazy or less selfish or less…ruining.

I swallow and try to smile as Hadley’s golden gaze reaches me. I feel ashamed. It’s the same feeling I had last night with Sarah. I want to hide behind Emma. My harmless crush seems not so harmless anymore.

With reluctance, Thomas jumps into introductions, moving closer to Hadley. “Yes, this is my wife, and that little guy over there is Nicky—Nicholas, our son.”

Did he just say son? A son.

He has a son. A child. He’s a dad.

This is getting worse by the minute. Let’s hide, my frantic heart squeaks. I’ve been masturbating to thoughts of a man who has a son.

A son I can’t stop staring at.

A blue-eyed, dark-haired baby with rosy cheeks. He’s kicking up his feet in a stroller, gurgling over his chubby fist. He’s bundled up in a black and white beanie and scarf with a puffy purple jacket. He’s wearing purple. My favorite color.

“Oh my God, he’s so cute.” Emma comes down to her knees. “And so tiny. How old is he?”

“Six months next week,” Thomas answers.

He is watching Nicky with pride, with tenderness. It’s a look I’ve never seen on him before. It softens the chisels of his face, tempers the perpetual intensity in his eyes. It makes him look young, happy. His fingers graze Nicky’s head gently, reverently.

My gaze lands on Hadley. Maybe the sunrays are hitting her wrong, but I swear I see…apprehension on her face as she looks at Nicky. Her soft lips are turned down and dark bags have erupted under her eyes. I don’t understand her reaction. She snaps her gaze away as if she can’t look at Nicky or her husband anymore.

I dismiss the stupid thought and turn to Emma. She is playing with Nicky, trying to get him to hold on to her finger, but he isn’t biting. I kneel next to her and smile at him and instantly, he looks at me.

His eyes are blue, much like his dad’s. I finger-wave at him. “Hi Nicky, I’m Layla.” He wiggles on his cute butt and drools. “I love your jacket. It’s purple.” I grin, and he shoots me a toothless grin of his own. “Do you know purple is my favorite color? I just love it. Look!” I point to my jacket and he looks dutifully, still chewing on his fist. “I’m wearing purple too, though it’s a different shade. But, you know, purple’s cool in any shade.”

He giggles as if he understands. Chuckling, I finger-wave at him again, this time close to his soft button nose. In a flash, he catches my finger in his wet fist, beaming.

I circle my lips in an O and he mimics my action, drool hanging on to his chin. “You caught me!”

“Why didn’t he grab my finger?” Emma whispers.

“I’m way cooler than you.”

We both make to stand up but I pause as my gaze falls on Thomas’ boots. They’re the same ones from last night, black with grey soles. They point toward Hadley’s maroon, low-heeled boots, but hers are pointed to the opposite side, to the door. I picture the toes of Thomas’ and my boots touching, pointing dead center, like a compass.

Something about the opposite direction of their boots strikes me as wrong. It gives me a bad feeling.

I sense a hot prickle on my scalp, tingling down to my neck and spine. I know Thomas is staring down at me with his gorgeous eyes. My body tightens as I come up to my feet and look at him. There’s a microsecond of connection between us, and suddenly, I get it. I get the hidden depths of his eyes. I get the sharpness of his expression, every purse of his lips, every throb of his vein.

I get everything. I get why he didn’t look like the happiest man alive last night.

I even get his poem. Anesthesia is about loneliness, heartbreak, one-sided love. It’s about him, and it’s about me. It’s about people like us.

My heart is racing with the awful, awful knowledge.

Just then, Nicky’s gurgles morph into fussing. His chubby cheeks shake as he chews on his knuckles. His distress is causing me distress, and I’ve only met him a few minutes ago.

Emma looks down, frowning. “Oh no, I guess he needs his mommy.”

I swear I see Hadley flinch. What is going on?

Thomas notices it too and breaks into action. Setting his mug on the counter, he bends down and gathers Nicky in his arms. He presses him to his chest, cradling his head and rocking him. His movements are expert and fluid.

“I think we should get going. It’s close to Nicky’s feeding time, anyway,” Thomas says.

We say our goodbyes and Thomas and Hadley leave. As Emma places her order with the barista, I watch them walk down Albert Street. They walk separate from each other, aloof. Thomas is pushing the stroller and Hadley is huddled in her coat, tucking her flying blonde hair behind her ears. She slips on a patch of ice and Thomas’ hand shoots out to steady her, but it never makes contact with her body. Hadley shrinks away at the last second and straightens herself. She continues walking as if nothing happened, and Thomas follows.

With a sinking heart, I realize Thomas is like me. He is the unrequited lover.

For the past weeks, Thomas has claimed my nights. He is all I think about, but tonight is different. Tonight, Caleb is intruding on Thomas. The awful, breath-stealing, gut-wrenching love that I feel for him is rushing to the surface.

In my mind, I see purple flowers, the same ones I saw through the window of that strange house Caleb left me in.

Most days I don’t think about those flowers, but tonight I can’t stop thinking about them. I can’t stop thinking about how beautiful they were and how I hated seeing them when I was at my worst. I hated them for being so pretty and delicate. The agony is multiplied a thousand-fold, as if I’m sad for not only myself, but someone else too.

Turns out, Thomas Abrams isn’t a mystery anymore. He’s just a man in love with someone who doesn’t love him back. It demystifies everything about him, and it breaks my heart in a million ways. I pick up his book and read the poem again. I lick his words as if I’m licking his soul, his heart, his wounds.

Now that I know this about Thomas, the allure should be gone…but it’s still there. It makes me want to run and run until I find him and ask him, What does it feel like? Are you as lonely as me? As lost and angry? Are you insane like me?

My agony, curiosity, anger, heartbreak…everything pours out of me onto a blank piece of paper. My trembling fingers fly and I write my very first poem.

For Thomas.

CHAPTER EIGHT

The Bard

Love is a scary thing. It’s too powerful, too awe-inspiring, too life-changing for a man like me. I’ve seen it. I’ve believed in it, but I never wanted it for myself.

But when I saw her, it didn’t matter. It didn’t matter what I thought, what I wanted. At the first sight, I fell.

Hadley.

She was walking down the corridor, her arms laden with books, her honey blonde hair fluttering in the air. A frown marred her forehead. All I wanted to do was rub my thumb between her eyebrows and erase it. There was something about her that spoke to me. Maybe it was the way she walked, huddled, shrunken into herself, or it could have been her parted lips, dragging in air out of exertion. Whatever it was, it called to something inside me, something I didn’t know I had—a sort of protective instinct, perhaps. She passed me by without sparing me a glance, without knowing how she shifted my world with that one frown.

Years later, I still feel the same. I see the bunched lines between her brows and downturned angles of her mouth, and I want to crush the source of her distress.

Trouble is, this time it’s me.

I put those lines on her beautiful face. They rest when she’s silent, simply listening to what Grace, Jake’s wife, is saying to her, but they come alive when she throws Grace a tight smile.

Hadley has lost weight, the shine of her skin is gone, and the dark bags under her eyes give her a haunted, weak look. These outward signs make me feel helpless, angry—at myself, at the world, I don’t know.

A distinct pain originates in the back of my skull and travels up my scalp. I know it won’t be long before my head is full-on aching.

“You okay, man?” Jake thumps his hand on my shoulder.

We are at Jake and Grace’s house for dinner. It’s sort of a welcome-to-the-neighborhood kind of thing. Hadley and Grace are busy in a conversation at the kitchen island, though it’s mostly Grace talking; Hadley is a listener. Jake and I are here, occupying the couch in the living room.

The chill of the beer bottle seeps into my overheated fingers as I take a long pull, looking away from my wife. “Yeah. Everything’s fine.”

“You can talk to me, you know. I’m here for you.” His eyes move from me to Hadley and back again.

My teeth grit at his interference. It’s not interference, I tell myself. Jake is the kind of a guy who’d be concerned, but I’m not the type to share. Words have the power to make things true. Just like some people don’t talk about their nightmares because it might make them come true, I don’t want to discuss what’s wrong in my life, in my marriage.

“There’s nothing to talk about. Everything’s fine.”

Jake senses my unease and lifts his hands in surrender. “Okay. No pressure.” He takes a sip of his own beer. “So Sarah pretty much hates you.”

Glad for the subject change, I say, “Sarah pretty much hates everyone.”

“Yes, but not everyone argues with her at staff meetings, and not everyone points out—and I quote—‘how shitty the syllabus is.’ That’s all you.”

“It is shitty.”

“You’re not going to make my job easier, are you?” He shakes his head, growing serious. “You can’t pull stuff like this now, Thomas. You can’t text me and dash out when I want to introduce you to people. You can’t insult your colleagues. You aren’t a poet anymore. You’re a teacher. A team player.”

Not a poet.

Jake didn’t mean anything by it, but it needles me all the same. The throbbing in my skull intensifies, on the verge of exploding with a thousand thoughts. It makes me feel tired, exhausted—the feeling I get when I’ve labored over a poem for hours, polishing it, chiseling it until it shines…or until I can’t work on it anymore because all my words have dried up.

“Yeah. I know.” I sigh, running my hand through my hair. “I know you’re doing me a favor, man. I don’t mean to piss all over it. It won’t happen again.”

And I mean it. If this job rights all the wrongs I’ve done, I’ll take it.

“Good.” Jake salutes me with his bottle. “How are the students? We got a decent batch this year, right?”

As if Jake’s question is a trigger, I see her in flashes, as if my consciousness has clicked snapshots of her without my knowledge. Impish, wild, violet-colored eyes. Loud, uninhibited laughter. Smoke threading out of her pouty lips. The savage, dark curls that never seem to stay still. Her purple fur coats—who wears fur coats, anyway? Her voice that digs up the buried words inside me. Merciless words. They make me forget I’m not a poet anymore.

I can’t be—it’s the fate I chose months ago—but words come to me now because of her, as though she is my muse. I don’t want a muse. I don’t want Layla Robinson in my thoughts.

I grip the neck of the bottle tightly, restless, unable to sit still. I take another long pull of my beer. “Yeah. Decent,” I say in reply to Jake’s earlier question.

“That bad, huh?” He rests his arms on his thighs and gives me a meaningful look. “Listen, go easy on them. Not everyone is Hemingway in the making. Look at the spirit, not the talent.”

“Is that my first lesson on how to be a teacher?”

“If you want it to be.”

“You’re full of wisdom tonight, aren’t you?”

“I’m always full of wisdom.” He grins, making me scoff.

We talk until it’s time to go. Hadley thanks Grace for having us over and they hug. Jake and I pat each other’s shoulders.

It’s a bit of a drive to our place from Jake’s house since they live off campus. As I start my car, I see Grace and Jake kissing and giggling like teenagers in the rearview mirror. It intensifies my headache even more.

When Hadley is all buckled up, I pull out. An instant sense of relief overtakes me at her nearness. My fingers twitch on the wheel with the desire to touch her skin, the curve of her cheek, her graceful neck—but I don’t. She won’t like it.

“So, uh, did you have a good time?” I cringe at my question, my eyes on the snowy road. Might as well have asked about the useless weather. I’ve never been a conversation starter, but for her, I try.

“Yes.” She nods, giving me a glance that lasts only a second before turning back to the window.

The silence is oppressive. My fingers tighten, white-knuckling the wheel. “Do you think it’s…going to snow tonight?”

I am nauseated as soon as the words are out, so empty and impersonal. It’s like we’ve never met before, never touched each other, never felt each other’s heartbeats or skin.

It’s like we’ve never been in love before.

She shrugs in answer to my pathetic question. “Probably.”

The nausea lurches and I feel hot all over. The car seems to have shrunk in the past five seconds. I want to stomp on the brakes, jerk us to a halt, and shove out of this tight space. I want to leave it all behind. Every fucking thing.

But there’s nowhere else to go. So I keep on driving.

In fact, I’m so absorbed in this mundane task that I miss the turn that leads to our house. I keep driving straight and come to a stop in front of the park entrance. Only then does Hadley notice where we are.

“What…What are we doing here?” She turns to me. I’m ashamed to admit it gives me pleasure to see her disorientation. It gives me pleasure to see her need me, even if it is for something as inconsequential as seeking the answer to her question.

“I want to show you something.” My voice is quiet, despite the roar inside my body.

Her golden-brown eyes flick over my face. It’s probably the first time all night that she’s been aware of me, and like a fucking beggar, I take it. I rejoice in her undivided attention.

It’s gone too soon though. She jumps out of the car and I follow her. I’m beginning to think this was a bad idea, but I’m running out of options. I need her to understand.

Our footsteps crunch, filling the silence as I direct her to our destination: the bench under the white-flowered tree, the very spot where I proposed to her.

As the bench comes into view, surrounded by heaps of snow and spotlighted under the lamp, the night changes into that day from eight years ago. I’m thrown back to that rainy afternoon, when I told her I wanted to spend my life with her. I was going to go away to the city for grad school and I wanted her to come with me.

“Do you remember this place? You waited for me, as always.” I swallow. “And as always, I was late. I thought you’d be gone. I was rehearsing all the apologies in my head, but there you were, and I just stopped. I had to catch my breath for a second. You were so beautiful and calm and…soft.” I plow my numb fingers through my hair. “I felt so inadequate, like I didn’t deserve you. I’ve always been such a…moody asshole.”

My words trail off as Hadley turns around and faces me. I don’t know what I was expecting to see on her expression, but it wasn’t this…deathly stillness. She is like a blank piece of paper. She is almost one-dimensional in her absence of emotions, as if she has no depth whatsoever, nothing beyond the surface.

“I want to go home.” Her voice is the same, quiet and soft, but it sounds all wrong with her expressionless, indifferent face.

“Hadley—”

“I don’t want to be here.”

“You promised.” My voice thunders. I clench my fists to get it under control. “You promised you’d try. We both did. And I’m trying, Hadley. I swear to fucking God, I’m trying to be the kind of husband you deserve.”

Anger and fear are warring inside me. What if I can never get through to her? What if I can never make her understand how much I have changed? What if she asks for a divorce again? I remember the invisible jolt I felt when she asked for it that day months ago. Her demand was a boom inside my body, an implosion of organs, my heart. I hadn’t even realized things had gotten so bad.

“Is that why we’re here? In this town?”

“Yes, because you love it here. You always wanted to move back.”

“But you hate this town.”

“I don’t care. I’d do anything for you.”

“Even give up your writing?”

I flinch at this. I’m not used to hearing it out loud. It’s not something we talk about. For years, I lived on words, on creating them, molding them. Somewhere along the way, I forgot that I loved Hadley too. Words made me forget my wife, and I fucking hate them now. I don’t want them. For her, I’ll give everything up.

“Yes. Nothing means more to me than you.” I shake my head, tired of this longing, this need for her. “Don’t you get it? You give up anything for the people you care about. I’m just doing what you’re supposed to do in love.”

Her eyes shine with unshed tears, hurting me but making me happy because they mean she still cares. This display of emotion makes me take a few steps forward, but I come to a halt when her face changes. The emotions are erased and her expression has turned blank again.

“I want to go home. I’m tired.” She doesn’t give me time to respond, simply begins walking back to the car.

It takes me a few seconds to move. Anger is like hot lava, burning my flesh. She keeps rejecting me at every turn. Why the fuck can’t she see what I’ve given up to be with her? Why won’t she forgive me? Why aren’t things getting better when I’m doing everything I can to make them so?

Ten minutes later, we are home.

We enter the house through the kitchen door. Home is a bit of stretch. It doesn’t feel like home. It doesn’t have a personality yet. It’s too new, smells too much of paint and wood. Unlike in the city, it’s too quiet in here; I’d rather be sleeping through the blaring siren of a fire truck than sitting in the unnatural silence. Small towns make me think I’m all alone in the world.

Hadley moves like a ghost, with light feet and grace, as if she’s floating. She drifts up the stairs and just as she reaches the landing, a shrill cry echoes. Nicky is up. Hadley winces at the sound, pauses a moment in front of his door, but then moves on.

I fist my hands at my sides. I can take her indifference toward me. It fucking hurts, but I can take the pain—but her indifference toward Nicky makes me want to throttle her. I breathe in deep and climb up the same stairs. I come to Nicky’s white door and my sweaty palms slip over the knob as I turn it.

The room is lit by moonlight and a lamp with sea animals on the shade. It stands on the dresser right next to the rocking chair Susan, our nanny, is currently occupying. She has Nicky in her arms, gently cooing in his ears. I pad inside the room and she looks up at me, smiling slightly.

“He’s just being a little fussy,” she tells me as she stands.

I reach over and take Nicky in my arms, relieving her. I rock him with practiced ease and kiss his forehead. “It’s okay. I got him. You should go on home.”

She rubs circles on Nicky’s back, trying to soothe him alongside me. “Are you sure? I can stay. You should get some sleep. You have work in the morning.”

Nicky fists the collar of my shirt and tries to put it into his mouth. I clutch his chubby fist and place a soft kiss on it. “I’ll be okay.” She doesn’t know how many sleepless nights I’ve spent under this roof.

Susan studies me with a frown on her weathered face. Maybe she does know. She opens her mouth to say something, but I stop her. “Do you need help packing up your things?”

“No. I can do it.” She throws me a sad smile. “I’ll go then. Good night.” She leans over, kisses Nicky on the cheek and leaves.

I let out a relieved breath. Finally, I am alone. I welcome the solitude after the roller coaster of tonight.

Nicky has calmed down and is drooling over my shoulder. I lay him down in the crib and watch him sleep. I trace the curves of his cheeks, the soft, cute chin with my eyes. His hair is dark and mussed, his fists lifted up by his face. He jerks and his blue onesie-covered feet twitch. I pat his chest, run my palm in circles, hoping to soothe him. Soon, his breathing goes back to normal as his mouth falls open slightly.

The words tumble out of my mouth on a whisper. “I love you. I’ll always love you.”

And I love your mom.

The thought pulsates like an ache in my skull and a churn in my gut. I’m restless again.

I need to remind Hadley how much I love her. I need to remind her that we share a child. We are a family. You never turn your back on your family. I have learned that in the worst of ways.

But how do you remind someone who doesn’t want to remember?

PART 2

THE TRESPASSER

CHAPTER NINE

Monday morning, the start of another week of school. Emma and I walk to class together and sit side by side, in the middle of the semicircle. Dylan enters a few minutes later and walks straight to Emma, smiles, and takes a seat by her. They begin talking and I look at my notebook, grinning.

Who would’ve thought my life would entirely spin around in a week? A week ago I didn’t even have friends, and now I have three, and I’ve got the Labyrinth too—or at least, I can hang out here until they realize I don’t belong.

My heart thumps in my chest as I flip pages of my notebook and come upon the very last page filled with my squiggly handwriting. I’m scared to look at the words I wrote. They seem childish, inadequate, unworthy of the dynamic man to whom they are dedicated.

I snap the notebook close and stare ahead.

Before long, Thomas enters the class, carrying a bundle of papers in one hand and running the other through his hair. My body tingles, goosebumps erupting over my skin.

He takes off his jacket, throws it on the chair with a tight, jerky flick of his arm. Fiddling with the cuffs of his shirt, he opens the button and folds the sleeves up to his elbows. I watch his hands cradling the papers, flicking through them, and picture him cradling Nicky’s fragile neck, soothing him.

Thomas Abrams is magic. He’s a wordsmith, a baby whisperer, a blue-eyed asshole, but most of all, he’s like me: brokenhearted.

“Miss Robinson.” Thomas’ voice lashes through the room, and I wince. He looks at me—glares, actually—and my stomach is filled with terrified butterflies.

“Do you have some work for us?”

“W-Work?”

“Yes. Do you have any?”

“Uh, I don’t…I don’t remember you giving us any homework last class.”

He throws the papers on the desk and folds his arms. “It’s a writing class, Miss Robinson. It requires you to write, to hold the pen and put it on paper—sound familiar?”

I gulp, twisting the pages of my notebook. Yup, a major asshole—but why does his anger turn me on so much? I’m a fucking masochist.

“Read us a poem you’ve written.”

Fuck. Fuck!

The butterflies inside my stomach freeze and die, dropping to the bottom like dead weight. The silence is so thick that I hear the rustle of clothes as people shift in their chairs. All eyes are staring at me and I hate that, hate the stabbing gazes.

“Do you think you’re special, Miss Robinson? Do you think I should completely ignore the fact that you’ve failed to turn in your assignment from last week? Or maybe you think your fellow students are fucking idiots for following the rules. Which is it?”

I grit my teeth against the onslaught of emotions that seem eerily similar to betrayal and choke out, “I have some work.”

He looks surprised, and that gives me a teeny sense of pleasure. “Let’s hear it.” Thomas leans against the desk and crosses his ankles.

Okay, I’m not so turned on right now as I feel the class watching me with pity. This must be so natural for them, reading their ‘work’, and here I am quaking in my boots.

I clear my throat and begin.

“The day we met you watched the moon

While I watched you.

Tall and alone. Dark and lonely.

You looked like my mirror.

Cracked and empty.

Dried up and chewed out.

I could have been yours.

If only you had looked at me.”

My voice is scratchy, and words sound garbled and thick to my ears. I’m afraid to look up and see Thomas’ reaction. I keep dog-earing the page and shifting restlessly in my seat. Even though I’m not looking, I know the exact moment he is about to say something.

“Well, an A for the effort and courage to read it out loud. No, actually…” He scratches his jaw with his thumb. “I’d say A+ for the courage. You must have a lot of it to read something this choppy and unpolished. Tell me, Miss Robinson, how many times did you revise your work?”

I almost open my mouth and blurt out, Was I supposed to? but I control myself and manage to lie. “Once?”

“Once,” he clips.

“Uh, twice.” I hold up two fingers; they are shivering, barely able to stand on their own, so I lower them.

I can see Thomas doesn’t buy it. “It shows. The structure is choppy. It’s abrupt. And your word choice is horrendous.”

My body heats up in shame, his words hitting me like fire darts. I poured out every fucking emotion I had into this stupid poem and that’s all he has to say to me? Is he even the same person from yesterday? Is he even capable of vulnerability? Is it all in my head?

“Isn’t a poem supposed to be a snapshot of a moment?” I ask with clenched teeth.

“If I have to tell you what a poem is, I think you’re in the wrong class.”

With one flick of his gaze, he dismisses me, and I’m left seething. I feel Emma squeezing my hand on the desk and I want to snap it away and shrink in my seat. I’m happy being the weird loner. I don’t need pity.

Thomas calls out other names, asking them to read. He is impatient with his comments, snappy and rude, but not as rude or condescending as he was to me. I think by the time the class is over, he’s enjoying the back and forth, the healthy debate over his precious ‘word choice,’ though he would never admit it. Fucking egomaniac.

The only person to get a fraction of positivity from him is Emma. Thomas said her poem has potential. Potential. I’m so jealous, and it’s so ridiculous that my breaths are coming in pants.

And it has nothing to do with being turned on.

All day I’ve been seething over what happened in Thomas’ class, so much so that once my other classes are over, I trek back to the north side of campus and inside the Labyrinth. The building is as alive as ever. I wonder when these people even go home. It’s almost five in the evening and I can still hear the thumping footsteps above—the theatre crew. Fucking hippies.

I take the flight of stairs to the second floor, which is similar to the first floor with its long hallway and flanking rooms. A few are classrooms, but mostly this floor is for faculty offices. I stop at the last door. It sits right above our classroom downstairs and reads, Thomas Abrams, Poet in Residence. I grimace. More like asshole in residence. The door is ajar and I push it open.

Thomas is sitting in a high-backed chair, pen poised in his hands, head bent over a bundle of papers. He looks up as the door opens.

“Miss Robinson. Did we have an appointment?”

I enter and close the door behind me. “No.”

“Then you should make one and come back later.” He goes back to reading the paper in front of him.

If he doesn’t look up any time soon, I might throw something at him. By the looks of it, it’s going to be the small Tiffany lamp sitting by the door on a polished wooden stool.

“What was that?” I release a pent-up breath. “You humiliated me in class.”

For the longest time, all I hear is the scratch of his pen, and all I see is the dark hair on his bent head. My hand creeps up toward the lamp, almost touching it. I’d do it too. I’m that mad and that fearless.

At last, he is done. He sets the pen aside and looks up. “And when was that exactly?”

A laugh of disbelief breaks out of my lips. “Are you serious right now? You fucking humiliated me, tore my poem apart like it was some…some…” Dammit, I can’t find a word for it.

His fingers are laced together on the desk and with inscrutable eyes, he watches me struggle. “Like it was some what?”

“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?” I swallow the scream that itches my throat.

“No.” He stands up and walks around the desk, leaning against it. “I don’t enjoy being cornered for giving my honest opinion. Maybe you didn’t understand the first time: this is a creative writing class. If you can’t take the heat, then get out. Besides, aren’t you not in my class already?”

“Oh, you’d like that, wouldn’t you?” I bring my backpack around to my front and fish out the printed document. I walk up to him and pin it to his chest. “Here, my official registration confirmation. I am not a trespasser anymore.”

He lets the paper float down to the ground where it lands next to his boots. Fucking boots. I have no idea why I am so obsessed with them—and his hands.

“Is there a purpose to this visit?”

I focus on his face. “Yes.”

“And what exactly is it?”

I stare at the slant of his jaw. The stubble over his face has grown thicker over the course of the day. It casts a shadow that contrasts with the brightness of his eyes. Twin blue flames. There’s so much anger in them—anger, irritation, frustration.

I should be wary of him. I should want to stay away. But I don’t.

Thomas Abrams is a wounded animal. It’s a wound of the heart, bleeding and gaping. It makes him snap out and snarl.

I want to…lick him like I did his words. I want to kiss him.

Holy shit!

My broken heart wants to kiss him better. Stupid, idiot heart.

Swallowing, I lick my lips, studying the curve of his. I want to suck on those angry lips, vacuum his plump mouth between my mouth, my teeth, until the anger drains away and only his fire remains.

I breathe out misty breaths. They thicken the air. Under my gaze, the pulse on his neck jumps rhythmically, like my heart. I want to suck on that patch of skin too, soothe it. I want to suck the pain away from his heart.

Oh God, I’m crazy. I’ve lost my mind.

My mouth is dry even though I’m slippery between my legs. A wrong and dirty sort of quickening rises in my stomach.

“I have to go.” I pant like a fool and lift my eyes up to his. His gaze is searing. It burns through my flimsy cover. The tic in his jaw is violent in conjunction with his flared nostrils. He’s ready to kill, the wounded animal.

I gulp and back away. My registration slip crinkles beneath my boots, sounding like a gunshot in the silent but charged room.

“Writing is not for everyone, Miss Robinson,” Thomas says when I’m almost at the door. “It takes a certain depth of soul, a certain sort of sensitivity, if you will. Not very many people possess that. It’s good to know when to give up.”

I don’t know if he’s taunting me or telling the truth, and I don’t have the energy to find out. My lust has made me stupid, more stupid than I normally am.

“Thanks for the advice, Professor.” I turn to look at him. “But depth is misleading from the surface. Sometimes taking a plunge is the only way to find out if the water is too deep or just deep enough.”

We stare at each other. I don’t know what he sees when he looks at me. When I look at him, though, all I see is someone brokenhearted. I see him trying to catch his wife as she slips. I see him following her, like I did with Caleb.

I wrote that poem for you.

Thomas locks his jaw in a clench and walks back to his chair. The legs squeak as he sits down and his hands get busy sifting through the papers.

I turn around too, facing the door. Right next to the Tiffany lamp I was planning to throw at him lies a black, sleek book. In my anger, I hadn’t noticed it before. It’s the same book from the bookstore—A Lover’s Discourse: Fragments by Roland Barthes—though this copy is old and frayed.

As I step out of his room, I stick my hand out and swipe the book. I cradle it to my chest and walk away.

Sitting in bed with Lana’s voice blasting through my headphones, I open the first page of the stolen book. It holds a message in curly handwriting.

To Thomas. Hope you enjoy reading this piece of literature (again) that no sane person can understand. Love, Hadley.

I run my fingers over the smudged ink while picturing scenarios in my head. I weave a story in which Hadley and Thomas have been dating for a year now, and it’s his birthday. Hadley gifts him his favorite book, a book he’s read countless times before. He’s surprised, happy, and he kisses her like she is his greatest gift. Gentle, tender kisses. Kisses worthy of a queen—not the kind I want and probably deserve, filthy and rough and messy and wet.

With a sigh, I focus on the pages that have been yellowed, flipping through them. Every once in a while, I stop when I see a passage underlined or a word scribbled. Agony. Fire. Passion. Loneliness. Destroyed. Crumble. Burn. Sleepless.

The letters are straight and clear, severe, like Thomas, but there is an extra swirl in his esses, making them playful, somewhat soft. I want to keep touching them, want to lick them.

Then all at once, my heart stops beating.

Unrequited.

The word is written next to a passage that has been underlined with thick black lines. It says that the unrequited lover is the one who waits. He waits and waits, and then waits some more. He is the one who drops vital moments of his life, lets them scatter away, lets himself scatter away piece by piece for those three words. I love you. He is desperate and lonely, both by choice and circumstance.

It’s the story of my life packed into a neat, tidy script.

Thomas and I, we share the same story. We might have gotten there differently, but now we share the same fate.

I look at the time: twelve past eleven. I get up, pile on winter clothes, and head out the door. I’m going to the place I went to last night. I’m going to trespass. Again.

I’ve got a confession to make: after seeing Thomas with Hadley at the coffee shop, I watched him…in his house…through the window, at night.

I know it sounds bad. Borderline criminal. Psychotic. Stalkerish. If Thomas ever knew, he’d kill me. If Kara ever found out, she’d shit her pants. So, I’m never going to tell them. I’ll be taking this one to the grave.

Thomas’ address was easy to find. It was on the university portal, under employee directory. I sat on that address for hours until I couldn’t, until the night fell and I wrote that shitty poem with horrible word choices.

I’ve always felt like an outsider, a freak of nature to love someone who’d never love me back, to love my own stepbrother, who for all intents and purposes is considered to be my actual brother by everyone…by my mother.

And now I’ve found someone who’s going through the exact same thing. So, I broke my rule to never stalk again and went to Thomas’ house last night. I watched him through his living room window. He sat on a colorless couch, sprawling, his hair sticking up. He graded papers, pen tightly clutched in his hands, a t-shirt clinging to the valleys of his body, a permanent frown sitting on his forehead. He’d look up every now and then, stare out the window. Thank God for the oversized foliage surrounding his house that kept me hidden. Then he’d stab a grade on the sheet and throw it on the coffee table. Rinse and repeat.

I could feel the frustration taking him over until he tossed the papers aside and began pacing. He’d stop and look behind him—I don’t know at what—and then pace again. It went on for hours, a hypnotizing ritual until he passed out on the couch, sitting up, his head pointed to the ceiling.

Tonight it’s snowing. Thick flakes fall from the sky, burying the sidewalks under small hills of snow. I walk with slow, measured steps, feeling the bite of the cold. The tall campus buildings give way to arched-roof houses, squatting far apart from each other. I shouldn’t be doing this. I shouldn’t be snooping. It’s crazy, not to mention illegal, but I keep walking.

Up ahead, I see a house, separate from the others. Thomas’ house. The overgrown foliage and un-mowed lawn peppered with heaps of snow make it look abandoned. It’s a house, not a home.

My stomach feels the usual tight pull when Thomas is around, but it’s a false alarm, because Thomas isn’t there. The lights in the living room are out. This is the time to turn back—maybe they aren’t home—but my psychotic heart pushes me forward.

I brave the savage and cold yard and walk around the house. A lone tree towers over the roof, its sharp, naked branches grazing the siding. My eyes home in on the last window. Its light is on, and white curtains flutter with movement.

Slowly, I forge ahead.

I run my terrified gaze around but see no sign of civilization. The houses are dark; the nearest one seems an ocean away from my position. I reach the window and squat down in hiding.

I hear murmured sounds and it takes me a moment to gather the courage to look up. The drapes are partially drawn, leaving a slice of an opening. I see Thomas clearly. He is standing, giving me his side profile. He is wearing black drawstring pajamas and is bare-chested.

Holy fuck. He’s almost naked.

He is not huge but tall and sleek, each muscle defined and curled. My eyes travel from his cheek down to the tendon of his neck merging into his strong shoulders. The veins on his toned arms flicker as he opens and closes his fist. His wedding band shines against his pants. He’s got an artist’s body: mysterious terrains, moody sheets of muscles that are tightened right now.

The murmurs are hard to place. Words run together. Their voices are low but the strain is unmistakable. I catch something about Nicky, about leaving him alone, about going somewhere for a few days. All of this is in Hadley’s high-pitched, feminine voice. I don’t know what Thomas says to that, but he’s agitated. He plows a hand through his hair, pulling on the contours of his ribs and stomach.

Looking at him like this, his body on display, made of hard muscles, he seems unbreakable. Oh, how stupid to think that.

He is breakable, more fragile than even his wife, Hadley. She can break him into pieces, mangle him, leave him ruined if she wants. No one can save him.

But we want to. We just want to kiss him. One kiss.

As if my one kiss will magically cure his wounded heart. As if he’ll even want to kiss someone like me. Besides, this isn’t what I’m supposed to be thinking about. I’m not here to perv over him. I’m here to…see him, without his usual bullshit. I’m here to see someone else like me.

A flash of yellow—a nightgown?—passes through until it disappears. The murmurs stop. The silence is thick and dark.

Thomas faces away from the window, giving me a glimpse of his back. It’s tight and strained. What were they talking about?

He shifts his stance and picks up an empty vase, his fingers fisting around its sleek neck. He raises his arm, getting ready to throw it in anger. I am already cringing at the impending crash, but at the last moment, he sets the vase down and walks out, following her.

Always following her.

CHAPTER TEN

It’s Saturday and I’m sitting at Crème and Beans. My table is slouched under the myriad of books I picked up from the bookstore last week.

I’ve got another confession to make. No, it’s not something horrendous or criminal like stalking or peeping through the window. Here it is: I bought some books on poetry after Thomas told me to give up on it. They are supposed to teach you how to be a poet, things like technique and form and syllables and types of verses. It’s all very intimidating and foreign-looking.

I’m so engrossed in the debate regarding the importance of blank space in a poem—it is as important as the words themselves, apparently—that I’m caught off guard at the strong waft of chocolate and something spicy.

My fingers heat up and I find Thomas peering down at me. He’s got a mug of coffee and a pastry bag in his hand, and the most devastating thing is the baby strapped to his chest, facing out. Nicky is kicking his legs and nibbling on his fist as he looks around the room. Thomas’ hand is splayed on his tummy in a protective gesture.

Dear God, this man is sexy.

Thomas is staring down at my book and I try to slide it toward me, inch by inch. But he puts his coffee and pastry aside, bends with Nicky still secure, and drags it back to the center of the table.

Smirking, he pins me with his gaze. “What are you doing?”

“Nothing,” I grumble, and try to tug the book away from his hold, but his hand is like a rock. “Let it go.”

He does and I jerk back in my chair with the force, earning a soft chuckle from Thomas. He takes a seat then. I can’t look away from the expert way he’s holding Nicky, safe and secure against his chest.

His chest that I saw naked last night.

Don’t think about it.

But my shameless heart doesn’t listen and I’m bombarded with flashes of my adventure. I press my lips together. If I’m not careful, I’ll end up blurting it all out. Thomas can never find out what I saw. Never.

He sips his coffee and fishes the pastry out of the bag—chocolate croissant.

“Is that your go-to food?” I ask, thinking about his delicious smell.

“Pretty much, yeah. And in case you were wondering…” He takes a bite of it. “I don’t share chocolate.”

I watch him chew, the smooth movements of his jaw and the bob of his Adam’s apple as he swallows. It’s mundane, something he does multiple times every day, and that makes this common occurrence so uncommon for me. It’s a peek into his daily activities.

As if I haven’t gotten enough peeks. Disgusted, I lower my gaze.

Thomas goes ahead and picks up the book, reading the title, effectively hiding his face. “Coming of Age as a Poet.”

I’m doubly ashamed now. I don’t want him to see how I’m struggling, how deep his words from the other day cut me. “Can I have it back? I’m working.”

I tug it free from his grip and he lets me, revealing his playful gaze. “But you just said you’re doing nothing.”

I roll my eyes at his childish statement. “I lied, okay.”

“Lying’s a very bad habit, Miss Robinson,” he informs me, his voice anything but childish now. “It might land you in trouble.”

“I think I can handle a little trouble, Professor Abrams.”

He remains silent and drinks his coffee, watching me with speculation. I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I want him to leave. I’ve committed so many crimes in the past couple of days that I can’t even look at him without going hot and flushed all over. I bet I resemble a tomato, and I don’t even like tomatoes, especially on a hamburger. I always gave them to Caleb.

He knows. Thomas knows I saw him last night.

“Do I make you nervous, Layla?”

“No,” I scoff—or try to; it comes out all squeaky and high.

“Yeah, I didn’t think so,” he murmurs then takes another sip. “Have you done something?”

“What, no,” I say quickly, playing with the pages of the book. “Look, do you mind leaving? I’m working here.”

“How can you work here? Isn’t it too loud?”

“I like it. It reminds me of home,” I mumble.

“Where did you live, a playground?”

“No. New York.”

He grows serious at my answer, and the crinkles around his eyes disappear as he studies me. Great, more microscopic observation. I should just tell him so this torture is over. Why can’t I be normal and hide things like other people?

Learn to eat your feelings, Layla. Learn it!

“You miss the noise of the city,” he concludes, breaking my inner monologue. I nod with hesitation. Taking another sip of the coffee, he says, “Me too.”

I barely suppress a gasp at his revelation. I’m shocked that he chose to tell me something personal about himself. Now, along with drowning in embarrassment about my nightly actions, I’m thoroughly confused.

“What?” he asks.

“I… You’re so weird.” He arches his eyebrow at me. “No, really. Why are you being so nice to me?”

“I’m always nice.”

“No, you’re not. You hate me. You’re always giving me a death glare, like I’m responsible for, I don’t know, terrorism or global warming or something.”

He chuckles or maybe laughs. It’s a bark of a sound, rusty and awkward but still. I made him do that. Me.

Thomas goes to take a sip of his coffee, but I snatch it away before he can. I’m feeling gutsy now. His weird laugh/chuckle has made me brave. Embarrassment is still there, but like every time we’re close, I become bolder.

Thomas gives me a meaningful look as I take a sip. “What? You know I only steal stuff that gives me a high.” I shrug.

Shaking his head, he looks out the glass wall we’re sitting by. I realize that outside of the Labyrinth, Thomas is much more receptive to me. Outside of class, he’s more playful, relaxed. The man really hates teaching, doesn’t he?

Nicky chooses this moment to gurgle and whip his fists up and down. I’ve been avoiding looking at him. Somehow entertaining sordid thoughts about Thomas and spying on him, and then looking at Nicky’s innocent face feels…wrong.

“Hey, Nicky.” I greet him with a wave of my fingers, and the little man with the black beanie and fat cheeks turns his bright eyes to me. He lunges—as much as he can while still strapped to his daddy’s chest—to grab my finger. Chuckling, I reach out and let him wrap his dimpled fist around it.

“Aren’t you cute?” I blow kisses at him, making him laugh. “I wonder where you get it from.” I widen my eyes at Thomas playfully.

Thomas’ eyes are anything but playful. They are twin peaks of intensity, and they are trained on me. I shift in my chair, craving some sort of friction between my legs.

I want to keep looking, but I bring my focus back to Nicky. He’s playing with my finger happily. “Oh look, you’re wearing purple again. Good boy. You know what I think? I think you and me, we’re soul mates. We should have matching outfits.”

Thomas breaks his silence. “Don’t give him ideas. I don’t want my son to dress up like a clown.”

Affronted, I glare at him. “Are you calling me a clown? What’s wrong with what I wear?”

He pops a bit of the croissant in his mouth. “What’s that on your head?”

My free hand goes up and I take off my hat, ruffling my hair. Waves fall around my face and I push them away. Thomas’ gaze flicks over the loose mass of curls and it has me wondering if something is stuck in there. My hair tends to catch things—dead leaves, snow, twigs.

I feel shy all of a sudden so I glance down and clear my throat. “This is a Russian-style Arctic fur hat.”

“And this is what, Russia?”

I purse my lips at Thomas and the crinkles around his eyes deepen, as he chews on another piece of croissant. To Nicky, I say, “Tell him, Nicky. Tell him he’s a judgmental moron.”

Nicky abandons my finger and stares at my hat. He coos at it while chewing on his finger. God, he’s so adorable. I almost can’t look at him.

“Do you want this Russian hat by any chance, little man?” I offer it to him and he grabs at it, and then promptly goes on to drool on it. “See? He loves it so much he wants to eat it.” I throw Thomas a pitying glance. “It’s okay, not everyone can be cool.”

“Don’t get too excited. He’s at a stage where everything looks like food and drool-worthy.” He whips out a tissue from his pocket, removes the hat from Nicky’s mouth, and wipes off his drool. I take this tiny moment to study him and his expert movements.

“Is this your way of not giving up?” Thomas asks, pointing to the open book I’d completely forgotten about.

Shyness stabs my cheeks again and I lower my eyes. “Maybe.”

“Show me what you’ve written so far”

I jerk my gaze up at him. “No—not that I’ve written anything. I can’t write. I don’t know how. Isn’t that what the problem is?”

He shakes his head and snaps my notebook shut, making Nicky chuckle. Thanks for the support, buddy. “Now, I’m only going to say this once, so you better listen.”

His professor-y voice makes me raise my hand as if we are in a classroom.

“What?”

“That’s exactly what you said in class,” I say, thinking about the time he blew his lid when people talked about their favorite writers. I lower my voice and imitate him, “I’m only gonna say this once…”

Nicky chortles again and I beam with pleasure.

“Do you want the advice or not?”

I nod enthusiastically.

“These books are no help to you unless you actually write something. They can’t teach you to write. They can only teach you to polish what you’ve written.” Sighing, he looks around, then settles his eyes on his coffee mug.

“Wrap your hands around the coffee mug and close your eyes,” he tells me.

Confused, I don’t do either of those things and he shakes his head at me. He leans forward, careful of Nicky, and drapes his big, thick fingers over my hands, bringing them to the mug.

My breath hitches at the very first contact between us. His rough, bumpy hands over my tiny, pale ones, it’s…it’s jarring. It’s what I imagine touching a lightning rod feels like. Electric. Humming. Bubbling with energy.

“Layla, you with me?” Thomas asks, and I gulp, jerking out a nod. “Close your eyes.”

I do, because I’ve got no other option but to obey. He holds the functions of my body hostage with his touch, and my eyelids fall shut at his voice.

I become awake, hypersensitive. I can hear the rasp of his breaths, punctuated by Nicky’s gurgles. I feel the sun on my face even though we’re sitting inside and the morning is grey. I want to shift in my chair, rub my thighs together. I want to ask him to increase the pressure of his grip so the feel of his skin is tattooed onto mine.

“Tell me how the coffee mug feels.”

Can you taste sound? I don’t know, but I can taste his voice in this moment. It’s viscous and thick and sweet. “I-I… Well, it’s hot.” But not as hot as your hands.

“What else?”

Under his palm, I move my fingers, feeling the rough contours of the coffee mug. It’s yellow in color with a brown ridged sleeve. “It’s rough, scratchy.” But the roughness of your hands feels so much better.

“And?”

I try to feel more and come in contact with something metallic. I bend my digit and touch something smooth with the knuckle. It’s the wedding band, cool against his patent heat, icy cold. The rhythm of my breathing changes—or maybe it’s his altered breaths, choppy and broken.

Feeling the wrongness of it, I snap my finger straight and away, taking refuge in the sensations of our skin rubbing together. “It feels like…like sunshine, like just by touching it I’m —I’m awake and alert and I don’t know…just, alive.” And I’m not talking about the stupid coffee mug.

Thomas removes his hand and I’m forced to open my eyes. There’s color on his cheeks, not quite red, but something similar that brightens up his flesh. It flips something in my chest.

He shrugs. “There you have it. A cup of coffee is a pocketful of sunshine for you. Writing isn’t only about technique, though that’s important. It’s not about what you see; it’s about what you feel. You have to go in deeper, turn stones, look where you’d rather not look to be able to write. Ergo, you don’t need these books right now.”

I put my hands in my lap, covering one with the other—a poor attempt to preserve the heat left by him. “Is that what you do? Look where you’d rather not?”

“Sometimes.”

“Aren’t you afraid of what you’ll find?”

I don’t have to wonder what I’ll find when I look inside me—a selfish, crazy girl who fell in the wrong kind of love—so I’d rather not look.

“Terrified,” he murmurs, answering my question. “Art is painful, Layla. It’s potentially dangerous. Explosive. It takes everything from you, sometimes more than you can afford. It’s a beast, and it’s always starving. You feed it and feed it…until you have nothing left.” He sucks in a breath. “But you don’t mind because you’d rather chase the high of creating something than live in darkness. It’s insanity.”

It’s the most truthful and the most miserable thing he’s ever said to me. His words lodge somewhere in my cracked heart, breaking it further. I realize he could be talking about love—an insane, hungry beast who takes and takes.

“Are you going to take that?” Thomas asks after a while.

“What?”

Vibrations echo on my thigh, alerting me that my phone is ringing. I take it out of my pocket and almost drop it like I’m holding an icicle in my hand.

It’s Caleb.

Caleb, with his green eyes and dirty blond hair, grinning at me through my phone screen.

I don’t…I don’t understand. I keep staring at it, keep listening to the shrill tune, hoping it will change, hoping Caleb’s face will dissolve, hoping this is a joke.

It has to be, right? Why would he call me after two years?

The phone stops ringing and I manage to take a halting breath.

“Layla.”

I look at Thomas like I don’t remember him.

Before I can say something, the phone rings again, buzzing on the table. Without a second thought, I hop up from my seat, gather my things, and throw Thomas a distracted glance.

“I-I have to go.”

I run out of the café as if Caleb is here, rather than in fucking Massachusetts, as if Caleb has come to tell me how much he hates me.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

“No.” Emma is shaking her head. “I won’t wear that. I won’t.”

“Why not?” I look at her in the mirror and then back to the dress in my hands. “What’s wrong with it?”

“The color. It’s…orange.”

“Tangerine,” I say for the millionth time. “It’s tangerine.”

“They’re the same thing.” She puts her hand on her hip and turns to me. “Ugh. I just…don’t know about this.” She walks over to my bed and plops down on the pile of clothes.

“Do you trust me?” I ask her seriously, and she laughs at my expression.

I thrust the dress in her face to make her stop and she swats at it. “Just try it, okay? Tangerine is fucking awesome. It’ll look great on you. Trust me.” When she throws me a dubious look, I add, “Dylan’s gonna love it. It’s like you’re wearing…sunshine.”

My lips curve up in a smile at the word. A cup of coffee is a pocketful of sunshine for you.

“Wow, aren’t you the poet?” Emma teases.

“Yeah, I might be.” I pull her up and shove her in the direction of my en suite. “Now, go change.”

She gulps. “What if he doesn’t like me? You know, we’ve been friends for so long, and now, everything is changing. I don’t—”

“Do you love him?”

She rolls her eyes. “Yeah.”

“Then it’s enough. Love is magical. It can do things, things you can’t even imagine.” I smile. “Just have a little faith.”

“Okay.” Emma returns my smile with one of her own and leaves to change. I cross my fingers and toes, hoping, begging that what I said turns out to be true for her.

My prayers are interrupted when I hear the depressing buzz of my phone from somewhere on the bed.

Caleb.

That’s all I think about as I frantically search for it under the pile of clothes and books and rumpled sheets.

By the time I manage to find it, I miss the call, but it wasn’t from Caleb. It was my mom. What was I thinking? Of course Caleb wouldn’t call me. Maybe he butt-dialed me earlier or something. We have nothing to say to each other.

The phone starts up again—my mom.

“H-Hello,” I say as I try to tamp down my anxious heart. I have a bad feeling about this.

“Layla. How are you?”

Even though her tone is distracted, I can’t stop the pleasure of hearing from her. Her voice is soft and always manages to stay at the same decibel, but her face changes when she is angry, becomes even more beautiful—painfully beautiful. It’s hard to look at her. “I’m great. How-how are you?”

“Good. Good. I wanted to talk to you about Henry’s party.”

“Right. Sure. I remember. It’s next week. Don’t worry, I’m not gonna be there.”

I made a mess at her Valentine’s party last year; I was drunk and high, and I vomited all over the Cupid ice sculpture. It was in the papers. Mom was so embarrassed that she decided to banish me. Since then, I’ve barely been to the city or her parties.

“Yes. That’s very thoughtful of you, but I just wanted to remind you anyway. It’s imperative that you not come.”

“Okay. I won’t be there. Pinkie promise.” I flop down on my back, my toes grazing the floor. How pathetic is it that your own mother calls you to remind you about your non-invitation?

“It’s not a joke, Layla. This party is especially important, and I don’t want anything to ruin it.”

Meaning: I don’t want you to ruin it.

“Care to share?” I ask, curling a strand of my hair.

“Pardon me?”

My mom would never say excuse me or sorry. That’s too common and uncultured for her. Pardon me, on the other hand, is a sign of being ladylike, which I am not, by the way.

“About the party. What’s so important about it? It’s just Henry’s birthday.”

“It’s not important.”

“But you just said it’s important.”

“No, I didn’t.”

Frowning, I sit up. “Mom, why are you being weird?”

“Layla.” She sighs again.

“Mom, just tell me, or I might decide to show up after all.”

Instant fear. I can almost hear her gasping. Oh, the horror of her crazy daughter showing up to ruin everything. I’m like the plague.

I hear the tinkle of her bracelets through the phone. She changes hands when she is uncomfortable. “Caleb has agreed to attend.”

Cold seeps into my bones, starting up in my ears, traveling down the side of my neck, pervading my entire body. I can fucking feel it moving. “C-Caleb?”

“Yes. He responded to my invitation.”

Even though Caleb doesn’t have anything to do with Henry, my mom insists on having him around for every occasion. Caleb is the son she never had.

“Okay,” I mumble.

“And I don’t want to spook him.” I clutch the phone harder as she continues. “Because I want him to move back to the city. His place is here, working for his father’s company. I want things to go as planned.”

My eyes scrunch closed. “Sure. Yeah. It’s better if I’m not there.” The pressure increases and tears threaten to fill the shuttered confines of the sockets.

“I’m glad we’re on the same page.”

“Yeah.”

There’s silence after that, long and stretched. I don’t know why we’re holding on to the connection, why we’re listening each other breathe. Maybe Mom wants to add something. Maybe I’m afraid to be alone after she hangs up.

I’m still thinking about the maybes when Mom speaks up. “Okay then. Call me if you need anything.”

That’s what she always says at the end of a conversation. “Yeah. I will.”

I won’t. I never do.

A click and she is gone. My tears lose the battle and fall down my cheeks, a river of guilt and sadness, maybe even anger. I’m not sure. I fall back on the bed and curl into a fetal position with the phone tucked beneath my cheek. Sobs rack my body—guttural, animalistic sounds I don’t recognize, never thought I could even make. I never thought my chameleon heart could break this much. I’ve never felt so alone in my entire life.

So unloved. Such a freak of nature.

I feel a soft hand on my shoulder. “Layla,” Emma says softly, glowing in the tangerine dress. “Layla, what happened? What’s wrong? Why are you crying?”

Through hot tears, I look at her. She is a stranger to me. We hardly know anything about each other. She doesn’t know how rotten I am, the things I have done. Her concern for me is unwarranted. If she knew, she wouldn’t be here, consoling me, looking distressed on my behalf.

If I were stronger, a better person, I’d turn her away. I wouldn’t grab on to her blind kindness, but I’m not a good person. Haven’t I proved that already?

I sit up, turn on my side, and hug her like a child. Emma is surprised, but she puts her arm around me anyway. I tuck my face in her neck. It’s unfamiliar. It smells of watermelon, sweet and comforting.

She pats my back. “Hey, what’s wrong? What happened?”

“N-Nothing.” I clutch her harder. I need the connection. I need to know I’m not repulsive, like my own mother thinks.

We stay like this for a few minutes before I move away, embarrassed. “I’m sorry for pouncing on you.”

“It’s okay. I don’t mind. What happened?”

I can’t tell her. I can’t. She’ll hate me and then she’ll leave.

“It’s nothing.” I sniff, smiling awkwardly. Then I swing my legs down and jump to my feet, clapping. “Let’s get you all ready for your date.”

Emma looks at me like I’m crazy.

I’m contained in a bubble, thick as glass. I can barely hear and see through it. It feels like I’ve traveled back in time and I’m going through the same cold numbness I felt when Caleb left. I’d drench that numbness with Grey Goose or pot or creating chaos in the world. My favorite was drunk driving. People would look at me with accusing eyes, would honk at me, and I’d laugh. It soothed something inside me, being accused. I was a bad person, and people needed to know that.

Being good sucks, by the way. I need the drugging fumes of pot to forget Caleb’s out-of-the-blue call. Why the fuck did he call me? Maybe to un-invite me to the party like my mom did. It’s all for the best, really. I don’t care about the party, nor do I want to see Caleb. I never want to see him again, if I can help it. How would I even face him? What would I say?

Everything is fine. So why do I feel like crying?

I don’t even realize class is over until I hear the screech of chairs shifting across the cement floor. People are murmuring and packing up their bags, ready to leave.

Emma puts her hand on my shoulders. “Hey, you ready to go?”

“Yeah. Yes. Let me pack up.”

I’ve just put my notebook in my backpack and picked up my winter gear when I hear my name called.

“Miss Robinson, I’d like to see you after class.”

I gulp as I hear Thomas use his formal, curt voice. I don’t know if I’m strong enough to confront him today. I tell Emma to go ahead without me and she leaves with Dylan. The class is almost empty as I shuffle to Thomas’ desk, leaving my belongings behind.

He watches me with open fascination, his arms folded across his chest. I glance up at him and catalog the separate parts of his appearance. Maroon shirt paired with black jeans. Wild hair. Glinting eyes. Sleek lines of his jaw. Thumb grazing his lower lip in soft caresses. I want to both keep looking at him and escape from his masculine beauty. It’s too soothing and too overwhelming for my senses.

This is the second time he’s stopped me after class. The first time he told me I had a crush on him, which turned out to be true. I wonder what he’ll say now.

“How did you like the class today, Miss Robinson?”

Busted. I wasn’t paying attention—he knows it, I know it, but still I keep up the charade. “Great, as usual.”

“Is that right?”

I nod, keeping my gaze on the desk.

“Remember what I said, Layla?” His powerful, rich voice creates a buzz inside my body. “Lying might land you in trouble.”

I lift up my eyes to look at him. The buzz escalates into a restless trembling and words slip out of my mouth in a thick whisper. “I’m not afraid of a little trouble.”

His thumb arcs in a long sweep across his lip, before he straightens his arms and thrusts them in his pockets. The silence between us has a certain drama to it. Thomas is preparing to unveil something. My pulse is pounding.

“Who’s Caleb?”

My breath tangles up in my throat and all I can do is gasp. It’s both quiet and loud, a breeze and a gust.

How does he know that name?

The name of the boy I love in Thomas’ low, thick voice sounds wrong. Caleb is so gentle, so soft. His name needs to be spoken quietly, with reverence. He is nothing like Thomas—or me, for that matter.

Thomas frowns when I don’t say anything. “Did he do something to you?”

“What?” The idea is so insane that I can only stand there and mutter useless words.

“The guy who called you yesterday,” he explains. “Did he do something to you? Did he hurt you in some way?”

I shake my head once, still reeling from the fact that Thomas knows anything about Caleb. “It’s none of your business.”

It’s a default response, but instead of coming out commanding, my voice wobbles and distorts into a broken whisper. It is none of his business. It’s no one’s business what happened with Caleb.

Even as I think it, confession balloons up in my chest and rushes into my mouth. For a split second, I entertain the thought of telling him. Everything. Every single thing.

It’s a novel feeling, completely alien and terrifying. I can’t. I can’t tell him what I did. He’ll hate me. But I like that. I need the accusation. Someone to remind me that I deserve to be shunned by my own mother. Tell me how bad I am, how pathetic and sick and insane.

God, I am so confused.

“I’m leaving,” I tell him, because if I don’t leave, I’ll spill all my secrets.

I make to go but his fingers clamp around my wrist, stopping me from moving. This is the second time he’s touched me. Skin to skin. This time around it isn’t as shocking, but it’s still as vibrant. A boom in the air, and then all falls silent. The world goes mute before it starts back up. I know the door is open. I know there are people in the vicinity. I know he shouldn’t be holding my hand this way, but I don’t care. I can’t…

Like him, his fingers are magic.

Thomas tugs me toward him, forcing my pelvis against the desk. The edge bites into my bone but I don’t wince. I lean into it.

“What’d he do to you?” he asks again, harshly. The lines of his beautiful face are stiff and there is a severe glint in his eyes. He is angry—at what? Maybe it’s there on my behalf. It’s such a sweet delusion.

I can’t help but feel warm as I shake my head at him. “Nothing.”

“Layla,” he warns.

His raspy voice, like his touch, is a form of hypnosis. My body relaxes, gives in. My rationality is trapped under the rubble of my languid, obedient muscles.

“He just…he didn’t love me. Ever.”

“And you loved him?” His fingers flex over my wrist, gripping even tighter. Does he realize how tight he is holding me? What does my skin feel like to him?

“Yes.” I loved him. Do I still love him, though? I don’t know. I’ve been in pain and agony for so long that I can’t really tell.

The angles of Thomas’ face shift. He looks at me in a way he never has before, in a new light, maybe. I bask in it, even though I don’t deserve his fresh eyes.

I’m like you, I want to say.

A fleeting thought enters my mind: maybe I was always meant to find him, to find this symmetry to my disfigured soul. Maybe I was always meant to find Emma and Dylan too. I was meant to pick up their tiny broken hearts and patch them back up. I wonder how I can help Thomas do that, how can I mend his cracked heart.

Licking my lips, I tell him, “I’m the one who hurt him.”

His blue gaze smolders, as if my words are gasoline, stoking the flame. “What did you do?”

“I forced him to sleep with me.”

There. I said it. It’s out there. Thomas remains silent, waiting for me to explain.

“We were at this party. He was, actually. I just went there to see him. He was leaving for college the next month and I was desperate. I’d always loved him but he never returned my feelings. So I, uh, got him drunk.” I cringe but keep going. “B-But that’s not all. I got him high, too, and I lied about it. I told him it was just a cigarette but it wasn’t, and…and then I took advantage of him.”

I remember the dazed look in Caleb’s eyes as he kept shooting me lazy smiles. That was the night his touch lingered on me. He caressed my cheeks while talking. His arms looped around my waist as we danced. We’d never danced so close to each other before. I could hear his racing heartbeat and for those few seconds, I pretended it was for me and not because of the marijuana and the liquor.

I’d never felt so loved and so disgusted before. I still don’t understand it. It was awful, but like a dog, I lapped up his attention, his love, because what other choice did I have? He was leaving. He didn’t love me for who I was. My body was the only thing I had left to give and I knew he wouldn’t take it sober, so I tampered with his judgment.

“We ended up in a room, away from the party and…and I kissed him. He, uh, he didn’t respond at first, but then he gave in and…” I take in a quivering breath. “And then I took my clothes off and put his hands on me. I-I could see he was confused and didn’t want to but I straddled his lap and…and yeah. We slept together. I thought if I gave him my virginity, he’d come to love me, but he left the next day.” I blink once and a single tear streams down my cheek. “So I hurt him. He was my best friend, my only friend, and he was my stepbrother. And I forced him to have sex with me.”

That’s all of it. All my ugly parts. All the reasons why I’m a freak. Why I’ve been banished to my tower. Why my own mother hates me. I wonder what she’d do if she found out what I did to Caleb. She knows I love him, but she doesn’t know how many lines I’ve crossed for that love.

Thomas lets go of my wrist and the pressure on my lower body eases. The pain in my pelvis becomes a dull throb.

He is letting me go.

It brings forth more of my tears—salty, useless water that never fixes anything. He’s disgusted by me, and who could blame him? A sob is preparing to escape, but it dies down into a hiccup when I feel his rough hand envelop my jaw.

His magic hands are on me.

This is the third time, and it’s by far the most intimate. His calluses drag across my trembling chin, stabilizing it, keeping it calm. Keeping me calm, like some sort of anti-anxiety drug.

“I’m scared…” I whisper brokenly.

“Of what?”

Of always being this miserable and alone.

I don’t say it because we have come closer now, and I’ve lost my voice. I can see the pores of his skin, the hidden flecks in his irises. His eyes sweep across my face, left and right, up and down.

I palm his hand that cups my cheek. The dusting of hair over his knuckles grazes my skin. It teases my senses, liquefying them, heating them up. I want to suck on his fingers. I want to taste them after he touches me, taste his flesh after it comes in contact with mine.

I’m assaulted by images of him—his fingers—inside me. Inside my needy core. Petting it, soothing it, stroking it. I picture them curling, hooking inside my channel to coax out my juices and then feeding them to me.

The desire is so strong, so alive that I can’t stop myself from nuzzling in his hand. He grows even hazier, covered by a certain mist, sparkling.

Fuck it. I’m doing it. I’m tasting his skin. Just one lick, I promise myself. It won’t hurt anyone.

I turn my face and peek my tongue out. I make contact with the juncture where his fingers meet the palm. The touch is barely existent. It barely registers in this vast, vast universe, but his taste bursts in my mouth—the strongest, most provocative flavor of salt and chocolate.

Belatedly, I realize he’s grown rigid. The haze clears and I’m jarred back into reality. I move away from the desk, out of his reach, but he’s staying still. His hand falls to his side, lax.

“I’m sorry,” I blurt out, ashamed of myself, ashamed of my lack of impulse control. Kara was right—I need to work on it. I need to do better.

He doesn’t say anything. His speechlessness and his blank face scare me more than his shout would have. I would’ve gladly taken his bark over this silence.

God, I’m so stupid.

“I have to go.”

CHAPTER TWELVE

It’s Saturday and I’m at The Alchemy with Emma, Dylan, and Matt. We find a table in the middle of the room and Emma thumps the big bag of goodies down on it. It’s prompt night for the Labyrinth and Emma is in charge of producing the prompts.

“Explain to me one more time why you need this giant-ass bag again?” Matt says, taking off his coat and hanging it on the chair as he takes a seat.

Dylan gives him a disdainful look. “She’s got her prompts in it, dumbass.”

Emma smiles in pleasure, her eyes on the bag as she looks for something. It’s adorable how shy she is in front of him when she’s normally so self-assured. Dylan and Emma have gone on a few dates this week. Turns out, Dylan loved the tangerine. I knew it.

“And why can’t you show them a picture or something on your phone?” He bumps his shoulder with mine. “Back me up here, Layla. This freaking bag is a monstrosity.”

“I don’t have a problem with it, actually,” I say. “It’s kind of fun to look at something while writing about it.”

When Emma told me about the Labyrinth’s prompt night, my first reaction was panic. I didn’t think I could be a part of it. I wasn’t prepared. I haven’t even read all the books I own.

Reading has become a vital part of my life, now. In the past week, I’ve only roamed on the street once. I haven’t been to Thomas’ house at all. I stay up late reading. There’s so much to discover, and I’ve been living inside this fog for so long. I feel like time is running out on me. I’ll probably die before reading all the books out there.

I try to calm myself. I’m here to be a part of something greater than me—art—and I don’t have to be perfect. The only thing I should be worried about is seeing Thomas.

It’s been six days since I cried in front of him, told him my ugly love story, and sort of licked his hand, trying to taste him. Since then I’ve seen him all around campus, at Crème and Beans with Nicky, in the corridors at the Labyrinth when Emma dragged me to a play reading. I’ve even seen him in the park, at the bench, the one time I went out at night. He was smoking and battling with himself, as usual, and I was hiding behind the tree.

It’s like he’s everywhere. My secret keeper. The one person who knows what I did.

And he is disgusted by me. He never looks at me. To him, I’m invisible. Somehow, this hurts even more because deep down I thought he could relate to me, but he doesn’t.

I really am a freak of nature.

The front door of the bar opens and in strides Sarah Turner, followed by Professor Masters and Thomas. The snowflakes swirl behind his back as he enters and the door swings shut.

“Hello children,” Professor Masters greets us in a jovial voice as he saunters forward. There is a chorus of chuckles and Hi Professor around the room.

Without paying attention to anyone, Thomas breaks off from the trio and heads for the bar. Sarah throws him an annoyed look but Professor Masters steers her toward their destination.

Thomas orders a drink and sits on the barstool, his long legs straddling the small seat. He takes off his jacket, revealing a plain grey t-shirt that stretches across his shoulders and biceps. His jean-covered thighs bulge as he bounces his right leg with impatience.

The bartender sets down a chocolate martini in front of him and I look away, embarrassed. His weakness for chocolate awakens something raw and melty inside my stomach. I haven’t thought about what I’ll do come Monday. Will I go back to class? Will I hide and never show my face again?

Emma gets up from beside me, greets the room, and explains the instructions. She digs inside her bag and fishes something out. “So the first prompt is this bottle of hot sauce. You have to write a short poem, no more than twenty lines, with whatever comes to mind when you see a red bottle with H.O.T. written on it. I’m going to pass this around for a bit so you guys can look at it.”

My first thought is that I hate hot sauce. I’m more of a sweet-loving person. In fact, I’m the only sweet-loving person in my family or the families I’ve had over the years. My mom, Caleb, my dad, Caleb’s dad, even Henry—they all shy away from sweet things.

The thought of Caleb makes me aware of the phone in my jacket pocket. Since those missed calls at Crème and Beans, he’s called several times, but I haven’t picked up. I was hoping he’d leave a message or something so I’d know what it’s about, but he hasn’t.

Why does he keep calling me? As impulsive as I am, a strange fear is keeping me from taking his call.

Emma bumps my elbow and tells me to get writing.

Right, hot sauce. I nibble at my pen, trying to think…no, trying to feel. How does hot sauce make me feel? H.O.T. Feel. Feel.

I close my eyes and the first thing I see is Thomas’ face. His beautiful, intense gaze. How every molecule of my body, every inch of my flesh burns when he is near. How he has the power to change the weather, cold to hot.

Gasping, my eyes whip open. Thomas Abrams is a fire-breather. He breathes flames and lust, makes me forget everything and say yes. Yes to obsession. Yes to stalking. Yes to insanity. Yes to licking.

With shaking hands, I begin to write and capture him in words. The pen moves and the words flow out. They keep flowing without my knowledge. All I can feel is the heat seesawing through my body.

Next thing I know I’m jolted by Emma’s clap and shrill voice. “All right guys, it’s time to stop. Put down your pens.”

Murmurs escalate and the room breaks out in conversation, as Emma asks someone to volunteer their poem first. With flushed cheeks, I pocket my small notebook. While the entire room is busy, I get up and shuffle into the hallway in the back. I need to get to the ladies’ room and calm myself down.

I rub my arms at the unexpected chill in the dank hallway and take a deep breath. My legs can barely support themselves. Is this how poets feel when they put feelings into words? Is this how Thomas feels? It’s like bleeding. It’s like running for miles and running out of breath.

Before I can reach my destination, I’m being hauled into a dark, tiny room. I don’t even have time to squeal before the flimsy wooden door is shut, and I’m surrounded by a very familiar heat.

It’s Thomas.

He has me trapped inside what looks to be a storage room, his hand banded around my elbow, pushing me back against the dank wall.

“T-Thomas.” I’m panting. “What… What’s happening? What’re you doing?”

His chiseled face is a study of thick shadows and thin slices of light under the flickering yellow bulb. The only bright spots on his features are those fire-starting eyes of his. I can smell the delicious smoke rising from my body, can feel the sting.

Now that the initial shock is gone, my body sags, relieved to be the center of his attention after days. He sees us. There are things to worry about, I know that, but I can’t muster the energy to.

“Thomas?” I whisper when it’s clear he won’t say anything. “Wh-What are you doing?”

His breaths are choppy, short jabs of air inhaled and exhaled as he stares at every inch of my face. “Do you still love him?”

“What?”

“Do you still love that guy?”

“I… Yes.”

“How much?”

My breaths match his, succinct and sharp. I study him, this man in front of me. There’s a hint of vulnerability to him. His usually cool persona is frayed. Is it because I told him my story? Maybe he relates to me after all.

“Thomas, what’s going on?”

“How much do you love him, Layla? Do you love him so much that you hate yourself? That you can’t stand your own sight? Do you constantly think about how to fix it? How to make it better? How to be better?”

He isn’t merely frayed—he’s coming apart. Naked agony dances on his features. It’s too bright and glaring. It’s too similar to mine, but I’m not worried about that right now. I’m worried about him.

“Yes,” I whisper. I lift my hand and press it to his stubbled face. His cheekbone is arched and high, seemingly made of granite as it pulses beneath my palm. “But I’m so tired of it,” I admit, and his eyes flare. Fire-breathing eyes. I wonder why I didn’t notice it before. It’s so obvious now. They never fail to start a fire in my soul.

He crowds me against the wall, as if sinking his hard body into mine, but there isn’t any touch involved. His frame sort of hovers over me, heating me up, jumpstarting my nerves. I’m a mesh of live wires, firing lust and adrenaline. I’m sticky as sugar and drunk as whiskey.

Thomas arranges his body and places both his palms on the wall, caging me in. The vein on his bicep becomes taut, a purple string tugging on my senses.

I watch him watch my parted lips, and suddenly, it’s the only piece of my body I can feel. My mouth, throbbing, puffy, swollen with the need.

“Me too,” he whispers, almost to himself.

I wasn’t meant to hear it, but I did. Again, I’m hit by a storm of desire to kiss him better. It’s a tornado, an avalanche in my body, and in one breathless moment, I decide to go for it. It’s okay. I can take the blame for it later.

I break the rules and reach up and kiss him. A feathery peck on his plump lips, it’s a kiss of solidarity, a kiss that intends to tell him I understand—but one isn’t enough. It only manages to ratchet up my lust. So I give him another, this time on the corner of his mouth, and then another one on his jaw.

It’s not enough, these small, barely-there touches. I want more, but I won’t take it. I’ll be good; I’ll only give.

Abruptly, he fists my curls and stops me. I look at him fearfully, ready to apologize—not for the kiss, but for being the kisser. His gaze reflects passion, stark, raving need, and I shiver, despite wearing layers and sweating with his heat.

“Are you trying to kiss me, Layla?” he rasps, flexing his fingers on my makeshift ponytail.

He couldn’t tell? Blush rises to the surface and I know I’m glowing like a neon sign. Swallowing, I nod. “Yes.”

He inches closer to me, still not touching—as impossible as that is—but infinitely closer. “You want to kiss me, Miss Robinson, you do it right.”

Oh God, does he have to call me that? Now, here? My spine arches on its own and my heavy tits graze the contours of his shuddering chest.

“H-How?” I ask innocently, belying the daring action of my body. His stern, professor-y voice is doing things to me, making me wild, uncontrolled.

For a second, he’s silent, just watching. I’m afraid he’ll back out from whatever this is, whatever insanity we’re about to commit—but then I sense the shift in the liquor-laced air as he opens his mouth and growls, “Like this.”

Twisting my hair in his grasp, he swallows my lips in his mouth. He sucks on the shape of my sensitive flesh and all I can do is let him. I put my palms on his shoulders, feeling the heated muscles under the soft material of his t-shirt. His chest shifts and slides over my breasts, like a wave of water. I want to be drenched with it. I want every drop of his sweat, his lust on every inch of my skin. I pull him toward me so he can crush me with his massive weight.

He doesn’t budge though. He stands there, unfazed, still devouring my lips, immobile. His tongue thrusts in and licks me from the inside—the roof of my mouth, my tongue, my teeth. He is after my essence, the special taste that lives deep. He growls when he gets it, my flavor, and the pressure of his grip on my hair increases tenfold.

It’s painful, but not enough to tamp down my arousal. I give up my attempts to bring him to me. Rather, I go to him. I lift my leg and wrap it around his waist. My hands creep up and lock around his neck. I climb him like an ivy, toxic and poisonous and shameless.

I press my body to his and kiss him back with everything I am. I pour my soul into it. For these few moments, I become a balm to his pain.

But it doesn’t last long. My selfishness and my need for him take over. My core starts leaking and it becomes hard to remember I’m only meant to give, not to take.

I rotate my hips, searching for that magical friction against the ridged planes of his body. Then I feel it—his erection against my upper tummy. It’s huge. Hard. A heated rod. It’s alive, and when I move against it, I feel it throb. A tortured moan rips out of his chest.

Thomas tears his mouth away from me and even my soul mourns the loss. We stare at each other, gasping for breath. I’m still clung around him and his cock is still nestled between our aroused bodies. I adjust my thigh around his hip, and it throbs with the small movement.

“Don’t fucking move,” he tells me, emphasizing it with a tug on my hair.

“Okay.” I swallow. “I’m sorry.”

A pained chuckle. “For what?”

“I made you kiss me.”

The legendary tic makes its appearance at the heel of my words. It drums on his jaw like a secondary heart, or maybe a time bomb. “You did, didn’t you?”

Unable to talk, I simply nod.

In answer, he lodges his thigh between my legs and presses on my core. It’s an electric shock multiplied by a strike of lightning, and I almost burst into flames.

“Wh-What…” I try to speak but he increases the pressure, eliciting a moan from me.

“Why?” he whispers, noting my lusty reactions. “Why did you make me do it, Layla?”

“Because I—”

Again, he repeats his movements, reducing me to wordless, needy moans. What is he doing?

“Because you what?”

“Because I do this kind of thing. I-I’m selfish and bad…” I moan, doused in shame and arousal. “I take what I want because I can’t control myself. I don’t want to.”

“And you want me, don’t you?” When I don’t answer, he tugs on my hair sharply. “You want me, Layla.”

It’s not a question, but still I nod my head. Yes, I want him. I’ve wanted him since the first time I saw him. I want him more and more with each passing day. I want him because he’s like me. He’s in unrequited love and I want to save him, somehow.

His eyes shine with satisfaction, a sense of victory at my answer. He loves my desperation and it makes me hornier.

We’re so fucked, my omniscient heart says. I agree.

“I can do whatever I want with you and you’ll let me. Isn’t that right, Layla?” He licks his lips as if savoring his own words. “I can tell you to jump and you’ll ask how high. I can tell you to strip and you’ll strip as if your clothes are on fire.”

“Yes,” I moan.

He rewards me by grinding his muscular thigh and my cunt pulses. My lust-addled brain commands me to move, to chase the friction, and I do it. I slide up and down his maddening leg, digging my nails into his scalp as the pleasure mounts.

I feel the angry and rhythmic jerk of his cock on my stomach and I love it. I love the fact that I’ve shed all my inhibitions and am reduced to this, a lust-drunk puppet. I love that it gives Thomas pleasure. He isn’t sad anymore, or vulnerable.

Yes, I love all that.

His pain has become my pain, and it’s going to make me come on his leg. I watch Thomas with hazy eyes. I watch the arrogant slope of his flushed cheeks. I watch his dilated pupils, his wet, parted lips. All the while, I’m moving, humping his leg. Up and down. Up and down.

“Of course you will,” he rasps. “Will you come for me, Layla?”

I jerk out a nod. In the back of my mind, I know how wrong this is, how shameful, but I can’t stop myself. As Thomas said, I’ll do anything for him in this moment.

My movements are haphazard now, jerky, epileptic. I want it so bad. I want my cum to gush so hard it seeps through my panties and leaves a wet patch on his jeans.

The graphic, vulgar thought pushes me over the edge. Hard and moaning, I come, just the way I wanted—no, just the way he wanted. I was simply following his orders. My mind is filled with cotton and shooting stars and static. I want to bask in it forever.

Oh God, it’s so good. So good.

The pressure on my body eases. I don’t feel his muscles between my legs, and the harsh grip on my hair has vanished. In the wake of my orgasm, Thomas has let me go, and in turn, forced me to unwind my body from his.

I’m still recovering from my climax, leaning against the wall for balance, but I try to focus. Thomas is watching me, intensely, his flaming eyes working double-time to take me in, his hands on either side of my head.

“Do you understand what I’m telling you, Layla? Can you hear your heart beating? Is it trying to pound through your chest? Do you think you can control it? Tell it to calm down? Your hips are still shaking. I bet you’re still leaking cum, aren’t you? Do you think you can control any of that?”

I shake my head.

“Yeah, that’s right. You’d be surprised to know how many things aren’t your fault at all.” His eyes bore into mine, as if telling me the importance of his declaration.

For a second, I can’t make the connection between what he’s telling me and what happened here, but then I get it. He’s absolving me. He’s rendering me blameless for kissing him, for making him kiss me. I wonder if this absolution includes what happened with Caleb. Am I free of those sins too?

My heart scoffs. Are you kidding? We tricked him into having sex.

“I saw you,” I blurt out without thinking.

As soon as the words are out of my mouth, I know in my bones that this will destroy whatever kindness he’s harboring toward me.

“Through the window,” I add, because I can’t handle not being blamed.

Everything is always my fault. The broken vases at home. Muddy footprints on the tile floors. The missing bottles of liquor from the cabinet. Caleb’s missing underwear. The fact that he ran off to college a month early and won’t even visit home. The fact that I shoplifted, drank and drove numerous times, crashed parties, broke my mom’s ice sculpture.

It’s all my fault. It’s just like me to do those things. I want Thomas’ accusation too.

“I saw how lonely you were. I saw the anger on your face, the way you…the way you paced around the room, like you were trapped.” The scene plays in my head: his frantic steps, his hands tugging at his hair.

Then the scene changes and I’m outside his bedroom window. “And-And then you were with her—Hadley. I… You were talking and you looked so sad and angry, and then she left. I kept watching your back and your shoulders. They were so tight and I could see the effort it took you to keep yourself together. Then you picked up a vase and I thought you’d throw it against the wall, break it, because I know your heart was breaking, but you held on to it. You set it down gently. You were better than me. I-I could never have done that.”

Nothing moves on his body. I don’t know if he’s breathing, if he’s even seeing me.

“Thomas, I-I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to see it. I…”

Then he shifts on his feet and the overhead light slashes his face into two halves of shadow and light. He appears beastly, like an animal with bright eyes and hard face. For the first time since I began my confession, I feel a tinge of true fear.

I can see he wants to do something, maybe harm me physically. His body is taut with violence. He looks bigger, enlarged with the barely leashed control. For a second, I think he does lose control. His hands jerk and ball into fists, but then he takes a shallow, choppy breath.

“Stay the fuck away from me,” he says softly, deadly.

With that, he marches out of the storage room.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

The Bard

My father was a man in love. He’s been dead for ten years now, and the only thing I can say for sure about him is that he was in love with my mother.

I never knew my mother. I never heard her voice, never touched her. She died the day I was born. I have seen pictures of her, of course. I have seen her smile, her warm, blue eyes that resemble mine. She was a beautiful woman with dark brown hair and a wide smile.

Other than that, my knowledge about her is fairly limited. I don’t know what kind of woman would inspire such devotion from a man who never understood how to love his own son. Whatever I know about her came from my father’s poems, which I didn’t know existed until I was old enough to understand that my dad was unlike other dads.

He was busy. He was silent. A hunched, unkempt man who stumbled more than he walked.

My father was a poet.

His desk was always covered by a mountain of papers. Many of them had trails of blue ink webbed across them, as if words had dissolved and run down.

He wrote and wrote but never published anything.

That’s because he wasn’t writing for anyone else but himself. He was resurrecting his dead wife through his words. He wrote about her and only her, and most of his poems were unfinished and rough. They were ramblings about silk-spun hair, a blue-green scarf, a mole on her shoulder, peanut butter cookies.

And I realized this was love—brutal, dark, and never-ending. It’s madness.

When I left this town, I knew I’d never come back. All I’ve ever known here is loneliness and a role model who wouldn’t even look at me. This town isn’t my home. My father wasn’t my father, even though he gave me the gift of poetry—or maybe the burden of it. I am where I am because of it. If I hadn’t found the magic of words, maybe my life would be different right now.

But tonight, the kind of madness that has gripped me is different. It has nothing to do with love, and everything to do with a violet-eyed girl who refuses to leave my thoughts.

My fingers splay wide on the tiled wall as the cold water sluices down my body. The air around me is chilly and abrasive but my body remembers Layla’s heat.

I shift on my feet and a current zaps through me as my cock touches the cold tile. It’s hard and swollen and angry. It’s wild like me, like the things inside me, things that feel both novel and primitive, as if they’ve been in hiding, programmed in my genes, and I’m only discovering them now. The absolute need to possess someone, to be the air they breathe and the universe they live in—I feel both powerful and powerless at once.

My eyes scrunch closed and all I see is her, wrapped around my body, moving, bucking. Like she’d die if she didn’t touch me. Like she’d lose her mind. My arousal spikes up and like a reel I can’t stop from rolling, I see Layla behind my closed eyelids. But it isn’t her face or blush-stained cheeks that I see. It’s her spirit. It’s the fact that she stood up in a class full of people and read her shitty poem out loud. It’s the fact that she had the courage to expose her ugliness to me, to cry in front of me, to be vulnerable. It’s the fact that she threw herself at me, knowing I might reject her.

Could I be that vital to someone?

It makes me want to hold her close even as I want to push her away. How dare she spy on me? How dare she make judgments about my life? What does she know about it anyway?

I shouldn’t have followed her. I shouldn’t have lost control and kissed her back. I’ve been good at ignoring her all week.

But she licked me. In a classroom. In broad daylight. Who does something so crazy? So fucking…erotic?

A sound brings me out of my thoughts. It’s a soft thud of footsteps. I know it’s her; I’d recognize those light, airy footsteps anywhere.

But how do I face Hadley now?

How do I tell her about yet another mistake I made when I promised to put her first? Like a coward, I want to hide out in here, but we have a pull that’s magnetic. If she’s around, I can’t be far away from her. It’s a fucked-up kind of physics.

I shut off the water, dry off, and with the towel wrapped around my waist, come out of the guest bathroom.

As I walk down the hallway, I rush through a hundred different scenarios for how to tell her, whether to tell her or not. I cringe at the idea of hiding this, though I’m left wondering why that is. Is it because I want to be honest with my wife, or is it because that kiss meant more than a slip of judgment and deserves acknowledgment?

Before I can dissect this absurd thought, I see her. Hadley is at the front door with a small bag in her hand.

At the sight of her, I’m back in this world, in my reality. It makes Layla feel like a creature from a distant, alternate universe.

“Hadley?” I say her name in a questioning tone, though I know the answer to my unspoken question.

I’ve never felt a complete shutdown. I’ve never had my breath suspended or my heart skip a beat. People talk about it, the symptoms of falling in love, but this isn’t love. This awful feeling—it’s pure, unadulterated fear. It occupies every corner of my body.

Hadley is leaving me. For good.

She turns and her face is wary but blank, somehow. Her posture is both delicate and firm.

“I’m going to Beth’s.”

It takes me a second to hear her with the absolute silence pervading my body. “What?”

“I’ll be back Wednesday.”

“You’ll be back.”

The frown that drew me to her for the very first time makes an appearance. Strangely, I don’t have the urge to ease it off her forehead.

“I need some time to myself,” she says. Her soft voice screeches at my skin, like claws dragging across my body.

“What about Nicky?”

I’ve asked this before. We’ve had this conversation before. The night Layla saw me through the window was the night Hadley and I argued about this very thing. I wanted her to stay, and she wanted to take off for a few days.

Hadley shakes her head. “He doesn’t need me.”

What about me? I need you.

“Are you saying your son doesn’t need you?”

She swallows as an odd look enters her eyes. “He has you, and Susan can stay here for a few days. I just…need to get away.”

“From what, exactly? What do you want to get away from?”

“I don’t want to argue, Thomas. I just… I want to go.”

“Is that why you’re sneaking out at night? Because you didn’t want to argue?” I don’t give her a chance to talk. “Guess what, you can’t escape the argument. You can’t fucking escape me.”

I know I should control myself. I should. It’s not her fault she wants to get away. It’s me. I’m the one who ruined everything.

But dammit! Can’t she see how much I love her? How her leaving would fucking destroy me? And if she loves me, how can she do this to me?

She doesn’t love you.

“Thomas, I don’t—”

I take a step forward. “What is it that I’m doing wrong? Tell me. What do you want from me? What do I need to do to get you to stay? Because I’ll do anything.” I reach her and before I can talk myself out of it, I grab her bicep. She flinches at my touch and my gut burns with anger and resentment and fear.

She can’t leave me. She can’t. I can’t be alone.

“I’ve been a fucking asshole to you in the past, but I’ve changed. Tell me what you want from me and I’ll give it to you in a heartbeat. Just…don’t leave.”

My words are right, I know it, but my voice is all wrong. The emotions inside me are wrong. Everything about this feels wrong. The darkness, the silence, the fact that I’m wearing a towel, begging my wife to stay. The fact that she’s still unmoved. The look in her eyes is that of being trapped.

Hadley feels trapped with me.

“I want you to let go,” she whispers.

My frightened fingers grip her even tighter. “No. No, I won’t. I’m going to fight for us. I’m going to keep my promise because I love you.”

I say it like an accusation. It lashes out of my mouth as an attempt to make her understand, make her stay.

“I don’t want you to. Just let me go,” she says again, and this time, her plea holds all the power in the world. My fingers loosen and then drop to my side, limp and useless.

She’s leaving me.

She’s. Leaving. Me.

A burn makes a home in my eyes and I swallow thickly. Hadley notices it, raises her hand, and caresses my cheek. I shudder and latch onto it, as though I could physically keep her here.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” she says with flickers of emotions in her voice.

“Then don’t go,” I whisper raggedly. “I need you.”

She shakes her with sadness. “I just need a little bit of time. Please.”

I gave up everything for her. Everything that mattered to me is gone. I kept my end of the bargain. I put her first.

So why can’t she do the same? Why can’t she love me back?

My bigger hand clenches around her smaller one. For a brief moment, I want to keep going, keep squeezing until I crush her tiny fingers. Maybe that physical pain will tell her how I’m burning inside. Maybe then she’ll stay.

But I let go and step back.

“How were you planning on getting there?” I ask with a ticking jaw.

She studies my face silently. I show her all of my anger, my pain. I hope she sees the devastation she’s going to leave in her wake. I hope she sees this in her nightmares like I’ll see her indifference in mine.

“I called a cab. It’s outside,” she tells me.

“Give me a second to put on some clothes. I’ll walk with you.”

“You don’t have to.”

I shoot her a look and she quiets down. If she wants to leave, I’ll escort her out myself. A few minutes later, we’re standing at the door of the cab. Hadley puts her bag inside and then slides in herself. Without looking at her, I shut the door and tap on the roof, alerting the cabbie to pull out. I feel Hadley watching me through the window but I don’t return her look. I simply turn around and walk to the house—the pile of bricks I want to take apart with my own bare hands.

Last time Hadley left, it took me two days to notice she was gone. I’m not proud of it. In fact, I’m downright ashamed that I never noticed her absence. My sole focus was the collection of poems I was working on. I had a deadline and I didn’t see anything beyond that. I can’t remember if I ate or even moved from my desk, although of course I must have.

I can’t remember anything of those frenzied forty-eight hours until the knock that came at my office, jarring me awake from my dreamy, fugue-like state. After that, I remember everything clearly. I remember Hadley entering the room. I remember wondering about how clean everything looked, despite the fact that I practically lived in there for hours on end. The trash was in the trashcan. The papers were organized on the desk. I felt a momentary happiness, a momentary pride at how different I was from what I’ve known, from my father.

I was a real poet. I had published poems, won awards, and I was organized and neat. As I looked at Hadley, I remember thinking I had a family. It was a moment of sheer arrogance for myself and pity for the man who’d failed in every aspect of his life. It was a moment of sheer anger at him.

But with Hadley’s next words, my world cracked and then crumbled. She told me she wanted a divorce, and like a fucking moron, I stilled, became speechless. She told me she had been gone for the past two days. She’d needed the time to think. She said our love had died and it was better to part ways, that it was no one’s fault. It was just something that happened.

We’re in awe of each other, Thomas. We admire each other, but we don’t love.

What the fuck did that mean? Of course I was in fucking awe of her. She was my wife.

The jingle of keys followed by the click of the door brings me out of memories, and tells me Susan has arrived. It’s morning now. Hadley has been gone for a few hours, but it feels like years.

Susan sets her bag down on the coffee table and pads over to where I’m sitting on the floor in front of Nicky. My son sits on the carpet, his toys strewn about. His favorites change every week. At the moment, it’s the elephant I bought a few days ago.

“He’s up early.” She sits beside me and coos at Nicky. He gurgles at her. With his red cheeks and messy hair, he appears impish. I wonder if he feels the change in the air. Does he feel the absence of his mom? I want to pick him up and hug him, tell him I’ll always love him, no matter what. Just don’t leave me.

“Thomas?” Susan puts her hand on my shoulder.

“Yeah, he was sort of fussy. I should’ve tried to put him back to sleep but I just…didn’t. I guess I wanted to play with him.”

“It’s okay. He’ll be a little cranky, but nothing I can’t handle.” She smiles.

There was a time when Susan knew me the best—she was my nanny too, when I was growing up—and I think her motherly understanding is still intact. She studies me, my face, my posture, and I want to hide myself…or maybe break down and tell her everything, like a child does to his mother, hoping she’ll solve all the problems. At least, that’s what I imagine a mother feels like.

“Are you okay, Thomas? What’s going on?”

Her concern touches a deep part of me. It soothes me to see that she cares, but even so, her sympathy is grating. It further proves that I fucked everything up.

“Everything’s fine,” I reply curtly as I stand up. “Would it be possible for you to stay here full time for a couple of days? I’ll pay you, of course.”

She frowns. “Of course I’ll stay, but why?”

I can see that she probably knows why, and I hate that. I hate that she knows there’s something wrong in this house, in my family. I’ve never known one. I’ve never wanted one, but now I can’t seem to let go of it.

“I’ll need you to start today. Let me know when you’re ready and I’ll drive you to get your stuff.”

I walk away then, but Susan catches up with me at the bottom of the stairs. “Thomas, get back here.”

It’s her stern tone, one she has used on me countless times when I was a kid. Thomas, walk slowly. Thomas, don’t disturb your father. Thomas, your father is busy.

I stop but don’t turn around. I hear her footsteps approaching. “What’s going on, Thomas?” At my silence, she puts her hand on my back and I tense at her soft touch. “Is it…Hadley?”

At the mention of her name, a weird sense of possessiveness rises in me. I can’t explain it, but I don’t want Susan to be talking about her, knowing she left me, knowing she left her seven-month-old son. As if Nicky knows I’m thinking about him, a sharp giggle echoes in the air.

“Let me know when you’re ready to go,” I insist, taking a step away from her, about to climb up the stairs and do…something. Anything. Words are coming to me, begging me to make something of them, but I won’t. I hate them.

“She left, didn’t she?” she says, effectively stopping me in my tracks. Her long sigh makes me turn around. It’s an unsurprised sound. It’s a sound that says it was expected. My anger is about to burst now. I feel hot, hotter than I’ve ever felt.

“Do you have something to say?” My voice is calm and soft, unlike the jagged, furious edges inside me.

“Thomas, I…” She sighs, her hands wringing in front of her. “I know it’s hard to hear, but I think there’s something wrong with Hadley. I think she’s going through something big and she needs help, Thomas. She might be suffering from baby blues or something similar. I read up on it the other day. It’s very common in women. They don’t show interest in their children. They are…depressed.” She reaches out and clutches my bicep. “It fits the bill. I think Hadley should see a psychiatrist.”

“My wife is not crazy,” I say with gritted teeth.

“No, of course not. I’m not saying she is, but she needs medical help. I have seen her, Thomas. Nothing about her indifference feels right. I—”

“We’re not talking about this.”

“We need to talk about this. We need to do something. Do you know where she went? We need to find her. I should’ve said something sooner. I—”

“We don’t need to do anything, and Hadley hasn’t left. She’s just gone for a few days. She just needed a break. She’ll be back Wednesday.” As I say it, I realize how hollow it all sounds. Do I really believe she’ll be back?

“A break from what? You don’t leave your baby to fend for himself like that—”

“You do when you never wanted that baby.”

The declaration thuds like a landslide. It crashes against the air and boomerangs, hitting me in the chest. I know the reason why Hadley can’t bring herself to care about Nicky. I know I’m responsible for it.

“What are you talking about?” Susan asks, frowning.

“She wanted to get an abortion but I convinced her not to.” I plow my hands through my hair and finally break down and tell her. “She’d found out she was pregnant so she went away for a couple of days, but I didn’t even notice she was gone. I was too busy writing my next fucking masterpiece. When she got back, she told me she wanted a divorce. She wasn’t even going to tell me about the baby. She didn’t want him, said it wasn’t the right time for a baby because we hardly loved each other. Things would get messy, she said. She didn’t think she could raise a child alone because I was too wrapped up in my own shit.” A bark of a laugh escapes me and with an aching throat, I confess, “I’m like my father, Susan.”

I feel dizzy and I grab the railing to keep myself upright. If it wasn’t for that discarded pregnancy test, I never would’ve known I was going to be a father. She would’ve killed my baby because I fucked up. I can’t describe the anger I felt then. I wanted to kill her, kill myself for not loving her right.

But all I did was beg and beg until she gave in and decided to try again.

My gaze swings over to Nicky, who’s still playing on the carpet. His coos and gurgles cut me as sharp as a knife. Somehow I’ve failed again. She’s gone, and Nicky is left motherless.

Susan puts her hands on my tight cheeks. “Thomas, you’re not like your father. He loved you and your mother, but he didn’t know how to show it. You do know. You know how to put your child first. You know how to be there for Hadley.” She squeezes my arm. “Do you hear me? You’re not like your father.”

“Then why is she gone?” I whisper.

Susan understands and steps forward to hug me. I deflate within her motherly warmth, like a fucking child. I hate it. I hate being this weak, being such a failure, but I don’t have the strength to step out of her embrace yet.

After a while, Susan leaves to get Nicky something to eat.

He is playing with Layla’s purple Russian hat, chewing on the fur, drooling. It triggers the memories of last night and before I know it, I’m thrown into another dimension. I’m flooded with Layla. I haven’t thought of her or the kiss since Hadley left, but now it’s all I can think about.

A hunger rises in me, a wrong, dirty, angry kind of hunger. It just wants to take and take and take, because I’m tired of feeling like this, like I have no control over my life.

I’m ravenous for Layla. I’m ravenous for the power she gives me. I want to abuse that power, unleash it, use it against her. I want to destroy her like I’m destroyed in this moment. She is too brave for her own good. I want to destroy that bravery, that pure courage.

Maybe Susan is right; maybe I’m not like my father.

My father never thought about anything else besides his wife, and the sudden burning in my bones, the volcanic eruption in my gut has nothing to do with Hadley.

It has everything to do with Layla Robinson.

PART 3

THE HARLOT

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Emma is with Dylan at the dorms and the school is closed due to the snowstorm. I am home alone and restless. Normally, I wouldn’t care about being stranded alone, but over the past month, I’ve forgotten how to live that way. Emma has spoiled me and now she’s gone.

I hate her.

And I hate Dylan.

And I hate the fucking snow.

I hate everyone and everything.

I’m sitting on the couch. My body feels tight and awkward, like it doesn’t know what to do with itself. I try to remember what I normally do when alone. There’s a half-eaten packet of Twizzlers on the coffee table, and I begin stuffing my face with it.

Okay, what else?

“Aha!” I shout to the empty room then scroll through the music on my phone and put on something by Lana Del Rey. Blue Jeans.

The song reminds me of Thomas—no surprise there. I curl up on the couch and make myself miserable listening to it. Flashes of storage closet bombard me as the song progresses.

The kiss. The orgasm. My confession. The devastation when he left.

I brought it on myself. I never should’ve kissed him in the first place. I never should’ve come apart on his leg. It was wrong on so many levels…even though he seemed to enjoy my moans and desperation.

The song stops and a shrill ring echoes in my apartment. I have half a mind to ignore it, but my fingers clumsily hit accept before I can see who it is.

It’s Caleb, and I’m staring down as the seconds pass on the screen. Slowly, I bring it to my ear and stammer, “H-Hello.”

I should’ve prepared myself for the sharp intake of breath on the other side at the sound of my voice. There’s a rattle in my chest. I feel my ribs shaking as my heart tries to squeeze out of my chest and latch on to the phone.

“Hello?” I say when I don’t hear anything else.

“Hey,” he says with a world of hesitation. “I-I wasn’t expecting you to pick up.”

I let his voice—a little scratchy, a lot boyish—wash over me. It’s been two years, two years since I’ve heard it, since he’s spoken to me. I pinch myself and curse at the sting.

“Lay? You there? What’s, uh, what was that?”

It’s hard to speak against the tidal wave of emotions rolling through my throat to my mouth. “Um, I just kinda pinched myself. I’m okay though.”

A shy chuckle. “Okay. Good to know.” He clears his throat. “I hope I’m not interrupting anything, but in my defense, I was hoping you wouldn’t pick up.”

“No. You’re not interrupting anything.” I look around the empty apartment. “It’s a snow day so I’m pretty much free.”

“Ah, yes. I bet it’s coming down hard over there. I hope it stays that way. I know how much you love unexpected holidays.”

Not anymore, I want to say. Now I hate them. I hate being trapped inside the apartment. I hate not being in Thomas’ class.

Caleb doesn’t know me. He has no idea what’s going on in my life. I derive a certain satisfaction from that. “Yeah,” I say instead, and leave it at that.

We fall silent. I listen to his breaths—they’re more like sighs—and I feel like a bitch. I ruined everything between us. Me. What I did was a felony. No apology would make up for it. Even though I called and called, he never picked up.

I shake my head and break the silence. “So, how’s Boston?”

“Good…I hope. I’m back in New York.”

“Yes. For the party.” I lick my lips. “Did you bring me anything?”

“I-I actually—”

“Relax. I’m kidding.” I throw out an awkward laugh. “Wow, Boston sucked all the humor out of you, didn’t it?”

He laughs and I picture his dirty blond hair and green eyes. I picture his smooth fingers gripping his cell phone—is it an iPhone?—while he talks to me.

“Where are you staying?” I want to complete the picture, see what he sees. My hungry heart wants information.

“At your mom’s. In fact, I’m staying in your room.”

“No way.” I sit up. “Ugh. Why? They’ve got enough rooms. My room is messy.”

“Lay, you don’t still live here. They cleaned up after you.”

“Oh, right.” I fall back and prop my legs on the coffee table. “Sorry I panicked.”

“What for? I’ve seen your room before. I know you’re a slob.”

“Hey! I’m not a slob. I’m just a little disorganized.”

“No, you’re a slob. You lost your phone in your room for two whole days because of your supposed ‘disorganization.’”

“Well, excuse me for acting my age. Not everyone is as perfect as you, wiping off water rings.” I shudder.

This time our silence is much lighter. I take the time to complete the picture. Caleb is in my room right now. It’s hard to imagine my room clean, but still I see him sitting on my bed, propped against the white headboard, maybe even staring out the left window overlooking Central Park. This time of year the trees must be bare, and today, they must be covered in freshly falling snow.

“So I’ve been calling because I wanted to see if you were still coming to Henry’s party,” Caleb says, after a while.

That’s why he’s been calling. He wants to see me.

I press my palm to my stomach, trying to squash the onslaught of butterflies, the fluttering of their soft wings. It’s been a long time since I’ve felt that. Did I imagine it wrong or have the sensations always been so…light with dulled edges?

It’s nothing like the sharp tug of my belly button or the firecrackers over my skin, or the urge to smash my thighs together and grind my hips.

“I can’t.” It comes out agonized, pained. “I’ve got some stuff to do at school. I already told Mom.”

“Oh.” He is disappointed. I can hear it in his voice. “Well, maybe I’ll see you some other time then.”

“Are you planning on sticking around?”

“I think so, yes. The company needs me. I mean, I’ve been groomed for it forever, you know. I think it’s time.”

“Sure. Yeah. The company. Well, I’m glad you’re gonna be around.”

“Me too,” he says with a quiet voice.

It’s the end of our conversation. It’s time to put down the phone, but nothing feels resolved. What was the point of the call? Somehow I know it’s not the usual check-in about the party.

“Why did you leave me?”

Did I just say that? I did, didn’t I? I’m such a fucking moron.

“Lay, I…”

“You never even said goodbye. Were you…that mad at me?” I hear the rush of air as he prepares to say something, but I don’t let him. “I mean, I know you were. Why wouldn’t you be after what I did? But I thought… I don’t know, I thought we could maybe fix it, or if not that, then maybe you’d give me a chance to apologize, but you never even answered my calls. You never came around. You know, Mom was devastated that first Christmas when you wouldn’t come home.”

I know I’m rambling, but I can’t stop the word vomit. It falls out of my lips, rolling down my tongue.

“She was completely depressed. She didn’t even throw a party, and she always throws parties at holidays. Henry was so worried about her. He was, like, you know your mom well—what’s happening to her? I told him I didn’t know, but I did know. She was missing you.” I sigh. “You know, I never feel bad for the things I put her through. She’s not the mother of the year, as you know better than anyone, but I felt bad then. I felt like I broke up our family. You never even shouted at me or told me you hated me. I mean, I don’t wanna hear that, but silence is way worse. I don’t…”

I press the heel of my palm to the center of my forehead. “I’m sorry, for lying, for taking advantage of you…for everything.”

“Lay, stop, okay? Please just stop,” he whispers in a guttural voice, and I know, I know he has tears in his eyes. They jab behind my closed eyelids as if in answer to his pain.

“You don’t have to say sorry. It…It wasn’t your fault.”

I’m hit with a tiny déjà vu. You’d be surprised to know how many things aren’t your fault at all. Thomas’ voice, even in my imagination, makes me shiver.

“Lay?”

“Yeah, I’m here.” I gather my thoughts. “Caleb, it…it was my fault. I knew you were drunk and that cigarette I gave you…that was pot. I knew you weren’t interested in me, but still I…forced you to—”

“God, is that what you think? Is that what you think happened? You forced me?” A sharp gust of air and I can almost hear him cracking his knuckles like he does when he’s agitated. “Layla, I knew it was pot. I knew what I was doing. I wanted it to happen, okay?”

“You-You wanted to have sex with me?”

“Yes.”

“Wh-Why?”

“Because…Because I wanted to know what it would feel like.”

“You mean having sex? You hadn’t had sex before? You were a virgin too?”

See, this is the kind of thing you should know about your sexual partner. I’d always assumed Caleb was more experienced, though it’s true that I never saw him with a girl. He was one of those guys who spent time reading, doing homework, sometimes hanging with friends.

But I thought he’d done it. I’d heard rumors about it. I never had the courage to ask, only the courage to throw baseless tantrums. Yeah, I fought with him over a stupid thing because I’d heard he’d slept with someone. I even broke his lamp and spilled water on his biology homework. Boy, that was a big fight.

“No, I wasn’t.”

“You weren’t a virgin?”

“No, Layla. I wasn’t.”

“But you just said you wanted to see what sex would feel like.”

“You know what, this isn’t the way I pictured having this conversation. I was hoping you’d come to the party and we’d talk. I’ve missed you, Lay. I’ve missed you so much and I’ve got so many things I wanna tell you, and I’m tired of not talking to you. Are you sure you can’t make it? I mean, it’s a Saturday.”

“Tell me what you meant.” I’m sitting on the edge of my seat, my legs bouncing on the floor, impatient.

“Don’t do this, Lay. I don’t want to do this over the phone.”

“We’re gonna have to, unless you wanna drive up in the snow.”

“Please, Lay, just—”

“What did you mean, Caleb? You know I’m not gonna let this go. I’ll keep calling you and drive you crazy until you tell me.”

This time his sigh is resigned. “I wanted to see how sex would feel like…with a girl.” I remain silent at his declaration. Things seem even more tangled now. “I’m gay, Layla.”

“No you’re not,” I blurt out.

“I am.”

“No, you’re not. You slept with me.”

I’m repeating myself and my voice is high, but I can’t seem to wrap my head around what he’s saying.

“I thought…no, I knew that if I was going to fall in love with a girl, it would be you, Lay. You were everything to me. My best friend. My go-to person. I knew you were in love with me and I thought if I could just push all those weird feelings away, I’d fall for you. I thought if I just…touched you, I could, maybe, fall in love.”

“But you didn’t.”

“No,” he whispers.

“So it failed, your experiment,” I mutter, talking to myself. “It was an experiment for you, sleeping with me.”

“No. God, no. Layla, it wasn’t an experiment. I could never do that to you. I—”

“And you left.” My voice seems dead to me. Flat. Without any inflection. “You left me in that strange bed. With people I didn’t know. By the time I got back home, you’d already gone. You know, when I was lying there in that bed, for a second I thought you’d gone out to get me coffee or something, like in the movies. I thought you were falling in love with me. I thought things were going to be perfect.”

“Layla, I’m—”

“Don’t. Don’t say it.”

“But—”

“I think I’m gonna hang up now.”

My entire body sags as I end the call. The phone slides out of my limp fingers and falls on the ground with a clatter. I sit on the couch in a daze. It’s hard to focus when the buzzing is loud in my chest, my ears, my stomach, even my arms.

Caleb can’t be gay. I love him—loved him. Whatever. I pictured our wedding, our honeymoon in Paris, our babies: one violet-eyed boy and a green-eyed girl. I pictured him making love to me countless times. Even though our first time was a fucking disaster, I knew we’d improve with age, like wine or…or some kind of alcohol I can’t think of right now.

How can he be gay?

I hear a crash then, in the distance…or maybe it’s inside me. I spring to my feet, but I can’t stand still. I keep changing legs, as if prepping myself to run. Somewhere. Anywhere. In the snap of a moment, I dash to my room. I’m dragging clothes over me. Tights over my sleep shorts. Leg warmers. A fuzzy white sweater over my camisole. My purple fur coat. A hat. My boots. Gloves. Three pairs of socks under my snow boots. And I’m out the door.

A snowstorm is easier to battle with, than my empty apartment.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

He stole my notebook. The notebook I write my poems in. The notebook I had with me on prompt night.

That asshole.

How do I know it’s him? Because I’m not an idiot. I’ve looked fucking everywhere at home. I had to clean my apartment—twice—to get into all the corners. I’ve got blisters on my palms to prove it. My knees are chafed from kneeling and fishing out clothes hiding under my bed.

I still didn’t find my tiny blue spiral-bound notebook.

After my sojourn in the snow yesterday, I started thinking rationally. The pain and the sting of the cold cleared my head.

Caleb is gay. The guy I’ve been in love with all my life is gay, and I never noticed it.

Never. Not once. I’ve been so absorbed in my fantasies that I never bothered to come out of them. How selfish and stupid and unobservant do you have to be to not notice that your best friend is gay? I grew up with the guy, for God’s sake. How did I not know this?

I sat at my bench—the bench where I saw Thomas for the first time—and pondered. And cried. And pondered some more. It was an awful cycle, until I thought I’d die of the cold weather. So I trekked back, and by the time I reached home, I was itching to read or write or both.

And since then I haven’t been able to sit still, because my notebook is missing. Missing!

I know it was Thomas. He stole it when we were in the storage closet. It has to be him. I know I didn’t simply misplace it, and he’s the only human being I’ve come in contact with in the last three days.

Since it’s Tuesday, our poetry class isn’t meeting. Even so, classes are back on, so I walk to the Labyrinth. He must be there. He has other classes, after all.

I need my notebook back. I need that stupid poem back. I remember every single word of it, and I just hope he isn’t able to figure out it’s about him. I don’t want him to insult it like he did my last poem.

As I reach his door and stare at the Poet in Residence sign, I realize how stupid it is to think he doesn’t know. Of course he knows I wrote it for him. He knows everything about me. I try the knob, feel it turn, and suddenly, I’m standing in front of him.

Thomas is at his desk but he looks up as I enter. He doesn’t appear surprised to see me here, as if he knew I’d come. This makes me even more sure he’s the thief.

Without looking away, he puts his pen down and sits back in the high-backed leather chair. It creaks slightly. The sound, oddly, feels illicit, like breathy pants behind closed doors or a loud rustle caused by hasty shedding of clothes in the dark.

Should I feel shy around him now? Should I want to look away from his beautiful eyes now that he knows I’m a crazy stalker who comes on people’s legs? Because, honest to God, I don’t feel any of those things. I feel famished. My skin thrums. It’s more than awareness. It’s like he’s…in me. A part of him is breathing inside my body.

I step in and close the door behind me with a click. The hood covering my head falls, swishing down my loose curls. These inconsequential sounds feel even more illicit than the creak of the chair, something out of a thousand imaginations I’ve had.

“So, apparently you don’t even knock,” he murmurs.

Shit.

“I was just checking to see if the knob would turn.” I lick my lips. “And it did.”

“And it did,” he repeats.

My hands are at my back, gripping the very knob. I’m sorry is on the tip of my tongue, but I know it won’t do any good. Somehow I know that if Thomas is angry, no matter what I do, he won’t budge. Should have thought of that before I confessed all my crimes to him.

“You have my notebook.” My words waver.

Thomas shifts in his chair, causing it to creak again, causing my thighs to quiver against each other.

“Your notebook.”

“Yes?” I wanted to make it a statement, but my voice betrays me and comes out squeaky at the end, turning it into an unsure question.

“I’m in possession of it, yes.”

My hands fall away from the knob. Huh. That was…easy. “Are you saying you have it?” A stupid question.

He rubs his lips with his index finger. “Is there any other way of saying it?”

There’s a tiny spark in his eyes. If I hadn’t spent copious amount of time studying those twin flames and cataloging them, I would’ve missed it.

“Wow, so you did steal it from me,” I murmur to myself.

“If by stealing you mean the way you stole the book from my office, then yes, I did steal it.”

The mention of the book conjures up the image of it sitting on my nightstand. I’ve read it numerous times. I’ve read it so much that it’s mine now. I can’t give it back to him. I mean, I can go buy a copy for myself, but that won’t have his words in it. I won’t know what sentences he holds dear, how he defines himself and his unrequited love.

I grip the knob again, ready to turn it and leave, but I manage to stand my ground. “Look, I’m not here to make trouble. I just want my notebook back and you won’t…” I pause for a split second before completing the sentence. “You won’t have to see me again.”

Yes, this is the right thing to do.

He is married. He is a father. He is a teacher. He is not a distraction. He is not fleeting. I don’t understand what he is to me yet, but I know I can’t afford to find out. Already, I am in too deep. We have crossed too many lines.

“I’m going to drop the class.” I nod, having made up my mind. “Which is a relief because I obviously know nothing about poetry, or writing in general. So, if you’ll just give me my notebook, I’ll be on my way.”

Something flashes across his face that I don’t understand, and he shifts in his chair again. The creak, the whisper of his clothes against the leather gets my heart whirring. I ignore it though. He fishes out my notebook from the drawer and places it in the middle of his neatly organized desk. He uses his ring finger to slide it across the surface, until it sits at the edge.

“Take it.”

With shaking legs, I walk farther into the room. I extend my hand and curl my fingers around my notebook. It’s unusually hot to touch, as if he left his heat-print on it. I pick it up, ready to tuck it away in my coat pocket, but his fingers snap around my wrist and halt my progress.

“Not so fast,” he says softly. “Read it to me.”

“What?”

His fingers are so long that he can encircle my tiny wrist completely, and I’m shivering at his power. On top of that, he stands, towering over me. I have to crane my neck up to look at him. “The poem. Read it to me.”

My eyes bug out of my skull. I must look like a cartoon because Holy shit! I can’t.

“No.”

Thomas lets go of my hand but I’m not relieved—not when I can see how bunched up his body is, how coiled with restrained strength.

I lick my dried lips and his eyes follow the action. They are charged with erotic electricity, and a silly hiccup jerks out of my throat as I draw in a breath. I slap my hand over my mouth in mortification and walk backward.

For every inch I move away, he gains two. He is advancing on me, blocking out the meager light and the view of the snow through the windows.

Clutching the notebook to my chest, I keep walking until I’m right back where I started—at the door, my spine pressing into the wood and the knob digging into the small of my back—only this time Thomas is right there with me. He is so close that I can feel his fire and the flames dancing on his skin, but not close enough to touch and burn.

Fire-breather.

“Don’t make me repeat myself.”

His stare is making me fall apart. What is happening? Unable to return it, I eye the patch of skin on his throat, which is directly in front of me. “I can’t.”

He goes still at my threadbare voice but then his Adam’s apple bobs, hitches, like his throat is inundated with swollen emotions. “You wrote it for me.”

His thick whisper compels me to lift my gaze. My first reaction is to deny it, but I reject the idea as soon as it comes. Some weird intuition tells me he needs it, like he needed my orgasm, my desperation at the bar.

Hypnotized, I nod. “I did.”

“Then do it,” he bites out.

My eyes go back and forth between his face and his throat, watching the odd intensity of his expression and the savage pounding of his pulse. It’s difficult for him, this display, but I’m guessing his emotions are too big to contain. He can’t stop them from bleeding out, and I can’t stop myself from absorbing it in my pores.

My hands tremble as I open my notebook and flip to the page I wrote the poem on. I could recite it without looking, but I need this barrier because God, this is crazy. It’s fucking crazy and it’s turning me on.

Words blur as a full-body tremble clutches me in its grip. I grab the knob behind my back with one hand and tighten the hold on my notebook with the other. Somehow I focus and get the words to stop swimming.

“It-It burns when you look at m-me,” I whisper, my tongue feeling heavy.

“Flames dance in your eyes, in them the fire resides.

Turning me into ashes. Black and p-powdery.

It…It’s a slow process. My disintegration.”

I stop to take a breath. My breasts are heavy and so are my thighs, heavy and needy. I rub my ass against the smooth door, which does nothing to abate the thick lust in me.

“Keep going.”

“It-It begins with a spark of heat, a sizzle so tiny.” I jump when I feel something brush against my throat.

I almost drop the notebook when I see his finger grazing the top button of my coat. Every time, I’m hit by the fact that his fingers are so long and thick. Tiny curls of hair sprout from his knuckles, making them look masculine. They feel right, which means it’s probably wrong.

“What are you doing?”

Thomas is focused on the task. “Unbuttoning your coat.”

“Wh-Why?”

“Because I want to.” He shrugs. His reply is both arrogant and boyish.

The top button opens, revealing a sliver of my skin. “Thomas. Don’t…please.”

“Keep reading.” He unbuttons the second one and then the third, followed by the fourth. Out of habit, I expect cold to rush in any minute, but I know it won’t. Thomas is close; the sun follows him wherever he goes.

I let go of the knob and curl my hand over his, stopping him from going further. “Please. Stop.”

His eyes lift and I can’t draw in a breath. If I thought he needed me to read the poem for some bizarre reason only he’s privy to, then I was wrong. That wasn’t need. That wasn’t…anything. This is need. This. The flush of his cheeks. The clench of his jaw. The flare of his nostrils dragging in a bucketful of air as though his lungs are starved. He is starved for me.

I’ve never been looked at this way before, never been someone’s blazing focus of attention. My body, my very soul pressures me to move my hand from on top of his.

Oh God, I’m going to let him do this, aren’t I? I’m going to let him unbutton my coat.

My hand falls away and he continues his task. The silence is too much, and the only way to fill it is by reading the poem, so I do it.

“A warmth…” My coat is completely unbuttoned now. My chunky green sweater shows through the gap. Guess what, it has buttons too. He parts my coat, careful to not touch my skin, and pushes it over my shoulders. I roll them and it hangs lifelessly, awkwardly from my body.

Thomas runs his finger along the V of my sweater, feeling the soft but fuzzy cloth before stopping at the top pearl white button.

A drop of sweat skates down my spine and I arch my back—only a fraction, but he notices. The vein on the side of his neck pounds in answer.

“A warmth invisible. It leaps and grows,

Turns my skin red and roars.

Then I burn. Slow and steady.

It hurts when you look at me.”

Thomas has reached the middle of my sweater and there is no way I can focus on reading. I let the notebook fall, along with my coat and grab the knob with my other hand. I’m sliding down. My thighs are slippery, my hands sweaty. There’s an inferno in my stomach courtesy of the fire-breather.

“Finish the poem, Layla,” he says, his fingers about to reach the last button.

I attempt to shake my head but in reality, it lolls from side to side against the door. “I-I can’t. I can’t do it. It’s too much.”

I look to the ceiling and scrunch my eyes closed when I feel him pop the last button. Tamping down a needy moan, I clamp my quivering thighs together.

“Next time.” I hear the smile in his voice and latch on to his words.

There’s going to be a next time? I snap my attention back to his slightly bent head. He is clutching the edges of my green sweater in a tight fist. The color on his knuckles is leached out, leaving them white and almost trembling with need. I can see he is as desperate to unveil my skin as I am to expose it to him.

His gaze sweeps up to my rather exposed chest. The swell of my breasts is showing over the boat-necked black shirt I’m wearing, which also has buttons. The longer he stares at them, the heavier my tits become, much heavier than their usual B-sized weight.

Thomas shoots me an irritated look through his lashes. “Another?”

At first I’m confused as to what he means, but then I realize he’s talking about my shirt. “Layers. Sorry.”

He doesn’t smile but his irritation is gone, replaced by amusement and a tinge of warmth. His fists loosen and he begins again. One by one he pops the buttons of my shirt. I gasp when his knuckles skim over my breasts. They swell and tingle on the side, as if expanding, and my nipples itch, growing hard. A strange soreness grips them.

Just touch me already.

He reaches my stomach and it hollows out as I lose my breath. Then finally, finally it’s done. My shirt hangs open, exposing my white bra and the wide expanse of my stomach. He takes me in with greedy eyes and at the sound of his harsh breath, I whisper, “What? What is it?”

He is focused on my belly button ring and then it happens. He touches me, but only with his pinkie. It hooks through the ring and pulls. “Fuck,” he mutters.

“Do you…not like it?”

“No. I fucking love it.”

At his unguarded and guttural words, I give in to the pull of his finger and bow my back off the door. Our hips crash and I feel his cock against my belly.

“Oh God, it’s so big,” I moan, unable to stop myself. As soon as I say it, I’m ashamed, probably blushing; my skin feels hot.

Thomas tenses. “I never knew. I wondered, though.”

“What?”

His eyes roam around, from the tops of my breasts to my belly button ring. “That you blush with your whole body.” I blush harder, making him chuckle.

My heart sighs at the rich sound. I want to live here, in this moment. It’s honest and almost fantastical. It’s a different world altogether, a land of no rules, no past or future, just the present.

With his other hand, he snaps the clasp of my bra and lets the cups dangle on the sides, exposing my swollen tits and rosy nipples.

My skin combusts. I’m breathing with my entire body now, shaking and undulating. I want to cover myself even as my nipples itch to be touched, pulled at, sucked on. No one, not a single person has seen me this way, not even the night I gave Caleb my virginity in darkness.

Thomas licks his lips and gulps in a shuddering breath.

He needs me. And that makes me need him more.

“I’m so achy,” I whisper, and he stares at me with dark and dilated pupils. “Please, you have to touch me. You just have to.”

My begging arouses him and that, in turn, arouses me, so much so that my innermost muscles clench and gape repeatedly.

Thomas presses his thumb at the base of my neck. My pulse skitters and then pounds. With hooded eyes, he trails his thumb down, bumping over my collarbone, traveling through the valley of my breasts. Just his thumb.

“Oh God…” My voice doesn’t sound like mine; it’s throaty and abraded with lust.

He circles around my breast, caressing the top, winding around the side, and scratching the bottom.

“Like this?” he asks in my ear, his shirt whispering over my skin. My right leg lifts up and hooks around his hips, cradling his cock close to my covered but needy pussy.

“Yes, but more.” I press my half-naked body to his clothed one, getting off on the friction.

He repeats the motion on my left breast, over and over. My nipples jut out in anticipation of his touch, but it never comes. He tortures me with light caresses, never giving me something to hold on to, reducing my skin to a canvas of goose bumps.

“You’re so mean,” I tell him, frustrated but leaning into him nonetheless.

“But you like it.” He blows a hot breath in my ear.

“I shouldn’t.”

“Yes.”

“I should just leave.”

“Yeah.”

“This is wrong,” I moan, circling my hips, bumping against his cock. “The wrongest thing I’ve ever done.”

Of all the times, he picks this moment to pinch my nipple and give it a harsh pull, much like he did with my belly button ring. Like before, I give in to the call and rub my pulsating breasts against his chest, searching for that magical friction.

“God…what are we doing?” I pant into his shirt.

“The wrongest thing we’ve ever done,” he says, repeating my words. “So yeah, you should leave. You should just go, and don’t ever come back.” I look up at him and witness something splitting open in his expression, leaving him completely exposed.

Flicking his thumb over my nipple, he massages my entire breast in his palm. “Because I’m selfish, Layla. I’ll ruin you, set you on fire, and won’t even look back. I’ll take and take until you’re empty and hollow.” He keeps at his slow torture. “You should push me away, shout at me for undressing you, and then you should slam the door in my face on your way out. And when you’re out there in the hallway, knock three doors down and report me.”

“Never. I’ll never tell on you.”

One side of his lips quirks up. “Never is a long time, Miss Robinson.”

“Maybe.”

Both of his hands move up and cradle my cheek. “Sometimes I forget how young you are.”

“I’m not that young,” I say insistently, pressing myself closer to him, trying to climb up his sexy body like I did at the bar.

“Go, Layla.” He doesn’t let me go, though. “I’ll probably steal your naiveté too.”

Yes, I should go. I should go, drop the class, and never come back.

I should.

I should.

It could be that I’m stupid and young as he says I am, but I feel the loneliness in his teasing voice. I see the clenching of his back muscles when Hadley left him in the room. I hear his never-ending battle with his impulse.

Boldness strikes me and I circle my arms around his neck, flattening my breasts on his hard chest. “Then maybe I should just give it to you so you don’t have to steal—my naiveté, I mean, so you could help me grow up.”

He is silent for a few seconds and I’m scared I crossed a line. It’s such a funny thought after the way I’m wrapped around him that I bite my lip to stop an inappropriate, hysterical laugh from bubbling out.

“You want me to make you a grown-up, Miss Robinson?” His eyes smolder, and I’m glad I’ve got my arms around him or I would’ve dropped to the floor in a puddle. Something is so…weirdly erotic in that sentence.

I don’t have time to analyze it because he begins moving his hips, giving me that sweet friction, and Jesus fucking Christ, it’s the best thing I’ve ever experienced. The pressure is making my wounded pussy bleed cum.

He leans into me, curls his large body around my small one. “How do you suggest I do that?”

“I don’t know.” I gasp, rocking along with him.

“Well, if you don’t know then I can’t help you.” He pauses his movements.

“P-Please, don’t stop. I-I…”

“You what?”

I look at him with drugged eyes. He appears darker, bigger, like he can absorb the world into his body until there’s nothing left but him and me. “I need it. I need you…”

“To do what?”

“To move.”

“And that’s it?”

“No. I want more.” I push my hips against his and flex my thighs around his waist. “I want you to fuck me.”

I can’t believe I said that. I can’t believe it was my voice, desperate and small, like that of a little girl.

He breathes in sharply. There’s excitement in his eyes, dark and mean and so fucking irresistible. I feel things change between us. Whatever dynamic our non-relationship relationship had has now shifted.

“Fuck you, how? With my big, hard cock?”

I’m shocked and so fucking aroused. There are alarms ringing in my head, blaring, honking, bellowing. This is so wrong, but his guttural voice still penetrates through and shakes a thick drop of cum out of me. I feel it roll out of my pussy and soak into my already wet, white innocent panties.

“Yes. God, please.” I rotate my hips once more against his stationary body.

“Are you sure you can take it?” He grinds his forehead into mine. “Maybe it won’t fit in your tiny pussy.”

I jerk at his words. “No. No, it will. I know it will. It’ll fit,” I whine, hungry and eager and playing my part in this weird game.

“What if it’s painful? What if it stretches your hole so much that it hurts?” His fingers twitch and flex around my face. He’s loving the rush of power. He’s getting off on the control he has over me.

“I don’t care. I don’t care about anything. I’ll take the pain. I’ll do anything.”

“For my cock?”

He is the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen, big and brooding, his face a mosaic of lust and need.

Yeah, I’ll do anything. For you.

I nod my head and say in a small voice, “Yes. I’ll do anything for you to make me a grown-up.”

Thomas growls and his hands settle on my hips. I’m expecting him to haul me to his chest, but he keeps me pinned to the door and moves away.

“Not today.” His chest shudders with difficult breaths. “Go home, Layla.”

“But—”

Thomas tucks my unruly hair behind my ear. “You should probably hold on to your naiveté a little while longer. So just go home.”

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

I had a bad dream, and now I can’t go back to sleep. I’ve been tossing and turning for hours.

I pull myself up, sighing in frustration. In the past, before Caleb went away, I’d call him, no matter the time, and ask him to hold me. I can’t imagine us ever getting back to that place.

I feel so lonely. I haven’t felt this lonely since Emma moved in.

Turning on the light, I reach out, pick up my notebook from the nightstand, and open to the last page I wrote on. I thumb the tiny curls of paper around the white spiral where a page has been torn off.

My poem.

Before sending me on my way, Thomas tore the page and kept the poem for himself. He didn’t say anything, just folded it and slid it into his pocket while staring at me.

I shiver under the blanket as if his eyes are still on me, hot and hooded with desire. It makes me aware of the lingering wetness between my legs, how I threw myself at him and he denied me, never even touched me with more than a finger on my chest and belly, a palm on my cheeks.

I’m dying for him. Dying. It’s all I can think about—that, and how immoral this is. With each passing day, I’m crossing more and more lines.

Where does it stop, I wonder. How does it stop? Why can’t I control myself?

I thump my head on the headboard, try to put pen to paper, but nothing comes out. Nothing feels right. I want to write but I can’t bring myself to, so I try to read. Maybe Barthes or Plath will have some insight.

Barthes tells me it’s okay if things are hopeless and Plath tells me to kill myself, so I shut them down.

Then I drag my laptop from the desk and look up Thomas on the university’s website. I’ve seen this page a million times since classes started, but still my breath halts for a moment when I take in his face. Handsome, unsmiling, unattainable.

My eyes home in on his office phone number, the tiny ten-digit number located under his office address. I have seen that number before but have never really seen it, never really thought about it.

I sit up and look for my phone. It’s wedged between the mattress and the headboard. I swipe across the screen, ignoring messages from Caleb, and dial the number. It’s crazy. I don’t even know why I am calling. What am I going to say to him? Besides, I don’t even think he’s going to be in his office this late at night, but I need a connection with him, even if it’s flimsy, even if it’s with his answering machine. In fact, I’m counting on it. I’ll say whatever I want to say and then hang up and go to sleep.

On the third ring, there’s a click, and then his sandpapery voice fills my ears. “Hello?”

I almost drop the phone. “Th-Thomas?”

“Layla?” The creak of his chair sounds. “What… Why are you calling me this late at night?”

“I was… I didn’t expect you to pick up.”

He is silent for a few seconds, maybe just as stunned as I am, or maybe thinking about what happened between us only a few hours ago.

“See, if you don’t want me to pick up my phone, then don’t call me on my phone.”

I puff out a breath and fall against my pillow, grinning like a fool at his teasing tone. “I just thought you’d be at home.”

This time the silence is loaded, as if I stepped on a landmine, but his voice doesn’t reflect any turmoil. “Now that we’ve established that I’m not, do you mind telling me why the hell you are calling?”

“I…” I want to ask him about what’s going on with him, but I don’t. I know he won’t tell me. He’s only honest in those stolen moments, in my desperation.

“I can’t sleep,” I blurt out instead, and funnily, it sounds pouty. He hears my strange voice, which apparently only comes out when he’s around, and sucks in a breath. Where is this coming from? This ache, this restlessness, this boldness. I can’t stay still. I’m rustling my legs together, playing with the neck of my white cami.

“And you thought talking to me would put you to sleep. Your flattery knows no end, does it?” His voice is hoarse as he makes the joke, and just like that, the loneliness is gone.

“As I said, I didn’t expect you to pick up. I just…I didn’t know who to call.” I let him adjust to the truth. Meanwhile, I brace myself for his signature rudeness, but deep down, I know it won’t come. Thomas isn’t deliberately mean; he just pretends to be for some reason.

“Why can’t you sleep?” he asks in a low tone, proving me right.

“I had a bad dream,” I say, snuggling into the pillow. “About Caleb. Well, not a bad dream, per se. I mean, he was happy in it, or at least he looked like it from where I was standing. He was kinda having sex.” A deep breath, mine, before I confess, “With a guy.”

Nothing. No sound on the other end. I decide I don’t need him to say anything, not yet. I want to get this out first.

“He’s gay.” I throw out a short laugh. “The guy I grew up with, the guy I’ve loved all my life is gay—and you know the worst part? I never knew. I never even saw a hint that he might be gay. He never told me and I never took the time to notice. He said sleeping with me was his way of checking if he could switch teams.” Another short laugh bubbles out of me, this one harsher. “I’m an idiot, aren’t I? A complete moron. A selfish moron.”

That felt…good. My chest isn’t caving anymore. The weight of this secret isn’t mangling my bones.

Thomas is silent again so I coax him. “Say something. No, wait—say something helpful, not one of your sarcastic comments that help no one but you.”

“And why should I withhold for you?” I like that he’s teasing me, not treating me with kid gloves—not that he is even capable of doing so.

“Because I’ve decided we’re friends. That’s why the word vomit.”

“You hump all your friends?” he growls.

Oh God. My eyes flutter and I squeeze my thighs together. “No. We’re not just friends.”

“Is that right?”

“Mm-hmm.” I nod and open my mouth to say…something, but it doesn’t matter what because I’m struck by a revelation, an epiphany.

“We’re soul mates.” I can’t breathe, and at the same time, I feel light as a balloon.

“Excuse me?”

“Yes.” My eyes widen as everything slides into place. “That’s it. We’re soul mates.”

“I… You… What?”

“Oh, would you relax?” I can imagine the vein on the side of his neck pulsing. “Not the kind who end up together or live happily ever after. We’re not that kind of soul mates. Even I’m not that naïve. What I mean is, we understand each other. We’re similar—well, similar in all the ways that count.”

Thomas sighs, long and hard, and shifts in his chair. I know he doesn’t believe me, but it’s so obvious.

“We both understand one-sided love better than anyone we know,” I explain. “And I know you don’t like to hear about it but the other night, when I saw you through the window—for which I apologize once again, by the way—the expression on your face, it was like…I was looking in the mirror. It was like I could read your every thought. I could feel your every thought. I felt it in my stomach.” I clear my throat. “So you see? We’re soul mates.”

“You’re right.”

Excitement bubbles inside me. “I am, aren’t I?”

“Yeah. I don’t like to hear about it.”

“Oh.” I swallow and deflate against my pillow, staring at the white ceiling.

He shifts in his chair again and I imagine him mimicking me, head pushed back, staring at the blank ceiling. I don’t know how long we stay silent this time, hearing each other breathe. I can’t let him go though. I can’t be the one to break this connection.

And neither can he, apparently.

It’s such a soothing delusion that he wants me to breathe in his ears so he knows he isn’t alone. Maybe it isn’t a delusion at all.

“Do you know what a vestigial organ is, Layla?” he asks, after I’ve made countless patterns around my belly button with my middle finger.

“What?”

“It’s an organ that’s useless. It serves no purpose. It’s defunct, extra baggage. It’s just there because we haven’t evolved enough.”

“O-kay.”

“But they are quite capable of giving you pain. Oh yeah, they might even kill you…slowly, until you’re begging for it.”

“Why are we talking about useless organs?”

“Because unrequited love is like a dead, useless organ. It’s functionless. It’s sicker than a disease. You can cure a disease, but you can’t fix a defective soul. That’s the most frustrating thing in the world, to be that powerless.”

I’m all dried up. Parched. Every cell in my body hurts for him. For me. For us. His pained words haunt my insides.

“Why aren’t you home, Thomas?”

“Because it’s not home when she’s not in it,” he admits quietly.

I dig my nails into the soft flesh of my belly, trying to translate his emotional agony into my physical discomfort.

And I’m struck by another epiphany.

I don’t know what he is to me, but I know what I am to him.

He needs me. He needs to exert his power over me because his love has made him powerless. He needs me begging because his love has made him a beggar himself. The lust he feels for me comes from the love he feels for her.

A thick tear skates down from the corner of my eye to my hair. I bite my lip to keep from making any sounds.

“Go to sleep, Layla.”

I wipe my nose with the back of my hand and swallow the jagged lump in my throat. “Will you stay on the phone while…while I sleep?” His breath slips before getting heavier. “Please?”

“Yeah. Okay.”

I sigh in relief. “Thank you.”

He hums his assent.

“Good night.”

He hums again. I close my grainy eyelids, feeling comforted. I hope he does too.

Time passes. Questions flit through my mind. Where is Hadley? Is that what I heard through the window that night? Where’s Nicky? He’s my soul mate too.

“You know, we should get matching bracelets or something. Soul mates should definitely have a matching something,” I mumble, warm and drowsy.

“Okay, but I don’t like purple.”

A weak chuckle escapes me and I burrow my nose in my purple blanket. “Don’t worry, it’ll grow on you. I’ll get one for Nicky too.”

He grunts, as if he’s falling asleep right along with me.

As I slide deeper into sleep, I feel it in my resting and cozy heart. Thomas and I are meant to be. This thing between us was supposed to happen.

Because I’m a girl who’s not supposed to be the love of someone’s life, not with my selfishness. I was meant to live in the shadows and secrets. I can be Thomas’ secret, for a little while, at least—until I absorb all of his pain and set him free.

It’s well after midnight, the exact time I spoke to Thomas on the phone a couple of days ago. I should be staying in bed, trying to sleep. I shouldn’t be running toward him, but I am. I have to show him something, something I got for him in a very impulsive decision.

Oh well, when am I not impulsive?

The Labyrinth is quiet and sleepy when I enter with a swipe of my ID card. This is the first time I’ve seen it so empty, without its noisy activities. The walls feel intimate, carrying a million secrets, or maybe it’s just me.

I climb the stairs and walk down the hallway until I’m standing in front of his office door, panting in the cold. My nose is running in a very unflattering manner. I get a handle on my reaction to the freaking winter before I turn the knob; it gives with a soft click.

He is here.

My gut told me he would be and there he is by the window, illuminated by the lamp sitting on his empty desk. He turns, a cigarette in his sexy mouth, as he hears me enter. He looks exhausted, his energy extinguished in a certain way I can’t explain.

He sucks in a drag and blows out a long strand of smoke. In the dismal lighting of the room, with shadows flickering on the wall, he doesn’t even look like he belongs in this world. He is too beautiful, too haunted to be human.

I swallow, a lengthy shiver rolling through my body as I enter and close the door behind me. My hair must look windblown after running through the streets to get here. My cheeks must be red and flushed, and so must be the skin of my thighs where my fur coat and knee-high boots don’t meet, leaving them bare and unprotected.

“I want to show you something.”

I lick my lips and lock the door with a click.

I’ve always thought of my body as a curse. It has incessant needs, the wrong kind of cravings, but after meeting Thomas, I realized my body could be a tool. It could be his tool.

So there is no shyness in me when I open the buttons of my coat, staring into his unblinking, unmoving eyes. I watch for his reactions. Does he like my boldness? Hate it? The color of his face is heightened and the lean muscles of his chest twitch as he looks on. It bolsters my courage, gives me reassurance that this is the right thing to do. I part the lapels and roll my shoulders to take the coat off me. It falls to the floor and I jerk at the sensation of my thick curls teasing my naked back.

Um, yeah…I’m naked—except for the black knee-high boots and, of course, the ankle-length purple polka dot socks under them.

Goosebumps coarsen my skin as I stand in front of him for his perusal. My curves are slight. My breasts are small and my waist is tiny. In preparation for tonight, I shaved everything so my skin is smooth and pale, and my cunt bare.

His gaze sweeps over my face and then skates down, down and down, and then he stops. I know what he’s staring at. I did it for him.

The tic in his jaw throws me for a loop. Is he angry or horny? I can’t tell. I hope for the latter. I hope tonight is the night he ruins me, steals away my naiveté and finds some peace in it.

In a snap, he throws the cigarette out the window and shuts it, muffling the sound of snow-laden wind. He faces me again, and with his eyes trained on my stomach, he prowls forward. My core clenches at his lazy but charged steps.

He stops a few feet away and reaches out his hand. I gasp as his cold fingers touch my quivering stomach, the reddened skin around my newly-gotten tattoo. It’s the circle of a flame around my navel, and I switched out my belly button ring for a sapphire-colored stud.

His thumb moves over the shape of the flames and I whisper, “It’s the color of your eyes.”

The flames are blue, just like his gaze. I wait for the shame to pour out of me. I’m showing the guy I haven’t even slept with that I’ve permanently marked him on my body. You don’t get any clingier than that.

But I feel no shame. I feel no need to hide from Thomas, not like the way I’ve always felt with Caleb, hiding my feelings, watching him from the shadows.

“I… You remind me of some kind of fire-breather,” I explain further.

Thomas snags my gaze with his intense ones. They mimic an inferno with savage emotions as he comes down to his knees.

“Thomas?” I clutch his shoulders to stay steady.

He breathes heavily, noisily, as if in reply, and then his mouth is on me. His tongue lashes over the jeweled stud as he wraps his arms around my waist to bring me closer.

My head falls back on a low and heavy moan, and my hands travel up from the swell of his shoulders to his thick, silky hair. I thread my fingers through the strands and pull on them when his open-mouth kisses and the suction of his hot mouth become too much.

Is it possible to get wet from someone sucking on your tummy? Maybe it’s crazy, but who cares? I’m wet, and getting wetter by the second as he laps at my skin with hungry, ravenous licks. The area around my tattoo is still tender, and his tiny nips make me feel like he’ll break my fragile body open. The thought oozes out a thick drop of cum from my clenching pussy.

Thomas growls as if he knows what my core is up to. I’m riding the high caused by his needy grunt when my back crashes into the door, and my leg is lifted before settling on his shoulder.

He kisses and bites my lower tummy, sucking in the soft skin, leaving what I’m sure are red marks all over. I look down just as he scrapes his stubble on the inside of my lifted thigh, and cradles it between his arm and his neck. The action is simultaneously arousing and tender, and my eyes are very close to watering. He splays the fingers of his free hand on my other thigh and parts it open. My pussy clenches shyly at being on display before him, making his shoulders bob with a long breath.

Thomas looks up at me, his eyes dark and smoky, burnt all the way through with lust. “I’m going to suck on your pussy, Layla.”

They’re the very first words he’s spoken since I came to him. They sound raspy and guttural, ripped from the depths of his soul. They are enough to make me come and my eyes strain to flutter closed, but I keep them open. I want to see him. I want to see the beginnings of my ruination.

“Okay,” I whisper unnecessarily.

Still staring at me with a fevered look, he nuzzles his nose just over my pubic bone, sending electric shocks to my core. Slowly, he moves down, his lips breathing over my skin. The first contact of his mouth to my freshly-shaven pussy is a shock. It sears me. I feel it everywhere, inside and out.

Thomas sweeps his tongue from the clit right down to the entrance that is aching, has been aching for him. At my moan, he burrows his face closer, rubbing his nose, his mouth into my wetness. He takes a long sniff, smelling me, breathing me in. It’s enough to make me go crashing to the floor, and I would if he wasn’t holding me in his arms.

With a gusty breath, he latches on to my clit and sucks. I moan out his name, my head thumping on the door and my lower body bowing off. It’s too much, the suction of his mouth on that tiny bud. I’ve never had it in someone’s mouth and God, oh God, I’m shaking.

“You taste like cherry. Plum, sweet cherry,” he murmurs into my pussy before smothering it with his lips.

A tiny smile blooms on my lips at his rumbled declaration, but soon it turns into a turned-on grimace. I massage his scalp with my fingers, making him grunt low and gather me close—even closer—in his arms. I arch into his mouth, digging the heel of my boot into his back. My needy actions spur him on and his hardened tongue rains down on me with all its might.

“Oh God, Th-Thomas…” I break off at a moan that originates in my belly. “I can’t… It’s-It’s too much. It hurts.”

He pulls on my clit before letting go of it with a pop. “Good. You make me hurt too.”

With that he dives back in and vacuums my wet, sticky lips. My entire pussy fits into his greedy mouth as he eats it, nibbles on it, chews it out. All I can do is take it, let him make a meal out of me.

Oh God, it stings so good.

“Fuck.” His agonized whisper brings my attention to his bowed head. I loosen my fingers from where I’ve been strangling the beautiful strands of his hair. “Your pussy is so tight, tighter than I ever imagined it to be, and I’ve imagined a lot.”

My breath evaporates as he looks up. He is aroused, flushed and sweating, yet he appears godlike. How’s that possible when he’s the one on his knees? He’s a beautiful, sexy god who has my sticky juices painted on his mouth and chin. It glistens in the yellow light like liquid fire.

“I’m not proud of it. I don’t want to think about it, but you tempt me, Layla, so fucking much. You make me feel crazy.”

With that, he falls on me. That’s the only way to describe it. His lips lock around my clit before going back down to my sopping entrance. He crams his tongue in my channel and Jesus, it hurts so bad, but in a very, very good way. The sting is what makes this entire thing real, and I wouldn’t trade it for a comfortable, all-pleasure fuck for anything.

Now that Thomas is inside, he swirls his tongue, feeling me up. He alternates between thrusting his tongue in and out and bumping it across the crevices of my cunt. The lashing, the suction, the way he growls—it’s all rolling into a big ball of fire inside my stomach. The blue flames around my belly button burn bright and alive.

“I’m…I’m going to come,” I wheeze out, rolling my hips, pulling on his hair. He doubles his efforts—if that’s possible—and pushes me off the edge.

I fall off the tightrope I’ve been walking and come. I fly, shaking and quivering and chanting Thomas’ name.

My heart races and bursts into a million pieces, traveling to every corner of my body with the furious rush of my blood. I become my heart, a pounding mess, and my heart becomes me, sleepy and peaceful in the midst of my climax.

I think I black out for a few seconds because the next thing I know, Thomas is standing up, dragging my previously fallen coat over my arms. My orgasm-addled brain is confused as he buttons up my coat. My mind goes to the last time I was here and he kept opening them. His actions are so not what I was expecting when I came here, not after what he said to me about imagining my pussy.

I put my hand on his as he is about to close the last button beneath my chin. “What…What are you doing?”

He looks up. His eyes are still burning, his cheeks slashed with red. He wipes his mouth against his arm, making me catch my breath. That move was so masculine, so fucking primal that I can’t help but be affected by it.

“Taking you home.” His voice is scratchy, as if he hasn’t spoken in a while.

“What? Why?”

“Because you need to leave.” He knocks my hand off his and finishes buttoning my coat. The gesture is aggressive, angry, and I can’t breathe for a second.

“But…I—”

He straightens the collar of my coat as if I’m a child and stares into my eyes. “If you want someone to fuck you, you need to look somewhere else. Don’t come back here. We’re not friends. We’re not anything, you understand?”

I remain quiet. My ability to form words is gone. Thomas isn’t happy, and neither is the tic flickering on his hard jaw. “Do. You. Understand, Layla?” he asks again, with gritted teeth and flaring nostrils.

“Y-Yes.”

He moves away from me, cool and unapproachable, and breathes deep. “Let’s go.”

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

How the fuck did it go so wrong?

I thought…

What did I think? Yes, what was I thinking? That he’d sleep with me? That his pain is so big, so agonizing that he’d commit the sin of adultery?

Not everyone is like me. Not everyone is selfish and impulsive and a goddamn moron.

I sob and groan and cover my face with my palms, even though I’m alone in my stone-cold bathtub. Thomas dropped me off an hour ago, without saying a word. The entire ride took less than five minutes, and from the inside of his car, campus looked even more forbidding and dark and desolate. I didn’t even wait for the car to come to a full stop before I jumped out and dashed into my tower, and now I am here, drowning in embarrassment and guilt and anger.

We’re not anything.

If he didn’t want me then why did he make me come? Why did he put his mouth on me and let me shatter in his arms only to kick me out the door?

My tattoo is buzzing with heat. How crazy does someone have to be to do something like this for a man who isn’t even her boyfriend? Thomas has to be the most confusing man I’ve ever met—not that I’ve met many men in my life. My love for Caleb took care of that.

I slide down and lie on my side, bringing my legs to my chest and curling into a fetal position. I spend the night in my bathtub, oscillating between sobbing and being angry. In the morning, I hear a crash and I’m jerked upright. There are angry noises and I run out of my room to see what’s going on.

“I’m not taking their side. What’s wrong with you?” Dylan booms, shaking his head.

“I don’t want to talk about this. Can you just leave?” Emma is holding the front door open, her face tight and inflexible.

Dylan runs his hand over his face and sighs. “Fine. Whatever. You’re being unreasonable.” With that, he strides out of the apartment.

I decide it’s safe to speak. “Hey, what’s…what’s going on?”

Emma is still holding the door, staring down the hallway. She turns to me slowly and closes the door behind her.

“Sorry, did we wake you?” She drags her feet to the couch and plops down on it, dejected.

I sit beside her. “No, it’s fine. Tell me what happened.”

“It’s nothing. It’s stupid.”

“It’s not stupid if you kicked Dylan out of the apartment first thing in the morning because of it.”

She turns to me and seethes. “He was being a moron, that’s why.”

“Okay. About what?” I realize this is what normal life feels like—fighting with your boyfriend, kicking him out, and then bitching about it with your friend. These are normal problems to have. I wish I had normal problems. Normal problems are so much better than what I have.

“About spring break,” Emma replies. “My mom wants me to come home. I don’t want to, but Dylan is insisting that we go. He wants me to bond with my mom or something.”

“And that’s a bad thing, why?”

She sighs and peers up at me. I’ve never seen her this serious and this calm. It’s kind of scary. “My mom… She is not a nice person. I don’t like her, and that’s never going to change.”

My heart is beating anxiously. Is that why she never talks about her parents? I remember the heated phone call she had when she first moved in. Dylan was the one to calm her down. Since then I’ve never seen her talk to her family.

“Did…Did she do something to you?” I ask, apprehensive.

“No, not to me. To my dad.” She sighs, looking away from me and staring at the wall. “She cheated on my dad, and he had no clue. None.” Air rushes out of me and I feel like I’m collapsing on myself as she continues, “It hit him out of nowhere. He was devastated. I mean, how could you do that to a person you promised to spend your entire life with?”

My throat is dry and scratchy. It’s rejecting words, but somehow I manage to mumble, “I-I’m sorry.”

She shakes her head and goes on, as if she didn’t hear me. “She destroyed our family. My dad lost his job because he couldn’t keep up with it. They spent months fighting over custody of me. I was a minor so I didn’t have a say, and my mom won because my dad wasn’t ‘stable’ enough to take care of me. On top of that, she married the man she cheated on my dad with. As soon as I turned eighteen, I decided I’d never step foot in that house again.” She turns to look at me, her eyes glassy. “I’m never going back. Never. I hate her and what she did to us.”

“How’s your dad?”

Emma shrugs. “He’s fine. He’s dating someone. As much as I’m happy for him, it’s too weird for me, but I don’t begrudge him that. He deserves all the happiness, you know?”

“Yes.” I nod, too ashamed to do anything else, too guilty. How would she react if she knew what I did last night? Is there any way to justify cheating? Is there any way I can ever tell her, my new friend, my only friend who seems to like me, what wrong I almost committed last night?

Last night will be another one of my many, many secrets. I can never tell her. I can never tell anyone. I can’t…I can’t go back to being lonely again. It’s too scary now.

“Hey, you okay?” Emma puts her hand on my shoulder. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to unload on you like this. It’s way too early for that.”

“I’m fine. I’m just…I’m sorry.”

“Not your fault.” She stares at me with a critical eye now. “Why do you look like a raccoon? When did you get home last night? Where did you even go?”

I’m terrified, panicked, a statue of shame and guilt. I went and offered myself up to our married professor because I thought he was lonely like me and I thought extramarital sex would be just the thing to cheer him up.

Oh God, I can’t even say it in my head without wanting to kick myself.

“I-I just…went out. For a walk.”

“With all that makeup on?”

Oh yeah, the makeup. Along with grooming myself, I also attempted to put makeup on. It’s all ruined now.

“Um, yeah. I do that, sometimes.” I stand, unable to bear her shrewd eyes. “Do you wanna get coffee? Let’s get coffee.”

Emma knows I’m hiding something but doesn’t push, just leaves to get changed for our coffee run. Thank God. If I have my way, last night will be the only secret of mine for a long, long time to come.

It’s night again. Emma is sleeping in the next room. She’s still mad at Dylan, even though I’ve tried to reason with her. Dylan was just being a caring boyfriend who wanted Emma to give her mom another chance. I called Dylan and he told me that it was simply a casually thrown idea that got out of hand. One of those arguments that escalate, unexpectedly. And now, even he doesn’t want to talk to her.

I’m trying to go to sleep but I can’t do it. I can’t fall asleep.

I’m staring at the ceiling, trying to stay put, and then my phone rings. A gasp catches in my throat and I have to shoot up to a sitting position to be able to breathe. It’s Thomas. It’s his office number.

I’m too shocked to pick up the call and the ringing stops. It’s visceral, the loss I feel at a mere missed call, but…he’s never called me before. I jump up from the bed, shed my pajamas, don a skirt and t-shirt, pile on my winter gear, and I’m out the door.

Like last night, I run and run and don’t stop until I’m at the Labyrinth. I climb up the steps and reach Thomas’ office door with an urgency I didn’t have last night. I turn the knob and it gives, exactly like yesterday, and I enter.

This time, Thomas is sitting on the chair, staring at the phone on his desk. He jerks his eyes up when I close the door. I’m panting, drawing in difficult breaths as his gaze tangles up with mine. It’s angry, furious, blazing, as if he’s on fire.

He takes in a sharp breath and stands, nostrils flaring. My heart is pounding. It doesn’t understand the role it needs to play. Should it be afraid or thrilled to be the subject of Thomas’ intensity? Can it be both?

“I told you not to come back here.” Though his voice isn’t angry like last night, the cutting edge is still there. It still manages to stutter my breath and douse me in shame.

“You called me,” I tell him, angry and aroused.

Thomas rounds the desk and advances on me. “So?”

“So why did you do that if you didn’t want me here?” Another step toward me and I press my spine to the door. “Well? Why did you call?” Before I can stop myself, I add, “A-And if we aren’t anything to each other, why did you…”

He stops in front of me. He is close, too close, and I’m caged between him and the door. All of this is déjà vu, repeated history. I can still hear his words. I can still hear him telling me we are nothing to each other. That’s what hurt me the most.

“Why did I what?”

I lift up my chin, even though I want to shrink into myself. “Why did you make me come? If you hate me so much, why did you do that?”

Thomas puts his palms on either side of my head and strains down on them, bringing his face extremely close to me. “You think I hate you?” A short laugh escapes him, resembling the bark of an animal. “I don’t hate you, Layla,” he grits out. It sounds exactly like he hates me.

“So you like me?” I squeak.

My naïve question seems to have angered him more. His face is red, the vein on his neck bulging out. It’s scary.

“God, you make me so fucking mad.” He shakes his head. “Do you think this is a joke? Huh? Do you think we’re in high school? Do you think I’m going to kiss you and make out with you and take you to the movies or something? Is that what you think, Layla?”

“N-No.”

“Then what do you think is going on here?”

“I don’t…I don’t know.”

“You don’t know? You got a fucking tattoo for me. You came to me naked. You can’t seem to stop throwing yourself at me.” He mocks me, and my eyes water. “Are you telling me you have no clue what’s going on here?”

Tears spill and track down my cheeks. I hate him. I hate him so much. This is what he does to me—pulls me forward one second and then pushes me to the ground the next—but this time, I do the pushing. I put my hands on his chest and push him away with everything I am. He doesn’t budge.

The nerve on his jaw jumps and he cradles my wet cheeks. “Do you have any idea what you’re doing to me?” He wipes my tears off with his thumbs. “Do you have any idea what I’m going to do to you? You don’t want this, Layla. You don’t want me to touch you.”

I curl my palms on his chest, fisting his shirt. Regret clouds his features, dulling the aggression in his eyes. “Why not?” I ask him through the tears.

“Because you’re going to regret it. You’re going to regret what happens if you don’t leave. You have to stop coming back.”

“But you called me.”

“You don’t get it, do you? I’m not a nice man, Layla,” he warns.

“I don’t believe that.” I fist his shirt tightly. “You’re just lonely, like me. Lonely and brokenhearted.” I let go of his shirt and caress his heated, chiseled jaw and cheeks. “You can touch me, Thomas. I won’t regret it, I promise.”

He shudders under my touch, as if coming apart. This is the most vulnerable I’ve seen him. But then he steels himself, goes rigid. I’m afraid he’ll push me back and send me away, but he hauls my body flush with his.

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep.” He breathes over my lips. “When you regret this—and I know you will—just remember that you asked for it.”

In the next second, he puts his mouth on me and I forget my every thought.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

I stand naked in the middle of Thomas’ office, bare except for the pair of polka dot ankle-length socks on my feet.

The only source of light is the lamp sitting on the desk, illuminating my meager curves. There’s a shadow of me on the wall. I wonder what these walls have seen. Is it something new to them? A girl—a student—naked and horny in this room. Has this ever happened before? For a second, I can’t imagine any other girl feeling like this for her professor, as if I’m the only girl in the history of this college, in the history of this world, to ever feel this way.

I’m panting, opening and closing my fists at my sides, wracked with insecurities. Any second now, I expect Thomas to reject me, to send me home, but he stands there like a statue, staring at my body. His chest is heaving and his frame is tight, too tight, too brittle.

While kissing me, he tore my clothes away in a mad desperation. It was frenzied and urgent, and now they lie in a pile by the door. Here I am, displayed in front of his eyes, and I’m going crazy with the wait, with the embarrassment and arousal.

He walks closer to me; putting his hand on my cheek, he tips my face up and makes me stare at his gaze. I see desire lurking there and my heart skips a beat.

He wants me. So fucking much.

As if to prove it, he leans down and resumes kissing me. This time it’s even hungrier and more urgent, if that’s possible. I lean into his clothed body, my skin brushing over the warm fabric. It makes me wet and horny and so powerless that I’m exposed and he’s not.

It makes me feel like a slut. His slut. Horny and shameless.

For the next however many minutes, Thomas becomes my lifeline. He breathes air into me through his mouth, feeds me his lust with his lips. I’m slowly getting drunk on him. My blood is replaced by his essence, until all I feel is him.

He lifts me up, grinding our pelvises together, and my legs instantly go around his waist. His palms splay over my bare ass and I jerk in his arms. I’m so lost in his kisses that I don’t mind when the world tips on its axis, and I find myself lying on my back on the coarse grey carpet.

Thomas breaks the kiss and raises himself up, kneeling between my spread thighs. He’s so fucking sexy that I can’t help but inhale a sharp breath at his beauty.

Swallowing, he takes me in, starting from the dark hair spread out around my face and neck. He travels down, his eyes caught at the base of my throat. My pulse pounds so I feel it beating against my skin. Then he goes lower, to the valley of my small breasts. I feel a tiny piece of my heart beating at the tips of my nipples.

By the time he reaches my vibrating stomach, he is drenched in sweat and shaking. The vein on the side of his neck stands taut, as if in arousal, just like his cock, which juts out in his pants. I bite my lip at the pain it must be causing him.

“I-I want to see you,” I whisper, watching a thick drop of sweat roll off the side of his forehead. “Please.”

I can’t imagine not seeing him when he fucks me for the first time. He understands the gravity of my need and unbuttons the top three buttons of his shirt. He fists the back of the white, slightly wrinkled fabric and yanks it right off, throwing it away.

“That’s so fucking sexy,” I moan and roll my hips on the floor. A slut—yeah, that’s what I am for him, writhing and naked.

The side of his lips tips up in an arrogant smirk, but it does nothing to banish the intensity of his expression. Unlike him, I’m impatient, and I take him in, in a hurried fashion. The tight planes of his pectorals covered by just the right amount of hair. The grooves of his ribs giving way to his smooth, hard abdomen. That trail of thick hair leading to the huge bump barely contained by his blue jeans.

I gasp as I realize the significance of his attire: blue jeans and white shirt, just like the song I love so much.

“What?” he asks, his arms on either side of my hips, his palms splayed open on the carpet. I watch the dance of the muscles on his shoulders and arms. They are strung so tight right now.

“Nothing. You just…remind me of a song I love.”

“Yeah? What song is that?”

“‘Blue Jeans,’” I say. “Uh, it’s by Lana Del Rey. It’s…It’s about how she can’t look away when he walks into a room, about how much he makes her burn.”

Thomas crawls on top of me, his strong arms walking from my hips to either side of my head. He lowers himself as if preparing to do a pushup, and the tendons on his neck stand out in stark relief.

“I know what’s it about,” he whispers over my mouth, his entire body whispering over mine, not touching but looming like a shadow.

I rub my naked thighs over his bare sides, making him shudder. His head dips as his eyes close at my touch, telling me he likes it. I like it too. His skin is smooth and so fucking hot to the touch. I knew it would be. I knew it. He is my fire-breather.

“Are you going to fuck me now?” Need has made my voice both husky and small.

His face remains bowed; only his gaze moves up to me. “Yeah.”

With that, he pushes up and stands over me, divesting himself of his jeans and underwear.

And then he is naked, like me, his cock thrusting out of his body, so big and long and oh God, I’m going to hyperventilate from how much I want it inside me and how much it’s going to stretch my little hole out when it does get inside me.

What if it stretches your hole so much that it hurts?

I hear his words from the other day and decide I don’t care. I want him.

I want to study his cock more, study him more, his taut thighs, the runner’s calves, analyze all the ways the light is hitting his sleek, cut body—but he isn’t in the mood to model for me. He crashes down on his knees, much like last night when I showed him my tattoo.

His desperation leaches into his movements as he fumbles for his discarded jeans, and fishes out a condom from his back pocket.

My mouth dries out as he sits on his haunches and rolls the condom over his hard, jutting shaft, and then he covers me with his body.

I halt all movements, breathing evenly to absorb the sensation of his bare muscles rubbing against mine. It feels so good. His skin on my skin. His cock tucked between us, pressing against my belly button.

But I want more. I need it.

I arch under him, making his cock throb between us, and he clenches his teeth. He grabs a chunk of my hair in his fists and stares down at me. There’s anger and satisfaction in his eyes. “You can’t stay still, can you? You can’t stop tempting me for one fucking second.”

“No, I can’t,” I admit. “I don’t know how.”

“You’re always hungry, Layla. Always starving.” He rocks into me, drags his weighty arousal against my stomach, and blows a breath into the nape of my neck. “Why’s that? Huh? Why are you such a cock-hungry girl?”

I moan at his dirty words. God, he’s such a poet, speaking filthy poetry to me.

“I don’t know. I just want it so much. I want your cock.” I mimic his action and fist his hair in a hard grip, my voice begging. “Put it in me, please. My pussy is so hungry for it.”

I don’t really know where it came from, but Thomas makes me so wild. He feels so right above me that wrong words taste like sugar in my mouth.

Thomas’ control snaps and he rears back, forcing me to let go of him. His body arches, the muscles slanting taut, and I see every tight, hard curve of his chest and abdomen. He fists his cock and positions it in front of my entrance. “Then I’ll fucking feed it to her.”

He forces his way in with a long grunt. My back bows off the floor and I hunker down on his cock with a pained scream, my nails digging into the rough carpet.

“Fuuuuckk…” He draws the curse out and drops his forehead over mine, almost falling over me.

I’m whimpering with his invasion. It’s painful, so fucking painful. I feel the brilliance of it in every corner of my body. My legs are shaking as a cold sweat grips me in its clutches. I don’t even remember it hurting this bad when Caleb took my virginity. Why is it hurting so much now?

“Have you been lying to me, Layla?” Thomas is angry, clenching and unclenching his jaw, grinding his teeth. “Have you been lying about your virginity all this time?”

I shake my head furiously, rolling our sweaty foreheads against each other. “N-No. No, I wouldn’t do that.” I scrunch my eyes in pain and somehow manage to speak. “This isn’t my first time. It’s the…second.”

My hips jerk from side to side and my toes flex inside my socks, trying to find a comfortable position, but the pressure isn’t easing. Thomas digs his palm into my hip and halts my movements. “Stop moving. You’re going to make it worse.”

“But it hurts,” I whine, biting my lip.

“I know.” He grinds his forehead into mine and closes his eyes on a grunt. His chest undulates with a long breath, meant to gather himself. “I can’t do this. We—”

My limbs move before he can finish and twine around his body. It’s not the first time I think of myself as a toxic, wild plant that never knows when to quit growing. His cock slides in deeper due to my movements, but I don’t care about the pain. I don’t fucking care about anything as long as he is inside me.

“No. We can. I can take it.”

“Let me go, Layla.” I shake my head and a pulse starts on his jaw. “Don’t make me pull your arms off. I don’t want to hurt you. Just…let go.”

“No.” I cling to him tighter, until I’m almost hanging on to him. “You don’t understand. I don’t remember anything. I don’t remember my first time except that it was dark and I was drunk and I couldn’t even see him. I don’t remember the pain. I don’t remember if there was any blood. It’s like…” I search for the right words, praying they won’t fail me. “It’s like I made love to a ghost. It might as well have been a dream or a nightmare, but this is real. This is so fucking real, Thomas. You are real. I want the pain. I want the discomfort. I want all of it.”

I tighten my hold around him, feeling the muscled planes of his body shifting. It feels like I’m holding on to an impending earthquake, seismic waves bobbing beneath my grip.

“I want this to hurt because I want this to be my first time,” I say, looking him in the eye.

His cock throbs inside my tightness and I feel the brush of his shuddered breath over my heavy tits. I feel him coming to a decision.

“Put your hands on my back.” His voice is hoarse. “Dig your nails in when it hurts. I’m going to go slow, but I can’t…” His nostrils flare. “I can’t promise that there won’t be any pain.”

“Okay.” I nod, doing as he says, sliding my arms down and uncrossing my ankles so he has room to move.

Closing my eyes, I prepare myself for his thrust. I’m ready for the fire but it never comes. Instead, I feel a flick, a pleasurable flick, over my clit. Gasping, I whip my eyes open and look at him. He is braced on one elbow, his other arm hidden between where our bodies are joined. Another flick of his thumb and I’m biting my lip to keep my lusty moans in check.

Thomas doesn’t smile but something loosens in his harsh face. I stare at him in awe. His fingers are, indeed, magic.

“Do you like that?” he asks.

I swallow and moan, “Yes.”

“I’ve thought about you like this,” he says in the thinnest of whispers. “Under me, naked and desperate. You moan when I touch you like this but I tell you to be quiet. I tell you to keep it in because I want to hear something else.” He presses his thumb and I bob under the pressure. His erection jostles, reminding me that I’m stuffed full of him.

“Do you know what I want to hear, Layla?” The pressure on my clit increases and I can’t keep the moan inside.

“Thomas… Oh God.”

“Shh. Tell me, do you know?” When I shake my head, he clarifies, “The poem you wrote for me.”

His thumb is circling, flicking, feeding me pleasure, and I forget to be embarrassed about my poem. He is making me hungry and though it’s still painful to move, I do it. I bow my back, lodging his cock farther in.

I hear his strangled curse and watch the tendons of his neck tighten at the cost of staying still. “Ah, God, you’re a tease. You’re such a fucking tease.”

I moan and manage to ask, “How do I tease you?”

“The way you stare at me, like you want me to kiss you. The way you follow me around. The way you take everything I give you, never complaining, never backing down. You’re asking for it, aren’t you? You’re daring me, begging me to do all the bad things to you.”

I’m shaking my head on the floor, moving it side to side, mindless, insane, drunk on him.

“Isn’t that why you came here? Isn’t that why you keep coming? You want me to ruin your pussy, make it bleed like it’s your first time. Isn’t it?”

“Yes,” I hiss. “That’s what I want.”

I’m wet, so wet down there, and suddenly we’re moving against each other. He is rocking into me, in and out, long, lazy strokes that I feel in my stomach.

My desire ups with every slide and I forget about the pain. I wrap my legs around his waist and bring him closer. Thomas speeds up his thrusts until he’s slamming into me, grunting like a man possessed.

“Oh God. Oh God. Oh God,” I chant as his hips smash into mine, as his balls slap against my ass. I am sobbing with every jab.

Thomas has gone speechless as he stares down at me, at my rebounding breasts. He is feeding off my moans, my pleasure, my restlessness like a demon. My desperation spurs him on as I meet him stroke for stroke.

I watch him over me, his stomach contracting, his hips pumping, his skin flushed and glowing with sweat. It seems the fire inside him has come to the surface. It burns beneath his skin, creating a reddish sheen over his body that is accentuated by the yellow light.

The sight brings forth a gush of cum from my pussy. I pretend it’s blood, my virgin blood, instead of the creamy arousal.

I moan and shift under him, and the angle of his thrusts changes. He’s hitting an elusive spot inside me, and shivers start down in my toes. They spread to my thighs and I know I’m going to come. I want to warn him, but words are trapped inside my throat with my breath. It doesn’t matter because he doesn’t need any warning anyway. His strangled groan acknowledges my climax.

My sock-covered toes curl and my muscles lock tight. Only my core is spasming with life while the rest of my body might as well be dead.

Thomas drops his head on my shoulder, his thrusts erratic. It’s a mad race to his own climax, the jerky movements, the rotation of his hips—and then it all stops. Orgasming, he throws his head back, exposing his neck.

I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything more beautiful than this, than him. I’ve never heard anything more melodic than his animalistic grunts. He grinds his cock inside me, wringing out every drop of his cum. I wish I could feel it without the barrier of the latex.

My hips twitch in unison with the heartbeat in his cock, and I wind my arms around his neck, never wanting to let him out of my pussy.

For a long time, we breathe in sync, in and out, in and out, as if our wild, aroused breaths are fucking now that our bodies are at rest. It’s a poetic thought, a little fanciful and a whole lot of impossible, but it’s nice.

Then Thomas heaves himself up and away from my body. He removes the condom, wraps it in a tissue – to hide it? -- and throws it in the trash, before snatching his pants from the floor and putting them on.

Again, I can only catch a glimpse of his corded thighs before they are covered by the frayed denim. He leaves them unbuttoned, as if it’s too much of a hassle to do such a mundane task, and walks to the window, lighting a cigarette.

Like a moron, I keep lying on the floor; I watch him take a drag. The slopes of his carved back twitch with his actions, and so do his bulging biceps when he rakes his hands through his thick hair.

The longer he is silent, the more my anxiety grows. Something’s wrong. Something’s going on in his head, and I want to know what it is. I drag myself up, barely suppressing a hiss as the rug burns make their presence known. I stand on jellied legs and go to pick up my discarded clothes by the door, but the sight of the couch stops me.

It’s sagging and wrinkled, so unlike the pristine condition it’s usually in. Frowning, I take the room in for the first time since I entered. Papers are scattered on the desk, so unlike him. Cigarette and ash litter the floor as if he’s been bingeing on nicotine all day. It makes me think that the cleaning crew is going to hate him in the morning.

“Are you…Are you sleeping in here?” I blurt out the question at Thomas, my clothes forgotten. His back tenses, grooves and digs appearing out of the knotted muscles, and that’s my answer. Yes.

“Thomas?” I press on. “What’s going on?”

Nothing. Just a swirl of smoke that scatters into thin wisps as it touches the window. If anything, he’s become even more statue-like, unapproachable and cold. I clench my fists at my sides and dig my toes into the carpet, stopping myself from going to him. I know he won’t respond kindly to it and I’m feeling oddly vulnerable right now, naked and anxious.

“Where’s Nicky?” My voice is hoarse with fear, and that’s the first thing that pops up. “Did she…take him?”

This elicits a harsh laugh. “No. She wouldn’t.”

“Why not?” He doesn’t answer, so I ask another question. “So where is he?”

“He’s fine. He’s with someone who can be there for him right now.”

“And you’re not that person?”

“No. Not right now.”

His callousness presses down on my chest and a strangled question emerges. “Thomas, wh-what’s happening? Have you even been home in the past two days?”

Sighing, he turns around. His face is lined with impatience. Looking me up and down, he sucks in a long drag, pinching the cigarette between his index and middle finger. His eyes are both harsh and lazy and despite my anxiety, my pussy clenches. I wince at the dull pain.

My flinch doesn’t go unnoticed and his gaze drops to the juncture of my thighs. It makes me hypersensitive to the wetness still lingering there, so much so that I rub my soft, fleshy thighs together.

“Put your clothes on. I’m dropping you off.”

“No, not until you tell me what the hell you’re doing.”

He lifts the half-smoked cigarette and points to it, his voice laced with dry sarcasm. “Trying to kill myself.” Then he flicks it away, adding to the litter and walks to the side of the desk, picking up his keys. “Now, shall we?”

I don’t think. I don’t even tell my body to move. It just does, and in the next second, I’m lunging at him, climbing his sturdy, powerful body. He oomphs at the impact and shifts his stance to brace my weight.

My arms are around his neck and my thighs clamp around his waist. My wet cunt is sliding over his ridged stomach, the curly hair around his belly button tickling my clit, making us both shudder. I put my forehead to his and stare into his eyes.

“She’ll come back, Thomas. You’ll see.” My reassurance scrapes my throat and tongue, but I keep talking. “She’ll realize how much she loves you and she’ll come back, I promise. I just know it.”

Thomas settles his arms under my ass, his hot palms stinging the tenderness caused by rug burns.

“Yeah? Is that what you know?” His gravelly voice is making me restless, and the fact that he is massaging my ass, soothing the soreness, as if he cares that I’m hurting, doesn’t help. He’s looking at me like I’m something…precious but irritating. Like I confuse the fuck out of him. Like he can’t believe I’m talking about his wife while clinging to him naked, rubbing my core against his stomach like a slut.

“She will. She loved you once, and she’ll love you again. You can’t fall out of love. You just can’t.” Love has to be enough.

I don’t know whom I’m trying to convince, him or me.. Thomas can’t ever stop loving Hadley, and I can’t wrap my head around the fact that anyone would willingly not love this man. It’s incomprehensible to me. It makes me hurt.

Thomas flexes his fingers and smashes our bodies together. I feel his hardness in the crease of my ass, and my core clenches in response. We’re stuck to each other’s bodies, slick and hot with lingering sweat and ever-expanding lust.

“She told me she’d be back Wednesday, but she isn’t here, and I…don’t know what to do.”

It’s such a vulnerable, almost childish statement that I can’t stop myself from kissing him and drinking his pain away.

When we break apart, he says with intense and glassy eyes, “I don’t deserve her, not after neglecting her for a long time. I don’t know when it happened, but I lost sight of her. I forgot about her. I forgot everything but my words. No one deserves that. No one deserves to be forgotten.”

I didn’t even realize I was crying until I hiccup and his features slash with regret. This is why I come back to him time and time again. This is why I don’t care if I’m breaking every single rule and deeming myself a slut, a harlot. Because he’s lonely. Because he’s in unrequited love. And for some unfathomable reason, it kills me to see him like this.

I rotate my hips against him, wondering if I’ve lost my mind. How is it possible to be so, so sad and filled with lust at the same time?

Thomas brings his hand over to my cheek and tries to wipe the salty water away, but I’m filled to the brim with emotions. God, I hurt so much right now. For Thomas. For myself.

“So you see,” he whispers over my lips, ghosting the wet, soft flesh over my plump, salty ones. “You can fall out of love if you’re in love with someone like me.”

As he hauls me even closer and fuses his lips with mine, I can only think of one thing.

If I ever fell in love with Thomas Abrams, I’d never fall out of it.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

I promised Thomas I wouldn’t regret what happened, and I don’t. I truly, honestly don’t. I don’t regret it, but it’s hard to keep things in perspective when the world around you is booing Hester Prynne for having an affair. They even slapped a scarlet letter A on her chest because of it.

I want to jump and shout, Her husband was playing dead. She was alone. Didn’t she deserve love?

But I can’t, because I want to throw up.

Turns out the theatre people upstairs were practicing a play based on the novel The Scarlet Letter, and tonight they are performing it in the university’s Lincoln Auditorium. Emma and Matt are sitting next to me in red vinyl seats and are engrossed in a whispered conversation. I really don’t know what they’d be talking about that requires such a level of privacy. Dylan isn’t here, because apparently they still haven’t made up, and that makes me feel wretched, as if their fight was my fault.

But isn’t it my fault, or at least the fault of someone like me? Like Emma’s mom who cheated on her dad and destroyed their family?

I look away from them and my gaze falls on a couple sitting two rows down. They are kissing in the darkened theatre. Like a perv, I watch their tender embrace. The guy has his hands buried in the girl’s hair and she is holding on to his shoulders. It looks soft and loving and so unlike what happened between Thomas and me.

But still, it manages to burn up my lust for him.

Now the urge to throw up is even stronger. Suddenly, I stand and make a beeline for the exit. Matt and Emma are busy with themselves so no one notices me slinking away. I search for a bathroom frantically, and throw up whatever I ate in the toilet when I find one.

God, I am Hester Prynne. I am a harlot.

I have a strong urge to hide myself and never show my face again. My bathtub has become my best friend because I’ve spent two nights hidden away inside it. I feel so ashamed. I feel like people will take one look at me and know, as if my skin is glowing scarlet.

I want to go back to yesterday and live there. When Thomas is close, nothing feels wrong. What we did was not shameful. It was survival. I need Thomas right now. I need him to make me feel better.

How ironic is it that the only person who can make this go away is the very one who turned me into this shivery, anxious mess?

Panicking, I sprint through midnight streets, barely paying attention to my surroundings. I reach the Labyrinth, standing tall and shadowy. Once inside, I take the stairs two at a time and keep dashing until I reach Thomas’ office. I turn the knob but it doesn’t give. I try it again, and again and again until I’m rattling the door, pounding on it with my fist.

Oh God. Oh God. Oh God.

I’m hyperventilating. My breaths sound too loud for the tomb of silence.

Where is he? Why isn’t he here?

An illogical thought rises in my head: What if Thomas is gone? What if I never see him again? What if he left like Caleb, without saying goodbye?

My tattoo burns.

I know it’s stupid. Thomas won’t leave. He can’t. He lives here. He’s got a job here. He can’t leave mid-semester, can he? But I’m not listening to my own rationale. All I can feel is the sense of abandonment, the betrayal I felt when I found myself alone in a strange house, packed with drunk-dead bodies.

I can’t…I can’t take it. Not again. I want to fall on my knees and sob but my panic won’t let me. It’s filling me with a bizarre sort of energy that vibrates through my legs. Before I know it, I’m sprinting again.

I hit the same streets, until I’m traveling deep into the residential area where the snow covers the grounds in a white sheen, making it look uninhabited. I don’t slow down until I reach his house. It’s dark, deserted. The naked branches of the tree hovering over the roof sway with the wind, all lonesome-like.

Hiccupping with cold and loss of breath, I walk toward the driveway. My feet drag. The pavement beneath my boots turns into sand, clutching at my heels with sticky fingers. I don’t want to finish this walk, don’t want to see what’s at the end of the road, but I put one foot in front of the other.

I keep my eyes on the house, willing the bricks to show signs of the life contained inside it, but there’s no movement. The windows are as dark as ever. Only the white door shines under the yellow porch light.

Swallowing and breaking a million rules, I become a trespasser once again. I jog across the yard, around the house. I remember the window in the back, through which I saw Thomas with Hadley only a few days ago. So much has changed since then. I have too many secrets now. About Thomas. About myself. About who we are and what we’re capable of.

In my haste to get to the window, I slip on the wet and snowy earth, falling with a yelp. Shit. Tears well in my eyes as I try to stand up, but in the process, I scrape my knees against the pebbles and the icy patches of snow.

I’m brushing the muck off when a force pulls me back and I slam against something hard and warm. Something moving, growling. Something that smells like sweat and chocolate.

Thomas.

He is here. I sag against his heaving chest, relief making me weak and pliable.

Thank God. Thank God. Thank God.

The tips of his fingers dig into my arm and he spins me around to face him. He is sweating. A puff of wintry breath escapes his parted lips as sweat rivers down his forehead. His gorgeous dark hair is hidden under a black hood, but a few strands fall over his forehead, framing his fire-breathing eyes.

I’m so relieved to see him that I smile—a lazy, you just-saved-my-life kind of smile. The anger in his features intensifies.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” he growls, yanking his earbuds out with his other hand. A muted melody wafts around us, the muffled sound of a beat I want to listen to, too. I want to see what kind of music does it for him.

“Layla,” he warns, his face dipping toward me, no doubt to intimidate. I’m so mellow with relief that nothing he can say or do will make me fear him.

“Thomas,” I breathe, feeling giddy and ridiculous. “You weren’t in your office so I thought—”

He shakes me, effectively cutting my speech off. “So you thought what? That you won’t get fucked tonight? Are you that hard up for it?” he bites out as if disgusted.

His disgust hurts me more than anything I could’ve ever imagined. All day I’ve been wracked with guilt and hatred for myself, and honestly, that play didn’t help either. All day I thought Thomas was the only person who’d put me at ease, who’d make me feel better.

Before I can say anything, he speaks, his harsh voice changed to a serrated whisper. “Why can’t you let me save you, Layla? Why do you make it so fucking hard?” The flash of agony and regret is so thick and bright on his face that I see his true intentions.

He wasn’t in his office because he knew I’d come. He knew I wouldn’t be able to stay away from him. He wasn’t there because he was trying to…yeah, save me. Me. No one has ever done that for me before. I’ve never been that important to anyone.

His patience seems to be stretching thin and I put my palm on his stubbled cheek. “I thought you’d left and I’d never see you again…like Caleb did.”

Something changes in Thomas. I don’t understand it, but I know it’s different than his anger just a few seconds ago. His fingers burn hot on my arm and I can feel it through my coat. I wonder what I said. His scowl matches the black sky, and I can actually hear him grinding his teeth.

He whips his hood off, messing the sweaty hair even more, and wrenches my arm, pushing my back against the tree. The bark is rough and soaked with liquid snow, and I feel the chill seeping in.

I crane my neck up to stare at his beautiful, glittery eyes. The impact of their beauty doesn’t lessen no matter how many times I look at them.

“Caleb.” He rumbles over my mouth and I grab his sweatshirt at his waist.

He kicks my feet apart with his own before invading the space between my thighs and pressing my hip against the tree. My fingers flex where I’m holding on to him, itching to get under the heavy material and touch the ridges of his abdomen.

I want his mouth on me.

Maybe he knows what I want. Maybe he can see it in my face, because he hovers close and ghosts his lips over mine. Wildness grips me and I go to snatch them up with my mouth but he moves away, leaving me panting.

He rocks against me, letting me feel his hardness. “Do you think your Caleb can do this?”

“Wh-What?” I’m dazed with arousal. I don’t want to talk about Caleb, not right now. He yanks me to his body and rubs me against his cock, groaning, controlling me like I’m his doll. His little fuck doll. I moan. Why does this arouse me so much?

“Do you think he can get hard for you, Layla?” His hot breath grazes my forehead, making my spine tingle.

“No. Not for me,” I whisper against his neck, feeling the jerky bob of his Adam’s apple as he swallows.

“Yeah? What about if you stroked it? Long and nice.” He unclutches my hand from his sweatshirt and puts it on his cock. I massage his achy hardness through his sweatpants. “Do you know how to do that? Do you know how to stroke a cock so it’s hard and painful, ready to fuck you?”

His shuddering chest crashes against my tits, until my body is mimicking his actions, shuddering in return, taking in quivering breaths. “N-No. I’ve…I’ve never done that.” I shake my head and rub my nose into his neck.

Thomas moves away then and I squeeze his shaft, trying to stop him. He clamps his jaw shut and looks at me with dangerous, passionate eyes. Now I’m scared, shivering with a good kind of fear, waiting for his next move, blinking up at him.

Without a word, he almost tears the buttons of my coat open and the cold air punches me in the chest. I gasp, losing my breath.

“Th-Thomas, it’s…it’s cold.” My teeth chatter when his hand goes under my skirt and fists my tights. “Please, I’m so cold.”

He pulls on the material and brings me closer to his body heat. “I’m reminding you.”

“About what?”

“What I said about trespassing.”

A fleeting thought touches my mind. A long ago memory of us bantering at The Alchemy on poetry night. Bad things happen to those who trespass.

“I’m sorry. I panicked. I thought you’d leave me too. I—”

“I know, like Caleb.” He pins our foreheads together. “And that’s another thing I’m going to remind you of—that I’m not Caleb.”

“Oh God, you have to stop. Please.”

A smile sits on his lips, one as cold as the winter around us. He lets go of my tights and I’m left disappointed even though I asked him to do so. Then he hooks his fingers around them and pulls them down, leaving my thighs vulnerable and bare, and I lose my breath to the chill all over again.

“Caleb wouldn’t do that, would he?” He adjusts the waistband of the useless material so that it cuts into the soft flesh just above my knees. “He’d stop if you asked him to, but who am I, Layla? What’s my name?”

“Thomas,” I answer, quivering as he circles his hot hands along the back of my thighs. My frozen insides begin to melt under his touch. The cold has no meaning, no power over me.

“Yeah.” He rumbles, as if pleased. My breaths shake with the pleasure in his voice. “I won’t stop even if you beg me to. I’ll make you strip in the cold, put you on your knees on the ground and fuck you till I fill you up. You know why, Layla?” I shake my head, hypnotized by his voice. “Because you want me to. Because that’s why you came here, scared out of your mind. You want me to fuck you in my backyard, isn’t that right? You want me to bend you over and pound into you so you scream and wake everyone up. And you know what’ll happen then?”

“Wh-What?” I shudder when his hands go to my ass and squeeze it.

“They’ll open their windows, all sleepy and irritated, ready to call the cops on whoever is making all that noise, but then they’ll see you, on your hands and knees, getting fucked, taking my cock and screaming. Your face all scrunched up. Tears streaming down your cheeks…” He pauses, groaning into my neck, getting aroused by his own story. “And they won’t be able to stop themselves. They’ll stroke their cocks to the rhythm of your moans and when you come, they’ll come in their pants. Won’t they, Layla? They’ll see you on the ground, naked and writhing, and they’ll lose it.”

I could die at the shocking words falling from his mouth. I’m so tangled up in the erotic web he’s woven that all I can do is moan. All I can feel is the imaginary eyes looking at me, looking at us, and I want to put on a show for them.

“You love that, don’t you? You love being wanted.” He’s as much gone as I am.

“Yessss,” I hiss, imagining the lewd picture he just painted with his words. He’s a wordsmith, a filthy, commanding wordsmith, and I don’t ever want him to stop.

“And what’s my name?”

“Thomas.”

I open my eyes to look at him. A half-smile blooms on his lips, making me even hornier. The elastic of the tights bites into my skin as he pushes my feet even farther apart.

“Hold up your skirt for me,” he whispers over the fluttering pulse of my neck, then licks it, sending electric waves to my core.

He is massaging my ass cheeks, infusing warmth into all parts of my body, and I don’t even think twice before doing as he instructed. I give up all control and hold my skirt, white-knuckling the checkered woolen fabric, exposing my panty-covered pussy. Thomas runs his fingers over the seam of my plain cotton underwear and I let out a moan, rubbing the back of my head against the tree.

“You’re so fucking wet.” He bites the juncture of my neck and shoulders, then soothes the sting with his tongue. “Ask to suck my cock.” Another whisper followed by another bite on the neck and a lick of his tongue. He is running his finger up and down my pussy before sliding under the fabric to play with my wet hole, but he never makes contact with my tight bud. He doesn’t give me relief.

“Come on, Layla. Beg me.”

The need in his voice supersedes the need in me, and I’ll do anything for him. I’ll forget about my own pleasure and suck his cock, just so I can feel him pulsing on my tongue.

“Please, Thomas, can I suck your cock?” His eyes squint in desire but he holds his silence. I know he wants me to beg more, and I do. “Please, I want it so bad. Please. Won’t you…Won’t you put it in my mouth?”

Thomas grits his teeth, hard—harder than I’ve ever seen him—and squeezes my ass with such force that I can’t stop the whimper from escaping.

I lick my lips. “Please, Thomas? Put your cock in my mouth.”

He lets go of my ass and shoves me down. The sting I feel as my bony knees fall to the ground isn’t a normal one. I think I cut my skin when I fell before, and now I’m going to grind that wound while sucking him off…but that’s okay. I’ll do anything for him.

“Since you asked so nicely.” His growly voice makes me wetter.

Then I forget all about my own arousal because his hard cock is before me. Thomas has shoved his pants down enough to reveal the giant…thing in my face. Fuck. Fuck. No wonder it hurt me so much last night. It’s huge, and thick and wide and…so many other things for which words haven’t been made yet.

There’s a groove in the middle of his purple head and I can rest my tongue against it if I want to. A vein snakes down the length, the skin becoming darker as it reaches the wide base. And those two balls he’s got? Wow. Are they supposed to be this huge?

I try to remember all the porn I’ve watched, all the naked cocks I’ve seen, but I can’t.

“Scared, Miss Robinson?”

I whip my eyes to his smirking mouth. Asshole. I want to give him a piece of his mind for laughing at me, but I don’t, because he’s drowning in lust. I can see it. His tensed shoulders. His panting chest. The tight grip of his fist in my hair. He needs me.

“It’s so big,” I tell him truthfully, like he doesn’t know, and I touch the knobby head with my finger. It jerks up in reaction. “I don’t think it’ll fit in my mouth.”

His hand flexes in my hair at my small voice and he drags in a deep breath. “Then we’ll keep trying until it does…” He forces my head back, straining my neck muscles, and nudges my lips with his cock.

I open my lips to suck on the tip and moan at the first taste of him—salty edged with sweet and something masculine and hard. His skin is so soft, so delicate. I’m scared of nipping it. Oh, and it’s hot, so very hot that all thoughts of winter, of the chill winds battering my chest, are gone in an instant.

I lave his head, flicking my tongue on the groove, trying the texture of it. Thomas groans over me, both his hands holding my hair prisoner now. A sudden burst of salt overtakes my tongue and I whip back.

Right. Pre-cum. Of course.

A drop sits at the crown and I let my tongue catch it.

“Fuck,” Thomas rasps.

I go back to sucking on the head, but this time I don’t stop there. I take him deeper, until he’s wedged between the roof of my mouth and my tongue.

“Shit,” Thomas curses again and I lift my eyes to him. The twin flames are roaring right now. He’s staring at me like he’s going to fuck the life out of me. I lick the underside of his cock to reward him for that look, to tell him he can do whatever he wants with me.

His stomach clenches and I reach out to touch the muscles under his hoodie, but Thomas shakes his head. “Uh-uh. Keep your skirt up. I want to see those thighs shake with the force of my thrusts.”

I lift up my forgotten skirt as Thomas pushes inside my mouth, almost leaning over me until my bare ass hits the snow-covered tree. I jump at the wintery sting. He keeps pushing in until my jaw is wide and aching, and then he begins to move. Short, grinding jabs.

Even though he’s only inside my mouth, I feel him all over, like I’m bursting at the seams, full of him, his essence.

“God, that feels…” He trails off on a grunt, moving in an erotic, horny rhythm. “Fuck, you’re good at this. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you’ve done this before.”

Despite my strong gag reflex, I’m flushed with pleasure, but it doesn’t last long. Thomas whips his cock out while keeping my jaw prisoner in his strong grasp. He is bent at the waist, looming over me. “Have you done this before, Layla? Did someone teach you?”

Teach. The word means so many things between us. If he wasn’t so serious, shooting fire from his very touch, I would’ve laughed at his question.

But I shake my head—or try to, since he’s holding it still. “No. Never.”

You’re my only teacher.

I’m not bold enough yet to say it, but it’s implied. I lick my wet lips, surprised to find a glob of saliva sticking to my lower lip, and blink up at him. The pressure of his hold on my jaw and my hair increases, making me whine, “Thomas, it hurts.”

It doesn’t, not really, and even if it did, I wouldn’t mind. I only say it to make him go crazy. Mission accomplished.

His demeanor becomes even harder as he straightens and stabs his cock back inside. He goes in even farther than the last time until I start coughing with the invasion. He retreats immediately, letting me gulp in air. Once my breathing is stabilized, he repeats his actions, punctuating my breaths with coughs.

“This is what happens, Layla.” His speech is both slurred and cutting at the same time. “This is what happens when you do something I specifically told you not to. This is what happens when you strut in here in your short skirt and purple fucking coat and give me those big, violet eyes.”

He is panting, keeping up the punishing pace that feels anything but punishing. It feels…intimate, out of control, desperate, and I love it. Every inch of my body loves it. My thighs shake as he predicted they would. My breasts dangle heavy and full, and my tattoo burns bright on my stomach.

“You make me do this.” He rolls his hips, making my eyes water with the pressure. “You make me abuse your mouth.”

The way his voice breaks at the end makes me moan, and I caress his cock with my tongue. With a curse that echoes right down to my bones, he wrenches my mouth away and comes on my chin and throat. His cum splatters on my face in thick drops, sliding down, some soiling the neck of my white sweater and some reaching my chest.

Over me, Thomas props one hand on the tree, the other stroking his still-jerking arousal. His head is bowed and his eyes scrunched shut. If I didn’t know any better and if I hadn’t sucked him to completion, I’d think he was in pain. But no—this is the aftermath of his lust for me, agonizing and glorious.

Thomas focuses on me. “Goodbyes aren’t my forte, but I won’t leave you like a coward either.”

CHAPTER TWENTY

Thomas’ words rattle inside my brain, and it takes me a moment to get it. When his meaning settles over me, I sag with relief and swell with tenderness. He is giving me a non-promise promise that he won’t leave me like Caleb did, not without telling me first.

I let go of my skirt and rub his cum over my neck and chin in circles, hoping to get him under my skin. I lick a few drops clinging to my mouth. It tastes like the best kind of chocolate, salted and thick.

His lips part on a harsh breath and he yanks me up by the arm, at the same time pulling his pants up. I squeak at the sudden pain in my knee as the pressure of kneeling lifts off.

“What’s wrong?” Thomas asks with a frown. “Did I…Did I hurt you?”

His concern for me eases the pain. “No. It’s just… I think I busted my knee when I fell earlier. It’s nothing.”

Before I can finish, Thomas is the one on his knees, examining my injury. He lowers my tights even farther and inspects my knees—they’re bleeding. He curses and unzips my right boot.

“What are you doing?” I brace myself on his shoulders as he lifts my leg and takes the boot off. The ground is freezing—like, literally freezing—and it makes me shiver. I feel like a bleeding Cinderella who just sucked off her dirty Prince Charming, and now, instead of fitting my boots on my feet, he’s taking them off.

“You can’t go home like this,” he replies while working on my other boot. “You need to be cleaned and bandaged.” After my boots are off, he strips off my leg warmers followed by my tights, until my lower half is exposed to the chilled air. He stands. “Come on, I’ve got a first aid kit.”

Like the weather, I freeze at his words. They punch me awake, dispersing the insanity. My actions become crystal clear, as if I hadn’t committed them myself. I sucked him off in his backyard, right in front of the window I watched him and his wife through.

God, I’m such a slut, and even Thomas’ presence can’t ease the guilt right now.

“Layla.”

I focus on him, the languidness of his frame, the flecks of arousal still coloring his cheeks. “I can’t…I can’t go in there.”

He is silent, like he understands why, like he sees the craziness of what we’ve just done. We can’t break all the rules. I can’t break all the rules of being The Other Woman and step foot in his house.

He runs his eyes over my legs and pauses a beat on my stomach, as if seeing my tattoo through the sweater.

“I made you bleed, so I’m the one who has to clean you up.” He says it like a punishment, but it still manages to sprout butterflies in my cartwheeling stomach. With that, he turns around and begins walking to the back of his house, carrying my tights, boots, and leg warmers.

I stand immobile for a fraction of a second before righting my coat and taking off after him. Thomas is at the door, waiting for me to catch up. He unlocks it and stands aside to let me in first. Entering his house through the back door makes the whole situation even more illicit. It feels like we’re breaking in. His shoulders are tensed as if he realizes the same thing as me. We’re like thieves in the night, trespassing together.

The stove light is on and the fridge makes a dull whirring noise. It’s a typical sound of a typical kitchen, but I’m in awe—because it’s Thomas’ house, and I’m in it.

Thomas stands still at the island, not for a long time, but long enough that I notice and wonder. Why does he look lost in his own house?

He comes out of his trance then, and tosses his phone, wallet, and keys on the marble island. “Take a seat. I’m going to get the first aid kit.”

I hear him walk down what must be the hallway and I use my time to absorb everything about the place. There’s a coffee machine right by the door with a stand for mugs. He’s got an NYU mug hanging at the top and I touch the cold ceramic, missing the city with an ache. Thomas went to NYU when I must’ve been eight or nine. He lived in the same city as me. It floors me to think we might have crossed paths, the poet in the making and me. Soul mates. Maybe I saw him through the crowd but never took notice.

His house has an open floor plan and the living and dining rooms are both visible from the kitchen, lit by tiny nightlights. I trace the leather couch with my hands, the couch he sits on at night while grading papers.

To the left are the stairs and the hallway down which Thomas disappeared. I can hear him rattling things in the bathroom. I pad down the hardwood floor, my bare feet hardly making a sound. I stop at a room with a half-open door. It issues an unspoken invitation for a trespasser like me.

Swallowing, I open it wider to reveal a room full of boxes and a sprawling desk, illuminated only by the moonlight streaming through the window. I trace my palm over the surface of the wood and feel the scratches, the rough texture of it. This is a desk with history, with a certain character to it. It’s unlike the glossy, polished surface of the desk in his office. I like this one better.

The top is empty except for a dusty small lamp. Not even a pen resides. I wonder if it’s his organizational skills at work or something more. It feels like more.

I glance at the boxes, the whole mountain of them by the wall. They are labeled Old, NYU, Poetry, Literary, and so on. I stop at the one labeled Anesthesia. It’s taped up. I want to tear it open and see what’s inside. What are the chances of him noticing if I steal something from here?

“Don’t even think about it.”

Jumping, I whirl around. “Think about what?”

Thomas switches on the light on the desk, throwing the room into stark relief. The yellow light is the same as his office, reminding me of our fucking in the shadows. I press my hand on my stomach where I feel something moving.

“Taking my things without permission.”

“I wouldn’t,” I scoff. “I was just looking around.”

“Strangely, I’m not surprised.” His tone is dry. “Sit.” He points to the desk, and that’s when I notice he’s carrying a first aid box.

I walk over and shimmy my ass onto the surface. He watches my every move, making me very aware of my own body, especially my bare thighs and calves.

He sits at the chair, which creaks under his weight, and a shot of arousal runs through my core. If I get any wetter, I’ll leave prints on his desk, and this isn’t the time. I’m trying to be good, respectful.

Lusting after Thomas in his own home is wrong, more wrong than anything we’ve done till now. Isn’t a house supposed to be a safe place? And I’m invading that safe place with my sullied, ruined presence.

Thomas puts his hand on my right knee and it jerks. It isn’t even a sensual touch. There’s a no-nonsense, clinical quality to it as he puts my foot on his thigh. He does the same with my other leg, barely touching me, barely lingering on the skin, but I feel it all the same.

The silence is thick, thicker than the delicious muscles of his thighs that I want to rub against—but I won’t. I might be a slut, but even I have limits. Not here. Not here. Not here.

He reaches over and fishes bandages and other stuff out of the box with tight, jerky movements. I have a feeling that, like me, he’s holding on to his control by a thread.

“Uh, did you always want to be a poet?” My voice is squeaky, but I need to fill this stupid quiet.

He doesn’t answer for a while, dabbing alcohol onto a ball of cotton and then putting it on my wound without warning, making me wince and curse. He watches me through his lashes before focusing on my trembling thighs.

“I’m not good with words,” he says, startling me. “Or rather, talking. When I was a kid, I’d go days without talking to anyone at school, buried in textbooks, comics, and stuff. Sometimes I felt like I had a lot to say but didn’t know how.” He pauses to clean the wound on my other knee. This time I’m prepared so I don’t jump too much. “Then I found my dad’s journals, his poems, and I knew.”

“Knew what?” My hands are holding on to the edge of the desk. It’s my way of stopping them from sinking into his gorgeous hair.

“That this was the way for me to talk.”

“Your dad was a poet too?”

“Not a real one.” I’m confused at his meaning and he explains, “He never published anything.”

“Oh,” I offer lamely. His definition of a “real” poet doesn’t sit well with me, but what do I know? I’m not even a fake poet. “He must be super proud of you, then.”

“He’s dead.” He finishes bandaging my other knee. “Besides, I’m not a poet anymore.”

Before I can ask what he means by that, he asks a question of his own. “So did you always want to be a stalker?”

His fire-breathing eyes…they are smiling, slightly. I should be offended that he’s laughing at me, but I’m not. In fact, I genuinely think about it. “Well, I guess, yeah. It was kind of inevitable. I’ve always been invisible to everyone, to my mom, my dad. I don’t even know if he remembers me.” I shrug. “And to…Caleb. I always watched them through the shadows. So, yeah, it made perfect sense for me to become a crazy stalker.”

By the time I finish my explanation, Thomas has a permanent tic in his jaw like a livewire crackling with dangerous electricity. I think about the cause for it. Is it because I mentioned Caleb again? I tamp down a delicious shiver at how he convinced me that he is different than him.

“Thomas?”

His name called out in an unfamiliar, a feminine voice chills me more than the winter ever can.

Is it…Is it Hadley? Is she here? How could Thomas do this to me? Bring me in his house when his wife was here all along?

Thomas stands up. The creak of the chair sounds more like a death knell this time.

How could he do this to us, my heart cries.

“Susan, this is Layla.”

For a second, I sit there. It’s Susan. Not Hadley. Susan.

Oh God, who’s Susan?

I jump down from my perch like someone injected me with a shot of adrenaline. Susan is an old but beautiful woman with the face of what I imagine a warm grandmother would have. My grandparents—too many of them—have faces carved out of Botox.

“H-Hi.” I move away from Thomas and stand to the side, hands primly folded in front of me.

“Hello.” She is confused. She looks from him to me and then back again. “Is everything okay?”

We weren’t doing anything. I wasn’t even touching him.

“Yes.” Thomas’ face is blank. “I’m going to take her home now. Is Nicky still sleeping?”

“He is. I just woke up to get a glass of water.”

“Okay. I’ll see you in a bit then.” Without looking at me, Thomas issues his command, “Come on.”

I give Susan a tremulous smile, which she returns, and follow Thomas. I feel her stare on my back and I don’t know if it’s my newfound paranoia or if she really knows something is going on. I collect my clothes from the island and Thomas drives me home.

The ride is silent and tense. I don’t know what happened. I’m freaking out, breaking into a sweat and slathering his leather seats.

When he stops the car in front of my tower, I turn to him. “I’m sorry. For…For showing up the way I did.”

He stares ahead, his fingers flexing on the steering wheel. “You should be.”

“It won’t happen again. Ever,” I tell him. “Will… Is Susan—”

“You don’t have to worry about Susan.” He looks at me, and something in his eyes puts me at an uneasy sort of ease. She won’t tell, but she’ll know, and that’s even worse. Silent reprimand. How does she know, though? Could she tell just by looking at us? Are we that transparent in our lust for each other?

Thomas is waiting for me to get out, but I can’t go. Not yet. “What did you mean when you said you aren’t a poet anymore?”

His sigh is sharp and long. “Nothing. I didn’t mean anything. Now, go home.”

“Last night you told me you forgot about her, because…because you were too busy with your words.” A dreadful feeling makes a home in my chest as I put all the pieces together. “Are you… Did you quit? Is that why you came here?”

How is that even possible? How can he quit writing? How can anyone?

“Get out.”

But I don’t budge. “Thomas, that’s ridiculous. I mean, you’re too good to quit. You love this stuff. And how can you even do that? How can you un-become a poet?”

Thomas turns to me, his face stark and white within the tinted windows of his car. “Get the fuck out.”

I should be offended. I should be. Really. There are many things about him that should offend me. He is rude and mean and made of thorny, jagged edges, but I’m crazy enough to see what he doesn’t show me—his raw and unpolished pain.

“Thomas—”

“Just…go, Layla. Just go. Leave. I… It fucking hurts me to hurt you, but I’ll do it. I’ll keep doing it because that’s just who I am, so you need to cut your losses and move on.”

Like Hadley, I add silently. The love of his life, for whom he’s given up the very thing that defines him—his words.

Right here, in the confines of his car, I hear my innocence shatter. Whatever I’ve believed in is gone. Apparently, love isn’t enough.

And right here, I decide I’ll never leave Thomas. I’ll never abandon him like his wife did.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

I’m being sneaky this morning. I told Emma I had an early appointment with a made-up professor. She didn’t question it because, well, she is out of it these days. I’m waiting for Dylan outside our poetry class. I called him a while ago and asked him to meet me here. He’s already late, and we only have just about thirty minutes before class starts.

The sound of hurried footsteps alerts me to Dylan’s arrival. He is cold and panting and clutching a mug of hot coffee as he comes closer. “Hey, sorry. I got a little held up.”

I stare at the mug and strangely, I don’t have any urge to steal a sip from him. Thomas is the only person I want to steal things from now.

“So what’s up? You said it was something important?” Dylan asks.

“Yes. Why are you being so stupid?”

His brows draw together. “What? What are you talking about?”

“I’m talking about how you’re being stupid with Emma.” I fold my hands and lean on the wall. “Why are you guys still fighting?”

“I’m not fighting with her.”

“Really? Then why’s Emma always moping? And how come you don’t come around?”

It’s been a week of fighting between them and Dylan hasn’t shown up at the apartment. It’s always Matt, and he always steals all my Twizzlers—which is so not good—but mostly, I’m worried about Emma. I’m worried that something that isn’t either of their fault is causing a rift between them. It’s really silly to fight over something her mom did such a long time ago.

“I think you guys are being really stupid and dramatic,” I add, without giving Dylan a chance to talk. “I mean, you guys love each other. Do you know how rare that is? Why can’t you get over it?”

Dear God, I could slap him silly for squandering away something so precious.

“Hey, I’m fine with it, okay? I’m fine with patching things up, but she’s being unreasonable. I even apologized about the whole mom thing, and what does she do? She agrees to go to Florida with Matt for spring break.”

“What?”

“You didn’t know about that?” I shake my head, stunned. “Well, apparently Matt and Emma are going to Florida for a few days to chill out, all because we had a stupid fight. If she wants to make me jealous, she can go ahead and do that.”

“But that doesn’t sound like her. That does not sound like her at all.”

He shakes his head. “I don’t even care. It’s just too much hassle to begin with. We never should’ve started going out.”

I stand up straight and widen my eyes at him. “What? No! You guys are great together. And you love her. And she loves you. There’s obviously more to the story.”

Dylan goes quiet and stares at me. It’s weird, the way he’s looking. He’s gone all shy and awkward as he runs a hand over the back of his neck. “Your eyes are…huge.”

“Huh?”

“I mean, they are…they are beautiful.”

“O-kay. Dylan—”

“I had a crush on you last semester. I mean, I liked you. Crush sounds so juvenile.” He throws out a nervous laugh and somehow comes even closer to me.

“Dylan, that’s just—”

“I always thought you were beautiful, and well, when I saw you in Professor Abrams’ class, I-I wanted to ask you out…”

He trails off and bends his head toward me. I know what’s coming. I know he’s going to kiss me before he even puts his mouth on my lips. He smells of coffee and cold, and his lips are soft, and maybe a little bit dry.

I am frozen under him. It’s not fear—I know he won’t hurt me—it’s something else. Maybe shock? I’m stunned at his actions, but as he slips his tongue out to trace the seams of my lips, I jerk back.

He is hurt—it’s there in his eyes—and slightly ashamed, not because I didn’t reciprocate, but because of his fight with Emma. He is jealous and he wants some control back. God, men are so simple.

Before I can tell him my conclusions, I feel someone staring at us. Dylan feels it too, and he moves out of the way and turns around. It’s Thomas. His gaze is pinned on me and his jaw is locked shut.

It’s obvious he saw the kiss. Shit. I move away from Dylan because nothing happened between us. I want to go to Thomas and tell him it didn’t mean anything. I even take a step forward, but then I remember where we are—and more importantly, who we are to each other.

I can’t run across the space and jump into his arms. I’m afraid to even smile at him. My lips might spill our secret. It hits me how we can’t do the little things that normal couples do. We are not even a couple.

“Hey, Professor,” Dylan greets, nervously.

Thomas barely spares him a glance as he begins walking toward us. What is he doing? I swallow a thick knot at his hardened expression, his determined strides. My legs move of their own accord and take a couple of steps back.

He pauses in front of me. His eyes are so blue, so flaming. I can’t stand it. I open my mouth to say something—anything is better than this aggressive silence—but Thomas cuts me off. “Excuse me.”

I blink up at him. “What?”

He studies me for the length of four beats. “You’re in my way.”

I lick my lips and his eyes flare, become even bluer, if possible. An answering tug in my belly makes me want to arch up to him—and that’s exactly the kind of thing I cannot do. It serves as a wake-up call and I look around. I am, indeed, in his way. I’m blocking the door.

“Sorry,” I say, looking up at him.

As soon as I move aside, he passes me and enters the room.

The class goes by quickly. We discuss Satyr by a seventeenth-century poet, John Wilmot. According to him, men are beasts and society civilizes those beasts. So fuck society. Fuck rationality. Do whatever you want to do. Don’t judge your impulses, just act on them. I’d believe him if it weren’t for the fact that he had a steady stream of mistresses and that he died of an STD.

Thomas never looks at me once. He appears normal, no signs of anger or anything, as if the scene from earlier didn’t happen. Am I the one making a big deal out of it? Maybe he didn’t mind. Maybe it didn’t even register on his radar. I should be happy about this because it was, in fact, nothing, but I am not. I am the opposite of happy right now. I am… I can’t tell what I am, but it’s not good.

When the class is done, I decide to talk to Thomas about it, but I don’t get the chance. A couple of girls—whose names I don’t even know—surround him, asking questions. Usually, Thomas is reserved. He never encourages discussion, dashing out of class before anyone gets the chance to ask him anything, but today he is lingering, answering all their questions with patience. He is smiling at them, nodding and talking. He never does that. Never.

It’s making me feel worse by the second. I have too much useless, restless energy inside me. It’s making me horny. It’s making me crazy. I just want him to look at me once. Just once.

When I can’t take it anymore, I jerk out of my seat and dash out of there. I run across campus to my next class. I sit beside the window, looking out at the snowy courtyard. The serenity of it all is making everything worse. Why isn’t the world exploding with me? I know I should channel all this frustration into something productive, like writing. But fuck writing. Fuck everything.

Why wouldn’t he look at me? Why would he talk to those girls? Why didn’t that meaningless kiss affect him?

I stand up and my chair screeches loudly. The professor halts midsentence. People are staring at me, but for once, I don’t care. I collect my things and address the professor, hastily saying, “I, uh, I’m not feeling well so I’m gonna leave.”

I don’t wait for his reply as I bound down the stairs of the lecture hall and run out of there. Ten minutes later, I’m inside the Labyrinth, dodging the crowd that always lingers in the corridors as if the classes are too small to fit this many people. A flash later, I’m standing in front of his office, my hand on the knob. I open the door and find Thomas in his chair, his head bent over some papers.

I close the door behind me, shutting out the noises, or at least dulling them. His attention usually makes me calmer. It soothes something inside of me, the animal that growls when he isn’t around.

But I’m not calming down today.

“It didn’t mean anything,” I say without any preamble. “The kiss. Dylan was just angry and…well, he kissed me, but I moved away.”

Apart from putting his pen down, he remains silent, but something lurks on his face, a softening of his features. I can’t explain what it means. My mind is clouded. Thomas stands up and rounds the desk, but he doesn’t approach me.

“You’re mad, right? You’re mad because he touched me, aren’t you? You have to be. You have to be angry and…and jealous, because I’m angry. I’m so fucking angry that I can’t think straight.” I come to stand before him. His smell invades my lungs and I shiver. “You never talk to students. You are never nice to them. So why were you being nice to those…girls? I don’t even know their names but I hate them.”

“Melanie,” he says in a gravelly voice.

“What?”

“That’s one of the girls’ name.”

“It’s a stupid name.”

“You don’t like it?” His lips bloom into a mocking, lopsided smirk.

“No. I hate it. And I hate you right now.”

His eyebrows arch and I move even closer. The tips of our boots are touching. He’s wearing the same boots from that night long ago, a lifetime ago when I thought I had a crush on him and when I thought he was a man who had everything.

It was a foolish thought. I never had a crush, and Thomas might be the poorest man alive. What I feel for him is indefinable, and I have no desire to think about it right now.

“Then what name would you like me to say?”

“Mine. Say my name.”

I shudder thinking about yesterday when he forced me to remember his name as I sucked him off. Oh God, his cock. His taste. The length of it, the weight. I could write poems about it, and I’m not even a legit poet yet. And his words. My cunt is still wet from his filthy poetry, as if my lust never went to sleep.

In fact, it has evolved into something stronger, angrier.

My fingers fist his shirt and I jerk him closer to me. “I’m hungry.”

He watches me with hooded eyes. “Is that right?”

I hook my leg over his waist, going up on my tiptoes, and pout, “Yes. Starving. And I want to eat your cock. I promise to not use my teeth.”

I wonder when I became so bold as to say such things. I wasn’t so courageous last night. I wasn’t this courageous even a minute ago. Maybe it’s him. Maybe it’s this achy feeling inside me.

His swollen flesh jerks between our bodies. “Why should I let you do that? What’s in it for me?”

I want to slap him. Stomp on his foot. Shake him.

Can’t he see how mad I am right now? How fucking jealous? I’m out of control, but now I know what game to play, what game will make him lose his mind.

I tuck my face between his shoulder and neck, and toy with the top button of his shirt. “Because I’m gonna make it good for you.”

“Yeah? How are you gonna do that?” His lazy, indulgent voice is making me see double right now. The lust is so thick and potent in my veins.

I become a poet in this moment and describe my filthy thoughts in detail, in my tiny voice—the voice he likes so much.

“I’ll give it a lick first. There’s this…this groove in the middle. I’m going to pay special attention to that, and then I’ll nibble on it so that white stuff? You know the stuff that’s salty and slippery? Your pre-cum? It’ll ooze out, and then I’m gonna lick that up too. Then I’m gonna suck and suck until I get my prize at the end, and then I’m gonna swallow all of it.”

Our breaths have escalated. His fingers on my ass flex and knead and run in circles. Every time they lift up more of my skirt. I wish I weren’t wearing my tights. I wish I were naked underneath.

Christ, what’s wrong with me?

It’s the middle of the day. This building is alive. There’s a tap, tap, tap of computers. The ringing of a phone somewhere. Footsteps. All of this should make me want to stop and turn back, but it just makes me even hornier. The fact that people around us are unaware of the depravity inside these four walls makes it even more appealing.

His face is harsh, nostrils flaring. Maybe the same things are running through his head as he growls, “If this is your way of driving me crazy, then you better make it good, Layla. Because my cock is hungry too, and it won’t be full until it feeds on your pussy and eats out all your cum.”

I want to smile with victory but I’m busy being super turned on. I move away from him and watch his body go lax, as if he’s surrendering himself to me. It’s such a surreal moment that I feel dizzy, with power, with lust.

He knows what I want.

He can see how hard up I am for his cock and in a very, very surprising move, he is giving it to me, letting me be in control.

I push him back and he goes easily. I keep going until he drops into his chair, making it squeak like crazy. I almost moan out loud. I crouch on my feet, careful about my banged up knee, and tuck myself under the desk. It’s enclosed on three sides, turning it into a dark, erotically claustrophobic space.

I rest my palms on Thomas’ thighs, bringing him closer to me. His muscles strain under my fingers and I can’t stop myself from tracing the hard patterns with my hands. Up and down. Up and down. His muscles grow tighter by the second. The bulge of his cock is thicker.

In this moment, my hands mold him. I’m the sculptor who creates him.

I manage to open his belt, followed by the zipper. He maneuvers himself and helps me take out his cock. He hisses as I run my hands all over it. I answer him with a long sigh.

Last night, he took my virgin mouth and abused it, but today, I use it against him. Today my mouth is greedier, hornier, a seductive beast of teeth and tongue that sucks him and sucks him like my life depends on it.

The veins in his forearms are ready to jump through his skin with the need to touch me, yet he doesn’t move his hands from the armrest. My body feels heavy with the power. I yank off my coat and top and expose my tits.

Thomas almost jumps off the chair at my actions. The creak of it hits my cunt, making it pant with need. He’s mesmerized by my body, hypnotized by it, and I put on a show for him. I play with my nipples and he curses, says my name in a helpless moan.

A rush of power douses me and the world loses its meaning. I don’t care about anything but sucking his cock forever. I never want to stop, not for anything.

Not even for the jarring knock at his door.

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

Thomas rips my mouth away from his shaft and sits upright. There’s a click and I realize I forgot to lock the door. Shit.

“Thomas,” a man says.

“Jake.” His voice is tight, tighter than usual, but nothing that would suggest there’s a student hiding under his desk. I put a fist over my mouth to muffle the sounds of my breathing. As if Thomas knows I’m hyperventilating, he puts a reassuring hand on my head.

Electric current runs through my spine as he keeps talking, while maintaining contact with me at the same time. “What do you want?”

“Whoa, is that how you talk to your boss?”

Thomas caresses my hair, petting me as he takes a deep breath and replies, “What do you want, Jake? I’m a little busy right now.”

“Really? Too busy for a coffee run?” There’s suspicion in his voice.

God, I’m terrified and so fucking turned on at the same time. His wet, hard cock is right in front of my eyes, and I want to touch it so bad.

“Aren’t you gonna die without your chocolate fix?” Professor Masters continues.

Biting my lip, I eye the angry head of his dick, glistening with my saliva. What would Thomas do if I licked it right now? Sucked it? Would he be mad for making him lose control in front of a colleague, his boss? Or would he be as turned on as me?

As I advance toward him, I realize I don’t care. I just want to suck his cock. I’m hungry. I need it in my mouth, and if he loses control, then so be it. He makes me feel out of control pretty much all the time.

“I think I’ll survive,” Thomas says. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got papers to grade.”

“Why the fuck are you sweating?”

I latch on to his shaft just as Professor Master’s suspicion-laced question reaches Thomas. A creak sounds as he jumps under the double assault caused by me and the inquiry, his hand fisting my hair.

“Are you okay?”

“Y-Yeah.” Thomas clears his throat and tightens his fist in my hair to the point that it hurts, and I take it out on his throbbing cock. “I’m a little tense, that’s all.”

“Why?”

“Upcoming audit,” he clips. I suck and suck and play with his balls. I feel them tightening in my hands to alert of the impending orgasm. Even though it’s my mouth that’s going to receive his cum, my pussy is getting excited, pushing out juices.

Professor Masters says something to soothe Thomas’ fake worries and Thomas tells him he’ll be fine in a while. They talk some more but I tune them out except for Thomas’ voice. Lust is leaching into it, making it brittle, breakable.

I’ve never been this horny in my life. Graphic images of Thomas spraying his cum on my face flash through my mind, images of him losing total control and yanking me out from under the desk, and fucking me in front of Professor Masters and the whole goddamn world like he talked about last night. I trap a furious moan in my throat. I picture his ass flexing as he drives into me and I look every single person in the eye, especially that Melanie, and tell her how good his dick feels inside me. He hurts me so good. Sooo good. I’m such a slut for his cock.

It’s strange that my jealousy doesn’t extend to his wife. Maybe because I’ve always known that Thomas is hers, but seeing him with someone else messes with my crazy heart.

I’m the only other woman in his life.

And then my heart jumps in my throat and all thoughts are forgotten. Thomas pulls me by the hair and I’m yanked out of the dark hole I’ve been in. Panic and excitement grip me in equal measures as he turns me around and pushes me on the desk, crushing my bare tits on the surface. Professor Masters is gone. The door is closed. When did that happen?

“Stay there,” he orders. I see him striding across the room and locking the door. Then he is behind me in a flash, his hand in my hair as he pulls me away from the desk.

“You like playing games, Layla?” he hisses in my ear, his chest moving against my arched back. “You like making me mad, huh?”

His voice makes my nipples throb and I have no choice but to squeeze my breasts as I answer, “I just…I just wanted to show you how I feel around you.”

“And what’s that?”

“L-Like a loaded gun. Like I could go off at any second. I just wanted you to know what it feels like to be so wild.”

His bitter laugh stirs my hair. “Wild like this?” He thrusts his cock into my skirt-covered ass, letting me feel his swollen desire. His hands cover mine where I’m squeezing my breasts and smash them together. “Or like this? Like you can’t stop playing with your tits for one fucking second? You think this is what wild feels like?” He is crushing them and I arch up to my tiptoes to get closer to him. Always closer. I want to fucking crawl under his skin.

“You have no fucking idea, do you?” he says harshly. “I’m gonna show you though. I’m going to show you what it feels like to be wild, what it feels like when you are around me.”

A sob breaks free when he plasters me back on the desk. He flips my skirt up and pushes my tights and my panties down, exposing my ass. My cheeks are trembling with anticipation when he puts both his hands on them, and squeezes them like he did my breasts. I turn my face to the side so I can see him.

He is bathed in sweat. It trickles down his forehead, the side of his face, and disappears down the collar of his shirt. Even his eyelashes shine with the salty fluids. They look so thick and black framing his downcast eyes.

I release a puff of breath as he grabs a handful of my ass cheeks and pull them apart. My eyes scrunch closed, imagining what he must be looking at: my pussy and my…asshole. I go on tiptoes again, this time inching away from him as he circles a thumb on that forbidden place. It clenches and unclenches with his every stroke.

His chuckle is dark, shiver-inducing. “Is that what you want? You want me to fuck you in the ass right now? Is that why you’re winking your tight little hole at me?”

I whimper when he presses his thumb, poised to get in. “Answer me, Layla. Is that what you want right now?”

“No,” I whisper. “I don’t…I don’t know. It’s…It’s going to hurt.”

“Yeah. It will.” He leans over me. “But tell you what, I won’t spoil the fun for you. I won’t take your ass right now. One day when you’re so mindless with my cock pounding into your pussy that you don’t know up from down, I’ll shove it in your tight little hole, making you scream.” I’m quaking beneath him, hypnotized by his voice, by him.

“Remember when I told you I’ll set you on fire and won’t even look back?” He strokes my sweaty hair and whispers in my ear, “That’s how I’ll do it, while fucking your ass. I’ll pour the gasoline, light the match, and watch you burn, Layla—and trust me, you’re going to love it. I’m going to ruin you for every other man out there and you’re going to love every second of it.”

God. God. I think I’m dead. I’m in heaven and hell. In another stratosphere. I’m everywhere. He has shattered me with his dark promises, broken me, and I don’t think I’ll ever be pieced back together.

“Not today though.” He moves away, one hand on the nape of my neck, keeping me down. “No. Today I’m going to show you something else. Today I’m going to show you how I burn.”

With that, he shoves his cock in me and I bite my lip to keep from screaming. He isn’t gentle. He doesn’t give me time to adjust to his size. He is hurting me—my pussy is going to be sore for a long time—but nothing matters when his hips are slapping my ass with every stab of his cock, when he is grunting over me, probably sweating and panting. I wish I could open my eyes and look at him, but the hurt is so good.

Winding his hand in my hair, he jerks me upright, changing the angle of his thrusts. He is pressing against the upper wall of my cunt, making me feel him in my stomach. The force of his hold is so tight, so mighty that my neck is arched up and I’m looking at his fierce face upside down, my chin tucked under his.

“I feel like I’m sick, Layla. Burning up. Sweating. Like every cell in my body is vibrating.” His teeth are gritted, his words infused with his lust and exertion. “It starts in my gut. Then it travels up to my chest and shoulders, and I feel a raging pain in the back of my skull. That’s when I know I’m going to catch fire any second if I don’t get it under control, if I don’t stop thinking about you.”

The pressure in my stomach is unrelenting. It feels like I’m going to burst or pee or something. “Th-Thomas. Too much. It’s…” I trail off with watering eyes.

“Not enough. It’s not enough.” He jams his cock inside, probably touching my insane heart, and rotates his hips. It’s a good thing his other hand goes to cover my mouth because I can’t keep the scream inside this time. Neither can I keep my tears held up. They stream down, wetting his palm.

His nostrils flare at the sight but he doesn’t stop. God, he does not stop. He keeps going, keeps jackhammering, and I…

“You love it. Yeah?” he rasps, completing my thought. “Maybe that’s why you forgot to lock the door the first time around. Maybe you wanted to get caught, wanted people to see how much you love my cock. Isn’t that right? You want everyone to see you like this.”

I blink in agreement. That’s all I’ve got the strength for. He lets go of my hair with a grunt and drops his forehead in the crook of my neck. His strokes are erratic now, like he’s inching closer to his climax.

Now that my neck isn’t stretched tight, I can take full breaths. My fingers sink into his hair. It’s peaceful like this. His violence, his aggression put me at ease. I never want to leave his arms, this room. I want to be with him forever.

My eyes jerk open at the thought. No. Not forever. This is not forever.

“Rub your clit. I want you to get yourself off.”

All thoughts evaporate at his commanding voice and I do as he says. I flick my clit and play with my puffy nipples.

“This is what I think about,” he bites. “It doesn’t even matter if you’re around. This. Bursting every door down so I can get to your pussy. All I can think about is fucking you, Layla. All the time. Every time. You’re in my fucking blood, and I’ll tear apart anyone who dares to fucking touch you.”

That’s when I come. My body strains, goes rigid as I come at his confession—a confession that seems to be torn out of his very soul. It sharpens my orgasm, makes it that much more painful and fulfilling.

I feel him come inside me. It’s only then I realize he’s wearing a condom. I was so gone in my lust that I didn’t even know when he put it on. His climax is a silent one, probably because he said too much before.

He lets me go and strokes my sweaty spine in soothing circles. His touch finally calms me, and I smile a sleepy smile.

Thomas was jealous. It did affect him.

I don’t remember having been this happy for a long, long time.

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

Words are powerful. Words are fucking magnificent. I love all things words.

I’m flying today with Lana’s voice in my ears, all because Thomas gave me the words. You’re in my fucking blood, and I’ll tear apart anyone who dares to fucking touch you.

I never knew something as potent and ugly as jealousy could invoke such happy emotions in me. I could kiss Dylan again just to feel Thomas’ aggression. It makes me wonder if everyone is like that, if it’s normal to feel this way, to be so needy for something.

I open the door to my apartment and all thoughts about kissing Dylan vanish when I see Emma crying on the couch. I rush to her side. “What’s wrong?”

She sniffs. “Dylan and I broke up.”

“What?” I give her a side hug. “B-But why?” Is it because he kissed me? I want to add, but I can’t, because it’s going to hurt her—and what if she blames me?

“Because he’s being a jerk.”

“What happened? What…What did he do?” I pat her back in circles. Any second now, she’ll knock my hand off and break up this friendship.

“He accused me of cheating.” She scrunches up her face. “As if I’d ever do such a thing. I’m not a slut.”

“With Matt?”

“How do you know that?” Emma is suspicious.

Shit. My big mouth. I don’t know if I should tell her what happened this morning, how I lied to her so I could meet Dylan and then he fucking kissed me. That idiot. I’m lying to her so much as it is, or rather not telling. I’m like your mom—well, I’m the female version of the man who wrecked your family. Now, can we be BFFs?

I look at Emma’s tear-stained face and think of all the troubles she’s been having these past few days. Whose fault is that? Theirs for fighting over something that happened in the past? Or her mom’s for doing something terrible years ago? Or is it mine? Did I do a wrong thing by getting them together? But they loved each other. It was so obvious. If you love someone, you should be with them, end of story.

God, things don’t make sense anymore. I can’t tell what’s right or wrong. Is love even worth all this trouble?

I decide I can’t lie to Emma more than necessary. She’s my friend. “Uh, I…well, I know that because—”

“I know he kissed you,” she informs me.

I tense up. My heart is pounding like a jackhammer. Please, don’t let her blame me. Everyone always blames me.

“I’m sorry, okay? It was stupid. It didn’t mean anything. He barely touched me. Just…” My voice is shrill with panic. “You have to believe me. It was nothing.”

“Hey, Layla, of course I believe you.” Emma is the one calming me down, patting my back. “Why wouldn’t I? I know you would never do such a thing, move in on my man or whatever, so relax.”

Her words are reassuring, but my heart is still racing as if it doesn’t understand what the fuck is happening. “You do?”

She throws out a sad laugh. “Yeah. It’s his fault that he kissed you, his, not yours—and to throw that in my face because he thinks I am cheating on him with Matt?” She shakes her head. “It feels like I don’t even know him anymore.”

“It was stupid, Emma. I think he was just jealous. Please don’t break up because of it.” I’m ashamed that not ten minutes ago I was floating around on a high that jealousy caused. I can’t see her like this. I can’t take any more heartbreak.

Why can’t people just get along? my heart whines.

Tears start flowing anew as Emma whispers, “I mean, I always knew he had a crush on you, so maybe I was stupid to get together with him in the first place.”

“No. You weren’t stupid. There is nothing stupid about loving someone.” I grip her hands. “There has to be a way for you guys to work this out. This can’t be the end.”

“I don’t want to.” She shrugs. “I’ve been thinking these past few days and I think maybe, it’s okay to not get what you want. Yeah, I loved him, or I thought I did, but getting together with him was not better. I thought it would be, but I think we were closer to each other as friends. We shouldn’t look for love stories where there are none to be found.”

I have a new shadow. Her name is Sarah Turner. She follows me everywhere.

One day she caught me in the ladies’ room up on the second floor of the Labyrinth. I’ve always felt it’s too risky to go there, but I’m known for not heeding my own advice. I had just come out of Thomas’ office and I needed to put myself back together after he made me fall apart. She was at the sink when I entered and shot me a curious look.

“Are you here to see Professor Abrams?”

“Y-Yes. We, uh, I had a few questions.”

The running water filled the silence as I averted her eyes. Then she asked, “You’re new, right? Creative writing isn’t your major?”

“No, it’s not.” I don’t have a major yet, but she didn’t need to know that.

Closing the tap, she rolled out a tissue and wiped her hands. “So our star poet pulled you into this?”

Yes. “No. I have a friend who insisted I take the class.”

“Well, good luck. I’m here if you need me for anything. As I said, I’m great at gender roles in literature.”

She left then, and it took me a minute to understand what she meant. Suddenly, I remembered that long ago fib Thomas told outside of The Alchemy, back in a time when I barely knew him.

Anyway, after that encounter, I see Sarah everywhere around campus. She waves at me from the corridor or smiles at me from across the street. I don’t like that. I don’t like that she sees me. In those moments, it’s hard to keep my promise to Thomas of no regrets. In those moments, I wish I could wear him on my skin so he could curb my anxiety and this heavy, dark feeling inside my chest.

Because it doesn’t matter. No amount of accusations or looks or guilt will ever make me give this up, whatever Thomas and I have. I won’t give this up, because Thomas is happy. Well, not happy happy. He is too abandoned for that, too much in unrequited love, but he laughs without bitterness. A laugh that actually sounds like one. I thought I’d never see him laugh that way.

But he does with me. His laughter is rich and dark, like everything else about him, and I bring that out of him.

“Your office is so boring, Thomas. I mean, beige, really?” I told him one night when I was there, sitting on his lap.

“What would you prefer? Purple?”

“Duh, what else? Though I could be persuaded by blue too. You know, the color of my tattoo, the tattoo I play with when I’m alone at night.” I undulated my hips, feeling the bump of his erection between my thighs.

“Is that right?

“Mm-hmm.”

“Except it’s my tattoo and you’re here every night and I play with it with my tongue.” He licked the side of my neck and whispered in my ear, “Until you’re begging me to stop but secretly hoping I don’t. Is that the tattoo you’re talking about?”

“You’re such an ass.”

He laughed then, threw his head back and stared at the ceiling. I was stunned. I’d never seen him do that before. The sound rolled over my flesh, drenching me in fresh lust and arousal, but it was more than that. It was the fact that I’d said the same line to him countless times in the past, but he’d never laughed at it. I wasn’t saying anything new or particularly funny, but he heard it that way.

Thomas was happy. When you’re happy, you laugh at the lamest jokes.

How can happiness be wrong?

How can any of this be wrong if the end result is laughter and momentary peace?

When I’m in doubt or when I can’t fall asleep in my soft bed and have to curl up in my cold bathtub or inside my closet, I think about his laugh.

I think about how he laughs when I climb up his body like a monkey in desperation. He laughs when I get mad at him for stealing my Twizzlers, like I steal his cigarettes. He laughs when he sees my polka dot socks. He laughs when I insist on wearing those ridiculous Russian fur hats—his words, not mine. He laughs when I tell him he’s the worst teacher anyone has ever had, that his home assignments are stupid. He laughs when he fucks me and I get too needy for my orgasm. He laughs when my words stutter while reading my poems and riding his cock.

He laughs and laughs and laughs, and it makes me wonder, if I hadn’t pursued him with a single-minded insanity, would he have deteriorated in Hadley’s absence? Would the lines around his eyes and mouth have deepened into permanent scratches?

So maybe all of this is a good thing—all the sneaking around, breaking rules, fucking with the universe. Everything is worth it.

For Thomas.

Even though it’s inadvisable, I still build castles in the air. I still think of myself as a Cinderella and him as my tarnished, broken, kinky Prince Charming.

I just wonder what’s going to happen when the real Cinderella comes back and makes him all shiny and whole. He won’t need me then. He won’t need his slutty fake princess.

Bathed in the yellow light of the lamp, Thomas is sprawled in his office chair, having a smoke with his shirt unbuttoned and hair mussed up by my fingers. I’m on the floor, propped against his couch, my notebook in my lap, my eyes on the tight curves of his sweaty muscles.

I’ve gotten used to this arrangement—being with Thomas, inside a sleepy building, in the dead of night, cozied up in his fire, writing while he smokes. Sometimes I listen to the music on his phone. It’s all instrumental, songs without words. They help me write whatever nonsense comes to my head.

My gaze falls on his tie, lying by my side. It’s maroon in color. He never wears a tie but today was some sort of a special staff meeting and Professor Masters insisted. Not half an hour ago, I wore it around my neck with nothing else but my polka dot socks as I rode both of us to our climax. I squirm in place, probably leaving a wet patch on his coarse carpet.

On his desk, against the wall, on the couch, on the floor—he has had me everywhere. As I look around the room, I can see our merged silhouettes on every surface. I can hear the things he whispered in my ears. I can smell the musk of our raging, borderline lunatic fucking. I can see the wrappers of Twizzlers alongside his discarded bags of chocolate croissants. I always litter and he always picks it up and puts it in the trashcan, with an exasperated but indulgent look. Maybe I do it just so I can see that look.

I realize that this is my home, made of my moans, my cum, and my sweat. This is more my home than my tower, than my mom’s house in New York. I don’t have to hide in here. I can be myself. Whatever fucked-up self it is, I can be that.

Thomas is all quiet and introspective. I want to ask him what he’s thinking about, but I’m afraid to hear his answer. He’s probably thinking about her, about Hadley. He’s always thinking about her.

It has been ten days since she went away. I know she will be back. I know she’ll come to realize how much Thomas loves her. There’s a power in him, a power in his love. It reflects in the way he fucks me. How he slakes his frustration with my body. How his body laps up my moans, my orgasms to subdue the fury in him. How he uses me to be happy.

“I thought you were trying to quit smoking,” I say. I need his eyes on me, and that’s the first thing that comes into my head. His muscles wake up and strain as he turns the chair in my direction, and blows out a giant cloud of smoke.

“I thought you were trying to write.” His rumbly voice tells me he was on the verge of falling asleep. I can’t help but notice that there’s something endearing about that, and so like a man. They fuck. They sleep. They fuck again.

“I’m stuck.”

The air changes from lazy to tightly strung. Thomas is still sprawled in the chair, giving the impression of being relaxed, but the twin flames in his gaze flicker. “Are you?”

Nodding, I get up on my knees, my notebook falling to the ground with a thud. My back arches—a default reaction now—when he looks me up and down. My winter gear along with my undergarments are lying somewhere in a heap, leaving me in a thin, see-through sweater and a wool skirt. My nipples pout, much like my lips.

“So are you gonna help me?” I ask in my tiny voice, the voice that never fails to get a reaction from him.

Last time I asked him to help me with my poem, he told me to sit on his cock and read it out loud while riding him. All the while, he sat there like a king, never moving, simply watching me with a hunger that drove me to jump on him, up and down.

I come to my hands and knees and crawl toward him, watching him through my lashes. Cigarette clenched between his lips, he follows my every move with hooded eyes. Every flutter of my loose hair around my face. Every little sway of my dangling breasts that are barely hidden by my top. I reach him and he shifts his chair to face me. My hands grip his calves through his jeans, massaging the muscles as I sit up on my haunches.

“So?” I crane my neck up and hug his leg between my breasts, moaning out loud at the delicious friction of his pants.

He whips the finished cigarette out of his mouth and it lands in the trashcan. Leaning down, he breathes the smoke over my mouth. I suck it in like I’ll never breathe again. Oh God. God. I can’t take it. This hormonal, chemical explosion inside my body—it’s too much.

Then his hands band over my biceps and he hauls me up and makes me straddle his lap. The chair creaks with both our weights. My hands caress his stubble as I murmur, “That sound is going to kill me.”

“What sound?”

“Your stupid chair.” And there it is, his laughter. It makes every corner of my body smile. “Whenever I hear it, all I think about is you fucking me in it so it’s screaming with our weight.”

A side of his mouth tips up in the wake of his short laugh. “I’m kind of getting the feeling you want me for my body rather than my poetic genius.”

Genius—yup, he is that. I don’t know how, but words come to him out of thin air. He looks at the ceiling and describes it in ways I never even thought of. Despite our frenzied fucking, he does teach me things. He calls me out on my poor word choice, tears me apart over overly flowery language, and I think he likes it. Other than sex, that is the one time he’s animated, his eyes dripping with another kind of passion. He glows when he talks about poetry.

Coming back to the moment, I say, “Actually, I also want you to bump my grades up.” I move against him, my bare pussy sliding along the hard bump, barely hidden by his unzipped jeans. “Because, you see, I’m not very good at writing. My work is choppy, and my word choice sucks.” His eyes smolder and his hands come to grab my undulating hips.

“Is this your way of getting a compliment out of me?”

“Yes,” I admit shamelessly. “Give me a compliment. I challenge you.”

He digs the pads of his fingers into my hips to stop me from moving. “Fine. You don’t irritate me as much as you did before.”

“Wow, stop, I’m blushing.” I swat at his naked chest. “You’re so good with words.”

He swats at my ass in retaliation, making me moan. “I told you I’m not very good at talking. You want compliments, you should hang out with your friends instead of being with me.”

It’s a joke, I know, a dry, sarcastic comment. I should forget about it. I shouldn’t ruin the moment—I’m on borrowed time as it is.

But my stubborn heart isn’t in the mood. It’s remembering his words from the other night when I was in his unpacked study. I found my dad’s journals, his poems, and I knew…that this was the way for me to talk.

Perhaps he notices how rigid I’ve become in his hold, because he tenses too. After my last attempt at talking about it in his car, I haven’t broached the subject of his lack of writing.

“What’s wrong?” he asks, frowning.

“Nothing.” I smile and massage his shoulders, trying to do what I do best—distract him.

“Layla,” he warns with that voice of his. It’s not fair. I can never resist that voice. Never.

I simultaneously sag and tense in his hold. “I…I want to see you write. Something. Anything. I just want you to write.”

A beat passes. Then two. The urgency in my chest is increasing. I don’t want the silence. Silence is ruining. “I can’t see you like this. Thomas, I know. It’s obvious. You—”

He doesn’t let me finish as he lifts me up and puts me on the desk, my legs dangling. I try to sit up but he presses his palm on my breastbone, keeping me still. He stands over me, some kind of god of wrath with his thunderous frown and sparkling skin. My chest rises and falls under his palm, like he’s the one making me breathe. If he removes his hand, I’ll die.

“Take off your top.”

What? No.

“Thomas—”

“Take it off.” He licks his upper lip.

Shivering, I obey his order. My tits come into view and he breathes deeply. “Lift your skirt up to your waist.”

I do that too, squirming, revealing my naked pussy and my tattoo. This time his breath splinters as he takes it in. He circles my tattoo with his knuckles, jerking the flesh of my stomach. With both his hands, he spreads my thighs, his thumb rubbing my soft skin, grazing my pussy lips and the fragile flesh around it. I move restlessly, bucking my hips at his touch, making my heavy tits jiggle.

Thomas is aroused by the sight. He loves seeing my breasts shake, so I do it over and over, bucking, writhing, stoking his lust. It’s turning me on too, even though a part of me weeps at this. I want him to talk to me. I don’t want to be a distraction or a fake Cinderella. I want to be the real deal. It scares me so much that I forget to breathe.

It’s not the first time I’m thinking this, and I don’t know how to stop.

The air comes rushing back when Thomas retrieves a pack of cigarettes from his pocket. He takes one out, pops it in his mouth, and lights it up.

His nostrils flare and my mouth dries out when his entire hand grabs my pussy and squeezes. It’s such a vulgar gesture, vulgar and owning and possessive and…erotic.

With his other hand, he takes the cigarette out of his mouth and sends the smoke spiraling up. His hand on my pussy moves, and I almost shriek when he inserts two fingers inside and curls them up.

I reach my arms out to hold on to a part of him but he shakes his head. “Grab the edge of the desk.”

Swallowing, I do, and I watch him take another drag while playing with my core. He bends at the waist and hovers over my breasts, his cheeks hollowed out, the cigarette stuck between his lips.

“Th-Thomas?” I’m scared. The burning end of the stick is too close to my body. It looms over my left breast, my heart. Is he…Is he going to mark me with it?

He lifts his eyes at me, holds the stare. Something shifts in them, something dangerous, and I struggle beneath him, afraid. Then he takes the cigarette out and blows hot smoke over my tits before he latches on to my nipple and sucks. My hips buck, lodging his fingers deeper.

Moaning, I open my legs wider. My dangling feet come up on the desk, my heels digging into the edge.

“You were saying…” he rumbles over my quivering flesh, sending a frenzy of arousal everywhere in my body.

“What?” Tilting my head, I ask the dark-haired head currently bent over my breasts.

Thomas pinches my clit as he looks up, an arrogant brow arched. “You were saying something that you know, about something that’s obvious.”

My head falls back down, defeated, maybe even in anger. I don’t want to be his fuck doll anymore.

Thomas notices the tightness in my body and blows another mouthful of smoke on my other breast, before plumping it up and sucking on the nipple. Despite myself, my pussy shoots out thick strands of arousal.

“You’re so fucking wet, Layla.” Thomas groans into my skin. “You’re always so smooth and wet and hot. I like to think you keep it that way for me. You keep your pussy warm for me, don’t you? You sleep with your hand tucked between your legs, cupping your cunt so it stays warm and toasty for when I fuck it.”

My legs come around his back as I writhe beneath him, loving this, hating myself, hating him for doing this to me. “I’ve seen you in class, Thomas. I’ve seen you…looking at them wh-when they talk about writing. I have seen how you talk about writing and art and how talented you are. I’ve seen the longing on your face. You want what they have and it-it breaks my heart,” I whisper, tears rolling down my cheeks. “I want you to write so you can talk. You have to talk, Thomas. No one can live like this.”

A shudder goes through him at my words and his forehead drops to my breastbone. I sink my fingers in his gorgeous, lush hair and clutch him to me, in longing, in tenderness. Maybe I did make a difference just now.

But then he stands up, flicks his finished cigarette away. Crazily, I think that it’s going to leave a mark on the carpet. He takes his cock out of his jeans. It’s hard and angry and red—just like him. I know he’s going to use it to punish me.

Yes, punish me for being selfish enough to want more, to want to talk.

I deserve it. I’m beginning to think I’m the worst harlot ever.

I tip up my chin and open my legs, ready for him. Thomas clenches his jaw and in one stroke, jams his cock inside me. I nearly come off the desk, my nails skating along the hard wood. Gasping, I go back down and grab the edge to brace myself, because in the next second, I’m in danger of flying off and crashing to the ground.

His slams are punishing. Brutal. Borderline violent. My teeth chatter with every stroke. My breasts heave and rebound. His grip on my thighs is going to leave marks, I know it, but most of all, it’s the obvious pain of his hip bone hitting the desk that jars me. He is punishing himself as much as he’s punishing me.

But, no matter what, no matter how brutal or violent he becomes, he never fails to make every fucking cell in my body sing. He never fails to send my pulse hurtling. I want to melt into his violence. I want to dissolve myself in the moment so he can absorb me in his body and find some peace.

His eyes are narrowed to slits, his jaw clamped as he presses his palm on my lower abdomen, increasing the pressure on my organs. My head lolls, insanity washing over me. I want to tell him to stop but I won’t. I’ll take it.

The slapslapslap of our flesh is interlaced with the slurping, wet sounds of my pussy. The sloppiness of my core makes me blush all over. As if that’s not enough, he looms over me, bringing my thighs to his shoulders, deepening his thrusts.

He frames my face with his hands so I have nowhere to look but him. “Do you hear those sounds, Layla?” he whispers thickly. “That’s me talking to your pussy.” Then he changes angles, holds himself inside me, rotating his hips, bucking up and down, hitting me in just the right spot. In turn, I hear the sloppy gurgling of my core, a slightly different tone than the previous sounds, wetter and angrier.

“And that’s your pussy telling me she likes it, saying she loves to feel me inside her.” He stops grinding at that and starts ramming with a savage force that doesn’t let either of us breathe. Sweat drips from his forehead, plopping onto mine. “That’s all the talking we need to do. That’s all the fucking talking we ever need to do.”

He fits his face in the crook of my neck and bites my skin, launching my climax through my body. My hips arch up and become rigid in the air, the muscles of my thighs locking around his shoulders. My loss of control brings out his own and before I can blink, he whips out his cock and comes on my stomach, groaning.

In a fog, I realize he forgot the condom. He never forgets it. He’s always so careful. He never discards his cigarette on the carpet. He never litters. Never. Never. Never.

The anomaly scares me, terrifies me more than anything ever has.

His sweat-soaked chest and torso contract with every heaving breath. He lets go of my thighs and grabs hold of my chin, looking deep into my eyes. For once, I don’t want them on me. I don’t feel any pleasure in their blazing, fire-breathing look.

“I’m not your boyfriend, Layla. I’m not going to hold your hand or take you to a movie. I’m not going to talk about my feelings with you.” His fingers flex on my jaw. “Tell me you understand this.”

I blink my heavy lids and tears fall from the corners of my eyes. They make him even angrier. There’s a harshness in him I haven’t seen before. Maybe he’s been fooling me all along. Maybe I never made anything better. Maybe it was all an insane dream I made up to keep doing this.

“Tell me,” he says harshly.

Afraid, I jerk out a nod, but he shakes his head. “No, say it. Give me the words, Layla.”

I hear the shatter of my heart. I hear that sound from long ago when I broke the bottle of that expensive champagne when Caleb left. But this time around, the sound is like a gunshot, more jarring and deafening. It’s the sound of my castle falling through the air and crashing to the ground.

“You’re not my boyfriend and you won’t take me to the movies or hold my hand, and you won’t talk to me about your feelings,” I say in a monotone. I say it without halting or stuttering. I say it clearly.

His grip loosens and a look flashes on his face, but it’s gone before I can decipher it—and I don’t want to decipher it. I just want to leave. Thomas moves away, goes to the window, and lights another cigarette, like he did that first night he fucked me. Everything is coming full circle now, but I’m a lot different than what I used to be.

Swallowing, I try to sit up. Wounded and battered, my body is a warzone, a torn-up village after a sandstorm. I dress myself while Thomas is busy watching the darkness. Usually, he takes me home in his car and I’m under my purple blanket within ten minutes, sleepy, dreaming of him. Tonight, though, it looks like I’ll be walking home. It’s no big deal. Midnight streets and I are old friends.

Before I turn the knob, I face Thomas. “You know I want you. I’m the crazy girl who lets you fuck her however you want. You can see it in my eyes. That’s what you said, isn’t it? It’s in your eyes. You can play with me. You can play with my body because you know how much I get off on it. I’m an open book to you.” I take a deep breath and unlock the door. “But I can read you too. It took me a little while. It took a lot of staying awake at night, thinking about you and yeah, stalking you, but I finally figured it out. You’re suffocating yourself, hoping to breathe life into your relationship, into your love. You’re holding on too tight, and maybe you need to let go, because if you don’t, you might just…kill everything.”

I close the door behind me, and then I walk away. From him. From the only home I’ve ever known.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

The Bard

It takes me a few minutes to come out of my stupor.

She’s gone.

She left, all alone, in the dead of the night. I see her running through the darkened streets, crying, her wild curls flying, in disarray. What if she stumbles and falls? She has a knack for doing that. What if she bumps into a boy? A drunk boy who can’t see straight, let alone understand the meaning of the word no?

Layla is just…a child. So young and fragile, but brave too—brave enough to be with me, to take my abuse. Her courage floors me. Her courage highlights my own cowardice.

I can’t let her go like this. I can’t. I can’t let her go. Period.

As I throw the cigarette out the window and button up my shirt, I become still. I become afraid. Am I not always that way?

All this time, all these nights that she came to me, she has always been alone. She has walked those streets all alone, unprotected, probably without a care because she was eager to get to me.

And I have been just as eager. I have been just as bent out of my head for her to get to me that I never once questioned it. I never once questioned how she got here. I never asked her if she was being careful or if she met someone on the way over, or if it’s safe for her to walk at night.

I never once asked her anything. I just took and took, like I always do. I become so wrapped up in my head that I never care about anything else—but didn’t I tell her this already? Didn’t I warn her? Why did she keep coming back? Why did she keep offering herself to me like a fucking sacrifice?

I told her she’d regret this.

My head is aching, burning up. I need to make this right, but I stubbornly don’t move from my spot. I won’t move. I told her. It’s not my fault that she left crying, that she thought this was more than what it was.

I’m rooted in the middle of the room when there is a click and the door swings open. For a fraction of a second, I think it’s Layla, and my body comes out of its deathly stillness—but it’s not. It’s Sarah.

She has a bundle of papers tucked in the crook of her arms. Even so late at night, she appears put-together, her hair polished and well-kempt.

“I came to get some last-minute printouts from my office for tomorrow,” she explains, motioning to the papers.

Tomorrow, Sarah and I are heading to New York for a poetry convention. We’ll be back Monday, hopefully with a bunch of signups for the coming semester, given I’m the bait—the youngest poet to win the McLeod genius grant.

“Layla Robinson,” she says, her demeanor cold. “You’re having an affair with her.”

The flame flickers to life in my abdomen, and I tighten my body for the first electric rush of heat. No matter what the situation is, her name is powerful enough to affect me deeply.

I neither confirm nor deny. Affair isn’t how I’d describe what Layla and I have. No, it’s more…complicated than that, more layered. Sordid. Pure. It’s more than I could ever put into words.

And right now, she’s out there alone because of me.

It’s not my fault.

“What, no response? What happened to all your sarcastic wit?” Sarah smirks, shaking her head.

“Get to the point,” I manage to croak out, gritting my teeth.

“So you’re not denying it, then. You are, in fact, sleeping with one of your students. Jesus Christ. You know, I didn’t believe it. I knew something was fishy with all those meetings you had in here that strangely required her to go to the ladies’ room after, and then, imagine my surprise when I find you here in the dead of the night after I saw Layla running out of the building.” Her eyes are shooting icy daggers at me. “Congratulations, Professor Abrams. You’re both an incompetent teacher and a pathetic human being.”

She was running. That’s all I can think about. She was running when she left, and I know she’ll slip or stumble and she’ll fall. I need to get to her before that happens.

My feet move but then come to a halt at Sarah’s next words. “You’re such a piece of shit, Thomas. You’re married. You just had a kid and this is what you do to your wife? Sleep with a student behind her back?”

Yeah, a piece of shit. That’s what I am. I’m a motherfucking piece of shit who only thinks about himself. I am selfish, incompetent, pathetic. Her insults sound like my own conscience—the conscience that was buried under my anger at Hadley and my need for Layla. It’s surging now, along with the nausea.

“What do you want?”

“What do I want? Is that all you have to say for yourself? You’ve broken a thousand school rules, not to mention successfully wrecked your marriage. Hadley will never forgive you for this—you know that, right?”

“What Hadley will do is none of your business.” She left me. I fist my hands to curb my impatience. “What I want to know is what you plan to do with the information.”

“Sure, let me give you a step-by-step description.” She smiles tightly. “First, I’m going to go to Jake and tell him everything. I’m sure, being your friend and all, he’ll try to save you somehow, but I won’t stop there. After Jake, I’ll go to the chairman. I’m sure he’ll have something to say when I tell him his star poet is sleeping with a student.”

The headache explodes. “I’m asking you again, what do you want from me?”

Her face is streaked red with her anger. “What I want is for you to quit your job. I deserve that position more than you ever will.”

“And if I don’t?”

“Then be prepared to get fired anyway, because I’m not going to sit on this. So, it’s really your choice, Thomas: do you want to get fired and be disgraced, or do you want to go quietly?” Before leaving, she adds, “Go back to where you came from, Thomas. You don’t belong here.”

I squeeze my eyes shut. White stars pulsate behind my lids, temporarily blinding me with the pain and anger.

I can’t go back. I need this job. I need to stay in this town.

The thoughts float inside my head by default, like some sort of a memory that won’t stop playing. They go on and on and on, until the words change and become something else. I don’t want to go back, because where I came from, there is no Layla.

The shock of it is enough to get my legs working, and I take off at a run.

I run and run, doing exactly what Layla has been doing every night, exactly what she did tonight. I come to a stop right in front of her apartment building. I don’t know what floor is hers because I never bothered to stop long enough to find out. I’d drop her off and rush out of there.

Panting, I crane my neck up and stare at the top of her building. I can’t imagine her living anywhere else but at the top. She belongs in the sky. She belongs with the stars. She is bright and loud.

But more than that, she is scary.

Layla Robinson is fucking scary, and I don’t know what to do with that.

Now that I am here, I don’t know why I came. What was the purpose of it all? What was I hoping to do? Go up to her apartment and knock until she opens the door? And then what? Apologize? For what? For telling her the truth? For setting her straight? No, this is better. We have no future. Maybe I told her those things because I never want her to come back to me.

I’m not brave. I don’t know how to be brave, and I don’t fucking know how to talk.

Gritting my teeth, I turn around and walk away.

I’m woken up by the light footsteps. They are moving toward me. I know them, that light tread.

Hadley.

Am I dreaming? I don’t even remember falling asleep. My body is curved in an unnatural angle on the floor. I open my groggy eyes and realize I’m in Nicky’s room, sitting under the window. Last night, for the first time in a long time, I came back home before dawn. I checked up on Nicky and then crashed on the floor.

I blink and find Hadley on the threshold.

She is back.

I spring up to my feet, any sleep forgotten, the entire world forgotten at the sight of her.

I whisper her name.

Now that she is here, her absence glares even more. I remember all those calls I made, frantic and panicked, the voicemails I left during those first couple of days. She never got back to me. After that, I was too blinded by my rage to call her.

Or maybe it wasn’t rage. It was the weight of all the wrong things I’ve been doing. It was my lust, my need for someone else. When she left, it was a small kiss, but now my lust has a life of its own. It has a body, a heart, and a soul. It is strong and vibrant, and she needs to know. She needs to know the person I’ve become in the last ten days.

“Thomas,” Hadley whispers, walking forward.

We meet in the middle of the room.

“Hadley, I need to—”

“Will you hold me?” she asks, delicate and vulnerable. Her words shock me. It’s a zap to my already chaotic system. It’s everything I’ve been dying to do. Just hold her. My arms, my chest, they tingle with memories of holding her…but there’s something else too. There’s relief. I don’t have to tell her about Layla right now. I can hold her. I want to hold her.

Selfishly, I take the out she gives me. “Yes.”

“I missed you…” she whispers.

I nod but the reciprocating words won’t come out.

She wraps her fragile arms around me and I do the same. She slides into place, tucking her face in my neck, and I breathe her in, her sweet, feminine scent. I let her sagging posture sink into me. I nuzzle the soft skin at the nape of her neck and my gaze falls on my son. He sighs in his sleep as if he knows this is it. This is where Mommy and Daddy have made up, and now everything will be fine.

At last, I have everything.

This hug has all the makings of a new beginning. This right here is what I’ve been waiting for.

Still, my stomach churns. Still, I gasp for breath. Still, my lungs are suffocating as if I’m holding on too tight. Still, I feel like this is the end of something and I’m dying.

PART 4

THE FIRE-BREATHER

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

A few days ago, when everything was perfect, Nicky said his first words. Lay-la. Yeah, that’s what he said.

He looked right at me with Thomas’ eyes, gave me a drooling chortle, lifted his pudgy hand in the air, calling me to him, and said, “Lay…la.”

I remember tearing up, and then laughing, and then tearing up again. It was a weird thing to do in the middle of Crème and Beans on a Saturday morning.

“Did you just say my name?” I asked, and then I looked up at Thomas, whose lips were twitching. “Did he just say my name?”

“Lay…la. Layyy…la!” Nicky jumped up and down on his dad’s lap and laughed again, bumping his head on Thomas’ chin.

“He did!” I remember being astonished. “Oh my God! He did. Am I his most favorite person or what?”

“Don’t get too excited. He’s probably just making up words like he always does.” He ruffled Nicky’s hair. “And in his defense, your name does sound made up. Two randomly put together syllables.” Thomas shrugged. I remember the dark strands of his hair catching the winter sun and hitting me right in the chest.

I pretended to be outraged. I don’t remember what I said in retaliation, something like, Oh yeah? And what is Thomas? Tho-mas. Isn’t it, like, a lame modification of Christ-mas?

He laughed. I remember that because I was bursting with pride in being the one who brought it out in him.

It’s Saturday again, and it’s all I can think about as I enter Crème and Beans. Nicky’s voice is all I hear, and Thomas’ glinting hair and amused eyes are all I can see—and it’s a good thing, too, because if I think about whom I am here to see, I might turn back and never come out of my room.

As if he senses me standing here, he looks up from his mug of coffee. My chest is caving in on itself as I take in his face, a face I haven’t seen in more than two years. God, he looks…older. So much older, as though he’s let himself go, given his body permission to grow out on him. Longer hair, broader shoulders, shadow of a beard.

But then he smiles, and it’s the smile I’ve seen in my dreams forever, a smile that never fails to make me smile.

And then we’re running toward each other like a couple of kids. I jump into his arms, laughing and crying. It’s like the last two years never happened. It’s like all the awkwardness in the world can’t overshadow the fact that he’s the closest friend I’ve ever had.

Caleb Whitmore, my very first friend.

We break apart, still laughing, and he lets me down on my feet.

“Hey,” he says in a voice that’s so familiar to me, so fucking familiar that all I want to do is break down and cry.

“Hey,” I whisper over the ruckus my heart is making. I’m so damn happy to see him.

“You look…fantastic.” He tucks my unruly hair behind my ear.

“You do too.” I poke his wispy beard. “Where did that come from?”

Caleb gives me a sheepish grin, rubbing the spot. “I’m going for a mature look.”

“What? Why?”

“People take the beard seriously.”

“You’re kidding.” I frown. “They’re giving you a hard time over at your dad’s office?”

“Eh, it’s not too bad, but you know, extra muscle helps.” He rubs his barely-there beard again, making me laugh.

“Do you want me to kick their asses for you?”

He laughs, an indulgent look in his eyes. “God, I missed you.” He swallows, growing serious. “So much.”

“Yeah,” I admit on a broken whisper.

We walk to his table and sit across from each other. Caleb watches me expectantly, and I shoot him a questioning look. He glances at his coffee and then at me. “You don’t want to steal it?”

No, I don’t steal anymore. The only person I want to steal from is not here.

A lump forms in my throat and I chuckle around it, trying to keep things light. “Are you calling me a thief?”

“Well, yeah. You are one.”

“I don’t think you’re remembering things correctly.”

“I remember everything about you, Lay.”

I glance away. It’s too hard to look into his eyes and find my old self reflected back. There are ghosts moving in the depths of them—my ghosts, but I don’t look like them anymore. I’ve changed. I’ve changed so much since the time he knew me. I’ve done things, despicable things since then. Then again, maybe I haven’t changed at all.

I was crazy then. I’m crazy now.

“Thanks for the gift basket,” I say to break the silence.

Yesterday evening, Caleb sent me a gift basket with Twizzlers that I only noticed when I came home from Thomas’ office. It was sitting on the coffee table; Emma had brought it in. She grilled me about it, too, asking me who the secret admirer was. I had to laugh at that, though it came out distorted, too much like a sob. I told her it was from Caleb and that he is gay. It didn’t hurt to say that. It didn’t hurt to say I used to be insanely in love with him but he never loved me back.

In fact, if I’m being honest, I haven’t thought about Caleb at all in the past few days. Makes me wonder if Thomas was as much a distraction for me as I was for him.

“You didn’t have to bribe me, you know.”

“I didn’t think you’d want to see me after…what I told you.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” I whisper, unable to go higher than that. I’m exhausted. Breathing seems like a chore. I just want to stop. Stop running. Obsessing. Blaming.

He clasps his hands on the table. “I didn’t know how.”

“But it was me, Caleb. Me. We grew up together. You were my best friend. Wasn’t I yours?”

It’s such a petty, childish thing to ask. Wasn’t I your best friend when you were mine? Still, I feel it’s the most important thing I can ask him, more important and vital than Don’t you love me? I realize now that I might crumble if he answers in the negative; his friendship means far more to me than his reciprocation of love.

He lets out a watery laugh. “How can you ask me that, Lay? When I’ve spent every second of the last two years missing you like hell. I…” He thrusts his hand through his hair. “I’ve felt so…guilty. So lonely. So unlike myself. But I didn’t know how to face you after…what I did. The way I took advantage of your love. The way I left you.”

It’s hard to look at him, to look at the naked regret on his face. My heart curls up in my chest and rocks back and forth, hurting. He’s blamed himself the same way I have blamed myself. I don’t want him to do that. I don’t want to think about what happened; it’s too fucking depressing. It’s time to share the blame and then move on.

“I forgive you,” I tell him. “I do. For whatever happened. Do you forgive me?”

He takes my hand in his own and squeezes. “Yes. Although there’s nothing to forgive, Lay.”

I smile through my tears. It’s over. It’s done with. I feel light, both floaty and grounded.

We spend the next hour catching up. He tells me how hard it was for him throughout high school, how he thought he was weird. He was afraid his dad wouldn’t ever accept that part of him. I tell him he was being stupid because hello, this is the twenty-first century. Who cares if you’re gay? Then, I tell him about how bad things got after he left, how my mom wanted me to go to the youth center but I got out of it by coming here. I tell him about Kara. I tell him about my tower, about Emma.

The only thing I don’t tell him about is Thomas Abrams. What is there to say about him anyway? He is my professor. He taught me that reading can be cool, that words are the most important thing in the world, and I used to sleep with him and now it’s over. I let him vandalize my body, my heart, my dreams. I became a slut for him, but that’s okay. He never asked. In fact, he warned me about him, his cruelty. I gave up my morals voluntarily.

I gave him everything, but he wanted nothing from me.

“I miss the city,” I say to Caleb, out of the blue.

“Then come back.” His expression is hopeful, the green of his eyes shining. “Yeah, come back. They’ll easily take you in at Columbia. Your credits will transfer and you can live with me. You don’t even have to go back to your mom’s.”

I smile, thinking of it, picturing living with Caleb. All the movie nights we can stock up on. All the video games we can play. It could be like the old times. I could have a new home. I could build a home for myself.

And then, in the middle of Crème and Beans on a lazy Saturday morning, I have an epiphany. It’s bone-chilling. It tells me I’d rather be homeless than away from here, this place.

“I can’t,” I whisper, shaking my head.

“Why not?” Caleb senses the seriousness in my tone.

“B-Because I need to be here.”

“Why?”

“Because…” I suck in huge gulps of breath, but am still afraid I’ll pass out. “I’m in love.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

The snow has melted—or is in the process of melting—and from underneath it, the earth is emerging, stark and damp and ugly but somehow still beautiful. I like to think we had something to do with it, Thomas and I. The friction we created with our naked bodies made the fire that dissolved the frosty world.

Because the way we came together was magical. It made me fall in love again.

It could almost be a story I’ll tell myself when I’m dying. The Harlot fell in love with the Fire-breather. It was beautiful and right. It was wrong and ugly, just like the earth beneath my feet. It was tragic and ecstatic. It was everything I’d hoped love could be.

This time, though, I am going to do everything right. I’m going to change, be a better version of myself. I can’t stand the thought of my love ruining anything. It’s too pure, purer than any love that came before it or any love that will come after.

It takes me fifteen minutes to reach my destination: the sprawling house with a tree dangling over the roof. I know Thomas isn’t in there—he’s in New York for the poetry convention—but still his presence lingers. His displeasure drags my steps down. He wouldn’t be happy if he knew I was here, uninvited, but this is something I have to do. I need to do. This love is my strength, not my weakness.

I knock—once, twice—and stand there, huddled into myself.

The door swings open and it’s Susan, the lady I met a few days ago in the most unconventional way. I give her a small, trembling smile, and she returns it with a confused frown.

“H-Hi. I’m Layla.” I remind her, even though I know she knows. How could she forget? The girl Thomas brought in at night when his wife wasn’t home.

“Thomas isn’t here.” She purses her lips.

“I-I know. That’s why I came.” I widen my eyes in horror at how it sounds. “No. No, I don’t mean it that way. It just came out wrong.” I sigh. “Look, I know you don’t like me. I’m not liking me very much either right now. I just… I need to see Nicky.” Susan opens her mouth to say something but I rush on. “You can be there the whole time. I know it’s an unusual request and you’ve got no reason to trust me, but I promise you I have no intention of harming him. I love that little guy and he loves me back, you know. I mean, I’m not good with kids. In fact, I don’t know anything about them. But he’s so… He’s kind of my friend, and I just want to talk to him, apologize, and you won’t have to ever see me again.”

“What did you do to him? That you need to apologize for?” She is looking at me with an evaluating gaze.

“I, uh, I’d rather tell him. Please.”

Maybe my desperation to talk to a seven-month-old baby breaks through to her, or maybe she takes pity on a girl with tears stuck to her eyelashes. Either way, she nods and steps back. “Five minutes. I stand there the whole time.”

Relief sags my shoulders. “Yes. Yeah. Anything.”

I step inside Thomas’ house for the second time, and it feels more wrong than my previous visit. Sunlight pours into the living room and there he is—Nicky, playing in his bassinet. The sunrays make him glow, all pink-cheeked and stubby-nosed.

The little guy with his drooling chin and tufts of black hair commands my entire attention, like the room begins and ends with him. Just like his dad. I feel a surge of love for him, something very similar to maternal love, which is the weirdest thing I’ve ever felt in my entire life. I’m not a mother. I’m barely an adult myself, but as I walk over to Nicky, my arms ache with the need to pick him up and smush his face into my neck.

I come down to my knees in front of him and smile, looking into his blue eyes. He is chewing on a baby elephant and abandons it to grin at me.

“Lay…laaaa,” he shrieks.

“Hey, little guy. You remember me, don’t you?” I finger-wave at him like I always do and he grabs me with his sticky palm.

I bend down and place a soft kiss on the tiny fist holding my finger. He chortles and keeps chewing at his elephant. I remember Thomas telling me how Nicky thinks everything is food.

“Hey, I’ve got a present for you. Here.” I take my Russian-style hat off, this one white in color. “You can have it, though you already have my most favorite one.” I blow fishy kisses at him, making him laugh. “God, you’re so adorable. I could just eat you up.” I feel Susan’s presence so I hastily add, “I won’t though, so don’t worry.”

Nicky plays with his new hat, waving it around in his dimpled hands while I gather the courage to say what I came here to say.

“I broke the deal,” I blurt out, much like I do with Thomas when I need to get something difficult off my chest. I cringe. “Ugh. That just kinda came out. I think I should start at the beginning…not that it’s gonna make any difference to you.” Nicky is busy with the hat and waving his fists while squirming in his yellow onesie. “But I’m going to do this the right way. So, I made a deal with your dad. It wasn’t anything formal. It was just…a silent understanding, and trust me, I only made it because I thought…he needed it. I needed it too, but his need was…so much bigger than mine, you know, so much more potent. But, I broke the deal.”

Susan shifts behind me but I keep my focus on the little bundle who doesn’t even care what I’m saying. “I know you’re not gonna understand what I’m saying right now, and you’re probably gonna forget all about me because I don’t think we’ll see each other anymore, but I want you to know I didn’t break it on purpose—the deal, I mean. It just happened, okay. I never planned on-on, you know, falling for your dad.” I scrunch my eyes closed and breathe out a puff of air.

“But I’m going to do the right thing now. I’m-I’m backing off, Nicky. You don’t have to worry, okay. It won’t touch you. My mistakes won’t come back to haunt you.”

I think of the tears Emma has shed for something that was never in her control. Nothing is worth that; I know it now. No amount of excuses can absolve what I did, and if there’s even a sliver of a chance that it can touch this little guy, I’m not willing to take it.

Tears gather in my throat and eyes and I swallow to bury them—not that Nicky notices. “Your dad loves you very much. He isn’t like my dad. He’ll never leave you, and I bet your mom loves you equally, if not more. And you know what, your dad loves your mom just as much as he loves you. So…don’t worry about anything.” I sniff. “I’m sorry for whatever damage I did.” I lean over and kiss his forehead. He gurgles out a laugh. “This is the last time we’ll see each other, so take care, okay? I’ll never forget you.”

With one last look at him, I stand up and find myself face to face with the most beautiful and fragile-looking woman I’ve ever seen. Hadley.

She’s…She’s back.

She. Is. Back. Just as I thought she would be. I always knew it, but still, it seems incredible. I want to laugh, and then I want to cry.

Before I really do any of that, the situation becomes glaring.

I’m practically a stranger and I was rambling to her baby like a deranged person. She is studying me with gorgeous golden eyes and I feel so ashamed. So naked.

I’m the girl sleeping with your husband. Me. I’m the one who fell in love with him, who dreams about him, who will probably keep dreaming about him for the rest of her life. So, you can kill me if you want to. In fact, I’d advise that myself.

“You’re good with him,” she says in her classic, melodic voice.

“What?” I squeak. In comparison, I’m a hyena with broken vocal cords.

“With Nicholas. You’re good with him.”

The musical notes of her voice stumble over the name of her son, going off-key. Now that the initial shock of seeing Thomas’ love in the flesh is gone, I study her with as much objectivity as I can.

Her eyes are swollen and red-rimmed, and her blonde hair, though beautiful and smooth, looks too threadbare. She has on a large white sleep robe that swallows her petite body. She appears even more fragile than the last time I saw her, but she seems to be at peace. She glows with an odd light.

This is the woman who left her seven-month-old baby alone and went away. This is the woman who left Thomas. I want to shake her, shout at her. In this moment, I’m so fucking jealous, so angry. She has everything that I want and she doesn’t even care.

Before my anger turns harsher, I remind myself that I’m in the wrong here. I took what belonged to her. I have no right to feel this way.

“I, uh, I’ve got no experience with kids, but Nicky makes it easy, I guess.” I add, “You have a beautiful family.”

She stiffens at my answer, and I regret saying the last part. My anger was apparent just then. Maybe even my jealousy…I don’t know. I need to leave before I blow our cover and make trouble for Thomas.

Just then, I hear Susan coming back. “Here.” She thrusts a book at me and I stare at it in confusion. “The book. It was right on the desk and I was looking for it everywhere.” When I still don’t take it, she goes on, “Thomas doesn’t like when someone touches his books, but you must be failing pretty badly in class if he wanted you to have it for the exams, no?”

There’s a mischievous twinkle in her brown eyes, and I wonder how she is even capable of it at a moment like this. I take the book. “O-kay.”

I practically run out of there and speed walk until the house is out of sight. Then I come to a stop in the middle of the road and look up. The sun is out, and I can’t remember the last time it was sunny like this. It feels like it’s been ages since I saw the sun.

The world is brighter, and I feel that I did something right. I restored all the balance I’d tipped. The broken rules are patched up. The universe is right again.

I send a wish up in the clear sky. Please, let Hadley be back for good this time. Please give Thomas what he wants. Please God.

And then I cry all the way back to my tower. I hate the fucking sun.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

It’s Sunday night and I’m alone in the apartment. Two months ago I would have used this time to binge on Twizzlers and porn. I’m still bingeing on Twizzlers, but instead of porn, I’m typing like the wind.

My fingers are flying on the keyboard, words pouring out of me, and I’m thinking, No one has ever written a story like this. For weeks, I’ve had this girl in my head. She is loud. She has a neon green backpack. She is adventurous and she wants to see the world. Her name is Eva. For weeks, I ignored her, because hello, I want to be a poet, not a fiction writer. Fiction writers are lame. Poets are geniuses. They change the world. They make you think. They are magical. Like Thomas.

But I can’t ignore her anymore. I can’t ignore her need to take shape. Besides, I know if I don’t write, I’ll never stop crying. I might even slip back to my destructive ways. I might drink all the liquor and smoke all the pot, and then I’d die, and I don’t want to die. I want to live. I want to write.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

Then, I hear a shrill noise—my phone. I jump and turn around at my desk. My room has exploded. Clothes and books and empty candy boxes are on every surface. I have half a mind to let it go to voicemail, but for some unknown reason, I don’t.

The noise is coming from my bed, and I dive for the phone before the ringing stops. It’s an unknown number but I pick it up anyway. “Hello?”

A growly voice crackles through, making my heart flounder. “Layla.”

“Th-Thomas?” My legs give out, and I plop on the bed.

“Are you alone right now?”

“Yes.” I look around as if checking, as if I didn’t already know I was alone.

“Open your door.”

“You mean, my front door?” I stand and walk to the threshold of my room, eyeing my closed front door in confusion.

“Yes, your front door.”

“O-Okay.”

There comes a long sigh. “You should probably also tell me which door is yours.” His voice somehow sounds both indulgent and self-deprecating, like he’s ashamed that he doesn’t already know which door is mine.

“The last apartment on the right.”

“What floor?” he asks patiently.

“Uh, t-top floor.”

His laugh is broken and sad, full of resignation, and I don’t even know how a laugh can be all of that. He clicks off the call before I can ask him anything else.

I’m glued to my spot, watching the door. Shouldn’t he be in New York? Oh no. I’m worried that maybe he found out about me going to his place this morning, but before I can completely freak out and lose my shit, a knock comes, commanding and loud. My phone falls to the floor, my legs break into motion, and I throw the door open.

Thomas stands at the threshold, his arms propped on the frame on either side. Our eyes clash like a bolt of lightning. At first, my heart stutters at the wealth of emotions brimming in his gaze, and then it pounds. It pounds as I take in the rest of his appearance—wrinkled shirt, messy hair, stubbled jaw.

He looks undone. The strings holding his body together have come apart, unraveled. A shiver wracks his frame. Startled, I whip my gaze back up and find his eyes solely focused on my face—drinking in my features, devouring them. He is eating me up with his magnificent gaze, but I don’t understand why.

“Thomas? What, um, what’s going on?” My voice brings on another bout of shivers, and I notice for the first time how tightly he’s holding on to the door frame. His veins are vibrating from the effort.

“Thomas, you’re scaring me. What’s happening?”

Whatever anger I had at him, whatever self-preservation I had is gone, and I walk closer to him. All I know is that he needs me. That’s all I understand as I uncurl the fingers of his right hand from the frame using both of mine. It’s a struggle, but I manage to unclasp his grip and hold his hand tightly.

Only then does he move his eyes from my face and look at our joined hands. My small pale ones are enclosing his thick, darker one. I feel the undercurrent of energy through his skin. I feel the chaos, the mayhem running through his veins.

“You live in a fucking construction zone,” he mutters.

“I call it my tower.” The tightness in his hand loosens and I take an easy breath. “Why aren’t you in New York?”

“Because I have to tell you something.”

“Wh-What?”

“You’re beautiful, you know that?” he says, instead of answering my question. Somehow his voice shivers too, a rumbly sort of vibration that I feel in my tattoo. He lets go of the door frame and crowds me, forcing me to take a step back.

He brings his other hand to cup my cheek. His fingers tremble over my skin and I put my hand over them to give them stability. “Thomas, please, tell me what’s going on.”

His Adam’s apple jumps up and down. “No, that’s…that’s not right. You’re not beautiful. I think you’re the most exquisite thing I’ve ever seen.” He licks his lips, his eyes flitting back and forth. “No, not a…not a thing. You’re more than that, Layla. You’re…the poem I can never write. Yeah, you’re the piece of poetry I can never hope to finish, no matter how hard I try.”

“Thomas,” I whisper, a fat tear rolling down my cheek. My wounded heart squeezes in my chest. It’s like he’s caressing the walls of it, leaving his fingerprints forever for me to carry. The way he’s stumbling over his words… I can’t bear to see it.

He leans into me, grabbing both my cheeks now, wiping off the tears. “The first time I saw you at the bookstore, you had these crazy headphones on and you were dancing to the music. I saw something pop over your head, a word. I couldn’t place it—not until I saw you in my class. That’s when I realized that you were so bright and loud and shiny like…”

“Like what?”

“Scarlet,” he whispers, his breath misty over my tear-drenched lips.

This time, my laugh is broken and sad and full of resignation. “Yeah, I’m that, right? Like Hester Prynne. I bet it’s clear to everyone.”

The force of his grip increases, flattening my cheeks. “No it’s not, because it’s not true. Do you understand me? It’s not. You’re nothing like her or anyone else. You’re not…”

“A slut?”

He grits his teeth. “Fuck no. You’re not. You’ll never be that. Tell me you know that. Say it, Layla.”

His face is a blurry painting through the lens of my tears, a labyrinth of emotions and expressions I can’t place. The only thing grounding me in this moment is the vivid color of his eyes. They are jarring in their sincerity. They beg me to give him that, to believe him, and when have I ever been able to refuse him?

“I’m not a slut.”

He nods his head, sighing, sending a burst of his chocolatey breath into my lungs. “That’s right. You’re not.”

“I can’t do it anymore,” I blurt out. “I know I promised I wouldn’t regret it but I-I do. I regret all the things we did and the way we did them. It wasn’t right, Thomas. We broke all the rules. I…” A sob wracks my frame.

“Shh… Hey, we’re not. We’re not doing it anymore, okay? It’s over.”

“Okay.” My hands find his shirt and fist the fabric. I sob on his chest, bringing him closer to me when I should let him go. It’s over. All the illicit things we’ve been doing. All the things I’ve been hiding from Emma. All of it is over, but I don’t feel relief. I just feel enormous amounts of pain and hurt and burn.

He rocks me in his arms like a child, and I clutch at him harder. He’s the only thing keeping me together and making me fall apart, and no matter what I said, I don’t want to let go. I don’t regret falling in love; I only regret how it happened.

At some point, I stop crying and simply hold on to him because I don’t want this to end. I breathe him in and he does the same. His arms are shaking around me and I look up at him. I’ve never seen his face so expressive before, like a battered page of an ancient book. There are stains of agony and regret.

He stares down at me with half a smile, a pathetic attempt to appear nonchalant. He looks like he wants to say something but he stops himself. Then, he bends down and places a soft kiss on my forehead, lingering for about two seconds before he takes a step back. It was tender and soft and all the things I’ve always wanted.

He takes me in, one last time, and then turns around and begins walking to the elevator. Astonished, I stand there, immobile. That’s it? Is this how it ends? He never told me why he came here.

A beep sounds, signaling the arrival of the elevator. The steel door whooshes open but before he can get on, I dash to him and cling to his strong body, twining my arms and legs around him. He jerks to a stop, one arm grabbing my wrist on his chest and the other resting on the small of my back.

We both shudder with panting breaths. Then, as if he whispered the words in my ears, I hear them clearly. This is goodbye. He came to say goodbye, like he promised he would. Goodbyes aren’t my forte, but I won’t leave you like a coward either.

It’s enough to send me sobbing again but I remain silent and wrapped around him, simply breathing him in. I won’t make this harder than it has to be.

I won’t. I won’t.

Thomas tries to unwind my arms but despite everything, I hold on to him tighter. “Let me go, Layla. I need to go.”

“I know.” I burrow my nose in his neck, run my teeth over his skin. His flavor explodes over my tongue, making me all drugged up and crazy. “But before you go, could you stay a little while?”

As soon as I say it, I’m filled with shame. I shouldn’t have said that. I made a promise to his child that I wouldn’t break up his family, but my brain is sluggish right now. My body is dying for his.

Even so, I untwine my arms and legs and slide down, feeling the ridges of his back, the patterns of his muscles on the gentle hills and valleys of my front.

I’m waiting for him to leave. He’s waiting for it too, if his accelerated breathing is any indication.

And yet, Thomas spins around and faces me. The hunger in his expression is unmistakable. I’m rendered speechless by it. He bends down to plant a hard kiss onto my lips. A ticking pulse starts down below, in my pussy, a bomb that could blow up at any minute.

“Last time,” he growls over my mouth. “Ask me to promise you that this is the last time.”

I don’t want to, but it needs to be done. We’re going to be over by the time we both come. The amount of time we have left is the length of one fuck. This is how we began, right? And this is how we’ll end. I want to laugh at the rightness of it all. I want to cry.

“P-Promise me that this is the last time?”

Tectonic plates shift under the harsh surface of his body, juddering and rearranging themselves. “Yeah. I promise.”

After that, there isn’t any need for words. He hauls me up in his arms and strides over to my apartment, our lips fused together, my fingers holding on to his hair. He kneads the globes of my ass as he kicks the door shut, and his long legs eat up the distance to the opposite wall. My back thuds against it, a sharp pain shooting in my skull, but I just kiss him harder. I latch on to his lips like I’ll never let him go.

He props me against the wall with his hips, fitting his hardness over my core. His greedy hands wander up and down my bare thighs. He tucks his thumb inside the hem of my polka dot sleep shorts and edges closer and closer to my wet, hot center.

His tongue slides down my neck and he takes a bite out of the swell of my right breast. This is what happens when we’re in close proximity—we combust, we burn. He yanks down the straps of my cami and exposes my puffy tits, lashing my nipples with his tongue, one at a time.

“Oh God…” I arch against the wall, bending myself into a taut half-moon.

He lets go of my thighs and frames my face with his hands, forcing me to look at him. Our chests move in sync. One breath in and one breath out. Our lips are parted. Our eyes swirl with animal lust. In this moment, we’re more than soul mates. We inhabit each other’s bodies. We are one. One skin. One heart. One need.

He smacks a hard and fast kiss on my lips and whips my shorts off, leaving me half dressed in my cami, which is bundled up beneath my breasts. On his knees now, he bands an arm around my waist to keep me steady, and with the other, he parts my trembling thighs.

Then he falls on me. Tongue, teeth, and mouth—I get them all. He slashes my core with his decadent, dirty touches. A long suck on my clit. A couple of jarring rotations of his fingers inside me. All the while, he murmurs dirty nothings to my quivering cunt. He tells her how much he loves her taste. How much of a good girl she is to respond to him this way. How he’s never going to forget how tight and hot she is. How she hugs his cock like a glove a size too small but somehow, still right.

I come in the wake of his filthy words, his dirty poetry to my hungry cunt, and it’s glorious. Magical. Potentially life-altering. All I can do is tangle my fingers in his hair and chant his name over and over. He presses a soft, fluttering kiss on my tattoo and stands up. His arms lift me from the floor and carry me bridal style in the general direction of my bedroom, which I waved at in my half-drowsy state.

I nuzzle in the hollow of his throat as he enters, and lays me down on the bed. He then proceeds to make enough space around me so we can get comfortable. I watch him with hooded eyes as he unbuttons his shirt halfway, then snags it in the back and pulls it over his head. His jeans come off next, leaving him magnificently, heartbreakingly naked.

My hands twitch with the need to traverse the solid pack of muscles of his chest and abdomen. The raven curls sprinkling his chest exude sheer masculinity. He runs his gaze over my body, from the cloud of my hair to the tips of my flexing toes. He’s committing me to his memory, like I’m doing to him.

I arch my back for him and his cock gives a jerk. Licking his lips, he grabs it at the base then pumps it once, twice. His touch on his own cock translates to the erotic sensations in my core, and a trickle of cum seeps out.

The muscles of his thighs bunch as he bends down to retrieve a condom from his jeans.

“No. No condoms.” His displeased frown makes me rub my thighs together. “And no pussy either.”

Now his frown is more than displeased. It’s thunderous. He locks his palms on my knees and applies pressure until my thighs are parted, and my needy flesh is open to his eyes. “You want to repeat that?” His voice has dropped an octave lower, scraping my senses, arousing them even more.

“I want it in my ass.”

Bold, bold words for someone who’s pinned down on the bed simply by the intense look of her lover. I bet if he told me to stay still so he could cut out a piece of my heart, I’d obey him. I’m so far gone for him that he could fool me easily.

He arches his eyebrows and prowls over my body, his sculpted arms putting on a show for me. “What?”

My toes dip into the springy hair of his calves as I reply, “If this is the last time then I want you wh-where you’ve never been.”

His hair falls over his forehead as he lowers himself over me, propped up on his arms. “It’s going to hurt.”

“I know.”

A fierce expression flickers over his face, not yet taking hold but lurking. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

I would laugh if I weren’t on the verge of crying—again. He’s already hurt me a million times before. What’s one more? I want the hurt. I want to burn. He told me once that he’d ruin me for any other man, and that this is how he’d do it. I want him to do it. I want this. I want to be ruined for every other man out there because no one is like him. If I can’t have him, then no one will ever have me. I’ll be alone. The very thing I was running from…I want it now.

I whisper, “It’s okay.”

A drop of sweat from his forehead plops down between my breasts and he watches its descent. His breathing is erratic. He wants this as much as me. In fact, he might be afraid of how much he wants it.

“I might not be able to stop…” He is measuring each word, striving to make them just right. “Once…Once I get in.”

I cup his harsh jaw and rub his calves with my feet. “But you’ll make it good. You always make it so good for me. Please, Thomas?”

My pouting lips are his demise. That fierce expression overtakes his features, darkening his eyes and flushing his cheeks crimson. He moves away and hauls me up by my arm. I yelp as I go up on my knees, facing him.

We take each other in, panting, mad with lust. My eyes home in on the mole on his collarbone, the mole I somehow missed during our previous encounters. I reach out and touch it and then splay my hand over his chest, feeling the tattoo of his heartbeats on my palm. I watch the interplay of his abdominal muscles as he sucks in deep breaths, throwing the lines of his ribs in sharp relief.

If I focus really hard, I can pretend we’re two people in love. This is what happens when your love is requited. You control each other; you live for each other.

He grabs my arms and yanks them over my head, then takes off my barely-there cami. Now I’m as naked as him, shivering under the deluge of goosebumps.

His hands close over my breasts and knead the flesh. My breath picks up, and so does my heart. I feel it ballooning in my chest, pressing against my ribcage. My arousal seems bigger than me right now. The more he massages my achy tits, the more restless I become. I rock my lower body, grazing the head of his cock with my stomach, making him grunt.

Letting go of my breasts and moving away, Thomas grabs the back of my neck and pushes me toward the bed. I go down willingly, until my elbows hit the messy sheets and I’m on my knees, my butt in the air.

He moves behind me, palming my ass, massaging and kneading. A slew of tingles pools down my lower back, spreads over my flesh. That dark, uncharted hole clenches.

Moisture dribbles down my core and along my inner thighs. Thomas swoops it up with a finger, bringing it to my pussy and painting it over my dripping lips.

Mini jerks float down my body, making me hump the air. I look behind to find Thomas focusing on the movements of his finger. His brow is furrowed as he adds his other hand to the mix, inserting a thick digit inside my core. He stretches my tight hole and my swollen lips using his fingers and thumbs. My cheeks are parted and I’m exposed to his eyes.

But I can see he isn’t happy. He wants more. It’s in the way his body shifts with impatience.

His nails dig into my ass as he stretches me farther. The tight ring of my asshole pops open; I can feel it. I can feel my pussy gushing and dousing me in a weird combination of arousal and shame. Then he does something that throws me into a different stratosphere of lust.

His lips pucker and he spits on my asshole. As soon as the warm liquid hits me, my hips twitch. Thick, knotted ropes inside my lower tummy unravel, and I almost come, falling on the bed, face first.

“Can you feel how tight you are here?” His fingers work to lubricate me, spreading his spit over my tight ring, all the while playing with my other hole. “I knew you would be. I know you won’t rest until I completely lose my mind over how tight and untouched you are.”

He stops playing with my pussy and focuses only on my ass now. He inserts his wet thumb and a tiny crumb of pain darts through my spine. It screams that I want this. I want him to take my ass and be my first.

Arching my hips, I rest my cheek on the soft bed. I bring my arms back and put them on my ass cheeks, helping him stretch my hole.

“Fuck,” he curses on a shuddering breath. “You’re trying to kill me.”

“No,” I mumble into the sheet, suddenly extremely horny and shy. “I’m trying to get you to fuck me already.”

A pained laugh escapes him. “Yeah, I’ll be dead before this is over.”

Now that I hold myself open for him, he lets go and palms his cock. It hits my ass, the heat of it seeping into my skin. He spits again, this time on his head, and rubs the saliva all over his shaft. The view of it is hidden behind my raised ass but I can imagine his rod shining, the foreskin sliding up and down, creating the magnificent friction I feel when he flicks my clit.

The flex of his biceps relaxes as he halts the movement and looks up at me. I bite my lip, my chest fluttering up and down with anticipatory breaths.

With his eyes, he tells me he is ready to take me. No words pass between us. This moment is too big for words. It can only be described in actions. He is going to claim the last part of me now.

Thomas grips my waist with one hand, keeping me in one place, and with the other, nudges the head of his cock against my dark, tiny entrance. He pushes in, trying to breach the compact ring of muscles. It’s hard, a struggle, during which I squirm and scrunch my eyes shut, and he breathes in loud pants. Then a pop sounds and he is in.

The sting of it. The pressure of it. I feel it fanning over my entire ass and spine. Hissing, I buck my hips, almost dislodging him, but he tightens his grip around my waist and keeps me steady.

He keeps sliding his cock in, and I swear I hear the muscles stretching, peeling away from each other. Oh God. Tears form as I breathe through my nose, trembling with pain.

This was a bad idea. Bad. Bad. Bad.

“Shh…” Thomas caresses my spine with his other arm, trying to soothe my skittish body. “It’s gonna be okay. It’s gonna be okay. I’ll take care of you.”

“Is it…all in?” I whimper.

“No, baby, not yet.” He whooshes out a long breath. His strong thighs vibrate against the back of mine, telling the tale of his control and exertion.

That slip of his tongue, that casually thrown in endearment makes me open my eyes and look at him. Every hollow and crevice of his body stands taut and highlighted. He appears to be made of stone. My fire-breather. My stone god.

And I’m his baby. Baby.

His head is dipped as if in prayer, his brow furrowed as if he can’t afford to lose control and hurt me in the process, but I don’t care anymore. I want him however I can get him.

“It hurts,” I tell him in a small voice.

His body jerks and his hazy eyes lift up. I pop my thumb into my mouth and suck on it, imagining it’s his cock that I’m using as a sucker, like a good girl.

I play his favorite game one last time and his nostrils flare. He suddenly grows larger, bigger, tenser. I smile on the inside when his sweat-slicked palms grab both sides of my hips and he pushes through. I bite my thumb, moan around it, and close my eyes. The pain is excruciating but as I surrender to it, I realize it ebbs in slow measures.

Thomas grunts as he bottoms out, the coarse hair around his cock prickling the smooth skin of my ass. I imagine him watching me suck on my thumb, being still, being good for him. My heart pounds as I picture him gathering himself once again to pull out so he can push back in, smoothing his way through my tight chamber.

He unclenches one hand and brings it to my clit, strumming the bundled-up button. My hips buck again, but as always, Thomas keeps me balanced. While playing with my clit and making my pussy bleed cream for him, he withdraws almost fully then pushes back in. He huffs and I grunt.

Sweat pools on my back, skates down to my neck, tickling me. Moaning, I rub my heavy breasts on the soft bed, seeking friction for my engorged nipples as Thomas finds his slow but confident rhythm. The pain is there, but it’s bearable, pleasurable even.

One last time, he tells me a story, dirty and pornographic. He tells me how tight I am, how amazing I feel. He tells me men would kill to get inside my pussy, my ass—it doesn’t matter which.

As I listen to him and lose my mind, I know I don’t care about any other men. I only care about him.

Our flesh is sliding together, oiled with sweat and my own juices. Then Thomas shifts onto his knees to bring his leg out and around my hips, changing his angle. Weirdly, I feel his cock in my spine. I feel it bumping against the ridges of my bones, and I explode.

Spurts of cum burst out of me, drenching my thighs and his, too, I’m sure. My body is tight and loose at the same time, bucking and shivering, a beast I can’t control. For a second, I’m scared it won’t ever be over, that I’ll never regain control of my own body. A shriek echoes in my throat but his hand over my mouth tamps it down. I put my own hand over his and grab on to it.

Behind me, Thomas jerks. He rotates his hips in a telltale sign of his climax, and I squeeze his palm over my mouth to tell him I’m here, that it’s okay to let go.

He falls over me as his cock pushes out hot cum. I sigh under his delicious weight and we lie in the puddle of our orgasms. His shuddering chest bumps with my back, his arm thrown over my shoulder. I smell his skin, nuzzle my face in the coarse hair of his forearm. His sighs scatter the hair on my neck.

For the first time in a long time, I feel sleepy on my bed. I don’t need the hard surface of the bathtub. My eyes are on the verge of falling shut when I hear him whisper, almost distractedly, “You bring them back…my words.”

It’s so soft and thin that it could almost be a dream. In that dream, I could almost imagine that he came here not to say goodbye, but to tell me he loves me.

I fall asleep in the wake of those three imagined words.

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

When I woke up this morning, Thomas had left. I’d expected him to, but I wasn’t expecting to find myself tucked under my purple blanket, sleeping soundly on the bed. At some point during the night he moved me, put me under the covers, and crept out silently. For some reason, that hurts me more than anything we’ve ever done.

My coffee sits on the kitchen counter, untouched and cold. I had all the plans of holding my head up and moving on, but everything hurts.

Hurts. Like I’ve been run over by a car.

Emma’s door opens and I quickly wipe away all the tears. Turning, I greet her with a fake smile. “Ready to go?”

“No, class is canceled. I just got an email.”

Relief is my body’s first reaction. I don’t want to go. I don’t even have a plan in place as to how to face Thomas, how to be normal around him after everything. Then my brain catches on. “What? Why?”

Her expression is both horrified and confused. “I…got a text from Samantha, who got a text from Brian. He says he actually saw it or maybe heard it from somewhere. It-It doesn’t matter. But Professor Abrams… His wife’s in the hospital. She-She tried to kill herself.”

A buzz enters my mind.

A constant sound of static that invades my ears, and it doesn’t stop there. It floods over my body. I see Emma. I see her lips moving. I see the frown on her face, the agitated lines around her mouth. But it doesn’t register.

Nothing does.

Thomas.

He needs me. I know he does. I need to go to him. I need to find Thomas. This…This can’t be happening. I saw her yesterday and she was fine. I saw her with my own eyes and oh my God, he loves her. He loves her so much and… Did I do this? Was it me? Did-Did my going there bring this on? Maybe she realized how much I love him too. Maybe she found out about us. It’s my fault, isn’t it?

My world screeches to a halt and then shakes, shakes violently.

“Layla? What the hell are you talking about?” Emma is closer to me than before. How did she get here? I look down and see coffee spilled all over the floor, some of it splashed over my bare feet with shards of my broken mug scattered around.

“I need to go see him,” I tell Emma.

“I don’t understand. When did you see his wife? Why is it your fault?”

I realize I was saying it all out loud. I don’t have time to explain things right now. I need to go find Thomas.

“Do you know where…” I take a puff of breath, trying to make sense of words, which are failing me right now.

“She’s at the hospital. She’s fine. At least, that’s what I heard. It’s all over campus.”

“Okay. Okay.” I walk around her. “I need to go to the hospital. Right now.”

Emma stops me then. “Layla, there’s more.”

Her tone sends a chill down my spine. Cold curls around my bones and hunkers down. “What? What is it?”

She is wringing her hands, agitated. “I-I heard that their baby, the one we met at Crème and Beans all those weeks ago?” She is shaking her head.

Why is she shaking her head?

“Layla, he’s in the hospital too.”

“What does that mean?”

“I don’t know… I heard he’s in the ICU or something.”

“Nicky?” I shake my head at Emma’s sympathetic, pitying face. “Why? I mean, what happened. How can he be in the ICU? Isn’t…Isn’t that serious?”

She puts her hand on my shoulders and rubs my skin in circles. “Shit, Layla, you’re shivering. You need to sit down for a sec, okay?”

“No.” I stop her from pushing me down on the barstool. “No. Tell me where Nicky is.”

“Layla, I really don’t know, honey. I told you what I heard. I’ve got no idea how any of this happened.”

I break out of her hold, numb and charged at the same time, ready to stride over to the front door. “I need to go. I need to find Thomas, okay? I n-need to tell him Nicky is fine. He must be freaking out right now.”

“Layla, you need to listen to me. Just please, listen to me.” She goes to grab my arm and I spin around.

“No,” I shout. “No. I don’t need to do anything but find Thomas, okay? He needs…” My voice breaks and I take in another breath. “I just need to get to the hospital. Right now.”

Emma nods. “Okay. I’ll take you. I’ll find out what hospital they were taken to and then we’ll go.”

I nod, and then my legs give out and I crumple to the ground.

Lay-la. La-laaa.

Yes. I’m Layla…or Lala. Whatever. I sip my coffee and he chews on his tiny fists, staring at me in fascination. His eyes are big, wide pools of blue water. He’s adorable.

You wanna drink my coffee, little guy? He gurgles. Okay, tell you what, I’ll give this to you if you say coffee. Say, co-ffee.

Thomas sends me an exasperated look. What? I’m teaching him a new word. I look at Nicky. Come on, Nicky, don’t let me down. Say, coffee. Co-ffee.

He chortles. Thomas is pursing his lips, holding back a laugh. Oh, you’re enjoying this, aren’t you? You wait and see, the day will come when Nicky’s going to say coffee and love me more than he loves you.

“We’re here, Layla.” Emma’s voice brings me to the moment. We’re at the parking lot of the university hospital, and I’m surprised to find tears tracking down my cheeks.

I don’t know why I’m crying. They told Emma that Hadley is going to be okay, and… I know Nicky is going to be fine. I know it. Even though they said that he’s in the PICU and chances are he won’t survive the night. I mean, what do they know. They said chances are. Right? Chances could mean anything.

So my tears are stupid.

I jump out of the car and make my way toward the front entrance. When I see Thomas, everything is going to be okay. I chant it to myself, over and over. Emma talks to the lady at reception but she is refusing to give us anything. We’re not family.

A movement in the periphery catches my eye, and I turn to find Susan walking down the hallway to the left of the reception desk.

“Susan.”

She is startled to see me walking toward her. “Layla.”

“Why are you crying?” Her cheeks are tear-stained, similar to mine. It makes me feel…panicky. “No. Don’t cry. There’s nothing to cry about. Everything is gonna be okay. They told Emma…” I turn to point her out at the desk. “Hadley’s gonna be fine.”

She covers her mouth to muffle a broken sob. “Nicky—”

“He’s fine.” My shrill voice surprises her and she looks at me like I’m crazy. “Nicky’s fine. Nothing’s going to happen to him. He’s fine.”

“You know he likes to put all his toys in his playpen. Every night he makes me gather them up and put them in one corner.” She hiccups. “He looked like an angel this morning, playing with his little elephant.” She looks like she’s going to fall so I put my arm around her shoulders.

“Then Hadley woke up early and I-I asked her to watch Nicky while I ran to the store to get the formula. I didn’t want to. I didn’t want to leave him alone but I don’t know h-how I forgot to stock up on it and he needed it. I thought I’d be back soon, but the store didn’t have it so I had to drive a little farther.”

Susan is full-on crying now. I want to snap at her but just then Emma walks over to us, puts her hand on my shoulders, and shakes her head once, telling me to rein it in.

“B-By the time I got back, he was…he was almost…gone. I called 911 and then I looked for Hadley. She was in the bathroom unconscious.” Susan’s sobs are dislodging something inside me—my stern, stark belief that Nicky is okay—and I don’t like that. I don’t like it one bit.

I move away from her. “Where’s Thomas?”

Susan takes a while to answer, a while that stretches thin and brittle. She tells me he’s on the third floor where the PICU wards are located, in the waiting room. I dash upstairs, unseeing, barely conscious myself.

My feet stop when I catch sight of him. His back is to me. The wide berth of his shoulders is the only thing I see. He’s standing in the middle of the empty waiting room, facing the glass doors that lead to the hallway containing the wards.

It reminds me of the night I saw him through his window. Even through his grey shirt, I see the bunched-up muscles, the tensed patterns on his back. That night I couldn’t console him. I couldn’t touch him or tell him everything was going to be okay.

But I’m going to do it now.

I walk toward him, slowly, my steps quiet like a flickering, dying breath.

“Thomas?”

He doesn’t move. I don’t think he even heard me. I walk around and come face to face with him.

Or something that looks like him. Something that’s as tall and as wide but somehow shrunken. A husk of a man, pale and haggard with barren eyes.

“Thomas,” I call again, this time louder than before. His gaze snaps away from whatever tortured vision he’s been having and settles on me. “Everything is going to be okay,” I repeat for the millionth time. The more I say it, the more dusty and scraping it feels in my mouth, as though I’ve swallowed a sandstorm and my body is filled with crunchy grains of the desert. But, I push on. He needs me. “I’m here now. Everything is gonna be fine. Hadley’s fine.”

I swallow and get close to him. My neck strains as I look at his face, immobile and dead. “Thomas, d-don’t worry. They’re all lying about Nicky, I know it. Trust me, okay. I—”

I’m shocked at the release of a shattered sob. It sounds so much like Susan’s, the woman who thinks Nicky is almost gone. I’m not that woman. My sob shouldn’t sound like hers. I know Nicky is gonna be okay. He has to be. There’s no other option.

The sound of my pain wakes Thomas up, but he still doesn’t see me. He’s too occupied in his own head, too overcome with his grief. I never thought sadness could be violent and savage, but on Thomas it is. His devastation is brutal. I’m readying myself for it to rain down on me. It never comes, however.

He walks away.

His legs eat up the distance and he’s opening the door to the stairwell. I run after him. I snatch his arm and stop his progress just as he reaches the edge of the greenish stairs. “Thomas, wait. Just look at me, please. It’s going to be fine. I’m telling you. Just please, look at me,” I beg, and then he does.

He looks at me, and fury blazes through his eyes. He grabs my bicep and shakes me, jarring every single one of my bones in the process. “My son’s dying, Layla.” He spits out my name like a toxic curse. “They won’t even let me in. They won’t even let me see him. He almost choked to death on a fucking button, and they won’t even let me see my own son.”

He’s at a stage where everything looks like food and drool-worthy. I sob again and it is broken and strangled, with enough power to destroy me.

“Do you know why no one was there to stop him?” His grip tightens on my arm and he pushes me, walks me backward, thumping my back and my head to the cold wall. I bite my lip to stop from crying out in pain. “Because my wife was busy killing herself,” he snarls. “She was busy swallowing down a bottle of sleeping pills.” By the time he finishes, his snarl has become a roar as he belts out his pain. He slaps his palm on the wall beside me.

But then the fight is leached out of his body as if that one slap to the wall was all he had in him. His voice loses its violent quality and is now fraught with torture. “I thought everything was fine. I thought if she let me touch her, then she must’ve forgiven me. She asked me to hold her a-and I thought she must love me back. Maybe not a lot – God knows, I don’t deserve that, now more than ever – but at least a little. And now…everything is broken. My entire family is torn apart when I just got it back.”

There’s a crack in his voice, right in the middle of it. It breaks my heart, crushes it into a pulp. I’m bleeding on the inside.

I remember the odd glow I saw on her yesterday. She was tired but…peaceful. She was happy, and I fucked it all up.

“It was me.” I swallow. “I-I did that. It’s my fault. I went to your house to see Nicky. I wanted to tell him I’d back off, that I broke all the rules and fell in love with you, and I saw Hadley and I—”

“You fell in love with me,” he says. It’s a flat statement. I would’ve been fooled by the calmness of it if not for his pulsating cheek.

“Thomas, I –”

“My family is dying because you love me,” he says matter-of-factly, and I go speechless at the inferno bursting through his red-rimmed eyes.

Thomas is burning up. His thick fingers are going to leave a burn mark around my bicep. It wouldn’t be anything I don’t deserve. I’m bracing myself for it. I’m bracing myself for whatever punishment he wants to dole out. His gaze tells me that I disgust him.

But again, nothing comes.

The pressure of his grip eases as he whirls around, momentarily dazzling me. His dismissal is confusing. His restraint increases my urge for the punishment. I don’t want his control; I want his fury. All I can think about is that he’s hurting because of me and he needs this. He needs to hurt me back so he can get some closure. I’m both calm and frantic in my thinking.

I go to grab his shirt—to stop him? Tell him to hit me? Punch me in the face? Kick me to the ground for murdering his family? I don’t know—but he jars to a halt, and the impact of it makes my boots slip on the shiny floor of the stairwell. Suddenly, I’m airborne.

I’m flying.

Falling—literally.

My body is bounding down the stairs and as I hit the ground, all I think about is how fucking sorry I am, how fucking right it is that I’m going to die now because my love is so toxic.

And then the dark, sticky fingers pull me under, and I go to sleep.

I come to, surrounded by the beep beep beep of machines and that clean but diseased smell of the hospital. Before I even open my bleary eyes, the bone-deep despair rises to the surface. The panic. The helplessness. It all stampedes on my chest and I gasp, trying to sit up.

“Hey. You’re awake.”

I focus on a sleep-ruffled Caleb. “Wh-What…” Oh God, the pain. I press my fingers to my throbbing head.

“Here.” Caleb produces a cup of water with a straw, urging me to take a sip. I obey, the water soothing the dryness in my throat.

He puts the cup away and faces me, shushing me when I try to speak. “Don’t. Your head’s gonna hurt for a while. Just give it a rest for now.”

“I…c-can’t.” I groan. Even that small whisper rattles inside my skull, tears prickling my eyes. I’ve got so many questions, so many, many things to ask him.

He strokes my hair. “Hey, it’s gonna be fine. Everything is going to be okay.”

Helpless, I lie there, crying with bitter irony. I can’t believe I said those very things not long ago. It’s gonna be okay. It’s all fine.

Nothing is fine. Not a single thing. I don’t even know how long I have been out.

“Th-Thomas?”

His face hardens. I have never seen him with that expression. “He’s gone.”

I shift on the bed, struggling to get up, but Caleb pushes me back down. Somehow, I manage to ask, “Why?”

“Are you fucking serious right now, Lay?” I sink into the hard pillow, horrified by his cursing. Caleb never uses bad words. Ever. It ratchets up my anxiety even more.

There’s some advantage to knowing a person for a lifetime, because Caleb can read the emotions on my face without me having to spell it out. “You fell down the stairs. It’s because of him, isn’t it? Do you remember that?”

Words scrape my throat as they struggle to come out. “N-No. He didn’t do anything. It was me. I was g-going after him.” And this is right on so many levels.

Caleb’s face hardens even more before going slack. “It’s not your fault.”

Tears are streaming down and my head is buzzing with the pain. “You don’t know. Hadley, she tried to kill herself because I went to their house.” Caleb shakes his head but I forge on, “She knew, Caleb. She could see I was in love with her h-husband. And Nicky… Is he…”

It’s getting harder and harder for me to talk. My head is going to explode and I can’t breathe with all the snot running down my nose. Caleb hands me a tissue. But I don’t care about the tissue. Please, please, please let him be okay. Please God.

“He’s fine. He made it.”

Caleb’s voice breaks through the mayhem in my head. He’s nodding, repeating what he just said. He made it. Nicky is fine.

“He is?” I whisper.

“Yeah. He, uh, he’s okay. He’s out of the critical care, and so is Hadley. Everything is okay now.”

I nod and nod again. I keep nodding, and my tears keep rolling down my cheeks.

Thank God. Thank God. Thank God.

I can’t form the words, the feeling of relief is huge inside me. So fucking huge. The pressure evaporates from my chest. Suddenly, I’ve become loose, flexible.

But it’s all wrong, isn’t it? I need to feel the pressure. None of this would’ve happened if not for me. I went to their house, their safe place and fucking destroyed everything.

“I almost killed him.” My words are thick and wet with my salty tears.

“Layla, listen to me.” He waits till I look at him. “What happened to Nicky is not your fault. If anything, it was Hadley’s. They’re talking about a psych eval for her.”

“What?”

“She tried to kill herself, Layla. That’s a serious thing. Not to mention, the kid almost died on her watch. She’ll probably get slapped with charges of neglect, or maybe more. None of that has to do with you. You couldn’t have brought it on by just being there.”

Caleb doesn’t know. He doesn’t know the extent of it.

My family is dying because you love me.

He didn’t see Thomas’ face. He didn’t see how I took everything from him when he’d just gotten it back.

“Do you know where Thomas is right now? Can you take me there? Please Caleb, I really need to see him.” I grab his hand, pleading.

“No. I wouldn’t tell you even if I knew. They flew Nicky out to a different hospital in the city, and they both left with him, Thomas and his wife. That’s all I know.”

Panicked, I try to scramble up. I need to see Thomas. I need to apologize. I need to do something. He might hate me, but I know he needs me.

Caleb overpowers me easily. He pushes me down on the bed and holds me there. “Jesus, Layla. Look at yourself. You need to take care of yourself. Shit.” His face crumples then, almost crying, but not yet. “When your mom called me, I-I was… God, I’ve never been so scared in my life. And to come here and find out the man responsible for your…accident is your professor? Is that the guy you love? Is that why you wanted to stay here instead of moving to the city?”

I never told Caleb who I’m in love with after dropping the bomb on him when he came to visit. I just ran out of there when I had the epiphany.

I struggle to get up once again. This time, however, Caleb doesn’t have to come stop me, because I collapse all on my own.

“He’s hurting, Caleb,” I cry, fisting the sheets covering my frail body. “I-I need to go to him.”

“What you need to do is rest. You’re gonna need your strength. Your mom’s here, and so is your dean, and they know, about…everything.” Again, I don’t have to ask. Caleb understands on his own. “Someone told them.”

“Who?”

He sighs, rakes his fingers through his hair. “Sarah Turner? Does that name make sense to you?”

I nod. “She wants his job.”

“They want to talk to you. There will be an investigation.” He gives me a meaningful look.

“There’s no need for one.” I avert my eyes. “I pursued him. I literally stalked him. Went to his house. I fell in love with him. It was all me.”

“He was right,” Caleb mutters.

“Who was right?” I ask, but I don’t really care about the answer. It’s all automatic. I feel the animation and emotions leaving my body. I actually feel lighter, thinner because of it, like a little tap would turn me to dust.

“He told me not to say anything, but I know you. You’re insanely stubborn so… Thomas was here last night.”

I whip my gaze back to him as my heart drums from beyond its grave. “Thomas?”

“You were out cold. He told me to tell you it isn’t your fault. I wasn’t supposed to tell you that the message came from him though.”

“He…He said that? That’s what he said?”

“Yes. Among other things.”

“What things?”

Sighing, he turns his face, and for the first time, I notice the left side of his jaw is swollen. “He punched me. Told me it was because of what I did.”

My eyes widen and a pounding starts in my head again. Caleb puts a calming hand on my shoulder. “Relax. You’re gonna make yourself worse.”

“And he just left after that?”

“Yes.” He stares at me with pity. “He wasn’t going to stick around anyway.”

Caleb doesn’t say it but I can read his expression. What were you thinking? Sleeping with a married professor?

“Of course, yeah. I know that.” I shake my head as tears fall down in a thick stream. “Why would he?” I almost killed his family, I want to add, but my voice shuts down, along with every other function of my body. I become useless and limp as Thomas’ words swirl around in my head.

My family is dying because you love me.

How could I have done this to him? How could my love be so toxic? Selfish and greedy. A fucking demon.

It isn’t your fault. I don’t believe Thomas. How can it not be my fault? I went there when he specifically asked me not to. Maybe he was just being kind to me while I was unconscious, and that kills me even more.

I thought I did everything right this time. I thought my love wouldn’t eat me from the inside out. I thought it wouldn’t hurt anyone.

Turns out, my love is cannibalistic. Turns out, I don’t deserve to love anyone, much less have that love reciprocated.

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

The Bard

Four Months Later…

He looks at me with bright blue eyes. His dark hair falls to his forehead and drool hangs from his lips. Yeah, I might need to get that later. But for now, he’s happy to be a free agent. He’s on all fours, grinning at me, or rather the purple blanket I’m holding in my hands.

“Come on, buddy. You want this?” I wave the small blanket at him and his grin gets wider. “Then come get it. Come on.”

I egg him on and he shrieks, and crawls over as fast as his knees and dimpled palms will allow. I laugh at his enthusiasm and haul him in my arms when he reaches me. His shrieks and mirth get louder as I lift him up.

He’s lighter than air but I know he’s put on weight. His red cheeks have become fuller and healthier. He is happy and oblivious. He doesn’t know that mere months ago he almost died, that the button from his favorite purple elephant, almost killed him. And I wouldn’t want it any other way. I don’t want anything tarnishing his pure innocence.

Nicky gurgles when I put him down on the floor and give him his blanket. Muttering to himself, he snatches it from my hands and begins to rub his face on the soft fur. Then he proceeds to blow raspberry kisses on it, and I chuckle. A strained, almost choking sound. Something about his playful actions, about the fact that he can do this… that he gets a chance to do this, lodges something sharp in my throat.

I look up when I hear Hadley come into the room. She’s freshly showered, her hair up in a neat bun, and her smile in place. Like Nicky, she has grown healthier too.

“Do you want to eat now?” I ask. “We can think about unpacking a few things later.”

The boxes are stacked up by the wall of the living room. A lifetime of possessions, a life contained inside the four cardboard walls somehow fails to do justice to what we’ve all been through.

This is our new home now. We’ve been living in Jake’s empty apartment in the city for the past few months. But it was time for a change, to move forward. So we got a new place in Brooklyn.

Hadley gives me a shy smile. “Okay.”

I leave Nicky to play on the floor, and pad over to the kitchen and start taking out containers from the bag. I sense Hadley coming closer. She stops at the island, still standing. I look up at her and find her watching me. I swallow and almost drop the container, my hands going weak. It’s still surreal that she is here, that my son is alive, that we are a family, again.

I focus on the food, dishing the perfect portions of the kung pao chicken out.

“Thomas?”

I halt my movements, the fork dangling in the air. There’s something about her voice that gives me goosebumps. My entire body goes into defense mode and the attack hasn’t even come yet. It’s the subtle steel, the soft authority in her words. It’s a tone she has rarely used with me. We never had any use for it. Even during the early days when we’d only just met, we never clashed. Now I realize that was because she gave in to all my demands.

“Yes.”

She rubs her arms—a gesture so like her that my chest hurts—but her eyes are determined. “I want a divorce.”

A beat passes. Two. Someone laughs on the street. A car whooshes by. A woman shrieks followed by more laughter. My eyes go to Nicky. He’s still playing with the blanket, crawling with it tucked close to his chest. A chest that’s moving up and down, as he breathes. My own chest begins to heave, one shuddering breath after another at the sight of my son alive and breathing. Focusing back on Hadley, I admit that I’ve been wondering when she’d say those words, when she’d be strong enough, mentally and physically, not to need me anymore.

Not need me to get her meds, feed her, hold her while the nightmares make her cry—the only time I have the courage to touch her—and silently pray my own tears away because she needs me to be strong.

“I see.” I rub my fingers over my mouth, oddly stunned that the moment is here.

She smiles then. Slowly, she leans over, puts her hand on my shoulders and tells me to sit. I do, like I’m a child, incapable of thinking for myself or doing even the simplest things.

Hadley takes a seat and we sit at the island across from each other. “This feels nice,” she says. “It feels like old times.”

I clear my throat. “Yeah.”

“Look at the size of this thing. It reminds me of the tiny island you had in college.”

“It does.”

“You don’t remember it, do you?”

“I—”

“You don’t have to agree with me on everything, Thomas. I won’t…I won’t blow up or anything.”

“I know.”

For the next few minutes, we keep mum. The silence is familiar, comforting even. This is how we’ve spent the last four months, with silences, occasional conversations. Yet, I know this moment is more. Something is coming; I can feel it in my bones, in my soul, even.

“I need to leave, Thomas,” Hadley says, after a little while. We both haven’t touched the food, but we’re both gripping the white plastic fork. For what? I don’t know.

But at her words, my grip tightens. My fists are shaking. It’s not as if this was unexpected. It’s not as if…we’ve been happy. With a sigh, I unfurl my palm and let the fork go.

“Right,” I say, robotically.

“I need to leave. At least, for a little while.”

“What about Nicky?” I repeat the question from long ago. But there is no heat in it. Maybe I’m going through the motions.

Her face crumples slightly and she squeezes my hand on the table. Hadley has always been good at hiding her emotions. She is soft and subtle, everything opposite of who I used to be. But now I can read her easily. I can see emotions playing on her beautiful face, like her porcelain skin has turned transparent and suddenly I can look inside.

She sighs, as if bracing herself for something big, and I’m on alert.

“He has you.” She smiles. “And Layla.”

The dulled embers inside my gut heat up at the mention of her name. The fire in my blood fans. My mind goes to the piece of paper tucked in my pocket—her poem from long ago. The poem she wrote for me, in another lifetime maybe. I carry it everywhere with me. I carry her everywhere with me, like a forgotten penny in my wallet. Most days I don’t even clap my eyes on it, but it’s there, safely buried.

It’s been four months, four long months since I saw her at the hospital, since I left her with one, pathetic line: It’s not your fault. I wasn’t even man enough to stay back and say it to her face. I ran. I couldn’t see her broken. I couldn’t see that I’d finally managed to push her too far.

“Hadley…”

My entire body is trembling. Fuck. I’m not prepared for it. I’m not prepared for talking about this. I’m not prepared to talk about Layla with Hadley.

“I-I… If I could go back, I’d—”

“I’d want you to have that all over again.” Shocked, my gaze flies up to her. “You fell in love. I’d never begrudge you that.”

Love. I fell in love with Layla Robinson.

In the frenzy of the last few months, I never got the chance to tell Hadley myself. She heard the rumors though. She heard why I quit my job, why we moved back to New York, other than for her and Nicky’s treatment.

I had an affair with my student.

It’s true that I ended up falling in love with her, but I never confessed this to Hadley. It feels foreign to hear it from my wife’s mouth. It feels…like relief. I haven’t felt it in a long, long time.

“I should’ve told you,” I rasp. I want to look away but I won’t. I’ll at least give her the courtesy of looking directly into her eyes when I confess.

“Yes.” She nods. “But I wasn’t there.”

“I should’ve waited for you to come back. We should’ve…should’ve talked about things.”

“Yes, but honestly, I didn’t want to. I didn’t want to face what I was going through. I didn’t want to face anything. I-I thought that if I left for a few days, things would be better, but they weren’t. And I missed you so much when I was gone, but when I came back, I felt even worse.”

It’s not easy listening to it. It’s not easy listening to how by forcing her to be with me, I almost destroyed her, how she lied to me. She never went to Beth’s. She simply ran away, lived at a motel someplace upstate.

“Susan… She told me. She kept saying something was wrong but I never…I never thought… My mind never even went there. Or maybe I didn’t want to see it. I felt…”

“What did you feel?”

For this, I don’t have the guts to look at her. “I felt relieved.”

I felt lighter when she left, like I didn’t have to tiptoe around her anymore. I didn’t have to pretend things were okay. I was angry at Hadley for so many things, for hiding the pregnancy, for not loving me, and when she left, I felt better. I felt like I could breathe, and that’s the worst thing I could’ve done. Worse than cheating. Worse than breaking our vows.

I look back at her to find her eyes wet. She sniffs as she continues, “Me too. The moment I stepped out the door, I felt like everything would be okay. Like I didn’t have to see how much I was killing you. I didn’t have to get up every morning and be there. I didn’t want to be there. I didn’t want to…to even look at Nicholas.”

Both our hands jerk at his name, like the hold is the only thing keeping our bodies together. If we let go, bones and skin will fall apart.

“And I thought that if I could just stay like that for even a day, I could be happy. I wouldn’t feel so…so down all the time. Every time I looked at him and he looked at me, I thought he was judging me, like he was saying I couldn’t be a good mom to him. I couldn’t take care of him.”

I want to reach out and wipe the tears off her face, but I can’t. I can’t let go of her hand.

“His cries.” She bites her lip, to keep herself from sobbing, I suppose. “The way he’d break down, screaming. Red-faced. His fists clenched. Oh God, I couldn’t take it. I’d ask myself Why doesn’t he stop? Just make him stop. And at the same time, I’d be terrified of picking him up and…and soothing him.”

“What if…we never had him?” It seems sacrilegious to say it, to say that the only way to prevent Hadley’s depression was to never have our son. What if I never forced her to keep him? What if I hadn’t been so afraid of being alone like my father? What if I had let her go the night she told me she wanted a divorce?

I swivel my gaze to Nicky. He has abandoned the blanket and now, he’s playing with his firetruck. These days, he never stops talking or rather muttering. He’s always saying something, crawling all over the place, laughing. He is living. I hate it when he goes to sleep because I can’t hear him then. I can’t hear the signs of his life. And I have to touch his chest or listen to him breathe just so I can breathe myself.

I bring my gaze back to Hadley. She’s watching me watch our son.

“I wouldn’t trade it for anything,” she says softly, putting me at ease. I wouldn’t trade my son for anything either.

“You know, mothers are supposed to take care of their children. They are supposed to stay up all night for them, feed them, nourish them, keep them alive. I never did those things. Those things scared me and he didn’t even know it. He didn’t know he had a terrible mother who couldn’t even look at him, but he saved my life, Thomas. If he wasn’t… Susan would never have come to get me. She would’ve thought I went back to sleep like I used to do and then I’d be dead. He almost died to save me. What kind of a mother am I?”

This time, I risk falling apart and release our hold. I take her face in both my hands and kiss her forehead. “A great one. I know it. Just give yourself a little bit of time.”

My eyes burn with unshed tears and I look to the ceiling to keep them inside. I can’t play the blame game with her, I’m tired. I’m tired of feeling like this, of trying to keep everything together, only to have it fall apart.

Hadley has become a better Mom. She holds Nicky now. Sometimes she even puts him to sleep. She still gets afraid, looks to me when he cries or when he needs something. But I know, I know she’ll get the hang of it. Her depression almost took her away but she’s getting better.

“Do you know what kept me alive all those months?” She moves away. “This. You. Your complete dedication. Your stubbornness to work on something that was almost gone. You loved me, Thomas, no matter what, and every day that gave me the strength to open my eyes when I didn’t want to. I didn’t want to face that I was one of them, you know. My entire family has depression of one sort or another. They can’t hold jobs. Most of my sisters are divorced. I didn’t want to be one of them.”

It was a couple of days after the incident that we found out she was suffering from post-partum depression. Textbook case, they said.

“There’s nothing wrong with it. There’s nothing wrong with going through what you went through, Hadley. It’s not something to be ashamed of.”

“Yeah, I know now.” She nods, tears shining in her eyes. “But I need to forgive myself first. I couldn’t touch Nicholas before because I just didn’t know how. I was afraid or…sometimes I’d feel nothing at all. It’s different now. I feel too much. I love him with all my heart. I never even thought this kind of love was possible, you know. So when I want to touch him now, I can’t. Because of what I did, of what I almost let happen.”

“Hadley --”

“No. Don’t say anything.” She swallows. “I can’t do this. To you, to him. Even to myself. I need to figure things out for myself. I need to see where I can go from here. How do I come back from this? How do I come back from almost killing my own baby?”

“It wasn’t you. It was your depression. You were sick. What happened was an accident.”

“Yes. But I’m not sick anymore. My head’s clear. It’s my turn to do the right thing.” She squeezes my hand again. “You need to do the right thing too. All these months, you’ve been there for me. But now, you need to be there for yourself, and for her. Layla.”

The fire roars at her name, roars and flows just under the surface. I feel a tidal wave of pain coming on, and it’s harder to control my emotions.

“She’s fine,” I tell her with gritted teeth. I let go of Hadley and sit back. Touching her while thinking of Layla seems wrong, although it’s tame in comparison to the sins I’ve already committed.

“Actually, she’s not. She’s not at all fine.”

I sit up. I feel like I’ll explode out of my skin. “What’s wrong with her?”

Hadley stays silent for a beat, before saying, “I don’t want you to punish yourself anymore.”

I open my mouth to say that I’m not, but something else comes out. “I don’t know what else to do. I’ve done so many things I’m not proud of. I’ve betrayed you. I broke all my promises but…but it’s worse.” I swallow. Then I swallow once again. I try to push down words, a lump, a jagged rock of emotions and a million things that just won’t stay buried.

“She said…She said she regrets everything. Everything we did. She regrets it and I don’t blame her.” I scrub my face with my hand. “I’ve been bad to her, for her. I’ve hurt her in so many ways.”

When Layla fell down the stairs, I realized that I loved her too. I’ve always loved her, and she was on the ground, broken, because of me.

“Then go fix it.”

“I can’t. She’s better off without me.”

“I told you she’s not.”

“What does that mean?”

“I went to see her.”

“What? How?” The piece of paper in my wallet suddenly seems heavy and bloated.

“Today.” At my confusion, she explains, “I didn’t have a doctor’s appointment today. I lied. After you and Nicky dropped me off, I took the train to her school. She goes to a community college in the city.”

“She’s…” I lose my voice for a moment. “She’s in the city?”

“Yes. I asked Jake and he asked someone else and he came back with pretty thorough information. She’s here. She’s taking summer courses to make up for the lost credits from last semester.”

She’s here. In the city. Somewhere among the millions of people who live here is the violet-eyed girl I’m scared to dream about. But I do. I do dream about her. I smell her sometimes in my sleep, hear her muted laughter. I keep her there, contained behind my closed eyelids. I don’t dare think about her any other place. I can’t. Not after the things I said to her. Not after I carried her broken body only to leave her in the hands of strangers, like a coward. I told her I wouldn’t leave without saying goodbye but that’s exactly what I did.

“What did you… How’s…”

“She was shocked to see me. She didn’t even move for a few minutes. Looked like she was bracing for something, like she was expecting me to go off on her. I made it look like we met accidentally, and I told her.”

“Told her what?”

“That what happened wasn’t her fault.”

I wince as if there was a gunshot. My ears start ringing. My family is dying because you love me. Every now and then, I hear my own words. I’d be doing something in the middle of the day, and suddenly, they would burst forth, jarring me completely. Those words are one of my demons. My son’s almost-vacant eyes, Layla’s laugh, my cruelty, Hadley’s frail body in the hospital bed—I have so many of them that I don’t even feel human anymore.

“She blames herself, doesn’t she?” Hadley says.

“That’s why I can’t go to her. I need to let her move on. She needs to move on. She’ll forget about me after a while.”

“Are you going to forget about her?”

“I can’t.”

“Then what makes you think she’s going to forget you?”

“She’s young, Hadley. And there’s Nicky to think about. I can’t…I can’t ask her to…”

I can’t even say it. How can I ask Layla to…be there for Nicky? And as what? As a stepmom, a mother figure, what? I can’t burden her.

“You and me both know that she loves Nicky. She’s probably more qualified than me to take care of him.”

I run my hands through my hair and make a punishing fist. I know that. I know, and yet…

“I’ve hurt her so bad,” I say, at last. “I don’t…I don’t think she can ever forgive me.”

“Then that’s a chance you’re going to have to take.” She reaches forward and caresses my jaw. “You can’t hold back because you’re afraid.”

I’ve heard this countless times, have probably said it to people myself. Somehow, it never registered in my psyche. Somehow, until now, I hadn’t really listened to it. They say sometimes you need to hear something at the right time for it to make an impact, like a book you read at a certain age in order to really appreciate it.

Maybe this is that moment.

Hadley must see the change in me before I even figure it out myself. “She’s like you, Thomas. She’s strong and bright, and she loves you.”

For the first time in months, I don’t hold myself back. I don’t choke the tears that come to my eyes. I let them fill to the brim. “You think so?”

“Yes. She has what you have.”

“And what’s that?”

“Fire.” Hadley nods. “She has your fire.”

I think of her smile, her raven hair, her violet eyes. Her smooth, creamy skin. Her slender limbs wrapped around my body. Her tattoo. Her laughter. Her courage. Her words.

We’re soul mates, Thomas. You’re like my favorite song. You have to talk. You can’t live like this. You’re holding on too tight. You remind me of some kind of fire-breather.

Layla Robinson, the fire-breather.

My fire-breather.

PART 5

THE RULE-BREAKER

CHAPTER THIRTY

We don’t make a circle in this class. Even though it is a critique class. The professor here doesn’t insult anyone or doesn’t comment on horrendous word choices. He is not rude or mean or arrogant.

He is also not a genius.

I like him, though. He’s a good teacher, encouraging, full of kind words. ‘Like’ is the best thing, the right thing to feel for someone who teaches you. Anything other than that…anything even close to love or even hate? No. That’s a big no. It only complicates things.

So I’m happy with my new professor. He is not Thomas Abrams. But, that’s fine. That’s more than fine. I don’t want a professor like him. Ever. I don’t want to go through what I went through ever again. I never want to do all the bad things that I did.

My family is dying because you love me.

It’s not your fault.

Thomas’ last words haunt me and frustrate me and I hear them all the time. They are always loud and clear, and always send my numb heart spiraling, so much so that I want to hunt him down and shake him and demand all the answers. Was it my fault or not?

But it’s better this way. I don’t want to look to him for answers. I don’t want to be dependent on anybody for that.

Dr. Apostolos says we have all the answers, always. We just need to look for them, and in order to do that, we need to love ourselves. Love yourself and the rest will follow.

She is my therapist, and she is a legit one, not like Kara. I met her at the youth center in New Jersey, after I confessed everything to my mom and the dean.

I told everyone it was me. I was the one who pursued Thomas. I was the one who stalked him, went to his house. I showed them my tattoo. Yeah, I stood up in the hospital room full of people and lifted my shirt. They all cringed and grimaced at my shamelessness. Sometimes being crazy pays off, because they dismissed the case and kicked me out of school. Thomas had already quit his job by then.

It’s fine. I wasn’t going to stay anyway.

My mom had reached her limit though. She sent me away, and I didn’t protest. I didn’t know where else to go. I didn’t have a home, and I didn’t have the energy to make one. So, for the next thirty days, the rehab center was it for me.

Dr. Apostolos was nice to me. She never judged, only listened, and then handed me tissues when I was all cried out for the day. I told her everything. About Thomas, about the affair, about Nicky. About Hadley, and the fact that she was suffering from post-partum depression. This I found out from Emma when she called me early in my stay. There were rumors going around and she wanted me to know. We’re still friends, though she was hurt I didn’t tell her about Thomas.

I told everything to my therapist. She told me post-partum depression isn’t something I could’ve brought on. In fact, to reach a point where Hadley wanted to kill herself, that takes a lot of time and a lot of depression. It wasn’t my doing. I didn’t trigger it by going to their house.

I know that. I’ve heard it a million times. I’ve researched everything about depression, but I don’t know why I don’t believe it.

Even so, I’m focusing on loving myself. Love yourself and the rest will follow.

I’m climbing down the stone steps of the building, having just now finished my creative writing class. The steps merge with a busy sidewalk, but that’s New York. Big and loud and crowded, always in a hurry. Everyone is going somewhere. I like that. I like everything about this city.

A small smile blooms on my lips before it drips off. The heat fluctuates in the air. The temperature goes up. There can only be one reason for it. Thomas.

He is here. Despite the mass of bodies, I see him. He’s standing at the end of the block, by the red light, watching me. As if, he knew I’d be out here, at this very moment.

Maybe he did know because Hadley was here yesterday. To be honest, I was expecting him. I don’t know why he’s here, though. I don’t even know why Hadley showed up out of the blue like a ghost and scared the shit out of me. I could only stand there and stare at her while she talked about that awful, awful day. She told me how she’d given up and how when she got back, she pretty much knew what she was going to do. It had nothing to do with me. She said that probably five times, confirming what Dr. Apostolos already told me.

The entire conversation, I couldn’t look away from her. She appeared so…healthy and beautiful. It was blinding. I’m not proud that I was comparing her otherworldly beauty with my very worldly one, but I couldn’t help it. In the end, she apologized for traumatizing me, which made me snort. She was saying sorry to me when I’m the criminal.

Taking a deep breath, I swat my breeze-ruffled hair off my face. I straighten my checkered skirt and my top.

I can’t take any more of this suspense, so I walk up to him. He’s staring at me with his blue, blue eyes. They never fail to make me heated or cause tingles all over my body. It’s like the sun is watching me from the sky. The tingles spread out of my scalp and radiate toward my neck, my spine, the back of my thighs. Everywhere.

His eyes are beautiful but tired. He’s lost some weight and his face has become sharper, more bony. His hair, though dark and rich, is overly long, dangling over his shoulders, his forehead. He looks like he hasn’t shaved in a while. He looks like he hasn’t slept in a long while either.

He looks like he hasn’t lived in a long while.

I stop a few feet away and in the frenzy of the city, the silence is thick between us. Until he breaks it. “How are you?”

“Good,” I say, awkwardly.

Thomas is big, so big that I can’t ignore him. I can’t ignore his face or his strong chest or the fact that he’s wearing a white shirt and blue jeans. I can’t ignore any of that.

I remember the first time I saw him on the bench, and then after in the bookstore and in class. Even though he was restrained and stoic, his posture always tight, inside I knew he was brimming with anger, frustration. There was a certain arrogance in him, too. He knew he was the best, even though he hated it. He hated that his passion for his words ruined the passion for his wife.

But all of it is gone now. No passion. It’s all despair.

He opens his mouth, and then closes it. His eyes take in the purple bag on my shoulders, and the notebook I’m clutching to my chest. “I… Are you taking any poetry classes?”

“I hate poetry.”

“Right.” He nods and rubs the back of his neck.

It’s weird to see him unsure. I almost want to put him out of his misery. I almost want to break this awkwardness between us and be an easy person to talk to. But I won’t. I won’t be an easy person ever again.

I won’t.

I won’t.

“How’s Nicky?” I blurt out, like the old times.

Damnit! I’m weak. I’m so mushy.

But in my defense, I really want to know how the little guy is doing. I miss him. I miss his laughter, his passion for the color purple. How stupid is that? Nicky isn’t even mine. Just like Thomas.

“He’s fine. He’s doing great, actually.” Thomas has a tiny smile on his face. “He’s starting to talk. I’m convinced he said daddy the other day.”

“Yeah?” Despite myself, I smile at him. But when he returns it, I can’t resist goading him like he did me, ages ago, “Are you sure it’s not some randomly put together syllables?”

Thomas’ smile thins out and he swallows. There’s probably remorse on his face or something similar but I force myself to peel my eyes away.

And then, I feel someone crashing into me, and I, in turn, crash into Thomas. His arms come around me, and my breasts crush against his hard, hard body. God, this has to be the most clichéd move ever. I can’t believe it happened to me.

I try not to sniff him, but it’s hard not to when we’re this close. I do have to breathe, so I take in a breath mixed with his chocolate scent. I keep it tucked away somewhere in my body for later when I’m alone in Caleb’s apartment. I jump out of his hold, then. I don’t want his stupid scent.

This time though, I can’t look away from the remorse on his face. It’s sharp and cutting, and it digs into my crazy heart.

My notebook and the papers are scattered on the hot pavement, and I bend down to grab them. But somehow, Thomas is there before me. I watch his fingers -- his large, graceful fingers that I’ve always been curious about – picking up the papers, one by one. I study the veins on the back of his hands. Do you still not write? I want to ask, but I won’t.

I keep my eyes on his fingers, observing them do an ordinary thing but looking no less extraordinary, no less naked. I stop breathing. His fingers are naked. He doesn’t have a wedding ring on.

I know he never takes it off. Never. Not once have I ever seen him without it. It’s like he always carries Hadley with him. Even when we…had sex, I’d feel that metal digging into my waist, my thighs, my arms…everywhere, telling me how wrong it was, how he was not mine and would never be mine. I feel the pressure again, as if the ring is still pressing into my body.

Abruptly, I stand. Thomas senses something is wrong and comes to his feet beside me. I can’t look away from his…naked hands. “You don’t…”

He looks down at his hands as if seeing them for the first time. A beat passes with no words. Holding my notebook in one hand, he rubs the pale spot where the ring used to be. I don’t know if it’s in regret or relief.

“Hadley and I, we’re getting a divorce.”

“Because of me?” It comes out before I can stop it, and the cringe that follows is involuntary too. I remind myself that I have nothing to do with them now. I shouldn’t even mean anything to them. When Hadley came to me yesterday, pretending it was accidental, I didn’t tell her anything. I never even asked about Thomas or Nicky. But she had to know, right? That’s why she was trying to put me out of my misery, letting me off the hook.

Oh God, did I ruin things again?

Thomas must see the distress on my face because he moves forward, reaching out his free hand, but I move away from him. My feet step back and he flinches.

“No, not because of you. It’s something that should’ve happened a long time ago. It has nothing to do with you.” He pushes a hand through his longish hair. “It was me. I was holding on too tight.”

Is it possible to gasp and sigh at the same time? Because I probably just did that. My own words thrown back at me with such gentleness and gravity is…shocking. I never expected him to remember that, let alone say it.

I need to stop jumping to conclusions. Not everything is my fault. Love yourself and the rest will follow.

I push my unruly, stupid hair back and his eyes follow my tiny gesture. In fact, he hasn’t stopped looking at all. What is he looking for? I don’t think I have anything left that can be of use to him.

“Okay. Well, I-I’m sorry.” I stare at my chipped toenails and my flip-flops, unsure. “I know you…love her.”

“I still do.” He shoots me a sad smile. “And I think I’ll always love her. But I don’t think it’s the kind of love that makes people stay together. It was more of an awe of each other than love, and awe can get intimidating and become a burden after a while.”

What’s going to happen to Nicky? I wish I could ask him that. Divorce is such an awful thing. Look, how I turned out because of my mom’s multiple divorces. But then again, how is living together with no love any better?

So maybe it’s all for the best.

“Right. I can see that.” I nod, unable to stop myself. “You’re pretty…awful.”

He laughs then, short and succinct and loud, and something flutters in my stomach. I tamp it down. Shivers and flutters have no business coming on right now.

“I gotta go now. I have to get home. So I’m gonna go.”

Before I can whirl around and get out of here, Thomas speaks up. “I’m sorry I left without saying goodbye.”

“You did.” I shrug, jerking my tight shoulders up. “You hated me, right? You didn’t owe me anything.”

Just then the sunrays turn harsh and expose every inch of Thomas’ agonized expression. It makes him look a shadow of his previous, confident self.

“I didn’t hate you. I never hated you. I don’t…hate you.” His jaw clenches, but I know it’s not anger. It’s his attempt to control his unruly emotions.

He doesn’t hate me.

It’s the kind of statement that should bring a smile or make me feel lighter. I should feel like I have everything now, but tears spill out of my eyes and down my cheeks, tears I didn’t know were brimming.

Thomas jerks forward again but stops himself. He shakes his head once, silently telling me not to cry. His bunched fists open and close at his sides. He is dying to touch me – I know. But I won’t let him.

“See, that’s worse, Thomas,” I tell him, getting choked up. “Because if you don’t hate me then that means you…” I can’t say love. I don’t think I can ever say love. “Feel something opposite of hate, and if you in fact feel something opposite of hate, how could you not find me before this? How could you not pick up a phone to tell me you don’t hate me? I went days and weeks thinking you hated me, that I ruined every fucking thing in your life. I thought because of me, you’d never be happy. People kept telling me it wasn’t true, that it couldn’t have been me, but I never believed them. I still don’t believe them. How could you do that to me? How could you let me carry that burden? How could you do that to a person you don’t hate?”

I don’t know how long I’ve kept these words inside, and how long I can go on now before breaking down and sobbing on this godforsaken sidewalk. My tears show no sign of stopping, and I feel a sob beginning to emerge.

So maybe I’m being selfish. Obviously, he never had the time before this. He was busy taking care of Hadley and his son. I should let him off the hook, but I don’t want to. I don’t. I can’t. Loving myself means fighting for myself, fighting for my sanity, and I will fucking fight. I won’t be a martyr even though guilt keeps pouring out of me like tears and sweat.

“You don’t. You don’t do that to a person you don’t hate,” he whispers, his eyes red-rimmed. The tears shining in them stagger me. I mean, I know he must cry—he’s human—but seeing it in the flesh is…defeating. I feel defeated at his tears. I feel like I’ll crumble right here.

“Then why d-did you?”

“Because with you, everything is new. I feel like I’ve never not hated anyone before.”

A broken chuckle escapes me at his deliberate use of my terminology. He doesn’t laugh though; no. “With you, I feel that I’ve never had any feelings before, like it’s the first time I’m feeling anything at all. Do you know how terrifying that is?” He shakes his head and answers his own question. “It’s very terrifying. I have so many things I want to say to you that I end up saying the wrong thing. I’m so scared of taking the wrong step that I never move at all. I don’t know why I do that. I don’t know why I keep fucking things up when it comes to you, but all I can say is you make me feel like…I’ve never taken a breath before, like I’ve never lived before.”

It’s spooky how he said the same thing I was thinking about earlier, that he looks…unlived somehow.

We’re soul mates, my heart whispers.

Shut up, moron. We don’t think about those things anymore.

There’s an eerie seriousness in the air, and I don’t know how to deal with that. “Well, that was…um, very poetic.”

He tucks his hands into his pockets and rolls on his feet, as if embarrassed. “You wake up the words in me.”

That stirs a memory from long ago, but I can’t quite grasp it. Why does it feel like I’ve heard that before? And why does everything feel sad and hopeless again? Like even if all of this is true, too much has happened?

“I don’t know what to do with that,” I tell him honestly.

“I’ll wait.”

“Wait for what?”

“For you to figure out what to do with it.”

“That’s…” I shake my head. “You can’t do that.”

“Sure I can.”

“What if I never figure it out?”

“Then I’ll keep waiting.”

“That’s crazy,” I scoff. “That’s…like the book.” My heart bottoms out then. It’s exactly like Barthes’ book, the one I stole from him ages ago. I still have it tucked away at the bottom of my drawer.

“A lover is the one who waits,” he paraphrases. “Then, I’ll wait. Forever.”

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

The Bard

In the months following my divorce, and getting custody of Nicky, I’ve thought a lot about what bravery means. Is it the absence of fear? Is it the feeling of being invincible?

I realized I already know what it means, that I’ve already seen it. My father was a brave man. It’s an odd and jarring thought, but it’s true. All my life I assumed my father was weak, that he wasn’t even a real poet, and I did everything I could to not be like him. But, as it turns out, my father was braver than me.

Bravery is picking up a pen and writing. Bravery is gouging out words from inside you and then imprinting them on a page to make them permanent. Bravery is knowing they might not ever be read by anyone, that the art you leave behind, the contributions you make to the world, might never be known by anyone. Bravery is knowing all of that but doing it anyway.

Like my father did. He wrote for himself. He didn’t care about the awards or validations. He wasn’t a good father, no, but in his own way, he was brave—braver than I ever was. I put so much stock into what I don’t want to be that I forgot what I could be.

I’ve started writing again. It’s poetry. It will always be poetry. That’s how I express myself. It’s the voice of my soul, like Anesthesia. The testament to my loneliness even when Hadley and I were together.

I’ve been working on a collection about Nicky. It helps me deal with things that happened. I don’t know where Hadley is. She left, just like she said she would. All I can wish is that she finds the peace she’s looking for. Maybe one day she’ll be back and Nicky can meet her. But until then, I’ll tell him stories about his mom.

Nicky has grown up so much. He is walking. He laughs. He plays. His favorite toys still change every week. It’s as if there is no past for him. He doesn’t remember being in the hospital or almost choking to death.

I do. I remember those things. They keep me awake at night. I check up on him constantly. I sleep more on the floor by his crib, than on the bed. But that’s okay. For now, they make me feel in control.

When I watch Nicky take stumbling steps, I look down at my own feet. I flex my toes to understand the mechanics of walking. There are times when I feel that every step is my very first step. There are times when I look at the world with Nicky’s eyes and wonderment.

And I keep coming to the same conclusion: that bravery is not the absence of fear, but the courage to do something despite it—taking that first step despite the danger of falling, creating a piece of art knowing that people might not appreciate it.

Bravery is like falling in love. You don’t know if the person will reciprocate, but still you fall.

Bravery is waiting for my Layla. I couldn’t ask her to love me back then. It wouldn’t have been fair. She’d already given me too much, and in return, I’d hurt her too much.

So I told her I’d wait, and since then, I’ve been waiting. Fall has become winter now.

Endless days when we meet at her school and I watch her shy away from me. At first, she wouldn’t even let me touch her. We’d go to a café nearby and sit at a distance from each other, me staring at her because I didn’t know where else to look, and her looking anywhere but at me. She’d play with Nicky, give him hats, laugh with him, teach him words. And I’d be torn between laughing at her antics and shaking her, begging her to love me back.

Every day I watch her walk away, saying she has classes or has to be somewhere. Endless nights when I think about her, and then break down and call her. In the beginning, she ignored my calls, until one day she picked up, but the conversation was halting. It took days of my coaxing before she finally started to open up, and I realized how fucking hard it must have been for her when I refused to give in and talk to her.

Endless conversations where we talk about Nicky, about books, about things I never even knew I wanted to talk about. I never even knew I had this many words in me.

I never knew I could wait for someone like this. Until Layla.

It’s almost midnight, and she just called me to tell me she’s coming over. I told her not to. It’s not safe taking the subway to Brooklyn this time of the night. I told her I’d come to her, but she laughed and said, Midnight streets are my friends.

The knock comes at my door and I rush to open it. Layla stands there with a huge grin on her face, and I have to clutch the door to keep myself upright. Her beauty is like an explosion, sudden and jarring, but in a way that steals all my breath and thoughts. Sometimes I have to push a palm down on my chest to keep my heart from bursting out.

“I finished it.” She hops on her feet as she comes inside my dismal, one-bedroom apartment. I have more books than furniture, but she doesn’t mind. The walls are purple, and that’s only because Layla thinks white is boring and went with me to pick out the colors.

“Finished what?” I close the door and turn around to find her taking off her coat and her sweater, followed by her hat, her scarf, and then finally, her gloves. She dumps it all on the coffee table and I have to bite the inside of my cheek to keep from laughing.

She shoots me a glare. “What, it’s cold outside.”

“Right, and we live in Antarctica.”

“Ha ha.” She rolls her eyes and I feel like I could kiss her from five feet away.

She takes out a fur hat from her childish purple backpack and without a word, walks toward the bedroom where Nicky is sleeping. I follow her. I’ll always follow her. She tiptoes to his crib, smiles down at him and sighs, clutching her chest. I want to laugh at her dramatic actions but I press my lips together. I don’t know why I even thought for a second that she wouldn’t love Nicky or think he’d be a burden. She loves him. It’s the little things she does for him, how she brings him hats, how she always makes a point to say goodnight to him on the phone, if she’s not here.

Layla places the hat by his sleeping form, this one tangerine in color, and walks back out to the living room. She comes to a stop and faces me, beaming. Her skirt reaches mid-thigh and even though she’s wearing tights, I’m able to trace out the slope of her thighs and her calves. I remember peeling those scraps of fabric off. It feels like both yesterday and a lifetime ago, with the way I remember it so vividly and the way my fingers ache for it.

“Thomas,” she says, her breaths coming out hard and fast. I’ve never admitted it to her, but I love the way she says my name, like no one has ever said it before, like she invents me anew every time she says it. It’s fucking magical, and she calls me magic.

The shudders of her chest echo in my cock and I clear my throat. “So what did you finish?”

She swallows, appearing dazed. “Uh, my story.”

Layla has been writing a story that she hasn’t shown me. She doesn’t talk about it, not like she used to do back when she was my student. It stings, the distance, but I’ll take it. Unlike me, she likes to work on many things simultaneously, while I like to labor over one thing at a time. She likes to flit from one project to another.

Again, she bends down to root around in her bag, giving me a peek of her tits through her flimsy white top, and I whip my gaze up to the ceiling. I feel like a fucking pervert. Only Layla can make me feel both young and old at the same time.

“Here.”

I look at her outstretched hand and then up at her face, all inappropriate thoughts forgotten. “What’s that?”

“I want you to read it,” she whispers.

She looks at me through her lashes, shy and uncertain. She rubs her foot against the other leg, anxious. She is so fucking young in this moment that if I touched her right now, I’d sully her with my ancient, cynical fingers.

She isn’t giving me her story. She is giving me her heart.

I’ve thought about her heart a lot too. It’s big and fierce and soft and bright. It’s like a star or the moon or the entire fucking sky, and she’s giving it to me. She’s giving me the sky.

Everything has led to this. The fear I’m so damn familiar with rises up. I feel the physical effect of it in the way my stomach churns, in how tight my chest becomes.

I push past all of that. I push past the fear, the anxiety, and stalk toward her, stalk toward the only thing I want. “What’s it about?”

“It’s about how we fell in love.” She lowers her arm and retreats, step by step. I would’ve stopped if I thought she didn’t want me to come closer, but her purple eyes are shining. As soon as she reaches the wall, she sort of sinks into it, and I sink into her when I reach my destination. Her.

Our bodies touch and I almost groan out loud. I keep my arms on the wall, caging her in. “What’s it called?”

“The Rule-Breaker.” Her voice sounds rumbly like it does in the morning when she wakes up, and calls me about the dream she had about Nicky or about me.

“Yeah?” My voice mimics hers, as if she’s just jumpstarted my heart after months of being comatose.

“Yeah.” She nods her head. “It’s not pretty, our love story.”

“It’s not.”

“We break all the rules, and sometimes I hate that.”

“Me too.”

“But it’s ours.”

“It is.”

A trembling smile appears on her lips and I want to kiss it, but I refrain. “Where does it start?” She looks away from me and I have to chase her gaze. Blush coats her cheeks and I feel the rush of my own blood under the surface. “Where does it start, Layla?”

“Well, see, it starts at midnight when I saw you on the bench, the one by the tree with white flowers.”

I lick my lips, stunned. I never expected her to say that. I never even knew that. It’s the same spot where I proposed to Hadley.

We’re soul mates, Thomas.

I’ve never believed that until now…or maybe I did, but I’ve never seen the sheer, magnificent evidence of it. I press my body against her even more, trying to fuse our skins together, and her breath hitches.

My voice shakes when I answer her. “Yeah, I know that spot.”

“So the story starts when one night I see you there and you look lonely, kind of like me. I think that you need a friend.”

“And then you discover that I’m an asshole.”

She bites her lips to keep from smiling but her eyes twinkle. “Yes. But then you kiss me.”

This time, I can’t stop the roll of my hips against hers, making her whimper. She feels hot, even through the layers of clothing. Our bodies are aroused and ready, waiting for our hearts to catch up.

“What happens when I kiss you?”

“I…I feel like you could eat me alive with your mouth and I’ve never felt that before. I’ve never been anyone’s sustenance, and I want to keep going forever.”

I want to do that to her now. I want to eat her up, fill my mouth with her taste. It’s been long, so very long. I’m hungry. Starving. For her. But not yet. Not yet.

“Yeah, but in a classic move, I fuck it all up.”

“You do, but you don’t stop there. You keep fucking up, until I can’t take it anymore.”

I laugh as my eyes sting. “I’m a piece of shit. Are you sure I’m the hero of this story?” Fuck, I just want to touch her. Just once. That’s all I want. I won’t even ask for anything else. I just want to touch her and tuck her into my body and hold her, but I don’t dare move my hand. I won’t take what she isn’t willing to give—even though it kills me, even though everything burns.

“But you make up for it.”

“Do I?”

Have I done enough? Have I shown her enough? I don’t know. I don’t know if she realizes how much I love her. I haven’t said those words yet, but I want her to know. I want her to see it in my eyes because I bleed with it, I burn with it, and for the first time in my life, I don’t mind it. I wouldn’t mind it if she burned me alive or destroyed me. I’d keep on going. I’d keep on loving her.

I hear the thud of her notebook falling, and in the next second, she’s the one touching me. She puts her hands on my cheeks and presses back into me with her hips. I shudder, my cock going full mast, and my forehead meets hers.

“Yes, Thomas. You do. You have. God, please tell me you know that. Please tell me you think I’m a bitch for making you wait this long.”

“Layla,” I warn.

“Then you’re just stupid.” She goes on her tiptoes and hooks one leg around my waist. “You won’t even touch me, you idiot. You’re still not touching me. If I move back for whatever reason, you back off like it’s you I’m running from. You pick me up from fucking college when I can very easily ride the subway like every other person in New York. You stay up all night, helping me study over Skype because you think I don’t want you in my apartment. You won’t even ask to come over. It’s frustrating.”

There was a time when her desperation made me feel powerful, but now I admit that I was just as desperate for her. It still holds true. “You said you didn’t know what to do with it, so I’ve been waiting.”

“Well, I’m tired of your waiting, you moron.”

She jumps and hooks her other leg around my hips. The move is so familiar. So many times she has simply wound her limbs around me, like we have always belonged together, like it’s always been that simple.

“I even talked to Nicky about it,” she tells me with mischief in her voice.

“About what?”

“That you’re taking too long. That I love him so, so much. And I…” She bites her lip and stares at me through her lashes, making my heart skip a beat. “I know I’m not the best person to take care of a baby. I mean, I’m kinda crazy and impulsive, and… But I love him so much and I’ll –“

“Hey, you’re my everything. Every goddamn thing, Layla,” I say, my voice wrapped up in gravel and a million swelling emotions that taste like tears. “Besides, love is enough. It has to be. We can figure out the rest.”

Maybe it is simple, being together. I want to tell her, but she beats me to it. “I love you.”

I sigh, and it feels like the very first time. It’s the first time I’ve breathed. “I fucking love you too.”

She beams even though her eyes are wet. “So that’s what it feels like.”

“What?”

“When someone says those three words back to you. I’ve always wondered.”

“Technically, it was five words.”

“I’ll take them. It’s even better. Fucking makes everything so much more…amazing and epic.” She rubs her core over my cock and I can’t keep the groan inside this time. Smiling, she closes her eyes and breathes me in. “I feel like I can walk on water.”

“Yeah? Don’t do that, though. That’s not real, baby.”

“You’re such an ass.” Opening her eyes, she chuckles and tightens her hold around my body. It’s getting harder to support her weight without my arms. They are plastered to the wall, one last barrier between us. I should let go of the brick and wind them around her, but something is holding me back.

“Are you going to kiss me any time soon?”

“Tell me. Give me the words, Layla.”

She smiles as a single tear falls down her cheek. “You don’t have to wait for me anymore, Thomas. You never have to wait.”

That’s when my arms come off the wall and touch her. One hand goes to her ass, the other to the back of her head, and I kiss her.

This time it’s me with an epiphany: I’ve always been brave. I just needed to look deeply into myself. I was brave enough to bring a child into this world. I was brave enough to love him with all my heart and soul, knowing that life is transient and fleeting.

There are many things uncertain in life. There are many hurdles still to overcome. Our love will grow and change, and we’ll change with it. But today, I make a promise to myself.

I’ll always be brave rather than fearless.

I’ll make my own rules rather than follow them.

And I’ll love. I’ll always love my violet-eyed girl, Layla Robinson.

THE END

A NOTE TO THE READERS

Thank you so much for taking this journey with me. Thomas and Layla are very special to my heart and I hope you enjoyed them. This story was challenging to me on many levels. I am not a poet, and I tried to write poetry with it. Trust me, I feel Layla’s pain. I’ve tried to write Anesthesia so many times but couldn’t. Thomas is too much of a genius for me to channel his words. I imagine him to be a hybrid of Stephen Dunn and Hemingway.

Anyway, if you enjoyed the story, then please consider leaving a review on Amazon and/or Goodreads. Reviews are the best way to support a story and an author.

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ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

I have so many, many people to thank with this one. Writing is solitary but publishing a book and being an author take a lot of people. I am thankful for each one of you. Thanks for being as crazy as I am.

My husband: The person who sees me in action. He has survived so many of my writer moods and tantrums. Ever since I started writing four years ago, I’ve become more sensitive. I laugh too much. I cry too easily. I get mad at the slightest things. My husband has been with me throughout. I love him with all my heart. Thank you! And sorry for making you format this TWICE.

My parents: Thank you for always believing in me. Special thanks to my mom for pimping my books to all her friends. I love you, guys.

My Green Indies turned Fabulous Four: Suzanne, Bella and Kim are my oxygen. I can’t imagine this journey without you. Thank you so much for being there for me, sharing advice, your happy moments, your woes. I love you guys so much!

Renate Thompson: My critique partner and the one who listens to every single one of my doubts. I can’t believe how far we’ve come from when we started. You are not only a fabulous critique partner, you are a wonderful writer too. I can’t wait for the day when your book comes out and wows the book world. Thank you for being my person.

Serena McDonald: I love you, woman! You’re one of those rare gems that shine the brightest. THANK YOU for being my friend, for your passion for the book world, for your sass and sweetness, for holding my hand through this. I hope you know that you’re stuck with me. #Saffrena for life.

My beta readers: Mara White, Sunny Borek, Haylee Thorne, Ari Purkayastha and Faith Andrews. Thank you for reading my work in a rough form and offering your advice. Where would I be without you guys? You are totally stuck with me for life.

Ella Fox: For single-handedly saving this book!

Fellow authors: I’ve met so many great people in the book world who have offered their invaluable advice, support, and inspired me. THANK YOU to all of them.

Sexy Saffronites: This is my happy place in all of the world wide web. You guys rock with all your support and sex talk. I couldn’t do this without you so THANK YOU for being sexy and awesome. I love you guys!

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Writer of bad romances. Coffee Addict. White Russian Drinker. Imaginary Ballet Dancer and poetess. Aspiring Lana Del Ray of the book world.

I'm a big believer in love (obviously). I believe in happily ever after, the butterflies and the tingling. But I also believe in edgy, rough and gutsy kind of love. I believe in pushing the boundaries, darker (sometimes morally ambiguous) emotions and imperfections.

The kind of love I write about is flawed just like my characters. And I hope by the end of it, you'll come to root for them just as much as me. Because love, no matter where it comes from, is always pure and beautiful.

If you ever get a hankering to talk about books or love, you can find me here:

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The Wild Mustang & The Dancing Fairy (St. Mary’s Rebels 1.5)

A Gorgeous Villain (St. Mary’s Rebels 2)

These Thorn Kisses (St. Mary’s Rebels 3)

Hey, Mister Marshall (St. Mary’s Rebels 4)

Medicine Man (Heartstone Series 1)

Dreams of 18 (Heartstone Series 2)

California Dreamin’ (Heartstone Series 3)

THE PATRON

BOOK ONE OF THE BROKEN SLIPPER TRILOGY

VIVIAN WOOD

AUTHOR’S COPYRIGHT

COPYRIGHT VIVIAN WOOD 2021

May not be replicated or reproduced in any manner without express and written permission from the author. This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to author and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

This book would not have been as special or nearly as well-loved without my beta team — Patricia and Amanda particularly! I would also like to thank Antje, Jeanette, and all my other eagle eyed early readers… you all are the bee’s knees!

Want to hear a playlist of songs that inspired The Patron? Click here to see it on Spotify.

1. Bad Girls — M.I.A.

2. God is a woman — Ariana Grande

3. lovely — Billie Eilish, Khalid

4. Without Me — Halsey

5. Big Wave — Jenny and Johnny

6. Liberation — Outkast, Cee-Lo

7. Midnight City — M83

8. goodnight n go — Ariana Grande

9. Lowly Deserter — Glen Hansard

10. Grandloves — Purity Ring, Young Magic

11. Once In My Life — The Decemberists

12. Honey — Kehlani

13. The Book of Love — The Magnetic Fields

14. 6 Underground — Sneaker Pimps

15. Savage Remix — Megan Thee Stallion, Beyoncé

16. Roads — Portishead

17. Slide — H.E.R., YG

18. Angel — Massive Attack

19. I Need My Girl — The National

20. Two Weeks — FKA Twigs

Enjoy the book!

1

KAIA

“One, two, three, four,” Melanie, our instructor counts off. She speaks in a high pitched, nasal voice. The piano music starts once again. “Girls! Group one, move forward. And one, two, three… pir-ou-ette. Now pir-ou-ette… good, good.”

Her lilting Irish voice is set to the rhythm. As one, the group ahead of me neatly spins on their tiptoes, executing flawless pirouettes. The whole room is mirrored, floor to ceiling, with a sturdy wooden barre bolted to every inch. With the mirror, it looks like twenty four perfect ballerinas are finishing their pirouettes.

It makes sense, because this class is the best of the best. The most dedicated ballerinas and danseurs, the ones who have given up regular school and any semblance of their social lives to be here. After most would-be dancers are bounced from the program for not following the rules or just plain not being good enough, this is what you have left.

The hardcore dancers. I’ve worked my ass off to be in this final class.

I suck in a breath and stretch my neck, readying myself for my group.

Melanie claps along on a steady, brisk four count. “Next group! And one, two, three… pir-ou-ette. And pir-ou-ette…”

My arms swoop out to the sides as I lift onto my tiptoes and twirl. The motion is automatic, one born of muscle memory more than anything else. I’m directing most of my attention at my feet and the slight curve in my back. I usually get in trouble for my feet not pointing enough or my back not having a slight bow in it if I’m not intensely concentrated.

“Kaia! There should be more arch to your arms!” Melanie admonishes me. I give my arms a little more lift and she bows her head quickly. “There you go.”

I don’t have time to look around at the twelve other ballerinas in my group. I’m focused entirely on my feet and my back and the position of my arms. When I finish though, I realize that I’ve stopped very close to Manon, a little brunette ballerina who shoots me a glare.

I’m quick to move away, straightening my spine. Out of every ballerina in this school, Manon is by far the most caustic. And usually, her barbs are aimed at me.

“Sylvie! Don’t start like that, how can you expect to be graceful if you start in such an ugly position?” Melanie calls, her expression stern. She tucks a strand of her dishwater blonde hair behind her ear, rolling her eyes. “Boys! Group one, forward please… And one, two, three… pir-ou-ette. And pir-ou-ette… Mason, that was perfect.”

I glance to my right, catching myself in the mirror. A thin blonde ballerina stares back at me, wearing a lilac leotard, a filmy white dancer’s skirt, opaque white tights, and ballet pink pointe shoes. I bite my lip and send my image a tiny frown; I immediately see the glaring flaws in my own appearance.

My father’s voice echoes through my head.

Your hair is the wrong shade of blonde. Your nose is too big, your eyes are too far apart. You’re too tall to do ballet, too heavy for most dancers to lift. Your posture is imperfect. Your feet are too large.

I swallow and lift my chin. I have to overcome my obvious shortfalls, be resilient enough to make it as a dancer. My dad put me through ballet academy and he has certain expectations.

If I work hard, if I focus all my energy on each and every move, I should be able to prevail.

But by far the worst thing of all is that I lack mobility in my turnout. The rotation of my hip joints, to turn outward away from the front of my body, is sadly never going to be a perfect one hundred and eighty degrees.

I wrinkle my nose at myself and drag my eyes back up to the rest of the class. I see my group moving forward again and I rush to take my place. We execute another set of pirouettes under Melanie’s eagle-eyed gaze.

“Ella, you are still a step behind everyone else. Always a step behind. Start earlier.”

The incredibly tiny black woman blushes and bows her head, but says nothing. I would kill for Ella’s diminutive height or turnout, but I am incredibly glad not to get that same bit of criticism from our teacher.

“Let’s change it up,” Melanie says. She turns around, signaling to the piano player to stop. “This will be the last combination. Girls, please begin with relevé developé, pas de bourre, arabesque en diagonal, tombé, and demi-plie. Okay? Let’s go.”

The hardest part of my day is right now, when we’ve already had an full day of classes and we only have a few minutes more. The last fifteen minutes always seem to drag terribly.

We go through the combination two more times, with Melanie correcting everything she sees. Don’t get me wrong, I know that she’s one of our most kind hearted teachers. But by the time the class ends, I’m done with her critiques.

Honestly, I could probably use a day off right about now. But between attending my last month of classes here at the New York Academy of Ballet and my much less prestigious night job, there’s a snowball’s chance in hell of that randomly happening.

I walk over to grab my bottle of water, taking a long pull. As I’m guzzling down the water, Eric walks up. I gulp as he casually starts talking to me; with his blonde hair, clear blue eyes, and his muscular danseur’s frame, Eric looks like a freaking Disney prince.

“Hey,” he says, picking up a small black duffel bag from against the wall. “That last round of combinations was killer. I feel like I just got my ass kicked.”

Before I even say a word, my face grows hot. As a ballerina, I’m always sensitive to my body and the story told by my posture. But talking to gorgeous Eric brings a whole new level of embarrassment and self consciousness.

I give him a shy smile. “Yeah, especially the last one. That releve développe sliding into that pas de bourrée was really tricky.”

Eric nods, digging through his duffel bag. “I think that move is featured pretty heavily in The Nutcracker. So if we have any hope of getting picked for any ballet company, I guess that’s a move we really have to nail.” He pulls his water bottle out of his bag and takes a swig.

As he drinks, I look at the way his head is thrown back. His throat arches, his whole body effortlessly shifting to balance. I watch the motion of Eric swallowing, my eyes tracing the path of the water moving down his throat.

Will he ever ask me out? I wonder.

I’ve never been on a date or had a boyfriend, but I have definitely had the hots for Eric for years.

He snaps the lid closed on his water bottle and catches my longing expression. He arches an eyebrow. “What?”

My face goes red and I turn away from him, heading toward my own duffel bag. I fib a little. “Did you know that I can get extra life out of my pointe shoes by using floor wax? I dab a little inside the box, put the shoes in a preheated oven that’s been turned off. When I take them out and let them cool overnight, they feel better and last longer.”

He squints at me. “You are really thrifty, Kaia.”

I am. I have to be.

There is no magical force out there, guiding me toward making money. Just me, trying to scrimp and save and cut corners to get by.

I flush, looking down at my hands.

Eric continues on, as if I had never started off on a weird money saving tangent. “I’m just wondering about what company I’ll end up in. Imagine if we both got accepted to the New York Ballet.”

Manon is standing by the wall where my bag is. As I approach, she turns around, her lip curling into a delicate sneer.

“There is no way that Kaia will be chosen by the NYB. They only recruit five graduates from every ballet academy in the world each year. You just…” Her eyes scan my body, a smirk appearing on her lips. “Don’t measure up. You should apply for Cincinnati or Birmingham or somewhere that they need second rate ballerinas, honestly.”

My heart drops toward my feet. I open my mouth to return her snarky comment, but Ella walks over, inserting herself in the situation. Ella refuses to let anybody talk to her or her friends with disrespect… and I’m lucky enough that she has adopted me as one of her besties.

Whatever that means for ballerinas, anyway.

“Shut the fuck up, Manon. Don’t you have a broomstick somewhere to polish up before the next full moon?” she says, making shooing motions with her hands. Her Southern accent is thick as molasses and twice as syrupy-sweet.

Manon’s lips twist. “Go back to whatever hillbilly town you’re from. Leave the rest of the world alone.”

“First of all, I’m from Marietta, which is a suburb of Atlanta. And second, you’d better watch your mouth before I clean it out with a fucking bar of soap.” Ella says.

“Ugh, bitch.” Manon storms off, disappearing through the studio door. I look at Ella, beyond grateful.

“Thanks,” I say, shaking my head. “You always have the best retorts. I wish I was more like that.”

Ella squeezes my upper arm. “Everybody does, boo.”

She slides her gaze to Eric, her gaze tightening just a little. She doesn’t completely approve of Eric for some reason and makes that pretty clear.

“Don’t you have somewhere else to be?” she asks.

Eric gives her an odd look. “It’s late Saturday afternoon. We’re done with practice for the day. Where is it exactly that you think I should go?”

Ella puts her hand on her hip and rolls her eyes. She turns her attention back to me. “I’m going to see a play tonight. Any interest in attending?”

I wrinkle my nose and pull off my point shoes. “I can’t. I have to work. Raincheck?”

“Sure,” she says with a shrug.

Ella pulls a pair of dark sweatpants out of her duffel bag, quickly swapping her white skirt for the pants. I unwrap my laces and pull off my shoes. Eric is pulling on a pair of pants and a tight ivory sweater.

For a minute, the studio is quiet, the sound of everyone changing and moving out of the room dominating the space.

Ella pulls her pink fleece jacket on over her white leotard and then pulls her duffel bag strap onto her shoulder. I zip my jeans, shove my feet into my pink Converse, and pull a dark oversized fleece jacket on my body.

As soon as I shoulder my bag, Ella starts gently ushering me towards the door. “Hey, speaking of the auditions for the New York Ballet. Did you guys get a casting call in the mail?”

Eric nods, following us. “Yeah. The audition dates for people from our academy are the first through the fourth of next month.”

My hands tighten on the strap of my duffel bag. I look down the long hallway lined with rehearsal rooms and instructor’s offices, toward the white metal door at the very end. “I can’t believe that we are less than a month away from auditions,” I confess.

Eric snorts. “I auditioned for San Francisco last week. We are firmly within audition season, I think.”

“I did Atlanta two weeks ago,” Ella adds. “It was nice to get to see my folks. I didn’t want them to realize that I will choose Atlanta as a last resort, though. I’ve got my eyes on someplace here in New York.”

“Yeah, I really want to stay here,” I say, nodding. “I’m actually only applying to a few places.”

Eric shakes his head and hikes his duffel bag up on his arm. “I applied to ten companies. I want options.”

I reach the doorway at the end of the hall first. Shouldering it open, I shiver against the cool New York City fall. As I hold the door for Ella and Eric, I glance at the soon to be setting sun where it peeks out from a gap between two towering skyscrapers.

The three of us walk toward the busy sidewalk. At this hour, the streets of Manhattan are packed with people of every description. Every color, every gender, every sexual orientation. It makes me breathe a little easier.

In New York City, I have a lot more anonymity and autonomy than I could ever have found if I’d just stayed in buttoned up, privileged Hartford. That’s where my family is from and probably one of my least favorite places on the planet.

I heave a sigh as we all begin to head our separate ways.

“I’ll catch you guys later,” I say, shooting Eric and Ella both a little smile.

“Have fun working at the laundromat,” Eric says, lifting a hand in a wave.

My cheeks stain red again. I definitely don’t work at a laundromat. That’s just the first thing that came to mind when Eric first asked me about my job. “Thanks,” I manage.

“Bye,” Ella says, already moving away.

I turn and start walking quickly toward the closest subway station. Pulling my cell phone out to check the time, I see that I’ve missed three calls from home. Sucking in a deep breath, I realize that I don’t have time to call my father back. That causes a ripple of unease to slide down my spine.

My father doesn’t have the best temperament when I am at his beck and call; when I miss his phone calls, he morphs into a sinister, dark character with a serious anger problem.

But I absolutely cannot be late for work. I need this job too much to screw around and get fired. Maybe if I am very lucky, I’ll be able to call my dad back while I make the quick trip from the station to the club…

Chewing on my lower lip, I shove my phone into my duffel bag and hurry down the steps to the subway.

2

CALUM

I throw open the door to my penthouse loft, peering down at a young brunette. In her black pencil skirt, white button up blouse, and black peacoat, she’s dressed for the office. Her dark hair is pinned up in a messy bun and she clutches several binders and file folders to her chest.

“Hi,” she says, smiling a little breathlessly. “Mr. Fordham?”

I lean out of the doorway, glancing around at the neat white waiting room. If I was hoping for some sign of who this girl is, I’m disappointed. There is no one else with her except the closing doors of the elevator.

“How did you get up here?” I ask.

Her cheeks color. “I asked the man at the front desk to allow me to bring you some things from work.”

I stare at her, trying to puzzle out what exactly she means. I feel caught off guard and a little bit underdressed; I make it a rule to wear a full three piece suit everywhere but here at my home and at dance rehearsal.

When I don’t answer right away, she blushes and tucks her hair behind her ear. “Maybe you don’t recognize me. I’m Amy? I work as a personal assistant at Indica Tech corporate. I’m one of your PAs.”

I breathe out through my nose, my lips twisting. “Is there a reason you are bothering me at my home, Amy?”

She sucks in a breath. “I brought you the sales reports. They took longer than I thought, so you’d already left the office by the time they were done. And I know that they carry sensitive information, so…” She flashes a timid smile. “Here I am.”

I arch a brow. Amy’s story is bullshit. There were at least four people that I already know that she could have given a report to. So her being here is for some other reason.

Eying her up and down, I heave a sigh. Backing up, I wave her into the foyer of my apartment. “Come in.”

She tucks her hair behind her ear again and gives me a wide-eyed look. It’s tinged with a little longing.

Ah. That’s why she’s here. Why she broke several rules at work just to be strolling in my front door right now.

I smirk a little. Amy wants to catch my eye. She wants me to kiss her, to seduce her. Hell, she probably wants a big fucking ring on top of all that.

It’s what women seem to want from me ever since my business went public at a hundred dollars a share.

I don’t bother to close the front door. Instead, I stick out a hand and cock my head. “Well?”

Amy swallows, her eyes darting toward the sleek, dark furnishings of the next room. She fumbles around, producing a sheaf of papers.

I snatch them from her hand, giving the top sheet a cursory examination. Amy rocks on her feet a little nervously, glancing again at the living room.

“Do you mind if I just put my things down so I can fix my heel?” she asks.

I narrow my eyes on her face, folding the sheaf of paper in half. “If you must.”

She hurries into my expansive, elegant living room with some awe. Everything in this room looks expensive because it is; made of teakwood and dark leather, the furniture in here practically shouts I’m wealthy.

Amy collapses on a couch as I follow her into the room. I cross my arms and shoot her a little glare. She pushes the binders a little ways away from her on the couch, pulling one of her shoes off.

She looks up at me as she massages her foot. “Thanks for letting me sit, Mr. Fordham. Or do you prefer Calum?”

I squint at her. “Whatever gets you the fuck out of here the fastest.”

She blushes. “You’re too much, Calum! I can’t believe I’m in your house. If you’d asked me this morning, I’d have told you that you were crazy.”

Her words strike the wrong note for me. Either she’s smart and she’s been planning this for a long time… or she’s dumb and just an opportunist.

She’s either dishonest or sloppy. Neither of which I find particularly appealing in the women I sleep with.

Just like that, the decision is made. I’m not going to entertain this woman tonight.

I whip out my phone, sending a text to my brother, who is already on his way here anyway. Then I give Amy a cold little smile.

“You’re either a liar or a slob,” I say, enunciating every word. “Either way, you fucked things up. Bringing this report here without checking in with your supervisors was extremely risky, Amy.”

“Oh, I didn’t mean to say—“

I cut her off with a sharp shake of my head. “I don’t know what you were hoping to get out of coming to my house and invading my space. Maybe you just wanted to see the inside of your billionaire boss’s home. Maybe your motivations are more nefarious.” I shrug my shoulders. “Either way, I think it’s safe to say you made an error.”

Her chin wobbles. Her big brown eyes are wide and brimming with tears.

Seeing her reaction just makes me angrier. I pace around her in circles, shoving a hand through my dark undercut hair.

“Mr. Fordham, if you will just let me explain,” she says. Her voice sounds breathy; any moment now, she will burst into tears.

It makes me hate her. Her presumptive, weakness, her assumption that I couldn’t resist her because I’m a red blooded male… it turns my stomach. Tonight Amy finally lit the touch paper by bringing me reports that rightfully should’ve been given to me hours ago.

This is why I usually only sleep with high class escorts. I dictate the terms, they accept them. It’s all a transaction to them and I’m left with zero guilt or remorse.

“Do you think I got to be the CEO of Indica Tech from filing reports late?” I bite off.

She draws a breath, shaking her head. “No, sir.”

I crumple up the report in my hands, disgusted. “No. I didn’t get all this,” I wave my hands to indicate our surroundings. “This penthouse in downtown Manhattan, the offices in Midtown, my fleet of cars and private planes, Indica Tech, and Indica Charities. None of it was earned through the kind of sloppy work that you have been showing recently.”

Her throat works. Tears brim in her eyes, spilling over on one side. She gives her head a sharp shake. “I understand.”

I cock my head, staring at her. “Do you?” I look her up and down. “If you want to keep working here, you’ll do better. Turn things in on time. Dress appropriately for work. And under no circumstances should you ever just drop by your boss’s home with such a flimsy excuse.”

Her eyes widen. “Are you going to fire me?”

I roll my eyes, shaking my head. “No. I don’t fire people. I’m too important to have to deal with that.”

Right on cue, my brother Lucas appears in the doorway of the living room. Tall, broad, dark haired, and wearing a navy three piece suit, he could be my twin.

“Firing people is my job,” he says, smiling thinly. He beckons to her. “Come along, Miss Blankenship. We should talk.”

That’s when she starts crying. She turns to me as if I’m about to save her. I think that this is perhaps the first time she has ever been rejected so soundly; first sexually, and now she’s about to lose her job.

I make a shooing motion with my hand. “Get the fuck out.”

She leaves my living room in a hurry, running past Lucas. He heaves a sigh, pushes off the doorframe, and trails after her.

I pace to the window, staring out at the dazzling view of downtown New York City. The sun has just sunk below the horizon and now the lights on the surrounding buildings are starting to come on.

I take a deep breath, willing my body to stop shaking. When I get angry, which is about once an hour, the emotion washes through me like a blood red wave. When I get furious, like I am right now, it’s a struggle not to let the anger swallow me whole.

Anger has driven me far through life, all the way from our dingy childhood apartment to the most expensive penthouse in New York. It’s what pushed me to be the best when I was a dancer; it put a chip on my shoulder that was so big, it brought the dance world to kneel at my feet.

I glance at my platinum wristwatch, grinding my teeth. Seven o’clock. A little early to be drinking, yes. But today was exceptionally trying. Turning to my bar cart, I uncork the Scotch and pour myself a couple of fingers.

“Go ahead and make me one too.”

I glance back at my brother, my gaze narrowing. “That was fast.”

He shrugs a single shoulder. “She was ready to get out the door.”

I snort derisively. “I bet.”

My hands have stopped shaking as I pour the second drink. My brother, for all his faults, often provides the needed distraction at times like this.

I hand him the glass of scotch and walk to the other side of the room, sinking into my favorite chair. “I can’t believe that she just showed up here, expecting…” I trail off for a second. “I don’t actually know what she expected, honestly.”

Lucas loosens his tie as he sits down on a black velvet and teakwood chair. “She expected to become Mrs. Fordham, I think. She said that she thought you liked her.”

I wave a hand. “I’m done talking about her. Tell me what you found out today.”

His expression hardens. “You should really be in the meetings with Omni, Calum. The CEO Jack Schwartz asked where you were and when he would meet you.”

I push my cheek out with my tongue. “I’m trying to acquire his business and make him a rich bastard. He should be grateful, not asking questions.”

“Well, he’s still asking. Apparently he is quite religious and he’s very concerned about selling to a degenerate. He actually gave me a whole lecture about how most billionaires get their money from unscrupulous sources and spend it on ungodly things. He really seemed focused on that.”

“I fail to see how that has anything to do with me.”

“Well, he asked why you aren’t married. He said that he’s skeptical that you two share the same vision, being that you haven’t ever married.” He scrunches up one side of his face. “I got the distinct impression that he was trying to make sure that you aren’t gay.”

I let out a surprised half laugh. “So what if I was?”

My brother steeples his fingers. “I think it would be a no-go.”

“That’s disgusting. If he didn’t invent this new type of block chain cryptocurrency, I would tell him to fuck off.” I lean forward, jabbing a finger into the dark wood of the coffee table. “I want that company, Lucas.”

He holds up a hand. “I would argue that you need his company to develop IndicaTech any further.”

I glare at him. “I don’t need anyone outside of this room, Lucas.”

He rolls his eyes. “Well, I have a bit of good news. It turns out that you and Jack have something in common.” His lips curve upward. “His young daughter is heavily involved with ballet. He supports the New York Ballet, among other companies. From what I’ve found out, he is second only to you in terms of his patronage to their cause.”

That gives me pause. I came from the world of ballet, back before I was a businessman. “That’s… interesting,” I allow.

“That’s a way in,” he says. “Use your mutual love of the ballet to your advantage.”

I suck in a breath, thinking. “It would put me closer to Honor.”

“I saw that the New York Ballet is going to do Sleeping Beauty in the spring. Maybe they need some sort of hands-on help.”

I purse my lips. “Honor doesn’t like that ballet, the last time I checked. She had her heart set on playing Giselle in the spring.”

He rolls his eyes at me. “Honor this, Honor that. Look, the prima at the New York Ballet has never even looked your way, brother. Just because you are the primary source is financial support for the ballet doesn’t mean Honor is going to sleep with you.”

“I’m not expecting her to,” I growl.

Lucas purses his lips and gives me a droll look. “It’s obvious enough that you are expecting that, Calum. You should forget her. As I’ve said before, you should be focusing on someone else.” He draws in a breath, shaking his head. “Anyone else. One of the long list of ladies that you are plowing your way through.”

My expression tightens a fraction. “I’m only twenty nine, Lucas. How many other men do you know that have risen from nothing to cradle the world in the palm of their hand?”

He sips the scotch, rising to his feet. “That’s not really the point, is it?”

“That’s exactly the point.” I scowl at him. “Where are you off to?”

He places his glass on the bar cart, cracking his knuckles. He hesitates for the slightest moment before folding his arms across his chest. “I’m on my way to drop some necessities off for Anita. Her nursing home called me and asked for a list of things.”

At the sound of her name, my fist clenches around the glass tumbler. I struggle to keep my expression smooth and untroubled, but inside my guts roil.

“We have plenty of people to run those kinds of errands,” I say evenly. “Send one of them.”

Lucas rolls his eyes. “It’s fine. I want to check in on her.”

I narrow my eyes. “We don’t owe her a damn thing, Lucas. Trust me,” I grit out.

He turns toward the door, shaking his head. “After mom died, Anita took us in and raised us. She gave us warmth and security out of the goodness of her own heart. It doesn’t seem like something that we should take for granted, no matter how far we’ve risen in the world since.”

I know that he is ignorant of Anita’s… needs. He’s two years younger than me and I have done my best to keep him in the dark.

But damn if his words don’t rankle me.

I glare at his back as he leaves. “Anita didn’t do a fucking thing that didn’t benefit her in some way. Just because you only see the ocean’s surface does not mean that the sharks have all stopped circling.”

He gives me half a wave as he leaves, leaving me alone with my bitter thoughts.

For a second, I think I can smell the heavy floral scent that Anita used to wear. Closing my eyes briefly, I see her reaching for me, a dangerous glint in her eyes. I clench every muscle in my body against her touch. In my mind’s eye, she lets down her waterfall of dark, heavy hair. Her deep voice wafts over me. She pulls my hand up to rest on her breast, never dropping my gaze.

Don’t you want to thank me, Calum?

I shake my head to clear that image, opening my eyes. My stomach lurches. I shoot to my feet, throwing back the last of my Scotch.

Suddenly, I feel the burning need to go to Club X.

3

KAIA

I frown down at my cell phone as another missed call goes to voicemail. I’ve now missed seven phone calls from my dad. Taking a deep breath, I turn the phone off completely and slip it into my locker.

My dad is probably leaving me another hate filled voicemail as we speak. If he knew where I am right now, knew what I was about to do to earn money, he would scream so loudly that I’m pretty sure he would have an aneurysm.

But I have to earn money. Enough money to pay my father back for every last cent he’s ever spent on teaching me to become a perfect, graceful ballerina. I’ve calculated the cost and it is well over two hundred thousand dollars.

He’s made it very clear that unless I come up with the money, I will follow his rules and do whatever he says until the day I die.

That knowledge slithers through my stomach as I close my locker and spin the combination.

“Lily, Brandie, Misty!” A dark-suited man sits by the door, reading off names. “One minute warning, girls.”

Behind me, the dancers’ changing room is loud and busy. Huge makeup mirrors and well-lighted white desks line one wall. White director’s chairs are placed at intervals, each one of them currently supporting a stripper. They talk to each other as they lean close to the mirrors and perfect their lip gloss or apply another layer of blush.

I slide into the seat at the very end, feeling self conscious. I’m wearing what amounts to a tiny black bikini underneath a white kimono with clear six inch stilettos. My hair is teased and blown out, my makeup looks almost garish under the room’s soft lights.

For any other job, I would look insane. Sliding a glance down the row of dancers, I feel like I fit in just fine.

“Candi, Baby, Daisy,” the man sitting next door the door reads off. “You’re up next, ladies.”

The dancer to my left gets up just as Mia struts in the room. She sees me and comes over, her caramel-colored body glistening with baby oil and glitter. She clutches the top to her red bikini in one hand, tossing it on the desk as she throws herself into the chair beside me.

“Fucking cheap assholes,” she says, sounding perky even though she’s complaining.

She produces a neat wad of cash from the red triangle of fabric between her legs, shaking her head. She starts counting the cash as she glances at me. “I got a bunch of frat boys. They’ve obviously never been to a spot this nice and they didn’t behave themselves. And to top it all off? They hardly tipped anything, even when I took them back to the private rooms. It was basically a huge waste of my time.”

I scrunch up my face. “I hope you told security to kick them out.”

She chuckles. “You’re damn right I did.”

I glance at her outfit, noticing a snag in her fishnets. I perk up. “You can fix that,” I say, pointing it out to her. “A little hairspray and some clear nail polish will do the trick.”

Mia flashes me a puzzled glance. “Girl, I do not have time to be fixing a pair of tights. The men like to rip them, I throw them away and buy new ones. It’s the circle of life.”

A tall, dark skinned dancer in a black babydoll dress stands up. “Anybody got some baby wipes? I ran out.”

Mia glances over at her, then looks back at me, rolling her eyes. She leans closer to me. “No way am I giving that bitch anything. We double teamed a bachelor party together last week and I think she stole from me.”

My eyes widen. “Really?”

Mia nods, wrinkling her nose. “Yep. I have no time or energy for these hoes. I’m busy working it, trying to find a patron.”

I pause. “A patron?”

She looks at me with a sigh. “Yes. A patron. Someone that will pay for my services. Someone with a fat wallet that will take me out of here.”

I bite my lip. “Pay for you to strip privately, you mean?”

She huffs out a laugh. “No, honey. Any man can get that here for a few hundred dollars. A patron gets you any way he wants it, as often as he feels like it. In exchange, he pays for an apartment, a car service, all the fancy clothes you could want…” She looks at herself in the mirror, leaning close to examine her reflection. “I’ve heard that a few girls even married their patrons.”

My eyes widen. “Oh! That’s pretty huge. I wonder what those girls did to get noticed?”

She shrugs, eyeing a group of girls coming through the door. I turn and look at them, laughing and wearing street clothes.

“New girls,” Mia says, smacking her lips. “They all just turned eighteen, I bet. And they’re wearing designer labels. If I had to put money on it, I would guess that they live at home with their rich daddies, who don’t know that their little girls come here to get their ho on at night.”

I purse my lips. “I bet you said something similar about me not that long ago.”

“True. You have proven yourself, though. If your daddy has money, you wouldn’t know it from looking at you.” She pauses. “No offense. I’m just saying you don’t act entitled.”

I blow out a breath. “I am actually working here, trying to earn money to pay my dad back for private school. I’m never, ever going to owe anything to anyone ever again after working here for a year.”

She arches a brow. “Owing your dad sounds like some white nonsense. You should be saving every penny and looking for ways to get to the next level.”

“And what’s that?”

“I already told you, girl. A patron.” Her gaze catches on my white kimono. “I wouldn’t wear that out on stage. It’s too light colored. It’ll give you little fuzzy white balls in your armpits.”

I glance down at my kimono, biting my lower lip. “I’m not planning on wearing it out there. It’s just for comfort in here.” Smiling, I stand up and head back to my locker. I swap the white kimono out for a black version, figuring it’s better safe than sorry. “I am thinking of doing something a little different with my first routine, though.”

Mia leans forward, snagging her top and putting it on. “More fancy ballet shit?”

My face goes hot red. “Yeah. You think it’s a bad idea? I’m still on my month of probation with Club X…”

She looks at her teeth in the mirror, checking for lipstick. “I think you made a shit ton of money when you did that standing on your toes bit last week. Anybody would be crazy to tell you not to do it.”

She eases out of her chair, her long legs gleaming as she stalks over to the lockers. I follow her, shrugging out of my kimono. As I put the robe away in my lockers, I whisper to Mia. “Hey, remember how I told you that I’m a dancer during the day too?”

She’s changing into a different bikini, this one black pleather. “Uh… yeah, I guess I remember.”

I scrunch up my face. “No one at my day job knows about this place. And vice versa. It’s like… very much not allowed for ballerinas to…” I suck in a breath. “You know, dance for guys.”

She closes her locker, favoring me with a smile. “Your secret is very much safe with me, honey.”

“Cerise, Fawn, Latisha,” the bored employee announces. “One minute till showtime.”

Cerise. That’s me. I take a deep breath, looking toward the doorway.

“See you a little later,” I tell Mia. She smiles at me, counting her money again.

I totter toward the doorway, trying to make myself into Cerise. I start with my walk. Head held high, shoulders pulled back, arms nice and loose, lengthen my strides.

When I’m playing Cerise, I’m confident. Smiling. Teasing. Winking.

She likes men to look at her, to fawn over her tits and ass, to rain singles down as she slithers on the pole. She’s my opposite in so many ways. I’ve never dated anyone, much less had strange men touch me as boldly as my customers will tonight.

Cerise is confident and worldly, I am introverted and naive. It’s just easier to be Cerise for a while, a mask that I can slip off and leave in my locker at the end of the night.

Heading down the dark little hallway to the stage, I mount the steps and wait for the emcee to announce me. My heart rate rises. My smile stays plastered in place. In the seconds before I go onstage, it feels the same as it does when I’m waiting in the wings in my tutu and pointe shoes.

“Now appearing on the main stage, it’s Cerise!”

My heart beat sounds like a drum in my ears. My music comes on, MIA’s “Bad Girls”. At the sound of the first notes, a switch is flipped for me.

There is a spotlight illuminating a shiny stripper pole on Club main stage. Everything around it is dim, made more so by my singleminded focus. I strut out onto the darkened stage, barely seeing the audience. All I can see is the stage, bare, waiting for me.

A shiver of excitement slides up my spine. I reach out for the pole, caressing it with one hand as I turn to face the audience. I don’t really see them, though. Just the bright stage lights down front.

I grin and skim my fingers down my hip, biting my lip. Turning toward the pole, I slip my shoes off. As soon as I grip the pole and push onto my toes, a few whistles leave the crowd. I go into point briefly and the face away from the audience, leaning against the plot as I slide down into splits. I raise my arms over my head and then swing my hip around, grinding the ground beneath me. I keep a look of pleasure on my face as I get up, quickly turning it into climbing the pole and artfully sliding down. I step away from the pole and arch my back.

Taking a deep breath, I move away and focus on the audience members. A cluster of men in the front row grab my attention by waving a hundred dollar bill. I slide over to them, a knowing smirk on my face, and get on my knees. Plucking the bill from the customer, I push my breasts together and squeeze them. At the same time I spread my knees farther apart and run my hand down to the band of my bikini. Feeling naughty, I make sure to cup my pussy and pluck at my nipple, all the while making eye contact with the stage man.

Then I get on my stomach, never breaking eye contact, and slowly roll my ass so that I hump the floor in slow motion.

I don’t see his reaction. I have no idea if it’s good or not. I’m just sucked into the performative nature of that slow body roll.

When I finally get up, I spread my legs wide and skim my bottoms down my legs. Bending over, I make sure that the customer gets the first look at my pussy.

Then I stride back to the pole. I lean my ass on the pole facing the audience, sliding down, an orgasmic expression on my face. Dollar bills rain down from above as I complete my splits, reaching above me to help myself back up. This time I go on my tiptoes with one foot, lifting the other high above my head. I lower my leg to the floor and raise my torso, steadying myself as my arms come up in an arch above my head.

I tear off my top, my breasts bouncing free. I climb the pole again and wrap my legs around it, dropping the piece of fabric and letting my entire body fall backward oh so slowly.

I let myself slide down until my hands can touch the floor. Then I gracefully round into a back bend and rise once more. Composing myself for a moment, I lift onto my tiptoes and execute a half-pirouette. Planting my right foot, I sweep my left leg skyward, then fold my body into the splits again.

All of this takes just a heart beat… or so it seems. Before I know it, the song shifts. The applause makes me turn pink.

I blink a few times and then run down to the end of the stage, collecting the cascade of dollar bills that I earned. After I sweep up most of them and grab my bikini, I hurry off stage. A minute later, I have my bikini on again and the money stashed in a little locked drop box beside the stage.

I didn’t really have time to count, but the dollar bills felt weighty against my palm. One more step closer to independence.

I strut out to see at least five tables signaling to me that they want a private dance.

That’s the least favorite part of my night. But at least guys are interested in what I can provide… I credit Mia with giving me tip to improve my onstage presence.

Lifting my chin, I’m about to walk toward the closest table when one of the dark-suited managers raises his hand to me.

I shoot him an odd look, but he continues waving me over. I look at the table of customers, hold up a single finger, and then scoot over to the bar.

He sniffs, rubbing his nose. “You got a guy waiting for you in the platinum room, darlin. The customer isn’t a regular but he’s very rich and very private. This customer is to be treated with kid gloves, you got it? Whatever he wants, you give.” He looks me up and down. “Whatever’s legal, anyway.”

I am absolutely sure that he means all but the last part. My heart rate picks up. I nod my head, glancing at the tables.

“Hey,” the manager says, snapping his fingers in front of my face. “Don’t worry about them. Worry about the guy in the platinum room. You could easily make three or four times as much tonight as you would’ve normally. Now get going.”

Eyes widening, I nod and scurry toward the Club’s staircase. I bite my lip, trying not to look worried. Usually I’m not called in when customers choose dancers for the luxurious private rooms. Then again, it’s only been a few days since Mia gave me a critique to earn more on stage.

Maybe it has started to work. Maybe it is really my time to shine.

As I climb the stairs, I try to convince myself that I deserve to be called back to the most expensive private room of all.

4

CALUM

I recline on the red velvet booth of Club X’s platinum room, sipping a tumbler of expensive whiskey. My eyes are focused on the gleaming silver pole in the center of the room. Beneath it, low lights seep from the bottom of an elevated stage. The walls and floors all echo the same shade of dusty, iridescent red.

A low melody is pumped through unseen speakers, the sound brash against my ears. As I look up at the door, I see the top of the blonde’s head through the open doorway as she climbs the last few stairs.

Anticipation slides down my spine. I take her in as she mounts the steps. Long blonde hair, blown out to fall over her slim shoulders in a gleaming mass. Tawny hazel eyes, high cheekbones, a pert nose, and a small slick of hot pink on her mouth. Her lips alone are an invitation, parting as she lays eyes on me.

My gaze slips down to the rest of her body. She wears a sheer white kimono, an iridescent black bikini underneath that, and tall silver heels. Her tits are pushed up, looking small but tempting. As she stops at the door to toe off her heels, she turns and gives me a glimpse of her long legs and fantastic ass.

She’s a dead ringer for Honor. At another time, in another setting, she could be the delicate prima ballerina. The same one that broke my heart back when I was young and foolish enough to still believe in that fairytale.

She enters the platinum room quietly, tilting her head as she takes me in. “I’m Cerise.” She swings her hips as she struts toward me, her eyes wide and innocent.

Like she doesn’t work in this fucking club and make her money by grinding on strange men. Like she isn’t working me right now, trying to figure out my weaknesses.

Her feigned innocence does something to me. It makes my cock hard, yes. But it also makes me think dark thoughts.

Violent thoughts.

My mouth tightens just a little. “You can call me Mr. X.”

Her eyebrows lift just a fraction as she comes close to me, putting a hand on the velvet booth. She leans down, giving me a peek of her creamy cleavage. “You want me to dance for you, X?”

My cock stirs. Her tits are small and firm, pressed up by her bikini top. I drag my eyes up to her face, my voice erupting in a guttural rumble.

“Mr. X,” I correct her sharply. “And yes. I want you on the pole.”

She flashes me a smile. She turns, hips swaying, and heads back toward the door. “How long do you want me, baby?”

She presses a discreet button and her music comes on, sultry and low. She turns toward me, an eyebrow lifting. “Is this loud enough?”

I couldn’t care less about the music, honestly. Chances are that if it was made in the last hundred years, I won’t like it anyway.

I flap my hand, uninterested. “I’ll buy all of your time tonight, Cerise. Just hurry the fuck up. I want to see you dance like you did downstairs. That’s why I chose you.”

Her cheeks stain hot pink. She glances at the floor for a moment. “You saw me dance on stage?”

As she asks, she starts moving toward the pole. Hopping onstage, she starts to approach it. I sit back, feeling my pulse pick up.

“That’s right,” I say. I try to play it cool as though she’s not about to take her clothes off and try to make me horny. Sucking in a deep breath, I tell myself to relax.

She hops up onto the platform and starts gyrating her hips, running her hands up through her hair and down the front of her body. Her eyes close and then pop open for a moment, pinning me in place as she rubs the silky material covering her pussy.

Something about her expression, a heavy lidded innocence, really fucking turns me on. She’s like a virgin giving off fuck me eyes for the very first time.

I know it’s all a show. I know that it can’t be real. But I let myself sink into the moment, let myself be swept along by the tide.

Cerise grabs the pole and swings around it, undulating her body. I tilt my head to the side and bite my lower lip. She climbs the pole deftly, leaning out and then letting her back bow until she touches the floor with her hands. She does the splits in midair, her kimono falling so that I can see her legs and her material covered pussy.

“Take off your robe,” I order.

A little smirk appears on her face. She dismounts the pole by doing a roundoff, then gives me a sultry look. She unties her kimono slowly and then shrugs out of it, leaving her in the black bikini.

I take a sip of my whiskey, trying not to show how base my thoughts are. I’m excited by the slight curves of her hips as she dances before me. She bows before coming back up very slowly, never breaking eye contact with me.

Then she grabs onto the stripper pole with one hand and lifts onto her tiptoes. Her arm arches gracefully above her head. She leans forward, extending her leg behind me. I trace the curve as it lifts behind her.

When I saw her do this move before, I thought that perhaps she had some ballet training. But now I think it’s more than that.

My lovely little ballerina is truly talented and well trained. The fact that Cerise is working here at Club X is a puzzle. She’s been involved in a hardcore ballet program somewhere, I can tell. Unless she has recently quit, she is doing something very forbidden in the ballet world.

I sit back and watch her climb the pole again, hiding a smirk. Moonlighting here is a definite no no, whether her program explicitly says so or not.

The song shifts just as she pulls on the strings of her top.

“Cerise,” I command. “Come here.”

I pat my thigh. She blushes, climbing to her feet. Her hips sway as she pads over to me. Her cheeks color again when she stands over me, leaning forward to push my shoulders back against the red velvet booth.

As she looks me right in the eye, I wonder how she manages to blush on cue. I know it’s doubtless a manipulation of some sort. But I have to say, it’s working on me. I can feel myself falling under her spell.

Especially when she straddles my lap and sinks down so that I feel the exquisite pleasure of her ass against my thighs. My instinct is to grab her, to take control.

I am always in control.

But I just ball my hands into fists and tense my whole body.

“You should be mine,” I tell her, looking at her perfect little tits.

She puts her hands up against the booth behind my head. “I am yours, Mr. X. You can ask me for anything tonight.”

I scowl. “What if I want you at my beck and call? Hmm?”

I raise a hand and push her hair off her neck. It’s so fucking silky and soft against my fingers.

Cerise shakes her head. “I don’t know.”

She rolls her body, grinding against my cock. My eyes narrow on her face.

“I could be your patron. That’s what all the girls here want, isn’t it?”

Her brow wrinkles. “Too much talking. Not enough dancing. Don’t you agree?”

I clench my jaw. I think she just found a polite way to tell me to shut up. Then again, she’s pretty much dry humping me. I try to relax, try to focus on the softness of her skin, the gentle hint of rose that wafts off her neck, the warmth of her pressed against me.

It’s almost like intimacy and just as addictive.

She looks me in the eye; I can see from this close that her eyes are tawny brown with green flecks. She presses her hands against my chest, biting her lip, and leans close to my ear.

I’m not sure what I’m expecting, but she just lets out the breathiest sound, the tiniest of moans. She grinds her body against mine as she grabs my hands and brings them to her waist.

“Fuck,” I grit out. I’m surprised at how this girl has managed to turn me out. I lift a hand and plunge it into her hair, wishing more than anything I could pull her in for a kiss.

Of course, I can think of other ways that she could please me… My eyes are glued on her mouth, imagining her on her knees, opening those lips, sucking my fucking cock.

My cock is currently pressed between our bodies; each time she grinds on it or rolls her body, I come a little bit closer to doing something very, very wicked to my little ballerina.

“Tell me something,” I whisper. “Do you know how much this turns me on?”

She blushes and grins. She undulates her body, rolling it against me, and cocks a brow. “Why don’t you tell me?”

Instinctively, my grip tightens in her hair. She’s so dainty as she rides my lap, so angelic and yet so fucking dirty. She gasps in surprise as I start to move against her, thrusting my cock up between our bodies.

She stills for the barest moment; I seem to have crossed one of her boundaries though she doesn’t say so.

I take my hand out of her hair and return it to her waist, knowing that I could easily snap and take things too far.

I’ve done it before.

Hell, I’ve even done it at this club, in this booth. I’ve definitely gone all the way from kissing to fondling to being blown by a stripper.

There is something holding me back from Cerise, though. I don’t know if it’s the fact that she’s obviously had ballet training or the faux innocence that she projects. Maybe it’s her smell, a vague splash of rose but nothing too fake or flashy.

But I look into her eyes and something echoes between us. A longing, perhaps.

I wish I was the kind of man that she thinks I am. She probably just sees wealth and good looks when she looks at me.

But beneath that scarily thin veneer lies something so twisted and so dark that there is no chance at redemption. Not for me.

Cerise drags me from my thoughts by pushing up off my lap and sinking to her knees. She rubs her hands up and down my thighs, biting her plump lower lip and making eye contact with me. She lowers her head and kisses my thigh.

My eyes close for a second. Shivers of anticipation run through my veins. She’s barely even touching my leg. I haven’t felt this kind of crackling excitement since I was a teenager.

God, if Honor ever touched me like this, ever sat on my lap and ground against my cock, I—

I don’t even know that I’m going to come before it’s already happening. By the time I realize that my balls are tingling, it’s already too late. I’m literally so surprised that I don’t even warn her that I’m about to come. I don’t say anything; my brain and my mouth are both too out of it to do more than whisper, “oh fuck.”

The orgasm bursts over me and spurts out the tip of my cock, which twitches like it is fucking possessed. It’s like a dam of pleasure has suddenly broken open. From the top of my head all the way down to my toes, I feel my endorphins pumping into my bloodstream, causing a moment of pure euphoria.

Cerise swipes her hand too close to my dick and gets a wet, sticky palm print. She looks at her hand, then looks up at me. Her eyes widen with genuine shock.

“Oh, Mr. X—” she starts, blushing furiously.

As if she’s never seen it before. As if she didn’t work for it, teasing me. As if she didn’t cause it to happen.

I shut down.

“Move,” I bark at her.

She scrambles back, standing up. My mouth twists into a grimace as I pull a card from my pocket. It’s all black with a shiny stripper pole outlined in red. I force the card into her hands.

“Here. It’s five thousand dollars.”

I turn toward the door, ready to leave. My heart still beats like a drum in my ears.

“Wait, this is… for me?” she says, sounding a little taken aback.

I pause, looking back at her. “It’s less than I make a minute. Take it.”

Then I stride out of the room, leaving her standing there, mouth agape. I hurry out the club, pulling up my phone to text my limo driver. My hands are shaking a little as I step out onto the darkened street.

Damn. Despite my best efforts, I still went way too far. I turn and look up at the club, a nondescript building on a street full of warehouses. I see a window open a few floors up; faintly, I think I can make out a pair of wide hazel eyes staring back at me.

Cerise.

As the limo pulls up, I get in the back seat, not bothering to wait for the door to be opened. I feel vaguely dirty. But as I give the order to head home, I already know the truth.

I’ll be back to visit her.

5

KAIA

“Shit, shit, shit,” I curse under my breath. I rush up the broad steps that lead to the three story gray stone building. My eye catches on the sharp angles of the big picture windows against the overcast morning sky. The New York Ballet building is a monolith, taking up half a New York City block.

My left shoe is wearing dangerously thin. Even the newspapers I’ve shoved in the sole won’t save this pair for much longer. As I rush up the stone steps of New York ballet, I make a mental note to spend a little of my hard earned money on a new cheap pair of flats.

I can see my ballet class gathering upstairs through the wide windows. I’m definitely going to be late. Tucking my head down, I push through the massive plate glass door, trying to calm my nerves.

Every ounce of my energy should be focused on this visit to the hallowed halls that I’ve dreamt of for so long. But a part of me is distracted.

Remembering with a shiver Mr. X’s gaze from the night before. Tall, dark, and handsome, he was the customer that every girl dreams about. He was so freaking hot, so demanding, and so on edge.

As I hurry up the stylized concrete stairs to follow my class, I bite my lip. There was a moment when Mr. X suddenly went stiff last night. Only a few seconds later did I realize that he’d… finished… It honestly surprised the hell out of me.

After that, he shoved a card carrying five thousand dollars at me and left abruptly. It all happened so fast that I just felt… confused, mostly.

It also made me wonder about Mr. X’s life. Who was he? Aside from his money, I wanted to know more about him.

I can still feel his deep blue gaze on my body as I rush along.

I come up to the top of the stairs, seeing my class on the other end of the airy hallway, moving into the doors of the largest theater. I run to catch up with them, trying to look dignified in my gray sweater dress and heels.

I miss the door closing by half a minute. When I push through the dark doors and enter the back of the theater, my dance teacher and several stoic looking New York Ballet representatives take note.

I swallow and blush furiously, rushing to file into the rows of seats with the rest of my class.

“Hurry up,” a silver haired man snaps at all of us. He is dressed in a light blue button up and dark slacks, but he has rolled up his sleeves and unbuttoned his top button. He’s classically handsome and very in shape. I would put money on his having been a dancer at some point.

As I sink into the velvet seat, I notice that Eric moves to sit next to me. I blush and give him a little nod, but there is no time to whisper.

“I’m Basil Smith,” the silver haired man announces, leaning against the wall of the stage. The stage behind him is dark, the curtains pulled tightly.

I try not to think of just how badly I want to be a featured soloist, dancing on point on this exact stage. I want it so badly that I can actually hear the applause of a ghost audience echo throughout the great hall; badly enough that sweat begins to break out on the back of my neck at the thought of looming interviews for the company.

“I am the main choreographer here at the New York Ballet. I’m joined today by Chase Gorley and Emma Rosenburg, who are on the NYB board.”

He waves his hand to indicate the two people beside him. Emma is probably in her fifties and petite, with a dramatic sweep of shiny dark hair and an immaculate navy sheath dress. Chase reminds me of a lot of Club X customers; he is older than Emma by at least a decade, well dressed in a dark three piece suit, and carries a great deal more weight on his frame than anyone else in the room. He cocks his head, seeming unbothered by this, and studies all of us instead.

“We have brought you all here today as the first part of our interview process,” Emma says. Her voice is high and reedy, her expression stern. “At the NYB, we want to evaluate each dancer on his or her strengths and see what they might add to our company. But just as important to the hiring process is making sure that all applicants get to know us and understand the unique and challenging environment of the company before continuing with the interviews.”

Basil smirks a little at her words. “Yes. Thank you, Emma. We will be giving you a run down of the history of the New York Ballet as a company, followed by a dance class focusing on the rigors of the NYB.”

Chase cuts in, his voice low and rough. “Only then do we start the interviews. And I have to say, we are selecting maybe five new dancers out of more than a thousand new applicants.”

“Joining this company is very competitive,” Basil agrees. “Only the creme de la creme need apply.”

Emma glances at her slender wristwatch. “Can we move things alone, Basil?”

Basil gives her a look so cold, I swear I feel its icy chill all the way here in the back row of students. I glance over at Eric, arching a brow silently.

His lips twist into a tiny smirk. He rolls his eyes.

“Yes, thank you, Emma,” Basil says, his tone dry. “The New York Ballet was formed in 1947, with a rather spectacular roster of dancers—“

A muffled scream comes from somewhere far behind the curtain that hangs heavy across the stage. It’s a woman’s voice, tinged with a French accent, growing closer as it rises in pitch.

“You bastard!” she bleats. “You absolute… fucking… bastard!”

Basil slowly turns toward the sound, his expression completely unsurprised. “Honor, darling! I’m holding a class here and we can all hear you.”

That name gives me pause. Where have a I heard that before?

But before I can focus on that, it’s swept away by muffled footsteps approaching the curtain.

“Let go of me!” Honor shouts. “I’m going to tell everybody about our little affair, Mikhail!”

The curtain moves like there is a scuffle going on just beyond it. Both of my eyebrows raise; the argument that Honor and Mikhail are clearly having couldn’t be choreographed better if they tried.

Honor rips the black velvet curtain and stalks out on stage, shaking Mikhail off. She is lithe and blonde, dressed in a white leotard and a filmy white ballet skirt. She’s followed by a desperate-looking Mikhail, his black t-shirt and jeans setting off his silvering dark hair. He glances at his audience, his lips twisting in a grimace.

“Let them all know!” Honor declares, sweeping her hand to indicate her audience. “Tell everyone what you just suggested when I told you that I was pregnant with your child.”

Mikhail glances at us, shaking his head. When he finally speaks, his deep timbre is heavily inflected with Russian or Ukrainian.

“Don’t,” he warns her. “Don’t make this public.”

I can see Honor practically vibrating with rage. “No? You don’t want me to tell everybody out here? What, are you afraid that word will get back to your wife?”

My eyes widen. I glance at Eric and see him mouthing, “oh shit!” to me. I nod. This is some really juicy drama, playing out right before our eyes.

“You won’t get me to change my mind by telling a bunch of ballet students. Just have a scrape and be done with it!” he roars.

My hand flies to my throat. My jaw drops. I could be wrong, but I think Mikhail just told his lover to get an abortion. There have long been whispers about what happens when a prima gets pregnant.

I mean, you basically have to decide if you want your career to end or you want to continue dancing.

A hush falls over the whole room when Mikhail shouts that. He clenches his teeth, looks at the audience, and growls at us. “Grow up, will you?”

Basil straightens his spine, looking back and forth between the tearful ballerina and the fuming Russian. He raises his eyebrows.

“Relationships between dancers and stage managers are explicitly forbidden. Mikhail, you are her teacher, for god’s sake. And Honor, you should know better. You’re a student, no matter how much you advance in the company. If I am reading this situation correctly…” He gestures to both of them pulling his fist in tight. “We have a big problem.”

Honor lifts her chin defiantly. “I would say that we are beyond having a problem, Basil.”

Basil shoots her a glare and then turns back to his audience. “I think we will have to reschedule this for another day.” He glances at Emma and Chase, who look livid. “Will you please lead your class out of the theater? Mikhail and Honor, let’s go to somewhere more private.”

Honor shakes her head and storms off the stage. Mikhail casts a jaundiced eye over us as we are standing up, muttering to himself as he follows Honor.

As soon as we get to the theater doors, the whispers of my classmates burst to life. I hear, “Can you believe that she just outed them both like that?”

Then literally everyone is talking at once. I feel a tug at my elbow and find Ella there, giving me a wide eyed glance. She pats her elegantly pinned up hair as she wonders aloud.

“Could you imagine having the balls to sleep with the prima ballerina and then telling her to get an abortion?”

I shake my head vehemently. “No, I definitely can’t.”

Eric catches up with us, easily taking up my other elbow. “Holy shit. That was insane. I thought that they were both playacting at first.”

As we are herded down the echoing hallway, Ella wrinkles her nose. “I’ve heard that one in three ballerinas undergoes an abortion before they retire.”

I roll my eyes. “That can’t be a real statistic. I don’t know about you, but I was put on an IUD when I turned sixteen.”

Ella purses her lips at me. “Aren’t you a virgin?”

My cheeks flame red. I bow my head, my eyes widening. “I am not!”

A lie, yes. I’m ashamed to say that I’ve listened to my father’s explicit threats about what will happen if I ever sleep with anyone before I’m married.

I’ll kill him, Kaia. If any man talks you into being his slut, I’ll string him up and watch him suffer.

I duck my head. If my friends had the slightest clue about my home life, they would probably stop talking to me. I finally moved out of his house six months ago, but not without his scorn.

You want to be independent? Fine. I’ve tallied up the expenses of raising you and putting you through ballet academy. Do you know how much you cost this family? Three hundred and twenty five thousand dollars, Kaia.

I swallow. Three hundred and twenty five thousand dollars is a lot of money… and now that I’ve moved out of his house, that’s what I still owe my dad.

It’s the only thing I’m focused on at this moment, other than dancing.

I hastily sneak a peek at Eric, who looks completely unruffled by Ella’s revelation that I’m a virgin. He changes the subject, easing the panicked feeling in my chest.

“What do you think happens to Mikhail and Honor? Do they get fired? Or just get scolded?”

“Definitely fired. Ballet companies function with a level of trust. How can anyone at NYB ever trust either of them again?”

Biting my lip, I clear my throat. “That could be good for us, actually. I mean, that means more spots open up in the corps, right?”

Manon is just ahead of me. She turns her dark head at that, laughing cruelly. “Yeah, right. Let’s be real here. Your chances of getting picked to be in this company are basically zero. You should focus on finding a job teaching ballet at some kind of school for crippled children or something.”

My heart thumps in my chest.

Ella jumps right in before I can even really react. “You’re just pissed because your pill popping mom is in rehab again. Get a fucking life, Manon.”

Manon glares at Ella. “Back at you, Affirmative Action Annie.”

“Die in a fire, Barbie bitch,” Ella fires back.

“Watch where you—“ Eric says.

But before he can even get the thought out, Manon stumbles as she reaches the stairs. For a split second, it looks like she’s going to take a header straight down.

But at the last moment, Manon’s friend Roxie reaches out and steadies her. Manon sends us back a superior look, tossing her head and click clacking down the marble stairs.

Ella’s mouth curves into a smirk. “Entitled little priss. Anyway, let’s talk about Mikhail’s wife. Do either of you know who she is?”

I shake my head, absorbed in the drama. As we walk out of the New York Ballet, I’m just really happy that I have friends that will stand up for me.

6

CALUM

Checking my watch, I consider leaving Emma’s office at the New York Ballet. I’m not accustomed to waiting for anybody, especially not for nearly fifteen minutes. I’m a firm believer that you teach people how to treat you.

Heaving myself up off the sleek leather couch, I glance around the well-appointed office. My movement alarms the little redheaded secretary, whose cheeks flame bright red as I approach her in the doorway.

She squeaks out. “Mr. Fordham, I’m sure if you wait for another minute or two—“

I brush right past her, in no mood for her attempts to stall me. “Move.”

She stares after me for a moment, then hurries to catch up with me. “I just know that Mrs. Rosenburg is tied up with—“

A door down the hall in flung open with full force, several people spilling out of it all at once. I see Emma first, looking chic as ever in her dark blue dress. Beside her are her fellow board members, Chase and Mark.

In front of all of them is Honor, bursting out of the room like a bullet leaving a gun. She holds her dark head high but she’s clearly sobbing, all but running down the hallway.

Seeing her gives me pause. It slows my steps.

What on earth is the prima ballerina doing running away in such hysterics?

Mark scurries after her, calling her name. “Honor—“

Chase notices me standing only twenty feet to his right. He snakes out a hand and catches Emma, jerking his head toward me. She looks at me, clearing her throat in a way that suggests she is embarrassed.

It’s hard to tell with Emma though, as usual. Some combination of years of ballet training and Botox has wiped all expression from her face.

She flattens her hands against her fitted skirt and tucks a strand of hair back behind her ear. “Calum. I’m sorry, I was obviously…” She looks down the hall after Honor, taking a deep breath. “We asked you to come in for a reason, as you can see.”

I don’t know what reaction she’s looking for, so I play my cards close to my chest. I shrug, endeavoring to keep my expression neutral. “I’m going to need some kind of explanation.”

She and Chase walk down the hall toward me. I give them a look, folding my arms across my chest. Emma flashes me what passes for a smile and ushers me back to her office.

“Please,” she says. “Discretion is very important at this stage.”

Turning around and shaking my head, I allow myself to be herded back into her office. She slinks behind the sleek metal desk; Chase plops down his considerable weight in a chair opposite. I remain standing, staring at them both. “What’s going on?”

Chase purses his lips, glancing at Emma. “We found out that Honor and Mikhail are having an affair.” He gives me a flat look. “Not even really trying to keep it secret, either.”

My eyebrows rise. My mouth contorts. “Wait, she’s fucking him? Willingly?” I scoff disbelievingly. “He’s so old!”

Emma and Chase exchange a look. Emma leans her elbows on her desk, giving a dour look. “Yes. Not only are they having an affair, but Honor says that she’s pregnant with his child. The whole situation is horribly messy.”

Chase grunts. “She told an entire class of ballet students all the sordid details too. Honor really made sure that there was no way to walk the information back.”

Emma sighs, giving her head a tiny shake.

“What’s going to happen to her?” I ask, frowning. Inside, I’m a mass of venomous snakes and white hot anger. But I keep a tight leash on it for now; this isn’t the time or the place to vent my fury.

Emma frowns. Or at least I think she tries to. With all her facial fillers, I feel like I can’t really tell.

“She and Mikhail are both fired. That’s what has to happen here. I see no other choice.”

I wonder to myself if this is the break that I needed to get Honor to take me as a lover. I’ve lusted after her for years, having known her for well over a decade.

“We thought that since you and Honor danced together at ballet academy, you might like to weigh in on how we should go about replacing Honor,” Chase says.

I cock a brow. “Don’t you have two or three ballerinas ready and more than willing to step into her place?”

Emma lays her hands flat on the desk. “There is no obvious replacement. We assumed we had two more years to find someone with that je ne sais pas.”

Chase looks at his wristwatch. “You’d better tell him the other problem too, Emma.”

I huff a laugh. “Other than not having a star to lead your spring productions?”

Emma’s mouth twists. “We are also down a stage manager.”

My eyes narrow. “I’m sure that someone could be lured away if the money is right. I’ve been pushing for someone to replace Mikhail for a year now.” I pause, tilting my head. “What about Stein? He seemed less than enthused about the Royal Ballet when I talked to him last year.”

“He was already scooped up by the Paris Ballet,” Chase sighs.

I lean forward. “You have tried whoever Stein replaced at the Paris Ballet, then? Who is it, Berger?”

“We were hoping that we would pull in someone closer to hand, actually.” Emma gives a rueful little smile. “I know that it’s been five years since you last worked as a stage manager—“

My eyebrows shoot up. “You’re kidding. Are you joking?” I give a startled chuckle. “You just finished telling me that you don’t have any stars and you are essentially rudderless without Mikhail. Which, by the way, I specifically warned you both about.”

I fold my hands against my stomach and sit back, angry that they would even bother to ask me.

“Look, Calum—“ Chase begins.

I shake my head. “After I hurt myself dancing, I moved on with my life. I started Indica Tech. I started Indica Charity. The last three years alone, I’ve been insanely productive.”

“We would donate your salary to your charity, obviously,” Emma says.

“And a portion of the ticket sales as well,” Chase says. He shoots Emma a glare.

I level them both with a glare. “You would be doing my charity a disservice, because my salary here would be just a fraction of what I normally earn.”

Emma holds up a hand. “When you were a dancer here, didn’t you have to pull out of a show at the end?”

I squint at her. “I was hurt doing a production of Sleeping Beauty, if that’s what you mean.”

She bobs her head. “And you never got to stage manage a production of Sleeping Beauty, as far as I am aware.”

“No.” I lean forward again, engaged. “Is that what you are offering as bait? The lure of doing something new?”

Chase smirks. “Yes. We would need you for Sleeping Beauty and Giselle, two of the hardest ballets to dance or direct. And not that it matters, but there would also be some other smaller showcases, I imagine.”

I sit back, pushing my cheek out with my tongue. None of what they are saying moves me in the least. But a lightbulb does go off in the back of my head. “If I took the position, you would have to inform the other patrons of the transition, wouldn’t you?”

Emma and Chase share a glance. Emma clears her throat. “I suppose.”

I smile a little. “I’m interested in doing business with one of your donors. Jack Schwartz.”

Chase raises his eyebrows. “We could… maybe notify all the patrons? I mean, it wouldn’t be very hard to put together some sort of elegant engraved card or something.”

“It would have to highlight how much I’ve given over the last few years and how grateful the company is for my continued good works.”

“Of course,” Emma says. “We’ll state that we are very grateful to you.”

I purse my lips. “I think that someone in my office will gladly put together a thoughtful reflection on my career and more importantly, on my charitable nature.”

There is silence just then as Emma and Chase look at each other. It goes on for a little too long.

I drum my fingers on the table, trying not to be offended. “I need you two to agree that I’m known for my good works above all else.”

“Of course,” Emma says, eager to please me.

I stare her down until she flushes a little.

“Well?” Chase prompts. “Will you do it?”

My mouth flattens. I raise a finger. “I’ll think about it,” I allow. “And I do mean think. I have a lot to consider.”

Emma looks vaguely pleased. “We would so appreciate it, Calum.”

“We’ll see,” I say, leaning back and shrugging a shoulder. “But regardless of whether or not I take the job, I need something from you.”

Chase rubs his hands together, smiling. “What’s that?”

“Let go of all your dancers that are not ready to move up and take the spotlight.” I stand, casting a serious gaze at them both. “Anybody that isn’t hungry for it? Demote them to the corps or fire them. Clear the way for thirty or forty brand new dancers to step forward.”

“Oh, Calum.” Emma says. “I don’t know…”

“It’s not a request. I’ll make the money you receive from my charity contingent upon that condition.”

I suck in a breath, looking at my watch. When I look back up, they both have sour expressions on their faces. “If that’s all, I have a thousand things to do.”

Emma stands up, graceful as ever. “I’ll walk you out, Calum.”

“No need. You two should be figuring out how to tell those dancers that they are fired.”

With that pronouncement, I head out of the office, closing the button on my jacket as I go.

My emotions swirl in the air around me, concussing me. But I can see one thing very clearly.

Me taking a bow as the audience raves, the applause so thunderous that I can’t hear a single voice in the back of my head.

My lips curve as I head out the front door of the building.

7

KAIA

I stand in my attic apartment in Jamaica, Queens, trying to find the will to leave. My black kitty Exupéry meows and rubs against my leg. He is completely blind but usually seems to be in good spirits. No one else would take him in at the animal shelter so I did.

Kaia, keeper of broken things.

My face would go great on one of those Catholic saint candles that I so love to collect. I turn my head and look at my collection of candles, each looking stoic on its cylindrical glass form.

What can I say, they are cheap at the bodega on the corner. Plus, when I light them, it gives my apartment instant ambiance.

I scratch Exupéry behind his ears and sigh. Taking a deep breath, I stop double checking the contents of my backpack. Exupéry butts me with his head.

“I see you,” I tell Exupéry. Kneeling, I scratch him under his chin.

Purrs burst from Exupéry’s chest. My lips curve upward in a smile. He always seems enthused about everything I do, especially if it directly involves me petting him. He’s been like that ever since he strolled up the attic stairs when I left the door open last summer. He doesn’t mind how tiny my studio is in the least or how secondhand chic my attempts to decorate it are.

He doesn’t even seem to notice the fact that he’s blind, other than the occasional fall down the stairs.

I make eye contact with him as I gently scratch behind his ears. “I wish you could come to Hartford with me. My family would hate you, but at least I’d have a buddy.” I scrunch my face up. “You’d be a welcome distraction, honestly.”

Exupéry’s tail twitches; he loves being talked to and petted at the same time. I pet him for another twenty seconds and then I sigh.

“Okay. Wish me luck.”

Grabbing my backpack, I shoulder the straps as I start down the stairs. It’s only a few blocks to the bus I need to catch that will take me out of New York City and all the way to Hartford. It’s cold and overcast as I climb on the bus and find a window seat.

I text my father to let him know I’m on my way. Then I stare out the window, trying not to bite my nails as the bus pulls out.

The question of why my father summoned me home is heavy on my mind. Did I just wait too long between visits? Or is there a more sinister reason?

The scenery changes, though I’m barely aware of it. The gritty concrete texture of New York soon gives way to the strangely empty echo of the highway that winds itself near the suburbs. At one point, there are no exits for miles, just dead grass and barren trees.

Then we’re in Connecticut; only an hour and half from New York City, Hartford likes to play the charming country cousin to it’s older, more glamorous sister city.

Outside, the suburbs of Hartford are entirely different than that of New York. The streets here are clean as a pin, the yards expansive and green, the houses are huge three story affairs made of brick. It’s kind of amazing how much each house looks to the next.

I suck in a deep breath and get off at my stop, my heart hammering the entire three blocks to my parent’s house.

I trot the last forty feet up the yard, ringing the doorbell on the off-white brick house. Out of the corner of my eye, I see ivy starting to climb a corner of the house.

My father hates ivy. One corner of my mouth lifts in the ghost of a smile as I wait for someone to open the broad oak door.

But as soon as it opens, my smile vanishes. My sister stands there in her dark blue Catholic schoolgirl outfit, her blonde hair pulled halfway up with a long dark blue ribbon. Her lips twist with humor as she eyes me, wearing jeans and a black sweater.

“God, you look wretched,” she says. “As always.”

I repress a sigh. “Hello, Hazel.”

She rolls her eyes and leaves the door open, heading down the long hallway into the kitchen. Pressing my lips into a thin line, I step in and close the door behind myself. Although I’ve just come from the blustery day outside, it feels colder inside. As I head in my sister’s wake, I guess that Dad has been on a money saving kick again.

The heating is usually the first to go when he rages about how everything costs him too damn much.

It’s a frequent complaint because the costs of heating a house of this size here in Hartford are significant.

I walk into the kitchen, bracing myself. But my father is nowhere to be seen. Instead, my sister sits at the kitchen counter, absorbed in her phone.

My mother turns from the stove, her eyes hazel lighting up. She brushes off her aprons and hurries toward me.

“There you are, Chickadee,” she greets me warmly. She hugs me hard, kissing my cheek. When she pulls back, there are tears in her eyes. “It’s been too long since I’ve last laid eyes on you.”

I pat her cheek. “You look good, Mom.” My gaze slides around the kitchen and dining room. “Shouldn’t the cook be doing your job?”

My mother flushes as she steps back, shaking her head. She heads back to the stove. “Esmerelda was let go a couple of weeks back. Your father caught her and the new maid stealing.” She clucks her tongue as she pulls oven mitts on. “I mean, can you believe the nerve of some people?”

My father usually discovers that his housemaids are treacherous once per season; it happened so often during my childhood that I could almost time it down to the week. I feel bad for the servants who are hired here, to put it bluntly.

“Well. It smells good in here,” I say, changing the subject.

My mother blushes and smiles at me. “Thank you, Chickadee. We should be ready to eat soon.”

Slipping my backpack off, I carry it over to the bar where my sister is sitting. I set my stuff on the ground and slide into a seat.

“How is school going, Hazel?” I ask politely.

She doesn’t even look up from her phone. “Better than it did for you, I assume.”

I squint at her words. She’s almost certainly a worse student than I was. Ballet academies don’t screw around when it comes to grades. Mine was no different.

“Girls, be nice,” my mother says. “Hazel, we only have Kaia here once a month. Let’s keep it civil.”

Hazel looks up at me and sticks out her tongue. I flip her the bird and she immediately tells on me. “Mom! Kaia just told me to go fuck myself!”

“I swear, you two,” Mom says, whirling around. “Quit it, both of you.”

My dad’s steps suddenly break the tension, sounding like thunder coming down the stairs. I bite my lip. Hazel smirks.

My mother tucks her hair behind her ear nervously. We all turn toward the doorway, waiting. Three little arrows, primed and quivering, just waiting for him to release us.

Eventually he stalks into the room, muttering angrily. Tall, blond, and heavyset, my father is dressed in khakis and a white polo. He rakes his hand through his thinning hair and glances at the three of us.

“That was the fourth call I’ve gotten that was pre-recorded JUNK!” he declares. “I’ve told you time and time again, Serena. You sign up for these…” He makes a gesture. “These lists and then I’m left getting my fucking phone called twenty times a day! It’s fucking ridiculous!”

My mother doesn’t even blink at the accusation in his tone. “They are the worst. I’m sorry, honey.”

My father hikes his belt up, shaking his head. “I’m not dealing with that shit anymore, Serena. You can’t expose us like that.”

My mother nods, as if he’s giving her sage advice. Before his barb even lands, he’s already swinging his gaze around to Hazel and me. “Why are you dressed so casually, Kaia? In this house, we have a dress code.”

I struggle to keep my feelings off my face. “I didn’t know, Dad. I’m sorry.”

He takes a couple steps closer. “Your sister and your mother are wearing skirts. I expect you to dress up like a woman when you want to come to dinner here.”

This is entirely new since the last time I visited, just over a month ago. I swallow, bobbing my head. “Yes, sir.”

My mother hastily turns to us with a platter of roast chicken and vegetables clutched between two potholders. “Why don’t we sit down and eat?”

My father gives me a look as I stand up, shaking his head on the way to the formal dining room table. The table is long and glossy, laid with an extensive place setting for each of us, undoubtedly my mother’s doing. Dad sits at the head of the table and my mom hurries to set the chicken down in front of him. Hazel and I take our places across from each other as he clears his throat and starts to carve.

My mom rushes back to the kitchen, retrieving several more dishes. My dad serves himself first, then Hazel. My mom sets a perfectly poured pint of beer at his place, then scurries to her seat.

My dad takes a bite of his food, seeming to forget that my mother and I are yet to be served. I stand and move to grab the platter of food. My dad growls at me, his mouth still full.

“Manners, Kaia!”

Hazel smirks at me, picking up her fork and putting a piece of chicken in her mouth. It takes my father another minute to serve me and my mom tiny portions of chicken and vegetables.

“I’m trying to help you both out here,” he says, passing our plates back. “You both tend toward having fat asses. You guys both take after Serena’s mother, who was herself practically a fucking cow. She was disgusting.”

I glance toward my mother. I’ve never seen my mother bigger than a size two except when she was pregnant. But she just smiles benevolently down the table at my father, like he’s really doing something great for her.

“Thank you, Robert. You always look out for us,” she says. She glances around the table. “All of us should be very thankful.”

Hazel has a piece of chicken hanging from her mouth when she mumbles, “Thanks, Dad!”

“Thank you,” I echo quietly.

I look down at my plate, eying the tiny portions with a silent sigh. No sooner have I sliced a tiny piece of chicken off and popped it into my mouth does my father begin.

“When do you graduate again?” he asks, putting an elbow on the table. He spears a huge bite and chews it with relish.

“At the end of January.”

“And when do you hear back from New York Ballet?”

My cheeks turn pink. “I don’t know. I haven’t gotten my audition date yet. There are a lot of factors, like how many more people they have auditioning after me.”

He points his fork at me. “That’s not good enough, Kaia. I need a date.”

I swallow, dropping my eyes. “I’ll try to find out, Dad.”

“Good. I don’t want to have to ask you again,” he grunts.

“She is probably too busy with her social life to even pay attention to something like an important deadline,” Hazel says cattily.

I huff a laugh. “Social life? Have you never seen how much I practice? There is barely enough time left over for me to sleep.”

My dad fixes me with a glare. “I don’t like sarcastic comments or snark in my house, young lady. Now apologize to your sister.”

I give Hazel a dead-eyed stare. “Sorry.”

My father isn’t finished, though. He sets his fork down and leans in. “I would hope that you would have some fucking manners by now. I’ve spent almost twenty years and hundreds of thousands of dollars on your education and training as a dancer.”

My neck heats. “Yes, sir. I plan to repay you every cent.”

Everyone goes quiet. The idea of me earning that much money in my whole lifetime does seem absurd, on its face.

“Unless you have a check for the whole amount, I’m not interested. And I know that you will never have that kind of money. I mean, look at yourself, Kaia. You’ll never be worth anything to anyone outside of this family.”

My cheeks burn. He’s right, of course. It does seem impossible.

I sneak a glance at my mother. She is chewing quietly, looking at her plate. No help is forthcoming from that quarter, not that I’m the least bit surprised.

My dad clears his throat and shoots me a glare.

“You’re using the wrong goddamn fork. Did I not send you to cotillion and spend my hard earned money on you learning basic table manners?” He shakes his head, disgusted. “You should be a lady, like your sister.”

I arch a brow at Hazel. She smirks at me, piling her fork full of potatoes. “Yeah, Kaia. You should at least try, even if we all know you’ll fail. You can’t help the fact that you suck.”

“Don’t say suck at the table,” my mother corrects Hazel stiffly. “Kaia hardly ever comes home. Why don’t we all change the subject to something more upbeat?”

My father, ever the drama queen, stands up to make his point. “I’ll talk about whatever I damn well please, Serena. I put food on the table and clothes on the backs of everyone present.”

My mom gives him a soft smile. “Of course you do, honey. Thank you for all that you do for us.”

Hazel and I mumble thank you as one.

My father sits down. “You’re welcome. Just the other day, I was telling the guys in my foursome at the golf course about how much I do for my family. I said that you had all found me and thanked me within the last few days. Doug called bullshit, and I had to set him straight.”

He shovels food in his mouth, talking anyway. “I said Doug, just because no one is thankful for what you provide doesn’t mean that the same can be said about yours truly. Maybe my family is just better at showing gratitude than yours is.”

I school my expression into one of interest. But underneath, my guts churn. This is exactly why I don’t come home if I can help it. It always plays out the same way.

My father makes crude remarks. My sister eggs him on. And my mother supports it in the most non-confrontational way she can.

I do the best I can for the rest of the visit. That means I nod when I’m supposed to agree and only fill in details when asked. I revert to the person I was years ago, back when I still lived here full time.

I try to blend in with the wallpaper and not draw attention to myself. My father and Hazel shoot spiteful comments at me. I try to dodge them and not let the barbs hurt me.

That’s the only way I know of to get by in this house.

At last, as the sun starts to set, I get ready to leave. My mom hugs me hard. Hazel makes some snide comment about how I’m putting on weight.

It just makes me really, really tired.

At last, I go over to hug my father. It’s important that he see me as a doting daughter; anything more than that is considered rebellious.

“Bye, Daddy,” I say, kissing him on the cheek.

He grabs me by the shoulders, staring down into my face. “You had better ace your audition with New York Ballet, Kaia. I haven’t supported you for this long just to have you falter when the goal is within reach.”

My eyes widen. I blink convulsively. “Yes, sir.”

“I mean it,” he says, giving me a sharp shake. “I won’t have you taking some position with some far away place. You have trained for too long and cost me too much money to just blow it. You had better be the best damn ballerina they have ever seen. Or else.”

The menace in his tone gets heavier the longer his sentence goes on. My eyes fill with tears, but I won’t let them fall.

“Yes, sir.”

He waves me off like I’ve displeased him. I grab my backpack and I’m out of the front door like a rocket. I’m almost out of the yard before I hear my mother’s voice.

“Kaia!”

I slow, then turn back. She stands in the doorway, wringing her hands. There seems to be something that she wants to say.

There always seems to be something left unsaid with her. Several seconds pass as she tries to make up her mind about what she wants to say.

“Mom, I have to catch my bus,” I say.

Her lips twist with a hint of bitterness. She looks down and shrugs. “Good luck on your audition, sweetheart.”

I suck in a deep breath, my eyes filling with tears again. “Thanks, Mom.”

She waves, looking so desolate and sad. I’ve long since learned that I can’t help her; she loves this life that has her ensnared, keeps her shackled to this godawful house.

Turning, I start walking toward the bus stop, my tears just now beginning to fall.

8

CALUM

“Sir, please. Be still so I can work on this knot.” Hugo, my extremely patient physical therapist, pushes his hands flat against my bare back.

I open my eyes a slit. I can see myself reflected back in the mirrors that line that walls of my private gym. Lying on my stomach, I have a pained expression.

“Go on,” I grunt, closing my eyes once more.

Hugo presses his hands against my flesh, rubbing small circles with his fingers. He comes to the knot again and his massaging only intensifies.

It hurts like a bitch as he works his hands over the knot, trying to loosen it.

“I can tell you’re thinking about the knot,” Hugo chides. “Remember, you should think calming thoughts.”

I sigh and turn my head away. Hugo has been my physical therapist for almost six years, ever since I tore the anterior cruciate ligament in my right knee.

That’s an injury that no dancer ever comes back from; one that saw me, at age twenty two and half, hurt and unsure of my future. With the help of hindsight, I’m glad that I got injured. It spurred me on, made me figure out how I was going to feed myself and keep Lucas in ballet academy.

But at the time, I thought my life was over.

Hugo finally finishes torturing me, patting me on the shoulder. “Okay. You can get up.”

I turn myself over, grimacing and rotating my shoulder in its socket a few times. I glance up and see my reflection again.

Painted across the flesh and muscle of my chest, just to the left of my heart, are two tight white clusters. Once upon a time they were bullet marks, each entering my chest just shy of piercing my heart.

Now they are healed, the skin gone from pink and tinkered to white and shiny.

I hop up off the table and grab a black t-shirt, pulling it over my head. Hugo is already folding the table up and moving it back to its out of the way spot.

I bob my head. “See you on Tuesday, Hugo.”

Hugo smiles. “I look forward to it.”

He vanishes out the swinging doors to my gym. I roll my neck and rotate my shoulder again, still feeling stiff. Then I walk over to a rack of free weights, picking up a twenty pounder.

As I begin doing curls, the doors behind me swing open again. This time it’s not Hugo but my brother Lucas.

And he has a displeased look on his face.

“Where were you?” he asks, annoyed.

I roll my eyes and focus on the weight. “You’ll have to be more specific than that if you actually want an answer.

His fists tighten. “You know what I mean, Calum. You said that you would be at the Indica Tech board meeting this morning. I was counting on your vote.”

Setting the weight down, I turn my head toward him. “Just do whatever you want to do, Lucas. The world isn’t waiting around for you to get approval. The sooner you learn that, the better.”

A muscle flexes in his cheek. “If you were just going to say that, why didn’t you do it earlier? This project has been moving at a fucking snail’s pace for months.”

I suck in a breath. “You’re supposed to be my second in charge. That means that you can do anything you want with the company. I’m the only person with the power to veto you. What more could you possibly want?”

Lucas shakes his head. “You’re such an asshole.”

I trot over to the wooden bench where my water bottle is, taking a sip. Checking the time, I am glad to see that it’s almost eight at night.

The time which I can go back to Club X. I’ve been waiting for this.

“Is there something that you wanted?” I ask my brother distractedly.

He pushes his tongue out with his cheek. “Who is she?”

I cock my head at him. “I’m sorry?”

He makes a gesture with one hand, opening his palm to the sky and flapping it closed several times. “You’ve been avoiding work lately. The only time you do that is when you have your eye on some new girl. So who is she? Is she a ballerina or is she one of your whores?”

I shoot him a baleful look. “Get fucked, Lucas.”

He chuckles, his expression reminding me of our father. “So she’s a pro, then. God, what happened to you that you turned out so fucked up?”

I turn cold as ice. “Lucas, get the fuck out of my house.”

Lucas doesn’t get to judge me for the women I sleep with.

He eases back, holding up his hands. “I just came to tell you that you have a message at the answering service that’s from Anita. Apparently it’s been there for some time.”

I look down at my fists, which closed tight at the sound of her name. “I know.”

He rolls his eyes. “You should answer it. Or at least listen to it. Jesus.”

I keep my expression blank. “Are you done?”

“You’re a dick today,” he huffs. He turns and disappears out the swinging door again.

I turn and look at myself in the mirror. I look like a little boy, clothing his water bottle, all mad at the world.

Walking toward my reflection, I hurl the water bottle. It hits the surface and explodes, distorting my image for a moment as the water runs down the wall.

Inside I’m writhing with anger, absolutely furious at the fact that Anita even had the fucking nerve to reach out. Not only that, but she obviously called my brother when no response was apparently forthcoming.

Her using Lucas really turns my stomach all over again.

She should know better. Then again, she’s a snake. How can I expect a snake not to poison everything within its reach?

The only other option is to tell my brother exactly how I got Anita to take us in after our parents died… and that’ll happen as soon as hell fucking freezes over.

I close my eyes, struggling for control. I learned so much of it in ballet, perfect control of my physical being.

But mental control…

That’s something else entirely.

I open my eyes as Club X wishes back into my consciousness.

Cerise in right there, at the top of my mind.

I’m going to make her mine tonight, no matter how much it costs. And then I’ll be so distracted that all thoughts of Anita will flee.

Growling to myself, I turn and start to walk out of the gym.

9

KAIA

Thud, thud, thud.

My heartbeat is so loud that it almost drowns out the music.

I’m onstage at Club X, on my knees in the middle of the stage, listening to the last notes of my song. The top of my bikini is somewhere behind me; the bottoms are just in front of me. Whistles and cheers come from the audience; my face heats as the music shifts.

Climbing to my feet, I gather all the cash I can carry, making sure I pick up my suit at the same time. I run off the stage and dump everything down on a tall bar table put there for just that reason. As fast as I can, I rush out onto the floor. I see several men wave me over, raising their black plastic cards at me. My eyes rove over them, trying to pick between them.

One of the guys pops up, grinning. He’s blond and young, his Harvard sweatshirt and acne-spotted cheeks dead giveaways. He leers at me as he comes over, waving his black card. “Hey! I want a lap dance from you. I have a room…”

I smile lightly. He seems pretty drunk. But half the guys in here are the same. “Sure. Lead the way.”

I grab onto his arm to stop him from literally running. He flushes at my touch and slows it way, way down. I strut my stuff into the back, where the private rooms are located.

Okay, rooms might be overselling the place a bit. They are small black booths with room for no more than three people; I notice that the camera that points into the room follows us.

I push him down on the hard bench, feeling strangely loose. It’s rare to get someone my age as a customer. Maybe just knowing that he’s very human and visibly shaking helps me relax.

I press a button by the door and take his black card, sliding it into a slot. His choice of music begins to play, some seriously raunchy rap.

I smile and begin to dance for him. “What’s your name, sweetie?”

He bites his lip, his gaze hard on my breasts. “Mike.”

He reaches out and grabs me around the waist. Instinctively I push him back, shaking my head. “That’s not how this works. You don’t touch me.”

He rolls his eyes. “Come on. We both know that you’re going to get on your knees and suck my dick. Just go ahead and do it already. There’s no need to wind me up first.”

I paste on a smile but stop dancing. “I think you have the wrong idea. We don’t do that here.”

I turn my head and start to pull his card from the door. When I turn around, he’s coming right at me. “Don’t be a stuck up bitch. We both know you want it.”

He unzips his pants and flashes me his penis, which is laughably small. He arches his eyebrow, as if he’s daring me to touch it.

Before I can even push the hidden panic button, a big burly security guard is already behind me. “Everything okay in here?”

I step backward, out of the booth. “I think it would be best if this guy left.”

“Wait a second!” the young guy protests. “I want what I paid for!”

I turn and walk out of the back area as quickly as I can. Unease settles around my shoulders like a cape, prickling me. My mouth quivers.

It’s not that I’m afraid what would have happened back there. The management keeps their eyes on everyone and everything. If I were to believe Mia, they keep a lookout for people trying to cut them out of profits.

But for stuff like this?

I’m beyond glad that they are looking out for me, no matter what their motivation is.

I stop in the middle of the hallway, giving myself a hard shake. This is part of it, I chide myself. This is exactly what you signed up for when you took this job. Now get a hold of yourself!

I paste a smile on. Blowing a deep breath out, I start moving again. Before I even make it all the way back onto the floor, the manager Sam comes to find me.

He doesn’t even blink at the fact that I’m scrambling to get my mind straight. He just sniffs, adjusts the waist of his black pants, and looks at me through jaundiced eyes. “You were good onstage. You do that dancing ballet thing and the whole room goes nuts. It’s one of the best acts here.”

My cheeks turn beet red. “Oh. Uh, thanks.”

He seems not to notice, or maybe it’s just that he doesn’t care. “Mr. X is here again.”

I look up at him, my eyes going wide. “He is?”

He nods. “Yup. He just headed up to the platinum room with a bottle of our most expensive whiskey. He asked that you entertain him again.”

My heart gives a little flutter in my chest. “Oh! Well… I will head upstairs now.”

Sam holds up a black pair of pointe shoes. “He wants you to wear these.”

My cheeks flame scarlet as I pluck them from his grasp. “Thank you.”

I climb the stairs, my heart in my throat. A giddy little voice in the back of my head is babbling about how Mr. X is here to see me.

But no. He’s not.

I have to remember that he’s here to see Cerise, who’s more confident and self-assured than me by a mile. It’s a show I put on, a diversion.

No one is interested in plain little me and it’s best that I remember that.

Swallowing tightly, I climb the last step to the Platinum room. Lifting my chin and planting a demure smile on my face, I see Mr. X’s dark figure through the open doorway.

He’s a little more disheveled this time. His tie is loosened at his neck, his dark suit jacket is thrown aside casually. When he sees me, his eyes light up like twin sapphires, sparkling dangerously.

I step into the room, closing the door behind myself. “Hello, you.”

He smirks, his eyes dropping to take in my whole body. “I couldn’t stay away,” he husks out.

The deep timbre of his voice gives me goosebumps. I press a button near the door to turn on my music. It’s low and rhythmic, making me sway along.

I smile and bend down, making quick work of swapping my stripper heels for pointe shoes.

When I finish tying them on, I stand, giving them a test. I lie and then do an arabesque. The slippers fit perfectly. Because of the variability of sizes and shapes, it’s nearly impossible to guess what size slipper someone is by just looking at them.

“How did you know what size to get?” I ask, walking across the room in slow steps.

He smiles coolly. “You ask too many questions, beauty.”

I stop when I’m inches away from him, tossing my hair and posing. “Did you miss me?”

Mr. X leans forward, looking me right in the eye and running his fingertips oh so lightly up my knee toward my hip. I sink my top teeth into my bottom lip.

I should push his hand away just as I did to the boy downstairs. I should put up hard boundaries and stick to them, be firm like Mia taught me.

Yet I don’t. I just let him touch me, throwing back my head and swaying my hips to the music. He slides his hand around my back and gives me a tug.

I have to take a little of my power back. So I pluck his wrist up and drop it by his side. “You’re just supposed to sit back and enjoy this,” I say sweetly.

His eyes narrow on my face and his lips twist. But I shut him up by moving closer, putting my legs just inside his, and lifting my leg high over my head. His breath all leaves him in a soft grunt as his eyes travel up my body.

“Fuck,” he mouths quietly. He reaches down to adjust his cock, leaving his hand on his lap. “You’re killing me, Cerise.”

The rush of emotion that I feel when he tells me that is addictive. I let my leg come down and kneel, my knees going wide as I straddle his lap.

He grabs my ass and pulls me down, grinding his cock between us. His eyes darken with need.

“God damn,” he grits out.

I lean forward, placing my hands on either side of his chest and pushing him back. As I push him back, he lifts his hips, grinding against me again.

I know I’m not really meant to get turned on. But he does briefly brush his cock against my pussy in a way that makes me tingle. Without thinking I let out the softest moan, pressing my hips down as I gyrate against his lap.

“Oh fuck,” he whispers, plowing his hand into my hair. He bucks against me, his eyes hard on my face. I bite my lip as my hips jerk against him; it’s hard not to close my eyes.

“That’s it,” he says through clenched teeth. “Right there, beauty. Don’t stop.”

I feel a damp spot growing on the flimsy piece of fabric between my thighs. I can admit it, I am very excited right now, ready to tear my clothes off and…

And what?

Let him penetrate me?

My cheeks flush. I need to chill out before I end up accidentally having full blown sex right here, right now.

I don’t want to stop, don’t want to slow it down. But I slow the rolling of my hips, opening my eyes.

Mr. X is watching me closely, his hips lifting in time with my own. “Are you sure you want to stop?”

His question makes me blush all the way down to the roots of my hair. I suck in a breath and push off his brawny chest, trying to play it off. Admittedly, I’m a little wobbly as I step away from his lap.

I turn around, letting him look at my ass. “I thought you might appreciate a different view.”

He glances up at me, his gaze tightening on my face. But after a second he shrugs a shoulder and reaches out to touch my ass cheek. “Your ass is perfect. Do you know that?”

I blush as I bend down to touch the floor, using my hands to push up onto my tiptoes again. Mr. X seems to like that, shifting his weight and bringing his hand back to the crotch of his slacks.

“Tell me you’ll be mine,” he says, his voice gone to gravel. “Dance just for me. Let me be your patron, Cerise.”

I sway along with the music. “You’ll have to give me a better name to call you than Mr. X.” I say, smiling.

He smirks. “Sit on my lap right now, beauty, and I’ll whisper it in your ear.”

I grin and take a seat on his lap, twerking rhythmically. Instantly his hands land on my hips. His cock is pressed against my ass. He groans and leans forward, whispering in my ear.

“You can call me Calum.”

I reach back and knot my fingers in his nape, steadying myself as my hips work. “Oh, Calum…” I let out the breathiest moan.

“Fuck, I’m going to—“

He thrusts almost violently against my back a few times then lets out a roar. I feel his cock twitch against my skin. A small wet spot soon spreads out between us. The sound of him finishing is somewhere between fascinating and terrifying, gratifying and sobering.

“Fuck me,” he says, chuckling against the bare skin of my shoulder. “That was…”

He trails off as I swallow and get up off of his lap. I’m not sure how to talk to him just now.

It’s not that I didn’t want him to… complete. It’s more that I don’t want him to expect it every time he comes to see me.

I’m not sure how to bring that up to him, so I busy myself taking off my ballet slippers instead.

He sprawls back against the leather booth, throwing a hand over his eyes. “I know that it’s frowned upon to come when you’re touching me.”

I set the slippers on the leather bench where he’s sitting, walking to my pair of heels. What am I supposed to say?

That I wanted him to come?

I did. But that doesn’t make it legal. It was prostitution, technically.

…right?

I slip on my heels without saying anything. He sits up, eyeing me. “Where were you trained, Cerise?”

I fumble with one of the straps to my heels. My heart starts beating loudly in my ears. “I’m not sure what you mean.”

He produces a shiny black card, holding it up as a present for me. When I stalk over to grab it, his free hand comes up and ensnares my wrist. “Yes, you do. It was somewhere good, I can tell you that much. Was it here in New York City?”

My eyes widen. Under no circumstances am I about to tell him a damn thing about my personal life. That’s dangerous territory.

“That’s way more than you need to know. Why don’t you leave something to the imagination?”

I pluck the card from his hand, my lips pasted in a frozen smile. He lets it go, his gaze narrowing on my face.

In the next moment, he sits back and shrugs. “Okay. How about you give me a phone number, then? I want to be able to call on you when I need you.”

Mia’s voice erupts out of my throat. “When I see a signed contract, you can get me a phone.”

Calum arches a brow. “Is that so?”

I start back out of the Platinum room. “That’s right.”

His expression darkens. “You sure you know what you’re signing up for? You won’t work here. You will only dance for me, beauty. Whenever and where I want it.”

Swallowing, I nod. “I know.”

I turn and flee down the stairs, my head full of contradictory thoughts.

I just gained a patron… but I won’t sacrifice my privacy to keep him, if I can help it.

10

CALUM

Two days later, I’m standing by the studio’s only window, frowning out into the inky blackness. Basil is in the opposite corner and between us are the current group of dancers. Basil leans down close to one ballerina, his black-clad body looking rather like a knife.

“You can leave,” he tells her. He looks her up and down, his expression severe. “Your pirouettes are disgraceful.”

The twenty ballerinas and dancers surrounding her don’t stop moving, even when she bursts into loud, sloppy tears. Basil turns on her classmates, sighing silently. He watches their movements like a hawk.

I fold my arms across my chest, my eyes tracing the dancers’ arms. I can see that half of the dancers here are lacking in the natural grace with which Honor was so proudly blessed. There are also a lot of nerves right now.

Even though the class has been instructed to impress Basil and not worry about me, I am getting plenty of looks. Not because I’m handsome. Not because I’m rich, though I’m sure that’s part of it.

No, they are looking at me because it was announced earlier today that I will be directing all of the spring productions.

And I won’t be pulling a single punch.

“Stop!” I call out, shaking my head. I look to the corner where the piano player sits. “Stop playing.”

The room is abruptly silent. All eyes are on me. I walk to the middle of the room. Several dancers back away, making room though I ask for none. I look around, pushing my cheek out with my tongue.

“This is going to be the last combination we’re going to do tonight. I would suggest that if you’re going to impress me, the time to start doing that would be right the fuck now.”

I look to the piano player, signaling him with one hand. He starts playing the same notes, a lively Chopin number.

I draw myself up, starting in first position. As I execute each move, I call out to the class. “Ladies! You start with a this, a this, into a this. Then you’ll do four pirouettes and finish with a big jump. As wide and exaggerated as you can.”

The ballerinas nod, most looking tense.

“Gentlemen! You should begin by the wall…” I head for the wall and the dancers get out of my way. I ready myself, starting in first position once more. “Move, move, move. Pirouette, rond de jambs, arabesque, hold it… for… as… long… as… you… can.”

I finish with a little bow. The male danseurs look a little shocked that they are being asked to do an arabesque, which is traditionally considered a ballerina’s move.

But if they are to be compared to the ballerinas, I need to see them do the same thing.

I start clapping time. “Come on. Let’s go. Ladies, line up. One and two and three and…”

I watch the ballerinas and dancers twirl and hold their poses for the next few minutes. I’m looking for strength and beauty, grace and expressiveness.

When the last note is played, I call to the piano player. “Thank you. You can go.”

I turn my eyes on the class again, frowning. “You can go too. Rosters of those staying with the company will be posted tomorrow morning.” I dismiss them with a wave.

The dancers all take off at a run, whispering amongst themselves. Soon the room is empty but for Basil and me. I lean down and rub my right knee, feeling the ugly surgical scars.

Basil walks over, nodding to my knee. “Giving you trouble, is it?”

I snort. At the moment, I’m in real pain. It arcs down from my knee like white hot sparks, burning and tight. “Something like that.”

He jerks his head over to the long wooden bench. “Let’s sit, then. You can tell me what you thought.”

I move stiffly over to the bench and drop on it, rubbing my knee. “You had to know that last batch was all but useless. We’ve seen five classes today, ranked best to worst. And that was definitely the dregs.”

He plunks himself down, plucking his water bottle up. He looks thoughtful as he squeezes a little water into his mouth. “They weren’t great.”

I scoot down and raise my leg to lie out straight. Almost instantly, the burning pain subsides and leaves a low level throb. I’m so relieved I could almost cry.

“There were some hopefuls in the first two classes,” I say, screwing up my face. “But there weren’t any that had it, if you know what I mean. I was looking for someone with star quality.”

Basil nods absently. “Someone to replace Honor.”

“Yes.” I rotate my shoulder, reminding myself to have RehabGuy look at it later. “When are you going to have the American Ballet Academy and the School of American Ballet try out?”

His eyebrows lift a little. Usually the company deals with that, not a patron or a guest director. “I think sometime next month, maybe.”

I roll my head over to him. “No. Make arrangements. I want people in here to audition tomorrow morning.”

He blinks. “Excuse me?”

I heave myself up off the bench with a groan. “Make it happen, Bas.”

As I walk away, he explodes.

“This isn’t your private tech company, Calum! You have everyone here running around like fools, desperate to please you. I’m telling you now, that won’t last.”

I roll my eyes. “I get shit done, Bas. I don’t have enough time in the day for all the niceties. I just tell people what is expected of them and fire them if they can’t or won’t comply.” I lean over, scoop up my duffel bag, and sling it over my shoulder. Then I glance back.

“Someday, you’ll meet some girl that makes you fall to your knees. And she won’t behave according to your rules.” He favors me with a twisted smile. “Then we’ll see who is crying uncle.”

I shake my head, walking toward the door. “Love is for people who are foolish enough to have hearts. Meanwhile, I’ll be here tomorrow morning, bright and early. So you’d better start sounding the alarm right now, because there had better fucking be a shitload of dancers for me to judge when I get here.”

“Calum—“ Bas calls. But I hit the doorway, checking my phone.

I grumble a little. There are still no emails or missed calls from Club X. That means that they are still processing the rather lengthy contract that Cerise and I signed, officially making me her patron.

I drum my fingers on my thigh, then take an abrupt right turn into the men’s locker room. I run through a quick shower and change into a fresh white collared shirt and black pair of slacks. By the time I walk out of the changing room, I’ve settled on a plan.

Since Club X can’t offer me what I want, I’ll look elsewhere. As I push out the great glass doors and head into the cool night air, I quickly head for my waiting limo.

I climb in the back, not waiting for the driver to open the door. Tossing my gym bag aside, I look up toward the partition, which is rolled down.

“Sam, take me home. But pull up outside the Continental instead of into the parking deck. I want someone to make me a drink.”

My driver nods, already absorbed in pulling the car out of its spot.

It’s only a short drive to the enormous skyscraper where I own the penthouse. I slide out in front of the Continental, a sleek little cocktail bar that opened last spring.

Since the grand opening, I have spent many meetings and cocktail hours at the dimly lit, wood-paneled bar. It’s menu is brief but memorable; the customers are either healthy people that either live in the area or people who want a really, really fancy gin and tonic. The uber rich mingle with the models and actresses and cocktail snobs.

It’s a fantastic place for hooking up, basically.

I stroll up to the door of the bar, swinging the door open. Hushed lighting greets me. The walls are all dark wood, lined with soft pink velvet banquettes. I cast an eye over the bar as I approach. It’s an old airplane wing standing before towering shelves of colorful glass liquor bottles. There are probably fifteen seats at the bar and only ten of them are occupied.

Adjusting my cuffs, I slide into the first open seat I see. The bartender sees me and recognition lights his face. He heads over with a cocktail menu and a coaster.

“Good to see you, Mr. Fordham. What can I get for you?”

I don’t even have to think about that. “An old-fashioned.”

He bows his head. “What kind of whiskey do you want in that?”

I sit back in my seat. “Elijah Craig or something comparable.”

“Right away,” he says, reaching for a rocks glass.

I turn my attention toward the rest of the bar, where a large group of young girls in high end dresses are now gathering. I watch as one girl orders. Her friends notice me and a couple of them blush, making eye contact.

Like I said before, it’s pretty easy to pick up a hot stranger here. The bartender puts my drink down, but I’m busy narrowing my selection. Sipping my drink, I look back and forth between a blonde and a brunette.

The brunette makes up my mind by getting her martini and taking the empty seat next to mine. She takes a sip of her drink, looking at me out of the corner of her eye.

I lean closer, smirking. “I’m Calum. And you are… not a regular here, I’m guessing?”

She blushes, shaking her head and smoothing her hand down the front of her little black dress. “I’m Olivia. And no, I’m from Philadelphia. I’m just in town for my friend’s bachelorette party.”

My eyes narrow, my smirk grows more pronounced. It couldn’t be more perfect if I’d written her lines out for me.

I pick up my glass, nodding to it. “Have you had their old fashioned yet? Everybody should have one once.”

Olivia smiles coyly and tucks a strand of her curly hair behind her ear. “Why no. Do you want to order me one, Calum?”

Twenty minutes of chitchat and two drinks later, I’m pulling the brunette down a dark hallway in the back of the bar. She kisses me first as I elbow my way into a dimly lit bathroom with a dazzling floor to ceiling mirror. She isn’t a very good or very experienced kisser, her hesitation obvious.

She giggles, tipsy and enthusiastic, as I press her against the back of the door. Her lips are warm and rubbery under mine. I can feel her hand shyly exploring my belt.

Without speaking, I back her against the sink. Here too I am reflected as I unbuckle my belt.

The brunette rips my shirt out of my slacks, her eyes dark with need and full of hunger. I feel nothing except a faint throb from my cock. I push her down to kneel on the floor as I free my cock, staring at myself in the mirror.

If I’m honest about it, watching myself get my dick sucked is most of the reason why I always come here when I’m looking for some action.

She puts my cock in her mouth. It feels good, although she does keep nipping me accidentally.

“Cover your teeth,” I murmur, dropping my head back. “Use your hand.”

I guide her hand to the base of my cock. She comes up for air, breathing hard. “Maybe you should just fuck me?”

Suppressing an eye roll, I yank her to her feet and turn her around, pushing her against a wall. I roll on a condom then take her panties down to her knees. Stepping close, I pull up her dress as press my cock against her ass.

I still feel nothing, although I do have a hard on. Then again, I almost always have a hard on, so…

Running my fingers along the curves of her ass and down to her pussy lips, I turn my head. The only way that I can get off is by watching myself in the mirror, essentially watching porn of myself.

I fit my cock to her entrance and thrust in deep. She makes a strangled sound. I stare at my reflection, unable to stop the hatred from surfacing. I fuck this girl with all the vitriol I feel for myself.

Fucking useless, I think, thrusting deep.

She holds on and moans. I punctuate each thrust with a thought.

Fucking.

Waste.

Of.

Space.

I grit my teeth, hammering my cock home over and over again.

There are a thousand reasons why you’re all alone, I think, glaring at my reflection.

You’re.

So.

Fucking.

Weak.

Look at you. You’re broken. You’ll always be alone.

I’m not even making a half-hearted attempt at paying attention to the girl. My eyes are laser-locked on my reflection, sneering.

“I think I’m going to—“ the brunette husks out. Then her pussy spasms around my cock. She lets out a strangled scream as she comes.

I’m nowhere near finishing. And yet, I pull out of her body, stepping back. It’s a matter of seconds before I get the condom off my dick.

“I fucking hate condoms,” I mutter.

The brunette, whose name at this point I can’t even vaguely recall, blushes. “Well, I’m clean if you—“

Disgusted, I toss the condom in the trash and start zipping up. “That’s vile.”

Her eyes widen as I leave, banging the door open. “Wait—“

But I’m done.

Done with condoms, done with sketchy bathroom fucks. I exit the back way and walk through the echoing marble lobby, my mouth a grimace.

I need to see Cerise again.

I know that she has the right combination of tits and ass and hazel eyes. She’ll make me come without even touching me.

And until I can fucking blow my load, I’m going to be an absolute fucking terror…

11

KAIA

As I step out onto the stage of the New York Ballet, my feet and legs tingle. I can’t keep the grin off my face. Ella is right behind me, finding a spot and sitting down to put on her toe pads and pointe shoes.

I bend down, putting my own toe pad and shoes on. Mine are in terrible shape; I definitely should’ve worn a newer pair of shoes. But a new pair of shoes wasn’t in the budget this week.

These have to last four more wears.

I straighten, looking at the empty theatre. From where I’m standing, it’s easy to imagine the roar of excited applause, the hot lights, the other ballerinas watching from the wings.

I blow out a breath. Ella looks up at me. “Are you okay, Kaia?”

I wrinkle my nose. “Honestly, I never thought I would make it this far. My goal this whole year has just been to get to this moment.”

“Sit down and put your shoes on, boo. You look like a ghost. Get your shit together.”

I wince, but she is right.

She seems to be murmuring something to herself. I plunk down beside her and retape my third and fourth toes, pulling a face as I look at my feet.

All dancers have calluses on their feet. But ballet dancers have it the worst, especially ballerinas. I slip on my toe pads and put my pointe shoes on, fastening them.

“Be comfortable,” I whisper, shooting them a glare.

Ella glances over at me as she gets to her feet. “Can you believe we are here right now, about to audition?”

I spring to my feet, looking at the other twenty dancers. Everyone is practically vibrating right now. The nervous energy is almost palpable.

I stretch my right hamstring. “Can you believe that they fired the company’s prima ballerina and most of the corps? When I saw that they were auditioning for forty spots…”

Ella smiles coolly. “We need those spots.”

She takes first position, doing a series of plies.

I look at her, dead serious. “God, what if we actually get called back?”

Ella pulls a face. “Of course we’re going to get called back. We dance literally eight to twelve hours per day, six days a week. We deserve it.”

I flush, looking down. If I did the math, I am absolutely sure that I dance literally every minute I wasn’t asleep or commuting. But I don’t say any of that.

“Yeah,” is all that comes to mind.

Ella stands up straight and adjusts her dark blue leotard. She nods toward the back of the theatre, where a dark haired woman in a blue skirt suit and a short blond man in a white tank top and black capri tights approach us. The man claps his hands loudly; he’s obviously a teacher, because he seems used to holding court.

“Hello, ladies and gentlemen,” he says, coming down right before the stage. “I am the head instructor here, Basil Smith. And this—“

The woman cuts in stepping forward. “I’m Emma Rosenburg. I’m the head of the board that oversees every action undertaken by this company.”

Basil gives her a long look. “Yes.” He turns his attention to the group on stage. “Your director is running late, it seems. He’s not polite enough to let anyone know about his tardiness—“

“Basil,” Emma chides.

He climbs up on the stage, looking annoyed. “But never fear. Emma and I will be judging. Also, I think someone is filming this audition.” He looks behind him, searching for how that is happening.

“What my colleague is saying is that you should be your absolute best self, starting right now.” Emma backs away from the stage, hurrying to find a seat in the fourth row.

An older woman comes out on the stage and finds a seat at the piano.

I can’t quite feel my legs because I’m so full of nerves.

You’d better make it in New York, my father’s voice sounds loudly in the back of my head.

Pushing that thought down, I try to concentrate. This is all about me, here and now. There’s no room in my head for Basil or Emma, Ella or my dad. It’s all about me, my talent, my precision and skill.

I just need to keep reminding myself of that.

“Line up four across,” Bas barks, clapping his hands. “Girls in the front, boys in the back. Let’s move, people.” He narrows his gaze at all of us. “God, try to act like you’ve all been in a chorus line before.”

I scurry into place beside Ella, my heartbeat going wild. Deep breaths. You can do this, I say to myself.

Basil waves at the accompanist, who starts playing Tchaichovsky. He looks at everyone flatly. “Let’s start very simply. Pas de chevalier to point. Tendu side in fondu. Close to fifth position. Okay?”

No one says anything, so he sighs. “And one, two, three, four…”

Never in my entire life have I arched by arms so high, moved so quickly, or stretched my leg back quite so elegantly. The moves are accomplished in the blink of an eye.

I look to Basil, who raises his eyebrows at the group. “Good. Again.”

I do it a second time, finishing with a perfectly shaped arabesque. After I’m done, my heart pounds in my ears.

Am I actually… good at this?

It feels like I’m killing it so far.

“Okay, now I would like to see something more complex,” Basil says. He walks to the back of the stage, starting in fifth position. Then he proceeds through a combination with a pirouette in the middle and ending with a grand jeté. “And five six, seven, eight. One, two, three, four. And five six, seven, eight…”

My heartbeat rises. Every single move he executed is flawless, not that I expected any less. Toward the back of the theatre, the door swings open and a man enters.

But I’m too focused on what I’m doing to pay him any mind.

“Let’s go!!” Basil yells, clapping. “On my cue. One, two, three, and—“

The first line goes. I cue up right behind, trying to focus my attention on the moves.

“One, two, three, and—“

Like a puppet come to life, I am suddenly smiling and dancing. I keep my movements smooth and easy, doing a complex pirouette with several turns and then leaping across the stage. My legs carry me far. I land right in center stage, beaming, and lift my arms.

This is it. This is the feeling that I’m supposed to have, I think to myself.

That’s when I suddenly make eye contact with him.

Eyes as dark blue as sapphire, and glittering just like two gems. Dark hair, grown a little overlong, shoved back from his face. High cheekbones, a jawline that could cut diamonds, a cruel yet perfect pout.

And that big, rugged, sinful body that I know all too well. The very same one that I dreamed about riding last night.

Mr. X is here.

And he is glaring right at me.

Oh god.

All my worst fears, all in one place. The person who judges me is the very same one who I’ve been all but fucking at Club X. The same person that already inquired if I had training from a good ballet school, knowing perfectly well how taboo that is.

My smile falters, my arms droop. All the blood plummets to my feet.

“Get out of the way,” Bas snaps at me, waving his hand. “Next line, keep going…”

I manage to break his gaze and force my feet to carry me to the side of the stage. It’s only when Ella reaches out and mouths, “Are you okay?” that I realize I’m trembling.

I bob my head woodenly. There is no real reason to alarm Ella and I certainly do not want to draw any more scrutiny to myself.

“Let’s go again!” Basil calls out. “Same combination. Same lines. Let’s go, first group!”

I line up in the second group, automatically taking fifth position. I raise my arms and begin with the rest of my group. Somehow, though, the magic that I felt only a few minutes ago has disappeared like smoke. Now every leg lift is harder, my grand jetés less exaggerated. Even my pirouettes seem to take forever.

Everything slows down.

Knowing that I’m being watched by those searing deep blue eyes just makes all my steps clumsier, all my lifts less impressive. I can feel myself powering down.

Is this really happening to me right now?

I finish the combination a good four steps after the rest of my group. Basil looks me up and down, pushing out his lips in a dissatisfied expression. “Do better,” he warns.

I nod at him quickly, glancing out at Calum and Emma. Neither has much expression on their face. But Calum’s gaze is burning a hole through the middle of my torso.

I scurry to the side of the stage, turning away from that gaze. Ella comes to stand next to me, raising a brow as she glances back at our audience.

“Do you know him?” she asks in a hushed whisper.

I take a breath, trying not to panic. “Who?” I ask, all innocence.

She narrows her mahogany gaze at me. “Obviously I’m talking about the sexy guy standing next to Emma. He’s been glaring at you since he got here.”

Not wanting to risk a glance over my shoulder at Calum, I just shake my head. “Nope. Never seen him before.”

The lie burns as it leaves my mouth. Ella gives me hard look, knowing that something is up. But Basil claps his hands together, drawing her attention away.

“All right! Now it’s time for your solos. I know that you weren’t expecting to perform them quite so soon…” He shoots a cool look off the stage. I don’t know what that’s supposed to mean, but he quickly moves on. “Anyway, we need to see them now. You can line up right here and give the pianist your music. Then we’ll start.”

For a long second, nobody moves. It’s a sea of inexperienced, wide eyed kids, all looking to the others for reassurance. Then Ella clears her throat, grabbing my hand. “Right away, Basil. We’re ready to go with our solos.”

My cheeks flush as I let her pull me over to the other side of the stage. Everyone hurries to line up after me. Basil smiles coolly at Ella.

“Thank you. Are you ready?”

Ella nods, dropping my arm. She turns to the pianist and tells him to play a selection from Romeo and Juliet. The woman starts playing the beginning notes of the piece and Ella strides to a starting point, lifting her chin and smiling.

As I watch her dance, my stomach drops. She’s better than most of the dancers I know, better certainly than me.

Who isn’t better than you, little mouse?

I swallow against the whisper of my dad’s voice. Blinking rapidly, I glare out off the stage, where Calum is staring me down.

I won’t cry.

I can’t.

This is my only chance.

Ella finishes her routine, bowing elegantly. There is a smattering of polite applause. Basil nods and turns to me. “Next?”

I clear my throat, turning to the pianist. “Would you please play the beginning of the second act of Giselle?”

The accompanist arches a brow at my choice of music; I’ve chosen one of the hardest pieces to perform for my solo.

She starts playing and I hurry to my place at the back of the stage. My heart is beating like a drum in my ears. It’s almost hard to hear the music over it.

Luckily, I have practiced this exact piece thousands of times. Using nothing but muscle memory, I smile as I parade out, doing a dizzying number of pirouettes as I dash across the stage. All time stops. Everything just becomes about my breath, my limbs, my feet. Making sure I push myself into the next movement.

The music is very upbeat and I smile along as I do the arabesques and grand jetés that are required. I am moving too quickly to see any one particular person.

But when I come to center stage and pause for a moment, Calum is still standing there, staring at me like I am an insect to be crushed.

Holy shit.

The judgment I see written all over his expression is terrifying. I turn, pirouetting once more before I complete my three grand jetés off stage.

Somehow, I land slightly off balance coming out of the pirouette. Then I’m forced to try to overcompensate as I carry that force into the first jump.

And everything slides off kilter, suddenly. My timing is off; my feet don’t seem to land in the place that they should. My legs are heavy, my arms near useless.

By the time I finish my solo, I can feel tears brimming in my eyes. I still turn and curtsy to signal that I am done. And there is a scattered bit of applause. I look toward Basil, my heart thundering in my ears.

He looks at me, his mouth twisting like he just ate something bitter. “Your ending could really use some work, honey.”

My heart wrenches. The sob that has been barely contained in my chest flows up and out of my throat.

I crumple, turning and running offstage.

I finally had my big chance… and I fucking blew it. Openly sobbing, I run away from the stage, pointe shoes and all.

12

CALUM

I climb out of my limousine on a busy street, pulling my coat closer and blinking into the blinding streetlight. Night has fallen and the city is teeming with the late night crowd, especially this part of Hell’s Kitchen. There are a lot of bars, strip clubs, and massage parlors right around here.

I round the corner, heading into a dark alley. Music throbs as I jog down a few steps that lead to the entrance of Club X. A bouncer sits by the club’s heavy front door, his sharp gaze taking me in. I’ve shifted to a black hoodie, black leather jacket, and black jeans, There is no trace to indicate my wealth or status.

Then again, I suspect he’s used to seeing that, working the door here.

“Password?” he asks.

I stare him down. “Apricot.”

He slides off his stool and rolls the door aside. Music pours out of the doorway. As I step through into the hallway, the floor glows faintly, leading me back into the depths of the club.

Rap music grows louder and louder until I’m awash in it. I turn the corner and see the main floor of the club: the black tables sprinkled here and there, the sleek black bar, the center stage and pole, a naked redhead grinding on it.

I look around, my gaze landing on one of the managers lounging at the bar. As I stalk over to him, he straightens up, his eyes widening just a bit. He sniffs several times. Between that and his pupils as dilated as dinner plates, something tells me that he’s on a shit ton of coke.

“Cerise,” I bark at him.

He starts. “What?”

I step closer to him, folding my arms across my chest. “Cerise. Where the fuck is she?”

His adam’s apple works convulsively in his throat. “In the back, man.” He looks at me, glassy eyed. “Are you going to cause me a problem tonight?”

Ignoring his question, I reach inside my leather jacket, pulling out a fat wad of hundred dollar bills. I roll a few off, slapping them down on the bar. “I want to see her in the Platinum Room in two minutes. Got it?”

He snatches up the cash, squinting around the room. “I’ll go get her for you.”

I’m already walking away, headed for the staircase. My heart is pumping overtime.

I didn’t actually think that it would be so easy to find her. I haven’t actually planned what I’m going to say to her.

Running up the last couple of stairs, I push the door open to the Platinum Room. The black leather booths and the shiny bronze stripper pole beckon. As I take my customary seat, I try to quell my excitement.

Everything that I want is within my grasp. All I have to do is play my cards just right.

I see the flash of ash blonde first. Then her hazel eyes and her pouty mouth. Her whole body comes into view, wearing a black string bikini and platform stripper heels.

Her expression is just short of open rebellion. That little bit of fire actually gets me going as much as her tits or her ass.

I like that she thinks she can actually fight back against me. That makes my cock hard.

She reaches out to flick a button at the door and then eases it shut. Her music starts playing a woman singing in sultry voice over hip hop music.

Cerise walks straight up to me, folding her arms across her chest. “What are you doing here, Calum?”

I look at her, almost radiating anger as she stands above me. A smirk plays on my lips. My fingers itch to touch her, but I resist.

“I came to see you. Apparently you haven’t signed the paperwork making me your patron yet.”

Her eyebrows fly up in surprise. “What? Why would I sign those? After you go to the board of the New York Ballet with what you know—“

I give my head a little shake. “I’m not going to do that.”

She stops, looking confused. “What? Why not?”

I reach out, brushing my fingers along the line of her outer thigh. She jumps at my touch, scowling at me.

Ah, I love her reaction.

“My goal is not to embarrass you at work, beauty,” I husk out. I trail my fingertips up, toying with the strings holding her bikini together.

She swallows nervously. I have to suppress a grin. It’s not quite time to let her see me in my full colors.

No, there’s an amount of wooing yet to be done.

“My goal has never been to tarnish your reputation. Rather, it has been about getting what I want.”

I smooth my hand around the side of her hip. Then I make eye contact with Cerise as I slowly move my hand around to cup her perfect ass. It’s firm and warm to the touch.

She swallows again, blushing and dropping her gaze. “And what is it that you want, Calum?”

I can’t help but grin at that. “I want you, beauty.”

She loses patience. “I don’t understand! You have me! You summoned me, here I am. You can use any girl here however you want! I think you know that better than I do…”

I shake my head slowly. “I don’t want to have you here. I want to have you wherever I want, whenever I want.” My smirk returns. “That’s why I wanted to be your patron in the first place. But now I can offer you something unique in exchange for… your time.”

I toy with the string on one side of her bikini, tugging on it gently. She bites her lip, frowning just a little.

“Come again?”

I begin to pull her down to straddle my lap. She doesn’t like it and resists a little.

I enjoy watching her squirm. I enjoy forcing her down roughly even more.

Once she is sitting astride me, I grab the back of her neck and pull her close.

“The New York Ballet,” I whisper in her ear.

Her entire body freezes up. She pulls back, scanning my face. “I don’t understand.”

I give her a smirk. “I’m the new stage director. If you want a spot in the ballet, Cerise, you just have to ask me.”

Her eyes narrow. She starts to stand up, but I put my arms around her waist and grind into her body.

“It’s Kaia,” she says softly. “Not Cerise.”

I already knew that, of course. Kaia Walker. But still, I enjoy the concession when she offers it to me.

“I’m offering you a role, Kaia.” I brush my fingertips across her jaw, threading my fingertips into her hair. Then I grip her hair hard for just a moment, long enough to remind her of who is in control here.

She glances up at me, her hazel eyes wide. She’s flushed and breathing hard, seeming to take my every word at face value. There is something naked and almost touching in her naïveté.

I drop my voice to a whisper. “I saw you dance today. You were good. With practice, you could be great.” I tilt my head, studying her lovely face. “I can give you private lessons, beauty. In exchange for being on call for my needs.”

She blinks. “And what are your needs?”

I grind my hips into hers again, biting my lip. “Devilish and deranged, for starters. I would be able to fuck you any time, any place. But I think we would both enjoy it, Kaia.”

She sucks in a deep breath, her cheeks flushing scarlet. “I don’t… I don’t think I’m the one you want, Calum. I’m… not…”

She breaks off, shaking her head.

I renew my grip on her hair, making her gasp. “I think you’re exactly what I want, beauty.”

She shivers convulsively, her gaze clashing with mine. “You don’t understand. I’m... I haven’t been with anyone before.”

“I’m going to be your first patron?” I ask, smirking a little. “I think you’re going to be fine.”

She groans, frustrated. “I’m trying to tell you that I’m a fucking virgin, Calum! Okay? I haven’t fucked anyone before and you seem to want… something else.” Her nose wrinkles. “Someone else.”

My jaw drops for a second. I stare into her eyes, floored.

How…?

Why…?

What the fuck?

Did I hear her right?

The girl that made me come in my pants the very first time we met is a fucking virgin? The very same one that I have wet dreams about two or three times each night?

I let my gaze drop to her tight little body. Her perfectly kissable tits, her ass that I want to bury my face in, her undoubtedly magical untouched pussy…

“Holy fuck,” I say. Because what else can I say? “Are you serious right now?”

Kaia bites her lip, blushes, and looks me deep in the eyes. I know that she’s a stripper. I know that it’s to her benefit to lie about something like this.

I know that any man would literally kill to be in the position I am in right now.

I know all of that. But when she whispers yes in that breathy tone of voice…

I believe her.

I slide both of my hands to her hips, giving my head another shake.

“Oh, beauty,” I whisper. “Don’t sign the Club’s contract. We’ll work out a private deal, just between the two of us. I’ll teach you everything I know, in and out of the bedroom. We’ll do every decadent, dirty, hedonistic thing I’ve ever even dreamed of.”

She scans my face, as if trying to decide if I really mean what I say.

“I’ll still be able to dance as part of the New York Ballet, right?” She sucks in a breath after she says it, holding it in.

I tighten my grip on her hips. “Yes, Kaia.”

She bites her lip. “And you won’t… like, tell anyone? About our arrangement, I mean.”

I solemnly shake my head. “No. It’s honestly just as bad for an administrator to be seen sleeping with a dancer as it is for a dancer to have a side job. Either one spells trouble if they were found out.”

Kaia blows out a long breath, then looks at me. “Then… yes. I’ll do it.” Her cheeks blaze bright red. “Should I… do you want me to get undressed right now?”

I’m taken aback by her red-faced offer. I tilt my head, looking at her for a moment.

I don’t know her very well at all, but I’m starting to get two things about her.

She lacks self-confidence and she really has low expectations for how she should be treated. Whether I should read into that or not, I have yet to decide.

It honestly probably doesn’t bode very well for me. But she is so, so fucking hot.

Not to mention untouched…

My lips quirk. “No, beauty. Save it for the next time we’re alone.”

She gives me a small lopsided smile, but I can see the gears turning behind her eyes. She’s trying to figure me out, just as I am her.

I lean forward, kissing her collarbone. I like the way she shivers at my touch; I like the way her skin gets goosebumps everywhere I touch. I like the way her breathing becomes uneven as I suck on her collarbone hard enough to make a mark.

Kaia pushes away from me after a minute and slides off my lap. “I should go. I have to talk to management, I guess.”

My lips twitch. “Let me take care of it. You can just go home and get a good night’s sleep. Tomorrow, you’ll get a call inviting you to the NYB.”

She blows out a breath. “I guess… thank you, Calum.”

That draws out my most wicked grin. “Don’t thank me yet. I promise that you’ll earn your keep, beauty.”

Her eyes widen. But instead of asking me more questions, she turns and rushes off, heading down into the club.

13

KAIA

“I still can’t believe that all three of us are here,” Eric says. He glances at himself in the mirrored wall of one the New York Ballet’s rehearsal spaces, stretching his hamstrings out at the barre.

He’s not wrong. For this morning’s class, we have more than thirty people crammed into a relatively small dance studio. “I wonder how many people they let go and how many people they brought in,” I murmur, looking around.

Ella is in splits on the ground. She throws her hair back and purses her lips at him. “I can’t believe that Manon got called, too. It honestly makes me wonder what the instructors were thinking.”

Sitting down on the floor to do butterfly stretches, I giggle at that. “You’re terrible.”

Manon turns from where she is warming up at with a glare. She does a rude imitation of my giggle. “Hehehe!” Then her lips twist bitterly. “I hope you all get hit by busses on the way home.”

I give her a skeptical glance, shaking my head. Ella doesn’t miss a beat.

“Manon, how’s your mom’s pill addiction doing? I heard that she flunked out of rehab for the third time in a row.”

“Shut the fuck up,” Manon snaps.

Ella gives her a thumbs up, smiling sarcastically. “You’re still a bitch!”

I roll my eyes. “You two really get each other going.”

“Look,” Eric says, jerking his chin to the entrance of the rehearsal space.

The room quiets as Basil and Calum stalk in, already looking pissed. Basil wears dark spandex leggings and a dark tank top. Calum wears a pair of loose gray pants and a plain white t-shirt.

Prowling around the room already, Calum runs a hand through his dark hair. He’s magnetic without saying a word; I can’t take my eyes off of him.

“Is that one of our directors?” Ella whispers to me. “He’s so fucking hot. He must work out a lot.”

I nod, not looking away from Calum. I watch his gaze swing around, observing the room. He pauses when he sees me, a smirk appearing on his face for just a second. His sapphire eyes pin me in place and sear me through.

“All right!” he calls. “I need your attention, everyone…”

Basil claps his hands, the sound they produce thunderous. Everyone falls silent, directing their attention to the front of the room. I realize just then that my heartbeat is going a million miles an hour.

Just being in Calum’s presence makes my stomach flutter oddly and my cheeks feel hot.

“I’m Basil, or Bas. You all know me from your auditions. I’m the main choreographer here at NYB. Three facts about me: I’m married. I live in Florence three months out of the year. And I like seeing a lot of lift and extension in dance. Okay?”

He pauses. There are a couple of tentative yeses mumbled through our class.

Calum puts his hands behind his back, appearing pensive. He walks by the row of students on the other side of the room, observing each one as he paces. “I’m Calum. I’m your stage director for the spring season. I’m going to cut to the chase.” He smiles coldly, his eyes taking in everyone in the room. “As you can see, we’ve brought in thirty five of you to replace the departing cast. We only need twenty or twenty five of you. So this first week will be a test of sorts. I’m going to be separating the wheat from the chaff. Dead weight gets cut.”

My eyes widen. I glance at Ella. She looks at me briefly, her mouth tightening.

Calum pauses, looking at Basil. “Are you ready to get this class started?”

Basil cocks a brow. “I suppose so. Meesha, are you ready?”

He turns to the accompanist, a dark skinned young woman sitting behind the upright piano. Meesha nods. “Whatever you would like for me to play, Bas,” she replies in heavily accented English.

“Some Schubert,” he says, lifting his hands. She begins to play and Basil calls out to the class. “I hope you are all stretched out. Let us begin with simple plies.”

I clamber to my feet and position myself at the barre. Bas claps in time to the beat, explaining what to do.

“First position. And one, two, three, four. Now raise, two, three. Down, two, three, four. And lie, two, three, four… deeper, two, three, four.”

His words are meaningful of course, but they sort of fade into the background for me. For almost my entire life I’ve had someone chanting those words or something nearly identical to me. The teachers were old and young, black and white, male and female. It really doesn’t matter to me in the slightest.

No, I’m not worried about him. It’s Calum that I catch myself looking at in the mirror. It’s Calum who soon completes his circuit around the room. “That’s the worst line I think I’ve ever seen.”

He points to a ballerina at one of the barres set up in the middle of the room. “Straighten your back, stick your ass out, find your fucking center of gravity.”

The ballerina turns red and plies again, prompting Calum to shake his head. “You’re going to have to do better to earn your place.”

An unsettling silence fills the room for a minute. He frowns and moves on, stopping a few places down at a young Latina dancer. “I’m not sure you’ve ever done this before. Work on your posture. Extend your arm…”

The ballerina smiles anxiously and tries to emulate what Calum says. He shakes his head. “No. No! Stop, everyone stop. Look at me.”

He shoos away the dancers standing next to the Latina, taking first position.

It’s the first time that I’ve ever considered whether or not Calum actually knew what he was talking about, if I’m honest. But he is pure grace and holds the perfect form when he plies, slowly going through the motions. His arm arches, his legs bend, his back is straight as a steel beam.

My jaw drops a little. I had no idea that Calum was so versatile; honestly, from the looks of him, you would think that he was an elegantly shaped football star, not a dancer.

What a way to prove me wrong. Calum finishes the pose and then steps away from the barre, eyeing everyone. “Just so there is no confusion, I can do pretty much anything I ask you to do. So when I say bend back further or hold the position longer, I know it is possible.”

Bas seems unimpressed. “Thank you, Calum. Now, if we may resume class? And one, two, three, four…”.

It’s hard to tear my eyes away from Calum. I’m focused on not fucking up something so simple as a plie in front of him, though.

He casts his gaze over me and frowns. “Straighten your back. Push out your tailbone.” Mortified, I immediately turn red and try to correct myself. Calum lifts a brow. “Are you kidding? Act like you’re been in a fucking dance studio before.”

Tears well up in my eyes. I look straight ahead, desperate not to cry in front of everyone. At the same time, the class keeps moving through the plies.

Everyone is perfectly at attention. Calum keeps his harsh gaze on me for a few seconds. “Not good, but better.”

Then he turns his head, scoping out another dancer, and moves on. The whole class moves on, through plies and arabesques and fouetté turns. The entire time, Calum struts around the room, unhappy with each and every silhouette that he sees.

I’m the only one that gets multiple nasty comments, though.

“Your feet are all wrong. You should move nimbly instead of looking like Frankenstein’s monster.”

“No, no, no. When I say execute a grand jeté, I mean really go for it. Don’t be fucking hesitant. The audience has no time for you to be timid.”

He stops me mid-class, staring at my feet. “Go get a new pair of shoes from the shoe room. This is the New York Ballet, not a dance recital put on by medieval peasants. I expect you to dress like you belong here.”

My eyes well up with tears. Nodding, I run out of the room, making it out of there before I burst into tears. I miss almost ten minutes of class because I have trouble finding a pair that are just the right size.

When I sneak back in, Calum shoots me a glare. I gulp and rejoin the rest of the class.

By the end of the afternoon, I’m barely keeping it together. To be fair, several dancers do start crying or get upset and leave in the middle of the class. But after my mini-breakdown, I stay resolute.

This is my shot at greatness. I’m not going to blow it for anyone, especially not Calum.

When class is finally over, Basil claps for the remaining dancers present.

“Very good! Tomorrow we start learning a new routine,” he announces. Sliding a look at Calum, he purses his lips. “And my colleague will probably go a little easier on you tomorrow. Right?”

Calum looks unimpressed, stalking away to where he set his water bottle down. I expel a long breath and look around for Ella.

She’s already shouldering her duffel bag. “I have to go. I have a doctor’s appointment that I’m almost definitely going to be late for.”

Nodding, I blot my eyes. “See you tomorrow.”

She flashes me a hard smile and hurries out the door.

I turn toward my bag and find Eric there, waiting patiently. “Hey.” I tuck a strand of my hair behind my ear.

My cheeks start glowing a hot pink when I think of Calum standing just on the other side of the studio, watching me.

Eric shoulders his bag, smiling at me tiredly. “I thought I would walk you out today.”

My blush spreads to my neck and my chest. I have a thing for Eric, but I also have made some promises to Calum. “Oh.” I glance back but Calum isn’t even in the room anymore. Letting out a sigh of relief, I nod. “Yeah. Let’s go.”

I snag my own bag and hurry out of the studio, licking my lips apprehensively. Sure enough, when I step out of the room, I see Calum. He’s leaning against the opposite wall, his arms crossed, his expression bordering on hateful.

And he’s glaring right at me. “Kaia? A word.”

My eyes widen. I glance helplessly at Eric, my heart beginning to pound. He shrugs.

“Want me to stay?” he asks quietly.

Do I want my crush to hear what my strip club patron has to say to me? Definitely not.

“No,” I say, forcing a smile. “Thanks anyway. I’ll catch you later.”

Calum stays put for a moment, watching Eric with a disapproving expression. The last stragglers from my class walk past me; soon we are alone in the echoing hallway.

Calum pushes himself off of the wall and strides over to me. I look up at him, losing my breath. He’s so much taller than I am and he still has well-defined arms and sculpted physique that one would expect of a dancer.

He stops when he’s a foot away. But I can practically feel the heat radiating off him like a torch.

He casts a glance down the hallway, where Eric went. “You can’t fuck him. You know that, right?”

My eyes widen at that. “Who said anything about that?”

His searingly blue eyes find my face and tighten on it. “I’m telling you right now. You won’t fuck him, not while you’re…” He pauses, looking around to be sure we are not overheard. “Under contract. I forbid it.”

I shake my head, rolling my eyes. “You can’t forbid me from anything.”

He clenches his water bottle so hard that it groans. “Don’t test my patience on this, beauty. You’ll see. I can do whatever I want, to whomever I want to do it to.”

I cross my arms and cock my hip. “Of that I have exactly zero doubts.”

He digs in his duffel bag and produces a note, wrapped around a hundred dollar bill. “Be at my home address tonight at seven. Don’t you dare be late.” His gaze drops down to my body, his lips twisting. “And wear something that turns me the fuck on.”

With only those instructions, Calum sends me a last little glare and starts walking down the hall.

“Tonight?” I call out after him.

But he doesn’t stop, doesn’t acknowledge that there was even a question asked.

I crumple the money and the note in my fist, infuriated.

14

KAIA

I clear my throat and adjust the belt on my secondhand trench coat as I step off the elevator on the top floor of the address that Calum gave me. Stepping into a eerie white space, I look around. The room is lit from a strip of lighting that blends in with the wall; the floors are black stone. Just twenty paces away is a door that’s ajar. But other than that, there are no clues for me to follow.

Definitely no sign of Calum.

My heart thrums in my chest as I move toward the doorway. The only sound is the click of my heels as I cross the dark granite floor.

Reaching the heavy door, I tug it open and step into the dimly lit space just beyond.

My eyebrows rise as I take in the huge room. The lighting in here comes from candelabras placed at strategic points against the backdrop of a huge floor to ceiling window that spans the whole space.

A stage and stripper pole are set up to the left, and a single black leather booth. In the middle of the room there is a huge white bed, piled high with pillows. And to my right is some odd looking pleather furniture, a large wooden X, and a wall of shelves with dark boxes. I can’t help but notice that one of the shelves has a bunch of sexy toys and dildos lined up on it, going from a small sleek pink device to an enormous black dildo at the end.

What in the world have I just walked into?

“Calum?” I call out. “Hello?”

A doorway opens to my left. Calum strolls out, looking like he has just walked off a runway: he’s wearing a dark t-shirt and low slung jeans, his dark hair carefully messy. He sweeps his icy gaze over me, chilling me to the bone.

He smirks as he strolls toward me. “Hello, Kaia.”

Goosebumps break out over my entire body. I lift my purse nervously, needing to put something between our bodies. Swallowing and lifting my chin, I lay down the law.

“I’m here.” I toy with my sash. “Do you want me to just get naked?”

He arches a brow as he walks past me, to a little bar cart that’s set up in the corner. “Do you want a drink?”

He pushes a button on a panel and rap music starts filtering through unseen speakers. I gulp and shake my head.

God, this whole scenario makes me so fucking nervous. My heart is fluttering like a hummingbird in my chest.

Calum waves a hand toward the bed. “Sit. I have a contract for you to sign.”

He pours himself a drink as I walk over to the big bed, perching myself on the corner. It’s a little hot in here, enough to make me notice. My trench coat is over warm… but I’ll be damned if I’m going to take it off until he tells me to. After all, he did say to dress to impress.

So underneath the coat I’m wearing a silky see-through black teddy, a barely there black lace bra, and the tiniest black lace thong.

Calum walks over to me, smirking, and puts down a small sheaf of paper on the bed beside me. I flush as he places a pen beside it.

He stands above me, sipping his drink and staring at me as I look at the papers.

My breath catches as I pick up the contract, skimming it. The basics I glean from reading are that he doesn’t want me to tell anyone about what we’re doing, he wants to be able to call me literally anytime he feels like company, and he wants me to say yes to whatever he says.

That’s essentially signing away my right to say no.

I frown, looking up at him. “I don’t mind most of this. But… this is basically saying that I have to say yes, no matter what you propose.”

He smiles coldly. “That’s right.”

“What if I don’t want to do something?”

He edges closer, brushing my knee with his. He looks down at me, his lips twitching.

“What do you think I want to pay you so well for? Turn the page, look at the number, and then sign the fucking contract.”

My heart squeezes, my stomach flip flops. Under his cool blue gaze, it’s hard to do anything but what he says.

I look at the contract, flipping to the next page. And then my heart starts beating frantically at the number I see.

A half million dollars a month.

A half a million.

Per month.

My mouth opens, but there are no words in my empty head. I glance up at him, beseeching.

And he picks up the pen, shoving it in my hands. I take it as his fingers brush my knee.

“I—“

Calum shuts me down by shaking his head. “Enough talking. Sign the contract so we can move on to other things, beauty.”

His nickname for me sends chills down my spine. I uncap the pen and scrawl my name across the bottom of the page.

As I do, I’m aware that I’m making a choice.

I am selling myself to Calum.

He’ll own me.

Possess me.

The ink on the dotted line begins to dry.

I toss the pen and the contract aside, shuddering as I look up into his dark eyes. He just smirks.

“Good girl.”

I bite my lip and frown, not knowing what I’m supposed to say to that. Sweeping up the contract and the pen, he puts them back at the bar cart. Then he walks very slowly back to me. My heart thunders when he comes close enough that I can feel his body heat.

My head falls back and I look at him, uncertainty and questions filling every inch of me. He looks down into my eyes with a smug expression.

“You’re so beautiful,” he says, reaching out his fingers to ever so lightly touch my upper arm. “So delicate. So fucking innocent. And here I am, already thinking of all the ways that I can ruin you.”

My eyes widen. “Ruin me?”

He tilts his head, running his fingers across my collarbone and down into the fabric hiding my cleavage. “Oh yes, beauty. I want to make sure that no man will ever have you quite like this.”

I gulp. For some reason, my eyes are drawn back to the shelf of sex toys and dildos. “Are you going to use those on me?”

My voice comes out as a soft squeak.

Calum turns his head and then gives a sharp bark of laughter when he sees what I’m looking at. “Oh, beauty. I can’t wait to make you spread your legs and beg me to make you come. And those will definitely be a part of it.” He swings his smoldering gaze back to me, pinning me in place. “But we should start slow. For now, I want to sit in the booth over there and watch you dance for me.”

Without another word, he turns on his heel and heads left, toward the stage. I follow, closing my trench coat more tightly against my collarbone. Calum throws himself down against the black leather booth, folding his hands behind his head.

My hands shake as I grab the belt of my trench coat, walking up to him. For some reason, it’s harder to take off my coat than to just be half-naked.

“Volume louder,” he shouts. The music suddenly swells, shifting to a rap song I recognize.

As I untie the belt, I bite my lip and look down at the massive man that I’m about to strip for. Part of me wants to panic, to run screaming from this room.

But another part of me really wants to stay. That part of me is curious what is going to happen and doesn’t care if being here is more than a little dangerous.

I take off my coat, letting it fall to the ground. Calum’s eyes devour me, from my head to my toes.

“Jesus,” he swears. “You are so fucking hot, Kaia.”

I blush and struggle not to cover myself. “Do you want me on the pole?”

He bites his lip, smirking, and shakes his head. “No.” He spreads his big hands out across his lap. “I’ve been waiting for you to give me another lap dance, beauty. I want to see you unravel while we are touching, just the way you almost did last time.”

I raise my eyebrows, flushing hot pink. “You do?”

His lips twitch. “No more questions. Come here.”

I take a step toward him before my stripper training comes back to me.

Head up. Shoulders back. Your hips should sway every time you walk.

Make him want you.

Transforming into that character is easy and natural once I remember that I should do it. I smile at him, biting my lip a little as I strut over to where he sits. His eyes sparkle as I stop just short of his reach.

“Club rules,” I say, swaying my hips. “No touching, remember?”

I bend down toward him. The hint of his aftershave curls in my nose. The look on his face reminds me of a curious cat.

Calum reaches out and grabs my hips, pulling me onto his lap. “Fuck the rules. That’s why I brought you here. You signed the contract. Now I can do whatever the fuck I want.”

I straddle his lap, my breath leaving me in a sharp huff. “Calum…”

He lifts his hips and grinds into my ass. “Shut up.”

I have to take back some semblance of control. So I clamp down on his lap and ride it for a minute, teasing him by putting my hands flat on either side of his head.

“Relax,” I whisper, lifting and lowering my hips. “Let me take the reins for a minute.”

I slide down a little closer to him. He shifts and his cock pops up between us, long and thick. Rocking my hips, I bump it a few times.

“Tease,” he accuses. He moves again so that his cock settles against the seam of my pussy.

I rock my hips again, stopping when my movement brushes the hard tip of his cock against my clit. A very soft “Ohhh,” pops out of my mouth.

It’s not supposed to feel good for me, is it?

His eyes sparkle with enjoyment. “Is that the spot, beauty?”

He thrusts his hips up and his cock brushes that same spot again. My face reddens. I splay my hands out across his chest.

“I thought we were trying to get you excited,” I say, a little breathlessly.

His lips twitch. He stops moving suddenly.

“You know what I want?”

I swallow, shaking my head slowly. “No.”

“I want you to take off those panties and touch your clit while you ride my lap.” He starts unbuttoning his jeans, his eyes glinting.

My throat works. “I—“

He moves so suddenly, ripping at my teddy and then at my panties in a frenzy. He tears my teddy in two and rips my thong off entirely, then he reaches out and pulls my bra cups down to expose my breasts.

My heart is thumping against my ribs. My eyes are open wide, my lips parted.

Is this what I signed up for? a small voice whispers in the back of my head.

“Touch yourself,” he growls, looking up at me. “Show me how dirty you can be, Kaia.”

He takes my hand and moves it down between us, then puts his hand in his jeans. I can only see a peek of pink flesh and he takes his cock in his fist.

Wetting my lips with my tongue, I trail my fingers down to my clit. It’s swollen and needy right now, throbbing with every heartbeat. When I swipe my first two fingers over it, I almost stop breathing.

It feels good, obviously. But am I really supposed to touch myself like this with him right here? I feel his gaze on me as I circle the little nub.

What Calum is doing is far more interesting, in my opinion. He grits his teeth and works his hand up and down his shaft. I lean forward, biting my lip, trying to catch a glimpse.

His cock is enormous, not that it’s any surprise. It pokes out from his jeans, dark pink and veiny, thick and uncircumcised. He catches my wide eyed look and smirks.

“Don’t worry, beauty. When the time comes, you’ll take the whole fucking thing in any hole I want. After I come in your mouth and take your virginity, I’m going to fuck your ass.”

My jaw drops. “Calum!”

He reaches up, grabs me by the hair, and pulls my face down to his. His mouth finds my lips, plundering them mercilessly.

He pulls back for just long enough to whisper against my lips. “I’m going to come, thinking about how fucking tight your little pussy will choke my fucking cock.”

My clit throbs in response, though I’m horrified. He kisses me again, more brutal this time as he jackhammers his hand up and down his cock.

He comes with a roar, sticky white semen splashing from the tip of his cock and getting all over my belly. His tongue penetrates my mouth just after he finishes, moaning as his cock twitches.

Calum releases my hair, dropping his hand and leaning back. “Fuck,” he mutters. “Damn, Kaia.”

My cheeks turn pink. I carefully try to extricate myself, but Calum grabs me by the back of my neck and kisses me for a long moment. His tongue works against mine, making the throb between my legs grow sharper.

Then he turns me loose. “Okay. Get up.”

My face turning red, I scramble off his lap and spot my coat. Grabbing it, I pull it on and tie the belt.

Calum just lies there for another second, tucking his cock back in his jeans. He looks at me, his mouth turning down at the corners.

“Are we done?” I blurt out, hugging myself around my waist.

His brows lower over his eyes. “Do you have somewhere else to be, Kaia?”

God, could this moment be any more mortifying?

“No,” I say with a frown. “Just… if you are done, I have a long ride on the subway to get home. The sooner I leave, the sooner I can get dressed again.”

He rolls his eyes and zips up his fly. “My driver will see you home.”

I glare at him. “I’m fine. I’m just asking if you’re… done.”

He frowns. “It’s not a request. And you can go. But be in the dance studio an hour early. All the really good dancers show up early to practice combinations.”

My brows rise. “Oh?”

He presses a button and the music turns off. “Yes.”

With that, he lumbers by me, headed back toward the door that he first entered through. I don’t quite know what else to say.

But that turns out to be a good thing, because he soon disappears through the doorway, slamming the door closed behind him.

I’m left blinking at the wall where he disappeared, feeling inexplicably let down.

15

CALUM

“Ah, there he is now,” Basil says.

I step through the doorway at 7:59, looking around at the dancers at their barres. Kaia is standing at the front of the right barre; she clearly took my advice to heart.

Pursing my lips, I set my water bottle down. I glance at Bas. “Are you going to begin?”

Bas shoots me a glare and then turns around, shaking his head. He raises his arms. “Okay, everyone. Let’s start off in first position…”

As he continues, I prowl around the room. I’m not in a particularly good mood; I started off my morning with a conference call with some bad news about my company’s stock. Now I’m here and still feeling angry.

I channel it into ballet. One of the greatest things about ballet is that you can act out your fear and anger and hatred onstage. Even greater is being a teacher and having the class make mistakes.

And this class makes a lot of mistakes. I correct every single imperfect arch and bow, remind people that their posture is essential, and always push every dancer to their god’s honest limit.

Three more dancers leave in tears. Everybody else is left shaken by the end. I sit down, acting as though I need to fix my pant leg. Everyone is out of the rehearsal space like rats on a sinking ship. Even Basil hightails it out of the room.

But when the room is empty, there is still one other person. Kaia closes the door and locks it, turning to me. Putting a hand on her hip, she cocks her head.

“You’re going to get yourself fired,” she says levelly.

Cracking my knuckles, I push myself to my feet. “What, you can’t take a little heat?”

Kaia wrinkles her nose, shaking her head. She takes a sip out of her water bottle. “If you get canned, my chances of staying in the company are slim to none.”

My lips curve upward. She doesn’t realize how good she is. Emma and Basil mentioned her performance during the auditions. She definitely would have been on their short list without me saying so.

But I will keep that close to my vest for now.

“I’m not going to be fired. I basically bankroll this entire place.” Taking a last sip of water out of my water bottle, I cast my gaze down over Kaia’s slender frame.

She’s perfection today in a hot pink leotard, light pink tights, and a gauzy white dance skirt. To top it all off, there is a pink ribbon holding back her long blonde hair. That ribbon makes her look even more innocent than she is.

It makes me think of how good she’s going to look wearing the same ribbon in her hair while she takes my cock deep in her throat and lets me fuck her mouth.

“Are you listening?” she asks, her brow furrowing.

One side of my mouth hitches up. “No. Are you ready to start work?”

Her hazel eyes go wide. “What?”

Stretching my arms out, I shoot her a quelling smile. “I’m supposed to tutor you,” I remind her.

She blushes, but she looks relieved. “Oh. Uhhh…” She glances toward the door. “I guess now is as good a time as any. I just thought we were going to start after I had some choreography to work on.”

She winces and looks down at her right foot. “Sleeping Beauty has essentially the same combinations in every iteration since the dawn of time.” I nod toward her foot. “Take care of that. Then we’ll start.”

The door knob jiggles. I walk to the door, spying Bas through the door. Opening it, I step aside.

Basil enters, his suspicious gaze going from me to Kaia. Luckily she is already across the room, sitting on the ground and peeling off her pointe shoe.

“Why was the door locked?” Basil asks me in a hushed tone. “You can’t be in a locked room with a dancer, Calum. Not with Honor, not with…” He glances at Kaia, as if trying to place her. “Whatever her name is.”

I cock a brow. “I’m not sure how the door got locked. We were merely discussing her inability to arabesque from a pirouette.”

He narrows his eyes on my face. “I’m warning you, Calum.”

Kaia hops up, testing out her shoe. She walks over to us, looking back and forth between us. “Did you tell Bas that you’re going to give me an hour of extra training twice a week?”

I smile pointedly at her. “No. We hadn’t really gotten that far.”

Basil’s brow wrinkles. “Just the two of you?”

I nod. “Yep. Unless you want to stick around?”

Bas crosses his arms, looking between us. “Maybe I will. Just for today.”

I want to throw him out of the room. But I don’t. Instead I spread my hands wide. “Great. Kaia was just saying that she doesn’t know the choreography at all yet. So maybe you can help with that.”

He fixes me with a smug little glance. “Of course.”

He walks over to the other side of the room, dipping his feet in the box of rosin powder to increase his traction. Then he walks to the far corner, glancing at Kaia.

“What do you want to learn first? An easy combination? Or would you prefer to start with something more advanced?”

Kaia’s throat works for a second as she glances at me. “Advanced, please. I would rather do something wrong with you two here than learn easier moves.”

I fold my arms across my chest and tilt my head. Bas starts out in fifth position, arching his arms upward. “Okay. So… let’s start with this combination. It goes like this…”

He executes several turns and then two leaps, ending with an arabesque. Then he does a great big leap across the floor, his movements exaggerated.

When he finishes, he looks up at Kaia. “That’s one of the hardest combinations in the entirety of Sleeping Beauty. Are you ready to try it?”

She gives him a quick nod, trotting to the rosin box. After daintily dabbing her feet in the powdered tree sap, she takes her place in the far corner. She assumes fifth position, blowing out a breath.

“I can see you thinking,” I call out to her. “I should see the emotion from the scene or nothing at all. You’re supposed to be effortlessly graceful.”

Her eyes flit to me, then refocus. Her expression turns slightly smiling. She raises her arms over her head and completes the pirouettes and the leaps. I can already see that she’s too hesitant and she starts a half second too late. There is a distinctly awkward moment when she lurches out of the last turn and into the first leap.

Kaia does her big jump at the end, finishing by kicking one leg behind her and raising her arms. I blow out a breath and rub my hand over my mouth.

That performance wasn’t horrible, but it was far from moving me at all.

Bas’s lips twitch. “She needs music.”

He pulls out his phone and plays around with the room’s stereo system. I look at her with a frown.

“How did that feel for you?”

Kaia looks down, her cheeks flushing. “Not great.”

“Hmm,” I say, vaguely agreeing.

Lively classical music starts to play and Bas takes a deep breath. “From the top. You can turn around do the same combination going that way.” He flicks his wrist to the opposite corner.

Kaia hastens to take her position. Again, I can see she’s overthinking it.”

“Kaia,” I bark. She looks at me and I pull my hand closed in the air over my face. “Effortlessly graceful.”

She nods, looking ahead and shuttering her expression. She waits for five breaths, then raises her arms and begins to step into the first turn.

This time, it’s better. Her timing has improved. She clearly has a knack for pirouettes, executing them well. But the two small leaps and the grand jeté at the end fall flat.

She looks up to find me tapping my foot. “I don’t understand how you made it this far through school and yet this eludes you.”

Kaia shoots me a hard look. “It’s only my second attempt, Calum.”

Bas interrupts. “Let me see you do a turn and then step into a leap. That really needs work.”

She does it again, and it looks every bit as awkward. I shake my head, moving away from the mirrored wall behind me.

“Watch,” I say.

I wait a second, pulling in a breath through my nose. Then I move, turning and stepping neatly into a leap. The move requires a great deal of precision and control on my part but I execute it almost casually.

I stop short of doing another leap, turning back toward Kaia. “See?”

Her brows draw down. “I think so. I’m missing a step between my pirouette and my leap. It’s just so fast that I almost missed it.”

I smirk. “Indeed.”

Irritation flashes across her face for a moment before she turns and walks to the corner. She takes fifth position and begins again.

This time, her turns are close to perfect, she nails the leaps, and she manages a particularly grand jeté. She kicks her leg back behind her, balancing en pointe and raising her arms above her head.

“Hold it!” I cry. “Hold it… hold it…”

She breaks, her leg coming down. She glares at me, shaking her arms and legs out.

“Come here,” I beckon. “Let’s practice that arabesque.”

Her gaze slides between me and Bas, who seems to be preoccupied with texting. She hurries over to stand before me, taking fifth position. Then she sweeps her leg back and up and lifts her arms.

I move closer, adjusting her posture ever so slightly with a hand on her waist. My other hand comes up to touch her inner thigh, lifting her leg ever so slightly higher.

Her eyes widen as I touch her. Her breath falters, only noticeable to me because I’m standing so close.

It is very tempting to slide my hand down to tease her pussy and up to nudge her breast. But I don’t.

Even if I were to give in, Bas is standing right behind us. He’s waiting for just that kind of move from me.

So I stay put. I can feel Kaia’s muscles start to tremble under my fingers.

In this moment, she is graceful and beautiful.

“One more…” I whisper.

She holds it for another half breath before slowly releasing. I step back, putting my hands behind my back.

“That was good,” I say.

Kaia looks at me, her wide hazel eyes taking me in. Her cheeks turn pink and she tucks a stray lock of her hair that has escaped her ribbon back behind her ear.

“Don’t think so much,” I murmur. “The pose is not easy, but it should be calming for you. After so much motion it is your reward. Just being still for a few moments.”

Bas smiles lightly, looking at his phone. “I should go. Good work today though, Kaia.”

Kaia blushes and ducks her head. “Have a good night.”

Bas purses his lips and arches a brow at me while he walks out of the studio. I’m not sure what that was exactly, but I’m sure that he wouldn’t leave me here with Kaia if he knew what kind of thoughts I’ve had about her in the last twenty four hours.

As he leaves, I heave a sigh. “Do you want to run it again? Repetition builds muscle memory.”

She puffs out her cheeks and puts her hands on her hips, nodding as she walks across the room. “Yeah.”

We drill the same combination about ten more times. “Good. Again.”

As I walk over and check my phone, I see twenty missed calls, from Lucas and from another number that I don’t recognize. As I’m scrolling through my texts from Lucas, I see this.

Anita had a bad fall. They are taking her to Memorial Hospital with a suspected fractured hip and a possible concussion. Call me.

And then, where the fuck are you, Calum?

“Fuck,” I say, glowering at my phone.

“What?” Kaia calls.

“Nothing. Don’t worry about it. I have to go,” I say, not even looking at her.

I have to take control of this situation or Anita is going to have Lucas eating out of the palm of her hand soon enough. Not even glancing back, I grab my water bottle and start calling my limousine driver.

16

CALUM

I ride the elevator upstairs to the twelfth floor of Memorial Hospital, brooding as the floors tick by. The doors open to reveal a white block that serves as a desk and runs to my right and to my left.

I step out and stalk to the desk, looking over the nurses who are doing paperwork. “1217?”

One of the nurses looks at me, her eyes narrowing. “Are you family?”

My lips curl up in a sneer. I’m certainly not a blood relative, but Lucas and I are all that Anita has. She’s driven away everyone else.

“She wants to see me,” I say. I can see the door on the right side of the hall, labeled 1201. Starting toward it, I flap a hand at the nurse. “I got it.”

“Sir?” Another nurse calls after me. “Sir, you need to check in—“

Picking up the pace, I turn the corner and walk down the eerily quiet hall. Everything but the doors is white; the doors are antiseptic seafood green, most closed for privacy. Here and there, placed at staggered intervals, are odd numbered doors.

1213… 1215… 1217.

I find the door, turning and facing it. The same nurse has followed me down the hall, her expression uncertain.

I realize my heart is thumping in my chest as I suck in a deep breath. Before I can make a move to open the door, it swings open wide. I see my brother’s dark hair first as he turns from saying something to the room’s occupant.

“I’ll get—“ Lucas sees me and his eyebrows rise. “You’re here.”

I squint at him. “I am,” I agree. “You said it was an emergency.”

He moves forward, closing the door behind himself and puffing out his cheeks. “Yeah.” He checks the hallway, waving to the nurse. “Hey, can you call Dr. Stein? She is complaining that the pain medication is making her nauseated. We need to try another one.”

The nurse slows, looking between us. It takes too long for Lucas, who pulls out his phone. “I’m going to call the head of medicine. What’s your name again? I want to make sure I get it right.”

She swallows. “Sandra! I’m Sandra. And… no need to call Dr. Baker again. I’ll call Dr. Stein right now.”

She hurries away, her thick soled shoes squeaking on the floor. I arch a brow.

“How many times have you called Dr. Baker already?”

He shrugs a shoulder. “For what we pay in charitable donations, I’ll call Dr. Baker every ten minutes until Anita is out of the hospital.”

I take a deep breath. “What happened?”

“She said she fell getting out of the shower.” He screws up his face. “She hit her head pretty hard and bruised her left hip.”

I narrow my eyes at him, calculating. “Are you saying that you brought me all the way across Manhattan in rush hour traffic because Anita has a bruise?”

He rolls his eyes dismissively. “She asked for you.”

“Uh huh.” I fold my arms across my chest. “Where is Manuelo?”

Lucas heaves a sigh and sticks his hands in the pockets of his dark slacks. “She wouldn’t say. It seems like they had a spat, I guess. She kept saying that he’s been gone for a while.”

My upper lip curls. “Manuelo works for us, Lucas. Why didn’t you just call him?”

He pushes his cheek out with his tongue. “Don’t take your distemper out on me, Calum. I tried his number; it has been disconnected. So Anita was my only source and she was less than forthcoming…”

“Lucas?”

Her voice comes faintly through the door. The sound of her nasal tone sends a wave of nausea through my whole system. It also causes me to break into a cold sweat.

Lucas turns around and pushes the door open. “Look who is here, Anita.”

He grabs me by the forearm and tows me into the room. Anita is sitting on the hospital bed, her tiny body surrounded by pillows and smothered in blankets. She sits up a little and pats the back of her dyed black hair, her mouth pursing. Whether she is displeased or not is impossible to say.

“Oh, Calum,” she says, tearing up. She speaks English heavily inflected with a Spanish accent. “Thank god you’re here. I keep telling everybody to wait until you get here to make my medical decisions.”

My mouth thins. “I’m not interested in having any say in what happens to you, Anita. I think I’ve made that clear as a bell.”

Lucas gives me an alarmed look, but I’m not worried about that. Anita does exactly what I expect of her, which is that she bursts into full-fledged tears.

“Why do you treat me as if I was some street trash, Cal? After I raised you, after I fed and clothed and sheltered you out of my own pocket?!”

She starts sobbing brokenly. I check my watch; it took her less than two minutes to start guilt tripping me about having basic needs as a child.

Lucas shoves me. I roll my eyes up at him, scowling. “What?”

“Be nice to her,” he mutters. “Jesus, Calum. She’s in the fucking hospital.”

I glare at him. He glares right back.

“You shouldn’t have called me here,” I say simply. “You know better.”

The nurse coughs gently behind us to alert us to her presence. “Excuse me, but could I please borrow you, Mr. Fordham?”

Lucas stiffens. “Yeah, of course. Coming.”

I scowl at him as he leaves the room, stalking down the hallway. Anita has progressed to full blown howling by now; I blow out a breath as I cast a glance her way.

“You treat me so terrible!” she wails.

I lean against the closest wall, tilting my head. “What happened to Manuelo, Anita? Hmm? Lucas said that he changed his phone number.”

Her thin shoulders shake with the force of her sobs. “Se ha ido! Como tu. Ya no es especial para mi!!”

“Yeah, I still don’t speak any Spanish.” I glance behind me, wondering when Lucas is coming back.

She cries for a minute. When she yells again, it’s accentuated with hiccups. “I. Don’t. Know. Why. You. Don’t. CARE about me!”

“Yes, you do.” I look at my fingernails, pursing my lips.

“No!” she shrieks.

“Well, the second my mother died, you offered to take care of me and Lucas.” My lips twitch. “And before she was even buried, you came onto me. I was fifteen. My mom had just died.” I smile at her, the expression turning mean. “And if I’m remembering correctly, you made me fuck you in a closet at her funeral.”

“What!?” she cries. “No, you were older than that when we made love! You said you were in love with me, mijo.”

I exhale a long breath. “No, I didn’t. And I wasn’t. Should we call a few of the nurses in here and ask them if they think that was an okay thing to do to a boy who’s mom had just died?” I narrow my eyes. “Or how about I finally tell Lucas that the whole time we were with you, the whole time we were enrolled in ballet school and living a life of luxury… you were fucking me every single chance you got. Hmm?”

She suddenly stops crying, her sniffles making her sound even more pathetic. “I don’t think other people can understand, mi amor. What we had was a soul connection.”

Anita grips the blankets, pulling them closer.

I snort. “Whatever you have to tell yourself, Anita. Just remember that I can tell everyone that little bit of gossip anytime I feel like it.”

She sniffs, wiping at her nose. “You’re hateful. You always have been. Ever since you were little, you always would cause a problem.”

“Let me ask you something. How old was I when you first looked at me and thought, I want to fuck him. Fourteen? Thirteen?”

She glares at me. “You were born like this, mijo. You were born ruined like trash in the summertime.”

Her words don’t even prick me. I just laugh. “So younger than thirteen, then. That’s disgusting.”

“You are a pig of a man,” she fires back.

I put my hands to my heart, playing as if she’d wounded me. “Tough words, coming from a pedophile.”

I’m not sure how she even reached over and flung her water bottle at me so fast, but it sprays the entire lower half of the wall near me. I look down at the few drips of moisture that hit my shins.

“Is that all you’ve got?” I goad her. Laughing, I point a finger at her. “Take me off your contact list. I don’t want to be called back here for you.”

Lucas pops his head back in the room. He takes a breath, sensing the tension in the air between us. Anita is glaring at me; I still wear a half smile.

“O…kay. Calum, can I talk to you for a minute out here?”

I shoot Anita one last cold smile. “Gladly.”

Walking out of her room is heavenly. Closing the door on her sniveling face is just the cherry on top of my fucking sundae. I turn to my brother, squinting.

“If you’re about to ask me a favor, the answer is no,” I tell him. “I’m not helping you help her.”

He takes a step toward me, his face twisting into a sneer, and pushes me so that my back hits the wall. “What the hell is your problem, Calum? Can’t you have a little compassion? That woman in there was basically our second mother.”

That sick feeling washes through my stomach once again. “Don’t say that, Lucas. I know our mom had her problems—“

He pushes me again. “Mom was a drug addict. Okay? And a prostitute. And Anita stepped in, though she didn’t have to, and took really good care of us. She spent like a hundred thousand dollars to make sure we were accepted at the best ballet school and we would both go on to have our own careers in ballet. And she’s nice, on top of all that.”

My lips twist in a grimace. “There are things you don’t know,” I warn.

He shakes his head in disbelief. “Tell me! If she really did something that terrible and I somehow missed it, tell me right now! Come on, we’ll go to the police together, since it is obviously a terrible crime that must be punished…”

I glare at him. My hands ball into fists. As much as I want to tell him, want to rub it in his smug face, I won’t.

I can’t tell him that I slept with Anita to keep a roof over our heads and food in our mouths. Part of me is too proud and another part of me just… doesn’t want him to live with that kind of guilt.

So I stonewall him. “It’s none of your business.”

He laughs. “That’s what I fucking thought.”

I lean in close to his face. “You don’t know her like I do, Lucas.”

“Can you stop? I’m sorry, okay? I’m sorry I called you to come help me handle this situation.”

That gives me pause. I would do anything for Lucas. He’s the one person in the world that I would walk through fire and crawl on my belly over shards of glass to help.

I compose myself, shutting down the emotions I’m feeling. “Just tell me what you need, Lucas.”

He blows out a breath, taking a step back. He tilts his head to the side. “All I need is the names and phone numbers of some replacements for Manuelo. And maybe some second opinions, just to check Anita out and make sure that she’s really okay.”

My lips twitch. He could’ve asked one of our personal assistants for those numbers. But I won’t get into that right now.

“Fine.”

He narrows his eyes on my face. “Fine.”

I repress an eye roll. “I’m going to go. I’ll have Jane reach out to you within the next hour.”

He purses his lips. “Okay.”

I turn and stride down the hall. He calls, “Thanks!”

Without looking back, I wave a dismissive hand, heaving a silent sigh.

17

KAIA

I’m busy tonight.

I glance at my cellphone again, wondering what that text from Calum means. What is he doing?

Shopping for yachts? Visiting his tailor to buy another dozen custom made suits? Eating sushi with models? The last idea tugs the corners of my mouth downward.

“Hey!” Ella says, reaching out and jerking me to the right.

I look up and realize that I almost walked into a huge potted plant placed in the middle of the walkway down to the bowling alley. Screwing my face up, I sigh and put my phone in the back pocket of my jeans. “Thanks.”

Ella shakes her head at me, running a hand over her short baby blue dress. “You have been glued to your phone ever since I picked you up. What’s so important?”

I wrinkle my nose. “Nothing.”

She holds my arm as she tows me inside the bowling alley. Just beyond the doors there is the desk with an irritated person mousing through a computer. Just beyond that is a towering stack of cubbies, each jammed full of shoes. Even if I was blind, I could tell where we are; the pungent smell of disinfectant rises to my nose and the immediate blast of air conditioning on my skin see to that.

The clerk looks up at us, squinting a little. “You wanna bowl or what?”

Ella steps forward, pursing her lips. “Yeah. We are joining someone…”

Looking out across the brightly colored lanes, I spot Eric. I nudge Ella and she clears her throat. “Lane four. We need…” She looks at me, lifting her brows. “What, an hour?”

The guy sighs. “Two people, two pairs of shoes, one hour. That’s fifteen bucks.”

Before Ella can get her wallet out of her purse, I fish a twenty dollar bill out of my pocket. “Here.”

The clerk doesn’t even look at me. He just hands me change and hurries to get us each a pair of shoes. Then we walk over to where Eric is lounging, his feet up on the small screen where you input names.

“Hey,” Ella says.

He salutes both of us lazily. “You were supposed to be here twenty minutes ago.”

“Sorry,” I instantly apologize. “Ella was on time. I was running behind as usual.”

He smirks a little at me, his gaze traveling down my body. “It’s nice to see that you have a t-shirt and jeans. I was starting to think that all you owned were leotards and leg warmers.”

I flush at his teasing. Ella plops herself down in a nearby seat, changing her shoes. I do the same, my eyes traveling up to where Eric has already filled in nicknames for each of us.

“I know I’m Kaia Papaya,” I say, putting my other shoes under a seat. “But who are the other two names?”

He stands up, stretching. “I’m E-Male. Get it, cause I’m the only guy?”

“Does that make me Old Yella?” Ella asks. “I do not get your sense of humor, my dude.”

Eric rolls his eyes. “Can we just bowl?”

I take a deep breath and nod. “Let me pick out a ball really quickly.”

His lips twitch. “I already put a couple of twelve pound balls in the ball return thing.”

I arch my eyebrows. “For me?”

He squints at me. “For both of you. The last time we did this, you both used twelve pound balls. Since I had nothing but time while I was waiting on you, I went ahead and grabbed four balls that size. Plus a sixteen pounder for myself.”

I blink. “Oh. Well… thanks. That was really nice of you.”

Ella points up at the scoreboard. “According to that, you’re up first, Eric.”

He stands up, brushing imaginary dust off of his dark t-shirt. “Watch and learn, ladies.”

I smile, rolling my eyes. Ella wrinkles her nose.

“In your dreams, white boy,” she calls after him. “I’m going to whoop you.”

As I watch him select his ball, I reach into my back pocket for my phone. I check the screen but there are no notifications.

Heaving a silent sigh, I return the phone to my jeans. Ella arches a questioning eyebrow at me. “Who is keeping you from being present right now?”

I flush. “No one. I’m just… checking my Insta.”

The lie sounds phony coming out of my mouth. “You are a terrible liar.” Crossing her arms, she turns to watch Eric bowl.

I bite my lip and do the same. Eric knocks some pins down, trotting back towards us.

“Just getting warmed up,” he says, bridging his hands and turning them inside out. “I’m telling you guys, I’m a great bowler.”

I giggle. “We have bowled with you before. There is no reason to lie.”

“Yeah, E-Male,” Ella says, laughing.

Eric’s face flushes. “You can both go to hell.”

“Hmm.” Ella shakes her head and looks at the scoreboard. “Hey, I’m going to grab one of every kind of junk food from the commissary. Any special requests?”

I turn and look at the restaurant, if you can call a popcorn machine and one of those hot dog rollers that. Wrinkling my nose, I pull out some cash. “Get me whatever is the best bang for my buck.”

She eyes me. “Look at you, Miss Got Money To Burn All The Sudden. Keep your dough. This is my treat. Just be prepared to eat your own weight in salty, sticky, sweet goodness.”

She wiggles her eyebrows and dashes off toward the food counter. Her dress barely covers her ass as she goes but I figure she already knows all about that.

“Your turn,” Eric says quietly. He’s close behind me and that gives me a start.

I whirl around, my eyes wide. “What?”

He points up at the scoreboard, where Kaia Papaya is flashing insistently. “It’s your turn to bowl.”

I give him a wobbly smile. “Right. Duh.”

I walk past him. He leans into my path, bumping my shoulder with his. I scrunch my nose up and shoot him a joking glare.

“Watch it!” I protest.

He smirks at me as he sits down. In his blue jeans and snug t-shirt, with his light blue eyes and sandy blond hair, he looks like the all-American boy. The football player who you hope will ask you to homecoming.

I flush as I grab the closest ball from the ball return. In any other scenario, I would be over the moon that someone as handsome as Eric was flirting with me.

In fact, deep down, I have butterflies rumbling around in my stomach.

But as I walk toward the bowling lane, I can’t be truly happy about it. Because there is one tall, dark, and irresistibly smug problem.

Calum. Add the money he pays me and the fact that I’ve fooled around with him more than anybody else…

And yeah. Eric is dreamy. But Calum is…

Well, he’s a man. With dark three piece suits, a tumbler of whiskey, and stunning ocean blue eyes, I might add.

So what if we don’t really have anything more than a transactional relationship? Maybe it’s better that way.

We have rules. We have boundaries.

No one will get hurt.

“Can you throw the ball already?” Eric asks.

“Don’t rush me!” I say.

I wind up and toss the ball, biting my lip. As it sails neatly down the middle of the lane, I shrug. The ball strikes the pins; all the pins go down, just as I intended.

“Yes!” I cheer. I turn around, doing a little victory dance. Striding back from the lane, I grin at Eric. “That was a strike, in case you missed it.”

Eric rolls his eyes. “Yeah, yeah. I just have to get loose and then we’ll see who’s good at this game.”

Just in time for her turn, Ella comes walking down from the restaurant, her arms loaded with all kinds of food. “A little help?”

I trot over to the closest table, helping relieve her burden. She wasn’t wrong about getting one of everything. She sets down chicken fingers, curly fries, two orders of cheese sticks, and several long, sweet smelling churros. She also plunks down a pitcher of soda and cups.

“One more thing…” she says. Then she reaches in her little purse and tosses a pack of Sour Patch Kids on the table.

I look at all the food, my eyes widening. “This is a lot. Do you know how many calories are on this table right now?”

Ella narrows her eyes at me. “I got you diet soda, okay? So let’s all just enjoy the bounty.”

I smile at her. “Thanks.”

“Holy shit,” Eric says, coming up to the table. “I volunteer to be your personal Hoover, vacuuming up anything that’s leftover.”

She grins. “Help yourself. I’m going to go bowl this frame right quick.”

Eric rubs his hands together, snagging a seat. I sit down opposite him, pouring out the diet soda first. He chooses to bite in a churro first, moaning.

“Oh man,” he whispers, almost reverent. “It’s been a while since I had something that was deep fried.”

I smirk, opening my pack of candy. “Yeah?”

Ella returns after a minute, grabbing a cheese stick and enthusiastically dipping it in a little plastic ramekin of marinara. “God, I might have fantasized about this a little bit on the way over here.” She takes a bite and then groans. “This is the best thing I’ve ever eaten. I’m not even lying.”

Shaking my head, I grab a curly fry and bite into it. It’s a little overcooked but still hot.

“Okay, these fries are amazing and someone will have to take them away from me at some point.”

My phone buzzes in my pocket.

I chew my fry and try to sneak it out of my pocket, checking the screen under the table. Of course it’s nothing, just a stupid email notification. Ella leans over to see and then rolls her eyes.

“Seriously?”

My cheeks turn bright pink. “What? My phone buzzed!”

She shakes her head, turning to Eric. “She has checked her phone no less than twenty times in the last hour. That tells me that she’s waiting to hear from some hot ass booty call—“

“Ella!” I cry, embarrassed. “I’m telling you, I’m just… like, a phone addict or whatever.”

Eric looks at me, his expression cautious. “Who are you expecting to hear from? We are your only friends… and we are here.”

I point at them both. “That’s not true. I have other, non-ballet friends.”

Ella laughs. “You do not. It’s okay, I don’t have friends outside of ballet either. I mean, there are my cousins. I hang out with them a lot when I’m at home, but that’s just because my family has the nicest house.”

She rolls her eyes.

Eric nods at my phone. “Who are you waiting to hear from, Kaia?”

I will do just about anything to avoid that question. So I smile, turning to Ella.

“Hey, remember last year when Eric was dancing, doing all the Russian jumps, and his pants pretty much exploded?”

He glares at me, swiping a chicken finger. “I’m sure everyone has moved on from that.”

Ella snorts. “Uh, noooo. We didn’t forget. That was the day that I found out that you wear a dainty pink dance belt under your leggings.”

He rocks his head back. “I washed the damn belt with a red shirt. It turned pink in the wash. I thought I already explained that!”

Before the argument can continue, my phone starts buzzing in my hand. Alarmed, I look down at the screen.

Calum.

My heart starts to beat wildly. My stomach fills with acid.

“Umm, I should go take this,” I mumble, sliding to my feet.

“I told you there was a boy,” Ella said. “Didn’t I tell you?”

Hurrying away from the table, I put the phone to my ear. “Hello?”

There is no greeting, no warm tone. Just his gruff rumble. “I need you dressed in cocktail attire and ready to meet me at Peychaud’s in an hour.”

“Uhhh…” I glance back at my friends. “I’m really in the middle of something. Besides, I’m not dressed right…”

“I’m texting you the address now,” he says. “Don’t make me wait.”

Then he hangs up, leaving me staring at my home screen. I blink several time, then turn toward my friends, trying to decide just what I’m about to tell them to escape.

18

CALUM

I’m at the stylish, hammered copper bar at Peychaud’s, toying with my drink. The lights are dimmed, the place is hopping. It’s busy tonight, the bar packed, the tables full of noisy people dressed in their date night best.

The bartender, a pretty brunette, comes over to check on me. “Would you like another Vieux Carre?”

I look down at the drink, surprised to find it all but empty. The dark cherry is still there along with a couple of half-melted cubes of ice. I check my watch with a sigh.

“Yeah. Might as well.”

She takes my old glass and heads down the bar. Right beside me, a group of young businesspeople throw their heads back, laughing hysterically. A redhead in a stunning red dress accidentally steps too far back. She whirls, her expression a bit tipsy but no less apologetic.

“Omigoooooddd,” she squeaks. “I’m so sorry.”

I frown at her. Normally I would use this moment to pick her up and fuck her in a storage closet. But Kaia is on her way here.

At least, in theory.

I’ve gone to great lengths to have Kaia at my beck and call; I know for a fact that she’ll give me exactly what I’m looking for, because I pay her to.

Which is why the redhead is off-limits, for now.

“No problem,” I say at last, starting to turn away.

She leans closer, peering at me with an incredulous look on her face. “Your eyes are stunning!” She says. “You’re not here all by yourself, are you?”

I glance at my watch again. Kaia is twenty minutes late. Which begs the question…

Am I here alone or not?

Before I can answer her, I notice Kaia outside the window, dressed in a tiny white dress. She’s running toward the bar, looking flustered.

“My date just got here,” I say. “You’ll excuse me…”

I turn and signal to the bartender to keep my seat and the chair beside it open. Then I walk over to the front door, where Kaia is being hassled by the door guy for ID.

I pull out my money clip and slide off a hundred dollar bill, waving it at the guy. “She’s with me.”

He doesn’t even blink or look up at me. He just takes the money and turns to the next person coming through the door.

Kaia looks at me, trying to catch her breath. She looks absolutely amazing, her tits pushed up and an almost scandalous amount of leg showing. I step closer, hugging her against my dark-suited body.

My lips twitch as I whisper in her ear. “You’re late.”

She pulls back, her eyes scanning my face. “I told you. I was on the other side of town.”

Guiding her back to our seats at the bar, I pull her seat out for her. Her eyebrows rise.

“Are you being a gentleman for me now, Calum?”

I chuckle as I take my own seat. “Don’t worry, beauty. I promise that I’m still beastly underneath this posh exterior. I’m Dr. Jekyll right now, but wait until I get you alone.”

I smile at her, showing my teeth. She shivers as her eyes dip down to my mouth. I can’t get enough of those honest, innocent little reactions.

She licks her lips nervously, looking over at the bar. She leans close, whispering to me. “I’m not actually old enough to be in here.”

I squint at her. Yes, I know that I should pick women who are old enough to legally drink. And I usually do.

But Kaia is different. One look at her body while she was grinding on the pole at Club X and I knew I had to have her.

“Here,” I say, picking up the Vieux Carre cocktail. “Try this.”

She takes a sip, looking at me. Then she makes a face. “It’s strong. And bitter. I… I don’t think I like it, Calum.”

I roll my eyes. “All right. We’ll start off easy. You like champagne, right?”

Her cheeks blaze bright pink. “Yes…”

I raise my hand as a signal. The bartender comes over, smiling. “What can I make for you?”

“Make her a French 75,” I say.

The bartender nods, disappearing. When she reappears a half minute later, she holds a champagne flute. The contents of the glass are a curl of lemon, a little gin, a dash of simple syrup, and an effervescent champagne topper.

“Here you go,” she says, setting it on a cocktail napkin before Kaia. “Enjoy.”

“Thanks,” Kaia says. She looks at me again as she tastes the cocktail. As though she needs feedback from me when sampling something new.

That’s… interesting.

Her expression brightens. “Mmm! This is good.”

I smile coolly. “Baby’s first cocktail.”

“Hmm?” she asks, leaning her head closer to my mouth.

“Never mind. Where were you when I called?”

Her mouth pulls down in a frown. “Here and there. Out with my friends.”

I narrow my eyes on her face. “What friends?”

I move my hand toward her cheek, thinking to tuck a piece of her cornsilk hair back behind her ear. But I’m not expecting her reaction.

Kaia flinches, closing her eyes and recoiling. I stop, my hand hovering in the air between us.

It’s the first time I’ve seen her behave like that, as if she were an abused puppy and I were her unhinged owner.

That’s a learned behavior if I’ve ever seen one.

After a second, she opens her eyes. Warmth instantly rushes to her cheeks.

“Sorry,” she says, looking mortified. “You… uh…”

I shrug one shoulder, dropping my hand. Instead I pick up my drink, taking a sip. The cool liquid burns on its way down.

Kaia puts her champagne flute on the bar, pouting. “Is it usually like this? When you… start seeing someone like me? Or am I just spectacularly awkward?”

“I wouldn’t know,” I say.

She looks up at me, surprised. “What do you mean?”

“You’re not the first girl to catch my eye at Club X,” I say, swirling the amber contents around in my tumbler. “But you are definitely the first one that I’ve seen outside the club. The only one I’ve had a contract with.”

She blinks, flushing. “Oh. I just assumed that you had… dated… women from the club before.”

I purse my lips and cock my head. “You caught my eye. But you had my attention the second that I saw you do an arabesque. The stripping was all flash, but the actual ballet is the reason that we are both here right now.”

I reach out, trailing my fingers over her knee. She looks up, swallowing hard, her hazel eyes so wide and innocent.

“Don’t you agree?” I murmur.

She sinks her white teeth into the fullness of her bottom lip, smiling shyly. “I never quite know what to think when I’m around you.”

I smirk at her. “I promise to keep you on your toes… quite literally.”

She squints at me. “Did you just make a pun?”

I shrug, glancing away and sipping my drink. “I can be funny sometimes. Mostly when I am drunk.”

She nods slowly. “It’s just not something I associate with you as a person.”

“What can I say, I’m multifaceted. You didn’t think that you could know me for less than a month and already have me all figured out, did you?”

Two spots of pink appear in the apples of her cheeks. She wrinkles her nose humorously. “I guess not. But… does your comedic turn mean you are drunk right now?”

Setting my drink on the bar, I move toward her, skimming my hands along the outside of her bare thighs. “I’m getting there. Don’t worry, beauty. My dick is still hard as a fucking rock right now, looking at you in that little dress.”

She bites her lip playfully, placing her hand on my shoulder to pull my ear closer to her mouth. “I’ve been thinking about you a lot. Thinking about when I straddled your lap and you rubbed my pussy…”

Growling softly, I stand up and pull her hard against the wall of my muscular body. She makes a soft sound of surprise, looking up at me. She’s so soft, so feminine. So innocent, a rose whose petals are ready to be plucked.

I bite my lip, whispering in her ear. “I’m going to ruin you, Kaia. After we finally fuck, no other man will ever make you cream the same way.”

She looks at me, sucking in a breath. I reach up and drag my thumb across the fullness of her sensitive bottom lip. She leans her head back a little, her lips parting, her eyes closing halfway.

I can’t help but kiss her, pressing my lips against her hot mouth. Her fingers curl around my nape; she moans ever so softly as I sweep the inside of her mouth with my tongue.

She’s so fucking sweet that I almost can’t stand it. I groan and press her closer, my hand sliding down from her waist to cup her ass.

My cock throbs, pressed between our bodies. A stray image pops into my head of her on her knees, her mouth open wide as I bury my cock deep and fuck her face. The feeling of her tongue working against mine makes my whole body shudder.

I pull back, ready to tell her that we should go to my limo. But over her shoulder, I see Honor standing with her hands on her hips. She’s wearing a little silver dress and showing off a lot of skin. It would be hotter if I didn’t know that she was out at a bar while she was pregnant. She looks at both of us, her lips twisting sourly.

“Am I seeing things?” she asks. “Because if I’m not mistaken, this is one of the dancers that the New York Ballet brought in to replace me.”

Kaia’s eyes widen and she steps away from me, glancing back at Honor. “Says who?”

“Don’t engage with your predecessor, Kaia. She’s clearly been trolling the NYB’s website, angry at being replaced.” I tilt my head to the side. “How is being pregnant going for you, Honor?”

She scoffs. “Like you can judge me. I know that you two are not supposed to be all over each other like this. I mean, you’re supposed to be her teacher, Calum. Jesus.”

I shoot her a glare. “We should go, Kaia.”

Honor blocks our path. “Seriously? The last time I checked, you were obsessed with me. I practically had to take a restraining order on your fucking ass. What happened?”

I slide my arm around Kaia’s waist, tugging her close as I start to maneuver around Honor. “You had plenty of chances, Honor. Clearly I’ve found a replacement for you.”

Kaia does a double take. “What?”

Honor bares her teeth. “I want my job back, Calum.”

I shake my head, pulling Kaia along with me. “I don’t really care.”

“I’ll report you both!” Honor calls after us.

I stop, releasing Kaia from my grip. Turning around slowly, I send Honor a smoldering glare. “You’re an aging, bitter, disgraced former employee. I don’t think that anyone will listen to you make accusations against me, the primary supporter of the ballet company.” I smirk. “So go right ahead. I would love to get you on record so that my fleet of personal attorneys can destroy you.”

Honor’s eyes widen. “Calum—“

I shake my head, spinning back to Kaia. “Let’s go.”

Kaia lets me pull her along, glancing back as we leave the bar. We step outside and my limousine is already waiting. I get the door, pulling it open for her.

But she doesn’t get in. Her eyebrows are drawn down, her mouth is twisted to the side. “Is what you said true? Am I really just a replacement for Honor?”

That gives me pause. “No. I don’t… it’s more complicated than that. Can you get in the fucking car?”

She balks. “I think I can get my own ride tonight.”

“Seriously?!” I protest. “Get in the fucking limo, Kaia. If you insist, I can drop you off at your house.”

Kaia stares at me, her hands bunching into fists. “Fine,” she says through clenched teeth. She ducks her head and climbs in the back seat.

I get in after her, pissed off. Honor managed to ruin a perfectly good mood. And now I’m chauffeuring Kaia home instead of having her enthusiastically blow me.

“Where are we going?” I ask, bristling.

Kaia looks away, out the limo’s window. “Queens.”

The limousine pulls out and I glare at the buildings as they pass, seething.

19

KAIA

“She said that you are the biggest backstabber that she’s ever met,” the bleach blonde housewife says. From my computer screen, she squints at the woman she’s dishing gossip to. Because she’s had so much plastic surgery done to her face, she looks almost serene even though her voice is angry.

I am sitting in full splits on the floor of my living area, watching tv on my ancient laptop. My apartment doesn’t have any heat of its own. Instead I rely on ambient heat from the tenants below, several tiny space heaters, and a ton of blankets and socks.

Still, my apartment is chilly today. The people downstairs must have their heat turned down during the day. I wrap myself up in my prized possession, my dove gray winter coat.

It is heavy and warm and made of wool. I brought it at a thrift store for pennies on the dollar and I unabashedly love it.

As the women on my screen escalate tensions, I lower my upper body onto the floor. My kitty Exupéry swishes his tail, disapproving of my focusing on anything that isn’t him.

I raise myself onto my elbows with a sigh and pet him. “I know. You don’t like Kelly either, huh? Who could?”

The cat meows are rubs against my hand. I feel sort of bad for Exupéry because I am almost never home. But there is a kitty door downstairs that Exupéry seems to make full use of whenever I’m not around.

“You probably have like eight other families,” I say, scratching her chin. “I get it. I’m just not around very much, am I? I wouldn’t even be here right now, except that Basil is sick. So I get a full day off.”

She cocks her head and looks at me, giving me one last rub before strutting off. I sigh and think about food; I can’t remember the last time that I went grocery shopping.

I sit up and pull my laptop in, pursing my lips. Maybe I need to go shopping at like… a farmer’s market. That sounds healthy… and way cheaper and closer than some place like Whole Foods.

I type in farmer’s market in my search bar and a million results pop up. I scroll through the results, not seeing exactly what I’m looking for.

There is a sudden knock at my door, a loud enough banging that I tense and shut my laptop. This is definitely out of the ordinary because no one knows where I live.

Well, except Calum.

Why would he not call me first, though?

I scramble to stand, brushing off my jeans and lilac midriff tee. The knocking comes again, sounding even more aggressive this time.

“Coming!” I call, trotting to the stairs and thundering down them. The banging persists even as I wrench open the door.

“Okay, okay—“

I stop mid sentence, blinking.

My father stands there in his slacks and a dark fleece jacket, looking angry. A few steps down, Hazel stands with her hands in the pockets of her stylish black silk jumpsuit.

“Oh. Hi?” I say, squinting at both of them.

My dad smiles, showing his teeth. “Your sister and I were just in the city, meeting with some people for her fashion label. We thought we should just stop by.”

I narrow my eyes at them both. It’s the first time I’ve heard about my sister having a fashion label, but I let that pass.

“How did you know to find me here?” I ask, glancing out the door. “And why didn’t you call?”

My father’s smile broadens. “Can’t you just be happy to see your family, Kaia?”

I flick my gaze to Hazel, who is smiling smugly. “Of course. I mean… do you guys want to come in?”

My heart starts racing. I definitely don’t want either of them in my private space, my innermost sanctum. For a second, my breath hitches as my father looks past me, considering.

When he shakes his head, I’m beyond relieved.

“I thought we would all get some lunch. Somewhere…” He glances around him, his lips twitching. He obviously doesn’t like my neighborhood very much. “Nice.”

I suck in a deep breath. “Yeah, sure. Let me just grab my shoes and my purse.”

I turn around and clatter up the stairs, quickly finding them. My dad and my sister have a cab waiting when I come back down; only fifteen minutes later, we are back in Manhattan proper.

“Where are we going?” I ask.

My dad glances back at me from the passenger seat. “We’re almost there.”

I glance at Hazel, who is playing on her phone. “How is school?”

She rolls her eyes over to me. “You don’t need to act interested in my life, Kaia. I have plenty of my own friends and interests.”

My eyebrows rise. “Okay… I was just checking in.”

The car stops before she has time to retort. My father jumps out, opening the door for Hazel. He offers her his arm as I climb out of the other side, looking at the restaurant we are going into.

“Adolpho’s,” I read out loud. It looks fancy, with gold-plated doors and a Sicilian flag displayed out front.

“Hurry up, Kaia,” Dad says. “We don’t want to be late.”

I scrunch up my face as I scurry after them. My father pushes through the gold-plated door. As I follow him into the lush, dim interior, I’m greeted with the rather heavenly smells of pasta and red sauce.

My stomach audibly rumbles.

My father and Hazel walk right by the host, so I just follow them into the swanky dining room. There are a few tables of people sitting at black leather booths. My dad makes a beeline for what is obviously the nicest seat in the place, a big corner booth with someone already sitting in it.

I scrutinize the older man who is sitting there. Salt and pepper hair, on the short side, thin as a rail.

He looks up as my father slides into the booth across from him, his lips twisting. “Don, I thought you were going to be a no-show.”

My father smiles broadly, scooting over to make room for Hazel and me. “Sorry about that. Traffic here in the city is just the pits.”

My brows rise. It might be the first time I’ve ever heard my dad apologize; whoever this guy is, he definitely has more money or power than my dad does.

My dad waves at my sister and me as we sit down. “These are my daughters, Hazel and Kaia. Kaia is the one I was telling you about, Tony. The little ballerina.”

Tony’s shrewd gaze falls on me. He tilts his head, his gaze calculating.

“Nice to meet you. Tony Cardezzio. I’m a business associate of your father’s.”

He doesn’t move to offer his hand, so I just bob my head. “Nice to meet you, sir.”

Hazel just smirks quietly, saying nothing. Tony clears his throat, looking at my father. I start getting a weird vibe; everybody at this table is acting really strangely.

I frown at the rest of the table but I don’t say anything. A waiter rushes up, his notepad at the ready.

“Can I get you anything to drink?” he asks.

Tony purses his lip. “I’ll tell you what. Get me and my friend here each a glass of red wine. We’ll both have a steak, medium well done, with a baked potato. These two ladies will have salads, dressing on the side.”

I blink. Unease slides through my stomach as the waiter nods and vanishes toward the kitchen. I am not sure why this stranger just ordered my food.

I would gladly rather order for myself and pay for my own food. I’m sure that mostly people would feel the same. But looking at my father, I can’t figure out why he doesn’t say a single word.

“So, Kaia,” Tony says, steeling his fingers. “You do ballet?”

I pull the crystal goblet of water towards me that the waiter drops off, bobbing my head. “Yes. I’ve done ballet for my entire life. Ever since I was old enough to lie,” I joke.

Tony nods slowly. “How tall are you?”

“Umm…” My gaze slides to my dad, who is sipping his glass of wine. “Five foot five.”

“And you’re what… a hundred pounds?”

My neck heats. I look down at the table in front of me, not understanding what is going on. “I don’t really know.”

“She’s full of shit,” Hazel says, not even bothering to look up from her phone screen. “She weighs herself every morning. Isn’t that right, Kaia?”

I kick her hard under the table. She just smirks at me.

I take a sip of water as I consider whether I should just bolt from the table. The only thing keeping my here at this point is knowing that my dad would probably chase me down and physically force me to come back.

“Would you say you have a lot of boyfriends, sweetness?” the old man says.

For a second, my brow furrows. Who is Tony talking to?

I lift my head and see that he and my dad are staring straight at me. I blink rapidly.

“Excuse me?”

My dad clears his throat. “Kaia hasn’t had time for anything other than ballet. Trust me, Tony.”

Tony shoots my father such a withering look that I can almost feel it over here. “I’m not interested in hearing your spin on things, Don. I want to hear it from the lady’s mouth.”

I glance back and forth between my dad and Tony. “I don’t think that’s an appropriate question. I think maybe I should leave?”

I flush. The last word comes out as a question when I meant it to be a declaration. I start scooting out of the booth as Tony shakes his head.

“Don, control your fucking daughter. This is not going to work if she’s gonna be mouthy. The guys at the cat house want a girl that is easy to work with. Nobody likes a smart mouthed hooker.”

Cat house? Easy to work with?

Is he… is he suggesting that I… should be a prostitute? Is he considering somehow buying me from my dad?

I’m not sure what they’re talking about, but I don’t want to stick around to find out. Hazel snickers as I gain my footing and start off toward the entrance.

I put my head down and burst out the front door of the restaurant. My heart beats so loudly in my ears that all other noises are distorted, sounding far away.

I sprint down the block, not making it very far before I hear my dad’s voice behind me.

“Kaia Madeline Walker! Stop right now!”

That causes my feet to slow, even though I know I should keep going. As if I’m pulled by some force I can’t understand, I turn around.

My father is bearing down on me, his face red and his expression dismal. “Where the fuck do you think you’re going?”

My tongue darts out to wet my lips. “Dad, that man seemed to be under the impression that I would be… a hooker.”

My dad grabs me by the arm, giving me a violent shake. “He’s just trying to make money off of you while you’re worth a fucking cent.”

I resist when he starts to pull me back toward the restaurant. “Let me go!”

“You are probably spreading your fucking legs for any man that walks by. I might as well be earning a little while you fuck every guy you see.”

A frisson of shock and anger shiver down my spine. “Dad, no! Don’t touch me.”

My dad sneers. “I wish you would say that a little more instead of whoring around town.”

I swallow. If he had any actual idea of what I got up to, I would be scared. But I think that my father is just spinning stories to suit his own narrative.

He’s done it my whole damn life.

I switch tactics. “OWW!” I scream. “You’re hurting me! Help!”

Down the block, I see a couple of police officers turn their heads. My dad sees them at the same time as I do.

His expression goes black but he lets go of my arm. My flesh is mottled around where he gripped me; I already know that it will darken with bruises soon.

“Get back in there, Kaia,” my dad says.

I shake my head. “No. No way.”

“You’ll regret this. If you ever want to see your mom or your childhood home again, do what I say,” he grits out.

My eyes fill with tears, but I just shake my head. “No.”

With that, I turn and run away, sucking in haphazard breaths.

20

CALUM

When I see Kaia’s face at the top of the escalator, I let out a breath I didn’t know I’d been holding. She comes into view, stunning me with her simple clingy black dress and black heels.

I wasn’t sure she would come, to be honest. She seemed pretty upset when I dropped her off at her house a couple of nights ago. But here she is, looking up with wide eyes at the enormous light sculpture above our heads. It looks like a great, white jellyfish, its inner light pulsing gently. Against the dark windows surrounding Kaia, it seems like it could be alive.

She takes a step off of the escalator, her eyes pinning me in place. “Where are we?”

I smirk at her a little, holding out my arm for her to take. “Bergdorf Goodman’s started a private shopping experience. I thought you would enjoy taking advantage of it.”

I start ushering her into the showroom, which is an airy space the size of a normal person’s house. It is made up of a runway in the middle, a lounge to the left, and a changing area to the right.

Her eyebrows arch as I guide her to the lounge area. A chicly dressed young woman walks over from the other side of the space. “Hello. I’m Anna. Welcome to the Gallery,” she says, bowing her head.

My lips twitch. I glance down at Kaia, noticing for the first time that she seems unusually quiet. “Hi, Anna. I’m Calum. This is Kaia.”

“Please, arrange yourselves comfortably,” Anna says. Her tone is the perfect combination of a businesslike brusqueness and an easy comfort.

I put a hand on Kaia’s back and push her toward a couch, sitting down beside her.

“Can I get you anything? Veuve Cliquot? Fine whisky?”

Kaia’s mouth hardens into a straight line. I suck in a breath. “Champagne for both of us.”

“Right away,” Anna says, hurting off.

I look at Kaia. “You’re being oddly quiet.”

She turns those killer hazel eyes on me like a spotlight. “I’m sorry,” she says, shrugging delicately. “I have a lot on my mind.”

I tilt my head, looking her up and down. “Is it something that spending a lot of my money can fix? I brought you here to…” I search for an alternate word for apologize, because I don’t want to get in that habit. “Make up for any negative feelings you might have had when we ran into Honor the other night.”

For a second, her brow wrinkles as if she’s struggling to recall something. “Oh. Wait, we’re here for me?”

Her genuine puzzlement is charming.

“Yes, beauty. We are here for you. I thought that you could use a fresh new wardrobe.” Tightening my arm around her waist, I wiggle my eyebrows. “I’ve asked them to pick a selection of their best pieces and some truly scintillating lingerie.”

Kaia’s eyes widen. “Lingerie?” she gulps.

I have to laugh at that. “Yes, Kaia.”

“Oh,” she says faintly, looking embarrassed.

Anna comes back with two champagne flutes, handing them to us. Kaia immediately takes a huge sip of hers, trying to hide her red cheeks.

“If you’re ready, I’ll have the models come out. We will start with outerwear, then move into evening wear, and then intimate apparel.”

Kaia ducks her head. I’m not sure why she’s so demure all the sudden; last time I saw her, she gave me fuck me eyes all evening.

Well, until Honor showed up.

I clear my throat and look at Anna. “Whenever you are ready.”

As soon as Anna is out of earshot, Kaia looks at me imploringly. “You hired models to walk the runway?”

I repress an eye roll. “That’s part of the whole reason we are here. You don’t have to try anything on unless you want to. We can just order it and then it arrives, perfectly fitted.”

Her eyes scan my face. “How much money does an evening like this cost, Calum?”

I shake my head and sip my drink. “You’re not allowed to ask that. Just sit back and let me pamper you, beauty.”

Her brows pull down but she doesn’t argue. All she does is put one of her small hands onto my chest, lean in close, and give me a soft kiss on the mouth. Chaste, yes.

But it arouses me nonetheless, giving me a soft erection. A model struts out onto the catwalk and Kaia turns her attention toward her.

But she also finds my hand with her own, locking her fingers into mine. When she squeezes my hand, I get this weird tightening sensation in my chest.

I stare down at our hands, clasped together on my lap, and something deep inside my chest thaws.

I’m not an idiot who thinks that a stripper is actually into him. I know that Kaia is here for the money.

But I will admit that it doesn’t feel terrible to have her cling to me just now. To feel like I’m giving her something she couldn’t get anywhere else.

Kaia leans her head close.

“Hey, how do I indicate that I like one of the looks?” she whispers.

I glance up, roused from my thoughts. “Anna!” I bark.

A second later, Anna appears. “How can I help?”

Kaia casts a look back at her. “How do I tell you when I see something I’m interested in?”

Anna smiles lightly. “You can tell me. Or I have placed a card here,” she says, stepping forward and handing Kaia a pen and a piece of card stock. “Whichever makes you happy.”

Kaia flashes Anna a shy smile. “Thanks. This is my first time here, if that’s not obvious.”

Anna bows her head. “I think this is a unique experience. Most people haven’t been in this private gallery.”

Kaia wrinkles her nose. “That actually makes me feel better.”

Anna bows her head, receding back. Kaia turns around, taking her hand from mine, and marks something down on the card. She looks at me, smiling a little mischievously.

My lips curl upward at her expression. “What?”

She scrunches up her nose. “I just can’t believe I’m here.”

I smirk. “This is nothing, Kaia. Just stick with me and I promise, your mind will be blown over and over again.”

She rolls her eyes. “Be gentle with me, Calum. I’m easy to impress. Now pay attention to the models onstage, because the outfits I end up wearing are only meant to impress you.”

I lean my head over and brush away her blonde hair from the pulse point at her neck. Ever so slowly, I kiss her warm skin, flicking my tongue over it. Then I suck hard enough to leave a mark.

“Calum!” she protests.

“What?” I murmur. “I’m marking my territory. I plan to take my time with you, kissing and sucking every inch of your body until you come on my fucking face.”

Her eyes widen; her breath leaves her in an audible huff. She blushes deeply.

“Really, Calum,” she whispers, her hazel eyes flashing. “You have the filthiest mouth.”

I drop a kiss against her pulse point and then suck on her earlobe. “You have no idea, beauty. Just no idea.”

We get a little drunk and watch models strut by. I don’t stop touching her, my hands roving up and down her thighs over her dress. I ruck the material of her dress up and run my hands against the hot smooth skin I find there. I drop drugging kisses along her neck and collarbone.

“Calum!” she says, gasping. “There are other people here, you know.”

I arch a brow. “And I should care because…”

Her reactions are even better than touching her. She blushes, she laughs, and once I even elicit a breathy moan when I pick a spot close to her nipple and suck.

She shivers. “Calum…”

I’m not sure if it’s meant to be a protest or a plea, but it sounds impossibly sweet coming from her lips.

By the time that the lingerie models are walking down the runway, we’ve opened a second bottle of champagne. I am entirely focused on the woman beside me.

Every little touch, every dirty word I whisper to Kaia is ratcheting up the tension a hair higher. She’s pretending to pay attention to the glamorous women wearing frilly lace and black satin that parade themselves down the runway. But the card the she was given has been lost, the pen tossed aside somewhere.

A particularly hot bodysuit made of black straps is the next look coming down the aisle. Calum looks at the model, his mouth lifting at the corners.

He grips my thigh. “I want to see you in that.”

I blush, wrinkling my nose. “Well, it’ll probably take them a minute to get my size together and ship it from here to Queens…”

“I don’t think so. Anna!” he calls.

She appears as though summoned. “How can I help?”

My lips twitch. I jerk my thumb at the model. “Kaia wants to try on looks inspired by that one.”

Kaia goes red as a beet, unable to make eye contact with Anna. Luckily, Anna seems prepared for that demand.

“Right away. If she will just step over to the changing area that we have set up, I can bring some options in a moment.”

She waves her hand at the silk screens set up on the other side of the room. I arch an eyebrow at Kaia. “Ready?”

She blinks and then starts to move.

21

KAIA

Anna is already off like a shot. I stand up, smoothing my hands down my dress. Inside, I have a million butterflies fluttering in my stomach.

But I try to take a lesson from Mia, my strip club mentor: hold your head up high and walk like you own the damn place. That’s the mentality that I need to come to grips with.

Without saying anything, I start walking over to the area hidden behind the screens. It’s actually pretty cute back here, with a pink velour chaise lounge and a freestanding lighted mirror.

Anna knocks and enters with a full rolling rack of black strappy lingerie. “I had a guess at your size. Everything here should fit you but please shout if it doesn’t.”

My cheeks are red. I sort of expect her to ask some questions about how I know Calum. After all, it’s clear that he’s the one with the deep pockets here.

But Anna just smiles coolly. “Do you need any assistance with dressing? Or perhaps another pair of heels?”

Feeling silly, I shake my head. “No thanks.”

She vanishes, leaving me alone with the rack of clothes. I mean, if you could even call them that. Looking through the first few items, I would hardly classify the soft silks and chiffons underneath my fingertips clothing.

There are no price tags anywhere, but I’m sure if I knew what any one garment cost I would probably gag. Straps, garter belts, bra cups with a little secret padding… it is for rich people with an elaborate fantasy life. Not for people like me with a job to support their dream of being in the arts.

Pursing my lips, I search through the rack until I come to a very intricate piece I like. Fashioned from white chiffon and dark pink lace, it is a bodysuit that reminds me of one of my ballet costumes. Slipping it free from its hanger, I carry it over to the couch.

I pull up the hem of my dress.

“Stop.” Calum’s voice stills my fingers. “I want to watch you get undressed.”

I turn and find him standing at the edge of the screen, just out of view. Like he’s not going to come in if I say no.

I bite my lip and feel a flush rising to my cheeks. This is exactly what he pays me for, nothing more, nothing less. I suck in a deep breath and steel myself.

“Come in,” I say softly.

He enters, a hungry look already on his handsome face. He sits down on the pink chaise as casually as you please. His trademark smirk is already splashed across his lips.

“Continue,” he directs.

I give my head a tiny shake and start to pull my dress over my head. My hands have the slightest tremor. It feels as though I am baring much more than my body to him.

When I’m left in nothing but the lacy white thong and a matching bra, I toss the dress aside. Calum leans forward, his eyes darkening as he takes in the miles of delicate bare skin I’m offering.

He bites his lower lip for a moment. “Now the bra.”

He gestures with a flick of his fingertips. My heart starts pounding. I can’t look at him at this exact moment so I brush my hair over my shoulders and turn away.

Unhooking my bra and pulling it down my arms is a matter of seconds. He moves to stand, dragging the couch close to the mirror.

“I want you to watch us,” he says quietly. He touches my waist and guides me over to the reflective surface.

There we are, splayed out in the mirror.

I look at the two of us. Calum with his dark hair, in his dark suit, his skin more tanned than mine. He stands behind me and touches my hips, pulling my back half a step into his embrace. His rigid cock digs into my back, a promise and a threat.

I tilt my head as I stare at myself. The blonde who looks back at me is topless, her hazel eyes sparkling softly, her pretty hair covering her tits. His big hands splay out across my torso, coming up to cup my breasts.

I shiver as he pinches my nipples. It is the most bizarre thing, watching myself just now. But I suddenly totally understand why mirrors above beds are a thing.

I watch as Calum hooks his fingers in the waistband on my panties and skims them down my legs. I blush as the last vestiges of my clothing are removed.

There is nothing between us now, for better or for worse.

He grabs my hips and moves backward to the couch, sitting down. He pulls me down to sit between his legs on a tiny corner of the couch. I can feel the outline of his cock pressing against my ass cheeks.

I just keep watching the slutty blonde in the mirror. He grips my knees and parts my thighs, exposing my pussy. I shudder at that and the blonde shudders too. At the very same time, he kisses my earlobe.

“You are exquisite, beauty.” His hand slides down my torso to my mons; his free hand begins to cup one of my tits.

His clever fingers separate my pussy lips and zero in on my sensitive clit. He brushes his fingertips over it, making it throb. I moan softly and arch my back.

But I never take my eyes off of the mirror.

“Calum,” I whisper. “That feels so good.”

He seals his lips over a spot on my neck, which ratchets up my desire. He doesn’t say anything, just makes a mmm sound as his fingertips swirl around my clit.

I reach up to my breasts and put my hand over his, clenching it to my flesh. Showing him what I like in the smallest way.

He responds by gripping my flesh harder, although his fingers on my clit stay relaxed. He nips my neck a few times and uses his teeth on my earlobe.

I let out a shaky moan. Calum chuckles; I can feel the vibrations against the too-hot skin of my neck.

“Do you like that, beauty?” he whispers.

I nod, trying to keep my eyes open. I need him to move his fingers faster over my clit, to increase the pressure. Angling my pelvis, I try to press my pussy into his touch.

“Use your words, Kaia. Tell me how to please you,” he rumbles.

“I… I need you to… touch me harder and faster,” I gasp. My hips start gyrating as he leans us both back a few inches.

From this angle, the pressure of his fingers against my hot pussy is just right. He starts moving his fingers faster.

“Look at yourself,” he says. “Look at how creamy your pussy is, beauty. Look at how bad you want to come.”

As he says it, I can feel how ready my body is, feel my pussy growing wetter and wetter. I lean my head back, closing my eyes. Never in my life has anyone else made me feel this way, hot and slutty, ready for him to make me come.

I try to focus on what I’m feeling. My hips are full and heavy, my tits are on fire, my clit aches with need.

“Beg me to make you come,” he whispers against my ear. “I want to hear it.”

Fuck. I’m close now, I can feel it.

“Please…” I whisper. “Calum, please.”

“Please what?”

I push back against him, trying to angle my pelvis more. But he won’t budge. He just keeps the same tempo, his fingers damp from my juices.

“Please! Calum… make me come,” I demand.

He shifts our bodies subtly, moving his fingers fast. I come suddenly and without warning, my hips jerking, my mouth opening, a growl leaving my chest. My orgasm makes my whole body shudder. Calum just keeps moving his fingers until I reach down and place my hand over his, stopping his movement with a shaking hand.

I open my eyes and immediately kiss him. Open mouth, a little tongue, breathing hard. When I pull back, looking into his deep blue eyes, I make a small confession.

“I’ve never done that before.”

He looks a little surprised. “You’ve never done what, exactly?”

I flush. “Had someone else make me… come.”

He slides his hand along my jawline, burying it in my hair and kissing me deeply. He doesn’t say anything in response but I can feel his erection pressing against my back.

This is it, I think. This is when I finally lose my virginity.

But when I reach for him, he pulls away. He exhales and shakes his head.

“Not tonight,” he says. His expression is all but unreadable as he extricates himself from me. “I’m just going to have Anna send over all this lingerie.”

I stand up, glancing at the mirror. “…okay?”

The way I say it, it sounds like a question. But whatever attention he was paying me before, now his body language is forbidding and closed off. He straightens his cuffs and clears his throat.

“I’ll leave you to it,” he says.

Calum stalks out of the screened area, leaving me to wonder what the hell just happened.

22

CALUM

“No!” I shout. The class full of dancers freezes in place. The piano player falters. “Absolutely not. You are all deeply disappointing. Run that entire piece again.”

My words ring out in the studio. The only sounds are the shuffling of feet as the dancers move back to begin again. The piano player starts the movement again, the music swelling and speeding up.

Bas turns his gaze on me, narrowing it slightly. “After this combination, you are dismissed!” he calls out.

I glare at him. He points to his wrist. I’m not wearing a watch, but I would guess that he’s trying to chide me. I clasp my hands behind my back and prowl the studio.

When I come to Kaia, I force myself not to stare at her. I just move on though I want nothing more than to pretend that there is no one else in this studio but her.

The knowledge that she gave me one of her firsts — her first orgasm from another person — rests heavily on my heart. I feel conflicted about it…

But also, it’s the hottest thing I can imagine. When Kaia closes her eyes and thinks about coming, she can only draw from one experience. Something that I gave her.

I made sure as shit that she had a first time worth remembering. No one should have a terrible memory like I do, in a closet on a pile of coats, with a woman old enough to be my grandmother.

The thought of Anita makes my lips thin.

The combination ends and everybody sags. I purse my lips and glance outside.

“Thank you, everyone,” Basil says, clapping his hands.

The sun is already starting to set. I admit that I may have run roughshod over Bas’s little schedule. My frown deepens.

I turn around and make eye contact with Kaia. Jerking my chin toward the studio door, I grab my water bottle and head out. I walk to the next studio over, which is empty. Making sure that Kaia sees me, I step through into the emptiness.

It’s a couple of minutes before she slips in the door, closing it behind her. Tucking back a loose strand of blonde hair, she raises an eyebrow. “Are you talking to me again, then?”

My eyebrows lower. “If there was a time when I was ignoring you, I’m not aware of it.”

Two spots of pale pink appear in the apples of her cheeks. “You have been acting strangely for the last couple of days, Calum.”

I repress the urge to roll my eyes at her.

“I wasn’t trying to act any particular way.” I wave a hand in front of my face. “That’s not the reason I want to talk to you. I wanted to know if you would accompany me to a charity gala later.”

Her look of surprise is complete. “What? I thought… I mean… you wouldn’t want to be seen with me, would you?”

I flash her a smirk. “Relax, Kaia. It’s an event that I usually don’t attend, with people I normally don’t socialize with. No one will know you.”

She ducks her head. “I was going to spend the night catching up on laundry.”

I reach out and snag her hand, pulling her a step closer. Kaia looks up at me, those hazel depths containing innumerable mysteries. Her gaze sinks to my lips and then to the door behind me.

She sucks in a breath. “If I say yes, can we leave? I don’t want to get caught.”

I flash her a smirk. “Yes, beauty. I feel the same way.”

Her eyes narrow on my face. Her lips quirk. But she doesn’t disagree. She just moves back, tugging her hand out of my grip.

“If I want to get home and shower and still meet you out at a reasonable hour, I guess I should take a cab.”

She starts to walk away. I reach out and snag her around the waist, pulling her body close to mine. “I’ll take you.”

“What?” she asks, startled. “No, I don’t need you to take me to my house.”

I shoot her a hard look. “I said I would take you. Now I’m going to go hit the showers. I’ll meet you out front in twenty minutes.”

Her delicate throat works as she pulls away from me. She tosses her hair, raising her chin. “Fine,” she says, not a little huffy.

Normally after charging up my batteries like that, I would’ve spent a little time letting the water run while I stroked my cock. But since I’m pressed for time, I race through my shower and dress in an immaculate bespoke tuxedo. Speeding out the door, I’m still fussing with my bowtie when I find Kaia waiting on the curb.

She’s fresh out of the shower too, her hair thrown up in a wet ponytail, her skin glowing. I flag my limousine down as I look her up and down.

There is a part of me that realizes that if I were a slightly different person, if life hadn’t fucked me up so badly so early on, I would want to be with a girl like Kaia. Fresh faced, no makeup, no fucking artifice. She’s stunning without a face full of make up or a wardrobe of designer clothes.

If I had met her here as a ballet dancer first, without knowing her secret life as Cerise, would I still feel the same?

“Calum,” she prompts.

I realize that the chauffeur has opened the back door and is waiting patiently for me to get in. I climb in after Kaia, smelling her honeyed fragrance. I lean closer to her as the door closes, getting another whiff.

It’s coming from her damp ponytail.

“That scent… what shampoo do you use?” I ask.

She looks embarrassed. “It’s something French. I might have splurged on shampoo and conditioner last week. You don’t hate it, do you?”

I let out a bark of laughter. “I love it. You smell just like a ripe honeycomb. I’m having a hard time not rubbing your scent all over my fucking body.”

She grins at that and rolls her eyes. “I’m glad that it meets with your approval.”

When we pull up outside of her apartment in Queens, I rake my gaze over her house. It’s nothing much to write home about, just a brown brick house that has three stories. Even though it’s taller than most of the surrounding buildings, it can’t have much square footage.

Kaia opens her car door and gets out. She almost closes the door on me and then looks at me with surprise. “Oh! Did you want to… come in?”

I get out of the back of the limo, buttoning my tux. “I planned on it.”

She looks nervously over her shoulder. “Oh. Ummm… all right.”

As she leads me up to a door around the side of the house, I look at the neighborhood. From the look of the little Hispanic grocery store on the corner and pedestrian traffic on the street, the neighborhood is mostly Latino. Kaia glances back at me as she unlocks her door, her expression uncertain.

She heads inside, trotting up the stairs. I close the door and lock it, then follow her up. Her space is at once very light and airy, and very small. Nestled up here in the eaves of the house, her bedroom is on the left and her tiny kitchen on the right. Her bedroom is basically a big white bed and a bedside table; I can see that she has a hanging rack of clothes near the wall and a laundry basket beside it. Between the rooms is a gap with shiny wooden floors, probably perfect for stretching.

There is a bathroom in the far corner, it’s heavy wooden door pulled shut. And the last thing I notice is a black cat poking it’s head out from behind the bed, staring at me with intense green-yellow eyes.

I take the whole room in with a jaundiced eye. I can see that she has a wall of photos pinned up over the bed and a bed for her cat in the corner. Obviously she cares for this space…

“So you live alone,” I guess.

She ducks her head, moving to the bed and dropping her duffel bag. “Yes.”

Somehow I had imagined her living somewhere more glamorous. I squint around at the room, putting my hands behind my back.

Kaia turns to me, her mouth tugging down. Her cheeks are already stained with color. “It’s small. But it gets really good light during the day,” she says.

I tilt my head. “I didn’t realize that you were struggling financially.”

She shoots me a hard look as she goes over to the hanging rack of clothes. “I didn’t work at Club X because I liked the camaraderie, Calum.”

My lips twitch. “No, I suppose not.” I pause, thinking. “Where is your family?”

Her shoulders visibly tense up. She quickly sorts through several dresses, pulling one off its hanger. It takes her a long time to answer my question. “My parents live in Hartford.”

I cock a brow. “And why doesn’t your family pay for a nicer apartment?”

Kaia turns, her expression baleful. “Not everybody has everything that you have.”

I raise my brows at the heat in her tone. “I didn’t realize your family was disadvantaged.”

She toes off her shoes, her expression pinched, and heads to the bathroom. “They aren’t. I grew up with money. It’s just… my story is more complicated than that.”

She shuts the heavy bathroom door hard, effectively ending the conversation. But her evasiveness doesn’t settle anything in my book.

No, it only makes me more curious about Kaia’s background.

Walking around her apartment, I notice that she has a number of votive candles, most burned down to the bottom. She also has a box of old pointe shoes in the corner, most pulled apart and scavenged for bits and pieces.

The next thing I see is a small side table with a tray of what appears to be costume jewelry. A cluster of oversized pearls, a diadem with several stones missing. A long chain of intricate silver bangles with several missing links.

“What’s with all the broken jewelry?” I call.

“It’s not broken! It can still be salvaged. It just needs a little love and attention…” She answers, her voice muffled by the bathroom door.

I pull out my phone, texting my assistant to pull a background check on Kaia and her family. From the look of this apartment, I don’t actually know what to think.

There is a mural made of photos that are carefully pinned up by the window. I walk toward it, trying to find some answers.

In the next second though, she steps out of her bathroom again and my mind goes blank. She wears a clingy light blue cocktail dress that shows off her cleavage. She has pulled her wet hair down and it curls gently about her shoulders.

I bite my lip appreciably. Kaia tosses her hair and steps into a pair of dark heels. Then she adds a grey winter coat.

At that moment, I wish I had a diamond necklace to put around her neck and frame her décolletage. Making a note to keep some more jewelry on hand, I exhale deeply.

She turns to me. “Do I need to bring anything?”

My lips curl up. “No. Just yourself. You look utterly intoxicating, Kaia.”

She blushes, a little smile playing about her lips. “Thanks, Calum.”

I offer her my arm. “Come on. Let’s go to the gala and act like we are sophisticated socialites rather than depraved sexual deviants.”

She walks over and slides her hand into the crook of my arm. Her hazel eyes glint with a mischievous look. “You take the lead, Calum.”

I lean down and kiss her on the lips, hard and passionate. She pushes up onto her tiptoes, kissing me back for just a moment.

It’s indefinitely satisfying, the feeling of being wanted by someone as beautiful as Kaia.

Then I urge her toward her apartment steps, thinking of how good that dress will look on my bedroom floor later.

23

KAIA

I suck in a breath as I clutch Calum’s arm, my gaze swiveling around the ballroom. A jazz quartet plays in the corner. All the white linen-bedecked tables are pushed to the sides of the room. Inside that, women in extravagant gowns and men in tuxes mill about in the dimly lit ballroom.

Calum leans his head over to me. “Don’t be so nervous,” he murmurs in my ear.

I swallow and look up at him. “Am I that obvious?”

His lips twitch. “Not to everyone. But I’m the lucky man whose arm you are clutching like it’s the only thing keeping you afloat.”

I look down and flush. I’ve got Calum’s arm in a death grip and I didn’t even notice. Relaxing my hand, I take a breath and apologize.

“Sorry,” I whisper back. “I’m just intimidated by all the diamonds and Rolexes I see on the crowd. I thought I was wealthy growing up, but not compared to this room full of people.”

Calum flashes me a smirk. “It’s just money, Kaia.”

I wrinkle my nose at him. “I feel like the only people who say that are already filthy rich.”

He makes an mmm sound, apparently not feeling like engaging me on that subject at this moment. Instead he lifts his head, swiveling his gaze around.

“What are you looking for?”

His eyes tighten a little as he slips his arm from my grasp. I open my mouth, about to protest, but he eases his arm around my waist.

“I’m looking for Jack Schwartz. He’s the owner of a cryptocurrency modulating software that is particularly ingenious. And I have been trying to buy his company for six months now.”

I screw my face up. “A crypto what?”

Calum shoots me a wry smile. “Cryptocurrency. That’s how I took a few million, invested it, and came out with enough money to start Indica Tech.”

My brows descend. “And Indica Tech… did well?”

He scoffs. “You’ve got to be kidding. Google, Apple, Indica… we’re one of the biggest tech firms out there right now.”

I pull a face. “I can barely use my cell phone. I’m not exactly savvy with most of that stuff.”

He stops look around the room, suddenly squinting at me. “You seriously just think that billionaires fall from the sky?”

My eyes widen. “Billionaire? Like… you have a billion dollars?”

His lips curve up just a little. “Yes, beauty. My company is worth several hundred billion dollars. I’ll leave you to figure out what that means for me.”

I blink up at him. “That’s… an incredible amount of money.”

He nods, looking around again. He sees the person he is looking for, apparently, because he starts ushering me over toward the other side of the ballroom.

We walk right up to an older man with a thin gray mustache wearing a tuxedo. The man has his arm around a lovely older woman who is wearing a pale purple gown and so many diamonds it’s a surprise that she can stand up straight.

They are talking to another couple, but Calum seems unconcerned about that. He elbows his way into their small circle, a broad smile on his face. I’ve never seen Calum smile like that before, with all his teeth.

It’s unsettling and disingenuous, like seeing a shark smile a second before he eats you.

“Mr. Schwartz!” he calls out. “What a surprise!”

Mr. Schwartz blinks a few times and turns toward us. He takes Calum in, his green eyes narrowing. Then he looks at me for a second, dismisses me, and does a double take. His lips part. His eyebrows rise.

“Well, aren’t you enchanting,” he purrs. He drops his arm from the woman he’s holding close and steps toward me. I stand up a little straighter and blink rapidly.

I don’t know that Mr. Schwartz even recognizes Calum as a person. He swoops in and takes my hand in his clammy grasp, bowing over it and placing a very wet kiss on the back.

“Enchanté, mademoiselle.” He straightens but doesn’t release my hand. “Call me Jack. What’s your name, doll?”

I lick my lips, nervously glancing at Calum. Calum’s lips are pressed into a thin line but he doesn’t say anything. So I just incline my head.

“Kaia Walker. It’s very nice to meet you.”

I manage to wrest my hand from his grasp, stepping back into the shelter of Calum’s big body. It had never occurred to me until right this moment to think of Calum as a kind of protection. But now I raise a hand to rest on Calum’s back.

Calum clears his throat. “Mr. Schwartz — can I call you Jack?”

Jack is busy looking me over, his gaze seeming calculating. His lips twitch and drags his eyes away toward Calum. Calum extends his hand and Jack takes it, favoring Calum with a look.

“Do I know you already?”

Calum’s smile turns hard. “I’m Calum Fordham. I own IndicaTech.”

Jack’s expression pinches. “Indica… oh, oh. You’re with Lucas.”

Calum drops Jack’s hand, his expression going flat. “Lucas is with me.”

He slides his hand around the back of my waist, pulling me closer. It’s my first glimpse of Calum being territorial. Actually I’m not sure whether he’s more put off by Jack’s lack of interest in him or the fact that the other man doesn’t know Calum’s position.

“Right, right,” Jack says, looking back and forth between Calum and me. He rubs his hands together a few times and the purple-gowned woman steps forward and squirts a dab of liquid onto his hands.

Jack smiles, a glint in his eyes. “Did you come here to bring me lovely Kaia as a gift?”

The breath in my lungs freezes. Calum’s fingers on my waist tighten. “Very funny,” he says, expression growing stony. “I came to meet you face to face because it’s been so difficult to set a meeting with you.”

Jack looks at me, arching a brow. “You want a meeting with me?”

Calum tilts his head and narrows his eyes. “Yes.”

Jack steps forward and runs his finger down my bare shoulder. I don’t even know what to do, so I take a half step back. Jack laughs.

“You’re fun,” he challenges me. “I like them feisty.”

“Don’t touch her.” Calum sounds more serious than I’ve ever heard him sound before. “I’m interested in purchasing your company, not in sharing my date.”

Jack laughs, sticking both of his hand in his pockets and rocking back on his heels. “If she’s just your date, that’s even better. I thought I was going to have to do some serious haggling to get this little sweetheart in my bed.”

“Don’t fucking talk to her like that,” Calum says, enunciating every syllable perfectly.

I grip Calum’s hand, tugging him back. “I think we should go.”

“Ah, don’t be so uptight,” Jack says, waving away Calum’s black glare. “I’m just playing around. Unless your little blonde minx wants to fuck in the coat closet?”

Before I even realize what’s happening, Calum’s fist is flying towards Jack’s face. The rest of the ballroom goes still as questioning glances turn toward us.

The distinct crunch of bone breaking makes my stomach flutter. Jack’s face seems to explode, blood streaming everywhere. Then he hits Jack over and over again, in the face and in the stomach, until Calum’s fists are red with blood. Jack seems too stunned to fight back, struggling weakly against Calum’s onslaught.

“Please! Calum, please stop!” I beg. “Calum!”

At some point, my begging seems to work, because Calum just stops cold. He leans down over Jack, spitting on him.

“I told you not to talk to her like that,” Calum hisses through clenched teeth. I scurry forward and pull at his arm.

When he looks down at me, his pupils are as big as dinner plates. He shudders for just a second. I wrap my hands around one of his bloodied fists and tug him back. He falters for a second, then relents.

He turns away, half dragged by me.

Jack is blotting at his nose, which is bleeding profusely. He manages to leverage himself to his feet and shout after us.

“I’m never selling my company to you fucking bastards!”

Calum pauses, his muscles tensing for a fight.

“Please,” I whisper, looking at Calum. “Please don’t.”

Calum looks at me, his sapphire eyes glinting. He looks back. For a second, I think I’ve lost him.

Then he just sneers and jerks his head toward the ballroom door. “Let’s go,” he grits out.

I hustle him out of the hotel and downstairs into the icy cold night. The thought occurs to me that our coats are still upstairs.

But that’s not important right now.

I look up at Calum, hesitatingly reaching up a hand to touch his cheek. He looks down at me, still breathing hard.

“Are you okay?” I ask.

His face contorts for a moment. “I’m supposed to ask you that.”

I squint at him. “I’m not the one who just got into a fistfight, Calum,” I say softly.

He brings his hand up to his face, covering mine briefly. For just a second, he closes his eyes and leans into my touch.

My heart starts beating a tattoo in my ears. I can see that he’s going through something, but I have no idea where to even begin. I mean, Calum and I are basically strangers, when it comes down to it.

He kisses my palm and steps away from my touch, reaching in his pocket. “Let me call my driver.”

Calum starts scrolling through his screen, his expression blank. He puts his free arm around my waist as he dials, looking around.

Consciously or not, he’s still in protective mode.

Calum sweeps me along to the street. I watch his face, trying to gauge his mood.

But I can’t tell what the hell is going on with him. Especially once the limo pulls up and Calum yanks the door wide.

I get inside with a gulp, unsure what happens now.

24

CALUM

The elevator door dings. Kaia glances nervously up at me as I pause, letting the concierge walk out before us. I stare at her, telling her with my gaze all the things I’m about to do to her.

She shivers and places her hand in mine. I lumber out of the elevator, keeping her by my side.

The concierge smiles at both of us as he walks ahead, sweeping the door open.

“Our most grand suite,” he announces.

I walk in, feeling Kaia’s small waist against my large hand. I glance around for about three seconds and see everything I need to see: great wall to ceiling views on on side, a lavish sunken living area right ahead of me, a hallway leading off to my right.

The concierge beams. “Will you two require any other—“

I toss my entire money clip at him. “No.”

I hear Kaia’s tiny intake of breath, watch her hands close and open. Before the man is even out of the suite, I sweep her up and throw her over my shoulder.

“Calum!” she protests. The sound of her voice is muffled by my broad shoulder.

“Get used to calling my name,” I rumble. Shouldering my way through the doorway and into the darkened bedroom, I don’t stop until I tumble her to the mattress.

She flexes her hips into mine, leaning up to twine her arms around my neck. I allow myself to be pulled down by her weight. Burying my face in her collarbone, I grab her neckline with both hands and rip her blue dress down to the waist. I expect her to protest again, but she just encourages me, flicking her hips against mine and letting out a needy gasp.

I find her lips with my own, kissing her as hard and as passionately as I can without drawing blood. My cock is pressed between our bodies and one of her hands slides down my neck and over my ribs, making its way toward my zipper.

I growl and grab her hands, pulling them up over her head. In this position, Kaia is under my control, at the mercy of my hungry mouth, my heavy weight on top of her body, my cock throbbing with need. I pin both her wrists with one of my large hands, my mouth ravishing hers, my kiss beyond punishing.

I trail my free hand down her curves to her outer thigh. Gentleness isn’t a factor here; I ruck her dress up as hard as I can, loving how she gasps in response. I press her wrists into the mattress, pulling back so I can look down at her gorgeous face.

Her blonde hair is in disarray, her cheeks are pink, her tempting little breasts in their see through lace bra are heaving. God, she looks so perfect right now, a wet dream come to life.

“Don’t move your hands,” I grit out. “Tell me you heard me, beauty.”

She licks her lips, a quick swipe of her tongue, and nods. “Yes, Calum.”

I give her a satisfied smirk, standing up. I pull off my jacket and discard my bowtie, then step out of my shoes. As an afterthought, I pull her heels off and unbutton the top few buttons of my shirt.

She squirms a little as I kneel between her legs, looking down at her tattered dress and the parts of her body I’ve exposed.

Looking her in the eye, I shred the last bit of her dress and undo the front clasp of her bra. Her breasts are freed and I take a moment to admire them, reaching down and feeling the weight of them in my hands. Kaia arches up into my touch and I reward her by lowering my mouth to her nipple, teasingly kissing my way around it before scraping it with my teeth.

She moans, her hands coming down to bury themselves in my hair. I release her nipple and nip the side of her breast hard. Her whole body shudders as she says, “ow!”

“Put your hands back up over your head,” I tell her.

Kaia blinks a couple times and then bites her lip, slowly lifting her hands above her head. I drop a kiss in between her breasts, groaning a little.

“Good girl,” I whisper against her overheated skin.

My cock throbs as I slide my body down, hooking my fingers in the waistband of her tiny thong. I skim her panties down her thighs, pressing my nose into the warm heat of her legs, just below her pussy. She’s already wet; I can tell from the stain on her panties and the way the earthy but sharp scent of her pussy rises to my nose.

She whimpers when I pull away. When she pleads with me, her whisper is pure need. “Calum…”

I smirk down at her, unbuttoning my shirt the rest of the way and slipping it off. Kaia squirms again, her hazel eyes darkened with lust.

I grip her hips with my hands, leaning down to kiss her lips again. “What is it, beauty?” I whisper against her warm lips.

Her hips dig into mine as she thrusts. “I need more.”

Hearing her innocent plea makes me want to unzip my pants and bury my cock so deep inside her pussy that I may never find my way out again. But I’m trying to take it slow, so I just kiss her hard, working my tongue against hers.

When she moans and writhes against me, I pull back, scanning her face. “I’m going to take my time with you, beauty. The longer you wait for me to fuck you for the first time, the more explosive it will be. And I have all the time in the world… so I’m not going to pop your cherry tonight. I’m going to make you wait a little longer before I pluck your petals, beauty.”

The exhalation of her breath leaves her lungs in a quiet moan. I see her hands flex. “Calum…”

I lift myself up and take off my slacks, leaving me bare underneath. Kaia rocks her hips up, her eyes glued to my cock. She sucks in a breath and releases the tiniest groan.

Biting my lower lip hard, I run my hand down to my groin, drawing wide circles around my cock. I look down at Kaia’s perfect body splayed out before me.

“Spread your legs for me, beauty,” I tell her. “Show me what I’m missing.”

Her face heats, but she looks so fucking hungry as she slowly spreads her knees wide, exposing her creamy pussy. I run my free hand inside her thigh, up to her pussy lips. She hisses and rocks her hips against the brush of my fingertips. I circle her entrance a few times, gathering the sticky moisture I find there.

“Does that feel good, princess?”

“Yes,” she whimpers. “God, yes.”

I fist my cock, staring at her pussy, wet from its own juices. My dick is so sensitive from all this buildup that I can tell I won’t last long. So I focus on Kaia, on driving her over the edge.

I trail my fingertips up, spreading the moisture that I’ve found around her clit. She closes her eyes and hisses as I draw lazy figure eights around her clit and her entrance.

“Bring one of your hands down here,” I order her. “I want to watch you touch yourself, dirty little girl.”

Her eyes open, piercing me as she draws one shaking hand down the length of her body. She touches her pussy lips oh so gently, her fingers bumping mine as she caresses her clit. She starts to close her eyes again, a little mmm rising from the back of her throat.

“Use your other hand to feel your tits,” I say.

She grasps her nipple, tweaking it hard. A shudder of pleasure racks her small frame. I grip my cock, pumping it a few times. Then with the other hand I run my fingers down to her pussy entrance.

I stare at her face. “Look at me, Kaia. I want to watch your expression when I fuck you with my fingers.”

Her green-brown eyes open, pinning me in place. Her plump lips part as I tease her entrance. She’s slick with want, making it easy to slide one thick digit inside the warmth of her body.

Her expression turns to one of ecstasy mixed with torment. For a moment, I’m afraid that I’ve hurt her. But she starts feverishly moving her fingers in small circles around her clit.

My body tightens with need. I try to keep the grip I have on my cock light, but my hand is already working my dick over just the way I like it.

I’m determined to get Kaia to the breaking point before I spill my seed all over her pretty body.

“Do you like that, beauty?” I whisper.

She bites her lower lip, her hips thrusting. “Give me more,” she says, her voice sultry. “Fuck, Calum…”

I turn my hand so that my palm faces upward and introduce a second thick finger to her tight pussy. I can feel the walls of her channel start to tremble as I begin to work my fingers in and out slowly.

“Oh god,” she gasps. “Oh god…”

“Look at me!” I command. “I want to watch you unravel, Kaia.”

The second her hazel gaze lands on my face, she starts pulsing, her innermost muscles spasming. Her lower body convulses and her eyes roll up in the back of her head. She lets out a strangled groan, the sound of it like music to my ears.

“Fuck, Kaia,” I grit out.

Only a few seconds later I feel my balls draw up and my cock start to twitch. I jet pulses of semen across her lower body, my eyes closing briefly as I come so hard that it almost hurts. I hear a strange sound, only realizing moments afterward that it is a low moan escaping my chest. I desperately thrust a few final times, wringing out every drop of pleasure left in my body.

When I open my eyes and let myself sag onto the mattress beside Kaia, I’m unable to speak. She twines herself around me, seeking my mouth, and I kiss her with lazy flicks of my tongue.

I close my eyes and let myself drift, my arm encircling Kaia’s waist, my nose buried in her honey-scented hair.

25

KAIA

“All right, everyone! Well done.” Basil claps his hands, drawing the class’s attention. “Today was our last day of classes before we start dress rehearsals for the next two weeks! Final fittings for our costumes will be in a few days so please, no weight fluctuations after that. No pizza, no soda, no salt. I want to see only trim bodies in here.”

I blow out a breath, picking up my water bottle from the floor. Looking around, my gaze collides with Calum’s sapphire eyes. He arches a brow.

I swiftly look away from him, trying not to blush. It’s been a couple of days since he stripped me down and made me come for him. I haven’t been able to so much as look at him since then without looking like a besotted school girl.

My eyes widen. The second that he says where the roster is posted, there is a cattle call. Everyone stampedes for the door. I bite my lip and try to avoid Calum’s gaze, trickling out among the last of the dancers.

Ella stops me at the door. “I got Princess Florine!”

I give her a startled hug. “Oh! Congrats!”

She smirks. “Shut up. You got the Lilac fairy. You’re basically a main player.”

My breath seizes up. “Wait, really?!”

I squeal, hugging her. “I can’t believe we both got cast!”

She cocks her head at me.

“Of course we did. There are basically almost no more experienced ballerinas above us.” Her brow furrows. “Are you feeling okay?”

I smile lightly. “Yeah, sorry. Just off in my own world. I think I need to eat something.”

She scrounges around her duffel bag for a protein bar and offers one to me. “Here you go. We can’t have you passing out. That would be really bad for everybody.”

I accept it, sucking in a deep breath. “Thanks, Ella.”

Shouldering my bag, I glance over to see where Calum is. He’s already gone; he’s spent the last couple of days in meetings, trying to figure out how to keep his business alive now that he’s punched Jack Schwartz in the face.

Ella walks out of the dance studio with me, stretching once we are in the echoing hallway. Eric comes up right behind us, grinning.

“Guess what? My friend Crispin has been accepted here. I guess they had too many people that quit.”

I tilt my head at Eric. “Oh?”

He wiggles his eyebrows. “Yeah. Everybody that just did the final audition is now a NYB dancer. I mean, until they get yelled at by Calum Fordham, at least.”

He rolls his eyes and pulls a face. My cheeks warm a bit.

Ella cocks her head. “When will we get to meet the new dancers? Tomorrow?”

Eric grins, holding up his cell phone. “As it so happens, I just texted Crispin and he said he would meet us outside.”

He sounds so excited as we head down the hall. A petty little voice in the back of my head wonders if Eric would be so excited if it was me that had just got accepted.

I can’t imagine that he would be. Then again, I think I might have only even gotten in because I’m fucking one of the judges.

I duck my head and blush as we put our coats on and head outside. Now I’m wondering how much of my current career I owe to Calum and how much I owe to years upon years of practice. Did I screw some more talented ballerina out of a spot?

“Crispin!” Eric calls.

I look up and see a group of dancers turn and look over at us. My step falters as I see that Manon is among them, her gleaming brunette hair in a perfect bun, her lilac leotard and hot pink leg warmers looking chic. She notices me right away, her expression going from a smirk to a glare in three seconds flat.

“Uh uh,” Ella says, reaching out her hand to pull me to a stop about ten feet away from Manon. She raises her voice. “Don’t infect the new guys with your sickness, Manon. No ballet bullies need apply.”

Manon crosses her arms, her glare now encompassing us both. “Well, if it isn’t Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Can’t Dance.”

Eric steps in front of us, ready to defend us. But Ella isn’t about to let anyone talk badly about her. She silences him with a gesture.

“You and I have always had a problem with each other, Manon. You don’t like my skin color. I don’t like trifling little white girls with sticks up their asses. But now you’re here at my company, about to trick the new people into thinking you are worth something. I am just not ready for that today.”

Manon folds her arms across her chest and tosses her head with a smirk. “And yet, here I am. I’m more talented than the three of you combined, so…”

One of her group steps toward us, sliding Manon a look. He’s short and very pale, with pale blond features and a bright yellow track suit on. “I’ve seen you dance when you were still in the academy,” he says, shrugging. “It was only okay.”

Eric glances back at me, jerking his head at the guy. “That’s Crispin.”

Manon regards him flatly. “You only made the cut because you’re a teensy, tiny male dancer, okay? Run along now, let the big kids talk.”

Crispin’s cheeks grow violently red. “You’re a fucking bitch!”

“Okay!” I call, motioning to Crispin. “Come on. I have found that with Manon, it’s best not to feed the beast. Your hate just eggs her on. Let’s go grab a coffee or something.”

I hold out a hand and stare at Crispin. He looks at me, taking me in, and swallows. For a second, I think he’s going to go right back to yelling at Manon.

But he doesn’t. Crispin walks straight over to me, gives me a once over, and then grabs me. I’m taken by surprise when he spins me into his arms and dips me, ending with a passionate kiss.

I freeze as he manhandles me, blinking. This close, Crispin’s hands are clammy and his track suit has the distinct odor of moth balls. I bring my hands up and give his chest a push.

Only then does he pull me back up and release me. I stare at him, stunned.

I literally don’t know what to make of what just happened, other than the fact that it basically had nothing to do with me.

Manon gives us a sarcastically slow round of applause. “The dork and the dweeb find love at first sight. How nice. You guys should go set the Santa Fe Ballet world on fire.”

I step out of Crispin’s hold, my head turning to Manon. “Fuck off. I bet you don’t last a month at NYB.”

She smiles coolly. “I have a sponsor already, so that’s unlikely.”

“Hey, did someone mention coffee?” Eric jumps in. “I say we go get some and leave this weird playground fight here.”

Manon rolls her eyes. “You guys are so fucking lame.”

She turns and skips down the front steps, as if she doesn’t have a care in the world. I frown at her.

How does Manon have a sponsor before the ballet has even performed for the public?

Crispin offers me the crook of his elbow. “Milady?”

I hesitate for a moment. Ella does me the huge favor of swooping in and dragging me away. “Nope! She’s with me.” She winks at me. “Come on. Let’s go to Heart Coffee. They always have such good matcha.”

I mouth thanks to her. She puts her arm around me, giving me a hug.

“That was intense,” she says, looking back in the direction of where Manon went.

“Yeah.” I wrinkle my nose. “I can’t believe I didn’t stand up for myself. Not with Manon, not with…”

I slide a look back at Crispin, who is walking arm in arm with Eric.

Ella scrunches up her face. “You do need to learn how to stick up for yourself. I mean, you know I’ll always jump in. But I’m not always around.”

I bump her hip with my own. She giggles, doing it back to me.

“Maybe you can help me come up with some zingers that I can squirrel away. Just to have some locked and loaded.”

She shakes her head, snorting. “It’s not about having the words at your disposal. It’s more about being ready to verbally spar with anyone, anywhere.”

I pout a little. “I wasn’t raised with those kinds of defenses.”

She gives me a skeptical look. “That’s the whitest thing I’ve heard you say all day. Seriously, that’s just straight up a terrible excuse.”

My cheeks go pink. “Yes, mother.”

She grins, patting her hair. “You wish your genes were as good as mine. We have really graceful arches on our feet and we are all petite and delicate.”

I can’t argue with that. We walk up to Heart Coffee, jostling and chatting. My phone buzzes when I’m in line; two missed texts from Calum.

I sneak a glance at Ella, then decide not to take a chance. There is no real reason to gamble on getting caught when I can just step outside.

“Hey. Will you get me a small matcha? I’ll be right back.” I wave a twenty dollar bill in front of Ella’s face. “I’ll pay for yours, too…”

“Yup.” She takes the money. “Hurry back. Don’t leave me with these boys.”

I shoulder my duffel bag and walk out of Heart, going only a few feet away to the next store. Parking myself against the wall, I look down at my screen.

I was thinking about you for the entire class today, his text reads. Every time I looked at you, I got fucking hard.

I blush and sink my top teeth into my lower lip. Scrolling down, I see an address and a time.

2128 Fifth Avenue. 4 pm.

I can’t help but grin at that. Not only did I make class a little harder for him… but he wants more of me. A little shiver of anticipation slides down my spine as I think of what he could have planned for us in… I look at my watch.

God, I have to be there in under an hour.

“Hey,” a woman’s voice says.

I look up. I’m surprised to find Honor standing there, looking like a tiny blonde super model in her chic black leather dress and black heels.

I flush. “Hey?”

She shoves a packet of papers at me. I take them, my brow furrowing. “What are these?”

Honor tosses her head, smiling coolly. “I’ve taken the liberty of calling my contacts in five other cities and finding you a good spot.”

I squint at her, tucking a piece of my hair behind my ear. “I’m sorry. What now?”

She crosses her arms, her expression growing impatient. “London. Paris. San Francisco. Seattle. Take your pick of the classical ballet companies. They will accept you into their ranks without you even trying out.”

I blink rapidly. “Why would I go to another city?” I ask slowly, confused.

She looks at her tiny gold wristwatch. “Because, dear. Right now you are in my fucking way. You stole my place at NYB.”

I shake my head. “I didn’t take your place. There were tons of spots to fill once NYB let half the dancers go.”

She tilts her head. “I think you bargained with Calum. You offered to fuck him in exchange for a spot in the company.” Her lips thin. “That’s my spot, as far as I am concerned. And my man. Or didn’t you know that Calum has been in love with me for half a decade?”

My mouth opens, but no clever retort pops out. I probably look like an idiot right now. “He is not.”

She rolls her eyes. “Yes, he is. And it just so happens that I need him now. So I am offering you a way to escape.” She glances up at me, an icy smile playing about her lips. “Or else.”

My heart starts beating very quickly. “Should I even ask what you’re going to threaten me with? I have to say, if you’re here to bully me, you are really late to the party.”

H’s lips twitch. “I don’t threaten. I don’t bully.” She steps closer to me, her eyes growing dark. “I only destroy. Usually I don’t even bother with warning my competition… but you just seem so…” Her gaze rakes over my body. The mockery in her tone makes me feel ashamed, somehow. “I was going to say delicate, but that’s not the right word, is it? No, I think it’s more like easy to crush.”

I swallow, shaking my head. “I think you need to take these papers back, Honor.”

She reaches out and picks a speck of lint off my shoulder. “Keep them. Read them over. My offer only lasts for the rest of this week. After that, you’ll be lucky if I let you live out the month.”

With that, she turns and struts away, soon vanishing amongst the crowd walking down the Manhattan street. I blink, looking down at the papers.

Then I remember Calum’s texts.

What am I supposed to say?

Hey Calum, your would-be girlfriend just threatened to kill me if I don’t leave New York? Could we maybe make it another night?

“Here,” Ella says, thrusting the to go cup in front of my face.

I startle a little, looking at her with wide eyes. She nods at the cup. “I am not that sneaky. You’re just ten kinds of jumpy today. Here, take it!”

I manage to juggle the papers in my hands and stick out my hand for the tea. She hands it over and takes a spot up against the wall, sipping her tea. Her eyes roam the sidewalk.

“Yo, the new dude gives me weird vibes,” she comments.

“Oh?” I ask.

“Yeah, let me tell you why…”

She launches into the topic. I should probably listen, because he gave me weird vibes too.

But I am much, much more worried about the threats Honor just made… and how Calum is going to react.

26

CALUM

I stand in the apartment I’ve bought just for seeing Kaia, staring out at the Manhattan skyline. The lights are starting to flicker on. It’s the deepest part of winter and the sun will be down soon.

Behind me, the apartment is decorated lavishly. A huge white bed takes center stage, a stripper pole is set up one one side, and a whole wall of sex toys faces it from the opposite end of the expansive room.

Everything is just where I want it.

But looking around this incredibly expensive space makes me think of Kaia’s apartment. How opposite the two places are, how diametrically opposed.

Maybe that’s the next step. I can offer to have Kaia move in here for a while. Turning to look around the space, I sigh.

It would probably be better if I offered to let her redecorate the place too. It’s a perfect fuck palace right now but I doubt Kaia would actually want to live here…

Right on cue, Kaia appears through the large front door. She’s wearing a short yellow dress and one of the coats that I bought her from Bergdorf Goodman. Her cheeks are bright pink from the cold. She ducks her head and comes over to me, leaving her purse on the bed.

“You summoned me,” she says shyly, smiling just a little.

My lips twitch. “I did.” Walking over to her, I reach out and take her by the waist, pulling her against my body. She drops her head back, looking at me expectantly.

I cup her jaw, flick my gaze down to her lips, and ever so slowly kiss her. Her lips are warm. Her warm honey scent rises to my nose, enveloping me.

I grip her tighter. This girl drives me insane without even really trying. If I weren’t so fucking broken, I would be thinking about making a longer term arrangement with her. A year, maybe.

When she finally pulls back, her lips bee-stung and her hazel eyes glimmering, she offers me another shy smile. “I think there is something that I should tell you about.”

I push out a long exhalation, taking her by the hand and leading her over to the bed. Kaia looks at the bed and glances at me, biting her lip. I can see her doing the math.

“I’m not about to fuck you,” I tell her bluntly. “Even though your dress tells me I should think twice…”

I sit down on the bed, pulling her down onto my lap. She straddles me, sucking in a breath. I kiss her, unbuttoning her coat and pushing it off her arms.

“Calum…” she says. The way she says it, a warning mixed with a plea, says that she wants me.

I can feel it in the way her hips press against mine. Smell arousal coming from her body. Taste it on her lips.

Good. That’s just how I imagined it would be in the days before I finally fuck Kaia. I nip at her lower lip, digging my hands into her hair.

God, she makes my cock so fucking hard.

“What were you saying?” I whisper, my tone teasing.

She surprises me by putting both hands on my chest and pushing me back. I gaze at her, arching a brow.

She flushes. “I have to tell you about the run in I just had with Honor.”

It takes my lust-filled brain a few seconds to make the correct connections and change tracks. I clear my throat. “What now?”

Kaia eases herself off my lap and onto the bed beside me. “I was just walking down the street, minding my own business when she confronted me. She gave me the phone numbers of a bunch of ballet companies in other cities. She said to call the one I wanted and they would take me immediately.”

I narrow my gaze on her face. “That doesn’t sound like Honor.”

Kaia screws up her face. “She said that she wants her spot in the company back. And that she wanted… well, you. She said she wants to date you.”

My mouth opens. I try to digest that information. “I… she… what?”

Kaia wrinkles her nose. “She said I was in her way. And if I didn’t transfer this week, she would… kill me?”

The end of her statement turns into a question. I squint, trying to make sense of what Kaia is telling me. “Honor threatened you?”

She ducks her head and nods. “Yes.”

“And she said… that she wanted her place back at the company?” I repeat.

She nods. “Yes. She accused me of stealing it. She also said that you are the only reason I got the position.”

My mouth pulls down into a frown. “That’s not true.”

Kaia rolls her eyes. “I think you’re focusing on the wrong thing. She really wants her spot back. And she wants you on her arm as well. She’s willing to make threats over those things.”

I reach out, sliding my hand along Kaia’s jaw. “I wouldn’t take her seriously. Even if she feels that way, the NYB would never take her back. And I’m… preoccupied.”

The last part sounds stiff. Puzzlement flashes across Kaia’s face.

“Preoccupied?” she echoes.

Jesus. The last thing I wanted today was a referendum on whether I’m happy with the woman I’m basically paying for sex. I close one eye, screwing up my face.

“I am content with how things are,” I say. “I call you, you come over, we both have a little fun.”

She squints. There is no way of telling how my statement landed. She is quiet for a moment then she clears her throat.

“So what should I do about Honor?”

I shrug a single shoulder. “Nothing. I’ll deal with her directly.”

Her eyebrows lower and a frown tugs at her lips. “That’s it?”

I reach out and grab her by the waist, pulling her closer. “I promise. I’ll take care of it. You have nothing to worry about, okay?”

Her mouth pulls into a thin line. “Okay…”

My lips twitch. “It doesn’t sound like you trust me.”

Her cheeks go bright pink. “I didn’t say that.”

I look down at her, brushing a lock of her hair back. “You should have a little faith, beauty.”

Her eyes scan my face as she bites her lip. I wait patiently while she makes up her mind.

“Okay,” she says at last. “I will.”

One corner of my mouth kicks up into something resembling a smirk. “Good. Now are you ready for your present?”

Her eyebrows hunch. “My present?”

I bite my lower lip. “Yes. You will have to perform for me first, though. It’s been a while since you stripped for me, beauty.”

Her eyebrows raise slightly. “That’s it? I just told you I was threatened by Honor.”

I quirk my lips. “And I’m telling you to forget about that and dance for me.”

She narrows her eyes but gets off the bed, taking her heels off. I get the idea to jump up and grab a pair of vibrating panties off the wall.

I wiggle my eyebrows at her as I make my way back to the bed and sit down. “I want you to wear these, Kaia.”

I hand them over to her and watch as she draws the silky waistband apart. It takes her a second to figure out what they are.

“Are these…” Her intense hazel gaze sweeps up to me. “Is there a vibrator in these underwear?”

I grin and lay back, putting my arms behind my head. “I want you riding my lap and begging to come first. Then I’ll give you my present.”

She licks her lips nervously.

I tilt my head. “You’re supposed to trust me, remember?”

Two spots of heat appear in her cheeks. She just nods, turning around. She shimmies out of her white lace thong and steps into the bright red one instead.

She turns around, a little perplexed. “I don’t know how you turn it on…”

I smirk and hold the tiny remote control up for her to see. “Don’t you worry about that, beauty. Just come here first and sit on my fucking lap like a good girl.”

She pales at that, sucking in a breath. She comes up to me, hesitantly trailing her fingers along each of my knees. “Is there music?”

A simple tap of my phone is all it takes and then notes burst into the air. I reach down and adjust my hard on, which is tenting my pants.

“Come on, darling,” I whisper.

Kaia straddles my lap, sinking down on top of my cock. As soon as she presses her hips against mine, squeezing my cock that is wedged between our bodies, I hit the on switch.

Kaia actually squeals, her eyes widening as the vibrating panties start to do their work. I don’t miss a beat. Taking her hand, I slide it down between our bodies until it touches the vibrator.

“Show me how good you are, Kaia. Guide it to your clit,” I command.

Her hazel eyes land on me for a moment. She licks her lips again and then moves the vibrator lower. I know when it hits the right spot because her whole body shudders with sensation, her eyelids sinking halfway closed.

Kaia gives the breathiest moan. I unzip my dark slacks, reaching in and pulling out my rigid cock. Her breathing hitches as she watches me stroke myself up and down a few times.

Her eyes flit up to meet my gaze. “Can I… I mean, I’ve never touched one…”

“You want to know how to stroke my cock, beauty?”

She flushes a little. “Please?”

I draw in a deep breath. Until now, I’ve always been the one in control, always been the one giving myself pleasure. It’s usually better that way.

Easier for me, anyway. Less messy, less… emotionally entangled.

But here, with Kaia looking at me so innocently, I nod slowly. “Leave your hand on the vibrator. I want you to make yourself come, Kaia. But if you want to feel my cock, I won’t say no.”

Taking her free hand, I fold her fingers around my cock, mimicking my own grasp. At first, it feels odd. Having someone else touch me is…

Unusual.

But soon I force myself to relax, closing my eyes. I keep my hand over hers, guiding her tempo and grip. It feels fucking good.

I open my eyes and look down at her working the vibrator against her clit. “You want it to go faster, beauty?” I grit out.

She bites her lip. “Can it?”

Her eyes widen as I turn the remote up two clicks.

“Oh! Fuck, Calum!” she says. “Jesus, that feels so good…”

I slow my hand, gently removing hers. Then I fist my cock and work my fist up and down my length with punishing speed. “Tell me how much you want me to fuck you, Kaia. Tell me what you think about when you’re in bed alone, touching your clit…”

God damn. This is so much better already than jerking off alone by myself, thinking about Kaia sucking me off.

Her eyes drift closed. Her legs spread a little wider. “You, Calum. I think about you. I wonder… I wonder what it will feel like the first time you stretch me out…”

That image is too powerful for me. I come suddenly and without warning, shouting her nickname.

“Fuck, beauty! Fuck!”

I thrust upward, pulsing my release out onto her stomach, guiding our bodies together. For a second, I can’t even think or speak.

I come back to myself after half a minute to find Kaia still splayed out on my lap, pressing the vibrator against her clit and rocking her hips against it.

I withdraw the necklace box from my pocket, cracking it open. Inside lies a thin platinum chain, hung with the most exquisite diamond pendant I’ve ever seen.

Kaia pauses when she lays eyes on it, her body freezing up. “Calum, I—“

I shush her, moving her hair aside and clasping the necklace around the slim column of her throat. She touches the pendant, awestruck. “It’s beautiful.”

I pull her down to kiss her lips, pressing her whole body against mine. “Just like you. Now just relax…”

I flick the remote, turning it up two more notches. The panties are now vibrating so hard that I can feel it buzzing against my thigh.

Kaia closes her eyes and kisses me desperately, needing to come. She thrusts and rocks her hips, her fingers pressing the vibrator into her clit.

“Oh, I’m going to—“

She spasms violently, her whole body convulsing, her mouth dropping open. She howls with pleasure, panting when she’s done riding the wave of ecstasy. Only then do I turn off the device.

Only then does Kaia open her eyes, dropping a kiss on my lips. We lay together like that for a long time, drifting, unwilling to break the intimacy of the moment.

27

KAIA

“No sucking in your stomach!” Gus, the elderly costumer, reminds me for the sixth time.

I scrunch up my face. “Sorry, Gus.”

He tuts and goes back to fidgeting with something very close to my butt. I pull myself upright, so I look grand standing on a three foot tall step stool, trying hard to keep my body shape the same. No sucking my stomach in, no letting my back and ab muscles relax either. It’s a special kind of torture, I’m pretty sure.

Looking at myself in the mirror, I cock my head. The woman standing before me seems so slender beside the portly Gus. I’m dressed head to toe in shimmering fabric. My tutu is a dark purplish red, the bodice of it stark white. Trailing down and crossing my whole body are the most delicate, intricate lilac flowers I’ve ever seen.

That part makes me smile. I am the Lilac fairy, after all. I’m dancing the part of the fairy that saves Sleeping Beauty — or gets as close as she can, anyway.

I bite my lip, unable to suppress a little grin. I’m content.

No, more than that.

I’m happy.

Rehearsals start soon. I’ve told Calum about H’s threats and he has promised to deal with them. And on top of all that, I think Calum will finally seal the deal soon.

This could be my last week as a virgin. And I honestly cannot fucking wait.

“Too much belly!” Gus snaps.

“Oh, sorry, sorry!” I try to suck it in just enough. “Is that okay?”

Gus doesn’t answer, he just hmmphs. As I stand perfectly still, staring at myself, I start to imagine people in the mirror. Specifically I see my father heading down the hall, his face set in a stoic pout. I wrinkle my nose at that.

Of all the people to conjure, I chose him? I close my eyes and try to keep myself perfectly still.

It’s not until my father actually growls at me that I realize that he’s really here, in the fitting room with me.

“Kaia!” he barks.

My eyelids snap open. I take a half step back, only to be reprimanded by Gus.

“What are you doing!?” he hisses.

I can’t take my eyes off of my father. He is glaring at me, his fists clenched, his jaw locked.

“Do you want to have this conversation here?” my dad asks.

I swallow and shake my head. We are on my turf, so I feel safe enough talking to him… and there is the fact that I don’t want anyone to know just how little my own father thinks of me.

“We’re going to have to finish this fitting later, Gus,” I say.

Gus shoots me a glare. “You cannot leave right now.”

I step down, only vaguely even aware of Gus’s presence. “I’ll be back.”

Behind me, Gus throws up his hands in a baffled gesture. “You have pins all along your back! Don’t even think of sitting down!” Gus yells at my back.

Eyeing my dad, I head out of the costume room and take a right into a long backstage passage. Leaving behind the bright light and airy space of the costume room, I advance down the dimly lit, cramped hallway.

My father is right on my heels, grabbing my arm and jerking my body around to face him. His fingers dig into the flesh of my upper arm. “I’ve been calling you,” he says.

I swallow, my gaze raking his face. All my life, I’ve been conditioned to say yes, to give away what little I have to make my father happy.

But no more. Lifting my chin, I try to keep my tone even. “I haven’t been picking up because the last time I saw you, you tried to sell me.”

My father bares his teeth. “And if you had just been reasonable then, this whole situation would be resolved right now. But as it stands, things are so, so much worse.”

I try to wrest my arm from his grip. “Let go of me. You are hurting me.”

He squeezes my arm even tighter, his touch brutal. “Good. You need to listen this time instead of running away like a little girl.”

I pull back, affronted. “I am your little girl!”

His face contorts with rage. He gives me a hard shake. “Shut the fuck up and listen to me, you stupid, worthless whore. You and I are going to leave right now and go back to Tony. And we are going to beg for him to take you.”

I shake my head, my face heating. “No! Why would I do that? Why would I do anything for you when you treat me like this?”

My father grits his teeth and pulls me in close, talking low. “Because, Kaia. I owe a lot of money to some very bad people. And either I make good on their investment, or they start looking for ways they can take their money back. They have made that crystal clear. And I don’t think your mother would make it very long as a hooker.”

My jaw drops. “What?!”

My head spins. My dad is talking about my mom as if she’s just another of his possessions. I can’t wrap my head around the idea that my dad owes so much money that he’s lining up me and my mom to sell off like we’re cattle.

Of course, there is no mention of my dad working off the debt or my sister being involved in any way.

My dad takes a step forward, pushing me back against the wall. “If I don’t come up with three hundred thousand dollars in the next two days, I will have no choice but to sell your mother and your sister to the mafia. With you, I’ve worked out a sweet deal. But your mom and your sister are not worth nearly as much. Do you want to know what kind of life you’re consigning them to, Kaia?”

“That is such bullshit!” I yell, pushing him back a step. “This is your mess! You should have to clean it up, not me and not your family!”

My dad’s eyes go black. He flings me against the wall, pressing the pins in my garment into the skin of my back. Then he puts both his hands around my throat and starts choking me.

I flail, my eyes going wide, my airway suddenly obstructed. I try to swat at my dad’s hands, my fingernails finding the flesh of his forearms.

But that only makes him more angry. “If you won’t come with me, you will be punished. I paid for everything for you growing up. And I will be repaid for it all or I will kill you.”

My vision starts to swim. I try to call out, try to kick at my dad’s legs. But I am powerless against him, struggling mindlessly.

“Kaia!” comes a familiar shout. “What are you doing—“

Calum steps into the passage, looking aggravated. It only takes him a second to register that I’m in danger.

“What the fuck?” he shouts, rushing at my father and me headlong.

My dad takes his hands from my throat, throwing them up in self-defense. “Mind your own business!”

Calum doesn’t even hesitate or flinch. He just barrels straight into my dad, tackling him to the ground. “Go get some help, Kaia!”

My dad starts to fight back. I put my fingers on my throbbing throat, still in shock.

Calum grits his teeth. “Kaia! Now!”

Tears begin to fill my eyes and I turn, stumbling down the passageway. I turn toward the costume room, my mind racing.

Luckily Basil comes down the brightly lit hallway, looking up with alarm at my disheveled state.

“Help!” I shout. It comes out sounding strangled but it’s enough to get Basil to rush over to me.

“What’s going on?” he asks.

“Calum has tackled… an intruder,” I gasp out.

Basil looks confused for a moment, pushing past me. A couple of dancers appear from the costume room, trying to see what the fuss is about. Bas reaches the passage and sees the two men fighting.

“Fuck! Call 911,” he calls, rushing to help Calum.

One of the dancers whips out a cell phone, calling the police. I back up as she rushes past me, trying to tell why she’s calling the cops.

I lightly touch my neck, feeling my father’s hands still choking me.

“He’s getting away out the side exit!” someone yells. “Someone stop him!”

I lean down, feeling dizzy.

“Kaia? Are you okay?”

I nod even as I burst into tears, my face going red.

“Someone get the nurse!”

I hear Calum’s voice again. “He ran outside. I’m not going to give chase.”

I look up tearfully and my gaze connects with Calum’s deep blue eyes.

“Shit,” he says. He heads over to me, kneeling next to me. “Kaia, are you okay?”

I want nothing more than to collapse into his arms, a weak, broken thing. But I can’t do that.

Even now, I’m aware of that.

So I just nod, ashamed at how fragile I feel right now. Calum licks his lips, not touching me, and tries to calm me down.

“It’s going to be okay,” he says, his voice soothing. “He won’t get away.”

I look at him, my expression pleading, although I don’t know what exactly I’m asking him to do. “He’s… my father…”

Calum’s eyes widen. He glances back over his shoulder, his mouth thinning. “Okay. It’s… it’s going to be okay.”

He clenches his fists, looking over his shoulder again. “Can we get her a blanket or something?”

As I stand there, shivering, I look at the man in front of me. And I realize how much more it would mean if only he could hold me when he assures me it’s going to be okay…

“Kaia!” Ella shouts, jostling through the suddenly crowded hallway.

I turn my head. She opens her arms to me and I am drawn to hug her like a magnet finding its mate. I bury my head in her shoulder, my tears falling.

She rocks me back and forth, making soothing noises. “It’s okay, baby. It’s okay…”

When I glance to find Calum again, he has vanished, leaving me aching in a way I cannot explain.

28

CALUM

It takes the police two hours to arrive and take statements from everyone. I make sure to tell the officers that arrive on the scene what I know — that Kaia said the attacker was her father. Then I feel restless enough to have my assistant call the chief of police.

There is no way that I’m going to let this drop. I’m still shaking with rage, even when the police officers offer Kaia a ride home. She looks at me, as if seeking permission.

I shake my head subtly.

Like hell I’m about to let strange men give her a ride anywhere.

I make my exit fairly quickly and have my limousine waiting around the corner when Kaia finally manages to shake off all her well wishers. Her friend Ella stays with her until the last minute, only leaving when Kaia seems to insist.

By the time she slides into the back seat with me, my nerves are completely blown. I turn to look at her. I’m not even sure what to say.

I suck in a deep breath. “It’s going to be okay, Kaia.”

She looks at me, seeming shellshocked. “Is it?” she asks faintly.

I lift an arm, encouraging her to hug me. Her brown-green eyes fill with tears again and she scoots over, wrapping her arms around my torso and burying her head against my chest. She sobs silently for a minute as the limo pulls away from the curb.

I look down at her small shoulders, shaking as her tears soak my shirt. I barely recognize this person, this broken spirit that’s clinging to me just now. If I had been able to see into the future at Club X, would I have chosen this girl?

Hell no.

But now I feel sort of protective of her in a way I can’t explain. After all, no one else is looking after her best interests.

No one but me, as fucked up as that might be.

“I’m going to take you to my penthouse, beauty,” I tell her gently.

She doesn’t really acknowledge that I’ve even spoken, but her tears do lessen as we drive. By the time we get out of the limo and I bundle her into the private elevator, she’s not holding onto me anymore.

Kaia does hold my hand though, looking blankly at the mirror reflecting a distorted version of herself back at her. I finding myself wondering what it is that she sees.

I doubt it’s anything beautiful.

The elevator dings and the doors open into the perfect white waiting room. I guide her through the door at the far end, into the darkly furnished living area. I drop her hand and grab her shoulders, steering her toward the hallway at the very back. It’s only another minute before we are in one of the guest bedrooms; my own bedroom, at the other end of the apartment, seemed a little too intimate for this moment in time.

“Sit down,” I say, pointing to the bed.

She blinks, casting her gaze around the well appointed yet rather dull looking room. Everything is gray, from the lamps to the bedspread, the bedside table to the armoire. Kaia moves to the bed and perches on one side, her movements lacking in her usual grace.

She looks pale, as if she’s been bled dry.

I stand above her for several long seconds, trying to decide what I’m supposed to do with her. I’m out of my depth here, traveling in a strange and emotion-laden place.

“I’m going to run you a bath,” I announce after a second.

She looks up at me, nodding. I can see the redden marks on her neck and on her arm.

My fists close, spasming involuntarily. I feel… helpless.

I don’t like it at all.

Spinning, I walk purposely into the en-suite bathroom, yanking the taps of the clawfoot bathtub. As the bathtub fills with steamy water, I turn to look at myself in the mirror. There is a smear of blood on my cheek and a faint reddish mark just below my right orbital bone.

A reminder that her father is a very real threat. I didn’t learn his name… I make a note to ask my assistant for the file that I had the private investigator put together.

When Kaia appears in the doorway behind me, hesitant, I turn toward her. She is wearing a pair of baggy sweats, pushed on her by Bas in lieu of the tattered costume she was wearing when I found her.

I motion for her to come in. “Close the door.”

She does it meekly, without saying a word. I walk over to her and tilt her chin up.

“You’re okay,” I tell her. “It’s over.”

Her eyes are glassy. She looks at me for a moment, then looks away. “It’s not over. Not really. My father has my mom and my sister to use as leverage over me. It’s been this way my whole life.”

I frown. “You’re safe,” I tell her softly.

Kaia looks at me sharply. “You don’t understand. That back there? That’s who my father is. That’s why I live in such a tiny apartment. Why I work at Club X. Can you just…”

She stops, taking a deep breath and dropping her gaze. “Please stop trying to make things okay. They aren’t really ever going to be okay.”

I slide my hand under her jaw, forcing her to look at me. “I’ll never bend. Never become flexible and pliable. Never be soft and malleable. But I think that happens to be just what you need right now, beauty.”

She studies me, her throat working. “I’m so tired, Calum.”

I nod. “I know.”

I reach down and unzip her hooded sweatshirt, peeling it off her lithe body. She toes off her shoes and lets me push down the waistband of her sweatpants. When she stands naked before me, shivering against the steamy air, I guide her to the bathtub.

Acting a steady frame for her to hold onto as she climbs in, I kneel as she sits down. The hot water sloshes for a moment as she settles in with a sigh.

I trail my fingers through the water as it continues to fill the tub. Kaia closes her eyes.

Reaching for the lavender scented soap, I dunk it under the water and then start to lather her arms, her knees, all the places that aren’t sensitive. She releases a sigh at one point but doesn’t say a word.

She stops me for a second, bringing her wet hand to my face. Using the gentlest touch, she rubs away all the traces of blood, washing them away like they never existed.

I wash her hair next, sliding my hands through the silken strands. She seems to fall into a trance as I rub circles into her scalp, even moaning once or twice.

By the time I am done and her hair is rinsed, she looks at me with a sigh. Her eyelids are heavy, her voice low and rough. “Thank you.”

My lips tip up at the corners. “You’re welcome.”

She inhales a long breath, shaking her head. “I don’t mean for washing my hair, although that was nice. I mean… thank you for jumping in today. You probably…” Her eyes close briefly. When they flutter open again, they are filled with tears. She takes a steadying breath. “You probably saved my life today, Calum. I promise, I won’t forget it.”

Then she does the oddest thing. She takes my hand, still wet from the bath, and turns it over. She places the lightest of kisses right in the middle of my palm.

Something breaks loose deep in my chest. A chunk of ice in the very cold, very dark ocean that is my heart.

I stare down at her. She looks up at me.

I tilt my head and move closer. She turns her face up toward me, seeking my lips.

When we kiss, there is no hint of gentleness, no sweetness to be found.

Only cloying desperation.

I lift her from the bathtub and carry her into the bedroom, unaware of anything but the need to be inside her.

29

KAIA

Dripping wet, wrapped in Calum’s strong arms, I kiss him desperately as he carries me into the bedroom. He doesn’t stop until he tumbles me down onto the mattress, looking down on me, his breath coming in ragged pants.

“Stay here,” he commands. “Stay just like that, beauty.”

Calum turns and disappears out the bedroom door for a moment, his footsteps receding into silence. Seconds tick by. I grow restless.

What is he doing?

But soon enough, he returns. He’s holding a golden roll of condoms in one hand. He doesn’t mention them as he places them on the bedside table.

Then Calum focuses on me, reaching out to touch my knee. He spreads my knee out for just a moment, using his free hand to grip my opposite hip. My pussy is partially exposed and he brushes his hand over my lower lips ever so briefly.

I shudder, anticipation already building.

“Oh, beauty,” he rumbles. He looks up at me, our gazes clashing. “The things I’m going to do to you…”

He starts to rip off his loose t-shirt, whipping it over his head and exposing his chest, abs, and arms. Every part of Calum is more impressive than the last; he could truly be a statue carved of marble, come to life.

He hooks his thumbs in his black sweatpants and shoves them down, kicking them off. For a second he is bare before me, standing proudly, his cock jutting out. His expression is dark, his gaze feral. It’s like being observed by a big cat who keeps licking his jaws, indicating that it’s time for dinner.

I’m his sole focus right now… and I’m ready for his hands all over my body. Ready to gasp and writhe and know the pleasure that he means to give to me.

I shiver, sitting up, and reach for him. Curling my fingers around the firm flesh of his hips, I pull him down. He pushes me onto my back and our legs tangle. His cock presses into my lower belly as his full weight comes to rest on me briefly.

My breath leaves my lungs in a gush. Calum’s blue eyes scan my face as he bites his lip. He thrusts against me once as he kisses the left corner of my lips. I writhe against his body, moaning softly.

He takes the weight of his upper body off mine, transferring it to his arms. I lock my legs around his waist, biting my lip as I run my hand down between us. When I reach the tip of his cock, smoothing my palm out to touch it gently, he sucks in a sweeping breath.

“God, Kaia,” he whispers. He thrusts against my hand, biting his lip. “Do you feel how hard my cock is? Hmm? You make me this way.” He leans his weight on one arm, reaching his hand up to cup my jaw hard. “I’m going to pop your cherry tonight, beautiful. But before I use my big, hard cock to stretch you out, I’m going to make that pretty little pussy cream for me.”

My breath hitches. I feel a trickle of desire escape my entrance. Looking at Calum’s expression, I have no fucking doubt that he means it.

I groan, my impatience growing, and rock my hips against his body. “I want to feel you inside me.”

Calum smirks and drops a kiss on my lips. “Patience, beauty.”

I wrinkle my nose at him. Sliding my hands between our bodies once more, I touch his cock, which is hot against even my warm skin. He hisses, closing his eyes briefly.

“Be careful what you wish for, Kaia.” He eyes flicker open, seeming to pierce me down to my soul. “You just might get it.”

I shoot him a defiant look and wrap my small fist around his cock, working it up and down his length. He grabs my hands up pins them up above my head, growling.

“Tonight is supposed to be about you,” he grits out.

My eyebrows quirk. I’m a little breathless when I finally speak. “It is about me, Calum. I want to learn everything about what makes you feel good.” I bite my lip, hesitating. “Teach me, Calum. Don’t hold back. I want to learn.”

His pupils are so large by now that when he casts his gaze over me, they are nearly black with desire. “Oh, princess. Do you know what you’re asking me to do to you? I’ve spent the last month dreaming of that pretty mouth wrapped around my cock. Of you being a good little girl and holding still while I fuck your face…”

My eyes widen. “You have?”

He nods, his hand wandering down to frame my breast. He tweaks my nipple, causing a shockwave of sensation to slam my oversensitive body. I throw my head back, groaning.

Calum lumbers to his feet. He gestures to me, his gaze like a burning brand over my naked body. “Come to me on your hands and knees, beauty.”

I roll over and then push up, turning and moving toward him. He groans as I approach.

“Do you know how fucking hot you are right now?” he growls.

I stop when I reach the edge of the bed, shaking my head slowly. His cock juts out proudly from his body. He steps closer, brushing his lower thighs up against the bed.

I reach out to take his cock in my hand, looking up at him for guidance. Our gazes clash and he shivers.

“Fuck,” he says. He lets me explore for half a minute more before pushing my hand away, fisting his cock in his hand.

His gaze drops to my mouth. He tilts his head, giving himself a lazy stroke.

“Open your mouth, sweetheart,” he rasps.

I lick my lips and open my mouth. He runs his free hand through the mass of my hair and then grips it, guiding me forward.

The last thing I see before my face is buried against his skin is a drop of milky white semen leaking from the crown of his cock.

“Put your tongue out,” he coaches.

I stick my tongue out and he prods it with the tip of his cock. It tastes salty and metallic, the skin as soft as velvet against my tongue. But as soon as I adjust to that, he is tugging on my hair, lifting my throat.

And then he nudges his cock into my mouth, inch by slow inch. I try to put my hand up, to give myself a little control over how fast he moves, but he knocks it away.

“Don’t,” he grates out. “Just cover your teeth with your lips and try to relax.”

Looking up at him, my head gripped by his hand, I cover my teeth and relax as much as I can.

Calum keeps pushing his cock inside my mouth, the tip almost brushing my throat. I can’t help but gag, my whole body shuddering at once.

“Fuuuuck,” he says, watching as I try to control the reflex.

He flexes his hips again, forcing his cock to touch my throat. I gag again, throwing my hand up to drag myself backward with a gasp.

A loud sound bursts forth from his chest, a rumbling bass growl.

He steps back, pulling his cock out of my mouth with a pop. I look up at him, sucking in my breaths.

Calum strokes his cock, looking at me. “So much to do, so little time.” He bites his lower lip and cocks his head. “I like watching you gag on my dick, princess. But now I need you on your back. I’m going to taste your sweet pussy and make you come on my tongue.”

My eyes widen. “Is that a promise?”

He pushes me forcefully on to my back and then comes down to rest onto top of me. He drinks me in with his eyes, growling softly as his fingers trail down to stroke my dripping slit.

“God, Kaia. You’re so fucking wet.” He brings his glistening fingers to his mouth and licks my juices off the tips of his fingers. He closes his eyes and lets out a low moan as he tastes me on his hands. “Fucking delicious, beauty. So damn sweet.”

I know he is waiting for an answer, but I can't seem to find the words he was waiting for. All I can focus on are his fingers that are now playing with my clit, teasing their way along my seam.

He kisses me deeply, hungrily. I can feel his rock hard cock digging into me. I moan loudly, feeling anticipation building.

“Calum,” I whisper, my hands gripping his shoulders. “Please. Don’t make me wait anymore.”

“Fuck, Kaia. Breathe, beauty…” His voice is husky, low.

I follow his advice, taking a deep breath to clear my ridiculously, pathetically aroused mind enough to whimper, “Please!”

He kisses the corner of my mouth and then starts to move down my body. Burning hot kisses land on my collarbone, my breasts, my sternum. He licks a ring around my belly button and I writhe against his body.

I can feel my clit aching, feel how fucking good his mouth is going to be when it finally touches my pussy.

I want him bad.

Calum kisses his way down my lower belly, to my thighs, around my sensitive mons. With his fingers he spreads my pussy lips wide.

“God damn, Kaia,” he says quietly. He lays one kiss just above my lips. “Do you know how long I’ve waited to taste you?”

Without waiting for a response, he buries his whole face in my pussy, gorging himself on my taste, getting my scent and juices all over his mouth. Then he pulls back, licking slowly but hungrily along my seam. He lets out a low moan again. “So fucking sweet, Kaia.”

He sticks out his tongue and swirls it around my clit, the part of my body that begs for attention. He groans and takes my sensitive clit in his mouth, sucking lightly, his tongue flicking against my bud.

I moan and touch my tits, grabbing them and pinching my nipples. The sensation makes my hips buck and my back bow.

His tongue quickly reduces me to a shivering, moaning maniac. I writhe my hips against his tongue, unable to contain myself any longer, but his strong hands on my hips hold me in place. He licks and sucks until I see nothing but stars and fireworks, feeling like I am about to fly away if it wasn't for him anchoring me.

The pressure that has been building up inside me releases into a bright ball of light. My mind shatters, shards falling every different direction. I scream his name, digging my fingers into his shoulders and tugging at his hair.

He keeps licking, swirling his tongue. I become too sensitive and push at his shoulders. He looks up at me with the filthiest grin.

“You taste better than I could’ve imagined, beauty.”

He raises himself up, coming up to kiss my lips hard. I can taste myself on his lips, earthy and salty and satisfying. There is something dirty and so intimate about enjoying his kiss just after he ate me out… and I can’t get enough of it. I moan into his mouth and hear a low sound coming from the back of his throat.

“Don’t stop,” I whisper against his lips. “You promised to pop my cherry tonight. I want you to be my first, Calum. The only man I’ve ever been with.”

His sapphire blue eyes snap open and he shudders. “Lay back, beauty.”

He pushes himself to his knees and reaches over to grab one of the condoms. He tears the package open with his teeth, discards the package, and rolls the condom along his cock.

I bite my lip and watch. “I’m on birth control…”

Calum squints at me, smirking. “You don’t have any way to know this, but that conversation is usually a whole different step. We can talk about that later, beauty. Right now, I just want you to enjoy yourself.”

He pushes me back on the bed, settling himself between takes his cock and presses the blunt tip against the inside of my thigh. I pull him in with my legs, making him readjust a little until he settles the tip of his length against my wet pussy. We both groan in unison as he pushes inside, stretching me out with each inch.

I grip his shoulders, my nails digging into his flesh. His brow furrows in concentration as he works his length all the way in. My pussy clenches as I stretch and accommodate his massive size.

It hurts, honestly. Being so intimately stretched pinches painfully and having so the bulk of his weight on top of me is crushing me. He shifts his weight, taking it off me, looking down into my eyes.

“God damn,” he murmurs. “Your pussy feels hot and wet and tight all at the same time, Kaia.”

The reverent look on his face excites me. I provide something that he wants, which is new and exhilarating for me.

I move my hips, grinding my pussy against him. It rubs his cock against my inner walls in a new way, eliciting a ripple of pleasure.

“Fuck,” I say, wanting more. “Please, Calum.”

He looks up at me, a sheen of sweat beginning to break across his forehead. He moves then, slowly pumping his cock in and out of me. I start to feel ripples of pleasure, tentative at first, then more and more certain.

Calum takes my small breast in one broad hand, pinching the nipple. I start to move in time with him, rolling my hips. Little licks of flame start to unfurl themselves deep inside of me, stealing my breath away.

“God,” I moan. Tossing my head back, I meet his cautious thrusts. He’s being careful with me, but I don't want that. I toss my head back. “Fuck me like you own me. Fuck me like I’m yours and yours alone.”

He stiffens for just a moment, then grabs my hips and pulls me up a few inches. He forgets his hesitant rhythm and starts hammering himself in and out of my pussy. My eyes widen for a second. He starts sweating in earnest, his sweat mixing with my own every single place that my fingers touch.

Looking at his fierce expression, I’m unsure what I’ve unleashed in him, more beast than man. But at the same time, the ripples of my inner pond are growing in size, becoming chaotic.

It feels unbelievably good to move my hips in time with each thrust. I’m compelled to match his pace, to meet his hips, to wrap my legs around him and draw him in more. I focus on that, letting my eyes drift closed, my fingers reaching for my own nipple. Calum groans, slowing for a second. He raises himself up and starts thrusting again. Then he pushes my hand aside, slipping his hand down between us.

He brushes my clit and my back bows. I feel like my hips are growing heavy and full, each of his thrusts bringing me closer to the edge of an abyss.

This is why people fuck. This sensation, this exact feeling I’m feeling right now. I understand completely now, where before I felt slightly out of the loop.

“Tell me what you’re feeling,” he mutters. “Talk dirty to me, beauty.”

I look at him, at his beautiful chest, every muscle gleaming and straining. I don’t know where the words come from, exactly, but as soon as he asks me, they burst forth.

“I love how your cock fills my pussy,” I say, working my hips. “I love the way your fingers feel on my clit, baby.”

He growls and redoubles his pace, hammering himself into me, his fingers working quickly circles over my clit. I suddenly feel electrified, moaning and clutching at his shoulders. He punctuates each thrust by stroking my clit.

“Come for me,” he whispers, his words a plea and a command at once.

I clench my eyes shut, stretching, reaching for some unknown goal. “Calum… I…”

I reach a sudden cliff, running up one side and launching myself off. That’s what coming feels like — falling down a deep, dark crevasse, seizing up, my whole body shaking and clamping down. Feeling a million tiny jolts of sensation overwhelming my entire system, all at once.

I open my eyes and keep my hips moving, trying desperately to breathe. He hammers his cock home at a blistering pace, his movements freezes as he approaches his own peak.

“God damn,” he whispers, pumping his hips madly. “Fuck, Kaia, you’re making me come…”

Then he roars, thrusting hard and raggedly a half dozen times. I feel him coming, feel his semen fill me in hot pulses. I can only turn my lips up to his once more.

In the moments that we lie here, struggling for each breath, I turn to him.

“Thank you,” I whisper.

Calum turns his head to regard me. “For what?”

My cheeks color. “For making my first time memorable.”

“Hm.” He looks up at the ceiling. “I just didn’t want you to regret it, beauty.”

I study him in profile; look at him now is like admiring a piece of art. I reach out with trembling fingers, touching his cheek, tracing his jawline.

“Did you regret it?”

He exhales and looks at me. There is pain in his eyes, honesty and torment.

“No. But what do I know? I’m fucked up. I’m broken.”

I raise my eyebrows. “What? You’re not broken.”

Calum turn his head and pins me with his ocean blue gaze. “Kaia, if you think that I’m fine, you haven’t been listening. I’m damaged so irreparably, gone past the point of return. Why else do you think I pay you?”

I start to answer his question, indignant. Why would he say such mean things about himself?

Then I pause. This needs an especially light touch.

I suck in a breath.

“I don’t know what you’ve been through, Calum.” Finding his hand, I twine my fingers with his, gripping hard. “But I will say that I collect broken things. Things that no one else wants to save, things that other people think are garbage. They have a home with me.”

He squeezes his eyes closed for a long moment. The sound of his deep breaths fills the space between us. Then he looks at me, his hand coming up to cup my jaw.

He doesn’t say anything. He just kisses me hard, his lips almost brutal as they find mine.

When he’s done, he pulls me close. And I cuddle against him, wondering sleepily what makes a man like Calum tick.

30

CALUM

I sit in my home office, staring out the huge window into the Manhattan skyline. Behind me on my desk there is a stack of legal papers that I need to review. Things are beginning to slip through the cracks, what with me tied up at the ballet… and with Kaia getting under my skin at night.

But I don’t look at any of the time-sensitive papers. No, instead I stare out the window and think about last night.

Skin on skin.

Our breath mingling.

Our naked, sweating bodies writhing.

She set my fucking soul on fire.

But Kaia still got up this morning and went to the New York Ballet, saying she had a costume fitting to finish.

I didn’t want to let her leave my sight… but I can’t just keep her trapped here.

…could I?

I cock my head, trying to imagine how I might be able to get away with it. After all, almost anything is achievable with enough money…

“Calum!”

I spin in my chair, hearing my brother’s voice. Arching a brow, I call out to him.

“In here, Lucas!”

A few second later, he appears in the doorway, looking testy. “Did you see our stock prices this morning?”

I suck in a breath, leaning back in my chair. “No.”

He gives me an odd look. “Well, we have to figure out a backup deal since you punched Jack Schwartz in the face, Calum. There are starting to be whispers that we didn’t have a second choice lined up.”

I squint at him as he comes in, plunking himself down in a leather chair. I school my expression.

“Well, we didn’t,” I say at last.

Lucas tilts his head to the side. “Okay, what is going on with you? Normally that kind of news would have you screaming and pounding your fist on your desk.”

I steeple my fingers and stretch my neck. “I’m not sure what you want from me.”

His gaze scans my face and my body language. For a long moment, he’s silent. Then he leans forward, a smile playing about his lips.

“You got laid,” he says. He purses his lips. “I’m right, aren’t I? You got your dick wet and you forgot all about your real life.”

I shoot him a glare. “Fuck off.”

“Ah!” He claps his hands a few times, reclining in his seat. “It must have been good if you’re being secretive about it. Tell me, was it someone taboo? Maybe the daughter of a competitor?”

I stand up, giving him a look. “We should change the subject.”

Needing a cup of coffee, I head out of my office and down the hall toward the kitchen. Lucas is right on my heels and he’s not done guessing.

“Wait, I forgot. You haven’t been at work. You’ve spent all your free time training ballerinas.” He goes silent for a moment. “Oh, Calum. Please tell me it’s not one of the girls from your ballet.”

I walk into the kitchen and flick on my coffee grinder. It whirs to life, loud enough that it makes conversation impossible. As soon as it stops making noise, it starts brewing the grounds into a fresh pot of coffee.

When I turn around, Lucas is leaning against the kitchen island, a grin on his face. “Who is it? Did you finally woo Honor into fucking you?”

He raises his hand, rubbing his fingertips together to signal money. My neck heat and my hands clench into fists.

He’s not wrong about my method. I do like to snag girls with money. It’s just easier to pay them and know that our relationship is transactional. He just isn’t up to date about the whole Honor situation.

“Is there something that you want from me? Or can I get back to going about my business?”

He rolls his eyes. “You are no fun. I just came to say that I was at a board meeting this morning and your personal stock price is dropping like a fucking stone.”

I shoot him a glare. “If I make you acting CEO, will that embolden you to get the fuck out of my kitchen?”

The smile drops away from his expression. “Seriously?”

“If the company needs it? Yes. I’ve been on autopilot mode for weeks. Might as well make you the CEO…” I pin him in place with a glare. “I swear to god, Lucas. If you fuck this up, I’ll take it out of your hide.”

His hand flutters in the air between us. “No need for threatening me. IndicaTech is as much my baby as it is yours.”

I flap a dismissive hand at him. “Fine. I’ll step down while my attentions are divided between Indica and the NYB.”

He screws up his face. “Please tell me that you aren’t just going to dump the whole Jack Schwartz problem in my lap.”

I give him a thin smile. “No. I’ll keep working on that.”

“Good. I don’t know any other kind of blockchain technology that exists that is as powerful as Schwartz’s.”

I narrow my eyes at him. “If it were easy, I would have done it by now.”

He licks his lips, about to fire back his response. But luckily at that moment, a loud chime begins to sound.

I turn my head toward the panel on the wall, which is currently lit up. Walking over to it, it press the intercom button.

“Yes?”

A video screen turns on, Honor’s face smiling seductively to the camera. “It’s me, Cal. Let me up.”

Her shortening of my name — calling me Cal — sends an ugly shudder down my spine. The only person that has ever called me that is Anita.

“So it is Honor,” I hear my brother mutter behind me.

I glare back at him. “I told you, I’m not sleeping with her.”

I do need to talk to her, though. Pressing the intercom button again, I say, “Come up.”

I turn to find Lucas heading out.

“Wait,” I call to him. “I don’t want to be here alone with her. Honor has already filed three lawsuits against NYB for ageism and sexual harassment. It would be better if there was a witness here.”

Lucas turns to me, his eyebrows rising. “Uh… sure,” he says with a shrug. He squints. “It’s really not her, then.”

Shaking my head, I pour myself a cup of coffee. Lucas fixes himself one too.

Then we stand, sipping the steaming brew, and wait.

It doesn’t take long before the elevator chimes. I lean over and press a button, allowing the elevator doors to open. The sound of heels clicking on stone grows closer and closer.

I look at Lucas, nodding toward the living room. He follows me in, still sipping his coffee, his expression perfectly blank.

I swing open the front door. Honor gives me a sultry grin, her blonde hair falling in waves over the top of her black trench coat.

“Hey Cal,” she says playfully. She wrinkles her nose, stepping closer. Her lips are slicked with bright red gloss. “Are you going to invite me in?”

I squint. “Do I have a choice?”

She titters at that, reaching out a slender hand to push me back. Not interested in having any kind of contact with her, I step back before she touches me, turning and heading into the living room.

Honor follows, pulling up short when she sees Lucas. “Cal, you didn’t say that there was anyone else here.”

I clear my throat and sink into an armchair. “You can address me as Calum. And you didn’t ask if I was alone, Honor. Just like you didn’t ask if you could come to my private residence.”

Lucas sips his coffee stoically, giving her nothing when she looks to him for help. She glares at him.

“It would be better if we talked alone.”

I glance at my watch. “No. Do you want to go first? Or should we just speed things along here?”

She narrows her gaze on both of us. “I think we got started on the wrong foot, Cal—“

“Now it’s Mr. Fordham,” I say. I cross my arms and cock my head. “And you have two minutes to get to your point.”

“Well,” she says, smiling broadly. She glances at Lucas and then back to me. “I had hoped for this to be a matter between us. But since you don’t care, then I suppose I won’t either.” She pins me with a huge smile. “Marry me, Calum Fordham.”

I give her an incredulous look. “I’m sorry?”

She walks over to where I am sitting, touching my hand lightly. “You heard me. You’ve wanted me for years. Now here I am. Asking you to make me Mrs. Fordham.”

I gaze up at her, not quite understanding. “What on earth are you talking about?”

She looks over at Lucas, crinkling her nose as if I’d just made a joke. “Is he always so hard of hearing?”

I start to rise. “Listen up. I talked to Kaia. She told me about what you said to her. And I just want to make something crystal clear.” I pause, leaning forward. “There is never going to be anything between us, Honor. Not to mention the fact that I already know that you’re fucking pregnant with Mikhail’s child.”

Honor smirks a little, rubbing her hand over her stomach. “It doesn’t have to be his. It will be yours, if you marry me and put your name on the birth certificate.” She wrinkles her nose. “Just like that, an instant family. Plus you’ll get me, any and every way you want me.” Her lips quirk. “Don’t pretend like you didn’t masturbate to me a couple of hundred times over the years. Don’t act like I’m not offering you something you’ve coveted forever.”

My eyes tighten on her face. Several seconds tick by and a smile plays over my lips. “I’ll pass. We should talk about what will happen to you and your unborn child if you ever threaten Kaia again, though. I promise you, it won’t be pretty.”

I glance at Lucas and he scowls at me.

“What?” I snap.

“Who the fuck is Kaia?!” he whispers.

I flap a dismissive hand at him. “Doesn’t matter.”

Honor crosses her arms, sneering. “What, you don’t want your brother to know about your dirty little secret? Cal is fucking one of the little girls he hired to replace me at the ballet. Judging by the photos my private investigator got of you two canoodling all over the fucking city, you have a type. Young, blonde, and flexible.”

Her lips twitch. I blink, trying to rein in the immediate fury I feel.

Lucas climbs to his feet, scowling at Honor. “I think you should leave.”

She rolls her eyes. “Yeah, right. Here is the deal, since you had to make me play hardball. I want three hundred million dollars as a fee for keeping those pictures to myself. I want your stupid little bimbo fired from the company. And I want you to sign your name on my baby’s birth certificate, so I always know that he’ll be taken care of financially.”

I scoff. “Just because you have some fucking pictures?”

She smirks at me. “I have a video from inside Club X, okay? You and your newest little blonde, in the champagne room, talking about your filthiest fantasies. And the second I turn them over to the press, they will tear her to pieces. Your reputation may be tarnished, but she’ll be ruined. She won’t dance anywhere ever again, ballet or otherwise.”

I glare at her, but inside I get a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach.

I know what the ballet means to Kaia. I know how hard it would be for her to lose her position in the company… and be hounded by the press.

Deciding to bluff a little, I stand up and cross my arms. “I don’t think that this alleged video will do the damage that you think it will. And I don’t really care for Kaia, so…”

She smirks at me. “Yes you do. I saw you two together at the bar. When you thought no one was looking, you acted just like a man in love. Whatever you may say, I know that you’re weak where it comes to women.”

I scowl at her. “You don’t know me.”

She tips her head to the side. “Yes I do, Cal. I’ve known you and men just like you for my entire life. And in order to get what I want, all I have to do is endanger the princess in the castle. You’ll get your knight’s armor on and ride out to save her. You can’t help yourself.” Her lips quirk. “It’s pathetic.”

My fingers flex, aching with the need to wring her neck.

“Oh, I almost forgot.” Honor smiles at us both. “If I don’t get my way, I have already paid for a contract with the Ukrainian mob. Unless I’m made very, very rich and very happy, it goes into effect.”

She withdraws a piece of paper that has been stamped with a photo and vital information.

Kaia stares back at me, her doe eyes wide, her lips parted as if she’s about to speak.

I look up at Honor. “You’re…” I chuckle, not knowing how else to respond. “Fucking insane.”

She bites her lip, smiling, and shrugs. “There are worse things to be, darling.”

“You’re going to end up dead,” I tell her.

She starts backing away slowly. “I will give you the night to break the news to your little fuck doll. Tomorrow morning, I’ll be back with the papers for you to sign. You should…” She waves her hand. “Call somebody that can arrange a large transfer of funds.”

Glancing at Lucas, I don’t even know what to say. “You’re literally nuts, Honor.”

She winks at me. “Test me, Cal. Find out just how fucking crazy I am.”

Then she whirls and struts away, her heels clicking on the stone floors as she goes.

I stare after her for a long moment. Lucas clears his throat.

“Is she right?” he asks.

I look up at him, overwhelmed. “What?”

“Do you… have feelings for this girl? Because if you don’t, then Honor has basically nothing on you. You can just walk away.”

Shaking my head, I drop my eyes to the picture of Kaia again. “I don’t love her. I’m not even capable of that.”

He sighs. “No one is throwing around that word but you, Calum. I just asked if you care about whether she gets hurt or not.”

A tendril of emotion creeps out as I stare at her picture. “Maybe.”

“Well… then things are about to get difficult,” he says.

Bile burns the back of my throat. “I know.”

I drop the photo to the floor, turning toward my office. Lucas squints and follows me, not saying a word.

31

KAIA

Calum is late.

I shiver as I glance at my phone again. I’m waiting for him outside of the Continental, the hip, sleek bar at the bottom of his building. He asked me to meet him here twenty minutes ago… but so far, he’s a no-show.

And I’m way too much of a wuss to try to go inside with Calum there, paying the door guy off.

Are you close? I start typing into my phone.

A hand lands on my arm. I startle and look up, flush at the sight of him. He looks a little disheveled, his hair raked to the side, his tie loosened. He’s still wearing his suit but his suit seems rumpled. His eyes lock in on me, expression unreadable.

He jerks his head toward the bar. “Let’s go.”

I frown as he ushers me into the bar. His apartment is only an elevator ride away… but I guess he just wants a drink. I slide my coat off and he leads me to the bar.

Calum pulls out my chair and I sit down, my cheeks flushing. I expected some sort of compliment on my dress, maybe a dirty thought whispered into my ear.

But I guess not. He seems preoccupied, busy thinking about whatever it is that billionaires think about, I guess.

I nod uneasily. He waves his hand at the bartender, who scurries over.

“What can I get you?

Calum looks at me, raising his brows expectantly.

My cheeks warm. I straighten my spine and clear my throat. “Yes. Could I have a French 75?”

Calum looks at me, his tongue darting out to wet his bottom lip. “I’ll have a McCallum, neat.”

The bartender nods and head off to start making the drinks. I turn toward Calum, reaching out to touch his knee.

“I expected to see you earlier today,” I say gently. “We had out first rehearsal on the main stage—“

“Kaia,” he interrupts, frowning. “I just had a talk with the ballet company. We are letting you go.”

I freeze. My heart beats painfully in my chest. “What?”

His head bobs. “Sadly, I think that brings our professional relationship to a close.”

“I’m— I’m fired??” I say, struggling to understand.

Calum reaches into his suit jacket, withdrawing a slim envelope and placing it on the bar before me. “I also wanted to let you know that your services will no longer be needed for me. I’ve paid you the entire amount that our contract stipulates--“

I grab his arm, forcing him to look up at me. “What is happening?”

The bartender comes back and drops off our drinks. Calum’s gaze slides to him before settling back on me.

“I need to sever any relations we have, completely and finally. Do you understand?”

I’m so floored that it takes me a few seconds to answer that. “No, I don’t understand.”

My voice rises. He looks around, drawing my attention to the other patrons in the bar.

“Control yourself. We are in public,” he says.

“Why are you doing this?” I ask. “Is it… is it because we had sex?”

Calum’s face twitches. “No. It’s got nothing to do with you.”

“It sure as hell seems like it has everything to do with me,” I say, bewildered.

He clears his throat, standing up. He taps the envelope between us. “You will find that I compensated you more than adequately. My suggestion would be that to take this money, find a ballet in another city, and start your life over again.”

I don’t know why, but suddenly I’m so angry at Calum. He can’t just do this to me. He may be rich but he’s still a person, ruled by the same things as me.

In a flash, I yank my French 75 off the bar and toss the contents in his face.

He blinks several times, startled, and wipes away the sticky sweet mixture that is trickling down his face.

“Kaia—“

“No!” I shout. I get off my stool, grabbing my coat. “No way. You don’t just get to walk all over me. I’ll… I’ll sue the hell out of you and the NYB.”

His hands flex into fists. “No you won’t. I’m paying you enough money to silently fade into the background.”

I pick up the envelope, my hands shaking, my eyes filling with tears. Then I look him right in the eye and start tearing it apart. “I’m not interested in your money, Calum. I want to be treated like a human being.”

We stare at each other for several seconds. My face crumples.

He is a fucking bastard. Then again, he told me that the first time we met.

When someone tells me that they are broken, that they are a bastard, that their alliances aren’t to anything but money…

The next time, I’ll believe them.

Spinning on my heel, I race out of the bar, tears staining my cheeks.

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

Calum and Kaia’s story isn’t over yet, not by a long shot. Raw, gripping, steamy, and emotional… Get ready for more of their story by grabbing The Dancer right now.

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THE PROFESSOR AND HIS OBSESSION

V. F. MASON

Copyright © 2021 by V. F. Mason

All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Edited by Hot Tree Editing

Cover Design: Hang Le

Photographer: Wander Aguiar

To the power of love.

PROLOGUE

“Wicked desires should be forbidden.

For they make you lose your head and tread in dangerous waters.”

Estella

Estella

Once upon a time…

When I was a little girl, my brother woke me in the middle of the night and dragged me to the garden, where the moon shone brightly all around us, to watch falling stars create a magnificent display in the night sky. The magical atmosphere swirling in the air made my heart beat wildly, and wonder poured from me, because I’d never seen anything so beautiful. All I could do was stare at it in awe.

Picking daisies and orchids on my way, I created a flower crown and then put it on my head while dancing under the stars. I believed mythical creatures existed on earth and wondered if the special night would let them emerge from their hiding spots.

Maybe then they would all be able to help us and save us from the monster living in our mansion.

My brother whispered in my ear for me to think about my most secret dream and ask the universe for it.

With happiness filling every pore in my body, I closed my eyes and made a wish upon a falling star, convinced it would come true.

To find a dashing prince who would dare to breach the castle’s walls and conquer all obstacles standing in his way to get to the princess he decided to claim.

I’d wait for him in my tower, dreaming about the man who would whisk me away to show me the outside world like all the princes in the fairy tales did.

Because then I wouldn’t be used as a weapon against my brother and be his biggest source of pain, which sliced my heart in two.

He didn’t have to be handsome, rich, or strong.

He didn’t even have to be from a powerful family, although that would certainly make things easier with mine.

He just had to love me enough in order to survive all the hardships that my family would throw his way and still want me despite all of it.

After all, a princess needed only one thing—true love.

At the age of ten though, I didn’t know about one very important thing.

Be careful of what you wish for… because it has a tendency to come true.

Although destiny played quite a trick on me.

She did send a man my way, but somehow my wish took a darker and unexpected turn.

Because the ordinary but brave prince I so dreamed of?

Turned out to be a handsome, dark knight whose family name filled people with fear and panic, for their reign in the city was absolute.

His love I so coveted…

Became an obsession nothing could cure.

And my personal fairy tale?

Transformed into a Greek myth from which there was no escape.

My wish was the beginning of my downfall.

For a man who decided I belonged to him lured me into his sinister web and trapped me in his darkness.

CHAPTER ONE

“People should look more closely at ancient myths and fairy tales.

There is a lot of wisdom in them.

For they show human emotions in their most wicked ways.

Shining light on their hideous personalities and less-than-stellar character.”

Ryder

Ryder

The owl hoots in the distance as my bare feet step on the cold concrete of the terrace. I open my arms wide and welcome the wind buffeting slamming into me, sending my unbuttoned black shirt flying open.

The cooling sensation settles on my heated, scarred skin, and a smile curves my mouth at the familiar ache in my muscles that indicate to me I’ve spent my evening well.

What would be better for a hunter than catching the prey who for weeks tried to escape him only to die a painful death?

After all, some crimes are so unforgivable they lead straight to hell.

I snatch a cigarette from the pack in my back pocket and put it in my mouth, flip the lighter through my fingers, then light it up.

Closing my eyes, I take a greedy pull, groaning as the nicotine hits my tongue. I glance up at the clear sky, lit by thousands of stars, almost luring you into believing the night holds no secrets and that only a peaceful atmosphere designed for dreams and illusions remains.

When in truth, at night, the true monsters come out of hiding, ready to sink their claws in nearby prey and strip them of all humanity and innocence in order to feed the dark hunger inside them.

Sinners have their vices for a reason, and the saints of this world just cannot fathom how many hideous deeds hide behind perfect smiles and what crimes are covered by the night.

The phone ringing echoes in the air and momentarily silences the owls as annoyance zaps through me, anger filling me at the prospect of someone interrupting this blissful moment.

Smoke floats around me as I walk toward my desk in the spacious room of my penthouse where my phone is. I slide the answer bar and press the icon for the loudspeaker.

“You can be a real asshole, you know that?” the deep voice barks instantly as a chuckle slips past my lips. I stroll to the bar in the left corner, grabbing a bottle of whiskey. “I called five times.”

“I was busy.”

My breezy reply hardly satisfies him and only angers him more. “Busy, my fucking ass!” Dropping a few ice cubes in my glass, I pour some whiskey and shake it a little, enjoying the brown liquid sloshing around the ice.

Natural displays fascinate me more than anything else, because they show in all their glory how powerless we are against them should they decide to strike humankind with full force.

Fortunately, Mother Nature also gives hints to humans on how to act to protect themselves from danger.

For example—ice.

It’s a hard structure that’s cold to the touch, and you can’t really crush it when it resides in its cold environment.

The minute you pull it out of its comfort zone though, it melts, adjusting to its surroundings.

No matter how strong you think you are, there will always be someone who might crush you with the right weapon.

That’s why you can never underestimate anyone or anything.

Even the weakest link has the power to bring someone to their knees with the right strategy.

Life is a chessboard, and how one masters the game depends solely on the person’s desire to succeed.

This is one of the reasons I never allow myself to have a weakness; life has taught me they will lead to my downfall.

And a long time ago, I vowed to never, ever allow anyone to strike me where it hurts the most.

“We have a problem.” The man continues to speak, tearing me away from my thoughts, and my brows rise at the urgency in his tone, which is so unlike him.

Jaxon MacAlister never loses control or displays emotion. The head of an Irish mafia house can’t have weaknesses that can become weapons in the hands of his enemy.

He’s like the ice. He stays in his environment, where no one dares touch or harm him; otherwise, his wrath will be absolute.

I take a sip, the fiery liquid burning my throat, but the taste sharpens my instincts and makes the conversation almost bearable.

Because any kind of contact with my family inspires anger so strong I can taste it, and the fury demands an outlet.

Usually in the form of a victim guilty of vicious crimes.

“We? Last time I checked, I wasn’t part of the family.”

Whenever Jaxon says “we have a problem,” it means the entire organization has one, and since I gave up all rights to the imaginary throne a long time ago, I don’t give a fuck what they want or need.

My younger brother knows it, so I have no idea why he bothers to go to these lengths to reach me.

The king never calls or begs.

He demands.

Silence follows my reply, and I use this opportunity to pick up my phone and go to the living room, where I drop on the couch and kick my feet up on the nearby table, resting my head against the cushions. The whiskey sloshes inside my glass as I settle.

Ah, finally.

Just what a hunter needs after an eventful evening, where he destroyed his opponent so viciously I don’t think the devil himself will recognize the prey’s soul once he enters the gates of hell.

Jaxon sighs heavily. I can just imagine him closing his eyes and leaning forward while remorse etches his features. “You know I had no control over what happened twenty-five years ago.” A beat, and he adds, “I would have stopped them if I could’ve.”

My sons will not pay for your sins, Alistair. Do you hear me? You have your bastard for that. Feed him to the wolves!

A hollow laugh erupts from me, creating a tense energy all around me and alerting my brother on the other end that his words mean nothing to me.

He might not be responsible for what happened to me in the past—in his defense, he had been a kid himself—but my resentment has roots deep in my soul, and I won’t ever be able to let go of it.

Because Alistair liked to fuck around with whores, I was raised in a brothel, disrespected by everyone, watching my mother sell herself in order to put food on the table until she no longer could. A simple case of the flu killed her. We had no money to buy her medicine or take her to the hospital, because she used drugs like crazy, needing the next dose more than air.

The brothel owner was ready to sell me to someone to use for their fucked-up desires, when my father dearest stepped in and claimed me as his child.

He brought me to his house only to allow everyone, especially his wife, to kick me around and remind me daily how worthless I was.

All while their legitimate kids thrived on love and attention, doted on by everyone. They wore the most expensive clothes and played with unique toys.

I could only watch them from a distance and wasn’t even allowed to eat next to them.

Dogs on chains lived fucking better than the treatment I got in their mansion.

And while my siblings acted kind toward me, their good behavior just couldn’t top all the shit thrown my way because my father couldn’t keep his vow or dick in check.

Funny how, in all these situations, the wives blame the kids and whores and never their husbands, so we become the punching bag for their anger.

And then they’re rewarded all the money and status by staying his wife. I bet it was more important for her pride and dignity to continue the act she was putting on in front of my father.

No wonder the bitch outlived him, although how she doesn’t burn in the church where she frequently goes is beyond me.

I will all my self-control into my fist, because my baby brother doesn’t deserve my hostility. I decide to be polite and at least pretend to care about him when, in fact, I don’t give a fuck.

A child whose soul was subjected to hate, pain, and agony with a splash of torture on a daily basis can’t grow up into a compassionate human.

He’d be lucky to stay sane.

“What do you want, Jaxon?” I ask, finishing my drink quickly and putting the glass to the side. “You know I don’t give a fuck about the family business.”

I made that abundantly clear after our father’s death, when Jaxon hunted me down in Greece, welcoming me back into the family and explaining to me that this time around, everything would be different.

Considering by that point I already had power, status, and money earned by my hard work and brains, I told him to fuck off and shove his family name down his throat.

To my surprise, he didn’t push but kept the amicable contact between us, inviting me to their various functions, and my other siblings have joined in, annoying the shit out of me with their attention.

Still though, no matter how much they’ve tried to atone for the sins of their parents, they will never be able to erase my past.

And what it cost me to be Alistair MacAlister’s son.

“We have a situation with the Four Dark Horsemen.” He clears his throat. “You know who they are, right?”

“Who doesn’t?”

I stay away from the mafia world, but I thrive in the underground, hunting those who deserve it and bring them the most painful ends.

And you can’t thrive in darkness and know nothing about Chicago’s most ruthless fuckers, who each have their own personal dungeon where they make their victims wish they were never born.

Four deadly men who don’t know words like remorse, sanity, mercy, or compassion. They see whatever they want, take it, and then destroy it.

Santiago, Remi, Octavius, Florian.

Belonging to the elite of Chicago, their power is almost absolute, and sometimes they get so bored in their own city that they visit others to stir some shit up for their own amusement.

They are highly entertaining to watch, especially when they set their sights on crushing someone.

No one ever survives their destruction.

“Anyway, we ran into trouble, and our relationship is tense to say the least,” Jaxon continues, distance lacing his voice.

“I still do not see how this concerns me.”

“You’re my brother. You’re an extension of this family, even if you hate it.”

Rolling my eyes at the usual bullshit he preaches whenever he wants to convince me to follow his rules, I say, “I’m indifferent toward your family. Which is why this phone call is a complete waste of my time.” People who claim that family is the best thing in the world need to examine their heads, because mine does nothing but anger me. “Have a nice evening, and please do not call again.” Although, judging by his previous actions, he takes this phrase as a personal challenge and calls me regularly once a month, even when I don’t bother to pick up or call back.

The fucker must be so used to being the oldest in the family that he confuses me with all the younger siblings when, in fact, I’m older than he is by three years.

And sure as fuck, I don’t need anyone watching my moves at thirty-three.

“Wait!” he exclaims, huffing in frustration. “I know you accepted that position at the university.”

I stay silent, waiting for him to elaborate, because his knowledge of my deeds doesn’t surprise me. I don’t hide my nature or interests from anyone.

Monsters have different shapes, but the rarest ones?

Are those who don’t wish to hide their intentions or true character, since it’s too exhausting and takes away all the fun this world has to offer.

Besides, why bother acting like a saint, when being a sinner is way more rewarding?

Sacrifices never lead to good results or gratitude anyway.

“You can’t move to Chicago.”

I still at the words that sound more like a command. My patience and politeness toward Jaxon last for only so long though. “Careful, baby brother. You’re treading in dangerous waters right now.” Coldness slips through my words. “I’m not part of your brotherhood who worships the ground you walk on. You do not order me around. Do. You. Understand?”

He clears his throat again, his exhale echoing in the space. “I’m asking you as a brother not to do it.”

“Considering our brother bond has been severely lacking, I’m surprised you put so much faith in it.”

Silence greets my statement, weighing heavily between us at the bitterness coating my voice. “Your anger is valid, but it’s misplaced.” He finally speaks up, and the conscience I thought I no longer had rears its head, bringing with it painful memories.

Strong hands grab me from behind, lifting me up as I kick my legs, hoping to hurt them, and screaming, “Dad!” Extending my hand to him, pain slams into me when he turns his back on me and ignores my pleas while unfamiliar men drag me outside. “Dad, help me!” I try to bite the hand locked on my stomach, but the man shakes me so hard my teeth snap together, and a hit to the back of my head follows, ricocheting pain through me. But I still find strength to shout, “Dad!”

His wife comes to him, holding Douglas, their two-year-old, and she raises her chin high, looking straight at me while a smile curves her mouth, the happiness at my discomfort shining brightly in her eyes.

“Take it like a man, Ryder,” comes my father’s reply, stilling me in the disgusting arms, while the hope in my soul that he loves me at least a little bit crushes so hard the pain envelops my entire system, and I gasp in shock. “I gave you a family name. Now you need to earn it.”

Earn it? What does he mean by that?

“Don’t worry, Alistair. He’ll earn every letter in the MacAlister name.” They share a laugh, sadistic and scary in its nature, sending chills down my spine in anticipation of what might come next.

Living in this house has been worse than being in a brothel, because at least my mama loved me. She always cooked delicious food while hugging me at night and telling me beautiful stories about valiant knights who save princesses in castles.

However, somehow deep down, I know that wherever they’re taking me will be worse than here, and I already live in hell.

My insides scream in despair just imagining a place worse than hell. I’m afraid I won’t survive it.

The men continue their walk toward the main door, when Jaxon races down the stairs toward me, yelling, “Ryder!” He runs faster, ready to lunge after me, when our father grabs him by the neck, freezing him on the spot.

“Let me go!” He wiggles from side to side, doing his best to evade the tight grip but without results, tears streaming down his face when he calls my name again. “Ryder!”

But even the future heir to the throne cannot change my fate.

Standing up, I crack my neck, hating the echoes of the past swirling in the air that make me question our relationship all over again.

He might not be the villain in my story, but he contributed to it without his knowledge.

I bet if he knew the full truth, he wouldn’t be so eager to talk to me for all the guilt he shows me now.

I wrap my hand around the phone. “This conversation is over. If you cannot handle four guys in your own city, maybe you shouldn’t be called the head of the Irish mob.”

“Your job will be considered an act of breaching the treaty.” A beat, and then, “We always had a less-than-stellar relationship with them. Then Cillian fucked up and created trouble.” I will never get back the time I wasted on this shit. “It took me months to settle it, because they never forget anything. And we both know their combined worth allows them to never be swayed by any territory or wealth promised.”

“You have to watch your men better, then. Have a nice evening, Jax.”

“Ryder, please.”

My brother never begs or pleads, ruling his empire with an iron fist, so for him to even utter this word means only one thing.

Shit must be really serious.

Sitting down, I rest my elbows on my knees and rub my eyes, wondering why the fuck all the brotherhoods think everyone’s lives revolve around them? Besides, the majestic fuckers can do their research and see I have nothing to do with my family. “How is my job an act of breaching the treaty?” A chuckle slips past my lips. “Are MacAlisters banned for life?”

Either way, I don’t give a fuck.

My reputation and deeds precede those of my siblings, so I don’t see myself having trouble with any of them.

And if they do?

They can all fuck off.

“Because Octavius’s little sister attends that university.” Taking a greedy pull from my cigarette, I wait for him to elaborate, and he does. “She is the apple of his eye. Nineteen, sheltered, and innocent. He basically raised her.”

Exhaling the smoke all around me, I lean back on the couch. “I don’t fuck around with students. So you can tell Octavius Reed his sister’s virtue will stay intact.”

Jaxon growls on the other end, clearly frustrated with my reply. Sometimes, the displays of the extremes of his emotions are highly amusing.

Not now, though. He’s ruining my after-kill glow with his yapping.

“This is not my concern—or his, for that matter. Trust me, whoever touches his sister is a dead man. I think that girl will stay a nun for life,” he mutters, finding even the idea of me pursuing her laughable, not that he’s far off. I’ve never in my life been interested in anyone or anything sheltered or innocent. The words reek of boring and exhausting, while life to me is all about pleasure and fun. “However, you being so close to her ruffles their feathers and can be seen as if I’m threatening her safety.”

“I’m not in the habit of kidnapping or harming women either.” Something cold settles into me, and the cigarette pauses midway to my mouth. “Are you?”

He must read the dead note in my tone, because he says, “No. Women are not part of the business. Unless they can be used as bait.”

Well, at least he didn’t follow in our father’s footsteps. The fucker sure loved to keep all the women hostage in the brothel and forced them to do shit they hated.

I will never forget how my mom took long showers and cried after every single one of his visits, her body again covered in fresh bruises.

“Why are you hurting her, Daddy?” I slap his back while he tries to kiss Mommy, who hits his chest several times, whimpering in distress. “Stop! Stop!”

He turns around swiftly, knocking me down, and then grips my shirt, raising me up and tilting my head so I can meet his stare.

“Because my name is Alistair MacAlister. And we MacAlisters can do whatever the hell we want. Our power here is absolute.” He wraps his hand around my throat, squeezing it so hard he cuts off my air, and my mother screams in the distance as his men keep her pressed to the wall. “Having this family name is a privilege. And no bastard of mine will tell me to stop.” He throws me away, my back hitting the nearby wall. I cough loudly, my throat throbbing from inside out. “Learn to obey, boy, or this mother of yours won’t live long enough to indulge in raising your whiny ass.”

The memory hits me like lightning, disturbing the old wounds that would never heal, and anger zaps through me, my fists clenching and bending the cigarette in two. I ignore the burning sting, welcoming the pain that grounds me in the present and doesn’t let me be swallowed by the onslaught of emotions, which no longer have power over me.

After all, that tortured boy no longer exists.

I killed him a long time ago in order to survive and become a man.

A man who is not afraid of anything or anyone, especially not four guys deeming themselves kings, who grew up in luxury and think they can dish out orders I’ll follow like their little bitch.

“I’m going to Chicago. If Octavius Reed has a problem with that, he can find me there. I’ll send you the address.”

“Ryder—”

“Bye, Jaxon. And for fuck’s sake, stop calling me.” With this, I end the call, drop my phone on the table, and get up. Walking back out to the terrace, I gaze at New York City illuminated by thousands of shimmering lights, showcasing the majestic beauty of the city. Hundreds of cars are driving on the roads with people rushing somewhere, always moving and never really sleeping.

My hometown, the city I vowed to live in until my last dying breath to spite my father who sent me into the pits of hell.

However, for the first time in years, I’m going to take a break and reside in Chicago, because my old professor, a man who once upon a time took in the starved and beaten boy and gave him a dream, called me, needing a favor I could never refuse.

Octavius Reed can sleep peacefully though.

I will never be interested in his sister.

After all, my one true love will always be this city and never a woman.

Because love for a man like me means obsession bordering on insanity, trapping a woman in my darkness with no boundaries or rules that would drive them mad and hopeless.

And I will never subject anyone to such a fate.

Especially not an innocent, sheltered heiress with a vicious fucker for a brother.

CHAPTER TWO

“I tasted the forbidden fruit…

and my heaven on earth turned into hell.”

Estella

Chicago, Illinois

Two weeks later

Estella

Glancing in my compact makeup mirror one last time, I put it back in my bag and mutter, “I’m so dead!” Hooking my fingers in the handle, I address my driver. “Thank you, Henderson. See you at five!”

“Estella, don’t!” he yells, although it’s too late.

Hopping from the slowly moving car in the stalled, heavy traffic leading to the university gate, I race toward the massive white campus buildings glistening in the distance. The harsh wind slaps my cheeks and billows my hair backward, sinking coldness into every bone.

A loud boom of thunder echoes in the sky, causing a bird to squawk loudly above. Briefly glancing up, I notice how dark clouds gather, ready to deliver pouring rain on unsuspecting mortals, indicating autumn’s arrival in all its glory.

The enormous grounds surrounding the university, famous for its architecture and beauty, display the rapidly changing color scheme into red, gold, and brown. Heavy trees, spreading over the magnificent landscape, sway with the wind and drop their leaves in huge piles. The flowers no longer bloom, although they still proudly show off their beauty, which will be short lived.

My sneakers pound the ground as my bag bounces wildly on my arm. I’m not paying attention to how my white dress flaps around my legs, flashing way more skin than I would prefer to the passing students, because the vibration of my phone urges me to speed up.

“Estella!” someone shouts my name, and I turn my head to the right, seeing a math classmate sitting on one of the benches by the huge marble statue created to pay homage to one of the original founders’ favorite poet.

Although the location is known more for countless make-out sessions.

He waves at me, his sandy-blond hair pulled into a ponytail, and I groan inwardly.

Even though the guy hasn’t said anything, his constant attention toward me ever since I started college almost two months ago couldn’t be missed.

Quin probably lost count of how many times he’s asked me to help him with our group project the past week, which still surprises me to no end.

He’s tall, broad-shouldered, and despite being on the leaner side, the jeans and T-shirts he constantly wears showcase his body in all his handsomeness that makes all the ladies fawn over his looks.

Not to mention his eyes can charm any of them into doing whatever the hell he pleases, and according to rumors floating around, he has done it on numerous occasions.

Why bother with mousy, plain me, who everyone back in high school called a freckled pumpkin, when he has such a broad selection among the opposite sex?

My looks don’t exactly inspire high passion, a fact proven over the years and one disastrous date that turned into a problem that haunts me to this day.

Well, that and my brother, who sends fear into people with his presence alone, whose sinister smile promises retribution to whoever dares to go against the invisible borders he has drawn around me, warning everyone to stay away in order to protect me from the inevitable hurt.

After all, love is a privilege we can never afford in our house.

Precisely why I do my best to avoid Quin, even though his persistence inspires my curiosity, and my stomach flutters whenever he stays late with me in the library or talks to me in front of everyone.

My brother would squash him under his thumb though.

A trembling good guy won’t pass the dragon to get to the princess in the ivory tower, so my rebellion against my brother’s order would be pointless and leave me alone in the end, since Quin would run for the hills.

The older I become, the more I come to the conclusion I’ll probably die single, because the only men who can rival my brother in strength, power, and wealth are his three best friends, and none of them would ever go for me.

A shudder rushes through me just at the prospect, as they’ve all been in my life for so long I consider them my brothers too.

Crushing on my brother’s best friends is not my story.

Noticing Quin getting up from the bench, I snap out of my thoughts and shout back, “I’m super late for class! See you at lunch!” However, he doesn’t listen to the hidden hint coating my words and chases after me, reaching me in record time.

The air hitches in my lungs, squeezing my chest hard, and I slow my pace to fast walking that he easily keeps up with. I glance down to my wristwatch, groaning in frustration at how the hand shows I’m ten minutes late.

“You’re never late,” Quin says, swinging his backpack in front and putting his book inside as we move toward one of the buildings.

Greek poetry—we even have the same taste in literature.

A humorless chuckle slips past my lips. “You don’t say.” I guess my time obsession didn’t go unnoticed by my university friends.

The Reeds are never late for any function or responsibility, because we know how to respect and value our time and everyone else’s.

Or at least that’s what my brother drilled into me from an early age, and I soaked it up, because essentially, he raised me, so his words trumped Mom’s or… my father’s.

Quin’s voice doesn’t let me dwell on my last thought and fall down the painful spiral where only hideous memories remain. “Don’t be nervous. I’m sure all the rumors about him aren’t true.”

My brows furrow as we enter the building. The silence greeting us is interrupted only by our shoes tapping on the marble along with our hushed whispers. “Rumors?”

My Greek and Roman mythology professor, Dylan Smith, who is in his seventies and can be described as a hovering grandpa, never had any rumors attached to him as far as I know.

Despite that most students found his delivery boring and outdated, with his monotonous tone lullabying us all to sleep on more frequent occasions than I care to admit, everyone loves him and always signs up for his classes. They fill up within an hour.

And it was just my luck that I managed to snag myself a seat, considering I settled on this university at the last minute and enrolled in their Classical Studies program.

One year of hiding in Greece after high school graduation to lick my wounds made me appreciate the culture in ways I never anticipated, so I couldn’t imagine studying anything else.

Quin nods, tapping on the book in my hand, as we stroll through the hallway leading to massive stairs right in the middle, passing by various glassed shelves holding the university’s trophies and plaques for most honored students. “Dylan Smith quit.”

I halt my movements at this information, my mouth opening and closing several times.

“Yep,” he says, reading my reaction right. “Apparently, he got an offer he couldn’t resist.”

“In the middle of a semester?” Considering his brilliance and various accolades over the years, I’m not surprised he might have quit, but knowing how much he loves his students, all this sounds so odd to me. “Maybe he had a family emergency?”

Quin huffs, snagging the book from my hand, and pulls me by my elbow to the right toward the class auditorium.

Uneasiness that’s always associated with male company washes over me, and I snatch it back as we come closer to the class, and he explains further, “My dad offered him anything he wanted to remain here, but he stayed relentless, deciding to move to the other side of the globe.”

Right. I forgot Quin belongs to the powerful clan, and they are pretty much the major shareholders in this university.

“Although, when he heard who Dylan offered as a replacement, he got over it quickly and couldn’t wait to send the old man on his merry way.” He doesn’t let me dwell on it much as he adds, “I’m surprised you haven’t heard about it before. That’s all everyone has been talking about.”

My brows furrow. “It’s Monday. Where would they be talking about it?” I ask in confusion, hooking some strands of hair behind my ear.

He shrugs. “In all the group chats. And social media.” He frowns. “You’re part of them, right?” Concern mars his features, and he snatches out his phone, clicking on the display a few times before smiling. “Yeah, they added you. You haven’t checked it?”

My cheeks heat up at this question, and I sigh in resignation, despising having to explain myself once again. Despite my young age, I’m not really into sharing every aspect of my life on social media or care much about my phone unless I have to carry it around for safety reasons. It frustrates my friends to no end, and they have better luck sending me an actual letter than a simple text.

“It must have escaped my mind.” I force a laugh and then reach for my book as we come to the door. “Thank you for your help.” Internally though, I groan at being now fifteen minutes late to my class and giving a bad first impression to a new professor who apparently is such a big deal even the dean is excited to have him. “What’s his name, by the way? The new professor?”

Instead of answering my question, Quin presses the handle and fires one of his own. “Would you like to go out with me?”

Blinking in surprise, I open my mouth to reply, and when a slight breeze dances over me, mortification sweeps over me when I realize the door to the auditorium is open and probably everyone heard Quin.

Almost all the students are staring at us, and there is even a snicker echoing in the air.

Just great.

Practically ripping my book from Quin, I enter while a man stands by the desk, his muscled back to me, wearing black jeans, a dark-brown sweater, and heavy leather boots.

Such a contrast to Professor Smith’s old washed-out suits, and a tingle flashes through me, confusing me to no end.

He writes something on the board, the marker moving flawlessly on the plastic, and he shows no indication of hearing us or acknowledgment of our presence.

Maybe the gods have finally decided to be kind to me and spare me this humiliation.

Quin mouths, “Later,” and gently closes the door behind him while I have no choice but to go to the middle of the auditorium to the stairs leading up. My best friend, Morgan, is already waving like a maniac and pointing at my saved seat.

We met in high school during lunch break, bonded over our mutual love for old movies, and have been inseparable ever since, so when she heard I picked her university to attend, she jumped with joy and screamed into my ear for ten minutes straight.

I take four steps up the stairs before a deep, husky voice pierces the deafening silence and halts my movements. Something forbidden in its nature, it envelops me in unfamiliar anticipation. If he tries hard enough, his voice might be used to hypnotize people all around him, leading them to their doom for how beautiful and rich it is. “You’re late.” I hear a marker being dropped on the desk. “Usually whenever someone is late for my class, they stay outside. There are always consequences for our actions, after all.”

Morgan winces, and everyone freezes, probably as shocked with this information as I am.

Doesn’t the university have a policy that you can still enter class if you are fifteen minutes late? Not to mention, Professor Smith was never this strict with us.

My mind swirls with all this while he orders, “Turn around.”

Dammit.

Taking a deep breath, I slowly spin around and finally get a look at my new professor, who is still standing by the board. The air hitches in my lungs as a powerful spurt of energy slams into me so hard it’s a wonder I’m still standing.

His dark hair falls to his neck where various tattoos mark his skin in different Celtic knots and shapes that speak about the rich history behind them, bringing attention to his tan skin.

A beard emphasizes his high cheekbones, and a nose that has been broken a few times—by the look of it—adds somehow to the overall dark appeal emitting from him and luring you to discover more of the secrets he hides.

His full lips stay even, no hint of a smile, and I think he rarely does anyway, judging by the countless magazine spreads I’ve seen of him through the years. Smiling must be a foreign concept to him, and it explains why, despite his fame, some journalists avoid him like the plague.

With one word alone, he can destroy careers and self-esteem, having no regard for the people around him and staying deaf to any pleas they might have addressed to him.

Because this man doesn’t believe in mercy and compassion. Only success appeals to him, and if you fail to meet his standards, you might as well be dead. He won’t ever spare you a minute of his time.

His clothes hug him like a second skin, leaving no doubt this man works out daily, his muscles so defined any sane woman would be tempted to see what hides behind that sweater of his, to run her fingers over the flawless canvas his body must be.

Only two words describe him overall—darkly handsome.

He’s magnetic like a burning fire you can never tear your gaze away from; it has a certain pull on us all. That’s why no one can resist him or his charisma that fills the space the moment he occupies it, making you almost struggle to breathe, because his energy sucks out everything else.

Our gazes clash, his piercing brown eyes drilling into mine as he sweeps them up and down my form lazily, almost possessively, breaking goose bumps on my skin, sending hot flushes through my entire system, and awakening unfamiliar sensations all over me.

My feet barely stand still, itching to run to him and touch his face to be sure I haven’t imagined him, while the desires igniting my blood demand quite different things all together.

All involve him and his strong arms that promise safety from the outside world and would forever lock me somewhere far, far away. Despite how horrible it sounds, I wouldn’t mind it.

Because he’d be with me all the time.

Famous author, professor, a sensation in the history world, a man who has invested in stocks so well all the doors are open to him, and luxury surrounds him.

No one can dictate to him, and whoever does lives to regret it, because nothing and no one stands in his way.

Women fawn over him, dreaming about catching the attention of the notorious bachelor. Although, according to rumors, he never stays with them long enough to even utter a word of commitment.

Men stay away, in awe of his accomplishments at such a young age, and strive to be like him.

And finally, a man who has been my crush through all my high school years, ever since I spotted him on TV, and no one ever has been able to measure up to his haunting handsomeness.

The star of all my innocent fantasies and now… to my utter mortification… my professor.

Ryder MacAlister.

CHAPTER THREE

“What’s considered a sin?

Craving something to the point of insanity.”

Ryder

Estella

Ryder—no, Professor MacAlister—slides his gaze over me one last time before going to the desk and picking up his tablet, scanning through something and firing another question my way. “What’s your name?” His voice pierces through the haze settling on me, and it takes me a second to register his words.

Pressing the book to my chest, hoping it hides my rapidly beating heart, I curl my fingers around it, doing my best to control the tremor in them. “Estella.” His brow lifts, and he leans back on his desk, clearly expecting to hear the rest to punish me accordingly in front of everyone. His reputation precedes him, and no one ever dares to skip his classes, let alone be late. Once you’re on his shit list, it’s impossible to get off it; therefore, most students just drop the class all together. “Estella Reed.”

A shadow crosses his face. His eyes flicker and then blaze anew with some kind of emotion I can’t name. It passes so quickly I must have imagined it. Then he gives me back his indifferent stare.

“Estella.” My name somehow sounds forbidden on his tongue, as though it’s laced with secret meaning only he can understand. Once again, awareness rushes through me. It electrifies even the hair on my body and makes me question my sanity. Who reacts this way to a stranger—and a professor at that—while the entire auditorium trains their gazes on us? “Don’t ever be late to my class again unless you want to study on the other side of the door.”

A chuckle sounds in my ears, my insides flipping at the prospect of being a laughingstock to the entire class in the place I wanted to start fresh. But then butterflies erupt inside me when he shifts his attention to whoever dared to laugh, his voice dropping a few octaves and sending chills down my spine for how cold it is.

“It concerns all of you. If you are late, don’t bother to come. I do not teach those who don’t value my time.” Hushed whispers fill the room while Professor MacAlister looks back at me. “You can sit now.

“Yes, sir,” I reply, and his hold on the tablet tightens for a fraction of a second before he puts his hand back on the desk. Scorching heat surrounds me, and I hate myself for adding the “sir” at the end. It sounds so wrong in the current situation.

Wrong in ways I never felt before, which only proves I’ve finally gone insane and deserve the Weirdo nickname given to me during my high school years.

Turning around, I quickly go to my seat and sit down next to Morgan, who writes something in her notebook and slides the thing to me.

Sorry, girl. If it helps, he was a dick to us all before you came in.

While it does very little to save my ego after he crushed it so badly, a smile curves my mouth, and snatching out my pencil, I write underneath her note.

It’s okay. Just my luck to be late on his first day.

Flipping open the book to page fifty, I rest my chin on my hand and read on the board that he is focusing on ancient myths today so we can work on them properly for our midterm.

At least he will follow Professor Smith’s syllabus.

“Care to share with the class what made you smile, Estella? Morgan must be hilarious.”

I freeze while my friend’s shoulders sag, fear etched on her features while she squeezes her pencil in her palm, a sign of her nervousness. Morgan won a scholarship for her artistic degree and took this class because it promised to be easy. She can’t allow herself to fail or get anything lower than an A, so her fear is valid.

I was born into wealth and status, but that doesn’t mean I don’t understand the struggles normal people face every day.

And sure as hell, my friend doesn’t deserve to be punished for my mistakes. He will now be a hunter, setting his sights on the prey—me—pointing out my every screwup to drive me out of his class.

He acts as if we are still in high school. What in the hell!

Other professors barely spare us all a glance, yet this guy memorizes names on the first day and notices every little thing.

I open my mouth to apologize, but other words escape me, horrifying me for my boldness that I’m powerless to stop. “She really is.” A few students look over their shoulders at me, amusement flickering in their gazes, while others glare at me for disturbing their class. “And no, I don’t care to share.”

Oh my God.

What am I doing?

I should know better than to poke the beast and earn myself his wrath, especially since my degree depends on a lot of classes he probably now teaches.

Silence stretches around us. The wooden clock hanging on the wall above the board ticks loudly, and each sound accelerates my pulse as I dread his next move.

A smirk curves his mouth, although it signals the forthcoming danger rather than easing the tension in me.

He wraps his hand around a red mug, his diamond watch glistening under the harsh light. Thunder echoes outside, and lightning flashes. These are followed by the loud tapping of rain on the building’s roof, birthing a longing in my chest.

I love standing in the pouring rain. It washes away any fears I might have, making me feel alive—almost merging with it.

And in rain… no one ever sees your tears, because they run together, becoming one. No one ever knows about the pain stabbing at you bit by bit, drawing blood drop by drop until nothing is left.

Professor MacAlister drags me back to the present though, bursting the bubble around me. “Since you are in such a chatty mood, Estella, tell me your thoughts on the Hades and Persephone myth.”

My brows furrow, and I shift my focus to the board, where we have another myth. Why are we talking about Hades right now?

Everyone hectically rifles through their books, finding the right pages, probably afraid he might address some questions to them. Although, why are they worried?

Almost everyone knows this myth; it’s not like it’s super rare. In fact, I think it’s one of the most popular among them all.

I even participated in a school play about it, for God’s sake.

“It’s sad,” I say, and he sips his drink, propping himself on the desk. “A sad myth that was supposed to explain, back in the day, why there are changes of weather through seasons.”

Demeter, the goddess of harvest and agriculture, was responsible for making the land fertile to grow grains and any other provisions people needed, according to the myth. She had a beautiful daughter called Persephone, who she loved dearly.

The god of the underworld, Hades, fell in love with Persephone and wanted her for his own. But he knew Demeter would never allow it. He went to Zeus, Persephone’s father, who gave him permission to kidnap her, so he did, trapping her in the underworld.

After Hades abducted Demeter’s daughter, she tried to get her back but couldn’t find her anywhere. She searched and searched, filled with despair, yet no one had a solution for her. Finally, some of the gods told her what happened, and as revenge, she froze the land, not letting it produce. People couldn’t harvest anything, so Zeus ordered Hades to bring her daughter back.

Hades, though, tricked Persephone, making her eat in the underworld, and because of this, she had to spend half the year with him.

So goes the legend that spring comes when Demeter welcomes her daughter, as she is so happy… and winter comes when Persephone must go back to her husband, and her mother mourns her loss.

“Sad,” Professor MacAlister repeats, as if tasting the word on his tongue. “Why?”

“Well, he kidnapped her and then made her stay with him. How can it not be sad?” Josephine cries out several rows behind me, and Professor MacAlister looks at her as her face becomes all red. “If you ask me, this myth shouldn’t have taught people about weather but how damaging it is to kidnap women.”

“I didn’t ask you though,” he replies and earns himself several chuckles from the class. “Besides, kidnapping is a strong word for what occurred according to the myth.” He takes a small remote, strolls to the wall, and turns off the light as the projector shines the early Renaissance image depicting the myth in question. “He got permission from her father. Back then, it was enough for consent. Women had little say in their fate.” He raises his hand when Josephine tries to add something else. “You can disagree, but it doesn’t change how things were viewed back then. Although an interesting take, Josephine, and a good point.” She blinks in surprise at the praise and smiles, while I roll my eyes.

Sure, he has compliments for everyone else but me. Josephine is a stunning blonde who turns heads wherever she goes, so I guess that plays in her favor, in addition to being super smart. My fists clench at the irrational jealousy traveling through my veins and shame for how idiotic my thoughts are.

In the grand scheme of things, if a comet destroys earth and leaves just the two of us floating in space together… even then, Ryder MacAlister won’t look at me twice or consider me worthy of his male attention.

“Estella.” I jump in place at him calling my name again and snapping me from my thoughts. “You haven’t answered my question. Why is it sad?”

Gripping my pencil, I clear my throat, although everything inside me hates the idea of saying my thoughts out loud. That’s why I prefer written assignments, so no one can listen to my ramblings and judge them. “It’s sad, because no one ever asked Persephone what she wanted.” He turns the light on again, his eyes studying me so intently I resist the urge to snatch out my shawl and cover myself. “Her father decided her fate and sent her to the underworld, where she stayed for months. No one knows what happened. She might have fallen in love with Hades.”

“Yeah, right,” Josephine mutters, but I ignore it.

I could never justify what Hades did, because he indeed kidnapped her, but Stockholm Syndrome exists for a reason.

Who knows what kind of emotions he might have evoked in her after a time? Isn’t this myth sort of an ancient Greek version of the Beauty and the Beast fairy tale? And plenty of people find that story romantic.

“She got summoned back, because her mother wished so. And then her husband tricked her once again, never letting her make a choice.” I bite my lip before continuing. “It was like she didn’t matter to them… a pawn that got moved around on the chessboard however they pleased with no emotions.” I straighten up. “I think she deserved for her parents and her husband to ask her what her heart’s desire was,” I finish lamely and even notice surprise on Morgan’s face, who is already drawing something in her notebook; inspiration always hits her during myth discussions.

Professor MacAlister leans on the podium, twirling his mug in his hand while digesting my explanation, and once again, I feel this odd pull toward him, wanting to uncover what he thinks about or how outrageous he finds my take on this myth.

Instead of his judgment or praise though, I hear another question coming from his mouth. “Do you think Hades could have been her choice?”

His words hang in the air between us, while all students ping-pong their gazes from him to me, anticipating my reply. “Maybe. If she loved him, she might have wanted to be with him for eternity.”

He snaps his fingers. “She still ended up with him though. For six months. A queen of the underworld. Arguably, she got the best of the two worlds.”

“What if she wanted to be with her husband all the time and visit her mother whenever she wished instead?” He dwells on my words, taking another sip, while I add, “Plus, she probably harbored some resentment toward her father for dumping her in this situation to begin with. But we never hear her side.”

“Because her entire purpose in this myth was being a coveted damsel in distress. After all, this is about a mother’s love and not some fantasy involving villains who turn into dashing princes and sweep princesses off their feet.” He finishes his drink and places it on the desk while the guys snicker around me.

Of course he finds my explanation amusing and not worthy of his time, as if these kinds of subjects have one correct answer. This study is created on critical thinking.

“Don’t overdramatize or analyze myths, Estella. They were created in order to teach people through them to be obedient. Do not study it through the modern prism.” He presses the remote again, and it goes to another slide talking about another myth, but I just can’t keep my mouth shut after his last comment.

“Since the myths still have some power in the modern world, I think we have to look at them from a different angle than people did thousands of years ago.”

“Girl, just drop it,” Morgan whispers, although it’s too late, since the professor’s attention is right back on me.

I’m not sure what about him ruffles my feathers, urging me to step over the invisible line drawn around me and be more daring in my actions, but I can’t control it.

Maybe it’s because he was my first crush, and if he hurts me enough with his cruel words, finding all my explanations and takes stupid, then it will make me hate him and forget about all my sinful thoughts about him.

He grins, although it doesn’t reach his eyes that stay cold albeit still so focused on me. He makes me feel naked and on display with all my fears. “Whatever do you mean?”

“A few years ago, there was the vigilante roaming this country and Europe, who was catching criminals and torturing them so they would regret all their actions and confess to the sins they committed.” My cheeks heat up, probably becoming as red as a tomato, which only emphasizes my freckles more. “He was called Hades, the underworld god of justice. He’d punish all those men who hurt women in brothels and kill the ones abusing children. Once, he even took down an entire chain of human trafficking, stopping them from hurting a lot of kids.”

“Indeed? That’s what he called himself? So much confidence. We should all take notes.” Students erupt in laughter at this, and he shares their amusement, which only adds to the fury boiling my blood. “And how does this information correlate with the myth? He sounds like he lived in delusions.”

“He didn’t call himself that. His victims, those who lived long enough to talk, called him that, and later, the police did too, because the nickname was fitting. He captured all those souls in his very own hell and then ended their reign.” I huff in exasperation. “He might be crazy for all I know. They never caught him, so it’s hard to judge his psychological state of mind, but he thrived in the darkness. I think on some level, he really deemed himself a Hades.”

I decide not to mention the countless newspaper spreads I’ve gathered over the years on him. I found his actions fascinating and somehow even excusable, considering he brought all those awful men to justice. Such thoughts usually scare me though, so I keep them locked deep down in my soul.

Murder is still murder, no matter the reason.

“What if he fell in love once and then decided to kidnap her? Because this is a myth. Myths are just that. Myths. I agree. But for some, it might be instructions on how to act. And in this case, the myth teaches that Persephone doesn’t matter.” I’m out of breath by the time I’m finished with that thought.

The entire class stares at me in shock, while Professor MacAlister cocks his head to the side, nodding as if agreeing, but then his words crush the illusion in my head. “Emotions have no place in critical thinking, Ms. Reed.” I frown in confusion. What? “Every person is responsible for their actions. And if someone uses myths as their guide to live this life, they need to see a psychiatrist.”

“And all the people who find his actions fascinating? Do they need to be locked up in a ward too?”

“Do you find his actions fascinating? Or do they horrify you? You said it yourself. The god might not have killed them, but he tortured them,” he fires back at me, and I still inside, despising how I can never lie worth a damn, but at the same time being grateful Professor MacAlister doesn’t know me well enough to know that.

“Of course they don’t fascinate me. I was just making a point how ancient myths might affect things in the modern world.”

He half listens to me, glancing at his wristwatch, and addresses us all. “The class has come to an end. Thanks to Ms. Reed, it was quite eventful.” A smile curves his mouth, and he winks at us. “Let’s hope it won’t happen again.” Everyone laughs, and he claps his hands together. “However, Estella brought up an interesting point, and I want to explore it by hearing all your thoughts, since we didn’t get a chance to have an ice-breaker discussion today. I think it will be a great introduction to all of you.”

My insides are already dreading what he might have come up with, because I’ll be on the receiving end of everyone’s hate should it be hard and time consuming. With midterms coming up, the last thing we need is more work.

“Instead of two more quizzes that are scheduled on the syllabus, I’ll give you a new assignment that will be worth ten percent of your final grade. Due in two weeks.” Collective groans fill the air, and more glares are sent my way. “You’ll write a paper on the following topic. How myths affect modern life, and what would you change in them if you could? Pick one myth and divide it in several blocks. I want original takes. Check your portals. I’ll write more details about it there. Class dismissed.”

Everyone jumps up, the conversational hums filling the room while I gather all my books and put the pencil inside my bag.

“Thanks for nothing, Estella,” Josephine says, passing me by. “Of all the days to finally speak, you had to choose today.” She pushes my shoulder slightly, making me drop my books on the floor, and to my astonishment, I snap back at her.

“Well, I’m a woman with a voice. It was bound to happen someday.” I lean down to get my books and dust them off.

She blinks, clearly not expecting me to reply, and then she grins slightly, taking me aback. “Well, you sure are.” She adjusts her bag on her shoulder. “Want to study in the library today for our midterm? We’re in the same philosophy class as well. Don’t we have a group project?”

Okay, did I wake up in some kind of different dimension, and no one told me about it?

Because this girl has ignored my entire existence since high school, although she has never been mean to me. Since our families did business together, we crossed paths from time to time at functions but never spoke.

And just now, she was flat-out rude to me… but still wants to do work together?

“Yeah. We do.”

“Did you choose your partner?”

“No.” No one I know goes to that class, so I wasn’t happy about pairing up with a stranger, while Josephine had guys lining up to be in her company.

“Cool. So it’s decided then. We can do it together.” Before I can even protest, she looks behind me and adds, “You can bring along your purple-haired friend as well.” With this, she walks down the stairs, not even bothering to stay to hear me agree, while Morgan blushes so hard as her eyes fill with wonder.

She’s had the biggest crush on Josephine since arriving, and the poor girl always stares at her longingly in the hallways, drawing her portraits in her notebooks.

“We’re going to go, right?” she asks, pressing her notebook to her chest, with hope shining brightly on her face and her blue eyes sparkling in happiness. “To study together?”

I hate studying anywhere but home; all the public places unnerve me too much to focus. However, how can I refuse now? Morgan would not get another chance to spend so much time in Josephine’s company—although I’m not sure if she even plays for my best friend’s team. Apparently, I have a group project to get to also. “Sure. Let’s meet there after our next class?”

“Sweet!” she exclaims and then hugs me, kissing me on the cheek, and I chuckle. “I even forgive you for this whole assignment the new professor pulled out of his ass.”

“This was hardly my….” My protest trails off, since she’s already rushed off to her other class, and I wince when everyone follows suit, blocking my exit, so I sit back on the chair, waiting for them all to leave.

I end up being the last to go down the stairs, and when the door closes behind the last student, I exhale in relief, taking in the silence falling upon me as thunder still echoes outside.

Tilting my head back as I stand there, I take several deep breaths, gathering the strength to attend one more class and hopefully keep my mouth shut there, or this newfound confidence would give me more work than it’s worth.

“Estella.” The husky voice close to me causes me to stiffen. Scorching heat wraps around me as every nerve in my body goes on high alert, and my eyes snap open to come face-to-face with Professor MacAlister, who hasn’t left the auditorium yet.

“I’m sorry, Professor. I thought I was alone.”

Fire blazes in his gaze at my words, and he steps closer to me, closer than a professor should, and a shudder rushes through me while a gasp escapes me.

He extends his hand, his fingers catching the strap of my dress, and he slowly, agonizingly slowly, slides it back in place. An onslaught of goose bumps pops on my skin, adding to the chaos with his name written all over it that’s burning inside me. “What are you doing?” I whisper, afraid of his action, but also afraid to add volume to my voice for fear of his ending it. This has no explanation but sets my soul on fire. “You shouldn’t have done that,” I say, placing my hand on my strap, stepping back, and he follows me.

For each step I take back, he takes one forward, until my back hits the wall. Hundreds of different thoughts and sensations confuse my mind, heart, and body alike, although one is the most prominent of them all.

What we are doing is wrong, and he shouldn’t corner a student like this.

I’m not running away though, right?

Instead, I’m standing still, watching him rest his arm above my head while he glues his eyes on me. His whole attention is focused on me in this moment. The air hitches in my throat, his warmth sending signals to my body in ways that make it long to lean toward him.

The auditorium could be considered massive for how many people it can hold, but in this moment, nothing but his energy fills it, minimizing the space around us and blocking the outside world away, leaving only us.

“Shouldn’t have done what?” he asks, his finger trailing from my neck to my collarbone, earning himself another gasp as my stomach dips at the touch. “Touch you?”

“Yes.”

“I intend to do far more than that, darling.”

I close my eyes and shake my head; it must be a dream and not my reality in which my professor allows himself such inappropriate liberties right here in this auditorium.

Or rather that Ryder MacAlister finds me beautiful enough to utter such words.

“Look at me,” he orders, and I obey his command instantly. By the grin on his mouth, I know it pleases him, which thrills me in ways I can’t explain or describe.

He settles his open palm on my heart, which beats wildly as it welcomes his touch, and then he slips it up until it wraps around my throat. Arching my head back as he leans closer, his hot breath fans my cheek while his lips graze my chin, filling every cell in my body with pleasure from this small caress alone.

His fingers dig into my skin, not hard enough to bring me pain but firm enough to feel them with every breath I take. I’m filled with the knowledge that with just a little pressure he can cut off my oxygen all together.

He skims his lips over my cheek, leaving burning imprints on his way until he reaches my ear. Then he bites my earlobe, drawing a moan from me, and I put my hand above his, needing to rip it away from me.

However, deep down, I want to keep it here and see what he does next. Will it envelop me in even more heady sensations that promise me things I’ve heard about but have never experienced?

Finally, he whispers in my ear, each word holding a dangerous warning that urges me to break his command and see what he does if I do. “Do you know what happens to good girls who can’t lie worth a damn?”

He knows.

He knows I lied about my fascination and how dark thoughts cloud my mind sometimes to the point I want to run away and hide from them because they aren’t normal.

All thoughts fly from my mind though when he repeats the journey, this time in reverse, and his mouth hovers above mine. I open my lips, expecting the kiss, only to groan in frustration when he bites my lower lip, pulling at it, and biting it again but painfully this time. “Don’t ever lie to me again, Estella.”

And then his warmth is gone as he lets me go and steps away as we stare at one another. My chest rises and falls from the onslaught of emotions. Confusion sinks into my bones as I try to make sense of all this.

Slowly though, reality crashes into me along with the things I almost did—like begging him to continue, and I probably would have let him do whatever he wanted—while serving as his amusement.

Without uttering a single word, I race outside as a conversation with my brother from a few months ago pops in my head.

“Now that you’re going to college, we need new dating rules.”

My brows furrow at this, and I gape at my brother in shock.

New dating rules?

I never knew we had any to begin with, considering he just assumed I’m not interested in dating at all.

I laugh at Octavius’s words, but his eyes stay cold, and his expression holds a very familiar indifference, signaling to me he is dead-serious.

Digging my fork back into the steak, I calmly reply, even though I want to scream in frustration. Maybe I’m not interested in socializing after that awful date, but for him to dictate to me right now rubs me the wrong way.

“I turned nineteen last week, and I lived abroad on my own. Why do we need rules?” There is a bite to my words, and his brows rise; clearly, he didn’t expect me to challenge him on it. But then why would he, right? I’ve been nothing but compliant my whole life. Might as well put a neon sign on my forehead that says Doormat. “And besides, you can’t have a say in my private life.”

He leans back from the table, swirling the whiskey glass in his hand. The ice cubes bump against each other and echo in the stretched silence, alerting me to an upcoming storm. “Can’t I?” he asks, and I shake my head, which only earns me a twitch of his scarred cheek.

My heart squeezes painfully, reminding me of the horrible incident in my childhood where he had to save me from a vicious monster and instead got hurt himself, which resulted in a lifelong, angry, red slash that makes a lot of people shy away from him.

Especially women who love to whisper behind his back how no sane woman would ever willingly stay with him, despite all the money we have, because it means waking up to his face every single day.

Horrible, horrible women who make me so angry I sometimes barely resist slapping them all for saying this about my brother.

They’d be lucky to have him, those bitches.

The guilt sneaks inside me, wrapping tight ropes around me, and some of the bravado vanishes, because my brother might be a hard man to understand with all the rules he’s imposed on us both, but he’s been the only one who’s loved me.

The only one who cared about my well-being and ensured I had a good life. If it wasn’t for his resolve and control, butting into every aspect of my life, who knows where we would be right now?

His character saved us, and I can never forget it.

Shouldn’t I be more understanding and make it all easier on us both?

Besides, none of the boys my age seem that mature anyway or inspire any emotion in me, so a relationship doesn’t hold much appeal. Ryder dropping from the sky and appearing in my life does not seem like an option in the near future either.

Swallowing back the bitter taste in my mouth and washing it away with the glass of water, I say, “Trust me, Octavius, dating is really not on my radar right now.” This should sound reasonable enough for him to drop the issue and relax on the matter.

He gives me a hard stare and then changes the subject to something else, although he probably doesn’t miss the fact that for the first time I didn’t flat-out agree or promise him something.

Promise or not, it doesn’t change anything.

I might crush on my professor until I turn blue.

However, I’ll act as if this encounter never happened, no matter how much I wish to explore my reactions to him or crave for this man to teach me how to forget about anything else but him. I long for him to silence the world around us in ways I’ve never managed before but covet so badly that tears form in eyes.

Our relationship, or even a fling, would be too forbidden to survive, and my brother would destroy him.

The Four Dark Horsemen are ruthless, and my brother might be the cruelest of them all.

My professor wouldn’t have a chance against them, and I could never live with myself if anything happened to him.

So I’ll stay away and withdraw from this class all together, hoping that next semester everything will go back to normal, where nothing disturbs my boring and bland existence, and he’ll find another object of fascination.

And maybe… just maybe, this will serve as an antidote to the crush burning in my heart, so it can vanish into thin air, never to bother me again.

But even to my own ears, this sounds like a lie.

Don’t ever lie to me again, Estella.

To withstand it all though, I have to.

Although the truth might set me free, in my experience, truth never led to anything good.

And I can’t have one more life on my conscience, suffering because of me.

Ryder

The auditorium door closes after her, hiding her from my view, and even though the beast inside me roars its displeasure, I appease it by promising to hunt her down soon.

Instead of following her to catch one more glimpse, I take out my phone and dial my brother’s number. “Yeah,” he says as he picks up, his voice groggy and disoriented.

He’s never been a morning person.

“You have to prepare for war.”

“What?” he says, this time stronger, and I know all traces of sleep are gone. I have Jaxon’s full attention. “What did you do, Ryder?” he asks in resignation.

“As of now, nothing.” As I slide my finger over the various books spread in front of me, containing the most ancient myths, I wonder how Estella sees them all in her own unique way. “Soon though, I will corrupt that innocent and sheltered little thing and then keep her as my own. So next time you see Octavius Reed, you can inform him about that.”

“Ryder, are you serious right now?” Since silence greets his question, I hear him mutter, “Fuck me.” And then he exhales heavily. “They are insane, brother. The things they do… it’s nothing like us.”

My amused chuckle reverberates throughout the room as I pick up my tablet and head to the door. “Trust me, Jaxon, whatever they do can’t be more insane than my past or present.”

And oh, how it pleases me that my very own Persephone knows about my deeds and has a deep fascination for them, even though part of her believes it’s wrong.

The desire must run in their family’s veins, considering what her brother does.

“Ryder….”

“You’re either with me on this or not, Jaxon. But I’ll pursue her no matter what.” I know he can read between the lines; he’s been preaching the value of family to me for so many years, and now he has the opportunity to back it up.

Can I take Octavius Reed on my own, and all his other friends?

Absolutely.

Can it be done without collateral damage involved?

No.

I intend to enjoy the victor’s spoils, aka Estella, and killing her brother would put a damper on my plans.

So having Jaxon and his negotiating skills to act as a middleman, along with the brotherhood, would be helpful for us all.

“I’m with you, brother. The MacAlisters thrive together and stay together, no matter what.” He repeats the family motto that earns only a hollow chuckle from me.

I don’t remember anyone staying in my nightmare with me while monsters ate my flesh, bit by bit, until nothing human or sane remained. I was left to die in the darkness that consumed so much of me that my heart became just an organ to pump my blood.

“You won’t kidnap her though, right?” Dread coats his voice as if he already knows the answer. “Wooing her is one thing, brother, but straight-out kidnapping will not be well received.”

And by well received, he means Octavius would go batshit crazy.

“With or without his permission, she will be mine, Jaxon.” And before he can bitch some more, I hang up on him.

I’ll give her some time.

Every experienced hunter knows one thing.

In order to capture your prey, you have to draw it out from its comfort zone and unsettle it so much it has no choice but to run.

Fun fact about running?

They get tired at some point.

And that’s when a hunter attacks. The prey has exhausted itself so much it meets its fate peacefully and willingly, wanting relief from all the fears consuming it.

Once upon time, Persephone was reincarnated in this world.

And I intend to keep her as my own, all her objections be damned.

After all…

I never claimed to be a saint.

I’m a sinner who will use whatever weapon in his arsenal is necessary to achieve what he wants.

CHAPTER FOUR

“It’s dangerous to stand between a man and his obsession.

For a man who has tasted forbidden fruit will stop at nothing to taste it again.

Even if it means killing the dragon standing in his way.”

Ryder

Estella

“I take it back!” Morgan exclaims, huffing in frustration as she slaps the table in the university cafeteria. “I’m holding a grudge about this assignment until we graduate.” She taps on her tablet and groans. “Fifteen pages! He wants fifteen pages with detailed analyses. Who has time for this? And it’s due on Sunday!”

“If it helps, he wrote a personalized note to me saying I can’t use the Hades and Persephone myth in my paper, since we covered my point of view in class.” I drop a tea bag in the hot water while doing my best to ignore all thoughts of Ryder.

Which is impossible when one must focus on the assignment he has given us.

“It doesn’t help,” she says and then rests her chin on her palm. “The man is a beast on the hunt. And the worst part? We have no clue what bone to throw at him to satisfy his hunger.” I blow on my tea before sipping it and wince when it burns my lips. “Seriously. In the last two weeks, he has given us more work than Dylan did in two months. Not to mention all the discussions and him making people cry.” She puts her hand on her chest. “I’m going to cry in the next class when he finally digs his claws in me.”

Yeah, his mood has been… difficult, to say the least.

After our… whatever what happened can be called… two weeks ago, I went to the administration office, wanting to drop the class, but for some reason the lady who handled it all told me not to do it. She convinced me not to drop such an important class for my major, stating that it serves as a prerequisite, and instead I should push through.

All her points were valid, and I found nothing I could object to—except I almost made out with the professor.

I’m sure that wouldn’t have been received well.

So as a result, I’ve spent all my free time in the library for fear of running into him, and I keep my head low during Ryder’s class. Thank God he hasn’t bothered me again, focusing on other students who take his harsh comments hard; one of the guys even ran away crying.

All his cruel ways aside, his delivery on the subject is so interesting most students pay attention and love to listen when he adds his personal touches, speaking about his time in Greece and Rome, where he devoted an entire year to fully immersing himself in their history and discovering a lot of new things.

Whenever the class ends, he ignores me all together, and if it wasn’t for the possessive gaze that lands on me at the most unexpected moments, staking invisible claims all over my body and inspiring hot flushes through me, I’d think our encounter was just a fragment of my imagination.

My home life hasn’t been any better, restless nights filled with dreams about Ryder doing wicked things to me while treating me as his most beloved possession and holding me so tight in his arms I wouldn’t be able to listen to my mind and run away from him.

Like Hades trapping Persephone in his world and making her addicted to his touch.

So it’s safe to say I live in my own personal hell, my mind and body torn in two, where one craves to seek out Ryder and discover what pleasures of the flesh he has to offer, while the other screams at me for being a fool because he just played a wicked game with me.

For all I know, he seduces all his students and thrives on the knowledge that they find him irresistible.

I squeeze the paper cup too hard, and the tea spills out, burning my fingers. I hiss and mutter, “Shit,” then grab a tissue to wipe it away. Josephine chooses this moment to sit in the opposite seat, flipping her golden locks back.

She puts her tray on the table with a steaming cup of coffee, by the smell of it, and a milkshake. “Thank God we finally have a window seat,” she says and then slides the milkshake toward Morgan, who is obsessed with the drink but buys it only twice a week so she can save money for new art supplies. “Here you go.”

“You didn’t have to.” My friend shifts uncomfortably, running her hand over her ponytail and then clenching her hands, probably to hide her paint-smeared fingers.

Our new addition to the group has this effect on people, because she’s always well dressed and put together; one can only envy her dedication to the process.

Josephine opens her cup and dumps sugar in it, lifting her brow. “Don’t worry. The guy from my history class bought it for me.”

Morgan blushes while disappointment crosses her face before she covers it up and reaches for the milkshake, playing with the straw.

Although at this point it’s an everyday occurrence, since Josephine somehow pronounced herself our “third wheel”—her exact quote—and accompanies us wherever we go, staying glued at the hip with us.

She checks our schedules to make sure they all coincide, has added us to all her social media, always has our lunches planned, and has even threatened—as if I care—to end our friendship should I stop replying to her texts or ignore them.

Somehow, she’s even convinced me to attend a concert a month from now to see the band Morgan loves, claiming it’s a great opportunity to bond.

All her enthusiasm surprises me to no end, but I’m going with the flow while Morgan falls deeper and deeper down the hole that is her crush. Her mood always gets ruined though whenever Josephine arrives with gifts from her admirers.

Usually, those include something Morgan would love but can’t afford to buy.

This minor inconvenience aside, she is hilarious and kind when she doesn’t try to act like the rest of her family, who treat everyone they think is beneath their status as dirt under their nails and unworthy of their time.

“So we’re still on for the movies tonight, right?” Josephine asks, scrolling through her tablet and adding another thing to her calendar. This girl will make a great CEO someday. “I got the tickets already, and my driver should pick us up in an hour.”

“Oh, I need to give you money for that.” Morgan fishes her hand inside her bag, but Josephine just waves her hand in a dismissive gesture.

“Don’t worry about it. My brother got them.”

“Oh. Okay,” she mutters, chewing on her straw and sipping her drink, while I just shake my head at both of them.

Wait.

Tonight?

“I can’t go to the movies tonight.” They both look at me, waiting for an explanation. “I got a job.”

Josephine’s brows furrow, and she traces her finger on the cup, cocking her head to the side. “What kind of job?”

“I’m gonna help out at the library, stocking old books in the right places, and watch over it in the evenings twice a week.” A beat passes, and I elaborate further. “You know how much I love books, and when the school emailed me about the opening, I found it interesting.”

Granted, back then I didn’t know how many plans my new friend would have for us, so it seemed like a great way to spend my evenings rather than staying home behind my apartment’s walls.

“So it’s basically free labor, correct? Since you don’t need the money.” Josephine knows my net worth and how I don’t have to work a day in my life to live in luxury, since we both come from old money. Thanks to our family names, we just need to wish for something and it’s ours. “Why waste your time on it? If you need work experience, come join my brother’s company, and we’ll give you a good salary. They have student programs.”

A chuckle slips past my lips at her proposition, just imagining Octavius’s face if I accepted a job there. He’d sooner find me a job at one of his friend’s corporations than ever let me work with her family. “Thanks, but no thanks. Besides, I want to be a teacher someday, remember? So this should be a good experience.”

“If you say so,” she mutters, takes a large sip, and then addresses Morgan. “You should apply for a job at our company, then.” Morgan works at a diner in the mornings when we have late classes and tutors math to a few college students. “It would make your life easier. And I just listed the benefits.”

“Well, I don’t know. They’re probably looking for someone with business experience and—”

“Nonsense. Send me your CV, and it’s a done deal.” Josephine shrugs. “It’s not a big deal. I do it all the time.”

“Oh,” Morgan sighs and then gets up, mustering a smile. “I’m going to the restroom.” With this, she races in that direction while Josephine crosses her arms and huffs in frustration.

We stay silent for several seconds; truth be told, we haven’t been alone since the day she invited me to the library.

A lightbulb switches on inside my brain, shining on the thing happening right under my nose, and a grin shapes my mouth. She notices it, murmuring, “Shut up, Reed,” as her cheeks heat up and she drums her fingers, trying to avoid the subject, but it’s too late now.

My God!

How did I miss it?

“Josephine, just ask her out.” I decide not to beat around the bush, especially with Morgan coming back any minute. “Because it’s becoming painful to watch.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Come on. Really? All the gifts from your ‘admirers.’ You’re practically stalking her every move and now trying to get her a better job so she has more time to hang out with you.” Her lips thin, and anger along with guilt flash in her eyes, telling me I hit the target. “You’re wooing Morgan, and it’s sweet. But maybe try doing it without making it seem as if you don’t care about her.”

She opens and closes her mouth, bites on her lips as if musing on her words, and finally speaks up. “I’ve never done this before.” She leans closer, dropping her voice to a whisper. “I’m good at hookups, not dating and relationships.”

I frown at her words, because Morgan is a hopeless romantic who believes in relationships and would never agree to a hookup.

Or at least that’s what she said a few months back.

“But you like her, right?”

“Are you kidding me? Of course I do. The way she talks… walks… and paints. There is something so magnetic about her.” She blushes once again and sighs. “She has a heart.”

Because she utters this statement almost as an insult, I blink and ask, “That’s a problem?”

She nods. “My family and I don’t have one. We are ruthless and very straightforward. I might screw it up with her royally and don’t really want to break her heart for the first time.” She wiggles her nose in distaste. “This is all your fault!”

What the hell? “My fault?”

“Yes. I noticed her because of you. Now I can’t even focus on my calendar without thinking about Morgan and what she is doing right now. She’s turned me into a psycho.”

A laugh bubbles up inside me at seeing her all frustrated and lost in her very first crush. I bet she didn’t expect for her structured world to fall apart because of a purple-haired artist who adores her.

A nagging sensation glides over my skin, awakening every nerve in my body as heat slams into me, immobilizing me. The familiar feeling of a possessive, obsessive gaze settles over me, whispering about danger nearby that might have deadly consequences for me.

Yet I’m still attracted to it like a moth to a flame.

I look around, wanting to find the source of my discomfort and curiosity alike, but find nothing out of the ordinary. Just passing students enjoying their meals or drinks with the occasional professor stopping by to grab a coffee.

My fingers rub over my neck and collarbone, remembering how Ryder’s hand wrapped around my throat, and a raspy breath slips past my lips, because these sensations are so familiar.

As if he’s watching me from a distance, reminding me that a hunter always traps his prey, no matter how much they run.

And deep down, I want him to do it, then see what happens.

But that’s an illusion, right?

The man made no effort to get me after that one time, so he’s probably already moved on to someone else, while my soul burns anew every single day, wondering about what-ifs.

A shadow falls over us, and as the energy shifts from calming to sinfully charged by thousands of volts, I know who stands next to me.

Because who else would have such an effect on me?

Tilting my head back, my eyes clash with the deep-brown ones filled with amusement and desire so strong my toes curl inside my shoes.

My fingers wrap tighter around the paper cup.

“Professor MacAlister,” Josephine greets him, sitting up straight, while I just stare at him, drinking in his handsomeness as he stands there in a suit that showcases all his defined muscles. And by the admiring glances thrown his way, I’m not the only one who notices.

But his massive form and our window seats block most of the view from their prying gazes, so they can only guess what’s going on in here.

Considering Josephine and her love of harassing all her professors by submitting her assignments early and then asking them thousands of questions in the most unexpected places, no one is even surprised.

“Josephine. Excellent paper on the Hades myth.” He hooks his thumb on his pocket, which opens his suit jacket, and his tailored shirt highlights his six-pack.

It should be forbidden for a professor to be this handsome. How can people focus while looking at and listening to him?

Or maybe I’m just that shallow.

“Oh, thank you, sir,” she says, shocked by his words but still enjoying them. In our class, she’s still the only one he compliments, and he didn’t stop her from expressing her views on the myth we’ve already discussed.

Irrational jealousy once again flows over me, the green-eyed monster rearing its head and reminding me how I’m nothing special and apparently not even memorable enough for the professor to be concerned with afterward.

My phone vibrates inside my bag, and I take it out to read the message flashing on the display.

<Quin> Hey, pretty girl! Are we still on for our date this Saturday?

I groan inwardly, cursing my stupidity at agreeing to go on a date with him in an attempt to forget about Ryder, or rather how a stunning professor shamelessly flirted with him the other day and I got jealous.

Which just proves what an idiot I am all around.

I should have dated in high school, then I wouldn’t be lusting over a forbidden man or wishing for all these women to stop fawning over him.

“Professor MacAlister, did you like my take on the modern myth using the human trafficking example?” Josephine asks, her voice grating on my nerves, so I zone out, not interested in his replies or another set of praises he has for my friend.

<Me> Sure! We’ll meet at the ice rink.

Canceling on Quin two days before the date would be rude, so I’ll go and make clear to him I don’t want anything but friendship from him.

<Quin> I can pick you up. Your brother won’t shoot me, right? Or do I need to bring my shining armor in order to conquer the dragon?

A laugh bursts out of me as I imagine the picture he just described—or him besting Octavius, who must be twice as big as him. He has a better chance of being thrown out the gates and landing on his ass, which creates quite a comical perspective and could be the cherry on top of my disastrous love life.

Ryder shifts his attention to me, openly scanning me from head to toe, and then places a red drink in front of me. “This is tastier than that sorry excuse for a tea you have, darling.”

My heart stops and then gallops in my chest so wildly I’m afraid it might jump out on the floor where he can step on it and crush it, literally in this case, since he has done that figuratively many times already.

Darling.

This word sounds incredibly wicked and holds so much promise on his lips, as if everything we’ve done so far is one major dose of foreplay, where he’s set on driving me insane in order to succumb to his desires.

Curling my fingers around my phone, I muster up indifference so he won’t see the havoc he creates within me or know his power over me.

Even I don’t understand my emotions; no one gets this crazy after interacting with someone once, and years of my crush doesn’t matter in this equation, because it still doesn’t justify my actions.

“Your actions are inappropriate, Professor MacAlister, but you’re new, so maybe you don’t know.” I push the drink closer to the edge of the table. “Professors don’t buy their students drinks.”

Thank God no one can see us and what he did from this angle. Or a magnified rumor would spread across campus within seconds.

And any kind of rumors concerning me have the tendency to get to my brother sooner or later.

“I’m sure they don’t,” he replies, twisting the display on his watch as if setting a timer, the sound ringing in the air, and goose bumps break on my skin. “But you aren’t just my student, darling, are you?” His husky voice swirls around me, creating a twisted web designed to confuse me and make me think about forbidden things that would be my undoing.

Deciding to act clueless, I want to tell him to shove that drink down his throat and not to dare come near me again, when his gaze lands on a gaping Josephine as she swings her head from side to side, studying us both.

Just what I needed.

For her to know I have some weird stuff going on with my professor or whatever this thing between us is called that’s beyond bizarre.

Friends or not, she belongs to the elite, and my brother taught me a long time ago to never give any of them a weapon to use against us. People tend to hurt you when you least expect it, so it’s better not to give them the opportunity.

Ryder, though, nods at Josephine. “Have a nice evening, ladies.” And then he strolls toward the exit, capturing more stares on his way. Some girls even fan themselves, which makes me madder than I already was.

Why wouldn’t they though?

It’s not like anyone has any claim on the man, especially not me.

Palming my head, I mutter, “Ugh.” I hate all the emotions that are creating an inferno in my soul and pulling me in two different directions, giving me no definite answers.

My whole life was a carefully structured world built of stone, and nothing could shake it, but then Ryder came in and destroyed it all.

Arrogant, confusing professor who should rot in hell for all he’s done to my head, although hell is probably a favorite place for the likes of him.

Josephine pokes a finger to my forehead and orders, “Spill.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

She rolls her eyes. “Our new professor just bought you a drink and spoke to us outside of class. I might be self-absorbed, but I know he didn’t do it for my paper.” She taps on her chin. “And all these innuendos. So spill. What’s going on? You screwing the new professor?” She whistles. “Wild.”

“No!” I shout, and several people look in our direction, so I mouth, “Sorry,” and place my hand on the side of my face to block their view as I whisper, “Nothing of the sort happened.”

“But something did happen?” She shakes my drink in the air, the red liquid sloshing from side to side, making the ice inside it rattle. “He bought you a pomegranate juice.” She winks. “Are you guys role-playing Hades and Persephone, with him chaining you to his bed?” She laughs, finding the idea hilarious, and sips more of her coffee while I still, seeing the drink in a different light.

Pomegranate juice.

When Hades trapped Persephone in the underworld, he offered her pomegranate seeds to eat, which since then became a symbol of an unbreakable marriage.

Is he implying he intends to draw me deeper to the dark side and finish what he started in the classroom two weeks ago?

And that no matter how much I run, there is no escape from this all-consuming need? My body sighs in relief while my mind once again rebels.

“We have no rules against a professor and student dating, by the way.” Josephine breaks through the panic slowly creeping toward me and pats my hand. “So if you ever want to explore whatever that is, you can do it easily.” She ponders her statement and adds, “But be careful though. Keep the affair secret.” She studies her nails. “People are jealous creatures, after all.”

Why are we discussing my hypothetical love life anyway? Or do I seem so desperate I would jump in bed with any man who pays attention to me?

“He just bought me a drink because of our discussion. Nothing happened. Have you seen the women he goes out with?” Or rather—the ones at all his business functions he attends with.

She frowns, wanting to protest, not that I need her to reassure me in my looks department.

I know my strengths and weaknesses and accepted them long time ago, feeling comfortable in my own skin.

Or that’s the excuse I use to stop myself from checking out who he’s dated before; although based on what I know, he’s never been spotted with anyone he’s truly dated.

Morgan comes back and drops on her seat, reaching for her milkshake, and must notice the tension in the air, because she asks, “What’s going on?”

“Estella might be screwing Professor MacAlister in the future.”

Morgan chokes on her drink, her eyes watering, and she grabs a tissue to wipe her mouth, gazing at me in shock.

Great.

Now my best friend would probably judge me for being so unromantic and trying to get in bed with—

“Does this mean he will be more lenient with us, then?” What? “I wouldn’t mind getting an A on that stupid paper of his.”

Josephine laughs, and Morgan smiles, covering her mouth, since my glare must burn holes in her.

I can’t believe she is basically following in Josephine’s footsteps!

“I’m glad my nonexistent love life makes you both so happy.”

“Oh, come on!” they both exclaim at the same time, while I shake my head at them.

My phone vibrates once again. Quin must have gotten impatient with my lack of reply, so I grab it, ready to give him an answer, only to blink at the text flashing back at me.

<Unknown> Cancel the date, darling.

Ryder.

How did he get my phone number?

Doesn’t it border on insanity to stalk a student like this? And why does it send a thrill that makes me feel cherished in every cell of my body?

What sane woman reacts this way to something like this anyway?

<Me> No! Why should I? How did you get my number?

<Unknown> Because you’re mine.

Warmth travels from the roots of my hair to my toes, enveloping me in a lustful haze, welcoming his claim of ownership over me, proving to me that he wants me even if it’s wrong. While, at the same time, it soothes the cracked pieces of my soul that another’s careless words destroyed.

She’s not mine, just like that bastard of yours! You fucked us both. You probably fucked the gardener too, didn’t you? Take your daughter and leave. Your son still has to pay the debt, though, for me tolerating your whoring ass all these years.

I scrunch my eyes, willing the painful memories to disappear from my mind, and then my earlier feeling hits me again, pulling my gaze to the window, where Ryder stands by a statue in the distance.

He doesn’t take his eyes off me when his fingers type another reply.

<Unknown> Cancel the date. We have other plans.

Plans?

Butterflies erupt in my stomach; everything in me urges me to accept his proposition and jump off the cliff by doing something bad for the first time in my life.

Or rather what goes against social norms.

Because his powerful frame will catch me.

My fingers hover over a display, ready to take the leap, common sense be damned. Then a woman stands in front of him, hiding him from view.

A long-legged, tall brunette wearing a pencil dress that shows all her curves. She’s stunning and probably gets attention wherever she goes.

They would look great together, and this realization boils my blood, igniting fury throughout me.

Maybe because it pulls me from my haze and serves as a crushing reminder of how worlds apart we truly are.

An experienced, sophisticated man could never truly be interested in a naïve fool like me.

Despite being engaged in conversation with the woman, he still sends me another text.

<Unknown> Cancel the date.

How does he even know about the date? And how does he know I haven’t canceled it already? Did he somehow hack my phone too?

Well, then.

I bristle at his commanding tone. The jealousy present in me whispers in my ear that all my dreams are impossible anyway, and maybe he just has a bet with someone to seduce me. Or worse. To use me to hurt my brother—he wouldn’t be the first who tried.

I text Quin as determination fills me.

<Me> Let’s go out tonight instead. You can pick me up at nine after my library shift.

<Quin> Sweet! Can’t wait!

Ryder MacAlister will not dictate to me or consume my thoughts. They always say to get over one guy, you have to get under another one, right?

Not that I have any intention of sleeping with Quin, but still. Who knows?

One date might cure me of my crush that seems more like an unhealthy obsession.

I forgot one thing though.

Life has a tendency to prove me wrong.

And if you poke a beast hard enough… it will retaliate in the most unexpected way.

CHAPTER FIVE

“She became my obsession.

And as such, I’m going to claim every inch of her delectable body.”

Ryder

Ryder

When God was asked for a perfect, haunting beauty designed to drive men insane, he created her. He gave her a voice to lure them and a way of moving that’s a temptation in itself.

Mesmerizing poetry in human flesh, an art form, a siren.

Although now the possessive beast raging inside me will have to kill any fucker daring to admire or even dream about my obsession, which consumes me more with every breath I take.

Vulnerability and sweetness have a certain kind of smell vicious hunters learn to recognize, and unfortunately, Estella reeks of them, polluting my mind so much I can’t wait to trap her and bind her to me forever.

Her slender body moves flawlessly through the library as she holds a large stack of books, placing each one on the correct shelf before running her fingers over the book’s spine, double-checking her work. A smile curves her plump lips, indicating to me her mission has been successful.

Despite belonging to one of the wealthiest families in the country, the girl is taking her new extra-credit job at the university library quite seriously, and satisfaction pours from me, for I made sure she got it.

Opportunity doesn’t come to those who sit around and wait for divine intervention to help their plans.

And my plan has included claiming her as my own since the moment I saw her, plus pulling her out of her comfort zone—a place where her brother put her—where the poor thing can’t even breathe properly.

Instead, her eyes beg me to snatch her away and introduce her to the dark world where forbidden desires, sins, and wicked thoughts rule, and all cravings have only one destination in sight…

Pleasure.

Estella thrives here among the dusty old books, occupying the place that most people forgot about, and happiness flows from her, inviting you to join her in her bliss.

In fact, the library is almost empty other than the three students sitting in the far left corner, studying for an upcoming test, judging by their whispered arguments.

Estella flips her blazing red locks back. The straight hair, which reaches her waist, billows a little under the AC humming through the enormous space. Her blue dress emphasizes every delectable curve of her body that my hands are itching to touch and my mouth craves to bite.

Every sway of her hips, her jasmine-mixed-with-roses scent, breathy whispers, and squeals of joy whenever she finds the information she seeks scream feminine and irresistible, turning me on to the point of insanity.

My nights are filled with images of those long legs of hers wrapped around me, her head thrown back as I fill her, watching her dripping pussy take every inch of me as I claim her over and over again.

So, no one will ever so much as look in her direction, let alone talk to or touch her.

Mine. Mine. Mine.

However, someone has dared to look and even intends to touch and talk.

And not a day will go by that a man thinks she is fair game and can put a permanent claim on her. That’s my claim.

Madness has existed on this earth since the creation, and it holds a special allure to the wicked monsters who have been stripped of anything human.

Because compassion and mercy don’t exist for the likes of us, and madness allows us to be consumed by our darkest desires and act on them without any trace of guilt.

Especially if one possesses the money, status, and power this world flocks to. In these cases, you are almost untouchable, and isn’t that great?

Estella sneezes loudly and then waves away the dust flying in the air around her. The thick book in her hand must be heavy, because she winces a little as she raises her arm, straining on her toes to put it back on the top shelf.

The action pulls the top of her dress against her full breasts and her heart-shaped ass, making me groan inwardly and send a warning glance to the nerds, but they stay oblivious to my beauty.

Good. After all, their lives depend on it.

The thick, brown glasses on her nose hide her emerald-green eyes that always spark in curiosity and need whenever I’m in her company. She drills her stare into me when she thinks I’m not looking, but whenever my eyes focus on her, fear replaces curiosity, and she quickly glances down, pretending to be interested in something or someone other than me. She’s hoping our encounter means nothing and I won’t pursue anything else with her, yet her entire being begs me for more, silently demanding the passion and pleasure only I can give her.

Ah, my naïve girl.

As if it can help you or stop me from pursuing what belongs to me.

In the last two weeks, I’ve made it my mission to show up at the university early and daily, talking to people I don’t give a shit about just to be in her company, even from a distance. I listen to her soft-spoken voice that manages to calm the constant raging fury in my soul, which has been attached to me since birth.

Multiple cameras on her couldn’t give me the same results, and who would let a day go by without seeing her?

No sane man, and there’s nothing sane about me anyway.

Estella Reed sealed her fate when she entered my auditorium, her cheeks flushed, her perfect breasts rising and falling, her voice barely audible.

A delicate creature who ended up in hell without her knowledge.

While I couldn’t hear shit through the ringing in my ear and my dick straining against my zipper. Unfamiliar possessiveness and anger flashed through me, demanding I hide her away from everyone so no one would think they had a chance to steal her without facing my wrath. I long to mar her skin with my marks of ownership, to feast on her flesh and teach her body about the pleasure only I can provide.

Two weeks of watching her nibble on her pencil as she listens to the lectures or bite her lower lip when she concentrates on the assignments.

Sending daggers my way when I complimented other students and flipping her hair back when she disagreed with my rudeness.

Watching her is an art, demanding time and resources.

For two weeks, I’ve watched her waltz in and out of my auditorium in her short dresses and skirts bringing attention to her round ass, and I’ve resisted the urge to punish the male students who salivate over her. Especially when she has glanced at me, testing my reaction, before gracing those clueless idiots with her smiles. My tempting redhead doesn’t even realize what she’s doing, completely clueless to the effect she has on the opposite sex, her innocence showing in every confused sigh whenever I ignore her actions.

However, you don’t become the vigilante who roams the streets and possesses the amount of power I do without knowing about the virtue of patience.

Some prey are so skittish and delicate they need extra time and care. Besides, fucking my student would go against my code, and although I would have gladly broken it for her, she has been too nervous and eager about her classmates accepting her into their circle. I’ve relented and given her time to develop a deeper friendship with that other girl.

With Josephine’s confidence and reputation, she will give a needed boost to my girl to handle anything, even rude comments despite no strict rule of dating between professors and students, although I’ll take care of that.

I don’t need this job to survive, and they won’t be able to say shit once I put a ring on her finger. Still though… I’ve waited.

Almost an unheard of thing for me, as I’m not used to denying myself anything, but she is worthy of being an exception.

Two weeks of endless torture and I’ve taken it all as long as Estella has understood our silent agreement, because the sexual attraction floating in the air electrifies everything around us.

But today, she dared to break it, and I’ve fucking reached my limit.

The monster never learned to be patient and considerate, even for his most beloved prey.

I will no longer be denied what rightfully belongs to me, everything be fucking damned.

Estella twirls around with the book but stops abruptly, the hardback suspended midway to the shelf, when Elvin, one of my students, notices me and says, “Hey, Professor MacAlister.” He waves a little, and two other students do the same. “Didn’t expect to see you here.”

“Why is that?” I ask, throwing my jacket and briefcase on the nearby desk while the object of my obsession studies me warily, pressing the book to her chest and taking a step back. Goose bumps appear on her skin, and her raspy breath gives away the true emotions washing over her at my presence. It’s inevitable, after all.

A grin shapes my mouth, which only makes her bristle. She lifts her chin in defiance as fire blankets her green orbs.

Ah, my little prey. I will enjoy stripping you of it and listening to you beg me to bring you relief, only to deny it time and time again.

Elvin nods, propping his chin on his hand, and his annoying voice pulls me back to the conversation. “You have a photographic memory, so you’ve probably memorized everything already, because you have two PhDs.” He sighs. “Not like us mortals who have to study hard.”

“If you put as much work into your studying as you do into poking your nose into my business, I’m sure you’ll get a good grade. Priorities, Elvin.”

His friends snicker, and he shares their laugh before gluing his gaze back on the book.

I finally focus my whole attention on my beauty, who spins around, acting as if she’s busy with the shelf on modern art. “Estella,” I address her, and she freezes for a second before resuming putting the books away, not even bothering to face me as she pushes the cart forward. “Glad you’re still here.”

“The library is open ’til nine, Professor MacAlister,” she replies, her melodic voice lowering on my surname, and I wonder how scandalized she would be if I hitched up that fucking dress of hers right here and spanked her ass to teach her a different kind of lesson.

One her body would crave to repeat.

Checking the time on my watch, I order, “Splendid. I need a book on ancient Greek myths. Assist me with it. Now.”

She looks over her shoulder, annoyance flashing in her eyes at my tone, and her green orbs flash dangerously, alerting me to the character hidden under the shy persona she displays to the world. Although in my life, she is a siren, luring me into deep water by enchanting me with her beauty.

“I’m not your employee, Professor.” The bite in her words lets everyone know she’s the princess in the castle, doted on by her older brother, no matter how much she wants to cover this fact at the university by creating the image of a struggling student just to fit in among the group. No one else would have dared to speak to me like that here, and by how Elvin raises his head in surprise, I’m proved correct in my assumptions. “You can find it there.” She points at the far left end, the most secluded area in the library, hidden by several bookshelves, where it’s almost impossible to hear or see anything back there.

Precisely why I chose that place as my hunting ground.

“No, you aren’t,” I agree as she pushes the cart farther and leans down to grab another book. “You are the librarian though, aren't you? So I believe assisting those who ask you for help is part of your job description.”

Her mouth opens and closes at my audacity, her nails sinking into the paperback and bending it a little. She takes a calming breath, but it doesn’t appear to help her composure much.

Ah, all this frustration should be put to good use.

Such as screaming my name as I drive deep into her, staking my claim all over her.

Elvin jumps up. “I can help you, Professor MacAlister. What do you need?” I glance his way, and he must read the reaction on my face, because he drops back on the seat and grabs his book. “On the other hand, this test is not gonna get passed by itself.”

Smart man.

I should give him extra credit at the end of the semester, because God knows we should appreciate brains in this world where so many fools surround us.

Since Estella stands motionless, opening and closing her mouth as if she has no idea what to say, I come closer to her, my boots soundless on the carpeted floor. The air hitches in her throat when the tips of my shoes touch her bare toes. “We can do it the hard way or the easy way, darling.” My voice lowers to a whisper, my words intended for her ears only. “The choice is yours.” I reach to remove the strands of hair from behind her ear, and she shifts her head to the side, avoiding my touch. “The choice will always be yours.”

Within reason, of course, but I fail to mention that to her.

My smart darling guesses it all on her own though. “Blackmail does not involve a choice.” She exhales heavily, her chest rising and falling, while my mouth longs to feast on her flesh, craving to see how her nipples will react.

I’ve never had any particular preferences when it comes to women. I fuck when the need strikes me and the adrenaline pumping in my blood demands an outlet, but that’s about it.

With Estella though?

I want to spend hours worshiping every part of her body so it will become attuned to me, and then no one else will be able to set it aflame.

Mine.

She speaks up, louder this time, causing the nerds to glance in our direction once again. We must be providing the best entertainment they’ve seen in months. Based on my observations, people tend to not include them in anything, so they always hang out together. “What story would you like to read? You probably know all the myths anyway. Or at least you should.”

The sarcasm dripping from every word she utters further strains my hard-on against my zipper. My inner beast demands I wrap my arm around her waist and fuck her on the nearest horizontal surface while enjoying her claws digging into my back as she marks me.

She might be innocent, but the hints of temper she displays tell me our passion will burn the sheets between us.

“Hades and Persephone.” Surprise flickers on her face. Clearly, it was the last thing she expected me to say. “There should be a whole book dedicated to their relationship.” I should know, since I bought it and put it in there.

Like I said.

If you want something, you create opportunities yourself and don’t let anyone dictate your fate.

“Oh shoot! We’ll be late for the movies,” Elvin exclaims, and all his friends jump up, rapidly gathering their things. “Our history professor said she’ll give extra credit to whoever goes and writes a paper on it.”

Glancing at my watch, I grin, thinking how one can always count on a nerd to play right into my hand.

“Bye, Professor MacAlister. Estella, see you in the class, and thanks for all the help!” he shouts as he rushes off with his friends. Estella just gapes at them in shock before swallowing hard and looking at me again as she adjusts her glasses once more.

She abandons her book cart and spins around, giving me a perfect view of her ass as she saunters toward the requested shelf. I can almost hear her heart galloping inside her chest at the prospect of being alone in the library with me, like the prey who knows the hunter has come to catch her.

She shouldn’t be afraid.

This hunter craves to possess her, but he will never harm her.

Just claim her.

Estella

This cannot be happening to me.

My heart races inside me, beating so loudly I can feel it in my neck. My palms sweat as we walk toward the secluded shelf to get Ryder his damn book.

No one else is in the library.

Somehow, the knowledge awakens something inside me, creating a forbidden atmosphere around me. Goose bumps break on my skin, spreading so rapidly I get tingling sensations all over.

Placing my hand on my chest, I rub it back and forth as I muster a professional demeanor. My professor should be called a handsome devil for how irresistible he is.

Even in the library among the dusty old books, he stands out as the wicked temptation sent to test my resolve, and as of right now, I’m failing miserably.

Quin. The date. Maybe he will cure me of this infatuation.

The thought does nothing to calm me down; it merely adds to my sour mood, because using Quin seems so bad.

Before Ryder showed up at our university, I could envision myself with Quin, despite his reputation. But I did wonder why he would want someone like me. However, now, with my childhood crush around, popping up all over the place and confusing my mind to no end, it’s impossible to see Quin as anyone but just a friend.

We reach the bookshelf in question, and I slide my fingers over the thick books, searching for the specific title and finding it quickly.

Snagging it, I turn around and gasp at seeing Ryder standing right in front of me. “Professor MacAlister.”

His eyes flash with heat at me calling him that, and an unfamiliar thrill rushes through me, sending a scorching flush all over my flesh, and a breath slips past my lips. “I found the book.”

He glances at it, and then his orbs settle on me, lazily and possessively at the same time, scanning my appearance as pleasure fills them… and something else.

Something I cannot name yet, but it speeds up my pulse, and my toes curl into the carpet when he steps closer. His intoxicating masculine scent mixed with tobacco envelops me, drawing invisible ropes tightly around me and tricking my mind into succumbing to whatever the devil has to offer.

“Have you canceled the date?”

My eyes widen at his question. A muscle in his cheek twitches, and a deadly expression settles on his features, his voice having dropped a few octaves. The deep timbre glides over my skin like silk, unsettling my mind in ways I don’t understand.

Or know how to resist.

“It’s… it’s none of your business.”

A sinister smile curves his mouth at my reply, and he comes even closer, the tips of his shoes touching my toes while he asks, “Isn’t it, darling?”

“You’re my professor.” I take a step back to avoid the onslaught of power hitting me from every direction. My back hits the bookshelf, rattling it slightly, and I press the book to my chest. The energy around us changes, and a sense of the inevitable looms above me. “You can’t dictate who I can or can’t date.”

In fact, I’m not sure he’s allowed to interact with me like this at all, but Ryder must not follow any rules.

He places his arm above me, caging me in between his hard chest and the bookshelf, leaving me no route to escape. The air sticks in my throat when he grips my chin, tipping my head up, his touch burning me as our gazes clash. His penetrating and mine confused.

“I told you to never lie to me, darling.” He leans forward, our mouths a breath away from each other. My hold on the book tightens as I keep it as a shield to prevent our chests from connecting. “A man always protects what belongs to him.” I still at his words as his thumb brushes over my lips, sending electricity over my nerve endings, and even though my mind screams for me to stop him and run away, I’m staying glued in place. “And you, my darling, are mine. Cancel the fucking date.”

Insane.

He must be insane. What else explains this madness?

Madness that lures me with each passing second toward a man whose intentions have secrets written all over them. What else would explain why he covets a student so much he doesn’t think about consequences?

A student he’s ignored all these weeks while keeping his smiles for everyone else.

Fury washes over me, boiling my blood and mixing with the lust consuming my senses. From it, I find the strength to fight against the attraction simmering between us like a volcano ready to erupt. “I belong to no one.” I push his hand away and raise my chin high. “Least of all to you.” I dart to the side, and the book drops on the floor with a loud thud. I don’t manage to go far though, as he pulls me back. He settles his splayed palm on my collarbone, sliding it up until it wraps around my throat, and his fingers flex on my pulse. “Ryder.” I address him by his name for the first time. My voice trembles as I grab his shirt, crumpling the cloth in my hands. I want to push him away, yet I stand motionless.

The tension in the air becomes so thick I can almost touch it, and heat sinks into me, creating a fire within me that threatens to burn me alive.

Just a little more pressure and he can cut off my oxygen supply all together.

“Ah, my stubborn yet beautiful, innocent girl,” he whispers, and I open my mouth to protest again when he presses his lips to my pulse point. A gasp escapes me at the contact, and my hold on his shirt tightens.

The sensations travel through me, awakening every hair on my body. Sensual arrows shoot straight to my core as he adds fuel to the already burning fire swirling inside me, ready to erupt in a powerful blast.

I should scream my lungs out, tell him to stop, wiggle in his embrace. Do something, because such dangerous encounters lead to devastating consequences.

I should know, since it’s the inevitable outcome of anyone dealing with my family.

Yet I’m mesmerized by his softly spoken words, the husky tone that’s even but holds so much steel in it. The dominant energy comes from him in waves, and I long to submit to it.

Because then he would be the one to take care of everything, and the desire building in the pit of my stomach would have an outlet.

His tongue peeks out, then licks my skin, breaking more goose bumps on my flesh as he skims his lips up to my ear, biting on the lobe, as he murmurs, “You belong to me, only me.” And then he glides his lips to my chin, nipping it as our breaths mingle, our lips inches apart. Our gazes clash, and this time around, my inevitable fate shines brightly from his orbs, promising me a life full of pleasure.

But only with him by my side.

“We can’t. I’m not,” I manage to croak. His thumb presses harder on my neck, and the air hitches in my throat as he rocks his pelvis into me. We both groan when the thick bulge in his pants hidden behind the zipper connects with me, and my core clenches reflexively. “Ryder.” While my words beg him to stop, my body pleads for him to continue. Scorching heat washes over me in waves, demanding something I do not understand, and I tug him closer to me.

“I bet this pussy is dripping for me right now. All damp and ready for your man to eat it out while your voice becomes hoarse from pleasure.” My hands circle his neck as my nipples peak through the dress from the erotic images in my head, making me crave them here, in this forbidden place, from a man I barely know but desperately want to call mine.

He licks my lips before trapping the lower one between his teeth. The sting mixes with my lust, creating a cocoon around me where only he and I exist, adding to the force pushing me down the wicked abyss where sins rule.

He sways back and then thrusts forward again, this time harder, and my legs shift as I try to accommodate him—while several more books drop all around us.

My fingers thread through his hair, tugging him closer, desperately needing a kiss, but he denies me, continuing to drive me insane with each word he says. “I can see it now. You’re getting used to my mouth.” His other hand cups my breast, squeezing it hard, earning himself a moan, and then his fingers circle my nipple. “It will be your favorite thing. Right after my dick.” I should hate his crude words; instead though, they just intensify the desire in me, and my clothes feel almost offensive on my skin.

I whimper when he lowers his hand to my stomach before settling on my hip.

He finds the hem of my dress and hikes it up, his hand clenching my ass cheek and forcing me to stand on my toes. “What is it, darling? Like having my dick as your personal toy?”

A sense of ownership washes over me. My insides love everything about his words, because just the idea of having this man belong to me and only me while he focuses on my pleasure alone is an addicting aphrodisiac I cannot resist.

My professor is a forbidden fruit designed to taint me in darkness and soak me in sinful cravings that will be my undoing and lead to my downfall.

He swallows my whimper with his mouth, connecting us in a deep, passionate kiss as his tongue explores my mouth, roaming and staking his claim as if marking his territory for anyone daring to question his right over me.

Each lick and flick of his tongue draws me deeper into his embrace, holding promises of things I’ve only heard and read about but desperately want to indulge in now. They are the answer to the blazing heat consuming me from head to toe.

Even my limited experience with kissing lets me know there are few men who kiss like Ryder MacAlister.

You’re their most prized possession, and they will kill anyone daring to snatch you away.

A kiss that changes and dooms my fate for eternity as it forever attaches me to Ryder, placing invisible chains on me, locked around my wrist, and he’s the only one who has the keys to them.

Our mouths separate for a second, and we both draw a breath and then kiss again. Our tongues duel for dominance as my nails dig into his scalp, and he growls.

A surprised gasp slips into the kiss when he lifts me up. My legs wrap around him and lock on his back as his strong arm holds me tight. The other hand tangles in my hair, pulling it hard until I gulp for breath and throw my head back. He bestows kisses all over my neck, sucking on my skin and leaving hickeys for sure.

And instead of mortifying me, the thrill rushes down my spine, loving the idea of everyone knowing I belong to this man who silences the voices in my head and gives reprieve to my overanalyzing mind.

Right at this moment, with his cock pressing into my clit with each step, I do not care about anything.

Us being in a public place, people who might walk in on us at any moment.

The only thing that exists for me is Ryder and what his touch entails. Lust whispers in my ears to succumb to the temptation, because it’s the only thing that will relieve the fire destroying me from inside out.

He puts me on the table, the bare skin of my thighs rubbing against the harsh wood while the dim light coming from small lamps gives him a wild look.

A barbarian who came to claim what’s his. My pussy clenches at the idea as my gaze falls to his erection, and instinctively my thighs rub together, just imagining what it’d be like to have it stretch me so much.

He hisses a breath through his teeth, and my eyes shoot back up to him. “Look at you. All frustrated and mine, begging to be taken.” He places his hot palms on my hips, lifting the dress until he exposes my panty-covered core. My cheeks heat up at the simple white underwear I've chosen today. “My darling, you’re too innocent.” He chuckles, the sound tingling my skin, and then my moan echoes through the space when his middle finger slides up and down my core, pushing the cloth inside me while his thumb brushes over me gently. “So wet. You haven’t even had my dick yet, and you already crave it.” He licks around my puckered nipple before sucking it hard and drawing it into his mouth through the dress, leaving wet spots in his wake. I lace my hands in his hair in a death grip, not wanting him to stop and giving him access to do whatever he pleases with me.

Only to jerk when he bites roughly on my nipple, trapping it between his teeth and pulling a little just as he slips my panties to the side and pushes his finger inside me, combining pain and pleasure together while sending me into a sensual spiral.

I moan again when he shifts his attention to the other breast, repeating the action while his finger thrusts in and out of me. My core dampens more with each glide, soaking my panties and his fingers. “One of these days, I’m going to strip you naked and feast on your breasts for hours, making you come just from sucking them hard.” A hot flush zips through me; heady sensations surround me just imagining him doing it, and my legs around him tighten. “I’m going to corrupt every inch of you, my darling.”

His lips travel up to my collarbone, neck, then reach my mouth again where he kisses me deeper than before, demanding I give him everything. Possession driven by lust fills every swipe of his tongue, mimicking the stabs of his finger pushing farther and farther while my heat consumes me.

Moving closer to him, I angle my head for better access, and our tongues engage in the age-old dance as if forever gluing us together in an unshakable bond that nothing will be able to break.

And despite feeling heartbreak peeking at me from the near future, I no longer have the will or desire to resist the urge, needing and wanting this madness to trap me in its hold and never let go.

For in madness I finally find freedom.

Hugging him closer, I sigh in the kiss, loving the hard muscle that’s like an unshakable structure that would always protect me.

An art form that everyone should admire, but I’m too possessive to share.

He continues to ravish my mouth, then my nails dig into his nape when he settles his whole palm over my pussy, squeezing it and then pushing two fingers into me, which only heightens my senses as the silky texture of the clothing nips on my nerve endings, shooting sensations straight to my clit, and my hips start to rock of their own accord, meeting his thrusts.

I groan into his mouth when his thumb flicks my clit back and forth before pressing on it so hard I almost see stars. I tear my mouth away from him, gulping for breath. “Ryder, please.”

Instead of listening to me, he lazily circles his thumb around my clit, his fingers stretching me as he shifts his mouth to the underside of my chin and peppers small kisses on it, which are followed by fire-like licks and bites. They’re designed to make me crave him even more, as thousands of sensations crash into me, one after another. “Please, Ryder.”

“What do you want, my darling?” Thrust. Thrust. Thrust. My moans bounce off the walls. “To come on my fingers?”

I nod, longing to grab his hand and keep it in one place so he can soothe the inferno pushing me toward bliss, a secret treasure only he can give me. And then I cry in despair when he chuckles, placing his mouth wide on my neck, sucking on the flesh.

“I think you’d love my tongue more.”

My thighs clamp around him while my pussy clenches his fingers. More wetness coating them is the answer he receives. Still, I whisper, “Please.” And then he agonizingly slowly removes his fingers, leaving me empty and craving him like my next breath. “No, no,” I groan when he pushes his cock against my core. The rough texture of his pants combined with my panties becomes almost unbearable, creating more friction on my clit. Roughly, he fists my hair, pulling the strands to the point of pain until our gazes clash.

He raises his finger, still glistening from me, and then smears my lips with it. My bittersweet scent teases my nostrils; my eyes widen, because I’ve never tasted myself before. “Lick,” he orders, and I do, welcoming the taste and then gasping when he slams his mouth on mine, drinking from me and groaning while his body becomes rock-hard.

Our kiss is hot and passionate, vanishing any previous doubts I might have had about us. Our tongues brush against each other in lustful glides, intensifying the need and electrifying everything around me.

My nails scratch his nape; he inhales all my whimpers while my lungs beg for oxygen, but I refuse to break for it if it means ending our kisses.

His palms drop on my hips, gripping them harshly as he drives into me again, and I tilt my head while opening my mouth wider, letting him deepen the kiss, flexing my thighs tighter around him. Pleasure slowly sneaks up on me, calling my name and luring me into its darkness… if only he continues to satisfy me in ways that guarantees my gratification.

My loud protest echoes in the air when he snatches his mouth away, denying me once again, and we both breathe heavily as a wicked smile graces his lips and heat blazes in his brown orbs. “I want a real taste now.” He sends me flying backward until I’m lying flat on the table. Then he shoulders my legs farther apart, bending them so my heels rest on the wood. I sigh at the perfect, gorgeous, male beauty he represents, with his dark hair falling below his ear and his carved body visible even through the shirt. His brow cocks up. “Like what you see, darling?”

“Yes.”

“Want to stake a claim on it?” The air hitches in my throat at the thought of that. All the women out there knowing that he belongs to someone and not fawning over him?

Sounds like heaven to me.

An insane and unhealthy heaven, all things considered—nevertheless heaven though.

Something inside me resists the idea of him knowing just how gone for him I am, so I shake my head, and he laughs, the sound caressing my skin.

“Liar.” He gathers my skirt and pulls it upward, exposing me to his view and then ripping my panties away in one swift move, leaving me completely bare.

My core becomes wetter at the display of dominance as tremors rush through me one after another. I clench my fists, my nails digging into my palms, when his hot breath fans my core, my insides squeezing as fire spreads in my veins, making me hate my own skin. “Ryder,” I cry out when he rubs his five-o'clock shadow over my flesh, inhaling my scent before sucking on the insides of each thigh, one by one, making me hiss. I dig my heels on the table harder as he slides his palms under my ass, lifting me closer to his searching mouth as he continues to nibble on my skin. “Please.”

It seems I’m capable of only uttering two words.

“What do you want, darling?” My fingers grip his hair tight as I hold him in place for fear of him going away again. He rubs his face against my wetness, fanning the blaze and doing nothing to extinguish it. “My tongue?”

“Yes.” Anything, as long as it gives me pleasure.

“Who are you asking?” I freeze when he bites my flesh, hotness enveloping me. “Answer me.”

“Ryder.”

His breath tickles my core, and I wrap my legs around his neck, my heels moving to dig into his back, and he clenches my ass cheeks harder. “And who do you belong to?”

Oh no.

No, no, no.

He cannot ask me that now!

My eyes find his, and while possessiveness and desire shine brightly in them, there is a resolve too that lets me know he won’t give me what I covet unless I say the words out loud.

After which there will be no turning back.

Yet the idea of never finding the bliss his every touch promises me scares me more than indulging in this temptation.

Swallowing harshly, I close my eyes and whisper, accepting inevitable doom, “Yours.” And I cry out when he places his mouth on my core, swiping his tongue over my folds and sucking them one by one. Heat surrounds me while fire spreads through my veins rapidly, awakening every cell in my body and filling it with hunger and need.

He thrusts his tongue inside me, twirling it around, then pulls it back only to dive in again, all while his fingers dig in my ass harder, making me whimper and arch my back. My fingers pull at his hair so much he groans into me, the vibration adding to the sweet torture he subjects me to.

He pushes deeper and deeper, my center stretching around the velvet texture of his tongue, and then he glides it over my folds again. When he bites on them, my hips shoot up, but he holds me in place, not letting me escape his hungry mouth.

He licks my lower lips one by one before skimming his lips upward, his teeth trapping my clit. His palms move to the inside of my thighs to spread me wider for him, and he swipes his tongue from top to button, feasting on me as my heels continue to dig in his back. I slowly start to rock, matching his rhythm and seeking the friction that will give me relief from this all-consuming madness.

The pressure builds inside me; scorching heat rushes through me in waves from the pleasure. I’m in a bubble ready to burst at any moment and send me flying over the edge to find solace in the lustful sea he has cast around me.

“Ryder, please,” I groan when he changes tactics, slipping his tongue inside me again, stabbing it deep while his thumb plays with my clit, flicking it from side to side before pressing hard on it. “Ryder.” My nails scrape his scalp while my breathing speeds up, and sweat breaks on my skin along with more goose bumps that pop up rapidly. So many sensations cascade through me all at once, drawing me into emotions that are claiming my soul.

The relief is almost there, just one more thrust of his tongue and….

I cry out when he glides it upward again, continuing to ravish my flesh as his fingers enter me, adding to the lust and bringing me closer and closer to the brink, only to deny it when he removes his finger and replaces it with his tongue again. “Ryder, please.” I pull his hair, keeping him in the same position as frustration fills me. “Please,” I beg him, craving pleasure and relief with my next breath—otherwise, I might die.

One long swipe over my folds and he asks, “Please what?” Another long lick followed by him wrapping his lips around my clit and sucking hard. I roll my hips toward him, moaning and groaning in frustration. I’m hovering at the brink but never finding satisfaction. “What do you want, Estella?” He drives two fingers inside me, the double onslaught of sensations destroying me as the fire within me threatens to burst and turn me to ashes that will scatter around the library.

I’d gladly accept my fate if it means getting the bliss my body needs.

“Tell me, my darling. What do you want?” he whispers over my flesh, sucking on my skin while his fingers push deeper and deeper. But even I understand they are a poor substitute to him.

And that’s my answer, isn’t it?

He traces his tongue over me some more before I finally speak, barely believing the words are slipping past my lips. “You. I want you to fuck me and make me come.”

He growls against my core, a hiss escaping me, and then he gives it one long kiss before straightening up and wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, the action making me even hotter.

He takes out a foil packet from the back of his pants, his mouth ripping it. With his other hand, he slides down the zipper on his pants, and my eyes widen at the sight of his thick, long cock with a pulsing vein and precum leaking from the tip.

My core clenches just imagining having it inside me, and I lick my lips, which earns me a grin from him as he wraps the condom over his length.

He crooks his finger at me, and I rise as he tangles his fingers in my hair and pulls me toward him, his dick rubbing up and down my folds. “Ryder,” I whisper, wrapping my legs around him as my arms circle his neck.

“Who do you belong to, my darling girl?”

What else is there to say? “You.”

He covers my mouth with his, kissing me hard while sharing my taste, as he thrusts into me with one swift move, and my center burns from such powerful force that stretches me to the brink.

And right in this moment, I truly understand nothing will ever be the same again.

We swallow each other’s groans, stilling for a second, while connecting in the most primal way, and then he sways back and rocks forward again, thrusting into me hard. My thighs clamp around him, and my head falls back as he deepens the kiss, bruising my mouth in the process.

I don’t care though.

I don’t care about anything but the pleasure falling on me with each drive of his cock inside me, igniting my blood and ruining me for every other man in the future.

For who will ever compare to him? He evokes electric volts of sensations in my body, and the bubble around me grows and grows, blocking the outside world away while the swirling blaze in the pit of my stomach spreads all over me, creating a friction and pressure that holds my passion and release.

Snatching my mouth away from him, I gulp for breath while he shifts his attention to my neck, nibbling on the skin and sucking on it as his pace increases and his thrusts become deeper.

Each drive of his hips claims me in its own way, staking his mark of ownership in every burning sting or clench of my muscles around him, and that’s a curse in itself.

Because after experiencing it just once, I will crave it again and again, needing the satisfaction to sustain me, or I won’t survive.

At least right now I don’t think I can without him making me come as scorching flushes start to hit me from every corner, pulling me higher and higher toward the invisible horizon.

I place my lips in the crook between his neck and shoulder, breathing in his masculine scent as he continues his strokes. The sounds echo through the space, coating the library in something forbidden.

God knows we both have already been soaked in darkness.

His moves become more erratic, the drives more powerful, as my core clenches harder and harder around him until finally I cannot take it anymore and shatter in his arms, crying out as he continues to thrust into me.

Breathing heavily, I rake my nails down his back, my pussy spasming around his length, and he growls into my neck before finding my mouth again, owning it as he fucks me so hard we rattle the table. The muscles under my palm become rigid.

One. Two. Three.

He shares a groan with me as he finds his release, spilling inside the condom while still pulsing inside me, and I tighten my hold on him, never wanting to let go.

Ryder.

A smile shapes my lips, and I hug him close, completely sated from our encounter. I’ve never imagined sex could be this way.

One lousy and rushed encounter a year ago where I barely felt anything besides pain could never compare to what Ryder has just made me feel.

Magnificent and gorgeous man.

I open my eyes and then freeze when the library comes into view, and with this, the lustful haze he put on me vanishes, leaving me cold and terrified of what I’ve done in this public place.

With my professor of all people!

Panic sinks its claws into me, disturbing my senses while my stupidity and naivety finally register in my mind. I push at his chest hard, making him step back from me as a concerned look settles on his features.

However, I cannot look at him now or try to explain. Ryder has proven to be my undoing, a poison that pollutes my blood until no rational thought is left.

A dangerous man who I should stay away from, because he threatens to break the status quo I’ve lived by for so long.

“Estella,” he says, but I shake my head. I adjust my dress and then dart toward my shoes, quickly slipping them on. And then as if a thousand wolves are chasing me, I’m running outside without any sense of direction.

I just know I have to get away from him.

Because if he tries hard enough, he has the power to convince me to stay.

Ryder

Mine can run from me.

But I will catch her every single time.

Because what a MacAlister claims… he never lets go of.

That’s our most absolute rule.

CHAPTER SIX

“Lust is a weapon.

One should be careful when allowing it to rule their life.

Because every weapon can be used against them.”

Estella

Estella

Clenching my fist, I bang on the door hard several times, not caring how the sound echoes or that it probably alerts Josephine’s neighbors in the luxurious apartment building designed by her family.

One of the reasons why they own the entire thing.

My clothes, soaked from the rain, drip water on the floor as I wipe my face and run my fingers through my messy hair.

My body still burns from what happened earlier in the library.

Where Ryder put his mouth between my legs and ravished me in ways I’ve only read about—where anyone could’ve walked in on us and seen us—my cries of pleasure filling the library.

And some part of me thrills in the knowledge and wants everyone to know this man is claimed and mine, so they can keep their claws away from him.

My core clenches at the memory alone, and air hitches in my lungs. My lips hurt from the countless kisses he bestowed on me, and a groan slips out.

Come for me, darling.

His hushed whisper tickles my ears still, and exhaling heavily, I bang on the door some more until it finally opens as Josephine snaps, “I’m here.” Her eyes widen when she sees me, scanning my appearance when I do the same to her, noticing her short, silky robe and tousled hair combined with the red lips. “Estella.”

“We need to talk,” I say, entering the spacious hallway without waiting for an invitation.

She closes the door after me and asks carefully, “Now?” She looks at the wall where a wooden clock hangs. “It’s ten o’clock. Aren’t you usually home by this time?” Panic laces her tone, and she tightens her belt, shifting from foot to foot nervously.

This behavior contrasts so much with her usual confidence that it takes me several seconds to respond. “Yeah. Now. And yes, I’m usually home, but something happened. We need to talk.”

“Yeah, you said that already,” she mutters under her breath and then motions with her hand to the living room. “Come on in, then. Just give me a second; I’ll put some clothes on.” She spins on her heel and marches toward the left hallway, leading to two doors, probably her room and a guest room, considering the size of this apartment.

I walk farther into the classically designed apartment where black and white dominate the color scheme that reeks of coldness and order.

The living room has an L-shaped leather couch along with two chairs and a small table that has a laptop on it. A fluffy black rug is placed in front of the gleaming lit fireplace, creating the perfect place to lounge after a difficult day.

The panoramic view opens to the nightlife of Chicago, letting us all admire the magnificence of our hometown from skyscrapers to the sidewalks filled with curious people ready to discover all the hidden treasures.

Countless museums, artistic places, whatever your heart desires—Chicago will give it to you, and all you have to do is love it.

That’s why I’ll never move away from my hometown.

Well, that and my brother stays here.

At the thought of Octavius, my mood sours, bringing me back to the current situation.

Slipping off my shoes, I hiss when my feet touch the cold marble as I walk to the fire. Extending my hands to it, I welcome the warmth surrounding me and heating up my icy fingers.

Although an inferno burns inside me, consuming my thoughts, on the outside I’m freezing.

“Here you go.” Josephine puts a towel in my hands while holding a steaming mug in the other. She’s changed into sweats and a T-shirt. “You don’t believe in umbrellas?” She frowns. “Your driver should have had it ready for you.”

“I walked here.”

She blinks. “From home?”

“From school. Well, ran is more like it.” I dry my hair, rubbing the wet strands in the towel. “The rain had just started though, so it’s not as bad as it looks.”

“That’s a relief,” she replies with sarcasm coating her tone and snatches the towel from me once I’m done and practically shoves the mug at me. “You need dry clothes too.” She half turns, ready to get them for me, when I grab her elbow, halting her movements.

“Later. We need to talk.” I glance around and point at her couch. “Is it okay for me to sit on it in my clothes?”

She huffs in exasperation. “Okay, you need to stop saying that, because you’re freaking me out. And yes, by all means, sit on the couch and spill the beans, woman.”

I drop on it, sighing in relief while wrapping my hands around the hot mug, welcoming the sting in my palms, and take a tentative sip. The warm liquid slides down my throat, causing the heat to spread through me. “I was supposed to go on a date with Quin tonight.” So this isn’t how I planned to start this conversation, but it’s close enough.

She sits on the chair opposite me. “And it went south?” Since I still stay silent, not knowing how to reply, her eyes narrow, and her voice becomes hard. “If he did something, we’re gonna destroy him.”

“What? No!” I quickly add, and she relaxes a bit, but before either of us can say anything else, a voice calls from the hallway, freezing us both.

“Why did you leave the bed?” Rubbing her face, Morgan walks in wearing the same robe Josephine did earlier. “Come back.” She props on the chair’s arm and circles her arms around Josephine’s neck and then rests her cheek on it, only to freeze when her blue eyes land on me, and she realizes they aren’t alone.

She abruptly sits up straight when she sees me, and we both stare at each other in shock, and finally her words pierce through the stretched silence. “I had sex tonight.”

“We’re dating now,” Josephine adds, sliding her palm down Morgan’s back and then locking it around her waist.

Well, then.

No better opportunity than the present to share my little secret.

“I had sex with Ryder in the library.”

Their jaws drop at my admission; they glance at one another, and then Morgan raises her hands in defeat. “You win.” She smacks a kiss on her girlfriend’s cheek, jumps up, and sits next to me. “Girl! How the hell did this happen?”

“I have no idea,” I reply honestly, happy about my friends finally figuring out their mutual crush on each other but still so confused about my own situation.

“Didn’t you have a date with Quin?” Josephine asks in confusion and fires another question right away. “And how in the hell did he find you?”

“He wanted me to cancel my date, but I refused, so he came to the library. One thing led to another… and before I knew it, we were having sex by the Ancient Greece bookshelf in the library.” I cover my face with my hands, groaning into them as Josephine chuckles and Morgan pats my shoulder in a reassuring gesture. “I’ve crushed on him since I was fifteen,” I add lamely, as if trying to excuse my behavior.

“So when you saw he was ready to fuck you hard, you couldn’t resist?”

Leave it to Josephine to be so frank.

“Yes.” I take another sip blindly, too afraid to look up and see judgment in their eyes. “I know I’m an idiot.”

Morgan asks in confusion, “For hooking up with a professor?” I nod, and she pats my shoulder again. “What does it mean though? Was it a onetime thing, or are you guys going to do it again?”

“I ran away from him.”

“So you don’t know what this means,” Josephine concludes. “Is that why you need to talk?” She drums her fingers on her armchair. “I could pull some strings and get his number, so you can apologize for running and find out what the hell this means to him.”

I shake my head and finally open my eyes again as Josephine stares at me intently, while Morgan grips my free hand. “He wants a relationship I think. He called me his and other stuff.”

“Yay!” Morgan exclaims, squeezing my hand. “Kind of weird and stalkerish, all things considered, but so romantic.” She sighs dreamily, loving the idea of us together, but her girlfriend is way more pragmatic.

And she knows my family history, because some secrets are impossible to hide, especially in our society.

“Octavius,” she utters. “You think he will object to the match.”

A hollow laugh escapes me. “I don’t think. I know. He flat-out forbids me dating. Can you imagine what he will do once he hears about this? He will wipe the floor with Ryder.” Although even saying it feels wrong, as there is nothing soft, gentle, or weak about Ryder.

In fact, I have a strong suspicion, if there is a man who can stand on his own against my older brother, it’s him, and he won’t drop me like a hot potato for fear of dying.

Still, there is a tiny chance of him getting hurt in the process, and I just can’t risk it.

What if they fight and hurt each other, just like what happened to Octavius all those years ago?

“Breathe, Estella, breathe,” Josephine orders, and that’s when I realize I’m holding my breath. I exhale slowly and then inhale, chasing away the panic ready to wrap tightly around me. “I have this system that allows me to choose things I truly want to do.”

The change of subject is so rapid I’m not sure what to say, so I stay silent while she explains. “Answer these few questions, and based on that, you can decide what to do next.”

“If he is interested and she likes him, what is there to think about?” Morgan asks, crossing her arms, and Josephine throws a soft smile her way.

“Patience, my love. Estella here doesn’t have an artistic soul, and she overthinks everything, so she needs our help to figure it out.”

“May I remind you, Estella is here,” I snap. They laugh, and the melodic sound of it calms some of the nerves causing a storm inside me.

At least, no matter what, I have these two best friends, and that is a win.

Josephine claps her hands together. “Okay. So you have the hots for Ryder. Correct?” I nod. “Did you enjoy having sex with him?” My cheeks heat up, but I nod once again. Morgan snatches my mug and takes a sip, swaying her head from side to side, keeping up with the conversation. “Would you like to do it again?” Nod. “And have a relationship with him in the future?”

I still as I imagine my future with him. I know so much about him already, but there are so many undiscovered things though.

Things that might change my mind completely. They could be hideous and horrible in their nature, scaring me for what hides behind the person he presents to the world.

My family taught me that everyone has secrets; some people are just better at hiding them.

And yet…

He makes me feel so alive when I’m in his arms that whatever his past might be, I won’t care one bit as long as we have this all-consuming connection.

“Yes,” I whisper.

“So the only thing stopping you is Octavius not approving?”

I open my mouth to agree but then hesitate, looking deep down inside my heart and finding another answer all together. “What if he changes his mind and decides he doesn’t want me after all? He’d travel to some other country again to write yet another book, and I’d be just a memory in his life.” I lean back and rest my head on the couch, studying the spotless ceiling above me. “It might not even last long enough for Octavius to know about it.”

Josephine clacks her tongue. “So it’s about your broken heart and not your brother.”

“Yes.”

“You want a guarantee in a relationship, but no one can give you one.” Morgan pinches my nose. “Be brave, babe, and embrace this new romance for whatever it is.”

“And if it goes south, you can always let Octavius beat the shit out of him,” Josephine says. She gets up and sits on the left as she leans closer to my face while I puff out air, billowing my hair back. “Seems like a win-win situation to me.”

“He’s still my professor,” I remind her, my deliberative mind already thinking a few steps ahead of how we’ll have to hide our relationship to avoid anyone judging us.

At least until we both know it’s serious and leading somewhere, rather than a phase designed to drive me mad with passion in which my sexual awakening happens.

Josephine shrugs. “Whatever. You’re not breaking any rules, so fuck what anyone says. That being said, be discreet.” She winks. “It’ll be hotter.”

“And her brother?” Morgan brings up the elephant in the room, and I sigh in resignation.

The security he has tailing me twenty-four seven, which he thinks I don’t know about, would report to him about my fling slash relationship.

Am I ready for the consequences?

“He’ll deal. Besides, he can’t cut her off financially.” Right, considering our unique situation. My mother was married twice, both times to members of the same family, so we both own almost an equal number of shares in our company. And I got access to the money when I turned eighteen. “He won’t ever cut you off emotionally either, because he loves you. They might throw some punches around to satisfy their male egos, but that will be it.” She removes the hair from my forehead as our gazes connect. “Trust me, Estella. Octavius isn’t stupid. He knows you’ll date at some point.”

I’m not sure about that though, since my brother himself doesn’t date. So who knows what he expects from me?

All my idiotic assumptions aside though…

Is it really that simple?

Just succumb to all these emotions and jump into the ocean that is my lust, letting it wash over me and change me in ways so I’ll never be able to be the old me.

However, I can discover new, exciting things, and even if it doesn’t work out, I’ll know I tried instead of running scared.

“We need to go.” Octavius laces his hand with mine and pulls me to the right, my teddy bear dropping on the floor as we race through the hallways while my heart beats so hard I feel it in my throat.

I can barely keep up with my brother. However, I push myself as hard as I can and hang on to him tight as he navigates us deeper into the mansion, seeking the secret door that will allow us to get outside and hide in our massive garden.

There, the monster that’s my father won’t be able to catch us.

The loud footsteps continue to trail after us, his disgusting slurs echoing off the walls. “You little bastards, come back here.” Something crashes in the distance, and the sounds of gunshots make me gasp in fear as I squeeze Octavius’s hand hard. “Come back or I’ll kill you both so your whore of a mother can be sorry for what she has done to me.”

Octavius grabs my shoulders and then pushes me forward in front of him, blocking me from any danger that might come from behind us, and shouts, “Run, Estella.” I speed up, my bare feet soundless on the carpeted floor. More bullets ring out, and something crashes again, sinking fear into me, causing tears to form in my eyes. I look ahead, concentrating on the small opening in the wall that will save us from this madness once again.

Until the next time. Our mother hides in her room, pretending nothing is going on—like she always does—because he never harms a hair on her body.

That’s why she readily sacrifices her children to his rage.

Lately, it has become so frequent I don’t know how to sleep at night unless Octavius is next to me, protecting and watching over me.

When we finally come to the secret door, another bullet along with his loud roar reverberates around the walls, and I whisper, “Octavius.”

He palms my head. “It’s okay, Estella. Go inside now and run. Run until you reach the greenhouse and stay there. Do not come back home until someone comes to get you.” At my nod, he removes the painting and motions for me to go in before closing it again so my father will never find out about it.

My brother found and explored it with Florian, his best friend, two years ago, and since then, it has been our saving grace.

At least he’s gotten fewer bruises on his skin when we’ve managed to escape in time.

Florian even got us blankets, food, and a few lamps to put there so we’d be more comfortable. He also bought a music player for me so I could put on headphones and block away everything while trying to fall asleep. A first aid kit is there too, because who knows what wounds we might end up with on our feet while running away.

Despite our wealth, which is our given right, my father never allows any money to be spent on Octavius unless it’s to buy him clothes for school, so no one knows about his hideous deeds. He loves to use it against him too, sometimes withholding food for days in the house so Octavius will come and beg him for it.

My brother never does though, which only angers my father.

Florian pretty much pays for all the things Octavius needs and gets him food to eat at school or sneaks some sandwiches inside the house with take-out bags. It makes my father livid, and he barely resists snatching them away.

However, the monster might be cruel, but he is not stupid.

Plus, you’d have to be an idiot to go against Jacob Price’s son in this town, because Florian’s dad would bury you alive if you dared.

Not to mention that the godfather of said son is even more powerful than Uncle Jacob.

The two men ask my brother questions time and time again, waiting for him to tell them about the crimes happening behind these walls, but he never does. So instead, they give him whatever he needs, protecting and showing him love in the only way they can. Or rather in the only way my brother allows them to.

In the greenhouse, there is a small phone too. Florian told us to call him in an emergency, but my brother never used it despite me begging him to do it.

What has to happen for him to finally admit we need help?

And then my brother screams, snapping me from my thoughts. “I’m here!” And I hear him rushing away, taking the monster’s attention from me as I crawl through the narrow passageway until I get out and then run to the greenhouse.

I rock back and forth as tears stream down my cheeks, but I don’t dare make a sound for fear of someone finding me without Octavius to protect me.

Because no one else ever goes against the monster’s orders.

The next morning, our family butler, Antonio, finds me and takes me back home where everything is put back in its place with no signs of bullet holes while everyone acts normally.

Only my brother stays locked in his room for two weeks straight—punishment for his disobedience—and when he emerges from it, on top of old scars, he has new ones marring his skin, although he gives me careless smiles as if it’s no big deal.

As if I don’t hear his screams of pain hidden behind the thick walls.

As if I don’t know what my father does to him.

As if I don’t know that the only reason the monster even threatens my safety is so that Octavius will protect me and give him another reason to hurt him.

Then it repeats all over again.

While all I do every single time is run and run.

I’m no longer a scared five-year-old child though, and the monster who ate at my flesh died a long time ago.

So why do I continue to run without stopping to enjoy life, instead passing it by, hoping no one will ever hurt me again?

Even my brother has moved on in a way by thriving in business and creating that brotherhood of his, where they cause chaos wherever they go.

Most of the things they engage in are illegal and dangerous as they walk the narrow line between sane and insane, but nevertheless, they live each day to the fullest.

Yet I’m standing still, and when Ryder showed up to shake the snow globe that is my life… I ran once again.

I stand up abruptly when this realization hits me, startling my friends, who jump up right along with me. “Enough. I don’t want to run anymore.” I stroll forward and put on my shoes, determined to go back to the library to get my bag and find Ryder’s phone number so I can call him while my courage lasts and before the doubts assail me again.

He’s the fresh air my existence needs, and I intend to inhale as much air as humanly possible.

“Atta girl!” Morgan raises her fist up.

“You need a ride?” Josephine asks. “I can call my driver.”

“No. I just need to go.” I rush to the door and then stop, spinning around and bump into the girls, who have concern written all over the features. They probably have whiplash from all my mood swings. “Thank you, girls. Love you both,” I say, opening my arms and squeezing them while they lock their arms around me too in a massive group hug. “And I’m really happy about you two.” I lean back and grin. “You can tell me all the details tomorrow during lunch.”

“You bet.”

“No way.”

They reply in unison. Josephine can protest all she wants, but Morgan is a sharer, and by the end of the week, she will have told me about their date a hundred times, with new details coming up every single time.

A bubble of laughter slips past my lips, and I dance back to the door and race to the elevator. I press the bottom several times and watch the display, knowing the elevator should be here any minute.

Somehow, time ticks by slowly when you’re on a mission to do something, namely run back to a man, hoping he hasn’t changed his mind, and you didn’t hurt him while still living in the past and letting irrational fears rule you.

“Estella,” Morgan calls, and I look at her as she leans on the doorjamb with Josephine throwing her arm over her shoulders. “Tell him we convinced you to give him a chance. So he’ll remember it while he grades my paper.” She snaps her fingers. “Because some of us need As to keep our scholarship.”

“And some of us just need As,” Josephine adds. “He has to know to whom he owes the good times.”

I press on the button again. “Will do, but I’m not sure it will matter to him.”

Morgan frowns, putting her hands on her hips. “My best friend is sleeping with the professor, and I get no benefits? The hell! How is this fair?” The elevator chooses this moment to announce its arrival, and with a loud ding, the doors slide open. I wave at my friends and then enter and press on the button for the ground floor.

Before the doors close and take me downstairs, Morgan still has time to shout, “Tell him I want my benefits!”

I laugh at her words and then catch my reflection in the mirror. I don’t recognize the woman staring back at me with sparkling eyes and so much… life in her gaze you can almost touch it through the reflection.

My mouth is shaped into a smile, and I trace my fingers over it, thinking how, before college, that rarely happened. And now not a day goes by without me stretching my lips in a grin.

Who willingly says no to such an evolution and the new opportunities?

The elevator dings again, and I fly out, making the people waiting jump back to give me room. I move to the exit as several thoughts swirl in my head.

Although the most important one is finding Ryder right now. Thunder rumbles while the rain continues to pour on the people running around. The wind blowing outside leaves no doubt that autumn is here.

I glance down at my dress and shiver, imagining facing the rain and blistering cold.

Waiting for my driver will take ages for me, and I can’t stand still anymore.

So with a deep breath, I step outside, and then the air sticks in my lungs when I see a man standing several feet away under a black umbrella with a car running behind him, the headlights brightening up the sidewalk.

Ryder.

He wears just his shirt, his suit jacket thrown over his arm while his brown eyes drill their stare into me, and everything female in me urges me to run to him to get warm and feel alive once again, to believe it’s not an illusion but a blissful reality.

He slowly comes to me, his leather shoes splashing water. He puts his jacket over my shoulders, covering me in warmth, and his scent lingers, sending calmness through me.

He wraps his hand around my waist, pressing me to his chest, as my gasp settles between us. I tilt my head, letting him keep us under his umbrella. “You found me,” I whisper, relief slamming into me in waves because he’s here, and he hasn’t given up on me.

“You’re mine. Of course I did.” His thumb slides back and forth on my waist, popping chills on my skin while prickles of desire travel all over me. “Are you finally ready to be captured, my darling?” he asks in a hushed whisper, his face inches away from mine as his lips move above my own, lightly grazing them but not kissing me.

Longing slips into every crack of my soul, and my hands clench his shirt hard, needing him to step closer, because he’s my anchor grounding me in the present.

“Yes.”

A sinister smile curves his mouth, and he licks the seam of my lips, my mouth opening, ready to receive his kiss, when all he does is murmur, “Very well.” Then he steps back to my protested whimper and pulls me along with him toward his car. “Let’s go, then.”

“Where are we going?” I ask, getting inside the vehicle, and he shuts the door without replying. He walks around the car, closes his umbrella, throws it in the backseat, and then joins me inside the car, his hands settling on the leather-covered steering wheel.

“Does it matter?”

The question hangs in the air between us, simple yet having so much meaning in it.

I just agreed to whatever this all-consuming need is.

Does it matter where we are going if we’re together… consequences be damned?

“No.” And somehow that one single word seems as if I sealed my fate forever, and no matter what happens from here on out, I will never be able to go back on it.

He puts his hand on mine, raises it to his mouth, and kisses it gently. My skin burns at the touch, and my heart flips inside my chest at the action. I’m coming dangerously close to falling for this man for real.

Life though is meant to be lived.

So even if heartbreak awaits… I’m willing to risk it.

If I only knew though.

If I only knew….

CHAPTER SEVEN

“All secrets come to light sooner or later.

Because some things in life are inevitable.”

Ryder

Estella

Ryder drives the car up to a tall building in the center of Chicago as an endless string of cars passes us by. Lights flicker, casting a glow on the rain-slicked city streets, as thunder echoes once again in the air.

People walk casually, holding their umbrellas, my eyes not missing their luxurious designer shoes and bags while their coats hide their clothes, but I wouldn’t be surprised to find equally expensive things underneath them.

We’re in one of the richest neighborhoods of Chicago; you just have to say you live here, and everyone can automatically predict your net worth.

My brother owns three penthouses somewhere here, although he rarely stays in them, as there is a high risk of running into someone from “high” society, and he despises them all.

And why wouldn’t he?

They never accepted his scars and quiet nature; instead, each of them created hideous rumors about him. Some even claim he must kidnap women and hide them somewhere, because otherwise they wouldn’t welcome his advances.

My heart pangs painfully at the thought, remembering how he tensed when he overhead someone saying this, and the mug he had in his hand crushed under his anger.

My brother would never, ever hurt or harm an innocent or force himself on anyone.

But judgmental people will never know it, as they care about exciting gossip far more than the truth.

Pressing my palm to my chest, I rub it back and forth while familiar guilt fills my veins, making the despicable voice from the past speak up in my mind.

“See, Estella?” Father prompts, wrapping his hand around Octavius’s throat and squeezing so hard his face turns red. Even though he struggles in Father’s hold, Octavius’s whole focus is on me, as he doesn’t dare make sudden moves while Father still holds a knife between his fingers. “You shouldn’t have gone to that birthday.” He shakes my brother, Father’s fingers flexing on his neck tighter, cutting his oxygen supply. “Now someone has to pay for the disrespect.” He puts the tip of the knife to Octavius’s cheek and presses it until he draws blood. My brother hisses, yet his face stays indifferent, hiding his feelings from the monster.

He stopped crying a long time ago, after he figured out Father loved to see his tears, and that only added to his misery, because Father became even more determined to earn those tears.

“Should I hurt him?”

I shake my head, my back hitting the wall, my whole body trembling as fear sinks its claws into me.

Father laughs, flashing his white teeth as the logs crackle in the fireplace. “I bet it would make you cry.” He slides the knife from side to side and then throws Octavius on the floor, where he coughs violently, gulping for breath.

I rush to him, hugging him close, and his arm presses me toward him as he sits a bit in front, blocking me from my father’s view. “You always cry though, so it’s boring.” Father flips the knife between his fingers and gives me one more of his disgusting grins as his eyes focus on me.

Octavius tenses next to me even more as if already knowing what he will say next. “I would far more enjoy hurting you.” He looks at my brother, and a gasp escapes me.

My father would even hurt me because he knows it would hurt Octavius; sometimes, I think I don’t even exist for him.

I’m just a weapon used against Octavius, time and time again.

A weapon my brother could never protect himself from, as his love for me is far greater than any pain Father dishes out.

He once said he could withstand any physical torture, but he can’t lose me, since I’m the only family he has.

Besides his best friends.

He even made Florian vow to take care of me should anything ever happen to him.

“Come here, Estella.” Father extends his hand to me, and I glance at him in disbelief.

Does he really think I’ll listen to him? I burrow deeper into Octavius, and it doesn’t go unnoticed.

His eyes narrow, and an angry snarl curls his lip when he repeats, “Come here, Estella.”

Since I stay frozen in place, he curses under his breath and then steps toward me, ready to tear me away from Octavius. A scream escapes me when my brother lunges at him and pushes him so hard that my father loses his balance and tumbles to the floor.

The knife falls from his grip. Octavius grabs my shoulder, his fingers digging into my skin and bruising me as he drags me toward the door, opens it wide, and pushes me outside.

“No!” I scream, already knowing what he will do next, but it’s too late.

He shuts it in my face as Antonio runs to me. The lock clicks, and my brother slips the key underneath the door. His order rings in the air. “Don’t enter, Antonio, until I stop screaming.” Our butler grabs the key, squeezing it inside his palm.

My heart stops and then beats wildly, each beat bringing me more pain than the previous one. Fear envelops me whole, painting horrible pictures of the future for my brother.

“Take her away!” he manages to bark before Father’s footsteps are heard through the walls.

He bellows, “You fucking bastard!” And then Octavius’s pain-filled scream reverberates through the space followed by father’s sadistic laughter chilling my spine.

I pound on the door and press on the handle. “We need to help him,” I say to Antonio, who swallows harshly. I continue to bang on the wood as sobs escape me every second. “We need to help him. Father has a knife!”

Several maids gather around, each one with a shocked expression as the fight inside continues. My brother screams his lungs out as the blows echo in the air, signaling my father beating him ruthlessly.

Why is no one doing anything?

I grip Antonio’s sleeve. “Give me the key!” I order, and he closes his eyes when Octavius screams again. This time, his throat is hoarse, and a crashing sound comes from the inside. “Give me the key, Antonio!”

He scoops me in his arms, but I wiggle, my legs punching air, and he takes me upstairs, farther and farther away from my brother while he suffers inside with a monster.

All while my mother watches it from the top of the staircase, drinking scotch and sighing in boredom.

After my father, she is the person I hate the most in this world, because she never does anything to protect my brother.

She’s a weak, spineless woman who doesn’t deserve her children. My greatest wish is for them both to disappear one day and never come back so my brother will never be subjected to any pain and cruelty again.

Antonio stays deaf to all my begging, trapping me inside my room, while guarding the door until I can no longer keep my eyes open.

And then in the morning, Octavius is nowhere to be found as my parents have breakfast in peace, and everyone except our butler acts as if nothing happened.

That’s when I call two powerful men who I promised my brother never to call, under no circumstances, so they wouldn’t know what nightmare truly happened inside the walls of this castle.

Lucian Cortez and Jacob Price.

However, I was too late with the call.

Because my father harmed my brother in such ways I’m not sure he will ever get over it.

That call changed our life forever in a way.

At least for a moment in time.

A butterfly-like touch settles on my cheek, snapping me out of the painful memory, and I look at Ryder, who wipes away the single tear sliding down my chin with his thumb.

He doesn’t utter a single word, but his touch holds so much comfort, serving as a healing balm to the internal wounds still bleeding inside me.

He unfastens my seatbelt and helps me get out of the car, holding an umbrella above us.

A man in a uniform, must be the doorman, runs to us and catches the keys Ryder throws his way. “Mr. MacAlister. Good evening to you, sir.” He nods at me. “Ma’am.”

“Hey, Rick,” he greets him, pulling me to the revolving doors, and we enter the lobby where the mint scent brings my attention to the spotless marble. All around me, silence settles.

My heels click loudly as Ryder rushes me toward the elevators, barely giving me a minute to study my environment.

Various paintings hang on the walls, and several small, round tables with candy dishes on them are scattered around the room. Couches are placed nearby, offering the perfect place to rest while waiting for someone.

In the middle, there is a reception area where two ladies speak with newcomers, polite smiles stretching their mouths, and the whole picture reminds me more of a hotel rather than a building’s entryway.

There is even security surveilling the place.

But then again, for the money they pay to live here, they can order a damn clown to entertain people.

The silver double doors of the elevator slide open, and we walk inside, where I go to the mirrored wall, wincing at my rather crazy expression and wet appearance. The harsh light only emphasizes my freckles.

Rubbing my fingers over them, I sigh in resignation, when Ryder’s deep voice breaks the silence around us, causing goose bumps on my flesh. “You’re beautiful.”

My stomach flutters at the praise. His orbs scorch me with their heat, similar to the ones burning me back in the library when he….

A tremor rushes through me, the hot flush zapping all over my system. My nipples stand against the wet cloth of my dress, and that doesn’t go unnoticed by him.

My God, one night in his company and my body reacts to the slightest thought of experiencing his touch again.

Spinning around and pressing my back to the wall while desperately trying to control my breathing, I watch him tap on the P button, letting me know he owns a penthouse.

Again, not surprised.

Only the best for him, right?

And then I gasp when he steps up to me and puts his hands on the bar behind me, trapping me in his embrace, our faces inches apart as his hot breath fans my lips, making my fingers curl into my dress as I hold myself back from fisting his shirt and pulling him into me.

“You will tell me why you ran away from me tonight,” he orders, his husky timbre caressing my skin as he scrapes his teeth over my chin before biting it, the sting traveling all over me and only enhancing the earlier heat. “And then I’m going to fuck you so hard you’ll never do it again.” My eyes widen at his words, and then the elevator chooses this moment to ding our arrival. Ryder pushes away from me and steps out, extending his hand to me. “Come in, Estella. Welcome to my domain.”

Still stunned from his earlier statement, or rather how my body instantly reacted, longing to feel his hard muscles against my curves once again, I do as he says and curiously look around me. Part of me craves to know what hides behind the person Ryder presents to the world.

And what better place to find it out than his home?

Lacing our hands together, I follow him, my eyes drinking in the view around me from the bare white walls to the spotless gold marble floor, where several unopened black boxes lie.

The spacious living room has a wide, brown leather couch, a TV hanging on the opposite wall, a small table with a stack of books on it, and a desk in the corner by the bar, which has such a large variety of bottles I wonder if one person can drink this much in his lifetime.

Empty bookshelves spread over one wall, hinting at the vast collection that he plans to put out—probably explaining the boxes.

It’s a well-known fact he collects antique manuscripts dating back centuries and keeps them hidden away from the world, not wanting to share them. An expensive hobby he can afford.

An arch-like entry to the kitchen is located nearby. It’s bordered by a silver counter where shiny equipment glistens in the bright lights swinging from the ceiling.

I blink at the collection of knives present near the sink, in every shape and size, as if someone has prepared for a battle here.

A narrow hallway on the right probably leads to two bedrooms that are hidden by the oak doors.

Although the place lacks color and life… the atmosphere somehow makes me curious, scared, and excited all at once.

As if wicked energy resides here, and with the right tools, you could unlock so much passion and so many secrets they might swallow you whole if you’re not careful enough.

Yet, the pull is so powerful you cannot stop yourself from falling down the rabbit hole.

Ryder goes to the couch and removes the cuff links from his shirt before his fingers rapidly unbutton it. “You need to change,” he says, removing it and showing me his carved eight-pack and tan skin in all its glory. His defined muscles move with each breath he takes, making it almost impossible to tear my gaze away from him.

That’s how the devil must look when he lures you into the temptations that have your downfall written all over them.

My brows furrow though when I notice scars marring the masterpiece that is his body. Earlier in the library, I didn’t have the chance to study him, and I gasp in shock.

Without thinking, I go to him and cover them with my open palm, his heart beating evenly beneath it. Tracing my fingers over the angry, red slashes that look as if someone intentionally hurt him with a knife, intending to bring the most pain. My soul weeps just imagining how painful that must have been.

“What happened to you?” I ask in a whisper before sliding my palm lower to a bigger scar that left a deep imprint right in the middle of his stomach, a permanent reminder nothing could wash off from whoever dared to hurt him. “Who did this to you?” I wrack my mind for all the information I gathered over the years about him on the news, but none mentioned him getting into an accident—or worse, being kidnapped by someone.

In fact, there is little known about his earlier life before he received a scholarship to a prestigious university. He never commented on his family during interviews, not that anyone tried really hard to find them.

Everyone figured out that a normal family who could have offered an interesting story to the press would have claimed him a long time ago.

However, some scars are pale too, barely noticeable moon-like shapes, and I still, because I’ve seen such scars before.

On my brother’s body from a metal belt buckle.

Swallowing the bile in my throat, I fire another question. “Did your family… hurt you?” It would explain him cutting them off from his life and never mentioning them.

Ryder’s body tenses, becoming almost rigid next to mine, and I circle another scar, this one puckered with crosses on it, like someone stitched it wrong.

He traps my chin between his fingers and gently lifts it up to meet his gaze. The air hitches in my lungs when he gives me his full attention. Intense energy surges around us.

A smirk lifts the corner of his mouth, although his eyes stay absolutely dead when he replies, “I never had a family, my darling.” He cups my cheek, tilting my head back. “Consider me a lone wolf without a pack.”

“Everyone has a family. We don’t come into this world out of thin air.”

Was he in the system?

His next words though prove my assumptions wrong, because only a person who once had a family who did him wrong could say it.

“Blood makes you related, not family. Trust me on that, Estella.” His voice is harsh, wrapped in old pain that most people probably would have missed, but I hear it clearly.

Because I can relate to all these emotions that must feel like acid that destroys everything in its wake, leaving hideous imprints behind.

I open my mouth to ask more questions, needing to know what his relatives did to him in the past that he emerged strong but scarred from it.

Ryder doesn’t give me the chance.

Instead, he pushes his jacket off my shoulders, and it falls on the floor by our feet. Then his fingers grip the zipper on the back of my dress, and he tugs it down, finally snapping me out of my stupor. “What are you doing?”

“Your dress is wet. I don’t want you to get sick.” The dress slips from my shoulders, and I quickly hold it together, mortified to be naked in front of him, which is stupid, all things considered.

However, him seeing my body in the dim library light is one thing… and him studying my curves and skin with all its imperfections under this harsh one is quite another.

His brows lift, and clearing my throat, I say, “I don’t have anything else to wear.” A thought occurs in my head, sending rage through my system, and the next words taste disgusting on my tongue. “Unless you have women’s clothing lying around for such occasions.” My icy tone leaves no doubt that jealousy eats me from the inside out, because just thinking about him with other women sends me into the maddening spiral.

Maybe his possessive ways are rubbing off on me as well.

His chuckle fills the room. “Ah, my darling, no need to show me your claws. I don’t invite women home. Ever.” He gives me his shirt. “Wear it. I’d like to see you in my clothes with my scent on your skin,” he says, his eyes scanning me possessively, while satisfaction rings in his voice.

Despite a slight annoyance at his cavemen ways, a smile shapes my mouth at his absolute confidence that I will follow through with this order. Then again, now that we’re talking about my wet dress, I feel how it’s stuck to my body as coldness slips into me, which the breeze coming from the open balcony door only intensifies. “Turn around.” He frowns at me, and I snatch the shirt from him, still holding my dress together, and then I swirl my finger in the air. “Turn around, Professor MacAlister.”

His eyes flash at the name, and a similar need hits me as well. I wonder what it would be like to call him that in bed while his mouth feasts on my flesh as—

“Stop,” he growls, already guessing where my imagination has gone. My cheeks heat up, and desire moves in waves over me, pushing me closer and closer to succumbing to it, especially after seeing his scars.

I want to kiss all of them and take away any lingering hurt, so when he looks at them, the memories won’t be as painful or profound.

And they are.

No matter what he claims.

“Estella.” I close my eyes at his husky whisper that nips my skin, luring me toward the darkness and unknown, because I have no idea what I’m doing here or even if feeling all this is normal. “Have no doubts, my darling…” His hand circles my neck, and his thumb settles over my pulse that beats rapidly when he drags me to him once again. Our chests bump against each other, and his heat collides with my cold skin. “You’ll be so thoroughly fucked tonight you won’t remember anything but how to scream my name. I’ll drive so deep into you, filling you so much you won’t know how to live without me.” He catches my gasp in his mouth as he slams it on mine; burning sensations assault me at once, sending tremors straight to my core that clenches at his words.

His tongue brushes against mine before tangling them in a passionate duet, delivering a deep, toe-curling kiss designed to drive me insane and add fuel to the fire rapidly spreading in my veins. It promises me illicit, forbidden, carnal desires that would bring me so much pleasure nothing but it would exist.

His hold on my neck tightens, his fingers digging harder into the soft flesh, and he swallows my whimper as I angle my head back, giving him better access to me. He changes tactics, lazily roaming his tongue, stabbing it deep, mimicking what he will do to me later as a hot flush travels all over me.

My fingers fist my dress harder, wanting to tear away the offending cloth keeping me away from brushing my pointed nipples against his chest, adding friction to the all-consuming need dictating my every move, and I moan.

He continues the kiss for several more seconds before trapping my lower lip between his teeth, biting it and drawing blood, making me groan. He swipes his tongue over it, soothing the sting, and sucks on the flesh.

Our raspy breaths mingle as our lips graze against each other. And then I’m pulled away from the nirvana flashing on the horizon and dumped back in the crushing reality in which he still craves answers to his question. He repeats, “Change, my darling.” He gives me one last peck and lets me go, spinning around as I blink and try to catch my breath.

This man is like an expensive addiction that wipes away rational thought with all my inhibitions, leaving only the deep need to indulge in him more and more until nothing else remains.

And somehow, my exhausted mind finds solace in it and wishes never to be free from this pull.

But apparently my professor has to know what happened tonight, and can I really blame him?

I ran from him as if he was the plague.

“Would you like something to drink?” he asks, his back still to me as I quickly shimmy out of my dress and put on the shirt, the warm material comforting me as his scent calms me a little bit.

Glancing longingly at the kettle in the kitchen, I say, “Tea.” He nods and must know I’ve changed, as he goes to it and turns it on, the humming sound echoing through the space and bursting the earlier bubble completely, grounding me in the present once again.

The whooshing wind flows over me, shifting my focus to the balcony once again where black curtains billow while nature still shows her mood tonight.

I walk outside, noticing he hasn’t furnished the huge rectangular space other than a leather couch in the distance, where a bottle of whiskey stands nearby.

In awe, my eyes drink in the magnificent view from such a height, and I stroll to the banister, leaning on the wet railing, although the rain barely touches me since the roof protects me from most of it.

Thousands of shimmering lights adorn Chicago as the city buzzes with activity. Thunder cracks before pouring more rain, cleaning the roads where countless cars are stuck in traffic.

As I look at the world from above, everyone and everything seems so small, which puts all my worries into perspective in the grand scheme of things.

Although it doesn’t reduce them in my heart, and I sigh heavily, dreading this conversation as it brings the guilt back in my heart that’s really impossible to remember when I’m in Ryder’s company.

I hear his footsteps behind me before the heat radiating from him hits me, and then he extends the steaming cup in my direction. “Here.”

I’m not even surprised to smell jasmine tea. “Are you spying on me?” My question is met with deafening silence, so I wrap both my palms around the hot mug, taking a small sip and welcoming the hot liquid in my throat.

He crosses his arms and leans on the banister next to me as lightning flashes in the sky followed by thunder. “What kind of answer do you want to hear?”

“The truth.”

He chuckles, although it lacks any humor. “I don’t call it spying. Just protecting what belongs to me. And you can’t protect what belongs to you if you don’t study the object of your fascination well.” A beat passes, and he adds, “I didn’t spy on you though. You order this tea every single morning in the cafeteria.”

“Oh.” Way to embarrass myself with such assumptions, but then my brows furrow.

This hardly explains how he knew about Quin and the other small details, like him knowing where to find me tonight and other innuendoes he threw my way.

“A man has no right to spy on or stalk a woman,” I tell him, wanting him to understand my stance on the issue.

It’s cute and all… until the man turns into a psycho who wants to kill you. I could never willingly sign up for a Stockholm Syndrome kind of relationship. It would go against everything I believe in.

“I agree.” I look at him, waiting for him to elaborate, and he does, removing a few strands of hair from my face. “Stalking or spying implies harm in the future, and I would never hurt or harm you, my darling.” His voice lowers a bit. “And I’d kill anyone who tries.” For the first time, I see a cruel glint in his gaze, similar to the ones I’ve seen reflecting at me from the Four Dark Horsemen. A disturbing thought that has no shape yet nags at my mind urges me to listen to it and save myself from upcoming doom. “I will always protect you though. And I will use whatever means necessary in order to do so.”

Pressing the mug to my cheek, I shake my head at this explanation.

Does he even realize how insane it sounds? By all accounts, I should be calling the cops and running away from him, because his behavior has danger written all over it.

Why don’t I, then?

Maybe because I’ve been subjected to such protection my whole life, and instead of scaring me, its familiarity brings me relief.

Although a good shrink probably would assign me to therapy for life. A woman shouldn’t willingly sign herself up for such madness.

Because any protection entails control that might become suffocating in the future.

“It’s something my brother would do,” I utter—to my shock.

If Octavius ever falls for a woman, I don’t think she will breathe without his knowledge, let alone go somewhere. He’ll be obsessed.

In an insane, smothering kind of way.

Ryder ponders my statement for a second and then speaks up. “Your brother, he raised you.” I nod. “Is this why you ran from me? You don’t think he will approve?” An odd note laces his tone at the question. He isn’t sure how to react to this, although there is lingering anger in it too.

But then again, he probably doesn’t.

He might have heard about my brother, but he doesn’t know who he really is.

“My brother wouldn’t approve of anyone.” The gust of wind hits me in the face, sending my hair flying in different directions, while my fingers drum on the mug as I watch the colorful lights flicker in the distance. “Octavius loves me very much.”

“So he is too possessive to share your affection?” Coldness ripples in every word he speaks, and judging by how his voice deepened, I know he doesn’t appreciate my brother’s sentiments on the matter. In fact, part of me feels as if he wishes no other man, even one I’m related to, would have such a strong bond with me. “You’re a woman now. He doesn’t decide what you do in your life.”

It sounds more like I’m his woman.

A sad grin curves my mouth.

Only a person who grew up without older siblings and their love could say this. Otherwise, he’d know that no matter how old you are, they always try to butt into your business. It’s in their nature to care about the younger ones.

At least the good ones do, sometimes too much though.

Even goodness can become poisonous within time.

“No. He wants to protect me at all costs, even a heartbreak. Because that’s what he has always done.” A heavy breath escapes me, while countless memories play in my mind, each more horrible than the other, because in each of them, my brother suffered unbearable pain. “Do you know my family history?” I turn my head to look at him, and his face stays indifferent, although a muscle twitches his jaw.

“Not really other than you have different fathers but come from the same family.”

Right. It’s a hard fact to miss, considering it was all people spoke about a couple of decades ago, and my mom was labeled a Reed whore.

“My mom, Pamela, married Octavius’s dad first. According to rumors, they were in love. He was my father’s uncle and more than twenty years older than her.” Ryder shows no outward reaction to this information. “He died when Octavius was one month old. My father always loved her, so they married within the following three months.” I hate telling this story, because it shows how truly messed up my family is.

Love or even a strong attraction can come out of nowhere. God knows this whole Ryder thing proves this to me, but if my mom loved her first husband as much as people claimed… how could she have married my father after such a short time? She had access to the Reed wealth, so it wasn’t like she was a struggling widow with a newborn.

Taking a large sip, I hold the tea in my mouth before swallowing and continuing. “They lived okay. He was even nice to Octavius—or at least that’s what people say. But I think he was just too little to do anything to piss him off or remind him of his uncle. Octavius is the spitting image of his father in his youth.” I whisper the last part and clear my throat. “Then I was born when he was five, and his life became a nightmare.”

“Your father no longer wanted to accept his uncle’s heir once he had his own,” Ryder says, shifting closer to me, and the closeness makes me breathe easier, although the memories threaten to suffocate me to death, since I’ve done my best to always forget about them.

“He just… hated him, period. His voice, his actions, just his presence alone could anger my father so much my brother would have bruises marring his skin for days.” I place my splayed palm on his chest. “Very similar to yours.”

He jerks under my touch as fury crosses his face, and his muscles flex, but he stays silent, allowing me to let it all out. I’m not even sure I’m making any sense to him. “Octavius learned from a young age to avoid him at all costs, because Mom didn’t care. As long as he didn’t hit her, she pretended like nothing was happening. And he paid the staff enough to never interfere.”

Disgust coats his voice when he asks, “She ignored her son’s pain? Let that piece of shit use Octavius as his punching bag?” And I don’t blame him for his tone.

I’m thankful to my parents for giving me the gift of life, but on all other accounts, they were bad people who destroyed my brother’s soul.

One of the reasons we cut off Mom completely from our lives. Octavius even made her change her family name to her new husband’s, so the Reed name would never be associated with her again.

She resisted at first, but he paid her enough for her to sign the damn paper. I think he still sends her money monthly as long as it ensures her never stepping a foot in Chicago.

“My mom lived in a bubble of her own creation, where only her wishes and desires existed, blocking away the outside world and her children. On some level, I think she died when her first husband did. It was like… she existed on autopilot.” Not that it excuses her behavior, but at least it explains some of it. Then again, if she loved her husband so much, how could she have allowed my father to harm my brother, the product of that love? She was just too selfish to love anyone beyond herself. “Octavius took it all, but it was never enough for my father. Within years, the slaps transformed into belts, then that turned into canes and torture… like not being fed for days. And any other stuff he could come up with, because he knew my brother would keep his mouth shut.”

“Why did he? All he had to do was go to his friends’ parents, and they’d fix the mess.”

Right.

If only it was that easy.

“Father wasn’t called a cunning and smart businessman for nothing. He warned Octavius that if he complained, begged someone for help, or showed his bruises… he would send me abroad, and Octavius would never see me again. Considering my father showed very little love to me, my brother didn’t doubt his words.”

Understanding dawns on him. “You were a weapon.”

“I was a weapon.” I pull my gaze away from him, too afraid to see disgust on his face when I tell him the rest of the story and why running away from him might have been the best decision for him, but my selfish desire kind of ruined it too. Because he has no idea what we signed up for, but I do. Maybe I have more of my mother’s character traits than I realized. “One he didn’t hesitate to use against my brother all the time. And he let him. Because he loved me.”

“That’s why you ran. You feel so indebted to him you don’t want to break the rules he assigned.”

I lean down and put the mug on the floor and then grip the railing, swaying forward until it digs into my stomach. The rain splatters my skin while thunder echoes in the sky like the powerful storm bellowing inside me. “He got the scar on his face that everyone shies away from because of me. He doesn’t even look in the mirror; do you know that? They are absent in our home or apartments except for my rooms. Father wanted to hurt me so Octavious would cry, but my brother of course saved me. He was twelve.”

He growls. “Weak son of a bitch. I’m sure your brother doesn’t regret saving you.”

A hollow laugh slips past my lips. “He doesn’t. Not once has he shown me resentment or anger over his fate. He has given me only love and peace, doing everything in his power to shield me from all the bad stuff. Following and respecting his rules has been the least I could do for him. And not shake the snow globe that he carefully designed for me.” I wipe away the tears, not wanting to seem weak, although that ship has sailed at this point.

“Ah, and I’m a man who finally did, right? Shook the snow globe and threw it to the ground, freeing you from your beloved prison.”

Quite the poetic way of putting what happened between us, but still correct.

Ryder entered my life when I least expected it and managed to bring chaos right along with him.

I place my hand on my cheek, rubbing my smooth skin. “If it weren’t for him, the scar would have been a permanent reminder on my skin and not his.” Ryder tenses, hating my words it seems, but they pour out of me. “So no. I ran, because I love my brother, and I don’t want to hurt him.”

It all sounds kind of ridiculous though, with me standing in his penthouse and wearing his shirt.

Ryder palms my head and angles it toward him, making my body sway in his direction, until the tips of his shoes touch mine and he arches my neck back so our gazes clash in the night. Lightning fills the sky once again, flashing on his face and making him look almost sinful. “What changed your mind?” He hooks my hair behind my ear as his thumb slides up and down my cheek, gently, like it pains him just to think someone might have hurt me there. “You came from Josephine’s apartment looking for me.”

So much for not stalking me.

Resting my hands on his waist, I sink my fingernails in his back, making him hiss, and reply, “I realized I can’t live in a snow globe. My brother sacrificed so much for me, and I’m wasting my life on fear. I no longer want to do that.”

“And if he disapproves?”

My heart contracts at the possibility, but I look him straight in the eyes as I say, “Then we’ll deal.” His brow lifts, and I quickly add, not wanting him to get the wrong idea, “Or rather, I’ll deal. It’s not like I’m expecting this to be a permanent thing or anything else.”

His laughter dances over my skin as he leans closer to me, nipping my chin and skimming his lips to my ear, where he whispers, “Oh it’s permanent, darling. You’re mine now. And God help anyone who thinks otherwise.”

And with this, he picks me up and spends the night worshiping my body.

I’ve made a choice.

And somehow nothing has ever felt this good.

Ryder

Estella burrows her head deeper into my chest as she hooks her leg over mine. Her hand rests on my stomach while puffs of air escaping her mouth tickle my skin, and my hold on her tightens.

Lacing my fingers through her hair, I rub the silky strands and raise them to my nose, inhaling her unique jasmine scent, which sends calmness within me and blankets the chaos and darkness permanently residing there.

My beautiful obsession that captured me in her web from the first look. Something about her speaks to the scared beast within, knowing that in her arms he can find solace.

In my life, I’ve learned to go after what I want without waiting for permission, because sometimes my entire existence has depended on it.

Everything I have, I got with hard work and sweat, clawing myself out of hell until my nails bled reaching for the top.

Power. Money. Status.

These things are no longer just dreams designed to allow me to rule the world and punish those who killed the likes of my mother and otherwise would go unpunished their whole life. Those who think their tendencies will stay hidden in the dark and no one will ever ask them to pay the price.

That’s the thing about balance though.

Destiny always comes to collect.

One way or another, we pay for our sins, but what amount and what it costs us… depends on the collector.

Estella must be the balance given to me by fate to atone for all the fucked-up shit it subjected me to, letting all those monsters kill all the emotions within me.

Although she’s my obsession, part of me fears I’ll never be able to love her in the ways she’ll need, and the wonder she has in her eyes when she looks at me would transform into fear—or worse, disappointment.

I’ve seen such looks on my mother’s face so often when she cried in the corner and applied antiseptics to her wounds; they’re forever etched in my brain.

And knowing that piece of shit’s blood runs through my veins inspires rage within, because I never want to hurt a hair on her body or make her regret choosing me.

Although she is yet to discover my past and how I hunt in the dark, stripping monsters of their hidden coats and bringing them to light so they can cry in despair and forever be destroyed.

I crave her to the point of insanity, have my eyes on her twenty-four seven, and probably know more about her than her brother does.

She is an art form, after all. Wrapped in a female form that drives me insane with each breath she takes, she lures me toward her with her green eyes alone, telling me she can always be my calm during the storm.

What sane man, let alone a monster, would resist her siren call?

My fingers on her waist dig harder in her skin, pressing her tighter to me, the possessive beast inside me roaring at the prospect of other men admiring what belongs to me or thinking they can have it.

No one touches her, because she’s mine.

Mine. Mine. Mine.

I run my thumb over her cheek, tracing the various freckles sprinkled on her face. I want to lick each one of them and stake my ownership so she has no doubt she is the most desirable woman to me and stops concerning herself with stupid rumors floating around me.

I’m not a saint, but I’ve never bedded a woman more than once and sure as fuck never claimed one as my own.

Her smile, her compassion speaks to the little boy still living inside me who wonders… if someone like Estella found me back then, would my fate be different?

Would I be subjected to so much pain and agony—based on my family name alone—to pay for my father’s sins, or would I grow up into someone else?

My Estella would never be cruel to an innocent child.

Ironically, her brother, one of the most ruthless fuckers I know who sometimes puts even my torture techniques to shame, raised her better than that and gave her so much love nothing but goodness resides in her.

He took all the darkness and fucked-up shit upon himself to handle while surrounding her with a protective cocoon where nothing would ever touch her, even if he had to suffer. He even took their mother to court, using all his connections to get custody when he turned nineteen, because the woman was about to get married again to a perverted fuck who had his eyes on a young body.

He’s only five years older than her, but he acted more like a parent to her through the years than her actual parents did. It explains their deep bond and her fear of him never accepting this relationship or worse, deciding to declare war over it.

I’m not afraid of war, but anything that brings distress to Estella unsettles me and urges me to fix it before it can get to her. I never want her to lose the light inside her that brightens up my darkness.

Octavius has my respect for all he has handled and how he took care of Estella.

My respect won’t stop me though from beating the shit out of him if he stands in my way.

Brother or not, she belongs to me now.

I claimed her; she’s mine, and as such I protect her from now on, and her brother is no longer the most important man in her life… who she puts above anyone and anything else.

And if it’s a war he wants once he finds out, it’s a war he will get.

CHAPTER EIGHT

“I’ve always frowned at secret relationships.

Because if a man truly wants you, he doesn’t hesitate to claim you for the whole world to see.

Until I met Ryder.

For I enjoyed being my professor’s dirty little secret as long as my brother didn’t know about it.

Except nothing lasts forever.

Even carnal bliss.”

Estella

Estella

The marker moves flawlessly on the white, spotless board as Ryder writes down the topic of today’s class while my eyes stay glued to his arm, the muscles flexing with each stroke and reminding me what hides beneath his jacket.

Tan skin and masculine appeal that’s impossible for mere mortals to resist as his powerful aura slams so hard into you a person has no choice but to submit to it.

Open your mouth, darling, and suck.

Tracing my fingers over my lips, I close my eyes and shiver, remembering last night when he got me on my knees on the balcony with thousands of lights illuminating the city and let me suck him off, teaching me how to please him.

His fingers laced in my hair, his grip on me, the way he grunted above me, which only fanned the flames of the fire with me, demanding I soothe it for him.

All while he pushed hard into my mouth and let me have complete control just for a fraction of time.

Good girl. And mine. All mine, aren’t you?

Yes. Just his.

And the various hickeys spread all over my body attest to that. They might be invisible for everyone else as I hide them beneath my turtleneck sweaters and shirts, but they mark my skin in ways that never let me forget who my body responds to.

“In today’s class, we are going to cover Homer and his two most famous works, Iliad and Odyssey.” Collective groans fill the air, and he grins, amusement flickering in his gaze while he drops the marker on the desk. “I know you all just finished your midterms. That’s why we will just have a light discussion today, and I won’t give you an assignment.”

I blink at his generosity, because despite having a great reputation when it comes to the delivery of his subjects, his giving us homework in every freaking class is driving everyone batshit crazy.

Sometimes he acts as if we have no other class but his, and even I have hated him a little bit for it.

“Woo-hoo!” Josephine whistles, and several people laugh while Ryder grabs his mug, sipping his coffee, but not before catching my eyes with his penetrating ones, which hold so much promise for later that my heart stills and then gallops in my chest.

A hot flash travels through my entire system, and my cheeks heat up as countless memories pop into my mind, one after another, playing like a forbidden erotic movie that I can’t help but stare at.

Because each one of them includes Ryder ravishing my body in the most tempting way that sends tingles all over me.

My life is divided in before and after, where the after has become so addicting I wonder how I’ve lived in this world without Ryder, because my existence was so bland one might weep.

After we spent the night in his penthouse, he demanded I move in with him right away and go to my brother to get over my fear so we wouldn’t have to hide. According to him, if a man didn’t claim his woman publicly, he was a coward who did not deserve her. But just the idea alone terrified me.

Besides, it’s not like it’s wise to introduce every single hookup to my brother, right?

Needless to say, my explanation didn’t go well with his obsessive, possessive tendencies, and he fucked me so hard after that I saw stars. However, he agreed to wait and give this relationship a go for a time before I confess my feelings to my brother.

So in the last month, we’ve spent almost every free minute together, and he takes me to various discreet places that always end up being magnificent.

Private art shows, vintage collections, concerts in VIP sections so no press will ever take pictures, and other creative things that have allowed us to date and explore our relationship without everyone sticking their nose in our business.

Or making me feel like a dirty secret where we’d meet just for sex at his or my place. At all costs, he has wanted to avoid that; he voiced his concern over it many times.

And my stomach has fluttered every single time, because how could it not?

In the university though, we are professional and never have given any hints of being together. Josephine and Morgan usually hang out with me while Ryder talks to other professors.

I mostly stay at his penthouse even without officially moving in, studying there while he works quietly in his office. And during the evenings… and some mornings… and even afternoons… he teaches me everything there is about passion and pleasures of the flesh, enveloping us in desire so strong it blocks any rational thoughts and makes me so much more addicted to him that it borders on unhealthy.

The exception being the weekends, where I go to the family mansion and visit Octavius, who surprisingly doesn’t ask me any questions and just enjoys dinners with me. Most conversations though are strained, because he always gives me some gift. It’s a tradition he started a long time ago, and I feel like the worst little sister in the world for lying through my teeth.

But no matter the bliss filling my life every day and my bond with Ryder growing stronger while I fall harder and harder down the spiral, I still can’t go public with this relationship.

I don’t care what society thinks.

Octavius though?

His anger might turn my bliss into a nightmare, and then I’ll be torn between two powerful men, with each pulling me toward their side while I’ll have to make a heartbreaking choice.

And the more I get to know Ryder, the real Ryder who hides behind the façade he shows to the world, the more I’m convinced they would hate each other.

Because they are very much alike.

I exhale a heavy, longing breath that doesn’t go unnoticed by my two best friends who sit on either side of me.

They both frown and then shake their heads at me, knowing full well about my internal turmoil without me having to voice it.

In fact, I’m so happy to have them in my life that I can’t even imagine doing all this secret professor banging without their support.

Josephine places her hand on mine and squeezes it a little in silent support as Ryder’s voice echoes through the auditorium, grounding me in the present again. “Let’s start with Iliad.” He leans on the podium, taking another sip while sweeping his gaze over everyone, and I hate not having his attention on me after we’ve been apart longer than usual.

Since we had a holiday break that gave us three free days in a row, Octavius planned a trip to Florian’s cabin, and I couldn’t refuse.

God, who knew I’d be this needy after spending just days away from him.

If I grow any more attached, we’ll be joined at the hip.

“It’s about the Trojan War,” Valeria says several rows behind me, and everyone looks over their shoulder. “The Trojan prince, Paris, stole King Menelaus’s wife Helen, so the Greeks declared war over it.” A pause and then she continues. “His brother King Agamemnon supported him.”

“It lasted ten years, with the Greeks winning and setting Troy on fire. Since Troy had an unbreakable wall, they used trickery. They built the Trojan Horse and presented it as a gift from the gods. Soldiers hid in it, and then once the horse was brought inside the city, they all emerged and burned and conquered it,” Josephine says, and I grin at her.

I’d be surprised if she stayed silent; she studies the material of the syllabus weeks ahead, wanting to always be prepared.

This girl will rule the world someday.

Ryder nods. “Correct.” He cocks his head to the side. “Although the story is much more complex than that. It shows human vices in their rawest forms and also humanizes both parties as they suffer great loss at the altar of their selfishness.” He taps on the thick book on the podium next to him. “Each one of them got punished one way or another. So victory could never be sweet. Rather devastating and tragic, I would say.”

Bending my elbows and lacing my fingers, I rest my chin on top of them and welcome the calmness that settles on me whenever Ryder talks about history or shares his knowledge.

His mind attracts me as much as his irresistible body.

He almost sounds like a poet—my dirty-talking poet.

Ryder takes another sip, and our gazes clash; he winks at me, and butterflies erupt in my stomach as he shifts his focus back to the arguing students.

Nothing new for our class though. We love to discuss various topics until we turn blue because everyone is so damn stubborn.

Jonathan, who sits in front of me, huffs. “All these deaths over an unfaithful wife. He should have just dumped her.” He clicks his pen several times. “Paris was an idiot too. Once a cheater, always a cheater.”

“Hey!” Josephine exclaims. “To be fair, she was married off to her husband, so she never loved him. Her beauty preceded her, so everyone wanted her. We can hardly blame her for falling in love.”

“She did go back to her husband though once the war ended, after Paris died,” Kevin says, scratching his chin. “So on the grand scale of things, it was worthless.”

Josephine opens and closes her mouth, then frowns as if hating she can’t find a counterattack to his point.

To my shock, Morgan speaks up instead. “Women back then had no protection. Besides, Menelaus did love her and forgave her. I think, though, spending all those years with the man she truly loved mattered to her.” Ah, our romantic soul. Leave it to her to give it that spin.

“Was love worth thousands of deaths?” Jonathan asks.

“It must have been worth it to Menelaus and Paris. After all, they are the ones who should have thought about their people, right?”

They have a stare-off for several seconds, and then Jonathan grins, snapping his fingers. “You won this one.”

“Sweet.” Morgan and Josephine high-five above my head.

“I should add some extra credit for a debate. You’d all like that, wouldn’t you?” Laughter fills the place when Ryder suggests it, and then he walks to the desk, perching on it as he slaps the book over his knee. “However, common discussions bore me, so we are not going to talk about Paris and Helen today. I think their characters and actions have been analyzed to death.” My brows furrow as he elaborates. “What other characters do you know?”

“Achilles!” someone shouts from the back.

Ah, right. One of the strongest and most famous Greek warriors who sought endless glory. He found it and died for it.

“Eris!”

“Who is Eris?”

“She was the goddess of strife who brought the ‘Apple of Discord’ to the wedding and said whoever got it earned the most beautiful goddess title. So Athena, Hera, and Aphrodite fought over it, each thinking it belonged to her. Paris was picked to decide the winner. He picked Aphrodite, as she promised him Helen. It was Eris’s revenge for not being invited to the wedding.” Mandy breathlessly gulps air before continuing. “Basically, if it weren't for her, the war wouldn’t have happened.”

John whistles. “That’s some revenge.”

Ryder puts the book on the desk and leans back on his hands, the suit jacket opening slightly and giving a view of his shirt that emphasizes his rigid muscles. He presents a gorgeous view to us all.

Someone should give me a medal for the fact that I can focus during his class, because it’s almost impossible when one knows what hides behind his clothes.

Morgan picks up her pencil, writes something in her notebook and then pushes it in the middle so we can read it while most of the class flips their books open, hurriedly searching for the chapter on Iliad to find some names.

If you keep staring at him like that, people are going to find out. Down, girl.

Josephine chuckles, finding this hilarious, while I still keep my gaze glued on my professor, who is destined to be my undoing.

Because with each passing day, he pulls me deeper and deeper into the madness of our secret relationship from which I want no escape. I want him to wrap more passionate webs around me, wishing to be forever trapped in his golden cage.

Ryder gets up, my gaze trailing after him as he grabs the marker and writes all the names the students call out, but to my shock, he stays silent. Usually, he throws opinions right back at them.

“King Priam!”

“Patroclus!”

“Odysseus!”

That catches his attention, and he looks over his shoulder. “Very interesting character, but we will discuss him once we move to the next book. Not Iliad.”

“But he is the one who came up with the Trojan Horse deception.” Josephine frowns. “He’s a key player in the Iliad for various other reasons.”

“Yes. But to better understand his character and what the Trojan War cost him, we need to read his own story. Or at least read the short synopsis.” People chuckle at the last part, and he spins around. “Any more names?”

I zone out as people get deeper into this discussion, and I open my notebook, writing down the character I empathized with the most in this tragic story.

Because he had no other choice but to endure what fate had given him, and isn’t that the worst kind of pain?

Living a life you did not choose but must anyway due to a sense of honor and loyalty to your family?

“Estella.”

I freeze when his husky and deep voice utters my name, casting silence all around us, as everyone turns their attention to me while anticipation shines brightly on their faces for me to see.

After our very first class and discussion, he has never called out my name, but I know people have made bets on if he’d try to embarrass me again in front of the whole class, since he is not known to be kind.

However, due to our relationship, I was never a part of any discussions.

Or so I thought.

My heartbeat speeds up; panic begins to creep up my spine as I sit up straight and our gazes meet. “Yes?”

He wraps his hand around the mug and lifts it up to his mouth, asking me right before taking another large sip. “Do you have a favorite character in this epic poem?”

“This should be interesting,” Josephine mutters under her breath while everyone gets more comfortable in their seats, awaiting my answer—or rather their entertainment.

Anger zips through me, and I grip the pencil tighter, hating how he has put me on display once again when I wasn’t ready. “Yes, I do.” His brow lifts, so I supply the name he seeks. “Hector.”

Surprise crosses his face as if he expected another answer all together, but he quickly replaces it with indifference. “The Trojan prince, the eldest son. The best warrior of his people, respected by Greeks as well,” he says, a grin shaping his mouth. “A man with no vices.” An odd note laces his tone on the last part; he sounds almost self-mocking, to my confusion. “Why?”

God, he wants an explanation too?

Well, then.

“He was a kind, brave, loyal prince and son who wanted the best for his people. According to the poem, he was against the war. However, he had no choice but to follow his father’s command and clean up the mess his little brother created.” I exhale heavily. “He also had a wife and a son with whom he wanted to live peacefully, but all his desires were denied him.”

And he didn’t get to be with them, because Achilles killed him.

Ryder listens carefully to me and then walks across the auditorium, throwing his next question as the students dart their gazes between us, some even taking notes. With our professor here, you never know what he might ask on quizzes, papers, or exams. “Isn’t it his duty as a prince to protect his people?”

“Yes. Paris was selfish in a way though.” I don’t judge the guy for choosing love and all, but he kind of screwed over his entire family. Since this is beyond my comprehension, his character has always stirred bewilderment in me and nothing else. “So his older brother had to pay for his mistake.”

Ryder drums his fingers on the mug, pondering my words. “Because Paris lived the life he wanted?”

“No. Because he didn’t consider how his actions would affect his people.” The tension rises in the air while Ryder leans on the podium, holding my stare intently as if demanding more explanation on the matter. “Hector though was different. Maybe that's why he was respected by everyone.”

“A lot of good it did him,” Jonathan butts in. “He died anyway.” He laughs. “His little bro probably didn’t think his love affair would cost him a brother.”

Ryder ignores him and instead says, “It’s incredibly hard to be the oldest sibling, isn't it? You always have to take care of the younger ones. At least people used to drill that into their kids’ heads.” He places his mug back on the desk and locks his hands behind his back. “Raises a certain kind of guilt in the younger ones, although it’s not their fault.”

My heart stills at this, a sense of betrayal washing over me, knowing full well he connects my liking of Hector to my love of Octavius and what he had to endure because of me.

Does he think I see myself as Paris, who fell in love and now might screw up my brother’s chances for a happily ever after?

Is he out of his mind?

I cannot believe he is using this against me to win a debate!

“I’m comparing their characteristics and not relationships. Hector was a brave warrior who never shied away from combat and faced all enemies with dignity. Paris grew up away from his family, so he had no worthy fighting skills. He was a coward who lost battles during the Trojan War. Even with Menelaus, Aphrodite had to save him.” Before Ryder can comment on it, I add, “No one says everyone should be a warrior. But he literally started a war. So it was his responsibility to clean up his mess, not his brother’s.”

“You are using emotions once again in your critical thinking.” I bristle at his dismissive tone. “Instead of studying their actions through the prism of what their character was supposed to show to the world. The Trojan War has no sides.” He clacks his tongue. “Humans are imperfect creatures. This epic poem shows it in all its glory.”

“Stop saying that,” I snap, forgetting my place for a second, and someone gasps in the distance. “Contrary to what you believe, I’m not an idiot. And just because my opinion does not correlate with yours, doesn’t make it less valid.”

Morgan quickly writes below her previous note.

Girl, breathe. Everyone is staring

Paying no attention, I squeeze the pencil harder until the tip digs into my palm, expressing my frustration at this whole discussion.

I love everything about Ryder, from our long talks by the fire to the way he sets my blood on fire, but he really annoys me when he acts like a professor who finds all my points stupid and useless.

Or at least it seems this way. He never picks on anyone else; I’m just super special in this regard.

And then it hits me.

Love?

The pencil drops on the floor. The sound echoes through the space, and my ears begin to ring. A gasp slips past my lips at the horrible but beautiful realization.

I’ve irrevocably fallen for my lover, my professor, my childhood crush, the man who my brother will never approve of.

Despite how much I’ve tried to protect my heart from succumbing to this crush—love usually means disaster in my family—he’s claimed my heart right along with my body that has his name marked with invisible ink.

Fear slams into me so hard I forget how to breathe while my mom’s image flashes in my mind, reminding me what happened to her when she lost her husband whom she loved.

She lost her humanity right along with him and became a monster, even worse than my father.

She allowed him to hurt her children and just watched it all as a bystander.

One of the reasons Octavius and I never wanted to fall in love with anyone is because of her.

You can survive a stupid crush, but falling so hard you can no longer imagine living without that person?

The emotion might swallow you whole, and then where would you be?

“Estella.” Ryder’s voice pierces through the fog enveloping my mind. My throat is so dry I’m afraid to swallow. “Estella.”

Blinking several times, I inhale deeply. Ryder, with a concerned look, comes closer, hopping two stairs at a time to reach me. “Are you all right?”

“I’m fine,” I whisper, hooking a strand of hair behind my ear. “I’m fine.” Maybe if I repeat this enough, I’ll believe it.

He roves his brown orbs over my form. I can physically feel the possessiveness radiating from him and trapping me in its web, silently demanding reassurance I’m not lying to him, but all I can do is avoid his gaze.

Because if he looks into my eyes, he’ll see the truth, and then I won’t have any choices left.

Men like Ryder see what they want and take it, bulldozing into your life in a way so that it’s never the same.

Josephine shifts awkwardly next to me and then decides to save my ass. “Professor MacAlister. Who is your favorite character in Iliad?” She puts a palm on my thigh and pats it a little while I sigh in relief at the change of subject, since students love to hear Ryder’s opinion on stuff.

“Cassandra.” My brows shoot up at the name, and he gives me one more long stare before going down the stairs slowly, hooking his thumbs in his pants pocket. “She was Paris and Hector’s sister who was cursed with the ability to see the future, but no one ever believed her predictions. It was punishment from the god Apollo for refusing his advances. She predicted the fall of Troy because of Paris.”

“Wow. Who needs a gift like that if it cannot be put to good use?” Jonathan mutters and then leans on his elbow. “Why is she your favorite?”

Despite the internal turmoil shaking me, I strain my ears to listen to him, because even I’m curious about his reasoning as well.

Ryder refuses to share about his family life on most days and rarely speaks about the past besides some job details. So the only way I can get a glimpse on his views or some pain is by studying his replies to various questions or how he judges characters.

While in the present, he is the perfect example of a dark knight who is not afraid of the dragon in order to get to the princess, but in the past…

In the past he is an enigma I wish to crack to better understand the man he has become and to learn more about the scars on his body.

Over this last month, I've kissed them countless times, always showing him how they don't bother me, but he ignores my silent pleadings to explain them.

And while it hurts me sometimes, I understand.

My brother would be just the same, and his past is horrendous. I didn’t want to bring Ryder unnecessary pain by making him relive all those events.

Well, not counting the times he made me furious to the point of wanting to strangle him.

Like during the class when he picked on me!

Ryder’s voice booms in the auditorium. “A black sheep of the family. I think I can relate to her.” Is this why he avoids his family? To them, he’s a black sheep? “Cassandra is a perfect character to demonstrate that if people want to go to their doom, they will no matter what.” A beat passes and he elaborates, his tone, laced with coldness and distaste, drops. “You can tell them they are making a mistake and try to save them, but at the end of the day… you cannot save those who do not want to be saved. Playing a hero can be a devastating and exhausting task. That's why villains exist in this world.”

My eyes widen at this. Something nags at my mind as various books on human psychology and cases of serial killers flash before me. One should always search for the traumas in their childhood, because their cruelty has deep roots.

“After the fall of Troy, she was brutally raped by one man and then taken by another to be his concubine. Her life was tragic from beginning to end.”

Silence falls in the auditorium, and sadness washes over me as I think about Cassandra.

We don’t know if she was real or just a myth; however, her story stays tragic, nevertheless. How hard it must have been to be used as a pawn and never be someone valuable.

“She had no choice, right? Just like Hector,” someone asks in the back, and Ryder smirks, although it lacks any humor.

“In a way, but not really. Hector was bound by duty, so he stayed on the land he swore to protect. Cassandra knew about the future of Troy yet still decided to choose her family rather than run away and escape.”

Josephine frowns. “Could she even escape with the Greeks there?”

“She might have. The point is she never even tried. Loyalty to the family destroyed Hector and Cassandra. That’s the thing they have in common.” His eyes find mine, and he holds my stare, letting me read between the lines, and for a second, it’s just us in the auditorium. The outside world disappears, leaving me with an uncertain and magnetic pull so strong I cannot get away from it. “Sometimes, blood is not thicker than water, and people shouldn’t sacrifice themselves for their family, when all that family does is destroy their life.”

Fury slides through my veins, awakening my annoyance to epic proportions, because his implications are loud and clear.

He thinks my brother is holding me back.

But I should have expected that, right?

A man who despises his own family will never understand my tight bond with Octavius. He’d have to live in a nightmare with me to see that Octavius has always been the life vest keeping me afloat.

Or rather.

The only thing keeping him safe and wanting to survive was me. I suspect that if it weren’t for my existence, my brother would have ended his life. As a child, I saw him with a knife in his hand a lot, which has led me to such conclusions.

Then another thought strikes me.

So I wasn’t just a weapon used against my brother? I was his life vest too?

My father would have been cruel to him anyway; that was just in his nature… to be a monster.

Maybe… just maybe… I wasn’t the stone around my brother’s neck pulling him down, but a rope keeping him afloat in the disastrous ocean my father thrust him into.

Ryder adjusts his wristwatch and announces, “With this, the class has come to an end. For the next one, pick your character, and we’re going to discuss them more… with a few assignments thrown in.” He raises his hand at the groans that follow. “You’ll like it.”

He goes back to the desk to put everything in order while everyone jumps up from their seats, a hum filling the room as everyone gathers their things.

“That was intense,” Morgan says, shoving her notebook in her backpack and hooking it on her arm. “I thought you might curse at him.”

Josephine nods. “Me too. It would have been hilarious but also so damaging.” She crosses her arms and checks our surroundings, dropping her voice to a hushed whisper. “Unless he proposes, keep your lips zipped. You don’t need rumors trailing after you for years.”

“I’m glad you were entertained, and I wasn’t going to anyway.” I grab my bag. “Let’s have lunch?” I need to bite my teeth into something, since Ryder’s flesh isn’t available at the moment.

“Oh. Imagine if they do get married.” Morgan sighs and then smacks a kiss on Josephine’s cheek. They’ve been very open about their relationship, and to our shock, their families accepted the whole thing quite easy. Since Morgan had never dated girls before, they expected some trouble with that, but thank God they faced none. “We’ll be the maids of honor.”

“You’ll be those no matter who I marry.” I throw the words out and then freeze when instant fire-like waves crash into me, making me shift my focus to the side and see that most students have left already, and Ryder drills his stare in me. By how his eyes flicker with a dangerous light, I know he heard my words. “After all, the future is uncertain.” I add the last part just to rile him.

Josephine mutters, “Girl, don’t poke the beast.” We go down the stairs, my chin high, as I do my best to ignore Ryder, even though earlier all I could think about was jumping in his arms after three long days apart.

Amazing what a little discussion can do.

“Estella.” He calls my name, and judging by the tone he uses, he expects me to stop and listen to whatever he wants to say.

Morgan and Josephine halt abruptly, sharing a look but still staying close to me while I grit my teeth, stopping yet still not turning toward him. “Walk with me to my office.”

“I’m afraid I have other plans, Professor.” I emphasize the last part while buzzing sensations crash into me, one after another, anticipation sinking in me and speeding up my heartbeat, although I can’t understand it. But then again, when did I ever defy him? “You can send me an email.” With this, I march to the door, ready to push it open, when his next statement stills me, his husky timbre promising me retribution if I dare to go against his demand.

“Unless you want me to stake my claim on you for the entire university to see, you will walk with me to my office.”

The girls’ eyes widen, and their jaws drop open while they dart their gazes between us. “This is awkward,” Josephine says and straightens up. “You can't threaten her, Professor MacAlister.”

Ah, my new best friend sure is the protector for all the cheering she does for this relationship. According to her, pleasure of the flesh should be explored as long as it’s consensual and between adults, although she draws the line at possessive men, finding them too intense.

Which is hilarious, considering how she hovers over Morgan. The girl just needs to want something for Josephine to get it for her.

Besides, if she only knew how intense my man is… she’d tell me to run for the hills.

Ryder ignores her, and by the blazing fire in his eyes, I know he will deliver on his promise, announcing to whoever listens that we are together.

And oddly, it only adds to the fire burning me from inside out and mixing with my anger so strong I can taste it on my tongue, pulling me in two directions.

One craves to slap him and the other to kiss him, and since both options are out of the question now, it leaves me with unsatisfied confusion.

Huffing in frustration, I give my bag to Josephine and muster up a smile for my friends’ sake, who got caught in our crossfire. “Go to the cafeteria without me and please order some pasta. I’ll be there shortly.” Josephine opens her mouth to protest but closes it when I whisper for her ears only, “Please.”

“Fine.” She kisses me on the cheek, and Morgan does the same before sending a glare Ryder’s way, and they walk out of the auditorium.

“That was completely unacceptable,” I hiss at him the minute we’re alone.

“I don’t give a shit, darling” is all he says as he grips my elbow and practically pushes me through the door as we emerge into the empty hallway.

Tearing my elbow away from him, I exhale in relief that there are no students in sight as we stroll to his office located on the second floor.

All the way there, we are silent, but strangely, the silence unsettles me much more than any words could, pumping my blood and hitching the air in my throat.

Finally, we reach his office, and he inserts the key, unlocking it and letting me in. Entering, I spin around and attack him right away. “You have no right to—”

He cuts off whatever else I want to say by shutting the door, wrapping his arm around my waist, and then pressing me hard against it, my back connecting with the wood.

A surprised groan slips past my lips when he pushes his pelvis into me, caging me in his embrace and leaving no space between us.

Instantly, his heat surrounds me as his hard muscles dig into my curves, awakening everything female in me while he leans closer, his tobacco breath fanning my cheeks. His gently spoken words laced with steel and possession glide over my skin like the softest silk designed to trap me in his wicked web, sending me in a spiral of passionate sensations. “You. Are. Mine.” He wraps his hand around my throat, tipping my chin up and exposing my neck to his searching lips. He sucks on my flesh hard, the action making my fingers clench his shirt, trying to push him away while my hips shift forward of their own accord.

A loud moan escapes me, but he quickly covers it with his other palm so no one will hear me, continuing to leave his marks on me that will be visible for everyone to see.

Possessive, possessive man.

And despite my annoyance with him, I can’t resist him worth a damn.

He slides his lips lower to my shoulder, nipping it as his hand trails to my collarbone, tugging on my shirt until fresh air from the open window brushes over my breasts. His every touch sets my body aflame, so the cold doesn’t even register in my mind.

His hard-on grazes over my stomach, need slamming into me, and my pussy clenches just imagining his thick length thrusting into me right now.

I hear loud voices in the hallway; some other class must have just ended, and several people even pass by the office, only arousing me more. My core grows wet, my body demanding to be soothed right now and stake my claim on the man all over again.

Although the place couldn’t be more forbidden even if we tried.

Suddenly, my mind reminds me of his dismissive ways with me back in the auditorium, and the memories pierce through the sensual haze he’s casting on me. I push at his chest, biting hard on his palm and earning myself a hiss from him.

A sinister smile curves his mouth at this though, and his lips trail up, up, up until he reaches mine, letting us share a breath, while I glare at him despite the thousands of goose bumps popping up on my skin. He jerks his hips forward, digging his cock into me. “Why are you mad at me, my darling?” He removes his hand from my mouth, places it on my hip, squeezing it so hard I gasp into him. “Answer me.”

“Because you treated me like an idiot in front of the whole class!” I whisper-shout at him while he unbuttons my shirt quickly, his hot palm settling on my bare stomach and driving me insane. “Stop this!” I protest, wiggling in his hold when the voices become closer and louder, indicating that anyone could knock on that door any minute now.

Instead of horrifying me though, a thrill rushes over me and fans the fire blazing inside me anew.

His muscles become rigid, tension filling the air as his brown eyes flicker with an emotion I don’t understand when he looks at me.

“I’ve never treated you like an idiot, darling,” he murmurs, his fingers cutting into my hips and leaving more marks on my body, invisible imprints for everyone else but the one he adores to stare at.

According to him, it’s an art form to let anyone close by know who I belong to.

My betraying heart melts at such thoughts, and without thinking, I open my mouth when he grazes his above it. My hands slide upward to circle his neck before tangling my fingers in his silky black hair, drawing him in.

His deep voice toys with my nerves when he whispers, “I’ve always treated you as an equal.”

He bites on my lower lip, trapping it between his teeth and pulling it to the side. I hiss at the sting sending prickles all over my system, and then he licks it before connecting us in a deep, hot, and all-consuming kiss, curling my toes. It leaves no doubt my body and heart fully belong to this complicated yet irresistible man.

My hold on him tightens; he presses me harder against the door while I angle my head to give him better access. My hands pull at his hair, earning myself a groan from him, followed by my moan. He swallows it, thrusting forward, his tongue exploring my mouth and delving deeper with each glide as his grip on my hips becomes stronger to the point of discomfort.

Yet I welcome it, because the pain grounds me in the present, never letting me forget this is my reality and not a fantasy in which my professor is completely obsessed with me.

My core dampens at the thought. I hug him tighter to me, rocking into the thick bulge covered by his pants, which I wish to rip away so it won’t keep the real thing away from me.

Just as I’m about to widen my mouth for a deeper kiss, he breaks it off. We both breathe heavily, and my heartbeat drums so hard in my ears I’m surprised my heart doesn’t jump out of my chest.

He steps back, his scorching gaze sweeping over my form, admiring every inch of my body as if he’s staring at his most beloved possession that he doesn’t intend to share with anyone or ever give up.

He takes off his suit jacket and throws it on his desk, then rolls up the sleeves on his shirt, showcasing his powerful arms, and a flash of desire grows rapidly with each of his movements, reminding me of his absolute power and experience when it comes to our sexual encounters.

He’s a temptation no woman alive could ever resist, let alone me, the one hopelessly in love with him even though it scares me like nothing else.

A future without his touch or presence scares me way more though.

“I see the error of my ways now though.” I frown in confusion, barely concentrating on the conversation when he comes back to me and pushes my shirt down until it falls on the floor by my feet. “I should have never treated you equally.” He unclasps my bra at the front, pulling away the cups one by one before cupping my breasts, weighing them and then gripping hard, making me groan in pleasure and pain as lust builds in the pit of my stomach. It washes over me like an avalanche ready to destroy everything in its wake as long as it means finding bliss on the horizon. “You need praise, don’t you, darling?” He skims his lips over my chin, nipping my earlobe as he fists my hair and tilts my head to the side while uttering in my ear, “Would you like to be the professor’s favorite pupil?” The air sticks in my lungs, a hot flash exploding through me, sending electric jolts that force more goose bumps on my skin. My pussy clenches, a different kind of thrill awakening inside me at his question. “Were you not feeling special enough, Estella?” He leans back and puts his hands on either side of my head. “Answer me.”

Gulping for breath, I stare at him while my body buzzes with anticipation and silently begs this man to finally give me what we know he is capable of giving. “Yes. You never compliment me.” Mortification fills me as I admit this to him, probably seeming too immature for him, not that it matters to me at the moment. All I can think about is how he always praises every other fucking student and never me. “You just dismiss me!” The accusation is whispered, and he chuckles, amusement dancing in his brown orbs.

“Ah, my little darling feels neglected.” He dips his head forward, his teeth grazing the tip of my nipple. Instant heat travels through me, quickly transforming into a moan when he strokes his tongue around it, moistening it before sucking it hard into his mouth.

Arching my back, I place my hand on his nape. My fingers dig into his skin as though I’m afraid he might deny me the pleasure that slowly consumes me and creates an inferno that threatens to erupt at any moment.

His hand drifts between us, unzipping my skirt, and it joins the shirt on the floor, leaving me standing only in the lace panties that are stuck to my flesh.

“Do you feel special enough?” He abandons that breast and moves to the other one, flicking the nipple, biting it gently and then suckling on it while his fingers skim over the panties, rubbing his index finger back and forth over my core. The air in my throat hitches while the fire inside me grows and grows, zapping through me from different directions. He is the creator of them all.

“Yes,” I say, stilling a moan of protest when he takes away his mouth. My nipple puckers from the cold air brushing over it, creating more discomfort when the skin tightens.

His finger glides up and down, pressing into me; wetness gathers between my thighs, driving me insane. Yet he continues to deny me the “real” contact and the euphoria on the other side of the cliff. “Ryder.”

He hisses through his teeth. “I think you’re still not convinced you’re the professor’s favorite student, my darling. A student he thinks about fucking hard constantly.” His mouth shifts to my stomach, nipping and leaving small marks, as he sinks to his knees in front of me, his fingers skimming up and down my ass cheeks before he hooks one of my legs over his shoulder.

Leaning my head on the door, I grip his hair as he runs his nose over my core, inhaling its scent as his hot breath pulls at my nerve endings, dragging them to that one place while my entire being buzzes with the need and longing I can’t control. “Ryder, please.” My voice grows stronger, and despite the noises from the hallway, I cannot be silent. “Please.”

My pleadings though have little effect on him. “A professor who is obsessed with you.” He rubs his cheek over the inside of my thigh, sucking on the flesh before soothing it with his tongue.

My core grows even damper, and it doesn’t go unnoticed by him. “Ah, this information pleases you, doesn’t it? Let me show you how this professor worships his favorite pupil’s pussy.” That’s all the warning I get as he yanks my panties to the side and stabs his tongue deep into me, a moan escaping me, and I move my other hand to muffle my screams.

He swirls it inside my folds, gliding along my walls, pushing deeper and deeper, as his thumb flicks my clit from side to side and then presses on it hard, creating such a strong frenzy in me I’m thrown into the fire rapidly spreading through me and threatening to turn me to ashes. Pleasure surrounds me, dragging me closer and closer to the land where bliss exists.

I groan when he licks up and down my lips, sucking on the flesh as a finger slides inside me, followed by another, stretching me to the hilt. My hips jerk forward, and my heel digs into his back; my hand tightens its hold on his hair as I yank him even closer, crying out when he traps my clit between his teeth.

He adds another finger; the familiar burning and pressure grows inside me, promising me relief from this sweet torture that consumes me whole. He caresses my clit before he sucks it hard, flicking his tongue rapidly, his fingers driving into me in and out, deeper and deeper, creating unimaginable sensations.

Sweat drips down my back. My skin tightens so much, as if someone has dumped me in hot water, while the pleasure becomes so strong I can barely breathe… or keep my eyes open to watch my man devouring me.

One long lick. “Do.” Lick. “You.” Lick. “Feel.” Lick, lick, lick, the desire pours from me while I hang on the brink, ready to fall off the cliff or drown in the passionate pool he has created. “Special?”

My hoarse reply is instant. “Yes.” Threading my fingers through his hair—once, twice—I beg, “Please, Ryder. Please.”

If he will just give me a little more friction, I can….

“I think you need more convincing, my darling.”

“No, no,” I groan, tears forming in my eyes when he removes his fingers, opens me wider, and slips his tongue inside again, feasting on my flesh and driving me to the point of insanity. I’m ready to scream my lungs out in my professor’s office! “Ryder.” I bite my lip, stilling when he pushes against a sensitive spot, barely managing to breathe, ready to erupt at any moment yet not wanting to.

Somehow, the naughty part of me, the one I thought didn’t exist, wishes to be fucked so hard in this office I’ll never forget this experience.

Or how we both lost our minds so much we didn’t care about the consequences.

He stabs his tongue in and out of me, each time deeper than before, so I find the courage to voice my need, because right now all inhibitions have left me.

Fisting his hair, I finally manage to drag his mouth away from me, and my core clenches. His lips glisten, and desire unlike anything I’ve seen before fills his eyes. Holding his stare, I say, “Fuck me hard, Professor. So I’ll feel you for days.”

A dark look crosses his face as he slowly rises, widening my hips as he settles between them, hiking my leg over his hip as he unzips his pants. I whimper at the sight of his cock, thick and long, with precum leaking from it. The blue vein pulses, making me lick my lips, remembering how it felt to have it push against my throat the other night.

“Greedy, greedy girl. If you’ll be a good girl, I’ll let you play with it once we get home,” he murmurs, rubbing the tip of his cock over my core. And then with one swift move, he thrusts inside, slamming me against the door that rattles from the force.

He catches my scream with his mouth, fusing us both in a blazing kiss, our tongues dueling as my pussy stretches around his length. My nails dig into his back, forcing a groan from him.

I long to stamp my own marks on him so everyone knows this man is taken by his favorite student and they can stop fawning over him so much.

He sways back only to drive in hard again; the raw contact sends prickles of electricity to every nerve in my body as we continue to kiss, the strokes of our tongues in rhythm with his thrusts, no longer caring about anything else.

My lungs demand oxygen though, so I pull my mouth away and gulp for breath as he grabs my other thigh and hooks it up too, changing the angle of his thrusts. I whimper as my hands circle his neck and pull him closer to me, although we couldn’t be any closer if we tried.

“Ryder.”

“You.” Thrust. “Are.” Thrust. “Mine.”

“Yes, only yours,” I whisper, flexing my hips around him while my pussy clenches. Pleasure flows over me in waves, luring me to drown in it as he gradually increases his pace, the strokes becoming almost unbearable. “Just yours.”

“Professor’s favorite little pet,” he whispers, biting my neck. Then he growls against my shoulder when my core spasms, scorching heat consuming my body. “Never doubt that.”

“I won’t.”

The pressure inside me grows and grows as he drives in me roughly, pushing me to the edge harder and faster until finally the peak comes, and then he kisses me just before my cry echoes through the office.

One. Two. Three more strokes and he groans, erupting inside me as I hug him close, welcoming everything he can give me.

The wall clock ticks loudly as the haze disappears and our surroundings register in my mind. “I can’t believe we did it here,” I exclaim and then giggle. “You turned me into a bad girl, Professor.”

I feel him smile, although he still breathes me in, rubbing his chin over my shoulder. “No, I turned you into my girl.”

With him holding me tight in his embrace, our bodies connected in the most primal way, and our heartbeats drumming against each other, I come to the decision from which there will be no escape.

I will no longer keep this relationship as some kind of dirty secret that needs to be hidden or forbidden.

My brother will either accept it or try to destroy it, but at least I will respect him enough to tell him the truth.

And maybe, just maybe in this fairy tale, the dragon will not blow fire on the dashing prince who came after the princess, and instead he’ll welcome him into the castle for how happy he makes the one he guarded for so long.

Or at least a girl can hope.

CHAPTER NINE

“Once, an old man in Greece told me that the family name is the most valuable thing a person can have.

For it tells you about your roots, letting you be closer to your ancestors and never truly alone in the world.

How ironic.

Because all my family’s actions, no matter good or bad, aimed toward me somehow always ends up screwing up my life in ways I’ve ever anticipated.

And their existence alone has ensured my loneliness.”

Ryder

Estella

Heat surrounds me, settling on my skin like hot coals bringing discomfort to me. Rolling to the side, my eyes snap open only to close again when the bright sunlight streaming from the open shades blinds me.

Covering myself with a sheet to avoid it, I shift to my back again, and a groan slips past my lips when pain echoes in every muscle in my body, even in those that never hurt, before bringing memories of yesterday in vivid colors.

After our little tryst in his office, Ryder adjusted our clothes and waited several minutes to calm down before letting me go to the girls, who guessed right away what happened and told me I was playing with fire. Still, they discussed the upcoming concert and wondered if Ryder would stalk me to it too, and I didn’t have the heart to tell them that he probably would.

Once we were done, I went to the library to work for a few hours, and that’s where Ryder found me, whisking me away because he had a surprise prepared for me. I was so lost I even forgot my bag with the phone there once again!

He arranged a dinner in the penthouse for us with Italian cuisine and a projector with two of my all-time favorite black-and-white movies; so needless to say, the ending to the day was as epic as its beginning.

Maybe if someone had told me having a relationship is so much fun and rids you of your fears and doubts while filling you with hope that urges you to be more daring in your life, I would have tried one sooner.

However, deep down, I know it’s about Ryder and not just any man.

Because my man is special to me, just like I am to him.

A smile shapes my mouth, and a giggle escapes me before I peek from the covers again. Blinking several times to adjust my vision, I sit up, shivering a little at the cold air settling on my heated and sweaty skin.

Looking around the spacious room consisting of a huge bed, bedside tables, and a massive wardrobe that stores a lot of my clothes since I practically live here, I search for my man, but he is nowhere in sight.

A thrill rushes through my veins, adding to the happiness bubbling up inside me.

My man.

I quite enjoy saying that, and if having one means waking up fully satisfied after he used my body however he saw fit and brought me so much pleasure my voice became hoarse from all the whimpers and cries… I want to say it for the rest of my life.

“Ryder,” I call, but no reply comes, and I swing my legs to the side, hissing when my bare feet connect with cold marble.

We’ve agreed to go to my brother and introduce him as a new development in my life after I’m finished at school today. Although his eyes flashed in surprise at this information, he agreed right away. However, I haven’t missed the tension rising in him and the brooding energy floating in the air around us.

As if he’s preparing for a battle he intends to win at all costs, but such thoughts are ridiculous.

“Ryder,” I try again and then notice a glass of water on the bedside table along with a note.

Picking up the glass, I take a greedy sip and welcome the cooling sensation in my dry throat while reading the note written in his perfect handwriting.

I guess all the things about him are so perfect that one might wonder how such a perfect example of a male exists?

I’ll be back shortly.

Breakfast is on the table.

Eat and then wait for me.

Shaking my head at him managing to give off a commanding tone in the note, I put it back in its place as my stomach growls loudly, reminding me I haven’t had food in my mouth for almost sixteen hours.

Snagging his shirt laying on the edge of the bed, I put it on and then head to the kitchen, where I see a plate full of eggs, an avocado, and a croissant.

The man even knows my favorite foods.

Grabbing a fork, I dig into the eggs and groan when they hit my tongue, the delicious taste filling my mouth, and I ponder what I should do next.

It’s Wednesday, so I have one class in history and then a meeting with the girls, who will probably grill me on why I haven’t picked up any calls. Josephine drives us all crazy by constantly adjusting our schedule and expecting replies right away.

I blush just thinking about all the things we did last night, and I understand Josephine in this moment. I’m not sure such things should be shared with friends, for they are too intimate and private. Good thing Morgan decided to withhold details.

I’ll have to stop by my apartment first though to grab my paper due tomorrow before I can go to the library and get my bag along with all the important stuff in it. Thank God Octavius offered to buy me an apartment in town so I wouldn’t have to drive so far to our family mansion, because he would instantly know about my so-called walk of shame.

Finishing the main course, I grab the croissant, breaking it in two, when the annoying sound of a phone ringing startles me, and I pause the pastry midway to my mouth.

I’m surprised Ryder owns a house phone in his penthouse, but relief sags through me, because it means I can call Henderson so he can bring the car here.

The phone continues to ring until the call-announcing voice message adds to it and a deep voice speaks up, instantly changing the energy around me as if predicting the upcoming disaster. “I’ve listened to that fucking sound for so long now, since you never bother to pick up, that I’m starting to hate it. Why don’t you just record some message for us all, telling us to fuck ourselves? I’d find it more pleasing than this shit.”

I blink at how much profanity this man uses and how he addresses Ryder like that, because he doesn’t strike me as a man who would accept it kindly.

“So Jaxon told me you’re in Chicago and seducing Octavius Reed’s sister at that.”

I freeze, the croissant dropping on the plate with a soft thud, as all my attention belongs to the man.

“When he told me this for the first time, I didn’t believe him. You, Ryder MacAlister, our older brother, finally decided to do something that would benefit the brotherhood? After years of ignoring us, even when we could use your torture skills.” Torture skills? “Color me fucking surprised.”

Panic glides over me, threatening to slip into me, and I grip the counter hard, waiting for him to elaborate, hoping like a fool that I understood him wrong.

“Anyway, I looked into Estella Reed, and if you wanted to stick it to the Four Dark Horsemen for destroying our warehouse a few months ago, you should have picked some other options. Honestly, the innocent, sheltered thing is great bait, since Octavius would go batshit crazy over her. But still, bro. Morals. We don’t use women as weapons. Imagine if someone used our Davina like that,” he growls, and I hear him lighting up a cigarette. “I’d fucking kill whoever tried.” His voice turns deadly, leaving no doubt he would follow up on his words.

While still trying to make sense of all this, a horrible realization crashes into me in waves, threatening to consume me whole in ways I’ll never recover from.

Because all the blocks align in my head, and his family name rings a bell. It never did before, because I never expected him to be connected to them.

MacAlister.

A powerful, New York Irish mafia family who engages in various crimes and rules it with an iron fist, casting mayhem wherever they go, deeming themselves invincible.

Any action they take has one purpose only.

For them, to serve the family is above anything and anyone else.

They can even kill an innocent if it means saving their brotherhood, to preserve the legacy left to them by their father who, according to rumors, was one of the cruelest men in the country.

He didn’t even mind sacrificing his own child when a certain deal went wrong, so he sent his son to the pits of hell, never to be seen or heard from again.

Despicable, despicable family consisting of five siblings with hollowness and danger reeking from them who share identical cold green eyes warning you to stay away.

Jaxon, Cillian, Duncan, Douglas, and finally their only sister who everyone dotes on and protects at all costs, Davina. The last three are triplets, and their connection is legendary.

Contrary to what everyone believes, I’m not naïve or blind.

The Four Dark Horsemen, a brotherhood formed by Octavius and his three other friends, are ruthless, cruel, and they murder people who they find guilty of hideous crimes.

They mete out justice according to their own judgment where laws no longer apply, and while it sounds bad, I don’t feel sorry for any of their victims, because they deserve it.

Although it doesn’t justify the crimes, of course. Bad or good people, if they take a weapon in their hand with the intent to kill, they are murderers who can’t hope to ever enter heaven.

Darkness forever smears your soul in ways you’ll never be able to wash off.

However, the MacAlister clan is a different beast all together.

A family who doesn’t mind sacrificing their own for the sake of the brotherhood can never be trusted.

At least my family, and that includes all Dark Four, would never go against each other.

The man on the other end of the line though stays relentless, pushing his point across, unaware that the “bait” is listening to him.

“I’ve come up with an alternative. Let’s just go back to the negotiating table and hash out the terms with them after our last fuckup, and this way you won’t have to steal anyone’s virtue and become a monster in her nightmare.” He laughs, the sound causing chills down my spine while tears form in my eyes, and although I wish this man would shut up, I listen to the horrible truth explaining to me in all its glory why Ryder is interested in me in the first place.

His obsession. His words. His actions.

Lies. Lies. Lies.

Designed to create webs of deceit around my heart and mind, to wrap around me so tightly he will consume me, only to sacrifice me at the altar of their greed and transform my love into a weapon he can use against my brother.

“Besides, these fuckers are insane. Who knows how they will retaliate? I’m telling you, Ryder. Stop fucking around and come back home. You might be the Hades who goes around catching all those criminals and dropping them on the police’s doorstep, but these guys have their personal torture chambers. Sick fuckers, I’m telling you.”

For a second, the entire world disappears, and whatever else the man says disappears into the background while loud screeching fills my ears, and my heart beats so wildly I feel it dancing in my chest, sending pain through me.

Hades.

Do you find his actions fascinating? Or do they horrify you?

Oh my God.

The man whose actions I followed and cheered on, even though everyone found it disturbing… is Ryder?

A man who touched me so gently yet passionately, while his eyes watched me intently, is a man whose hands torture people to the point no one recognizes them so they drown in their misery?

One of the psychologists who studied his cases on TV once mentioned that although he punishes only those who deserve it, no one with a normal psyche would do such a thing.

And as such, his obsessions might be very dangerous, because when people refuse to play by his rules, he might react in the most unpredictable ways.

Octavius and his friends have reasons for their actions.

Ryder’s cruelty though runs through his veins, and God only knows how it will turn against my family once he finds out his perfect plan failed and I now know the truth.

I get up so swiftly the chair falls to the floor with a loud thud, snapping me out of my stupor, and I step back, fear sinking into my bones and enveloping me whole, leaving no rational thoughts inside me.

Without thinking, I dash to the elevator and press several times for the ground floor, the time moving agonizingly slow as it descends, my mind counting seconds, expecting to see Ryder any minute, who would know something has happened.

One minute, I’m downstairs, flying through the hallway to the shocked stare of the butler.

Two minutes, and I catch a cab, hopping inside it and asking the surprised driver to take me to the mansion, and he listens to me while getting us into heavy traffic.

Forty minutes later, I arrive home, with our butler, Antony, greeting me as concern etches on his features, but he asks me no questions, just throws his jacket over me before taking me inside.

He calls Octavius while I go upstairs and lock myself in my room. I slide down the door as sobs finally overtake me and tears stream down my cheeks.

Because once again, a monster attacked me to get to my brother, and I had no other choice but to run.

Run straight back home, where my brother has to protect me again, putting himself in danger, and more sobs emerge from me, soaking my shirtsleeve.

It seems my new life ended before it could begin.

All because I decided to trust a man who never wanted me in the first place.

CHAPTER TEN

“I always thought when your heart breaks, it’s soundless pain, barely noticeable yet it leaves deep scars behind.

I was wrong.

The shattering sound of its breaking will haunt me forever.

For when your heart breaks… it destroys your world.

And how do you live in a world that no longer exists while your organ bleeds and slowly sucks the soul out of you?”

Estella

Estella

Getting out of the steaming shower, I wrap a towel around myself and let the water drip on the tiled floor while slowly going to the mirror and wiping the fog away, then staring back at my hollow reflection.

Various hickeys, the stamp of ownership Ryder put on me while whispering illicit things in my ear, mar my flushed skin that’s so red and sensitive from all the rubbing I did, hoping to wash away any traces of him yet failing miserably.

At least his scent no longer lingers, and I intend to burn his shirt lying on the floor, a cloth reminding me of my shame and his success.

After all, he managed to seduce the “sheltered, innocent creature” and probably went out to let his brothers know about his victory.

My fists clench, fury zapping through my veins and boiling my blood while the cry in my throat stills, although I want to break something to let my frustration out.

Just this morning, I was the happiest woman on earth, and now I’m a woman scorned, and that’s not the worst part.

Oh, no.

I had to go and have a secret relationship with a murderer who wants to hurt my family.

Which means my brother has to know the truth, and just anticipating his look of disappointment hurts me.

So much for disliking Paris. I ended up just like him, bringing trouble home, and my brother has to fix it all for me, since I’m powerless to go against the mafia clan on my own.

“Face the music, Estella,” I order myself and then dry off before slipping on my jeans and hoodie, welcoming the warmth, although it does little to the coldness sinking its claws in my heart. “And confess.”

The sooner my brother knows about it, the faster he can do damage control and protect his brotherhood from whatever attack that awful MacAlister clan plans.

I step out of the bathroom just as Antonio, who has known us since we were in diapers, walks in, holding a silver tray with a steaming cup on it and some cookies.

A harsh wind whooshes over me, slipping in from the wide-open balcony door and billowing the yellow curtains back. They slap me on the cheek, making my toes curl into the fluffy white carpet spread all over the floor.

The afternoon sunlight casts a soft glow in my room, showcasing the white, oak bed with countless pillows on it covered by a yellow blanket to match the color scheme. Small lamps occupy the bedside tables.

In the middle of the room, in front of a velvet couch, stands a small, round table covered with several books I snagged from our home library. A bowl of candies is within easy reach.

The room also has a built-in wardrobe holding all my dresses and shoes, serving as a smaller room where I used to hide whenever I wanted to lick my wounds after some teasing at school about my red hair. Octavius always found me there and brought me another piece of jewelry.

A small fortune is hidden behind the glassed shelves.

My room has always been a sanctuary, a soft bubble nothing could burst, because the dragon, aka my brother, guarded the territory with his fire.

But for the first time ever, it doesn’t bring me relief or a sense of peace; instead, it creates more restlessness within me, as if I no longer belong here.

And if I don’t belong at home… then where do I belong?

Antonio’s voice pulls me back from my despair, giving a temporary reprieve to my exhausted mind. “We hadn’t expected you until Saturday, Estella. We barely had time to prepare your room. We thought you might want fresh air.”

Despite everything, a chuckle slips past my lips, and Antonio grins at me while concern still flashes in his gaze as he extends the tray to me, silently asking me to take the cup.

As far back as I can remember, his go-to action to fix all our problems has been to prepare jasmine tea and hope for the best.

Forcing a reassuring smile on my face, because chaos sinks into my every cell and makes me question everything in this little world of mine, I reply, “Thank you.” Wrapping my hand around the cup, I give him a little kiss on his cheek as he blushes. “And I love fresh air.” I lift the cup to my mouth, taking a sip, and wince as the hot liquid burns my tongue. “Is my brother home yet?”

He puts the tray under his armpit and clasps his glove-covered hands. “You showed up here all alone without Henderson… wearing a man’s shirt. I was very concerned. I had to call him.” I never doubted he would.

Antonio loves us both equally, but his loyalty belongs to Octavius and not me. He could never keep a secret from him, even if I asked.

And I did.

A year ago, after my disastrous date that resulted in me losing my virginity on the backseat of a car, only to discover the guy did it on a bet. The only reason I even slept with the guy was because everyone else did it. That’s when I decided to spend a year in Greece rather than go to college right away. Well, that and the fact that he told the entire school, so I was too humiliated to stay in Chicago.

Antonio knew and then apparently told Octavius, because shortly after that, all the universities declined the guy’s college applications, and his rich family had to send him abroad for the scandal to die down.

And here I am one year later, none the wiser. Ryder didn’t bet on me, but he still used me for his own agenda with the only difference being that this time around, my heart was involved, and it hurts so much it’s hard to breathe.

I should write a book on the biggest screwup of the century.

“Great. Can’t wait to see him.” And this much is true.

The sooner he knows, the better I’ll feel without this heavy weight of guilt looming over me.

Antonio beams at me. “Dinner will be ready soon. Would you like to go downstairs?” I grab the cookie and munch on it, moaning at the sweet taste while he continues. “Although you’ll have to eat in the kitchen. The renovations make it impossible to walk anywhere without breaking your neck.” He frowns, the wrinkles around his cheeks and eyes deepening. “If your brother paid better attention to all my notes, we’d be done by now.”

I swirl my finger in the air. “Our mansion is enormous, so I highly doubt it.” Considering Octavius has barely resisted destroying the house completely and building something new altogether, he has kept only the foundation and is renovating the entire thing so no traces of the past mar the walls.

Most of the time, he stays at his penthouse in the city and travels around the world on his favorite yacht, exploring different locations and learning about their culture—mainly medicine, since he finished med school—so he doesn’t devote much time to the renovations.

As a result, for the last five years, the house has been one giant hazard where countless people come in and out, changing rooms and décor, only for Octavius to veto at least one of the choices, and it starts all over.

Honestly, someday, I think he will bulldoze the house and sell the property to the highest bidder, despite the land belonging to our family since the nineteenth century.

Because his hatred for it rivals what he feels toward my parents.

Antonio opens his mouth to protest—he never agrees with my statements—when a deep and powerful voice reverberates through the space, transforming the energy around us into powerful and demanding, making us both straighten up.

“Estella!”

Octavius is home.

Practically shoving the mug and cookie at Antonio, I race to the hallway where empty, freshly painted walls greet me. Black marble glistens under the bright sunlight streaming from the glassed ceiling and showing the way to four different wings, each having three individual rooms.

Families can live here and never cross paths; that’s how much space our childhood home has.

Rushing to the massive stairs, the slapping of my bare feet alerts anyone nearby of my arrival as I descend the stairs to where a similar picture greets me, except some paintings depicting bloody gore about the greediness of human nature occupy the walls here.

At least, that’s what I was told; the images are too disturbing for me to study them on my own.

The massive double oak doors are wide open, allowing the wind inside. A shiver runs through me as my bare toes curl against the marble, and I look around for my brother.

A distressed maid coming from the kitchen passes me with four glasses of whiskey and heads straight ahead to what once was a common room that could host up to three hundred people. Based on the scents floating around, the cook is preparing dinner. Now, it has covered furniture scattered around. On the walls, the staff have hung guns and weapons my brother loves to collect from all over the world, as if mocking the notion of ever hosting a party here again.

The dining table on the right must not have been used at all since the chairs lie on top of it with dust covering the wooden surface.

The terrace doors in here are destroyed, making it one of the coldest rooms in the entire mansion considering our current weather, and somehow it’s Octavius’s favorite place, as he loves to spend his time here freezing.

Many brown boxes are stacked around the room, making one wonder how anyone walks in here without breaking their neck, and judging by the silver glistening through their small openings, more weapons will be joining the collection.

And finally around all this mess, I spot four men outside leaning on the banister that leads to the garden, twirling the glasses the maid brought them. The minute they hear me approaching them, their heads swing in unison in my direction, the powerful wave crashing into me at once from their presence.

I might have grown up with them, but that doesn’t make me immune to their majestic presence, which can be felt in the air wherever they go.

My head moves from right to left as I study the men I haven’t seen in a while, men who had such a big impact on my life. They’ve been Octavius’s best friends since they were little and never gave up on him no matter what happened and sometimes even pulled him out from the pits of hell.

My brother wouldn’t be where he is today if it wasn’t for their support, and who could wish for better friends, right?

Because no enemy would dare to come near while these men have your back.

“Hello, Estella.”

The man’s brown hair falls below his ears, his dark eyes subtly studying everything around him, yet you wouldn’t guess it, if you didn’t pay close attention to him. His muscled body fits perfectly in his jeans and leather jacket. He has on heavy boots, and his calloused hands, used to hard work, remind everyone he came from rags, and whatever he has, he got it with blood and sweat. Compared to all others, he didn’t come from status and wealth, but I know someday soon he’ll have all those things and then some.

Remi Reyes.

I wave at him, which earns me a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes, and my attention shifts to the man standing next to him, his best friend who gave him his first million and helped get a patent on his project that promises to change the scope of business in the future.

His dark hair accentuates his tan skin and emphasizes the high cheekbones that only bring attention to the perfect symmetry of his face. His full lips are permanently curved in a smile that’s sinful and deadly by nature, hinting at his cruel tendencies, because a man can smile and torture you in ways you never thought possible.

His crystal-clear blue eyes are akin to the ocean pulling you down the bottomless abyss, making you lost in them while they scan you for weaknesses in order to strike where it hurts the most.

A ruthless, stunning man who once upon a time woke up in a nightmare and emerged from it alive and stronger than ever, although the harshness of his experience can be seen in each breath he takes and every decision he makes.

If you’re looking for compassion, you’ll never find it with him.

Santiago Cortez.

“Hola, Estella. Como estás?” His smooth voice calms some of my nerves.

His question makes the man standing several feet away from him chuckle as he winks at me, his soft gaze saved just for me, because most of the time his indifferent, cold stare sends fear down people’s spines as his mood swings are unpredictable.

And so is trying to figure out his true character or on whose side he stands.

Arguably the most handsome among them all, his blond hair glistens under the light, and his bright-green eyes make me think of freshly cut grass. Compared to most of them, he’s on the leaner side; the three-piece suit he’s wearing fits him like a glove, while the wicked smile on his mouth can charm any willing woman out of her panties in record time.

He uses his charm shamelessly and is the only one among them who can truly be called a manwhore; last time I heard, two best friends stopped talking to each other, because he slept with them both.

And while he might share his body with countless women, his heart is another story, as no one has ever managed to capture that or the promise of his commitment.

Not that the males in his family are known for fidelity or long-lasting marriages.

He might cover it better than the rest of them, but behind the mask he displays to the world hides a cruel, cruel man who has no mercy for those who have wronged him or has done an unforgivable crime in his eyes.

Belonging to the exclusive jewelry makers dynasty whose pieces are displayed all over the world and cost a fortune, he is considered one of the rare ones who got his great-grandfather’s talent.

Florian Price.

Octavius’s best friend who always has a kind word for me and who brought us to his home where we could sleep peacefully because he wouldn’t let anyone hurt us.

“I’m okay,” I reply to Santiago, snapping from my stupor, and muster up a smile for Florian. “Nice to see you again.”

His brow furrows, and he opens his mouth to say something, when my brother’s voice interrupts him as he repeats my name again. “Estella.”

I turn to the side, my whole focus on Octavius, who stands out among all their clean by our society’s standards appearances with half his head shaved, and the rest of his hair falls over the scarred side of his face, hiding the hideous long, red, puckered skin on his cheek. He sports a beard on his chin, and everyone calls him a barbarian who doesn’t belong in business meetings, his ripped body barely contained by the suits he wears.

I exhale in relief.

Because he’s finally here, and he will fix the mess I’ve gotten myself into.

Along with relief crashing down on me though comes fear, and all the memories and pain from my earlier discovery transforms me back into a little girl who stubbed her toe and all of them gathered around to cheer me up while Octavius tended to my wound.

Without uttering another word, he opens his muscled arms wide, and with a sob, I run into them, tears streaming down my cheeks while he hugs me close. Locking his hands on my back, he creates a protective cocoon around me, letting me share my pain with him.

“Shhh,” my brother whispers, which only makes me cry silently harder, soaking his shirt. “Did a man… hurt you?”

A prolonged pause before his question lets me know what he implies, and I shake my head.

His body relaxes a bit next to mine, and I realize he must have been scared and began with the worst option. “Is this about a man though?” I nod at this. “Does it involve me somehow?”

I nod again, while Remi mutters, “Fuck.”

Yeah, I think no other word describes my situation this accurately.

Another hand touches my head, gently running it through my hair while I feel the presence of everyone else behind me, surrounding me with their support, and Florian speaks up. “Whoever hurt you will pay for it.” Promise laced with steel coats his softly spoken words, leaving no doubt they would.

Because when you insulted or hurt one of them, you might as well have hurt all of them.

What is their motto again they came up with a few years back that the press loves to quote?

Only in unity we survive, because in chaos do we thrive.

They even tattooed the second part of it on their collarbones.

The Four Dark Horsemen.

Ryder

Pouring myself a glass of whiskey, I shake it a little as my eyes stay glued to the TV hanging on the wall, showing a live feed from Octavius’s home, where Estella finds solace in his arms. It sends fury so strong through me I can taste it on my tongue.

With a roar, I throw the glass at the wall, and it shatters into tiny little pieces. Everything in me screams to go to them and snatch my woman, mine, from there, because no one else should be the source of her comfort but me.

Only me.

And while I can deal with her brother touching her, fucking Florian Price putting his hands on her makes me clench my fists and imagine different ways in which I can cut his body open.

Slowly, Octavius pulls Estella inside the house, and grabbing the remote, I move to the camera installed in the kitchen, as this is where they appear to be headed.

A wise man never leaves anything to chance, and I always plan for various moves in advance, Estella running from me being one of them, and of course she would go to her home.

Installing all these devices wasn’t really a problem. The staff was clueless when I arrived on the pretense of fixing their damned AC, wearing a cap and a face mask. Octavius never spends the night there anyway, and he would be the only one who would see through my bullshit.

However, watching Estella right now brings me little comfort, although I cannot go after her.

Not yet anyway.

Picking up the phone on the table, I dial Jaxon’s number. He picks up on the second ring and says, “Ryder. What a sur—”

“I’m going to kill Cillian next time I see him,” I say, anger coating my tone, because my fucking younger sibling fucked up things for me when he opened his stupid mouth on that machine. If it wasn’t for him and his stupid-ass assumption, my woman would be with me, drowning in the passion I taught her.

“His intentions were in the right place,” Jaxon says carefully, as if I give a shit about his defense.

Cillian has been fucking up things for a while now, and everyone pussy foots around him, because a girl broke his heart and married his enemy.

Big fucking deal.

He needs to man up instead of moping and taking his anger out on everyone around him; it’s gonna slowly lead him to his downfall.

“He’s a dead man walking.” Before Jaxon can say anything else, I announce, “Since he made my situation more difficult, I will no longer play nice.”

“Oh fuck,” he mutters in resignation.

“I’ll go against them, because I’m not spending the night without Estella. If you are concerned about my safety—” I laugh, because the concept is damned hilarious. “—come to Chicago.”

“Right now?” he exclaims. “Listen, Ryder, I’m already having a shit-ton of problems here after Cillian decided to play a hero and saved someone he shouldn’t have. I can’t just leave now.”

“Then don’t.” My hold on the phone tightens when I see Florian pinching Estella’s nose, and she laughs while Remi gives her a tissue.

Santiago stays unbothered by it all, not that I’m surprised.

My past is shit, but his is way worse.

“I’m the head of the Irish mafia, Ryder. If I leave, I might as well wave a red cloth in front of the bull. They would see it as disrespect and attack Cillian. Please understand.”

My father slaps me hard, my head swinging to the side, and blood fills my mouth as pain assaults my senses and makes it hard to breathe. “I’m the head of the Irish mafia, Ryder. Do you understand?” He fists my hair, pulling it so hard I’m afraid he might rip it from my scalp, and tilts my head until my scared gaze clashes with his mad one. “You’re a bastard who should know his place.” He pushes me away, and I land on the floor, coughing hard as he grips Jaxon by the throat and brings him closer to me. My heart gallops in my chest so much I’m afraid it will break. “And he is my heir. Don’t ever ask why he is allowed to say he is a MacAlister while out in public, and you can’t. Because you’re nothing but my biggest regret.”

He kicks me so hard in the stomach I see stars while Jaxon screams, “No.” Our father pushes him to the side though into his mother’s open arms. “Dad, no!”

The hurt becomes so strong my head gets dizzy, and more blood fills my mouth while I wonder if dying is really so bad. “A bastard does not have privileges in this family. Never forget it.”

Turning off the TV, I grab my keys and gun as I head to the door. “I understand, Jaxon. The only reason I called was because you made a big deal out of going to war with them.” A beat passes, and I add, “It would have been foolish of me to expect any kind of support from the MacAlisters anyway, right? We bastards don’t have the privileges the legitimate kids get.”

“Ryder—”

I hang up, shutting up his voice as it brings unwanted memories, and I can’t be anything but focused right now.

They say patience is a virtue.

They are fucking wrong.

Because nothing that keeps me away from my woman can ever be right or virtuous.

Estella

My hands wrap around the steaming mug as I sit at the table with the Dark Four surrounding me, after finishing up my story. My eyes hurt from all the crying, and tissues are scattered around the floor, but dread fills me at the prospect of facing their wrath.

Especially my brother’s, since I just said I slept with my professor, even though he asked me not to date.

Octavius occupies the chair opposite me, his fingers drumming on the table as if he’s replaying my confession in his head. Remi pours himself some coffee, and Santiago hops on the counter, tossing an apple from hand to hand.

Even Florian, who always has some sarcastic remarks ready for his friends, stays silent, gazing through the window.

Wow.

I never thought the day would come when they would all be speechless.

“Interesting.” Santiago finally breaks the silence, biting the apple, and the crunching sound grates on my nerves, making me wince.

“Indeed.” Remi nods at this, taking a large sip. “Ryder MacAlister. I heard about the guy. A genius who knows stocks better than anyone and can make money out of nothing. Inspiring fucker.” He laughs. “In more ways than one.” I should have known his vigilante tendencies would be met with praise from them.

Florian pushes away from the window and leans on the chair next to Octavius. “I thought he was dead.” He rubs his chin.

“Evidently, they lied,” Octavius says, and my eyes snap to him to gauge his reaction, but his face stays indifferent, a completely blank space.

“Maybe they referred to his soul dying.” Santiago chuckles, finding the notion hilarious it seems. “He was a sacrifice kid after all.” Darkness settles over his face momentarily, flashing fury so strong fear slashes through me, but he quickly masks it with his smile. “I’m impressed he survived. He had zero chances.”

Sacrifice kid?

Oh no.

My heart stills at such desperation while our conversation from our first night together pops in my head, pulling at the strings of my soul, making me question the rightness of my decisions.

Blood makes you related, not family. Trust me on that, Estella.

Maybe I should have listened to him before running away?

No.

That’s how people end up in abusive relationships, by giving endless chances to people who don’t deserve them.

Unaware about the havoc spreading inside me at their conversation, they continue as if I’m not in the room. “Maybe he doesn’t like them,” Remi supplies. “He wasn’t with them when we blew up their warehouse.” He sighs, and my eyes widen. Blew up? “Ah, good times.”

“They had it coming. Cillian doesn’t know how to keep his mouth shut.”

Licking my dry lips, I prompt, “Warehouse?” Since I was used as collateral damage in that revenge, I’d like to know what it was about.

Although it would do little to soothe the pain within me.

God, I’m starting to sound too dramatic.

Santiago is the one to answer my question. “Cillian dared us to blow up their secret warehouse where they stored their gun supplies worth millions of dollars when we were enjoying our time in New York. The idiot bet his life we wouldn’t be able to do it.” A grin curves his mouth. “So we did just that and dragged Cillian to Chicago, since a dare is a dare.”

My jaw drops at his admission.

I should have known though. The Four Dark Horsemen do something only if it amuses them or sparks their interest.

“He worked in our club as a bouncer doing every little assignment. The prince of New York serving other people. Hilarious,” Florian elaborates, pulling the chair out and sitting on it. “After a month though, the word got out about his less-than-stellar situation, which caused all the other people to show up in our club and beat the shit out of him. Because the brother dearest wouldn’t come and save his ass.” He clacks his tongue. “What can I say? He’s a popular guy like that.”

Remi pitches in, “Jaxon couldn’t retaliate, since Cillian willingly signed up for this shit. So he started negotiating.”

“Took him months, but he promised us enough shit to give his brother back with the promise that none of his siblings will step foot in Chicago.”

“And they broke the treaty,” Florian concludes, and they all look at me while I just blink as anger slowly fuels my blood.

That’s it?

That’s the whole freaking issue they have with each other?

And based on that alone, Ryder decided to use me? Over a stupid thing his brother got himself into on his own?

Even an idiot knows never to bet with the Dark Four, because they always win.

No matter what or where, victory will always be theirs.

And why are they so calm anyway?

I expected them to at least lose their shit over me confessing all this, but my brother sits still, just listening to it all.

Where is his rage? Fury? Something!

I expected chairs flying around while doing my best to stop them from storming out to kill all the MacAlisters, and instead they just tell me stories without a care in the world.

Even to me, they are strange and unpredictable.

I glance at my brother again and notice him staring at the opposite wall, then follow his gaze but find nothing out of the ordinary.

He shares a look with Florian, a silent conversation transpiring between them, who finally nods as if agreeing.

“For sure,” Remi says, and Santiago nods this time.

Sometimes, their silent communication is really annoying.

Shaking my head from the weird surge of energy happening around me, I decide to delve deeper into the subject that is important to me. “Sacrifice kid,” I repeat, bringing their attention back to Ryder. “What does it mean?”

Another shared look, and this time my brother answers. “Alistair MacAlister, his father, loved two things in life. Power and women.” He knocks his knuckles on the table. “Being married didn’t stop him from fucking everything that moved. He pointed at women wherever he went, and they knew they would have no choice but to sleep with him.”

I gasp in horror, just imaging all the poor women subjected to such treatment.

“Yeah, he was a dick.”

Ignoring Florian, Octavius continues, “His wife didn’t care as long as it stayed out of their prestigious life. One time, a whore he visited frequently in a brothel got pregnant and decided to keep the baby. Hence Ryder coming into the world. She thought it would stop Alistair from raping her. It didn’t. He had a deep fascination for Ryder’s mom that lasted until the day she died. He was five years old.”

Oh no.

My heart goes out to the little, scared boy he used to be, who lost his mom so soon with such a horrible man as a father. He probably wasn’t welcomed there and was treated differently, growing up into a hard man who punished those who treated women badly.

An unfortunate chain of events that affected his psyche to the point of no return.

No wonder he deemed himself a Hades; he was even born in a brothel where sins ruled and all innocent souls got torn apart.

Remi chooses this moment to speak up. “Alistair couldn’t have his son on the streets, so he took him in, and of course the wife hated his guts. He wasn’t allowed to sleep or eat in the main house, he couldn’t address Alistair without permission, and the rest of the siblings needed to stay away from him. Any act of disobedience resulted in a beating ’til he turned blue and was thrown in the basement.”

I cover my mouth in shock, my eyes watering, imagining the little boy he once was, and my brother’s hand curls on the table, reminding me that he knows well what it’s like to struggle for a breath when a monster feasts on your flesh for hours.

No wonder Ryder didn’t want to share his past.

“And then Alistair screwed up. He fucked the wrong woman. Her brother didn’t take her tears well and retaliated.” Santiago finishes his apple and throws the core in the trash. “He kidnapped Cillian, who was three at the time, and promised to make his life unbearable.”

“Alistair didn’t give a shit. All he cared about was his own ass, so he didn’t mind. However, his wife went crazy wanting to protect her kids. So she pushed him into offering Ryder instead.” I freeze at the word, and Florian elaborates, “So they struck an agreement. Alistair’s firstborn would stay with the mob for ten years, being their personal bitch—as in doing whatever the masters desired—and Cillian would be given back to them.”

“No,” I whisper, but the truth in their words has no regard for my feelings.

“So Ryder was dumped in hell, where only God knows what he was made to do, but it’s easy to guess.”

My tears stream down my cheeks while all I want to do is run to Ryder and envelop him in a tight hug to make up for all the hideous things done to him in the past. My brother doesn’t have to spell out the deeds done to him; they’re clear as day.

His various scars marring his tan skin flash in my mind, each deep and angry, telling their own story and hiding so much pain behind, leaving permanent marks on him that never let him forget what happened to him.

A man who suffered so much at such a young age… does he even have a heart to speak of?

You’re my obsession, Estella. Mine. And no one will take you away.

Goose bumps break on my skin, creating a tremor within from the words that terrify me, but right now… in light of all these admissions… somehow, they speak about his love at first sight.

Because a boy who was denied everything since a young age, even his right to live, holds on to what he wants with both his hands as a man and would need it obsessively.

Because everything he ever wanted or loved was taken away from him.

What if I misunderstood the man on the phone, his brother?

What if Ryder never intended to take revenge?

After all those bad things, would he really do something for this family of his?

All our time together, from making love to other activities in which he showered me with attention and so much warmth… could it truly all be a lie designed to use me in his plan?

Is it me being foolish and naïve, wanting to see only goodness in him… or does my heart know something my mind still refuses to see?

Octavius’s voice brings me back to present. “Yet after all this, he seduced my sister. I guess he searches for death wherever he goes.”

I grow cold at the threat lacing his voice and open my mouth to say something, although I’m not sure what.

I came back home to warn him about the danger—only, after all this truth, I no longer think my intentions were right.

I acted on emotion instead of rational thinking.

The chair scrapes against the surface, snapping me out of my stupor, and Octavius stands up.

Then he steps closer to me, palms my head, and tilts it back, placing a soft kiss on my forehead, murmuring over my skin, “Everything will be all right, Estella. I’ll fix this mess.” His voice drops dangerously low. “They will regret ever hurting what’s mine.” He gives me one more kiss and grins, although his smile reminds me more of a grimace, as it twists his cheek in an uneven way due to the scar. “Now, have some dinner and go to bed, okay?” He rubs my forehand as if wanting to remove my frown, while all I can do is stare at him in confusion.

“Okay,” I whisper back, and his thumbs run over my cheeks, his dark eyes sparkling with an emotion I cannot name. My brother has always been the source of my comfort and protection, but for the first time ever, I don’t feel better after his presence.

Instead, another fear replaces the feeling, as if I betrayed Ryder just like everyone else in his family did, and now the Four Dark Horsemen want his blood.

“Octavius—”

“It’s all right. Everyone makes mistakes. His will just have deadly consequences.” Before I can say anything else, he straightens up and addresses the rest of the guys. “Let’s go. We have a thing to attend.” He looks at me. “I won’t be home tonight.”

In synchronized motion, they all head to the terrace door, leading outside—gone as swiftly as they came—without a backward glance at me, leaving me staring in shock.

Because for all the dangerous stuff they do…for all the rules my brother inflicted on me…they reacted as if I said an insect bit me, and they are going to get medication for the bite!

He even left me alone in the house.

Maybe I overestimated how much my brother would care about my relationships? He will hash it out, since he always protects me, but he didn’t even flinch when I told him about sleeping with my professor.

Unless he already knew?

Impossible.

Antonio and Melinda, our cook, step into the kitchen grinning. “I’m cooking your favorite dish tonight. Well-done steak with mashed potatoes. You haven’t been home in a while!” She pats my cheek and then goes to the refrigerator to get the ingredients. “How do you feel about chocolate muffins for a dessert?”

“Sounds great.” In the current situation, I couldn’t care less about my upcoming dinner; my mind and heart are torn in two after all the information I’ve just discovered.

Part of me wants to run to Ryder and demand answers, to maybe find out he is worth fighting for and that all my feelings for him might have been fast, but they are valid.

The other is terrified to make a mistake again and decides to trust my weirdly acting brother, who couldn’t be more nonchalant about the whole thing if he tried.

Antonio places my phone in front of me on the table, and my eyes widen. “Henderson brought it along with your bag. Someone from college contacted him.”

“Thank you.”

I tap on the display, and it flashes, showing me low battery and an endless string of messages from the girls in our group chat.

<Morgan> Where are you? You missed our class. You never miss a class.

<Josephine> Skipping classes and shagging the professor, I’m so proud.

<Morgan> Okay, it’s been two hours. Are you okay? Say something, woman!

<Josephine> Even I’m concerned. What’s going on?

<Morgan> He missed his class too! I asked around.

<Josephine> So they are spending the day having sex. I approve. Still though. Reply as soon as you can, because it’s creepy as fuck.

<Morgan> By the way, we saw Quin. He’s already romancing someone new. So in case you’re worried about him, he’s fine.

<Josephine> Please. His name didn’t even cross her mind.

Indeed. I canceled on the guy at the last minute and didn’t think about him at all after my sexual encounter in the library with Ryder. It helps that I haven’t seen him around at all, and with midterms, we mostly had our noses glued to our books.

I’m a horrible human being.

<Morgan> We found your bag in the library. So you never came back for it. We called your driver, so it should be with you soon. Respond when you can. And remember about benefits. While he’s in a good mood, remind him who your best friend is, and get me that A at the end of the semester.

<Josephine> While you’re at it, could you convince him to grade my paper already?

A laugh escapes me despite everything; their chatter serves as a healing balm over my wounded ego, broken heart, and confused mind.

I’d love to see them now, but it’s not wise.

Besides, telling them our professor has turned out to be a famous vigilante—but that’s not why I don’t want to date him… it’s because he belongs to a mafia who wants revenge—would shock them too much.

<Me> I’m okay. Talk to you guys tomorrow. I’m home, family stuff. Love you both!

Their replies come instantly.

<Morgan> Okay! But if you don’t come to class tomorrow, we will hunt you down.

<Josephine> Or, you know… just call. Take care, babe!

Putting the phone aside, I place my elbows on the table and cover my head while squeezing my eyes closed and willing myself not to think at all.

So that’s what I do for the next couple of hours.

Eat dinner listening to our staff bitch about renovations, stroll through the garden enjoying the weather, and then finally go upstairs and take a long shower. I slip into my nightgown and pad toward my bed, finding pleasure in the moonlight brightening up my room as the owls hoot in the distance and a cold breeze dances over my skin.

We’re having one of the warmest autumns in years.

Wait.

My brows furrow when I notice my curtain billowing from my open balcony door.

I closed it before going to the shower.

And then a strong hand wraps around my throat and presses me to the wall hard, but before my scream emerges from my lungs, he covers my mouth as his chocolate eyes flash in the night.

“I told you to never run from me.”

Ryder.

Hades has come to collect his Persephone and drag her back to hell.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

“Wherever you go, I’ll find you and bring you back home to me.

Where you belong.”

Ryder

Ryder

Her gorgeous emerald eyes widen in shock at my words, her pulse speeding up under my fingers while her hot breath fans my skin. Her chest rises and falls in panic, her T-shirt stretching against the generous globes even more, begging me to touch them.

We both know she can come just with my mouth on them alone, sucking those rosy nipples of hers so hard she wriggles underneath me.

The possessive beast inside me roars at the thought of other men admiring what belongs to me and how the hickeys I’ve left on her skin have become almost invisible.

I crave to throw her on the bed and fuck her so hard she won’t remember anything other than chanting my name over and over again as I drive so deep into her we don’t know where she begins and I end.

Mine. Mine. Mine.

My woman who dared to run from me, and a part of me, the strict professor part who captured his student, wishes to punish her, slapping her ass cheeks until they become red so she won’t do anything so reckless again.

Priorities. Priorities.

My Estella is a delicate flower who requires the gentlest care before I can subject her to my twisted desires and remind her who this body belongs to, so no doubts exist in that pretty head of hers.

My thumb brushes against her pulse point, adding a bit of pressure that makes her jerk and snaps her out of her stupor.

She starts to struggle in my hold, trying to kick me away, but I push my knee between her legs, stopping her movements as she breathes heavily. “Shhh, darling. Is this the way to greet your man?” Anger flashes in her gaze, and she mumbles something, her lips grazing my palm while she tries to rip my hand away from her mouth, her muffled scream barely making any noise in the room.

Her nails dig so hard in my skin she’s probably leaving claw marks, but I don’t mind.

Let her mark me so everyone can see I’m taken.

I hiss through my teeth, “Nah ah, my love. I’ll let you go only if you promise to play nice.” She shakes her head, biting my palm, and my amused chuckle is met with another death stare from her. “We can do this all night long, darling.” I press my knee harder between her legs, and she gasps, her legs flexing around me and her nails cutting into me even harder, showing me how effected by my touch she still is. “What will it be, my love?”

She tugs on my hand again and finally sighs, nodding, although the calculative glint in her eyes is hard to miss, so I warn her, “If you so much as call for help, I will kill them all.” She freezes, fear reflecting at me now, and a sinister smile shapes my mouth.

Ah, my innocent creature is so easy to manipulate. Truth be told, no one can stop me from having my woman right now, but I don’t have to kill the staff for it.

I’m an asshole with no redeeming qualities, but even I draw the line at killing innocent people.

Not that she knows it; right now, I’m the monster who tricked the dragon and got to the princess in the ivory tower after all. “So carefully evaluate your risks before you do anything.”

A beat passes, and she nods.

I remove my hand form her mouth, and she instantly hisses, “Get out!” She pushes at my chest, and just to appease her, I step back, which allows her to rush to the other corner, her bare feet soundless on the carpet. A gust of wind sends her red hair flying, creating an almost fire-like halo around her. The fury pouring from her every cell fills the air, straining my dick against my zipper.

My beautiful yet confused woman.

“Get out,” she repeats, hooking her hair behind her ear while keeping her gaze trained on me and pointing at the balcony. “And never come back. Or else my brother will be the one to kill you.” She grits out the last part and huffs in annoyance when I laugh at her speech.

Because threatening me with the Dark Four is truly hilarious.

“Oh, I will. Trust me.” Her brows furrow at my answer, and she watches me in disbelief and then groans when I say, “You’re just gonna come with me.”

“Never! You’re a killer!” she whisper-screams at me, and I lean my shoulder on the wall, enjoying how the moonlight streaming through the windows gives me the perfect view of her tempting body and mile-long legs. “And you used me.” Her voice breaks on the last part, and despite having no soul to speak of for more than two decades, the last pieces of it inside me come alive at this accusation, wanting to soothe her.

“Not once have I done that. You belong to me. You’re mine. I already told you. I never harm what’s mine.”

A hollow chuckle escapes her as she covers her mouth with her hand before speaking up. “Right. Do you expect me to be so naïve and believe you?” She raises her splayed palm as if wanting to shut me up before I utter a single word. “You’re a MacAlister!” She throws it in as an accusation and glares at me when I laugh again at the irony of it all.

How could I not though?

For the first time, someone acknowledges me belonging to the notorious family, when most of my life I was denied that honor, and it’s a problem that stands between me and my greatest obsession.

“And you’re a Reed.” I push off the wall and take three steps toward her, which makes her move backward until the back of her knees hit the small, round table. “Don’t for a second think I don’t know what your brother and those friends of his do. In chaos do they thrive, darling.”

She straightens up, lifting her chin stubbornly. “My family has honor. And your siblings are criminals who should be behind bars.”

Honor.

Right.

Strangely, my woman is way more distressed over me being a MacAlister than a killer, and doesn’t it just show how fucked up our lives truly are?

Because our families and their deeds over the years have made us immune to the stuff most people consider insane, and we can find justification even for the crimes in the name of the greater good.

Which is a terrible excuse, of course, because no “greater good” exists; it’s a myth designed to make people believe in warped goodness, when in fact every greater good entails selfish desires.

A killer might kill bad fuckers, but at the end of the day, he is still a killer.

But then, you don’t choose family and all that jazz.

A knock on the door echoes through the space, pausing our argument, and Antonio speaks on the other side. “Estella? May I come in?” he asks after a dangling sound rings in the air. “I brought you hot chocolate.”

“Get out!” she hisses under her breath, and my brow lifts at the command before I stroll to the door, putting my hand on the handle. That’s enough for her to race to me, pushing me to the side. “Don’t you dare!” she whispers a bit too loudly.

“Estella?” Antonio asks again. “Is it a bad time?” An odd note coats his voice. “I thought I heard some voices.” He clears his throat. “Are you all right? I can call Octavius.” The message between the lines is clear. He wants to know if she is in any danger, and who the fuck brings hot chocolate to a nineteen-year-old to fix her distress?

Estella motions for me to stay quiet and then replies, “I’m fine, Antonio. I was about to take a shower.” She forces a loud yawn and then pushes me farther behind the door before opening it a little, enough for the bright light to slip in and blind her for a second. “I think I’m gonna pass on the chocolate, but thank you.”

“Well, if you’re sure,” he says and sighs. “You do need to get some rest. And remember, the new day…”

“Brings new perspective,” Estella finishes for him and plasters a smile on her face. “Goodnight.”

“If you need anything, call me. It’s nice to have you home again.” Through the small crack, I see him looking around and then narrowing his eyes like he is trying to see something in the dark, but Estella gives him no opportunity as she sends a smile his way and shuts the door in his face. “Just call anytime!” he says once again before his footsteps thud on the marble, indicating he’s walking away.

Maybe the old man should have shown all this concern to Octavius when his stepfather ripped him a new one every single day, instead of worrying about what’s mine right now.

Estella places her hand on the door and exhales in relief. She must love the old guy too, but why is beyond me. Or why Octavius keeps him in the house for that matter.

I could never fucking be nice or live with people who might have not harmed me but stood and did nothing when someone else did.

“It wasn’t his fault.” She looks at me. “I can hear the silent judgment. He was just a butler. No one would have believed him anyway. At least this way he helped us.” She spins around and presses her back to the door, still keeping her eyes trained on me. “Please leave, Ryder. I have nothing else to say to you. And I don’t want to hear your lies.”

Well too fucking bad.

“So a butler who did nothing when your brother was dying from his injuries is innocent, according to you, because he had no other choice. But I’m guilty, because MacAlister blood runs through my veins, and you’ve assumed something?” She opens her mouth to protest, but I clack my tongue. “You’ve said your piece, darling. I think it’s my turn.”

God help me, she will either come with me willingly or be kidnapped.

I’ve searched my whole life for her without knowing it.

And I will be damned if my family takes anything else from me ever again.

Especially not her.

Estella

I close my eyes at his words, my heartbeat speeding up inside my chest and galloping so fast it’s hard to breathe from the onslaught of emotions hitting me from every corner, pulling me in different directions, and tearing my soul in a million pieces as two strong desires sweep over me.

On one side is the need to protect my family and my heart from the disaster awaiting us all in the future if he stays a minute longer at my house. If Octavius finds him… if his family comes after him… the results will be catastrophic for me.

On the other side, my soul cries out at the deep need in his gaze when he drills his stare into me, my stomach fluttering at him still calling me his and how he said he didn’t use me. Combined with what I’ve learned about his past, it’s such a strong weapon that can be used against me and sway me toward him.

A devil who with his voice alone can seduce me or lure me into my downfall, although on some level I’m already there.

He wears all black from his sweater to jeans, merging with the darkness that becomes a salvation for the likes of him.

Even now, despite knowing all the truth, my body reacts to his presence, chills popping all over my skin while burning sensations awaken every nerve in my body, anticipating what he might do next.

“I know you want revenge for Cillian.” I cross my arms, giving myself a false sense of security, although the more I repeat this sentence, the less I believe in it. “The MacAlisters always stick together.”

His cold laughter, mixing with the owls hooting in the distance, sends chills down my spine for how much self-loathing it holds. All amusement is gone from him. He strolls toward the balcony, standing between the curtains that billow around him. He seems almost like an angel of death who came to claim my soul.

His back still faces me when he speaks up. “MacAlister. A simple family name that’s always brought me hell on earth.” My heart stops, and then he laces his fingers through his hair before spinning around, and I gasp at the raw look in his eyes. “My mother used to tuck me in bed before she would go to a client. That’s the only quality time I had with her. She either slept or cried in the shower, doing her best to wipe away any trace of them. And let’s not forget drugs. She loved those above all else, because with them, her life didn’t feel as shitty.”

“Oh my God,” I whisper, my heart breaking for his mom and the little boy who had to watch her suffer so much. No child deserves to see his mom subjected to such cruelty.

He ignores me, continuing. “She’d read me ancient Greek myths about men and women who had to sacrifice a lot for their stupidity. Or how gods used tricks to gain what they wanted. Each one of them had their own lessons. Mother loved it—or she pretended to. God knows, it was the only fucking book lying around.”

This explains his love for it as well, and how even after earning his first million in stocks, he still works as a professor and attends various conventions.

In a way, he’s nurtured the connection he had with his mom all these years.

“She used to tell me that my dad was Zeus reincarnated, and all the MacAlisters lived on Olympus as godlike creatures, while we were just merely humans, unworthy of their time and attention.” He tugs on his collar, exposing the faint scar on his neck. “My father gave me this when I asked him if he could take me to Olympus just once. As gods, their power fascinated me.” He removes his sweater, tosses it away, and then points at the deep scar on his chest. “And this one I got from his boot when he kicked me hard as I tried to stop him from raping my mother.”

Tears form in my eyes, and I whisper, “Stop,” too afraid what he might say next, but only a hollow chuckle meets my words.

“No. You’ll fucking listen.” He steps closer to me. “When Mom died, he finally granted me my wish. I guess your brother already told you what happened in those years. His wife’s hatred is public knowledge, after all.” Another step in my direction, and even though I want to run far away, I stay glued to my spot, listening to his horrible story.

Knowing someone suffered is one thing.

But hearing them relive their horrendous past is quite another.

“Alistair MacAlister sent me to hell so I could pay for the honor of wearing his family name.” He motions his palm up and down his form. “All these other souvenirs were delivered by the man who claimed to be my master and treated me worse than the dirt under his nails.” His fingers rub over the red, puckered slash. “This particular one was done with a knife when I refused to lick someone’s spit from the floor.”

I cover my ears, shaking my head as tears slide down my cheeks, begging, “Don’t.”

“Beaten, starved, used, and abused. The only thing they didn’t do to me was rape me. You see, the fuckers drew a line at touching children sexually. Even demons have their own moral code. That being said, they planned to sell me once I turned fifteen, so those morals weren’t that deep.”

My brows furrow, and despite my internal turmoil and the pain stabbing at me at the mere thought of what he experienced as a child, I remember my brother at his age and how much he hurt… but at least he had us.

Ryder was all alone.

Because the person who was supposed to love him the most failed him.

“But… they had to give you back to your father.”

Why would they try to sell him?

A smile that reminds me more of a grimace curves his lips. “Everyone knew that deal was bullshit. My father wanted me to die. And in a way, his wish was granted. A stupid idiot blew up the guy’s warehouse, and it was a miracle I survived.”

“That’s why everyone assumed you were dead.”

He shrugs. “I ran through the forest until my legs gave out. I camped by the river and even caught and ate raw fish and then ran some more until I fell down the cliff, and a man found me. His name was Dylan. Sound familiar?”

I gape at him in shock.

Professor Smith?

“He tended my injuries and then called the doctors. I spent a month in the hospital before they put me in the system. However, during that month, he came to the hospital every day, reading and telling me stories. He also spoke about the profession he loved so much. It was fascinating. The ability to be this passionate about something so old and mythical.”

Why would he go into the system?

He must read the question in my mind as he says, “I kept my mouth shut about my origins. I never wanted to see them again. Not that they missed me. Besides, the foster family was fine as long as they got their checks from the government. They didn’t meddle in my business, and they hired tutors to help me catch up with my age group in school. Dylan paid for it. He felt responsible for me. And I read. Read as many books as I could, because my mind was hungry for one thing. Knowledge. The rest is history.”

Right.

He comes closer until the tips of his boots connect with my toes. He slaps his palms on the door, on either side of my head, caging me in his embrace.

“That’s why you took the job?” He was notorious for accepting jobs only in New York, never traveling abroad or to other states to teach.

Knowing his family history, now it makes sense. Giant middle finger to his father.

“Yes. His wife needs surgery, and he couldn’t finish the semester, so he called me. I said yes under one condition. He would still get all the salary. I could never convince this man to accept any money from me.” Unfamiliar warmth laces his tone, making me think he has some affection for our professor, or rather gratitude.

For showing kindness to a boy who never knew any.

“My foster family wanted nothing to do with me, but I kept in touch with the Smiths. We go fishing once a year.”

I suppose, for a man who forms no attachments, that means something.

“That’s how Hades was born, wasn’t it? He ruled the underworld and couldn’t care less what Zeus thought.” He saved all those children and women from his and his mother’s fate in his warped way. And every time he hurt this man, it was his own frustration he couldn’t take out on his father.

Because deep down, goodness resides in that black heart of his; otherwise, he would have killed his father for all the shit he subjected him to. And maybe his siblings for living in a privilege he could never have due to his upbringing.

But his mother managed to give her son so much love in the first five years of his life, despite her life circumstances, that it was enough to not make him a monster like the one who sired him.

“I’m so sorry for your pain,” I whisper, tilting my head back as he leans closer to me, and my heart flips. “But it doesn’t justify your lies, hideous crimes, and… and… the way you used me to get back at my brother.”

Maybe if I say this enough, it will cure me of the love in my heart.

Yet somehow with his nearness, his masculine scent twitching my nostrils, and the sinister energy wrapping tighter and tighter around me, it’s hard to remember why I ran from him in the first place.

His presence gives me a weird, hectic peace that brings relief and alertness all at once.

“My family never meant anything to me. How could it? They rejected me, so I hated them all by default. All their apologies couldn’t erase the past. Do you really think I would give two shits about Cillian suffering at the hands of the Dark Four? Especially knowing his tendency to find trouble wherever he goes? A man has to learn how to control his temper at some point—might as well learn it from them.” He spits the words, his hands traveling to my neck as his thumbs brush my chin, and he angles my head even farther, leaving me completely at his mercy.

I study him for a while, his handsome features and those eyes that can turn any female mad… the eyes that no matter how much they want… they can’t hide their emotions.

And truth shines brightly from them now.

“I think you would.” He stills at my words. “Your siblings were little. You wouldn’t want them to suffer.” He says nothing, waiting for me to voice the realization that hits me like a ton of bricks and, with this, only complicates my life more. “But you wouldn’t use a woman as a weapon. Not with your past.”

Silence follows my statement, and he asks, “I wouldn’t?” An odd note laces his tone, his thumb sliding up and down my chin as he awaits my reply.

Would a true monster care what I thought about as long as it ensured he had what he so coveted?

“No. Because then you’d be him,” I whisper, realization soothing my restless mind that finally finds peace in this chaos I’ve been dumped into ever since his damned brother spoke on the phone.

Human mind is a tricky thing, isn’t it?

Sometimes, the boy who watched his mother suffer in a brothel and being raped on a daily basis grows up into a sick man who wishes to bring the same hurt to women, because his psyche is irrevocably damaged. Nothing in this world has the power to help them, and they become this despicable person everyone warns us to stay away from.

Sometimes, or rather most of the time, they push through the darkness surrounding their upbringing and grow up into normal, loving people who never, ever want to remember their nightmares or traumas, because they truly moved on. They are happy and free from the past that no longer has power over them.

And sometimes… in the rarest cases, they grow up to be like Ryder, who relives his trauma every time he punishes a man like his father, and in this, it heals the pain eating at him from inside out and the guilt from not saving his mother.

Or rather feeling responsible for her suffering, she probably held on for her life because she had a child.

I understand the emotion well.

Besides, judging him for it when I give my brother and his friends a pass for all their dark deeds really makes me a hypocrite, doesn’t it?

My mind urged me to run away from him the minute I found out the truth and didn’t give my heart even a single moment to think, because if it did… I’d never leave him.

Falling in love with a monster was never part of my life plan.

Yet I fell so hard and fast nothing and no one could have stopped me.

It was inevitable though. After all, my very own family consists of monsters with hearts of gold.

Even if it takes some time to see under the harsh exterior.

However, I’m not my mother.

I would never blindly follow a man or allow him to hurt me or our children should he ever lose his head and become a monster who feasts on his own flesh and blood, having no regard for anyone’s emotions but his own.

Although Ryder probably will never fully succumb to the darkness, since he hasn't already.

Heat and relief alike flash on his face, his deep-brown eyes brightening anew and shimmering under the moonlight after my words while the energy booms around us and thunder echoes in the night, signaling a decision that will forever shift the course of my life.

He glides his hand lower, his touch sending hot flushes all over me, and a gasp slips past my lips when his hot palm wraps around my throat. He drags me toward him until our mouths are a breath away from each other. “Am I your choice, Estella?” he asks, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows hard. “Are you willingly mine?”

As our stares lock, my heart flips inside my chest, because these questions have such deeper meaning than they seem on the surface along with his determination and hatred toward himself.

No matter my answer, he already claimed me as his own and will never willingly let me go.

I’m trapped in this dark world of his for eternity, for only death would keep the monster whose obsession I've become away from me.

A man who desires me so much he will move mountains in order to be with me and destroy anyone standing in his way.

I place my splayed palms on his chest, rubbing them up and down as my words rock between us. “My brother? Our families and their issues?”

Ryder’s body jerks underneath my hands, because my softly spoken question is an answer on its own.

The princess of the castle wishes to protect the dragon guarding her wellbeing, but she is willing to go with the dark knight who has come for her.

And while my dark knight would probably be considered a villain in most fairy tales, in my particular one, he is a dashing hero who snatched me out of the frozen life in which I only existed, never feeling anything or hoping for more.

He once and for all shattered the snow globe and protective cage Octavius designed around me, but even in freedom, my family matters to me.

I could never be happy if anything happened to my brother.

He rests his forehead against mine, rolling them together as he closes his eyes, and I feel some tension leave his body while my fingers grip his sweater. “They can hash it out between themselves. We have nothing to do with it.” A beat passes, and his heart pangs against my hand. “I won’t hurt Octavius or any of the horsemen. If they do not hurt any of my own.” He leans back a little, his breath fanning my cheeks, as he murmurs into my ear, “I will always protect what’s mine. You have my word I’ll do my best to resolve the issue should the need arise. Besides, our conversation with Octavius was a long time coming.”

“I probably made things worse by coming here, right?” Regret and guilt ring loudly in my voice while familiar fear envelops me, reminding me how they all tread on dangerous lines, and if they do decide to go to war over me… consequences will be bloody and deadly.

He tips my head up, angling it until it presses against the wall, and a smile shapes his mouth. “Darling, it would have come to this sooner or later.”

A raspy breath escapes me, dreading their encounter on a whole new level now. Who knows what happens when two monsters meet?

“If Octavius loves you as you claim, he will accept this union. And if he doesn’t, then tough. Either way, I’ll handle him.”

Before I can ask him what he means by that, he connects us in a toe-curling kiss that wipes away any rational or logical thoughts, leaving only desire and passion in its wake.

For a second, our lips just press against each other, our breaths mingling together while each of us soaks the relief from having the other next to them. Thousands of goose bumps break on my skin, almost announcing the upcoming pleasure that will know no boundaries.

The need grows stronger within me, urged by the forbidden and wicked aspect of our relationship while wanting to be with my man all over again as so many people wish to separate us.

Slowly, agonizingly slowly, he opens his lips, his tongue instantly delving into my mouth and seeking mine, locking them in a passionate duet designed to drive me insane as light tremors rush all over my system.

With each swipe, he claims me anew, showing his complete ownership over me while staking an invisible claim, making it impossible to ever forget about his power.

For even his darkness pales in comparison to the love flourishing in my soul, craving to soak him up in it so he will never know loneliness again.

The kiss becomes more heated, his hand sliding up into my hair, fisting it hard, and he swallows my moan while his other one grips my hip. And that’s all the warning I get before he hikes me up, my legs wrapping around his waist as his hard-on digs into me, the thick bulge making my core clench.

We groan at the contact, his fingers digging into my skin while the kiss changes once again, the raw and deep strokes almost unbearable as he possesses my mouth while electricity travels all over me, awakening every hair on my body.

He turns around and goes to the bed, each move only intensifying the deep need growing inside me. My nipples peak and rub painfully against the silky nightgown that disturbs my skin, and I wish for it to be destroyed.

My lungs squeeze inside my chest, demanding oxygen, and tearing my mouth away, I gulp for much-needed air while whispering, “Ryder.” He hisses when I place my mouth on his neck, sucking on the flesh, craving to see my hickey marring his skin too so everyone in close proximity knows that this monster belongs to me now.

And as such, darkness will never take him from me.

A yelp echoes in the room, mixing with another boom of thunder, partially muting it when he throws me on the bed, and I cover my lips, remembering we are in my childhood home where people might hear us.

A soft laugh escapes me at the thought of him ravishing me in my bedroom where I used to read his books and dream about meeting him someday.

His brow rises. “Care to share, my darling?” He toes off his shoes and then tugs on the back of his sweater, removing it and throwing it on the floor while exposing his male beauty in all its glory.

Along with the scars scattered all over his tan skin, and my heart cries out at the pain they must have caused him just because his father failed to love him.

Seeing them before hurt me, because I understood the pain, but with the truth uncovered… there is also pride in him having them, as he survived in the dire circumstances and managed to come away whole from them.

A scarred warrior who conquered the princess.

Sitting up on my knees, I glide my palms over my form until they reach midthighs, gripping the hem of my nightgown. Dragging it up, I show him my panties. “Sometimes I would lie in this bed while arousal shook my entire body and pleasured myself like this.” I put my hand on my core, flipping the panties to the side and rubbing my middle finger up and down, shivers rushing through me. A soft moan emerges from me while his eyes darken as he breathes through his nose, his fingers practically ripping the button on his jeans away as he unzips them. “Thinking about you doing wicked things to me I only heard about but desperately wanted to try.”

Scooping some wetness on my fingers, I get on my knees, coming closer to the edge of the bed and rubbing them over his lips. He instantly traps them in his mouth, sucking on them hard while fire inside me burns brighter.

Biting on my fingertip a few times and leaving a sting behind, he steps back, ready to shimmy out of his jeans and claim me on this bed. “Lie down, darling. I’m about to make all your innocent fantasies come true.”

While my pussy spasms at the prospect, another need hits me hard, the part of me that I thought never existed coming to the surface and wanting to get his approval and forgiveness for running away when I should have stayed.

The part of me that comes alive only in his presence, even if logic cannot understand it.

He sees my hesitation and threads his fingers in my hair, my gasp reverberating through the space when he pulls me up so our eyes are on the same level, drilling his stare into me. “What do you want, darling?”

I close my eyes, then whisper, “To please you.”

And by how his hold on my hair tightens, I know he wants it too.

Ryder

When a man exists in the darkness for as long as I have, he never takes anything good life has to offer for granted.

Even if he never truly believed in goodness to begin with.

Especially not an angel who fell to his hell and graced it with her light that washes away all the memories and the pain attached to them.

For when a man looks in a mirror and sees the scars inflicted on him, he has no choice but to go back to the past and remember his hideous captors who destroyed his soul.

Yet any destroyed surface has cracks, and through these small openings, Estella managed to slip inside and slowly, piece by piece, gather my soul together, gluing it back.

While it’ll never be whole again, now it has an ability I thought I’d lost forever.

To love.

I’ve been through some of the shittiest things in my life; however, loving someone, loving a woman, terrifies me in ways I never felt before.

Because a monster cannot live without his love and obsession. We are attached now, always seeking each other out, and it’s a terrifying realization to know that something so valuable and vulnerable exists on this earth.

I won’t survive if anything ever happens to her, and as such, I will guard her until my last breath.

My gorgeous woman who accepted me with all my flaws and still welcomes me in her arms, ready to face all the challenges of us being together—from social to the fucked-up dynamic our families have—with no care about the consequences.

My most prized possession.

A siren I never expected, because love and happiness are forbidden for the monsters like us.

At least I thought so.

Turns out, even the darkness can crave light that warms the coldness permanently residing in it.

Familiar possessiveness rushes over me in a heated wave, and she moans under my hand when I wrap it around her throat, her pulse beating wildly under my thumb. Despite all the things I’ve done to her, she radiates innocence.

Innocent and pure of heart. It would attract all outcast creatures this world hopes to get reprieve from, but I will never allow it.

Other men can admire from a distance, but they will never touch her or even think about having a chance with her.

“You. Are. Mine,” I say, and she exhales a heavy breath as I grin at her, leaning closer and biting her earlobe before whispering, causing goose bumps to pop on her skin while her nails dig into my chest. “Should I punish you for running away today?” I slide my mouth to her neck, nipping on her flesh as she gasps, her thighs rubbing against each other. “How does my favorite and special student apologize to her professor?” She claws my chest, and hissing through my teeth, I squeeze her throat harder, cutting off her oxygen for a second before giving it back to her. “Answer me.”

A beat passes and she swallows, the action bringing attention to her glazed eyes while her chest rises and falls while arousal consumes her.

“With her mouth.” She places her hands above mine as she slowly peels it away from her throat, earning herself a growl from me. “She apologizes to him with her mouth.” She pushes at my chest a little, making me take a few steps back and giving her room for whatever she wants to do with me.

Her flame-colored hair cascades down her back in heavy waves, creating an illusion of fire over her form while her vivid green orbs promise me heaven and hell alike.

The taste of her pussy in my mouth almost serves as my undoing along with the sight she presents right now, all hot and beautiful, ready to be fucked hard until neither of us can walk.

My dick strains against my zipper, while the need to claim her over and over again pumps my blood, and my voice sounds almost like a harsh growl when I say, “Start, darling.” She has a few minutes to play before I get my hands on her and feast on her body for hours, giving her no reprieve. “I bet that pussy is soaked, ready to be rammed hard.”

I slide the zipper down, my dick springing free, and the air hitches in her throat, her hands fisting her nightgown as her mouth opens. Wrapping my hand around my length, I jerk it once before squeezing it and letting the precum leak from the tip.

She bites on her lips, her skin flushed from desire and need, but she shakes her head as if resisting the haze pushing us toward the bliss that we can only get from each other. “Tonight, I don’t want to be your student,” she murmurs, throwing her hair over her shoulder as our gazes clash, and profound emotion coats her face, stabbing at my heart in ways that still manage to bring me pain. “Tonight, I want to be a woman who loves her man.” A raspy breath slips past her lips as she adds the last part. “Because I do. I love you, Ryder.”

I love you, Ryder.

I freeze, trying to protect myself from the inevitable hurt that always follows these words, because in my life, no one besides my mother ever loved me or addressed such words to me. The tortured little boy who still lives inside me wishes for her to never speak this word again, as just four letters can scare and hurt someone so much.

Everything I am, everything I have, all of it belongs to her. A man cannot want a woman more than I do Estella, because it’s impossible.

Yet right now, I’m hopeless under her hopeful stare, asking me to do something I’ve never done before. Or rather vowed to never allow to happen again.

Give her complete control over me, leaving me at her mercy and trusting her with my soul that has seen so much damage it will not withstand one more betrayal.

She palms my head, dragging me back to the present while focusing all my attention on her as softness settles on her and changes the aura around us, transforming the sensual energy into more.

A more I’ve never felt before.

Or rather acknowledged, because deep down, the minute I touched her, I always did it with love and affection I haven’t given anyone else.

It will exclusively always belong only to her.

“I love you, Ryder,” she repeats, and I close my eyes, hating the onslaught of emotions hitting me from every corner while I feel her shift on the bed, and her hands slide down, lovingly gliding over my skin, serving as a soothing balm over the scarred flesh before settling on a vicious scar right in the middle of my chest.

Although she has touched them many times before, she never knew the hidden stories behind them, and somehow the truth transforms her touches into an entirely different thing.

Acceptance of the hideous past that will always follow me wherever I go, no matter the angel staying by my side.

“I love every part of you.” She bestows a gentle kiss on the scar, her fingers trailing around a different one, and she skirts her lips lower, giving it a peck as well. “Your body is a flawed sculpture of pain and beauty, leaving everyone who is lucky enough to see it in awe.” I groan when she bites on my collarbone, her teeth tugging on my skin. “But you’re mine.”

My dick grows harder at the possessiveness in her voice. My woman is highly territorial—not that she has to worry about other women ever.

No one exists for me but her, and I don’t remember anything or anyone in my life before her.

“Only yours.”

Her fingers move to the horrible, round scar right on my hip that is red and angry-looking, the torn flesh destroyed so much by the hot blade that it never healed right. Instead, the damn bone behind it even aches during the rain, bringing up the voices in my head that ordered me to eat the bowl full of their spit, and when I refused, they punished me accordingly.

Their laughter echoes in my ears, swirling anger inside me, and I barely restrain myself from ripping her hand away and silencing the sound disturbing old wounds and pushing my darkness to the surface.

A monster might be accepted by the woman who loves him, but it doesn’t mean she can’t be afraid of him.

Estella does not belong in my darkness; I should always keep it at bay around her, so it never smears her in ways she won’t be able to clean herself from.

My past is my burden to carry.

“Ryder.” Estella’s voice pierces through the buzzing in my ears, and she digs her fingers into my hips, right on the scar, and oddly, despite the sting, it vanishes the painful fog and brings me back to her. “I’ll never be afraid of you. You won’t hurt me. I accept you.” She kisses the mark, opening her lips wide over it, licking the puckered flesh. “I love you. The monster and the man. You don’t have to hide from me.”

For a man with whom destiny has never been generous when it came to affection, I sure as fuck get easily addicted to her softness and confessions, soaking them up as if basking under my salvation’s sunlight.

I can almost believe she could cure me with her love, although that would have been an illusion.

Damaged men don’t change, but they do learn.

And hold on tight to what they value most.

Estella is forever chained to me with no way of escape, and should she ever change her mind about me… I’d still never let her go.

My obsession is a curse and a blessing that will drive her insane on most days, but she will always feel cherished.

And I’m starting to see that’s all that matters in a relationship.

For even darkness doesn’t have such a strong claim on my soul as this beautiful woman does.

“Estella, I…” I wish to give my own words to her so she will know just how much she means to me but fail to find suitable ones. Maybe because everything I come up with pales in comparison to the inferno that she is the cause of, burning my soul. “I….” She deserves them though.

“Shhh.” She rubs her lips over several more scars, bathing them in attention and love, wiping away all the memories as the sexually charged tension around us rises, her breath becoming raspier.

“Estella,” I warn her, threading my fingers in her hair, tugging on her head and angling it up so our eyes meet, and she must read the anguish on my face mixed with desire so strong I think I can fuck her for several days straight without stopping.

However, hers are pleading. She bites on her lower lip and looks at me with expectations written all over her features, begging me to let her do it on her own time and show me with actions how she loves me.

And what sane man, let alone one soaked in sin, would refuse such an offer from the woman he worships?

She drifts her mouth to my stomach, scraping her teeth over my six-pack and then licking the path toward my navel as her scent surrounds me, seducing me with every breath she takes. I crave to keep her locked by my side so no one can snatch her away.

I’ll kill anyone who tries anyway.

Her fingers push away the opening of my jeans, skimming over my navel as her hot breath blows on my most sensitive part, my dick becoming rock-hard.

My guttural groan rocks between us when she wraps her hand around my dick, her hot palm gliding up and down my length before squeezing it, earning herself a hiss from me. She rubs her thumb over the precum, smearing the head in it as her breathing speeds up and a groan escapes her.

Tightening my hold on her, I momentarily zero her focus on me as I brush my finger over her plump lips. “Greedy, greedy girl. I’ve taught you how to use this mouth, and you’re already eager to taste me again.” She whimpers, shifting a little on the bed as her nipples pucker from the nightgown while her cheeks heat up, her shyness oddly adorable in this moment. “Show me what you’ve learned, darling.”

A sexy smile graces her lips before she opens them wide and leans forward, rolling her tongue out and swiping it over my length from tip to base, before inhaling my scent into her lungs, making herself familiar with my dick. Desire flares in my veins, traveling all over my body and making me curl my toes into the carpet.

She traces her tongue back to the tip and sucks on it, swallowing the precum, humming around it, and the vibration sends electric shocks through me, causing me to grip her hair tighter, tipping her head back while pressing on her chin.

“Do you like the taste?”

She nods, her hand tightening around the base as she takes me deeper, her wet and hot mouth enveloping me and creating powerful sensations, adding to the pleasure slowly spreading in me.

“Open wilder.”

She listens to my command and breathes through her nose when I push farther, her tongue sliding over me while she continues to rub her palm up and down, driving me insane with each glide as her whimpers intensify, the need rocking me. I almost push her on the bed, ready to fuck her mouth, as we both know she enjoys it.

My innocent girl has no gag reflex, we both discovered, to our mutual pleasure.

The lust sinks into every cell in my body, consuming me bit by bit as her heat and warmth continue to drive me insane, her mouth taking me deeper and deeper. She places her hands on my hips, her nails bruising my skin, but I welcome the pain mixing with the pleasure, ready to erupt and fill her mouth with me.

“Estella,” I address her, and she raises her desire-filled eyes to me, still working over my length, and I feel the familiar tingling in my spine, my dick growing in her mouth. “Someday soon, we’ll fuck this mouth hard and slow.”

She groans, her hand going to her panties, covering her pussy as she palms it, whimpering because it has no power to bring her any relief.

Only I can do so, and the knowledge alone has the power to make me come right in her mouth.

Willing all my self-control into my fist, I drag her head back, my dick slowly leaving her mouth, and she kisses the tip one last time, sighing in frustration as accusation crosses her face when she glares at me.

“Tonight though, I’m going to fuck this pussy so hard you’ll never think about leaving or running away from me again.”

Dragging her up, I slam my mouth on her and connect us in a heated kiss, swallowing her moan as she shares my taste with me, our tongues gliding against each other while we ravish each other, lost in a passionate embrace.

Finally, I bite hard on her lower lip, making her groan before pulling back on a heavy breath, and the glazed look in her eyes lets me know that arousal consumes her, begging for me to do something about the need pouring from her.

She creates a mesmerizing picture, her skin flushed as the nightgown sticks to her body, showing me every delectable curve designed to tempt men toward such beauty.

Mine.

“Ryder,” she whispers, cupping her more-than-a-handful breasts and squeezing them together as her moan echoes in the room. “Make love to me.”

The heart that I thought died a long time ago beats wildly in my chest, reacting to her request as the beast roaring inside me wishes to drown her in pleasure so she will never stop loving me.

No matter my deeds and dark cravings.

“Take off your nightgown,” I order, and she instantly grabs the hem, throwing it over her head, leaning back on her calves as her bare breasts and taut stomach come into view, the black panties barely covering her pussy.

My dick springs to life, and I remove my jeans, kicking them away. The mattress dips under my knee when I climb on the bed and growl, “Lie down on your back, darling. Your man is about to eat.”

Her giggle rocks off the walls followed by a loud moan when I grab her hips and push her backward.

Her fiery hair surrounds her almost as a halo, showing in contrast her angelic qualities to my monstrous ones, yet on this bed, we are united as one.

She lands on her back with a loud thud, opening her thighs wide for me as I settle between them and rip her panties away, despising anything keeping me from her. “You are mine, Estella,” I tell her, my hands gripping her ass cheeks, making her groan as her hands lace in my hair, dragging me closer to her dripping pussy that’s all puffy and pink from need.

“Yes, only yours.” She arches her back, her heels digging in my back as my breath fans her pussy, my mouth watering in anticipation. “Ryder, please,” she begs, her scent twitching my nostrils and only adding to the need pumping through my blood.

Instead of following her request, I rub my stumble over the inside of her thighs, earning myself a frustrated whimper followed by a groan when I nip on the skin before sucking on it hard, leaving red imprints behind.

Turning my head, I repeat the action with the other one, her body whirling underneath mine, lust and dissatisfaction visible in every gulp and gasp she takes.

“Ryder, please!” she cries, angling my head once again and opening her thighs wider, giving me a better look where she craves me the most.

“Please what, darling?”

“Love me with your mouth.”

My God, this woman will be my undoing someday with how much my soul comes alive around her.

Raising her ass up, I place my mouth on her pussy, stabbing my tongue deep into her and swirling through her folds, growling at the sweet taste that hardens my dick even more if it’s possible and makes me mad with lust and passion. I want to drive her insane so she won’t be able to think about anyone but me.

She cries out just in time for lightning to flash in the night and grabs the nearby pillow, biting on it, trying to muffle the sound while her hips rock forward, grinding on my tongue, her hand pulling at my hair so tight I think she might bruise my scalp.

Thrusting my tongue several times, basking in her scent and taste as she moans quietly, I slowly drag it out and swipe it to the top, giving her flesh long licks from side to side before drawing it in my mouth and sucking on it.

“Ryder.” Desperation fills her tone, and she throws away the pillow, both of her hands threading in my hair again as she places her foot on my back. “Please.” Wrapping my mouth around her clit, I press it with my tongue, and she jerks in my hold, but she stays in place due to my strong grip. “Ryder.”

My name on her lips serves as pleasure itself, for she utters it in the most needy and sweetest way.

Skating my tongue from top to bottom, I slip it inside once again, stretching her pussy around the texture of my tongue as she slowly goes insane, and by how tight her flesh clenches around me, I know she’s close.

A lifetime might not be enough to go down on my woman, enjoying watching her lose control and come in powerful waves as wonder hits her eyes every single time.

Tonight though, the beast inside me rears its head, demanding to claim her all over again to remind ourselves she belongs to us and will never run again.

Giving her pussy a gently kiss, I move up, peppering small kisses on her stomach that dips under my mouth and then biting the underside of her breast, grinning at how her nipples pucker and more goose bumps appear on them, the rose peaks standing out and begging to be licked.

Trapping one nipple between my teeth, I scrape them over the sensitive peak before sucking it, and her legs wrap around my waist, her hips driving forward, seeking my hard-on but I pull back a little. “Ryder, please.”

Ignoring her, I move to the other breast, repeating my actions as I place my hands on either side of her and rub the tip of my dick over her entrance, up and down, as the air hitches in her throat.

Raising my mouth from her breasts, I find her vivid green eyes and ask again, “What do you want, darling?” Her hands skirts to my nape, her nails cutting deep and for sure leaving marks on me as she swallows hard, pulling me closer to her.

“I want you to make love to me, Ryder. Stake your claim on what’s yours.”

With this single request, she forever attaches herself to me, for a monster who knows heaven will never willingly go back to hell again.

My mouth falls on hers, trapping her scream when I drive deep into her, her pussy stretching around my length, and instant heat surrounds me as we both sigh in relief before our tongues glide against each other, passionately fighting for dominance. I pull back and slam into her hard again, shifting us on the bed, the headboard bumping into the wall—not that I give a shit.

A blazing fire consumes us both, almost creating an illusion of being alone in this world, with our pleasure and need burning us from inside out. And no matter how close we want to get to each other, it’s not enough, as bliss hovers in the distance, whispering in our ears to chase it down fast yet agonizingly slow to prolong the inevitable.

She tips her head up, giving me better access to her mouth as my strokes become deeper, harder, making her feel my entire length in her as she moans into my mouth, her legs tightening around me and her hands gripping my hair with my urgency.

Tearing her mouth away, she throws her head back, exposing her neck to me that I instantly suck on as her breathing speeds up, and she begs, “Harder, Ryder.”

Her hands fall by her sides. She fists the sheets, and I grab the headboard, thrusting in deeper and harder strokes, thunder booming in the distance—fitting weather for our union.

“Ryder,” she says, her pussy spasming around me several times, squeezing me tight until a loud scream erupts from her mouth. She breathes heavily, catching her breath, watching me intently as I feel my own release sneaking up on me closer and closer.

With each slam of my hips, the pleasure washes over me in waves one after another as my entire body grows taut, and Estella whimpers, lying still. However, the picture she presents is enough to send me over the edge.

Completely satisfied woman by her man.

One. Two. Three more thrusts.

With a guttural groan, I spill inside her as euphoria rushes over me in zipping prickles while my woman welcomes me in her arms, hugging me close to her while the wind billows around us, yet our heated bodies don’t even feel the cold.

“I love you, Ryder.”

I stay silent but press her even harder to me, soaking up her warmth and love as thunder echoes in the night.

Tonight, a miracle happened.

An angel gave atonement to a monster and accepted him as he is.

And as such, the monster got the salvation he could never dream of.

No one will keep me away from her.

Not even Octavius Reed himself.

CHAPTER TWELVE

“Sometimes you have to make a choice.

Even if it means choosing between love and love.”

Estella

Estella

Taking a deep breath, I run my fingers over my silver woolen dress with a turtleneck that covers the hickeys Ryder left behind in the night. I’m mentally preparing to go downstairs and tell my brother I’m going back to my apartment and that he should forget about the whole dramatic thing from yesterday.

“Octavius, I love Ryder and want to be with him. He didn’t use me for revenge, and he explained it all when he slipped into my room last night, after which we had wild, passionate sex several times in my bed.” I groan after speaking the words out loud.

Yeah, this will go over really well with him.

I should have stayed and listened, but I’m so inexperienced when it comes to relationships I don’t know how to act right.

I touch my red lips, remembering how Ryder bit on them and whispered all the beautiful things in the world, promising to be with me and want only me. I must be brave for myself too.

And bravery requires growing and owning up to your decisions, even if means upsetting the people you love.

Octavius is my brother.

But he can’t stay the only person who I love and is my priority.

Sliding a brush through my hair one last time, I grab my phone and rush downstairs, straight to the common room from where I hear the voices of the Dark Four as they argue where to put Octavius’s latest addition to his collection.

“It should be on the right,” Florian says, wiggling his hands in the air. “To fit the color scheme of the other knives.” He points at glassed shelves attached to the wall.

“No, on the left to reflect the sunlight better, which gives the diamond handle a better glow,” Remi argues as they stand opposite each other, waiting for the other to give up, while Santiago just rolls his eyes, flipping the newspaper in his hand as he sits on a chair with his legs kicked up on a nearby table.

These two argue about everything, I secretly think this is the way they handle the deep resentment they feel for each other, ever since Florian slept with Remi’s girlfriend back in high school. Santiago’s reaction is valid, and my brother just flips the knife back and forth between his fingers.

Clearing my throat, I say, “Hi.”

They all freeze and look at me.

Octavius drills his gaze over my form before saying, “That’s a very formal dress to wear at home.” He glances at the terrace door when thunder shakes the sky, the cloud darkening everything around us. “Knowing your love for rain, I think you’ll be more comfortable in leggings. You’ll go outside to enjoy it, and your favorite dress will get ruined.”

My heart flips at how well he knows me, and countless memories of our childhood play in my mind like a most vivid and favorite movie.

He read books to me, took me to various classes, came to my room during storms, and always invited me to go places with his friends, because he felt better if he had his eyes on me all the time. It changed a bit after my father died; he got killed, and no one knows how, and Mom went to another country and married some rich dude who needed a trophy wife.

We each had our space to grow, but through it all, he stayed a solid rock that could withstand anything and protect me from danger, heartbreak, and even myself.

And the man standing in front of me now, who sacrificed so much in order to get us both here, deserves for me to tell him the truth and respect him enough to be honest without trying to play games.

He raised me better than being a coward.

“I’m going home.” A muscle twitches on his cheek, but besides that, he doesn’t acknowledge my words. “Ryder… he didn’t use me. He wants me. And I want to be with him.”

Florian whistles as he takes cigarettes out from his back pocket and puts one in his mouth, lighting it up, although all his focus stays on my brother as if he’s not sure how he will react.

“Yesterday, you came here in tears, wearing only his shirt, terrified about what happened. Today, you’ve changed your mind just like that.” He snaps his fingers, the sound making me jerk. “And now you want me to accept this and give you my blessing?” Even though he words it as a question, it sounds more like a statement.

“I was wrong. His past—”

“Does not excuse his present. You’ve heard his sob story, and now what? Suddenly, the sinner became a saint?” A hollow chuckle escapes him that causes coldness to slip into me. “This just proves how naïve you are and cannot be trusted when it comes to judgment.”

“Octavius,” Remi says in warning.

“Stay out of it,” he barks at him and then addresses me, stabbing invisible knives into me and twisting them for good measure. “One day, you hate the guy; the other, you love him. And tomorrow, what? You’ll want to kill him? Relationships require maturity that you lack.”

His jabs open something ugly within me that wants to retaliate and hurt him right back, so the words are out of my mouth before I can stop them. “And whose fault is that?” I fire back while his brows rise. “You’ve kept me sheltered in this golden cage! How could I learn how to be mature, when you haven’t given me a chance? You even forbade me to date!”

“So now I have to apologize for loving you?”

I clench my fists, trying to put a lid on the swirling pain growing inside my stomach, because this conversation is not going how I planned.

After his reaction yesterday, I thought it would be different and he’d be more understanding. Not to mention, he’s no better when it comes to dark deeds.

They are all sinners who will never step inside heaven, because they take lives, and only God has a right to do that.

“No. You cannot stop me from living my life though. And I will make mistakes. But these are my mistakes.” Exhaling a heavy breath, I add, “Ryder is my choice right now. I hope you can support my decision and hash out whatever problem you have with the MacAlisters. Because our relationship is not part of that problem.” With this, I spin around, ready to storm out and go back home, when his catches my elbow, stilling my movements.

Hope blooms in my chest along with joy at his action, because leaving in the middle of the fight is almost killing me, and I want to run into his arms in relief; however, that hope quickly crashes and burns when he speaks up. “I forbid you to go, Estella.”

“You cannot forbid me anything.” I pull at my elbow, but his hold on me only tightens, his fingers digging into my skin. “Let me go, Octavius.” I twist my elbow again and wince when I can’t break his hold. “I want to be with Ryder. You can’t stop me!”

“He’s a murderer. You think I will allow you to be with a murderer?”

A hysterical laugh bubbles up inside me. “And this comes from you? I’m in a room full of murderers!” I finish on a yell and even Santiago gets up, coming closer to us, ready to interfere at any moment.

“He’s a MacAlister too. And those men have no regard for their women. Hell can freeze over before I allow my only sister to be with one of them. He’s a dead man, Estella.” Steel coats his voice, causing fear to fill me. I shake my head, not wanting to believe my brother would do something like this. “We’re at war right now. How do you think it will go? Either he kills me or I kill him, sister of mine.”

“No!” I shout, finally freeing myself and stepping back, intending to trust my heart this time and not believe what people, even my brother, say about my man. “Ryder wouldn’t do it. Because he knows I love you.”

A grimace curves his lips, his eyes staying absolutely cold, and for the first time in my life, I’m terrified of my brother, for he shows me a part of himself I’ve never seen before.

A cruel, ruthless man who would stop at nothing to get what he wants. “Love means nothing. And it proves once again what a fool you are.” I step back when he advances on me. “If you cannot control your emotions, I will.”

My burrows furrow. “What do you mean?” And my yelp reverberates through the space when he dips down and throws me over his shoulder to Florian’s loud sigh. “What are you doing? Let me go!” I shout, hitting his back as he moves toward the stairs, ignoring my pleas. I try to jump in his arms, to wiggle free, but I’m unsuccessful. “Octavius!” My fists drum on his back, yet my brother doesn’t even tense or flinch as he walks rapidly upstairs and then heads to my room. “You cannot do this to me!”

“Watch me,” he says and then kicks open my door, reaches my bed in two short strides, and drops me on it. I bounce several times and sit up straight. I take off running to the door, but he’s already closed it, and I hear the lock being twisted.

No.

No. No. No.

He locked me inside? Just like they all used to when Dad beat the shit out of him?

I bang on the door, yelling, “Octavius, let me go!”

“It’s for your own good, Estella.” A beat and he adds, “I will never approve.”

“Let me go! You can’t do this to me! Octavius, please!” I strain my voice shouting, but he ignores me. I hear his boots thud heavily on the marble, letting me know he left. “Octavius!”

I bang on the door until my fists start to hurt and then search for my phone to call someone, only to realize I dropped it downstairs.

“Damn it,” I whisper, wiping away my tears while frantically thinking about my escape and where the spare keys are.

I toss away blankets and shelves, striving to find at least something to help me. A pin or a screw to turn the lock and then scream for help some more, hoping—although I know better—that maybe Antonio will help me.

After a while, all my attempts prove fruitless, and my voice becomes hoarse from all the screaming. I fall to the floor, sobbing into my hand. “How could you do this to me, Octavius?” I whisper, not understanding how my brother could be this cruel to me right now.

Or strip me of my freedom, a thing he values above anything else after our childhood.

Pressing my back to the door, I wrap my hands around my knees and hide my head between them, breathing in and out so panic won’t overtake me while I think what might happen next as he keeps me hostage here.

I never imagined my brother would be the one to become the captor who decides my fate and has no regard for my feelings.

Finally, hours pass, or so it seems, as the sun settles on the horizon, and I’m so exhausted from crying I’m ready to doze off, when I hear a gunshot erupt in the air.

Followed by Ryder’s loud roar. “Estella!”

My obsessive and possessive man is here.

Hades came to save his Persephone, except her brother guards the mansion, keeping her far away from him.

Either he kills me or I kill him, sister of mine.

My heart stills as fear envelops me and makes me nauseous.

No.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

“How does the saying go?

In love and war…”

Ryder

Ryder

Fury slashes through my entire system, boiling my blood, while burning anger rules my instincts. The image of my woman crying in her room because her fucking brother couldn’t put her feelings above his makes me see red and want to kill the fucker in the most agonizing way.

Especially after he fucking manhandled her.

I relented last night, at Estella’s pleas when she said her brother would never hurt her, and left her in that house with the intention to abandon my plan all together. She said she didn’t want to start our lives together by running away or disrespecting Octavius. I couldn’t refuse my woman when she pleaded with those green eyes of hers.

What do I know about sibling bonds anyway? Based on her stories, he indeed loved her a lot and sacrificed his soul in order to protect her.

I should have known better than anyone though that no sibling bond could be trusted, because family is all about greed and selfish desires.

My woman doesn’t have to worry. I’ll be her family from now on, and the fucker who made her cry will pay.

Brother or not, no one hurts what belongs to me.

I fire more bullets in the air, alerting the Four Dark Horsemen of my arrival, and roar again, “Estella!” Just so she knows I’m here and will save her from the ivory tower while conquering the dragon standing in my way.

Surprisingly, no guards greet me on my way. In fact, the driveway is completely empty, and the closer I come to the mansion, the more sense of doom settles over me, adrenaline pumping my blood. The familiar excitement in the anticipation of a fresh kill pollutes my mind, momentarily replacing Ryder and awakening the monster who hunts only those who deserve it.

However, before, I never truly had anything valuable that I was afraid to lose.

And now?

Now, I live and breathe for my woman, and I won’t rest until my hands hug her tight and get her out of this golden prison her brother calls love.

I fire three more bullets, and that’s when four men emerge from the house, each different in nature, based on the reports, and holding their own weapons in their hands.

Santiago flips a knife through his fingers, grinning at me, while his eyes promise me a life full of pain. Remi boldly watches me as he removes the safety from his gun, and Florian winks, blowing me a kiss as he swings the chain in his hand back and forth. “Ryder! We thought you’d never show.” He sighs dramatically, pressing his other palm to his forehead. “Be still my heart. Look at you, breaching the castle like a dashing prince.” He cocks his head to the side. “Or should I say Hades has come from the underworld to Olympus. Well”—he opens his arms wide—“the gods have heard your call.”

I barely pay any mind to the bullshit he spits; that’s sort of his specialty. Florian can talk for hours to his victims, confusing their senses before removing the charming mask and showing his true colors of a man who evokes so much pain his victims beg him to kill them before he starts any real torture.

Instead, I focus on Octavius, who has a single gun on him as well. He steps forward, his stare cold, yet interest sparks in them, contradicting his stance, as if he’s ready to lunge for my throat at any minute.

At least we have something in common.

“Where is my woman, Octavius?”

His jaw tics, and his hold on the gun tightens. “My sister”—he emphasizes the words, wanting to show he has more claim on what’s mine than me—“is in her room where she belongs.”

“My woman belongs with me.” I show him my claim right back, and by the anger crossing his face, he doesn’t like this reminder. “She will be by my side always from now on. With or without your fucking permission.” My gaze slides over them all. “And I will destroy anyone standing in my way.”

Santiago laughs, finding the notion hilarious it seems. “Let me introduce you to the simple math, Ryder. There are four of us and one of you.” He looks at my gun. “Bullets will end at some point in that gun of yours. How do you intend to best all of us?”

A smile curves my mouth at his question, wondering if I can start first with his pretty face and maybe finally wipe away the smug grin he permanently wears. “The Four Dark Horsemen are known to have high morals.” A collective laugh greets my statement, so I elaborate. “You will not attack one man. So one by one, you’ll be lying on the ground, begging me to spare your life, and then I will get my woman.” I shift my focus back to Octavius. “Or you can spare yourself all the humiliation and get the fuck out of my way.”

Even if I have to struggle for my last breath, I will win this fight and free my princess.

I withstood hell as a child, subjected to things normal people rarely survive. What are four more men?

They might be powerful, but there is no more powerful man in the world than the one trying to save his woman and get her back.

“I’ll cut out your tongue first,” Santiago says, rubbing his chin with the tip of his knife that glistens, reflecting the sunset.

“That sounds like an interesting plan.” Remi approves. “Although I’d like to see how he executes those brave words of his.” He nudges Octavius, who stays silent, just drilling his stare into me. “At least he doesn’t run away like a coward.”

Florian shakes his head, sighing. “You shouldn’t have come here alone, Ryder. Very, very foolish of you. But then again, the MacAlisters are not known to be smart. This much your family has proven over the years.” He looks over my shoulder, and surprise flickers in his green orbs. “The plot thickens,” he mutters.

Heavy footsteps echo behind me, and I wonder if those are the guards they’ve decided to let loose on me to tire me out. Then Jaxon’s harsh voice speaks up. “The MacAlisters are never alone.” As if on cue, he stands next to me on my right, pointing a gun at them. From my left, my three younger brothers do the same, creating a unified front. “Gentlemen. Shall we start then?”

Remi points his own gun at us. “May the strongest one win.”

“Let’s hope your mother doesn’t cry too much when she loses all her sons tonight,” Florian says, and Cillian snarls at him. “A family should leave at least one heir at home in order to preserve the bloodline. Don’t you think?”

“Don’t concern yourself with our mother. We still have Davina,” Duncan replies. “Better think about your father. You’re his sole heir, after all.”

All amusement is gone from Florian’s eyes, and he steps forward, wrapping the chain tight around his knuckles, ready to choke one of us to death.

“I thought you were too busy in New York,” I say, shocked my brothers arrived, but not taking my gaze away from the Dark Four. After our conversation yesterday, I didn’t expect shit from him.

“We’re never too busy for you, brother,” he replies, removing the safety from his gun, and the rest grunt in unison. Their arrival speaks to the little boy still existing inside me who wished to be accepted by his family and to know what it’d be like to rely on someone besides himself.

So someone would care when something happened to me or remembered me when I died.

My brother offered me this time and time again for the last ten years, but I pushed him away, because his actions opened deep wounds still present within me.

Would things be different if I didn’t let my resentment rule me and instead gave them all a chance to build a connection into a tight bond that could have given me a family a long time ago?

I always thought children shouldn’t be punished for the sins of their fathers, because I knew firsthand what it was like to pay for my father’s screwup.

Yet this is exactly what I did to my siblings, demanded a price for all the pain dished out to me by their parents, and they apologized and atoned time and time again, even though it was no fault of theirs.

Estella’s words flash in my mind.

My brother… he’s my everything. He’s the only who loved me, and he never made me feel unwanted. I can’t imagine living in a world without him.

I look at Octavius again, his hair pulled back so his scar is visible to us all, and I know without a shadow of a doubt it was caused by pressing a hot poker to it. Salt must have been sprinkled on it to leave such an angry slash as well.

A boy who withstood and agreed to such hurt so the monster wouldn’t get to his sister.

A man who kept her safe through every hardship until I could meet her.

The minute this fight starts, I will lose Estella no matter the outcome.

If I kill Octavius, she will hate me until the day she dies.

If he kills me, I will meet her in the underworld, and she will forever resent him. Their bond will be irrevocably broken.

She will never forgive Octavius or me for going against each other and leaving her all alone to pick up the pieces.

My heart hurts for the first time in years just imagining her pain, and I can’t subject her to it due to my selfish desires.

This must be what everyone calls love, because it tops the obsession swirling inside me with every breath she takes.

This love cares only about her happiness and not mine; it wants to create a world around her so she never knows sorrow again.

And happiness won’t exist for her without Octavius.

I raise my hand to stop them all, and Jaxon glances at me, frowning while the Four Dark Horsemen grin, and Florian says to Octavius, “I think he finally got it.”

Octavius studies me for several seconds and asks, “Do you? Finally get it?” And all his unusual actions become crystal-clear in my eyes.

A test.

Everything that happened since she arrived home was a test designed to see what I would do, and based on that, he would deem me worthy or unworthy of his sister.

She has been mine for a month, and I already snuck cameras inside her mansion. Did I really think her brother would be any different?

Throwing the gun away, I take a few steps toward him, and he does the same. We stand facing each other. “You knew?”

“My sister is the most important person in my life. Did you really think I wouldn’t know she has a crush on her professor? The minute you accepted that job, I knew the attraction would be there. But I couldn’t predict the outcome.”

“I don’t get it. We’re going to fight them with words? As in verbal battle?” Cillian asks and then groans when someone slaps him on the back of his head by the sound of it.

“So you watched?”

He nods. “As long as she was a willing participant in your obsessive and possessive tendencies, I wouldn’t interfere. Contrary to what people believe, I’m not a barbarian stuck in the Middle Ages who thinks he can order around her dating life. My reputation kept weak fuckers away though, and it suited me just fine. My sister doesn’t need a scared boy.”

Just the idea of other men wanting what’s mine sends me into a rage, so I push the conversation back to the topic that matters. “And when she came home, you knew I spied on you.”

“The cameras were not hard to find. Besides, it’s exactly what I would have done, so I didn’t expect anything else.” Warning laces his next words. “Have no doubt though, if you’d really hurt her, I’d cut you open and pull out your organs while you were awake for the entire process, lying motionless on my table.”

Ah, so the rumors are true about his ways.

“Then why the earlier show? Why lock her in her room?” And this time, steel coats my voice. “You ever do that again, I’ll be the one to cut you open.”

Regret crosses his face, and he winces. “I had no other option but to hurt her.” He points at his scar. “She blames herself for it, and this guilt has been eating her alive, making her too attached to me. She has always thought first how I would react or accept something before thinking about her own feelings.” I already suspected it by how torn she was about succumbing to her attraction, even after having sex with me and staking her claim on me by clawing my back. “However, she had to choose herself when it came to a relationship, and this was a sign for me that she’s healed completely and let go. We Reeds never let anything we love or value slip past our fingers. I needed to see she was all in this with you.”

“And then you tested me?”

“Yes. If my sister is not a priority for her man, and he doesn’t give a shit about her pain, then he doesn’t deserve her.”

At this, laugher escapes me, rich and true, because despite his young age, Octavius is one smart and cunning guy who managed to trick even me.

But then, it makes sense, right?

The stakes were so very high that for the first time in my life, I could concentrate only on Estella, my one weakness from now on.

And I will guard her until my last breath.

“She’s mine,” I simply say, and he nods, accepting the fact and not fighting me on it.

I guess I will have to learn how to love my siblings from Octavius Reed, because he can write a whole book on it.

“Let me get this straight,” Douglas interrupts our conversation. “All this—” He swirls his finger in the air. “—was a show? No one is actually threatening you?”

Santiago replies, “Yes. A prince has to go through challenges in order to get a princess.”

“Do they ever speak normally, or is it always some weird-ass metaphor with them?” Another slap on the back of the head follows this statement, and Cillian hisses angrily, “Jaxon, fucking stop that. A man can’t even voice his opinion these days.”

“It’s because no one cares about it.” Florian lights up his cigarette, dropping the chain. “And try zipping your mouth for a change. Maybe then you’ll be less annoying.”

Douglas laughs, and even Jaxon cracks a smile, but he still has a tight hold on his gun, ready to save me should Octavius change his mind or deceive us again.

Is the guilt our father threw at me to save them all also eating him alive?

“Thank you, Jaxon.” His eyes widen at my gratitude. “I really appreciate you coming here.” I gaze at all my siblings, who shift uncomfortably. “All of you.”

Being an asshole to them had been easier through the years than potentially facing yet another rejection from my family, but now I see how unfairly I’ve treated them. Even as children, they never hated me and always included me in their games. And despite being raised by their parents, they have more compassion and empathy than most people I know.

They just rarely have the luxury or opportunity to show it.

Deep down, I always knew they had their own scars inflicted on them through the years, and if only I’d given them the chance, we might have discovered our pasts were similar.

Because all of us have been abandoned or lonely at some point.

If my heart is alive enough to love a woman… can it be gracious and brave enough to accept my siblings?

For the first half of my life, I did everything in my power to become a true MacAlister so people would stop hurting me and give me the status that ensured a good life.

And the second half of my life has been spent refusing to ever be associated with them as a punishment against people who never gave a shit about me anyway.

The time has come to finally let go of the past and hold the hand my siblings have continued to extend toward me, building a family of our own where bastards and legitimate kids do not exist.

There are only siblings.

Jaxon clears his throat, holding my stare. “Always there for you, brother.” And by the way he utters the words, I know he means them.

“If you need me, I’ll be there for you too.”

It will take time for me to get used to it, but I can be the responsible older sibling Jaxon can finally lean on.

God knows he has no one else.

“Not to interrupt this family reunion or whatever the fuck it is, but we have a distressed lady inside right now.” Remi snaps his fingers. “So how about you both go and reassure her no one is going to get killed over your passionate relationship?”

“Stop using that word,” Octavius snaps. And then he steps back and motions with his hand toward his house. “Go.”

Before I can take a single step, my woman walks out of the house, holding a gun in her hand, and fires several bullets in the air, her fiery hair billowing backward from the wind while anger rolls off her.

Gorgeous in her beauty and fury, she strolls toward us as Duncan asks in awe, “Is this our new sister-in-law?”

Her melodic voice reverberates around us. “I’m not a damsel in distress!”

And somehow I think this reunion won’t be as epic and loving as I originally predicted.

Estella

“I believe I used the term distressed lady,” Remi says, but he shuts up whatever else he wanted to add under my glare.

Fury spreads through my veins so strong I can taste it while I look at the two men who think they can decide my fate for me and measure whose dick is bigger by creating various tests.

Stepping between them both, I address Ryder, digging my fingers in his chest. “I’m not Persephone.” Amusement flickers in his gaze, and it only adds fuel to the fire, so I punch him in the stomach. Of course, he barely reacts. “Don’t ever point a gun at my brother’s head again.” I hope he can read the determination in my voice, because what I just witnessed horrified me. “I’m not a prize or a possession. Do you understand?” I remove the hair from my face. “They are my family. Don’t come inside their houses and threaten their safety. Because if you hurt them, then you’re hurting me.”

“I know,” he simply says, rubbing my cheek, and although I want to hug him close, to feel for myself that he is all right, I can’t do it right now. “That’s why I stopped.” Sincerity coats his tone, and by the soft gaze he gives me, I know he’s being honest.

Fisting his shirt, I drag him closer to me until our faces are inches away from each other. “Don’t scare me like that again.”

“Never.”

He kisses me gently, his tongue barely grazing my lips, while butterflies erupt in me as this embrace and kiss says love in every brush of our lips.

Collective groans fill the space.

“Not in front of us, Estella. Come on,” Florian says, piercing the fog, and reminds me of their screwup.

I spin around and transfer my fury to my brother. “Don’t ever take me somewhere against my will again or dare to lock me inside a room. Never strip me of my choices, Octavius.” He opens his mouth, but my splayed palm stops whatever he wants to say. “I know you love me. But you can protect me without hurting me.”

“There was no other choice.”

He repeated this phrase a lot back in the day, whenever he wanted to justify getting hurt and sending me somewhere away so I wouldn’t see.

“I’m grown up. You have to let go.” He tenses, hating the idea, as it goes against everything he believes. “You want to set me free, but set yourself free too.” By the look in his eyes, I know my words didn’t hit the target, but someday I hope he does do it.

So he can open his heart to a woman who will see beyond the harsh exterior and darkness.

I cup his scarred cheek, my heart panging painfully in my chest at the contact with his puckered skin. “I love you. Thank you for being the best big brother a girl could ask for.”

He welcomes me in his arms, hugging me so tight it’s hard to breathe, but I let him rock me in his arms from side to side, accepting all he has to offer.

After a moment, he palms my head and smiles, peace settling in his gaze. “Be happy.” He presses a kiss to my forehead and then pushes me to Ryder, who catches me instantly.

Octavius is letting me go.

Ryder said during our first encounter that Persephone had the best of two worlds, and I disagreed with him then.

But now I see how right he was.

Destiny granted me an amazing brother whose love has made up for my parents’ indifference, and then… I met a man who would always love me obsessively, in a way most people wouldn’t consider healthy.

And yet…

I think there isn’t a happier woman on earth right now than me.

Because I can’t wait to start my life with my man, and with a squeal, I circle his neck, and he hikes me up, ready to go build our life together.

Where only happiness exists.

EPILOGUE

“I love you to the point of insanity, my obsession.”

Ryder

Chicago, Illinois

Six years later

Ryder

“Ha! I won.” A satisfied voice echoes in the air, the smugness evident in every word. “Just like I told you. Don’t play with the master if you can’t handle the heat.”

Someone huffs in exasperation while another growls in displeasure, and I can imagine them crossing their arms while glaring at their opponent. “You cheated!” they say in unison, accusation lacing their tone, and a grin shapes my mouth.

“Which doesn’t change the fact that I won.” A slapping sound reverberates through the space. “Ouch! That hurt.”

“You deserved it, Raven.”

“Don’t roll your tongue at me, Esme. You’re younger than me.”

“So?”

“So you can’t hit me.” Another slapping sound follows this statement. “Eve!” he exclaims, shocked. “Why did you do that?

“I’m older than you. According to your rules, I’m allowed.”

“By three minutes!”

“Esme is younger than you by two.”

Ah, the never-ending argument about their age that arises whenever someone wants to have the upper hand. Who would have thought having triplets would be so much fun?

Certainly not me.

I still remember the fear sinking into me, enveloping tightly around me when Estella announced her pregnancy six years ago, just after our wedding, with hope and a little distress shining in her eyes. We didn’t plan to have kids right away; she wanted to finish her degree first, but destiny had other plans for us.

While I hugged her close, whispering that everything would be all right, the fear wouldn’t go away. My childhood had been so fucked up, and I was scared I’d be a bad father and somehow ruin my own child.

I covered it well though, intending to do my best, but then at the first ultrasound, we found out she was carrying more than one, and the rest of the pregnancy was the longest and scariest time of my life.

When a monster has something to lose, he protects it at all costs, because he knows better than anyone who hides in the dark, ready to strike at any time.

Ironically, the announcement bonded me with Octavius, who brought a bottle of whiskey to celebrate, and we drank the entire thing in one sitting. He blamed me for us having triplets, because they run on my side of the family. However, he promised to be the best uncle anyone could wish for and help us out, since he had no intentions of ever having his own kids.

All fear and uncertainty vanished though when Eve screamed her lungs out, announcing her arrival to us, and they placed her in my arms, my heart falling in love all over again. So much gentleness arose inside me I knew I would never do anything to intentionally hurt her.

And my protective instincts multiplied tenfold, because if anyone so much as tried to hurt my flesh and blood, I would show them no mercy and torture them for eternity.

Then came Raven… and finally Esme—a surprise none of us expected but welcomed nevertheless.

Little hellions who argue all the time over leadership and constantly tattle on each other to us, wanting to get each other in trouble.

Which doesn’t stop them from forming temporary collusions in order to participle in mischief that usually results in people questioning their family morals and giving us the stink eye, whispering around that it must be their MacAlister blood.

If they only knew what the Reed part does, they wouldn’t be so quick to judge mine, but alas.

Now, with strangers, they never open their mouths, and you would never know who came up with a plan or who made the first move. In this, they always show a united front.

Octavius and I find their actions damned hilarious, but it doesn’t help the matter either, as they always try to outdo themselves. Just two days ago, they stole a rare parrot from their private school that cost a fortune and set it free, because they don’t believe in caging any wild animals.

At least that’s the excuse they gave to the principal with a straight face while Estella watched them in mortification, blushing so much it highlighted her freckled skin, which only turned me on more.

She’s so hot when she gets all frustrated, so of course I fucked her hard afterward, leaving my marks on her, especially after that fucking principal lingered his gaze too long on her breasts.

Still after all these years, I’m hopelessly obsessed with my wife.

Needless to say, I didn’t ground the kids for that parrot.

The blinding sun greets me as I step out onto the terrace to the sounds of chirping birds flying high up in the clear sky as a warm breeze sends the curtains flying all around me.

Tilting my head back, I close my eyes, enjoying the peacefulness in the air that calms the storm within me.

At least for a while before my hands itch again to catch someone who should not roam this earth and threaten the safety of innocent people.

After my marriage, and especially after the triplets were born, I stepped back from all my dark stuff. While I still hunted down their whereabouts with my resources and collected information on them, I just sent it all either to the police to deal with them, or Jaxon, who made sure they paid for it.

Our relationship six years ago was awkward at first, as neither of us knew how to navigate our changed situation, but slowly my bond with the siblings grew. We attended each other’s gatherings, called frequently, and should anyone need help, we always rushed to the rescue.

We visit New York once a month, although I never allow my kids to interact with my siblings’ mother. No matter her reasons, I will never accept her. We never discuss her with my siblings, and she is not allowed to come to Chicago or even speak to my family.

Oddly enough, they all prefer to come to our house, claiming our marital bliss speaks to their souls, which is funny, since they avoid marriage like the plague.

Well, except the arranged marriage Jaxon got himself into to secure a territory, but that’s another story.

“Daddy!” Eve exclaims, spotting me, and jumps from the table set for five people. Octavius should arrive soon for our weekly Sunday lunch.

My brother-in-law is still a brooding barbarian who ignites fear wherever he goes, and I think his darkness has intensified through the years, but he does his best to interact with the kids, who love him to pieces.

My three kids run to me, plastering against my legs, and tilt their heads, their identical green eyes staring at me in wonder, and my heart flips in my chest once again as it always does whenever I see joy on their faces.

They know they are loved and express their emotions easily, basking in everything this world has to offer.

“We love you, Daddy,” they say in unison, and I hug them close, running my fingers through their dark hair.

“Raven cheated,” Esme says, and I laugh; the peacefulness of the moment didn’t last for long.

“I did not.”

“You just confessed.”

“I did no such thing.”

Before the argument can grow further, a soft voice from the doorway breaks it off. “What did I tell you about tattling on each other?” Estella asks, rubbing her bare feet against each other, then she walks to us and places a cookie tray on the table.

My beautiful wife.

Her red summer dress emphasizes every delectable curve of her body, a body I worship every day while thanking my fate for giving me her.

For she healed my destroyed soul in ways I never saw coming. She has taught me to love not only her, but our children as well, while never letting go of my hand, believing I could push through the darkness calling my name every single day.

My past was so hideous no child should ever be subjected to such cruelty, yet whenever I lie in bed with the whole house asleep and my wife next to me, I wonder if she’s my reward for all the fucked-up shit that little boy had to face.

Pain, hurt, challenges, being found by Professor Smith, loving myths… all my life choices led me to her, and what more can a man ask for?

I would live my life a thousand times more if it meant claiming her as my own at the end of that journey.

“It’s bad, and we shouldn’t do it,” Esme says, and when Estella raises her brow, she exhales heavily. “It’s a short version, Mommy.” She pulls at her dress, twirling around. “And he deserved it, by the way.”

“Did not!” Raven wraps his arms around Estella. “I just used their weaknesses against them. That’s what Uncle Octavius says to do.”

“And Aunt Morgan says we should always be honest, because it’s a virtue.” Esme stomps her foot.

Oh yes. How could I forget their favorite aunts slash godmothers who spoil them rotten because they remind them why they don’t ever want kids?

At least for now.

Morgan and Josephine dated all through college while preserving their friendship with Estella. After graduation, Josephine accepted a marketing job at her family’s corporation in Paris, and Morgan followed her, becoming a famous illustrator. They got married a year ago, and the girls were their flower girls while Raven was the ring bearer. They come to Chicago once a year and usually stay at our house, since all they do is hang around with Estella anyway. My wife, who finished her degree and became a teacher, plans her schedule to always include their trip.

Judging by my wife’s face, she will have a long talk with her brother about his “wisdom” shared with the kids.

Can’t wait to be around for that particular conversation.

“Speaking of him, your uncle is here. Go greet him.”

Their squeals erupt, echoing in the space, and they rush to do that, each already intending to win the race of who gets to see him first.

It happens so frequently we no longer pay attention to it.

I crook my finger at her, intending to use this opportunity to properly kiss my wife, but she shakes her head, and I growl.

“I’ve got news.”

My brows lift and I cross my arms, waiting for her to elaborate.

What fucking news could be more important than kissing me?

“Santiago got married yesterday.”

Well, color me fucking surprised.

While I tuned down my darkness over the years… the Four Dark Horsemen have only gotten worse, diving deeper into chaos and gore while displaying their vices without a care for the world or people around them.

They’ve grown their empires, becoming even more powerful, but with this has come such darkness that even I’ve never indulged in it.

They’ve never dated anyone seriously or even been seen with women publicly, so the idea of any of them getting married any time soon hasn’t even crossed my mind.

Or rather, let me put it this way.

I thought there was no woman who would ever sign up for such insanity as belonging to one of them.

“Really? To whom?”

She shrugs while happiness brightness up her entire face, and she grins. “I have no idea. But do you know what that means?” She almost jumps up as she clasps her hands together, sighing in joy while hope radiates from her, luring any creature nearby to come closer and soak up all her warmth.

Too bad for them I don’t share. Ever.

Although I already know the answer to my question, I still ask, “What?”

“Octavius might get married someday too.” A breeze billows her hair backward while she twirls around. “My brother has a chance at love.”

Life has been one endless bliss after another; however, Octavius’s single status bothers Estella all the time, especially when the press loves to compare him to his three other friends and how no one has ever dreamed of snagging him.

The three others always top the most-wanted-bachelor charts—my brother-in-law, not so much.

My wife thinks love will heal all his deep wounds, but I’m not convinced.

While I like him, I think his psyche and soul are damaged beyond repair, and no amount of loving or acceptance would fix it.

At least the woman will have to be a saint to put up with all the shit he’ll throw her way, because even if Octavius falls in love, he will not give it freely and easily.

God bless her soul, seriously.

Before I can reply, the triplets squeal, then Raven screams, “Uncle Octavius, you need to teach us more tricks!”

Eve joins in. “Yes. We want to free the rabbit next! They keep him in our biology class.”

“Yeah. He suffers in that cage,” Esme says, quieter but still loud enough for us to hear. “Give us some pointers.”

Octavius waits a beat and then tells them, “Well, first and foremost… whenever you plan to free someone, keep your voices down and watch your surroundings.” A chuckle emerges from me while my wife just glares.

Her brother is damned hilarious and so fucking right.

If they intend to continue their ways, they should at least know how to cover their tracks.

“What are we going to do with them?” she asks, sighing in resignation, and I pull her toward me, locking my arms around her waist as hers circle my neck.

“Love them?” I offer, and she smiles, giggling. “At least no one will ever doubt they are ours.”

“Because they’re little brats who think this world belongs to them?”

I connect our mouths in a deep kiss, licking her lips before pushing my tongue inside, seeking hers as they duel for dominance, and we engage in a heated embrace that always leads to one thing for us.

Pleasure.

She moans, fists my shirt, and raises on her tiptoes, angling her head to deepen the kiss, and I oblige, drinking from her and pouring all my love and gratitude into this kiss, so she never doubts her place in my life or how much she has given me.

Tearing our mouths apart, I finally reply to her question. “Because they grow up in love.” And by how her gaze softens and a dreamy expression settles on her face, I know she understands.

It took me a long time to realize love is truly all that matters.

And our little family has that in abundance.

What else might one need?

The End

Want more from the Four Dark Horsemen? Turn the page to read an excerpt from Santiago’s Conquest.

Available Now!

SANTIAGO’S CONQUEST EXCERPT

Briseis

A raspy breath of distress slips past my lips when my hold on the bouquet in my hands tightens, the roses’ thorns digging into my skin and probably drawing blood.

The priest’s booming voice echoes through the space of the church, his smile so bright I wonder if it hurts his face.

Or do despicable creatures have no idea about the devastating emotions of mere mortals?

“Do you, Briseis Dawson, take this man…” With each word, I zone out farther and farther from this situation while the ringing in my ears replaces his rusty voice. I barely hold myself back from spitting on him for what he’s allowing to happen inside these walls that should have been my sanctuary.

Instead, this place fed me to the wolves so they could shred my flesh to pieces, their sharp teeth sinking into me so harshly they won’t rest until I bleed out on the floor… with God as my witness.

Monsters, hideous monsters led by the devil who….

A single tear slides down my cheek, hidden behind my veil made of the finest tulle. Nothing but the best for the bride of this groom, after all.

The groom, who I promised to hate till my last breath for what he has done to my family, stays oblivious to my begging, only a small smirk on his face while pleasure at his deeds radiates from him.

The King of Darkness and Deceit.

He chuckles, and I can almost imagine how his sapphire-blue eyes glisten with something wicked—the only expression that fills those orbs whenever his gaze lands on me—and I have to run far away from him… well, as much as I can in the current circumstances, in order to avoid it.

Not that he lets me do it for long; the freaking sadist enjoys my discomfort in his company, if his constant grins are anything to go by.

Madness has many forms and faces on this earth, covered in the masks of beauty and power, sneaking up on you when you least expect it, snatching you into its web of deceit and pain that follow you wherever you go.

His madness though?

Has no boundaries or control. Instead, it soaks up all the chaos around him.

The corset of my wedding dress is impossibly tight on my waist, and each gulp of air becomes a struggle, the pressure reminding me of the invisible chains the man has placed on me with no way of breaking them.

Shifting my focus from the priest, I stare at this unusual church they brought me to with its expensive colorful glass in the windows and the ceiling carved in an oval shape that almost gives a fairy-tale-like experience.

Except I’m trapped in a nightmare, which—no matter how much I pinch myself—doesn’t transform into the fairy tale I’ve pleaded for my entire life.

Despite its beauty that has the power to make one gasp in awe, the place reeks of doom and hopelessness that no amount of expensive artwork or luxurious design can hide.

A princess-cut diamond and sapphire engagement ring on my finger bumps against one of the thorns, the stone glistening in the shimmering light from above me, and I resist the urge to snatch it off and throw it at the groom, along with a few colorful word choices.

I catch Father Paul’s stare on me; conflicted emotions cross his face along with distress that he soothes with his gentle smile, as if it can reassure me.

Nothing on this earth has the power to reassure the inferno burning in my chest or the monster claiming me as his because he wishes to.

The priest’s lips stop moving, and he looks at me expectantly while my brows furrow, since I’ve no clue what he wants.

Panic shadows his face, and his lips move once again. I shake my head, hoping the ringing will go away so I can listen to him.

Still nothing though, and instead, my heartbeat speeds up in my chest, beating so fast I’m afraid it might jump out and land on the floor where the monster can stomp all over it.

Literally this time, since he has done it figuratively already.

A strong hand wraps around my waist and spins me so fast my head gets dizzy. I bump into the hard-as-brick muscles of his chest as his other hand captures my chin between his fingers, raising it so our gazes clash. “He asked you a question, mi novia.”

Rage flashes through me so violently that for a second the air gets stuck in my lungs while I want to shout in despair from not being able to unleash it on him with full force.

Maybe then he would have choked on his words, because calling me his bride is an insult to all the married couples all over the world.

The only appropriate word is captive.

His deep, husky voice sends shivers down my spine, and revulsion runs through me at his touch, the rose thorns digging sharper this time, and I wince in pain, finding no wiggle room in his hold to step back and throw away the stupid bouquet I never wanted in the first place. “Will you take me as your beloved husband and promise to cherish and love me till the day I die?” A sinister smile widens his mouth while he winks at me. “Or, in other words, till death do us part?” His thumb slides over my cheek gently, evoking fear inside me, reminding me how this hand can kill someone with just one strike.

I twist my face to the side, avoiding his caress, but he tightens his fingers on me, digging them painfully into my skin, and a whimper of distress escapes me. “The choice is yours, querida.” He prolongs the last word, as if tasting it on his tongue when he addresses me.

I wish to slap him hard, so he won’t call me his darling again, then fist the skirt of my dress and, with my high heels clicking soundly on the marble floor, run through the heavy, wooden doors at the end of the church’s hallway to hide far away from here.

“I always keep my word, darling.”

He won’t chase me, granting me my freedom he has promised from the very beginning, and with time I can forget all the events that have happened, like a bad dream that should have never even involved me.

However, all this musing has no point.

I stay silent, waves of shock rushing through me while I will myself to say the words everyone expects, yet they seem to get stuck in my throat, not wanting to be spoken for the destruction they might cause in my life.

The groom sighs, winking at me. “Querida, I’m starting to get bored. And it’s never a good sign.” Someone clears their throat, and I shift my focus to the bench on the left where a blond-haired man flips a knife between his fingers while the man next to him, bound in tight, black ropes, groans in pain, blood seeping from various wounds on his torso and head.

The blond man puts the sharp tip to his victim’s neck and nicks the skin, chuckling quietly, finding amusement in how his victim bursts into tears, his eyes pleading for mercy he will never get from the likes of them.

The victim mumbles something through the tape covering his mouth, and I don’t have to read minds to know what he thinks.

Or rather asks of me.

After everything he put me through… he still expects me to do it.

“Choose, Briseis,” the groom says, boredom lacing his tone as he snaps my head back to him so his hot breath fans my face, his lips inches away from mine. “Either become my wife or I’ll kill your father.” He waits a bit and adds, “Choose wisely. Don’t bargain with the devil if you are not ready for the consequences, mi amor.”

Yes, Santiago Cortez has given me a choice.

But no matter the outcome… my soul will be crushed like a porcelain mug hitting the floor.

Turning away from him, I focus my attention on the priest and finally find the strength to utter the words that cut me from inside out, while self-loathing fills my entire being along with hate that burns brighter with each passing second toward the man standing next to me. “I do.”

My life has become a nightmare.

Because a sinner decided to own me.

Click here for Santiago’s Conquest.

ALSO BY V. F. MASON

Dark Romance

Sociopath’s Obsession

Sociopath’s Revenge

Psychopath’s Prey

Lachlan’s Protégé

Micaden’s Madness

Callum’s Hell

Madman’s Method

Madman’s Cure

Arson’s Captive

The Land Where Sinners Atone

Santiago’s Conquest

Lucian’s Reign

Remi’s War

Mafia Romance

Pakhan’s Rose

Pakhan’s Salvation

Sovietnik’s Fury

Brigadier’s Game

Kaznachei’s Pain

Free Books

His Broken Princess

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

First, I want to thank God and my family for allowing me to write and make this dream possible. The support means so much to me, and I understand that sometimes it drives you crazy, especially when I try to meet my deadlines and seem unavailable to you. But I love you guys and appreciate everything you do for me.

Once upon a time…on a bright summer night lit by a thousand stars…a story popped in my head about a professor and his student…who ended up being his obsession. Although I drafted their story in my notes, I resisted the urge to write it since I had to focus on my other projects. Two years have passed and this summer I opened the project again…and I couldn’t help but write this story that just poured from my fingers. And that’s how I knew the time had come to share it with everyone. I loved writing it and I hope you enjoyed reading it.

Huge thank you to Hot Tree Editing team for helping me with my editing process. Especially Becky, Donna, Peggy, Kayla and Mandy. Plus beta readers and final eyes, who gave me valuable feedback and made sure I covered any plot holes I had.

Thank you to Hang Le and Wander Aguiar for the fabulous cover.

Heather Roberts, thank you for being with me during this release every step of the way.

L.Woods PR thank you for hosting my cover reveal and release blitz.

Thank you to my reader group, you are amazing!

Thank you to all the bloggers for spreading the word about The Professor and His Obsession and leaving reviews.

And finally to all the readers who took a chance on this journey of love between Ryder and Estella. Thank you to each one of you.

CONTACT

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THE HOOKUP EQUATION

A LOVELESS BROTHERS NOVEL

ROXIE NOIR

Copyright © 2020 by Roxie Noir

All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

Cover: Coverlüv

Editor: Honey Palomino

For all the women brave enough to use the men’s room sometimes.

Fuck the patriarchy.

CHAPTER ONE

THALIA

I put my head down on my arms and groan.

“Come on,” commands Victoria from across the table. “You got this. You can do it.”

“We believe in you!” Harper adds, on my right. “Go, Thalia! Go! Go! Chug!”

“Chug?” asks Margaret, cool, calm, and collected on my left.

“Chug… knowledge?” Harper says. “Look, I’m just getting into the spirit of the thing.”

“You know, chug knowledge,” Victoria deadpans. “The common phrase that people say all the time?”

“See?” says Harper.

I lift my head, rest my chin on my arms, and look at Margaret again. She’s holding six fingers up in front of her face, the answer sheet in front of her, and trying not to laugh at Harper.

“Which ones do we have?” I ask.

Margaret clears her throat and looks down at our answer sheet.

“Chastity,” she starts. “The easy one.”

“Is it?” asks Victoria, and Margaret just grins.

“Charity,” she goes on. “Temperance.”

Harper snorts.

“Kindness, patience, and humility. Props to Victoria for coming up with that last one.”

“Thank you.”

Margaret and Victoria clink their glasses together, then each drink.

“I don’t know,” I tell them, carefully resting my forehead against my fist. “Fortitude? Is that a virtue?”

“It sounds like it could be,” Margaret says.

“Filling up the gas tank in a borrowed car,” I say, still staring at the tabletop, willing my brain to work better. “Picking up litter that isn’t even yours? Making more coffee if you take the last cup? Remembering to wipe the stove down after you do the dishes.”

“Pretty sure it’s gonna be one word,” Margaret says.

“I like fortitude,” Harper says. “It sounds right.”

“It’s not,” I say. “Arrrrrgh.”

Victoria puts her elbows down on the table, silver bracelets clanking, then leans toward me, her red lipstick bright against her ebony skin, her hair bouncing gently with the motion.

“Thalia,” she says, very, very seriously. “You attended twelve years of Catholic school.”

“Thirteen,” I correct.

“Thirteen years of Catholic school,” she says, not missing a beat. “Thirteen years of itchy wool skirts, ugly sweaters, and nuns. Thirteen years of getting your knuckles smacked by rulers. Thirteen years of no boys. And you know why?”

Victoria pauses dramatically. She’s got a flair for this sort of thing.

“Why?” I ask, totally drawn in.

“For this moment,” she goes on. “I don’t believe in coincidences, Thalia. You went to Catholic school for a reason, and that reason is this very bar trivia question.”

Victoria can sometimes get kind of intense after she’s had a few drinks, and that means she’s taking this bar trivia night really seriously.

“You have it in you,” she goes on. “I know you’ve got that seventh virtue knocking around somewhere in that brain of yours. Come on, Catholic school. Come on.”

“Come on, Catholic school!” Harper hoots, pumping one fist in the air.

She’s had a few more drinks than the rest of us. She’s the birthday girl, after all.

“Cath. Lick. School!” Harper says, slowly, pumping that fist. “Cath. Lick school! Come on!”

“Oh God,” I mutter.

“Ask for all the intercessions you want,” Victoria says, sitting back, spreading her hands wide. “Francis? Christopher? Mary, you up there? Help a girl out!”

Right above us, the speaker crackles.

“All right, you’ve got another sixty seconds to name as many of the seven virtues as you can for our free drink round!” the trivia host says. “Then it’s on to pop culture. Hope you’ve been paying attention to the movies this year!”

“Cath-lick school!” Harper says again, motioning for Margaret and Victoria to join in. “Come on! CATH-LICK SCHOOL!”

“CATH-LICK SCHOOL! CATH-LICK SCHOOL!”

Now all three are chanting. Margaret’s banging the table. I squeeze my eyes shut, fingers pinching the bridge of my nose.

Nothing.

I know I know it, but I can’t think of the seventh virtue to save my life.

Instead, I take a drink of my whiskey ginger.

Still nothing. I take another sip.

Maybe six is enough, I think. Do the other teams even know six virtues?

Six virtues are plenty, right?

I put my glass back down on the table.

As I do, the name of the seventh virtue hits me so hard I practically fall out of my chair, and I grab Margaret’s arm dramatically.

“DILIGENCE!” I whisper-shout, trying to keep the other trivia teams from overhearing me. “IT’S DILIGENCE. D-I-L-I—"

She’s already written it, because a pre-med college senior with a 3.9 GPA knows how to spell diligence.

Margaret jumps off her chair without another word, pen still in hand, waving our answer sheet as she makes her way toward the trivia night moderator.

“Go!” Harper shouts, unnecessarily.

“Is that it? You’re sure?” Victoria asks. “You’re totally sure?”

“I’m totally super sure,” I say, and drain my whiskey ginger in excitement. “Once I wrote a paper for tenth grade English and somehow only spell-checked the first half, and Sister Agatha called me in and lectured me about the virtue diligence, and God, she loved reminding me that a young lady could never have enough virtue —”

“Of course you can,” Harper says. She’s blue-eyed, blonde, and looks like she’d be hard-pressed to understand a complicated traffic light.

But looks can be deceiving, because she knows five languages, three of which are dead, and once spent an entire evening explaining the economics of the late Roman Empire to me.

“I’ve got plenty of virtue,” she says. “Victoria’s got plenty. Margaret, I dunno. Thalia, God knows you’ve got more than enough and could probably stand to offload a little.”

“What’s Thalia offloading?” Margaret asks, sitting again.

“My virtue,” I say, maintaining a perfectly straight face. “I was thinking of dumping it in the river down by the old railroad bridge, since Harper thinks I’ve got too much.”

Margaret laughs and takes another drink from her gin and tonic.

“Well, I think you should dump your virtue whenever you want and into whatever receptacle, so long as everyone involved is an enthusiastically consenting adult,” she says. “And don’t forget to be safe.”

The four of us have been friends since we were freshman and roommates since we were sophomores, so by now, the fact that I’m still a virgin is a running joke. It’s not like I have some strong attachment to my virginity, I just happen to still have it.

“Allllll right, the scores are tallied up!” the trivia host says over the speaker.

All four of us sit bolt upright, hanging onto every word, especially Harper. After all, this was her idea of a fun twenty-first birthday party — some people do twenty-one shots and get blitzed, she’s had considerably less than that and is determined to utterly destroy the trivia night competition.

“Turns out you all aren’t up to snuff on your virtues,” the guy goes on. “Last week the drink round question was the seven deadly sins, and let me tell you, those teams…”

“You’re running trivia night, you’re not a stand-up,” Harper mutters. “Get to the question.”

“Down, girl,” Victoria says, patting her arm.

“I’m just saying.”

“Anyway, there’s no coin toss tonight because only one team managed to name all seven heavenly virtues!”

Harper punches me excitedly in the shoulder. Victoria bounces her palms on the table.

“Tell us,” Margaret hisses.

I’d say that my friends can be a little competitive and intense, but I’m also leaning over the table, both hands clenched into fists, waiting to see if we won even though I’m ninety percent sure we did.

“And those are, of course, Patience, Charity, Chastity, Kindness, Humility, Diligence —"

“Yessssss,” hisses Margaret.

“—and a virtue that nobody here tonight is celebrating, Temperance!”

That gets a mild laugh from the various tables around the bar.

“Congrats to the winners of tonight’s drink round, Tequila Mockingbird! The bartender will be around with your shots in just a few minutes. The next round starts in ten.”

“Shots?” I ask the table, frowning. “Can’t I just get another whiskey ginger? What’s it a shot of? What if I don’t want a shot, can I —”

“You could go ask someone who knows,” Harper says. “Or you could have some fun and do a shot with us.”

“No peer pressuring,” Margaret admonishes her.

“Yeah, no peer pressuring,” I add, laughing.

“I wasn’t peer pressuring,” Harper protests, picking up her own glass. I think it’s her third drink, but since it’s finally her twenty-first birthday — she skipped the third grade, so she’s a year younger than the rest of us — no judgement from me.

“Are you kidding? That was a textbook example of peer pressure,” Victoria adds in.

“No, a textbook example would be, like, hey kid, have some marijuana because all the cool kids are doing it and also your friends are doing marijuana, and you won’t be fun if you don’t do drugs,” Harper says. “I didn’t say that, I just said shots are fun.”

The three of us all give her separate quizzical looks.

“Is everything you know about drugs from D.A.R.E. in the fifth grade?” Margaret finally asks.

Harper shrugs dramatically and finishes off her drink while Victoria catches Margaret’s eye and simply nods.

“Right,” Margaret says. “Anyway, don’t — oh, wow.”

I follow her gaze over Harper’s shoulder.

Wow is right, because the curly-haired, no-nonsense, tattooed female bartender is standing there, holding a tray with four shots on it.

They’re not regular-sized shots. They’re in those tall shot glasses.

And they are bright blue.

“Here you go,” she says, stepping forward and depositing the glasses on the table in front of us. Margaret moves our pencils and answer sheets out of the way. “Four Smurfs’ Vacations. Enjoy!”

Just like that, she’s gone. Delicately, Victoria picks up a shot glass.

“No!” Harper says, waving one hand. “We have to do it together!”

“I’m just smelling it,” Victoria says, laughing at Harper. “I think it’s… coconut rum and blue curacao?”

“It’s something blue for sure,” I say, picking up a shot glass as well and watching the liquid suspiciously, wondering if this is a good idea.

On one hand, I don’t really do shots. I’m a total lightweight, and it only takes a couple of drinks before I’m that embarrassing girl who’s vomiting in someone’s bushes while sobbing that squirrels are too precious for this world.

Just a random example of something that could, in theory, happen to a lightweight. It’s certainly not an actual incident from freshman year.

On the other hand, I’ve only had two drinks so far, it’s Harper’s twenty-first birthday, and this is basically my last chance to party before diving headfirst into my senior year of college.

“Is the idea that this is what Smurfs drink when they’re on vacation?” Victoria asks, looking deep into her shot glass. “Or is this made of Smurfs?”

“This just got dark,” I say.

“You’re overthinking this,” Harper tells her. “Stop it. It’s my birthday. No thinking. Cheers!”

We clink our glasses together over the center of the table. We all shout, “Wooo!” We all drink.

The Smurf’s Vacation isn’t as bad as it looks. True, it’s so sweet I feel like a sugar bomb went off in my mouth, and yes, fake coconut and fake banana are both horrible flavors, and yeah, there’s an unappealing and stringent aftertaste, but I’ve definitely had way worse.

There are four distinct clonks as we each put our shot glasses back on the table, each of us making a noise of surprise at what we just put into our mouths.

“Smurf jizz,” Harper says.

“Stop it,” says Victoria.

“At least you waited until after we drank to say that,” I tell them.

“It was an experience,” says Victoria, taking a gulp of her Guinness.

I glance down at the floor to my right as I feel the Smurf’s Vacation start to take effect. If I was tipsy before, I’m definitely headed toward kinda drunk now, and I’m trying to calculate the best course of action to get off this barstool with my dignity intact.

Difficulty level: short-ish skirt and three-inch heeled boots.

Good thing alcohol makes me brave. I swing my legs around and hop off, and I only wobble a little bit when I land.

“Be right back,” I tell my friends, and then I head for the bathroom at the back of the bar, winding between other trivia teams and past pool tables.

The Tipsy Cavalier is… sort of a dignified dive bar, if that makes sense. Even though Marysburg is a college town, it’s far enough from campus that it’s not frequented by undergrads. It’s quieter than an undergrad bar. It’s a little bit civilized, never mind that it’s in the basement of a former warehouse that’s probably been standing since the mid-1800s.

That’s one thing about Virginia I still haven’t quite gotten used to, even though my family moved to the state seven years ago now. How old everything can be. The walls in the back of the bar, where the hall with the bathrooms are, are made of raw stone and I swear they’ve got hundred-year-old graffiti on them.

As soon as I turn the corner, I see the line.

“Crap,” I mutter to myself, stopping short.

Against the wall there are five — wait, no, six — women, all either chatting with each other or looking at their phones, all clearly waiting to use the single-stall women’s bathroom.

I sigh and get in the line, hoping I don’t miss the beginning of the next round. The woman next to me is scrolling Instagram, and I wish I hadn’t left my phone in my purse back at the table as I wait.

And wait.

And wait.

I wonder what on earth the woman in the bathroom is even doing. Is she pooping? Taking a bath? Looking at Facebook on her phone?

Giving birth?

Actually, I’d cut her some slack for that last one.

Meanwhile, the men’s room? Ghost town. Every so often a guy will breeze in and then, thirty seconds later, breeze out. Like they haven’t a care in the world, which they probably haven’t, since they don’t have a bathroom line and aren’t standing in a hallway in heels with their legs crossed.

At last, a woman comes out of the bathroom. She doesn’t seem to have a newborn with her. I try not to glare as the next person in line enters, and now I’m only five people away.

In heels. Legs crossed, now a little tighter. Ghost town of a men’s room across the hallway. The girl next to me sighs and mutters “Come on,” under her breath.

And I make a slightly-drunk snap decision.

I push myself off the wall where I was leaning. I walk across the hall to the men’s room, head held high, shoulders back, determination in every step.

But still, in front of the men’s room, I pause for half a second, a shudder working its way down my spine as every molecule in my body screams no! No! Wrong door!

“Do it!” someone shouts behind me.

It’s all the encouragement I need, and I push the door open, holding my breath.

I step into the men’s room.

And then I whisper, “What the hell?”

It has a urinal and a stall. Twice as many peeing opportunities for men, while across the way, the women’s has only a toilet. No wonder they’re breezing in and out of here while we’re stuck staring at concrete walls in uncomfortable shoes.

Sometimes, it’s hard not to hate men.

But I really have to pee, so I put my bathroom grievances aside, enter the stall, and get down to business.

Just as I flush, the bathroom door opens.

Footsteps enter.

I freeze. My heart leaps into my throat, and for a long moment, I stare blankly at the beige metal wall because I have no idea what to do. I didn’t think this far ahead. I didn’t think ahead at all, thanks to the Smurf’s Vacation.

It didn’t even occur to me that I might get caught.

So I do nothing. I stand stock-still in the bathroom stall, staring wide-eyed at the back of the metal door, and hold my breath.

The footsteps enter. They come right up to the stall, then pause.

He can’t be more than a foot away from me.

My palms start sweating, all my alcohol-induced bravado gone.

What if it’s a cop? I think.

Can I get arrested for this?

I think I can get arrested for this. I’ve never been arrested before. They’ll send me to jail, and I can’t go to jail, I can’t handle those social dynamics —

I, Thalia Lopez, am many things.

A daughter. A sister. A college senior. A Madison Scholar.

I am not a rule breaker.

I’m a rule follower, neatly and to the letter. I love toeing a good line. I love staying within boundaries. I delight in abiding by the law, and right now, I wish with every ounce of my being that I were outside, in the hallway, standing in heels with a full bladder.

Finally, the steps move again. A moment later, there’s the sound of a urinal being used, then flushed. The water in the sink goes on. Paper towels crinkle.

At last, the bathroom door opens and swings shut.

I exhale and, without thinking, lean my forehead against the cool metal door.

Then I remember where I am and jerk upright again, because I’m sure this door is crawling with germs.

Thank you, Jesus, I think. I promise not to commit any bathroom crimes ever again.

I slide back the lock on the door, double-check that my skirt is pulled down properly and covering everything it’s supposed to cover, and then push the door open and stride forward confidently.

I nearly walk into him.

“Aughfwoo!” I yelp, and stop suddenly, and the sudden stop makes my heel catch on a piece of broken tile and have I mentioned that I am, technically, somewhat inebriated? And anyway, now I’m flailing in the general direction of the urinal.

“Whoa,” he says, and catches me, one hand on my upper arm, holding me until I’ve properly found my footing again.

“You left,” I gasp, the only thing I can think of because I’m medium-drunk and also medium-stunned and more-than-medium confused.

“Really? Seems like I’m still here,” he says, one eyebrow slightly raised, the ghost of a smile flickering across his face.

His very, very handsome face.

For a second, my brain simply switches off because this bathroom stranger might be the most handsome man I’ve seen in my life. He’s probably the most handsome man I’ve ever seen in person, and absolutely the most handsome one I’ve seen in a men’s bathroom.

Tall. Wide. Green eyes. Brown hair, tending to gold in spots. Slight stubble. Square jaw. Forest-green t-shirt stretched over thick shoulders and biceps that must be Photoshopped or something.

I feel like someone must be playing a trick on me. Did my roommates somehow hire someone to come flirt with me in the bathroom? Is this some kind of setup?

Am I being catfished? Are they the ones catfishing me, or do they think they’re doing something nice by hiring an excessively attractive man to follow me in here?

I stop gawping, clear my throat, and look directly into a sea of green.

“This is the women’s restroom, right?” I ask.

CHAPTER TWO

THALIA

Single eyebrow still raised, he casually looks to his left, then his right, as if he’s searching for something, and even that is attractive.

Good Lord, what is in a Smurf’s Vacation?

“It’s not,” he says, his smile widening a few millimeters and giving me heart palpitations. “And I have to say, I was under the impression that women’s restrooms didn’t have urinals.”

I rub my hands together, palms slightly sweaty, and glance over at the urinal.

“Though since I’ve never been in a women’s restroom, I can’t say I know for sure,” he goes on. “If there’s a line for the men’s, I just wait.”

“I’m sure you also only cross the street at crosswalks and never exceed the speed limit,” I say, my mouth running ahead of my brain. “Since you love following rules so much.”

I press my lips together, because I need to stop talking. I’m nervous and slightly drunk, and that’s making me be an asshole to this very handsome man who’s clearly just teasing me.

Flirting? Is he flirting?

Oh no. Oh crap. Oh no.

How do people flirt?!

“If you opened the door and then shut it just so I’d come out and you could bust me, that’s entrapment,” I inform him, heart hammering away in my chest, mouth still several steps ahead of brain. “And entrapment is unconstitutional and also illegal.”

He smiles, his green eyes crinkling.

For Pete’s sake, he has dimples.

Send help.

“And mean,” I add because I can’t stop myself.

“Then it’s a good thing I’m not a cop, just a concerned citizen,” he says, still dimpling.

I pause. I make myself take a deep breath and think for half a second before I respond.

“And you find me concerning?” I finally ask, tilting my head to one side.

He takes a moment to answer, his eyes narrowing even though his smile doesn’t dim. If I didn’t know better, I’d think he was checking me out, but obviously that’s just the Smurf’s Vacation talking.

“It’s a position I’m coming around to,” he says. His voice is low, relaxing, with just a hint of a rasp and a dollop of Southern twang.

Must be a townie, because there’s no way on God’s green earth that he’s a student. I know a whole lot of students, and zero of them are anything like this.

“How, exactly, do I concern you?” I ask.

My chest feels like it’s filled with jello. My palms are damp. I can hear my pulse roaring through my ears.

Some people are born flirts. It comes naturally to them. Talking to an attractive member of the opposite sex doesn’t freak them out. The thought that someone might be interested in them doesn’t invoke a flight-or-fight reaction.

I, on the other hand, am a born not-flirt. Every single time I find a guy attractive or interesting, I wind up sticking my foot in my mouth so hard I leave teeth marks on my knee.

“For one thing, I’m terribly worried over your inability to read simple door signs,” he says. “The one on this door does indicate that it’s for men.”

“Does it?” I ask, opening my eyes wider. “Is that what that funny little picture meant? I thought it was some sort of ancient pictogram, carved by the Paleolithic humans who dwelled here. I was about to report my findings to the Smithsonian.”

Too sarcastic?

Too sarcastic. Crap.

“Thank God I spared you that embarrassment,” he deadpans.

“And yet, you just couldn’t leave well enough alone?” I ask, raising my eyebrows. “I’m just trying to live my life and skip the women’s bathroom line.”

Now he’s grinning. The dimples are very deep, and I force myself to resist the urge to stick a finger into one.

“I’ve always been too curious for my own good,” he says, still smiling, shrugging. “And I’ve never liked letting people get away with things.”

“Things like using a restroom in peace?”

“Things like taking the law into their own hands and skipping a line,” he teases.

I finally break away from his gaze and head for the sink to wash my hands, watching him over my shoulder in the mirror.

“Bathroom lines are the result of misogynistic architecture,” I say. “Meaning that bathroom design is awful for women and fine for men.”

I’ve got a whole thesis to back up this statement, but right now I need to concentrate on getting soap out of this dispenser. It’s trickier than it looks, I swear.

“So you weren’t just skipping a line, you were subverting the patriarchy,” he says.

My chest feels even wobblier, and something tightens in my stomach. It’s not fair of me, but I’m definitely surprised that a man this handsome just said subverting the patriarchy in casual conversation.

“Exactly,” I say, shutting off the water. “When we finally elect a female president, it’ll be because of this moment.”

“So I shouldn’t go through with my citizens’ arrest?” he asks. “I was all set to try and remember the Miranda rights so I could do it properly.”

“And we’ve established that you do things properly,” I say, grabbing a paper towel and drying my hands. “Crosswalks, speed limits, and now Miranda rights.”

I ball up the paper towel and toss it at the trash can.

I miss by about a mile, and of course he picks it up and tosses it in.

Then he rests one hand on the door handle and gives me a brief, up-and-down look that makes me unspeakably nervous.

“What if instead of arresting you, I bought you a drink?” he asks.

I swear there’s a herd of buffalo stampeding through my chest and right over my brain.

“That’s your move?” I say. “You trap a girl in a bathroom and give her an either-or proposition?”

Then I snap my mouth shut because that’s not what I meant to say, that’s nothing like what I meant to say, but I’m nervous and terrible at this.

I’m going to die a virgin, aren’t I?

For the record, I meant to say something like yes, you’re very handsome and also kinda funny and I think I’d like to continue our acquaintance.

His smile fades.

“Sorry,” he says, voice suddenly serious, the smile disappearing from his face. “It’s not a move and you’re not trapped.”

He pulls on the door handle.

The door doesn’t open. It catches with a quiet clunk, and he frowns at it.

Nerves and alcohol swirl through me, and before I know it, I’m talking again.

“Yeah,” I say. “I’m sure this isn’t page forty-three of some pick-up artist handbook.”

Then I laugh, so he knows I’m teasing. Flirtatiously. That’s what I’m doing, right?

“If I were following the handbook I’d have already shown you a couple card tricks and started touching you without your consent,” he says, half to himself, as he turns the lock on the door, then pulls it again.

Another clunk. The door is still shut, and now we’re both staring at it.

I’m nervous for a whole new reason.

“Card tricks?” I ask, still staring at the lock.

“Yeah, it’s a big thing with pick-up artists,” he says, tugging at the door again.

Nothing. He flips the lock, but it’s clearly not doing anything, just rasping uselessly around in a circle.

“You know, they wear some ridiculous hat and a loud shirt and carry around a deck of cards so they can go up to cute girls and tell them to pick one?” he says, still talking mostly to the door. “It’s a way for them to get within physical proximity of a target without seeming threatening.”

He grabs the handle with both hands and pulls, the muscles in his arms knotting in a very pleasing fashion.

The door doesn’t open, just bangs back and forth against the door frame.

“Don’t, you’re gonna break it,” I say.

“It’s already broken,” he says, though he steps back from it. “Shit. Shit.”

I approach the door and, mindful of my above-the-knee skirt, crouch in front of it even as I don’t entirely believe the situation.

This is not really happening, right?

The door’s just stuck and if we kinda nudge it the right way, we’ll be free to go, right?

I jiggle the lock, but the lever just spins freely, obviously not connected to anything any more.

“Hold on,” he says, and his voice is closer than I thought it would be, close enough that it sends a prickle down my spine and I hold my breath, tense. I don’t know if it’s the alcohol or his proximity that makes me suddenly warmer, blood rushing to my face as I’m intensely, acutely aware of the inches between us.

The stampede is back.

Then a bright light shines over my shoulder, into the crack between the door and the frame, the deadbolt gleaming in the phone flashlight as it spans the gap.

This door is very locked, and the lock mechanism is very much not working.

I flick the lock’s lever one more time, just to make sure. It spins and then hangs straight down, completely useless.

“Well, that’s answered,” he says, his voice not far from my ear. My spine prickles again and I swallow hard, closing my eyes, honestly not sure if I’m excited or nervous or both or neither.

We stand. He takes a step away, then holds his phone up to his ear. I take a deep breath, look around, try to maintain control of my faculties despite the ginger whiskeys and the Smurf’s Vacation.

It’s a challenge. He sighs, fixes his eyes on the ceiling light, shoves one hand through his light brown hair.

“Come on, answer,” he mutters.

I rub my hands together, then intertwine my fingers. They feel distant, like they’re further away from my body than they should be, and I’m trying to anchor them back to myself, keep my body parts from drifting off on a sea of bright blue booze.

I’m never, ever taking a shot again.

“Steve, for fuck’s sake,” he says, lowering his phone, hitting a button, then listening again.

My phone is, of course, in my purse and my purse is back at the table.

My roommates must have noticed my absence.

Surely, rescue is imminent.

I take a detailed inventory of the bathroom anyway.

One sink with a smudged mirror and soap dispenser. One beige stall, made of standard-issue bathroom stall material, containing one toilet. One urinal. One ancient-looking paper towel dispenser. One nearly-full trash can under a smallish window, set back into the wall, made of those blurry glass panes.

“Put the beer down and answer your phone, you idiot,” the man says behind me growls. “Jesus.”

I stand under the window and look up at it, hands against the concrete wall, balancing on my toes. For a moment I have to close my eyes and take a deep breath as everything sways slightly, and then I open them again.

I’m pretty sure the window opens. I think I see a crank.

Now he’s pacing, phone still pressed to his ear, even though the bathroom isn’t big enough for him to take more than two steps.

Step, step, turn. Step, step, turn. Even here, and even despite his size — I’m pretty sure he’s north of six feet — he’s oddly lithe and graceful, his whole body smooth clockwork.

Step, step, turn. Like some sort of caged animal.

I’m staring. Am I staring?

I’m for sure staring and… no. No, I’m not stopping. Everything about him is delicious and I think that even if I tried to, I couldn’t tear my eyes away.

Finally, he takes the phone away from his ear and shoves it back into his pocket, shaking his head.

“No dice,” he says, that edge back in his voice. “You?”

“My phone’s out there,” I say, and turn to the door.

One option left. I cross the bathroom, raise my fist and pound on the wood.

“HELP!” I shout, still banging. “WE’RE STUCK!”

I’m rewarded almost immediately with footsteps.

“HEY!” a woman’s voice shouts.

“HEY, THE LOCK’S BROKEN!” I shout back.

“WHAT?”

“THE LOCK! IS BROKEN!”

“OH SHIT! CAN YOU GET OUT?”

I take a deep breath and close my eyes, because this clearly isn’t going to be simple.

“NO! WE’RE TRAPPED!”

Behind me, he’s pacing again, both hands jammed into his pockets, jaw clenched.

“I’M GONNA GET HELP!” the woman on the other side shouts. “STAY STRONG!”

“Fuck,” he mutters.

Step, step, turn. Step, step, turn. I watch as he goes back and forth, back and forth.

“Are you claustrophobic?” I finally ask, leaning against the door.

“No,” he says. “But I don’t exactly love being trapped in small spaces. No one does.”

“Some people do,” I point out. “It’s a whole fetish. People build themselves pods and lockers and — uh, I saw a documentary once.”

That was the Vacation talking.

“A documentary?” he asks, still pacing.

“You’re the one who knows what page forty-three of the pickup artist handbook says,” I point out.

“I saw a documentary.”

“Wiseass.”

That, at last, gets a smile.

“I was curious, so I picked up a manual,” he says. Step, step, turn. “It was like reading a car crash. I couldn’t look away.”

“Did they work?” I ask.

“HEY, ARE YOU OKAY IN THERE?!”

The woman on the other side of the door is back.

“YEAH,” I shout.

“I GOT THE BARTENDER!”

“DON’T USE THAT LOCK, IT’S BUSTED!” the bartender hollers. “I GOTTA GO CALL THE LOCKSMITH.”

“IT’S SUNDAY NIGHT!”

That’s my new bathroom friend, shouting from behind me.

“WHAT?”

“IT’S SUNDAY NIGHT!”

“WHAT?”

“THALIA!” shouts Margaret’s voice. “ARE YOU OKAY?”

I want to shout no, I’m trapped in a men’s bathroom with a very handsome stranger and I’ve been making a damn fool of myself for at least ten minutes now, but that’s too many words to shout.

“I’M FINE!” I holler.

“WE GOT SECOND PLACE!” she shouts. “WE WERE IN FIRST BUT THEN THERE WAS A SPORTS ROUND.”

The handsome man and I look at each other.

“Congratulations,” he says.

“Thanks,” I say, then turn back to the door. “GOOD JOB! YOU GUYS CAN LEAVE IF YOU WANT, YOU DON’T HAVE TO WAIT HERE FOR ME.”

“LET ME TALK TO VICTORIA AND HARPER,” she shouts, and then I hear footsteps heading away from the door.

“What was that about Sunday night?” I ask the man, because it seemed important at the time but we skipped past it.

“Only emergency locksmiths are open,” he says, one hand on his hip, the other running through his hair again in what’s clearly a stress-related gesture. “It’s gonna take hours. Shit. Why the hell haven’t they replaced the lock if they know it’s busted? Can’t they chop the door down with a fire axe or something? Give me an axe, I’ll do it.”

“Heeere’s Johnny,” I say. It gets a smile.

“Point taken,” he says, then turns slowly, looking around the bathroom.

When he gets to the window, he pauses, then glances over at me.

I shake my head.

“Too small,” I tell him.

“It’s not.”

“It’s too high.”

“I can get you up there.”

Now the buffalo are tap-dancing in my ribcage.

“You can go,” I say.

He looks at me like I’ve just casually suggested he light his own pants on fire.

“I can’t leave you here alone,” he says.

“Just toss my phone back through,” I say, shrugging. “And maybe a burger. I’ll be fine.”

“Okay, I was unclear,” he says, folding his arms over his chest. “I’m not leaving you trapped in a men’s bathroom.”

There’s that jello-in-my-chest feeling again.

He strides to the window and reaches up. His fingers find the crank, and after a few seconds of pushing, he turns it.

The tiny window starts moving, dislodging dirt and dust as it opens inward.

“See?” he says.

I flatten my hands against the front of my skirt. My not-indecent-but-definitely-on-the-short-side skirt.

“If you lift me who’ll lift you?” I ask.

The window’s all the way open and he steps back, brushing his hands against his jeans and giving me a relieved grin.

Hello, dimples. Hi. I missed you. You’re nice.

“I can manage,” he says. “Come on.”

My palms are sweating again, and I’m tempted to say something like oh really it’s fine, it’s so high up can you even lift me but that’s not really a question. He can definitely lift me.

Will I manage to keep my dignity while being hoisted through a window and wearing a skirt? Unclear.

“All right,” I say, and walk to the window.

He’s already standing there and he pushes away the garbage can, crouches, laces his hands together, and holds them out.

“Grab onto my shoulder for stability,” he says. “Don’t worry, I’ve done this before.”

I raise one foot to put it into his hands, then frown, bend down, and take my heeled boots off.

“Thanks,” he says as I put my slightly damp bare foot into his warm, strong hands and try not to think about how gross I am. “On three. One. Two —"

“Eeeee!”

I don’t mean to make that sound as he lifts me, but I do. I grab onto the concrete ledge of the rather small window and, without thinking too much, stick my head through and my upper body follows until half of me is sticking out, into the alleyway behind The Tipsy Cavalier, and half of me is still in the men’s bathroom.

I could think about the fact that Mister Handsome Dimpleface might be looking up my skirt, but I choose not to. Instead I put all thoughts of dignity aside and very, very carefully scootch until I’ve got one knee through the window, then the other, my whole body balanced sideways in this precarious position.

Then I take a deep breath and flail toward the ground, feet-first.

By God, I almost make it, only I stumble a little as I land and wind up on the asphalt, one knee roughed up but otherwise fine.

“You all right?” he calls.

“Fine!” I call back, getting to my feet.

“I’m tossing your shoes over,” he says, and a moment later, my boots come out.

As I’m putting them back on, he appears, head first, then maneuvers himself around properly and drops lightly to the ground like it’s nothing.

Then he looks at me and grins.

“That was something,” he says, and I can hear the relief in his voice. “God, I thought we’d be in there for — your knee is bleeding.”

I look down at it. I’m scratched up, but it’s no big deal. There’s, like, one drop of blood.

“My landing sucked,” I say. “I’m fine.”

“Shit, I’m sorry,” he says, and before I know it, he’s on one knee in front of me, two light fingers on my shin as he examines the scrape.

I bite my lip as nervousness spikes through me. Nervousness and something else that spikes as I look down at the top of his head, watch his big, gentle hands as his fingers just barely graze my skin.

Without warning, I wonder what it would be like to kiss him. Whether he’d be gentle like this or a little rough, what his stubble would feel like on my face, whether he’d pull away early and leave me breathless, wanting more —

“I didn’t think it was that far down,” he says, apologetically.

“It wasn’t,” I say, with a quick laugh. “It’s no big deal. Really.”

“Still, I’m sorry,” he says, and then he stands.

Right in front of me.

Like, eight inches away. The buffalo stampede in my chest is going over a cliff.

“Listen, it was a trying time,” I say, trying to make a joke. “We’re lucky we made it out alive.”

That gets a smile and the smile gets dimples and the dimples get a skipped heartbeat from yours truly.

“You’re right, we’ve been through a lot together,” he says. “Thalia, right?”

I blink in surprise, then frown slightly.

“Is that some pickup artist trick?” I ask, breathless. “You somehow find out a girl’s name without asking her and then you use it in some kind of neurolinguistic —”

“Your friend shouted it through the door,” he says.

I close my eyes and take a deep breath, feeling like an idiot.

“Of course,” I say. “I’m sorry.”

He just looks at me, half amused and half expectant, and I find myself staring at his lips, his jaw, the way that his hair is just a little too long and curls against his neck —

“If you want, I could tell you mine,” he says.

I’m not having a smart day, am I?

“I think this story’s better if I simply refer to you as my mysterious bathroom stranger,” I tease.

“It might be,” he concedes. “But we’re out of the bathroom now, and I’d rather ruin the mysterious stranger part.”

“Don’t tell me you’re about to hand me a copy of your memoir.”

“No, just ask you on a date,” he says, and the smile is back and the dimples are back. “I’ve got tickets to the sculpture show at the Botanic Gardens for tonight, and my brother just backed out.”

“Light Cantatas?” I ask, surprised. I tried to get tickets last week, but it closes tonight and everything was sold out.

“That’s it,” he says. “If you really want, you can keep calling me a mysterious stranger, but it seems like that could get burdensome when you’re telling your friends what a great time we had.”

I laugh despite myself.

“Hold on,” I say. “You’re making a lot of assumptions. What if I have a terrible time?”

“So you’re saying yes.”

“That was a trap,” I say, still laughing.

“No, that bathroom was a trap,” he says. “This is me asking you on a date where I may or may not tell you my name, according to your wishes.”

“Even if my wishes are —”

“YOU’RE ALIVE!”

I whirl, mid-sentence, at Harper’s voice echoing through the alley, and half a second later she emerges into the orange light of the street lamp at a half-run.

“You stopped answering through the door and we thought you’d drowned in the urinal!” she goes on, practically falling on me to wrap me in a drunk bear hug.

“The urinal?” I ask.

“We didn’t really think that,” Victoria calls from behind her, walking like a normal person. “Obviously, we deduced that you escaped.”

“She was worried,” Harper whispers into my ear. “Though not actually about the urinal. We all know you’re much more likely to drown in a toilet, there’s more water. Or maybe the sink, though that probably depends on what kind of sink the men’s bathroom has. I wasn’t brave enough to go in there when I had to pee.”

“Can you let me go? I can’t breathe,” I whisper back.

“Sorry,” she says, and releases the hug as Margaret and Victoria walk up, and even though they’re both also drunk, they’re managing to play it cool a little better.

Sort of. All three of them are very obviously checking out my bathroom friend while trying to act like they’re not checking him out, and while I can’t blame them I’m the tiniest bit annoyed.

“Hi, guys!” I say, probably sounding a little too perky. “Check it out, I’m alive!”

“Did you go through that window?” Victoria asks, eyeing the window I just went through.

“I was getting claustrophobic, so I talked her into it,” Mysterious Handsome Stranger says.

It’s like he’s giving them permission to finally look at him, because three sets of eyes simultaneously swivel in his direction.

Harper’s the first one to find her voice.

“Well, thank you for your service, my good sir,” she says. Her voice takes on a haughty, formal tone that she only ever uses when she’s drunk and trying to hide it by sounding like she’s conversing with the Queen of England. “Clearly, Thalia here is deeply in your debt. My name is Harper, by the way, and I am her friend.”

She reaches out one hand, and Handsome Bathroom Man takes it.

“Pleasure to meet you, Thalia’s friend Harper,” he says, and in the low orange light, I can see one dimple sink halfway in a smile as Harper continues to shake his hand.

Then she clears her throat.

“And you are?” she finally asks.

Behind her, Margaret sighs.

Bathroom stranger cocks his head in my direction, eyebrows raised, teasing half-smile on his face, and looks at me.

Now they’re all looking at me: Handsome Stranger laughing, like we’ve got a secret, my friends just puzzled.

“All right,” I finally tell him. “I guess the mystery is over.”

CHAPTER THREE

CALEB

The corners of Thalia’s lips quirk, then pucker slightly, like she’s trying not to laugh and failing, and even in the ugly orange streetlight, I find it nearly impossible not to stare at that single, tiny motion.

I’m starting to wonder if there was something in the cherry coke I drank. Maybe the bartender used moonshine cherries by accident or slipped in a shot of everclear or something, anything to explain what’s happening.

Her friend tightens the handshake slightly, and I remember that there are others present.

“You could always cover your ears,” I tell Thalia. “If you like it better this way.”

“But what if you’re eaten by a giant carnivorous plant at the gardens?” she asks, her lips quirking again. Jesus. “I can’t just tell the cops that a mysterious stranger went missing near the Venus Flytraps.”

“Venus Flytraps don’t get nearly big enough to eat people,” says the white friend with sideswept dark bangs and shoulder-length hair.

“Read the room!” the black friend with a huge silver necklace hisses to her.

“But they don’t,” the first girl says defensively.

“We’re all in a great deal of suspense,” says the third friend — the blond still hanging onto my hand — in a very official tone of voice. “And this situation also seems steeped in sexual tension, which is certainly odd because Thalia’s never —”

“Just tell me your name,” Thalia interrupts her, stepping forward. “Also, Jesus, Harper, you can stop shaking his hand now, he gets it.”

Harper clears her throat, gives my hand one more jiggle, then lets go.

“Caleb,” I tell Thalia.

She laughs. I don’t know why, but she does, and I like it.

“All that for two syllables that aren’t even weird?” she says. “I thought you were going to say your name was Dinglehopper or Spacecraft or Egbert or something.”

“Spacecraft is my middle name,” I say.

“And yet, you choose to go by Caleb?”

She’s still laughing, her head slightly tilted, her hair draping over one bare shoulder, black strands against bronze skin.

“I’ve made a lot of puzzling life choices,” I tell her.

It’s true. I have a Ph.D. in mathematics. No one in their right mind goes to grad school.

“Like jumping through a bathroom window instead of waiting sensibly for rescue?”

“Like going to bar trivia when I barely drink and don’t watch sports or follow pop culture,” I say.

“Fucking sports questions,” mutters the white friend with the bangs.

The blond who shook my hand for too long pets her head.

“I already subscribed to the SportsCenter newsletter so we can study for next time,” she says, soothingly.

“We’ll make flashcards,” says the black friend with the necklace.

“Nerds,” says the first girl, lovingly, then looks over at Thalia. “Are you going to introduce us to your new hot flirt partner or do we all have to do awkward handshakes?”

“My handshake was fine,” mutters the blond one.

“Right, sorry,” says Thalia, standing up a little straighter.

The movement pushes her breasts out, against her tank top, and as hard as I try not to notice, I do. I think I notice every single movement she makes, like I’m tuned to her frequency.

“Harper, Victoria, and Margaret,” she says, pointing to the blond white girl, the black girl with the necklace, and the white girl with the bangs. “This is Caleb Spacecraft.”

“Pleasure, Mr. Spacecraft,” says Victoria.

“That’s his middle name, dumbass,” whispers Harper. “We just established that.”

“No, the pleasure is all mine,” I insist, matching Victoria’s tone.

“Thank you,” says Harper, and curtsies.

Thalia and I look at each other, her lips quirking again like she’s trying not to laugh.

“You never did answer me,” I tell her.

“Certainly not, and I’m offended you even asked,” she says, folding her arms in front of her.

It catches me completely off-guard, and I hesitate for a moment.

“All right,” I say, nodding. “Well, it’s been —”

“That was a really bad joke! Sorry,” she says, unfurling her arms and stepping toward me, then stopping. “Shit. I’m sorry, it was funnier in my head but it was just awkward in person, which happens kind of a lot.”

Fuck it, I’m charmed. There’s something about this girl, sweet and prickly and guileless and clever all at once. She’s beautiful. She’s unexpected. She’s interesting.

“And also, I forgot the question,” she admits, her voice softer now.

“I wouldn’t want to offend you,” I tease.

“I’m harder to offend than you might think.”

“Then asking you on this date probably doesn’t move the needle,” I say, moving another step toward her.

“Oh! Yes,” she says, and laughs. “I mean, no, it doesn’t offend me. I thought I already answered you.”

“You didn’t.”

“Go on the date,” one of her friends stage-whispers, and both of us turn our heads at the same time.

I’d forgotten we had an audience, even though they’re standing a couple of feet away. If they could, I think they’d be munching popcorn.

“I’m going!” she hisses back. “I just said yes, chill out.”

“Woohoo!”

“Atta girl.”

Victoria just grins and gives Thalia a thumbs-up.

Thalia turns back to me.

“I’m sorry about my comrades,” she says.

Thalia’s watching a glowing purple flower as it moves up the trellis. The paper blossom is tentative, hesitant, its petals slowly unfurling under the power of the heat lamp above, the light inside it pulsing in answer as it climbs upward.

“How is this working?” she whispers, her eyes still glued to the art, her face glowing with the violet of the flower’s inner light and the re-orange of the heat lamp above, striking her like a low desert sun.

She’s entranced by the flower, one hand halfway extended and then halted, fingertips touching lightly, lips parted, her whole body paused like she wants to touch it and knows she can’t.

I’m entranced by her, by her rapture, by the way her face moves as she looks over the art like she’s asking for its secrets. If I were that flower, I’d tell her. How could I do anything else?

I step closer to her, bend low, like we’re conspiring.

“There’s a sealed pocket of air inside each flower,” I say. Her hair smells sharp and sweet, citrus and rose. “They rise when the heat lamp goes on, lower when it’s off. The lamp rotates, so they eventually all wind through the trellis. They’re kinda like mini hot air balloons.”

I’m pretty sure it’s more complicated, but that’s the gist of it.

“That’s it?” she breathes.

“That’s the basic premise,” I say, forcing myself to straighten up.

I want to touch her. I want to run my hands through her hair, want to put my hand on her back, want to bend down and kiss her full lips and all this want makes me feel like I’m going mad because I’ve known this girl for all of two hours.

It’s lust. I know full well that it’s lust. What else could it be?

“Do you know that because you cheated and read the plaque?” she asks, still watching the flowers, now sinking, heads turning downward, long woven stems resting against the trellis as they fall in slow motion.

“Reading the plaque isn’t cheating,” I say. “That’s what it’s there for.”

“Too much information can take the wonder out of a thing, though,” she says, her face still dreamy, her eyes still wide and captivated by the flowers, her hair falling over one cheekbone.

I want to tuck it behind her ear but I resist, make myself look away because I don’t know what will happen if I touch her. I don’t know if I’ll be able to stop. Earlier, in the alleyway, I nearly kissed her knee while examining her wound, the urge so powerful it felt like an arrow to the chest, pinning me in place.

I didn’t. I don’t do that. I’m not a man who kisses women without permission, definitely not on knees, absolutely not in alleyways. There’s a progression to these things: a conversation, a drink, a date, a second date, a kiss, maybe more.

Life has patterns, systems, a proper order, and up until tonight, I’ve had no problem keeping that order but Thalia is a sudden bolt from the blue and I’m jumbled, disarranged.

“You don’t think there’s beauty and wonder in knowing how things work?” I ask, concentrating all my willpower on not moving her hair from her face.

“I think there’s something to be said for believing in magic,” she says.

Above the trellis, the heat lamp goes on again and a dozen heads turn upward, faces toward the heat, like so many sunflowers.

“Do you?” I ask as the flowers start to unfurl again, lifting themselves.

“Of course not,” Thalia says, her lips quirking again, like they’re about to move into a smile. “Not in magic. In magical, yes. I believe in a space between seeing and understanding, where what’s in front of you seems impossible until suddenly, it isn’t.”

“You like not knowing?” I ask, still looking down at her.

“I like feeling as if there’s more to this world than I could comprehend,” she says, slowly, her eyes following a flower. “I like that moment before logic and reason kick in, where you see something astonishing and you think, maybe there really is magic in the world and maybe anything is possible.”

I laugh, softly, and she looks over at me, a half-smile on her lips.

“I don’t actually believe in magic,” she says, a little defensively, and I shake my head.

“No,” I say. “What you call magic I call anxiety.”

Thalia lifts one eyebrow. The heat lamps switch off, and her face goes from desert sunset to moonlight. A couple behind us wanders off, and although we’re right by the entrance to the gardens — we haven’t gotten far — suddenly I feel like we’re alone, somewhere private.

I want to kiss her. I want her to tell me about magic and the spaces between things and I want to kiss her, taste her, sift her hair through my fingers.

“I can’t stand not knowing,” I admit. “I never could. I live for that moment when things fall into place, when the mechanism’s revealed. When everything makes sense again.”

“So you read the plaques,” she says, finally brushing the strand of hair from her cheek.

“When I was a kid, my mom took my older brother and I to see a magic show,” I say. “It was the usual stuff, card tricks, rabbit out of a hat, you know. And it drove me completely insane.”

She laughs. It feels like the sun just turned on.

“I hated not knowing how it worked,” I go on. “I hated that there was this guy, on stage, lying to all of us about what he was doing, telling us it was magic when it was just sleight-of-hand that he wouldn’t explain, and I hated that I couldn’t figure it out. So I went home and learned a bunch of magic tricks so I could understand what was really happening.”

“Did it work?” she asks.

“The magic tricks?”

“I mean, did knowing soothe you?” she asks. “Once you knew that it was just a flick of the wrist here, a misdirection there, did you feel better?”

We’re facing each other now, her dark eyes searching mine, and I have the sensation that I’m a cipher being unscrambled, my numbers and letters and symbols rearranged into a message that makes sense to the right reader.

I feel like this girl I don’t even know is undoing me.

“I did,” I tell her, thinking back to me, nine years old, shuffling a deck of cards again and again. “I revel in the pieces falling together the way that you revel in not knowing.”

She’s smiling. Still giving me that look, like she’s decoding me.

“Is that the real reason?” she asks, head tilted.

“I knew card tricks well before I ever touched a book about how to be a pickup artist, thanks,” I say, one eyebrow raised.

“Okay, defensive,” she says, but she’s laughing again. “I meant was needing to know how it worked the real reason you learned all those tricks?”

I stay quiet, gently unraveling.

“Or did you hate that some guy in a sweaty tux was trying to pull the wool over your eyes?” Thalia goes on. “I hear you can’t stand that.”

“If you’re fishing for an apology that I pretended to leave the bathroom and didn’t, I don’t have one to give,” I tell her. More people come up to the morning glory sculpture. Someone bumps my arm and apologizes, but I barely notice.

“I wouldn’t take an apology if you tried to offer one,” she says, and her gaze is finally wrested from mine by a big family with three kids, the smallest of whom wedges her way between us. The father apologizes. “I’ve been wanting to go to this for weeks. Should we go look at the rest of the exhibit? You can read the plaques and I can marvel.”

“I promise not to tell you what they say,” I tell her, and we turn away from the paper flowers and the heat lamp.

“You can tell me,” she says as we enter the tunnel, light glinting from her eyes, her hair. “Just let me wonder for a few moments first.”

There’s a family coming from the opposite end of the arched tunnel with a stroller and a little kid, and as Thalia moves right to make space, her knuckles bump into mine.

“Sorry,“ she murmurs, then looks up at me as I slide my hand into hers.

“Don’t be,” I say, simply, and we walk along hand in hand.

CHAPTER FOUR

THALIA

Caleb takes my hand and the strangest thing happens: I’m not nervous. Not even a little.

I’m excited, and I’m giddy. My heart is thumping and my pulse is raised and I can feel the adrenaline coursing through my veins, adrenaline and oxytocin and buckets and buckets of hormones, and that all lights up a lot of the same neural pathways as anxiety, but it’s not the same.

Anxiety is a kind of fear. Excitement is a kind of happiness. Close but different, mirror reflections of one another.

“What next?” he asks, giving my hand a slight squeeze, maybe unconscious. “The Serpent’s Orchard or Moondial?”

He looks down at me as he talks, his voice sending a shiver down my back.

Which one is the most secluded? I want to ask.

“The orchard,” I say, and we exit the long arched pathway, emerge into a colonnaded path, the only lights wrapped around the base of each column. It makes the garden feel like a spaceship.

“Then I think we go right, if memory serves,” Caleb says. “I’ve only been here a few —”

“LEVI!” a voice hollers, breaking through the quiet murmurs of art appreciation.

“Oh, come on,” Caleb mutters, mostly to himself.

I wonder, for a moment, if I’m in some sort of wacky comedy where my date has lied about who he is and his true identity is about to be revealed by accident.

“Levi!” says the voice, closer now. “Oh, thank fuck you’re here. Levi, I am in a damn pickle because it’s Sunday night and none of the rednecks in this town —"

Caleb closes his eyes and sighs deeply.

“I’m sorry about this,” he tells me, quietly.

“ — Just goes to voicemail and I ask you, how does anyone do business —"

The shouter stomps up along side us. We all stop walking, lit from below by an unearthly purple.

“Hello, Vivian,” Caleb says.

“ — ah, shit,” she answers, frowning, looking him over. Her face is lined and she’s got an unruly black mane, streaked with gray. She’s standing there rigidly, feet firmly planted, like she’s ready to fight or lift something heavy. The work boots and coveralls she’s wearing, the latter splashed with paint, suggest that the latter is more likely.

Then: “Maybe you’ll do. Can you swing a hammer?”

His hand tightens on mine, just for a moment.

“It’s nice to see you,” he says, with more than an edge of irritation to his voice. “This is my date, Thalia. We were just enjoying your show.”

“Lovely. Charmed,” she says, pushing huge, thick glasses up her nose, barely glancing at me. “You helped him build that house, right?”

“Caleb,” he says, still irritated, pointing to himself.

I’m looking back and forth between the two of them, and I’ve got the strange feeling that I’m watching two completely different conversations. It’s been long enough since the Smurf’s Vacation that I’m pretty much sober by now, but this sure doesn’t make me feel like it.

“Yes, I know which one you are,” she says, sounding annoyed as she pushes huge, thick glasses further up her nose. “And I also know that the sea monster just broke yet again because the original builders ignored my detailed design notes and now the jaw’s hanging off and it’s not much more than a slack-jawed snake.”

“This is Vivian Atwell, the artist,” Caleb says to me, still having a different conversation from the woman in front of us.

I have no idea which one to respond to.

“Nice to meet you,” I tell her as she glances over her shoulder. “The morning glories were lovely.”

“Yes, they’re nice,” she says, distracted. “But they’re not broken, are they?”

“Nope,” I say flippantly, well aware that the question is rhetorical.

“Well, the sea monster is and you’re the only person I’ve found so far with a chance in hell of righting it,” she says, now talking to Caleb again. “Come on.”

With that, she turns and starts walking.

“I’m on a date, Vivian,” he calls after her.

She turns back, ten feet away, and looks at Caleb like she’s just told him that an avalanche is coming and he doesn’t believe her.

“The art. Is. Broken,” she says, astonished.

I’ve now moved past feeling awkward about this interaction and into being sort of entertained by it. Clearly, Caleb has dealt with this woman before, and just as clearly, nothing is expected of me.

Caleb just sighs, then waits. Vivian shifts her stance slightly, though she’s still firmly rooted like she’s about to lift something.

There’s a long, long pause. She clears her throat and looks like she’s concentrating.

“I would be ever so grateful if you would pause your nightly cavortation and assist me with repairs,” she calls, sounding like Harper when she’s drunk. “Perhaps your date would appreciate a glimpse behind the scenes. I’m told it’s very interesting.”

Not for the first time, I have the sensation that I’ve followed a rabbit down a hole and found myself in Wonderland. Is Vivian the red queen? Is she going to insist that my head come off? Where’s the caterpillar?

Another couple strolls past us on the walkway, and all three of us watch them as they pass Vivian, very obviously ignoring whatever’s going on here.

“Please?” Vivian finally calls.

Caleb looks down at me.

“She’s a good friend of my mom’s,” he explains, voice low. “Probably because my mom is the only one with enough patience to stand her when she gets like this.”

“Let’s do it,” I tell him, giving his hand a quick squeeze, my pulse ticking up at the same time.

Caleb raises one eyebrow.

“I don’t like to give into terrorists’ demands,” he says, voice still low, the tiniest bit rough, like ruffled velvet.

“But the art is broken,” I say, fighting back a smile. “It’ll be a good story. Someday she’ll be famous and you’ll have a good story about how this well-known artist chased you down in a garden and called you the wrong name.”

“I’ll be incredible at cocktail parties,” he deadpans.

“Exactly.”

Still hand-in-hand, we walk forward.

“All right,” he says to Vivian, in a normal voice, when we’re close enough that we don’t have to shout. “Take us to the sea monster.”

“It’s in the sea,” she says, pointing down the spaceship path, as if it’s obvious.

The sea monster isn’t in the sea. We’re a four-and-a-half hour drive from the nearest sea, at Virginia Beach, a distance and journey I know pretty well because my family’s lived in Norfolk, right next door, for the past seven years.

It’s more of a pond monster, stationed on a platform between lily pads. The pond partially surrounds a small Thai-style building, the points and turrets of its roof outlined in golden light.

Vivian may have zero social skills, but she’s good at what she does.

“There,” she says, pointing, though we didn’t need the help. “Slack-jawed, like some sort of inbred yokel. The jaw is supposed to move with the breeze but the idiots who actually built the thing decided on their own that it didn’t need that amount of bracing, so obviously the strain snapped the joint and now my beauty looks like it’s about to spit chaw into the sea.”

Pond, I think but don’t say out loud.

“Are there materials?” Caleb asks.

“Behind the temple,” she says. “Small supply shed. Five-twenty-seventeen. Rowboat’s right there. Fix her up good, I’m supposed to be at a damn Q&A talking to art students who want to talk about intersectional multimedia semantic bullshit.”

With that, she turns and stomps away, her heavy boots vibrating the wooden bridge that we’re standing on.

“Sorry about her,” Caleb says, probably before she’s even out of earshot. “She and my mom have been friends for a while, and she’s really not this bad most of the time. I think she’s stressed.”

“She has friends?” I ask, looking after her, and Caleb laughs.

“At least one,” he confirms. “My mom’s got a habit of taking on odd ducks, though.”

We walk over the bridge, through the lit temple where the northern lights are being projected on the ceiling above us, and behind it we find a small, locked storage shed that opens to the combination she gave us.

“This is gonna be pretty slapdash,” Caleb says, looking at what’s inside.

“Well, you’re no Levi,” I tell him, and he just snorts. “Whoever that is.”

“Levi is my eldest brother, and we look nothing alike,” he says. “Nothing.”

“You sure about that?”

“Of course,” he says, grabbing some wood, a box of nails, and a hammer, a smile playing around his lips.

“Not even a tiny family resemblance,” I go on, leaning against the temple and grinning.

He leans into the shed, disappearing for a moment.

“Maybe a little,” he admits.

“You know that the more you claim you don’t look like someone, the better chance that you could practically be twins,” I tell him. “My brothers swear up and down that they don’t look a thing alike, but seeing them together is like seeing double.”

Or at least it used to be, I think, then push that thought aside.

He backs out of the shed, arms full, and nudges the door shut with one foot.

“I can carry some of that,” I say.

“I’ve got it.”

“Let me help.”

“The artist didn’t ask you, she asked me,” he says, teasing. “And I can’t have you getting splinters on our first date, this is already going off the rails.”

First, I think.

“Technically, I think she asked your brother who canceled,” I say, walking beside him to the rowboat at the edge of the water, wedged between lily pads.

Caleb just laughs and puts the materials into the bottom of the metal boat, which rocks slightly.

“That would’ve been a real mistake,” he says, straightening. He stands at the edge of the water, holds out his hand. I take it. “Seth couldn’t fix this to save his life.”

I step carefully into the boat, my hand held tightly in his as I sit on one of the bench seats, careful to keep my knees together. I didn’t exactly pick my outfit with a pond construction outing in mind, but I’m not mad about it.

“So the brother who was supposed to come couldn’t fix it and the one who could fix it wasn’t supposed to come,” I say as he grabs the single oar from the bottom of the rowboat and looks around, like he’s trying to get his bearings.

“This is starting to sound like one of those logic puzzles you do in elementary school to teach rational thinking or something,” he says. “If Ben has a red ball and Dave is late for class on Tuesday, which student likes dinosaurs the best?”

“I always liked those,” I admit as Caleb looks over the side of the rowboat and carefully plunges the oar into the water, a lily pad sinking beneath it. “My favorite second grade teacher had a whole book of them for when I’d finish worksheets and quizzes early.”

“They’re satisfying,” he agrees, glancing over his shoulder at the dark frame of the sea monster, looming over us. “You had a favorite second grade teacher?”

It takes me a moment to understand what he’s asking.

“We moved twice that year,” I explain. “I had Mrs. Ferguson for a month, then Mrs. Gonzalez for six, then Miss Clampett for two.”

“Army brat?” he asks, both his hands clenched around the wooden oar, his muscles tightening as he draws it back, facing me.

For a moment, I’m rendered completely dumb at nothing more than an attractive man rowing a boat. In the moonlight and the cast-off neon from the Thai pavilion, the yellow and red and white all catching the curves of his muscles, his arms, his shoulders, his smile and all at once, something deep inside me awakens and yawns.

Suddenly, I understand why lust is so dangerous. I want to reach out and touch him, kiss him, climb on top of him and the sheer force of the wanting is so strong that I have to hold onto my seat with both hands to keep myself back.

I’ve thought I was in lust before. When I was thirteen and kissed a boy for the first time, then wanted to do it again. When I was seventeen and let my high school boyfriend touch my breasts underneath my bra for the first time. Last year, when I got to third base with a guy I was seeing.

Growing up very Catholic can do that to you, make you think that every little desire is lust.

They weren’t. This is.

“Navy,” I finally say, two oar strokes later, remembering that we were having a conversation and what it was about. I clear my throat, press my knees together, tear my eyes from his body. “We got stationed somewhere new every time my dad got promoted.”

“Was it hard?” he asks, glancing over my shoulder.

I turn. The monster is there, looming, unlit, jaw hanging at a strange angle.

“Yes and no,” I say, gazing up. “It meant that if I didn’t like somewhere, we wouldn’t stay too long, but same if we were somewhere I liked. I usually adapted all right. I think my younger brother actually preferred getting to start over fresh again and again.”

I stop short, not sure how much to say, how much to put off for later dates.

I’m oddly certain there will be later dates, the knowledge a warm, fuzzy comfort in my chest instead of the spiky panic that usually lives there during an outing with the opposite sex.

“But?” Caleb prompts. He’s stopped rowing and now the boat is gliding, gently, right past the monster’s gaping, ragged jaw. I glance in as we drift past, silent, and can see the splintered edges of the broken beam inside.

“But I think it was hard on my older brother,” I finish, still looking into the maw. “Javier…”

Wanted nothing more than to finally get my father’s approval?

Sometimes fell in too easily with the wrong crowd?

Lived under the shadow of my father’s expectations?

“…my older brother needed structure,” I finally say. “Consistency. Stability. More than Bastien or I did, I guess.”

The sea monster is perched on a concrete slab, out in the middle of the pond, and Caleb kneels in the boat, then grasps the edge of the slab and leans in, carefully, his head now in the monster’s mouth.

Even though I know the power to the monster is cut — even though I know that it’s not a real monster, that there are no real monsters — a shard of anxiety works its way into my chest at the sight.

"I lived in the same house from the time I was born until the time I went to college,” Caleb says. “My mom still lives there. I went to the same schools as all my brothers. Had most of the same teachers. Vivian Atwell is far from the first person to call me by the incorrect name.”

I laugh and he reaches out, runs his fingers along the fractured wood.

“It was a rural school in a rural county and I guess we do all look a little bit alike,” he says, then turns back to me. “I’m gonna see if I can’t rotate this head so I can crawl in there a little better, but you should hold on because it’s likely to rock the boat.”

I move my hands from the bench to the sides, knees still firmly together — half because I don’t want him to see my underwear, half in the hopes that it’ll quell the fire rising inside me.

“Is all more than two?”

Caleb pulls back, kneels on the bottom of the rowboat, takes the jaw in his outstretched hands, muscles bunching and knotting, light playing over them.

I press my knees together even harder.

“Brothers?” he asks, then shakes the head. The boat rocks.

“Yeah.”

“All with respect to brothers is four. All older.”

Rock, rock, rock. I hold on.

“You have four older brothers? How are you alive? I barely survived one,” I say.

Do they all look like you? Lord have mercy if they do.

“I’m very resilient,” he says easily, pulling and pushing and rocking one more time, the monster’s head slowly turning. “To their credit, they were never cruel on purpose. Only by accident. Mostly.”

“I had two and I sometimes thought they’d do me in,” I say, my eyes still glued to his arms, his hands, the power and gentleness he’s putting into this, all at once. “And only one was older. I could beat Bastien up until he hit puberty.”

The monster’s head is sideways, upper and lower jaws resting on the concrete, and Caleb lets it go, leans inside, his head briefly disappearing into the monster’s mouth.

Even in the low light I can see the muscles in his back, through his t-shirt.

God. God. God.

“I think I can cobble something together, especially since it’s only gotta last through tonight,” he says, then pulls his head out, sits back in the boat, and looks at me. “Won’t ruin the magic, will it?”

“The magic of a broken art piece?” I tease.

“The magic of believing in sea monsters,” he says, dimples sinking into his cheeks. “Say the word and I’ll leave it broken.”

CHAPTER FIVE

CALEB

I’m saying it like a joke, to tease her, but only because I like to hear her laugh. If Thalia said the word I’d row this boat away right now and leave the sculpture dark and broken in the middle of this pond, Vivian’s unhappiness be damned.

“Most people think sea monsters were probably oarfish,” she says.

I select some wood, some nails, a hammer, and bungee cord, tossing them all onto the concrete in front of me.

“Most people?”

“Most people who are interested in figuring out what sailors in the seventeen hundreds were actually seeing when they reported sea monsters,” Thalia amends herself. “Which amounts to… several people.”

“So several people think that sea monsters were actually oarfish,” I say. “Hold on.”

Carefully, I pull myself onto the concrete pad in the middle of the pond, right into the monster’s mouth, its wooden teeth grazing my torso on either side.

Especially in the dark, it’s a little unsettling.

“Several well-respected people,” Thalia says. “Oarfish are these huge, snake-looking fish that get to be thirty feet long, and they mostly live down pretty deep so people never see them on the surface.”

For a moment, I look around and contemplate a thirty-foot snake-looking fish.

I think I might prefer the sea monster.

“I thought you wanted to believe,” I say, carefully opening the jaws wider around myself.

“I want to believe briefly and reasonably,” Thalia says.

Over the monster’s upper jaw I can see her shift in her seat, hands behind her now, leaning back. Her skirt rides up another half an inch and for a moment, just a moment, that half inch of soft bronze skin is all I can see.

“Saying that I want to believe makes it sound like I’m fixing to picket Area 51 and demand answers,” she goes on, clearly oblivious to the effect she has on me. “I want to believe for a moment, and then I want to know that there’s a perfectly rational explanation for sea monsters and mermaids and ghosts and bigfoot, et cetera.”

I shift again, lift the monster’s head up, then lie down beneath it, bend one knee, and prop it up on that. The monster is designed to shift and glimmer with the wind, and it’s pretty clear that at some point tonight, there was a little too much breeze and it cracked a weak point in the hinge of the jaw.

My plan, as I said, isn’t to fix it forever. Levi could probably manage that, but he also built himself an entire house and all I did was help.

Also? I’m very, very distracted.

“What’s Bigfoot, then?” I ask her, grabbing a length of wood.

“Bears, probably,” she says. “People who have no nature experience go into the forest, see one standing on its hind legs from far away, and think they’ve discovered a new species.”

I lay the new piece of wood alongside the broken one, then try to bend it back. It’s not fully snapped, just splintered, but that’s enough.

“Except that one famous picture,” she calls. “That’s a guy in a costume. He admitted it later. Same with the Loch Ness Monster.”

“Nessie is a guy in a costume?”

“The famous picture was also faked,” she says, laughing.

I get the splintered piece bent back, let it go carefully, then hammer two nails into the new piece of wood.

“My hometown’s also got a lake monster,” I tell her. “Deepwood Dave.”

That gets a long, long pause from Thalia.

“Does it lives in Deepwood Lake or Lake Dave?” she finally asks.

“It lives in Deepwood Lake,” I tell her, getting back under the jaw, lining up the new wood with the old. “And his name is Dave. Or her name, I guess. I’m not sure anyone’s ever asked Dave how they identify. Someone would have to find them first, though my niece spent about a year trying.”

“No sightings?” Thalia asks.

I hook one end of the bungee cable to a nail, pull it tight, and start wrapping it around both pieces.

“None confirmed,” I tell her. “There were several possible sightings but they didn’t stand up to her rigorous scientific standards once she investigated them further.”

“Rigorous standards?” Thalia says, thoughtfully. “I like this kid.”

I finish binding the wood together and hook the cord on the other nail, then gently lift the monster’s jaw. It’s not a great fix, and it shifts slightly as I move, but I think it’ll last a few more hours.

“I think she’s done,” I say, carefully sitting up between the jaws, the wooden teeth scraping my torso again. “Should we go light her up again?”

I hand the remaining wood and tools to Thalia, who puts them into the boat, then carefully lower myself onto the bench seat. She’s sitting upright, rigid, feet apart and knees locked together, hands gripping the sides of the metal rowboat, black hair spilling over her shoulders.

It’s a little off-balance, slightly undone. My gaze drifts to the scratch on her knee, where she stumbled coming out of the window. It’s barely visible in the dark but already I’m thinking of her skin warm and soft beneath my fingers, the fact that I nearly kissed her knee.

I wonder what she’d do if I did that right here, right now. In the boat. On the pond, with no one else here. I wonder if she’d unclench her thighs and let her skirt ride up a little bit higher, whether she’d say no we shouldn’t do this here or simply no.

“You okay?” she asks, and I realize that I’ve been holding the oar in my hands without moving for several seconds, so I smile at her, pretend my thoughts are G-rated.

“You look like you’re ready to hold on through a storm,” I tell her, taking the oar. “Am I that bad of a captain?”

“Who says you’re the captain?” she asks as I push the oar into the water, pull it forward. I’m rowing backwards, but it’s only ten feet to the shore.

“Clearly, I’m the one guiding the ship,” I say.

“Captains don’t row.”

“Captains don’t pilot rowboats in ponds that are three feet deep at most,” I say, and the boat bumps into the shore. Carefully, I get out, pull it parallel to the ground, offer Thalia my hand.

She takes it, disembarks. I don’t let go and neither does she: strong and delicate all at once, long fingers with short nails, neat dark polish on all ten.

Then she holds up our joined hands, pulls them toward her, my forearm stretched out in the low light.

“What is it?” she asks, nodding at the tattoo. “A kite?”

“A constellation,” I tell her.

“A constellation of a kite?”

“A constellation of a sextant,” I say, even though she’s right and it does look a little like a kite, especially in the low light. “It’s a navigational instrument that measures latitude.”

“Can I touch it?” she asks.

“Yes,” I say, though I want to scream it, shout it, beg her with that one single word: yes, yes, yes you can touch me.

Thalia reaches out with her other hand, sinks her four fingers into the four points of the constellation, one over each star, her touch just as heated .

“Is it a tattoo with a story?” she asks, taking all but one finger off, using that one to trace the lines.

“I got it when I turned eighteen,” I say. “All five of us went together. I forget whose idea it was. We all got constellations. My mom’s an astronomer.”

It’s not the whole story, but this is a first date and even though I find myself wanting to unveil myself to her completely, take off my skin and let her see inside, I stop myself.

I don’t say, my brothers wanted to get something for Dad, and I talked them out of it.

I don’t say, I’d just found out the truth.

It wasn’t hard. I pointed out that he was gone and she’d done the work of raising us all for the last nine years and that if we commemorated someone, it should be her.

If we did it again, I’d feel differently. Now, I’d get his tattoo. I’d ink him into the flesh that’s half his. But back then, I couldn’t. Not yet.

“Your mom who’s friends with Vivian?” she asks, still tracing.

“They went to college together, at the VSU satellite campus in Blythe, both in their thirties,” I say. “I think it was a real bonding experience.”

Finally she covers it with her palm, cool against my arm, and her touch sends a shiver through me. The fingers of her other hand are still intertwined with mine, and to an outside observer it probably looks like we’re in the middle of some strange mating dance or ancient ritual.

Maybe we are.

“Do you have any others?” she asks.

“Just this one,” I say, but for the first time ever, I wish I did. I wish fervently, desperately, that I had a reason for her to touch me somewhere else.

“You?” I ask.

Thalia laughs, shaking her head, black hair gleaming in the light of the moon and the neon of the Thai pavilion, swishing over her shoulders. She takes her palm from my forearm and the spot suddenly feels too cool, like something is missing.

“My parents would kill me,” she says.

“I thought your dad was in the Navy.”

We’re still holding hands and she turns toward me, fingers interlaced, bringing our hands to shoulder level, waving them slowly up and down like we’re half-dancing to a waltz that only we can hear.

“He is,” she says.

“He doesn’t even have a Navy tattoo? Most military guys I know have at least that.”

“He’s very traditional,” she says, raising her eyebrows, her eyes still on our interlocked hands. “Tattoos are for drug addicts, lowlifes, and whores, didn’t you know?”

“Which of those am I?” I tease, and she looks up at me, eyebrows still raised, mouth moving into a smile.

She’s close. So close I think I can feel her body heat, though it’s impossible for me to tell if that’s true or just my imagination.

“That’s a trick question and I’m not answering it,” she says. “They’ve only ever gotten me into trouble.”

“Good trouble or bad trouble?” I ask, shifting closer to her.

She’s looking up at me, dark eyes wide, laughing. I put two fingertips on her bare shoulder and slide them, gently, down her arm.

“All trouble is bad,” she says. “That’s what makes it trouble.”

“You’ve just never gotten into good trouble,” I say, still sliding. My heart feels like it’s in a marching band, blood crackling through my veins.

“But you’re about to offer to show me some?” she says, eyes dancing, head slightly tilted. “Is that your next line?”

“It’s not a line if you’re going to follow through,” I tell her, skating my fingers back up her arm. “But since you don’t seem to want trouble of any kind, I’ll insist we stay on the straight and narrow.”

“I didn’t know we’d gotten off it,” she says, and now her voice is quiet, melodious, musical over the hum of art patrons in the distance. “Unless I’m really wrong, we’re both consenting adults behaving themselves.”

I don’t want to behave myself. Thalia makes me feel wild and untamed in a way I’m not sure I’ve ever felt before.

It’s lust, pure and simple, and I know it’s lust but the knowledge doesn’t make it any easier to bear. It’s beating through my whole body like a timpani drum, vibrating my skin, reverberating through the air between us.

I shift forward, and now we’re touching, and I take my hand off her arm and slide it, slowly, around her waist and she rocks forward almost imperceptibly, but I feel it. I feel everything she does.

“And what exactly are you consenting to?” I ask her, feeling my own voice dip dangerously low.

Her lips move, half-pucker, the face I’ve already learned she makes sometimes when she’s thinking.

“The art show,” she murmurs, her eyes flicking to my lips. “The sea monster.”

I tighten my fingers around hers.

“Holding hands?” I ask.

“Yes,” Thalia says.

“Tracing my tattoo with your fingers?”

“Yes.”

I hold our clasped hands up in front of my face.

“A kiss here?” I ask, lips brushing her knuckles.

“Yes,” she says, the word a little more than a whisper.

I press my lips to her fingertips, my eyes locked on hers, my pulse thrumming.

“A touch here?” I ask, pressing my fingertips into her spine.

“Yes,” she murmurs.

I leave her hand on my shoulder, run my fingers up her arm.

“Here?” I ask.

“Yes.”

To her collarbone, her neck, her pulse hot and racing just beneath her skin until my thumb is skimming along her jaw, my own blood hammering at my veins.

I watch her face for a long moment. Not because I’m unsure, but because I’m sure, and I want to remember this.

“A kiss here?” I finally murmur, and I brush my thumb along her full, lush lips.

“Yes,” she whispers.

So I kiss her.

CHAPTER SIX

THALIA

I feel like I’ve been waiting years for this kiss.

It’s a ridiculous way to feel, and I know it. I met Caleb a couple of hours ago, so logic dictates that I can’t have been waiting any longer than that.

But when he touches my lip with his thumb and then with his mouth, when his fingers dig into my back but his lips stay gentle and warm, when I press myself against him without even meaning to, I feel like I’ve been waiting years.

I step forward, into him. I slide my hand to his neck, into his hair, feel his warmth between my fingers. I move my lips against his and he responds, pressing harder, his thumb now on my cheekbone.

We kiss. We kiss and time passes, the world spins, and I’ve got no sense of it. Could be seconds, could be hours. I don’t know.

Then, he pulls away. A fraction of an inch.

“Don’t,” I say, virtually a growl.

“Don’t what?”

“Stop.”

He kisses me again. Now, harder. Now, needier. Now he works his fingers into my hair and I open my mouth under his and the kiss deepens. He digs his fingers into my spine and I press forward, standing on my toes. His slight stubble is rough against my face, his body muscled and hard against mine, and even though the keys in his pocket are digging into my hip, I don’t stop.

Then the sea monster lights up, and we both pull back in surprise, still half-wound around each other, and I look across the pond at the glimmering, glowing beast.

“Oh,” I exhale, still panting for breath.

Caleb takes a deep breath, clears his throat.

“Thanks,” he calls out, and I finally look over his shoulder to see Vivian, standing by the breaker box where she just plugged the monster back in, gazing across the pond with her hands on her hips, the same ready-to-challenge stance she had before.

“We were working on that part,” he mutters, low enough that only I can hear him.

Beyond Vivian, the monster shines. It glows. I have no idea what its scales are made of — up close it looked like some kind of film — but it moves loosely in the breeze, shuddering this way and that, the lights in the scales designed to look like they’re rippling with the wind.

The effect is that it looks strangely alive, alive enough that I find myself gripping Caleb’s shirt in one hand, holding my breath as the monster seems to come up for air, gently shake itself off.

“It’ll do,” Vivian calls. “How’s it fixed?”

If she’s noticed what we’re doing, she doesn’t show the first sign of it.

Caleb takes a deep breath, clears his throat, takes my hand, walks to the edge of the pond where Vivian’s standing.

“Rigged it with a bungee cord and a two-by-four,” he says. “It’ll hold for a few hours.”

“Huh,” Vivian says. “Well, it’s better than it was.”

Caleb slides his thumb over my knuckles, and I swallow hard at the friction.

Leave, I think at Vivian. Please leave, we were very busy…

“DRAGON!” a kid shouts from somewhere far, far closer than I want. “Cool!”

“Oh, wow,” an adult voice says. Moments later, there are steps on the bridge and then four figures are coming across: two small, two full-size, and my toes curl with sheer irritation, like I’m a teenager on a movie date and my mom just sat down in front of me.

Then Vivian walks away without another word, just marching off.

“Thank you, Caleb,” he says, lightly, as if he’s making a suggestion. “What a nice favor you did me.”

“She’s always like this?” I ask, as the two kids practically run into the Thai building, then stand there and stare up at the light projected on the ceiling. I shoot a glare in their direction, because they are really getting in the way of my good time.

“More or less,” he says, his thumb still rubbing over my knuckles. “Usually not this bad. I think she’s one of those artists who just gets… really absorbed, you know? And forgets about everything else.”

“Such as manners,” I say, just as another family makes their way toward us, across the bridge with a chorus of wow! And cool!

I look at Caleb. He looks at me.

I’m still trying to catch my breath from before. I’m still trying to process that I’m here, that I keep saying yes to this near-total stranger who feels like anything but. I’m still half-convinced that I’m dreaming, or down the rabbit hole.

“I should put the tools away,” he says, turning to me, in a voice that feels like lava trickling down my spine. “Would you mind giving me a hand?”

Some kids shout. A parent chastises. I’m pretty sure someone screams at a sibling.

“Away in the shed behind the building?” I ask, catching on.

“The very one,” Caleb says, already walking toward the rowboat. “Irresponsible to leave them in the boat like this. They could be taken, used as weapons…”

He hands me a hammer and a bungee cord, then grabs an armful of wood himself, and with every step toward the dark back of the Thai building my pulse gets faster and faster.

I haven’t exactly had a ton of boyfriends, but when I was a high school senior, I dated Mark Muncie for three months. I don’t think we spoke more than fifty sentences total to each other because pretty much all we did was try to find dark places to make out where we wouldn’t get caught. And sometimes, he touched my boobs, though I never let him take my shirt off.

Mark wasn’t memorable, but for a long time I remembered the thrill of getting my boobs touched in the darkened parking lot of an elementary school. For a few years afterward, sneaking around with Mark was the baddest thing I’d ever done.

This feels like that times one hundred. I know we’re adults. I know that we’ve got better places than this to make out, but I sincerely think that I might implode if I have to wait long enough to get to any of them.

We turn the corner of the pavilion, and suddenly, it’s dark. We’re on the edge of the botanical garden here, marked by a fence and then the deep, dense Virginia forest. There are no lights on this side of the building but the silhouette is outlined in bright neon.

He opens the shed, puts his armful of wood in. On the other side of this wall, kids are shouting and lights are blinking. Caleb holds out one hand for the hammer and as I hand it over, the silence between us finally becomes too much.

“You’re not a serial killer, are you?” I tease.

Caleb looks at me like I’ve suddenly started speaking Japanese.

“This would be a good setup is all,” I say, already wishing I’d said nothing. “You know, you lure a girl out here, behind a building, with the hammer…”

He just looks at me, hammer in one hand, hips slightly cocked and even in the dark his shirt clings to his chest in ways that make my mouth go dry, my pulse speed up.

Then he tosses the hammer end over end, catches it neatly.

“Is there anything else you’d like to accuse me of while we’re out here?” he says, and in the dark I can’t tell if he’s smiling or not.

This. This is why I’m still a virgin.

“Sorry,” I say, shaking my head. “It was a dumb joke.”

He tosses the hammer again, then places it neatly into the shed. Swings the doors shut.

“First a pickup artist, which, all right,” he says. “Then a serial killer, which you’ve got to admit was a bit much.”

“Unless you were actually a serial killer,” my mouth says without brain approval.

“Which I’m not,” he says, grabbing the combination lock from the top of the shed where he left it, spinning it around one finger. “Anything else, Thalia?”

He whirls the dial on the lock, holding it up to catch the light, and shoots me a teasing, challenging look. I relax, just a little.

Don’t say something mean or dumb, I tell myself. Just be slightly normal this once.

“A sea monster medic?” I say.

“All right,” Caleb says, pulling the lock open and fitting it through the door.

“A renowned rowboat captain?” I lean my shoulder against the door of the shed, a foot away from him, hoping I look casual and knowing that I probably don’t.

He snaps the lock shut, spins the dial. My heart pounds.

“What else?” he asks, his voice low, teasing, as he closes the distance between us. “Come on, Thalia, one more.”

I feel like the sea monster, as if my skin is rippling with light, as if I’m unfurling at the slightest breeze.

“You’re a good kisser,” I murmur.

With that, he pushes me against the shed door and proves me right.

This time he’s rougher. Less restrained. He works his fingers through my hair, his other hand planted on the wall next to my head, and I open my mouth under his, the kiss already deep.

I have two fistfuls of his shirt, pulling him toward me, and he lets me do it. He growls and kisses me harder and his fingers leave my hair, brush down my neck. His hand finds my hip, pins it against the wall, the wood digging into my back.

There’s another noise. A tiny groan, a gasp, and after a moment I realize that it’s me, and Caleb chuckles.

“Shh,” he teases. “There’s kids out there.”

“This is still PG-13,” I murmur back. “Perfectly tasteful.”

He kisses me again. Deep, hard, and as he pulls away I catch his bottom lip in my teeth.

“What’s it take to get an R rating?” he asks, his lips already on mine again.

“Lots of bloodshed or one nipple,” I answer into his mouth.

He kisses me slowly, thoroughly. He shifts his hips and now they’re pressed against mine, pinning me to the wall behind me.

“Just one?” he asks, and now his hand is at my shoulder, fingers toying with the thin fabric of my tank top strap.

“I didn’t make the rules,” I tease.

Our hips shift again, still pressing me against the wall, and the words please God just tear this tank top right off of my body are on the tip of my tongue but I kiss him again to stop myself.

He pushes himself against me, harder, and I push back, drinking in the beautiful heat of his body, even as I wriggle a little bit because he’s got something in his pocket that’s pressing into me, and I swear it feels like a TV remote or something —

My eyes pop open in realization mid-kiss. Luckily, his stay shut.

Dick.

That’s his dick.

I freeze, suddenly unsure of how to proceed. It’s not the first time this has happened — I’m an accidental virgin, not a nun — but I didn’t handle the other instances with grace, either.

Is there boner etiquette when you’re frantically making out with an incredibly hot man behind a building at an art show? Should I pretend I don’t notice? Grab it?

Grab it and say, hey, big boy, is that a cucumber in your pocket or are you just happy to see me?

Okay, clearly not that last one.

Suddenly he pulls back, our faces an inch apart. He swallows hard, panting for breath, his fingers still tangled in the strap of my tank top.

“You okay?” he murmurs.

“Fine,” I whisper back. “Very fine.”

I close my eyes again, kiss him harder, and don’t grab it. Another sigh escapes me as he shifts again, pressing me harder against the wall, and I can’t help but roll my hips, my fingers grabbing his belt loop without my brain’s permission.

My body’s pretty clear on what it wants. It’s my mind that’s wondering what’s polite in this circumstance.

“We shouldn’t be doing this here,” he says, his lips barely leaving mine.

“No one’s watching,” I murmur.

His hand skims down my hip to the outside of my thigh, warm through the fabric of my skirt. My heart skips another beat.

“But are they listening?” he asks, and I nip softly at his lower lip.

“What is there to hear?” I say.

My hips roll again, his erection like iron against my lower belly, and the sensation sends a shockwave through me: lust and surprise and excitement and nervousness, a little bit of trepidation and did I mention lust? That one for sure.

“Nothing yet,” he says, his fingers under the shoulder of my tank top, tracing my collarbone. “But the more we do this the more tempted I am to see what you sound like when you come.”

“Oh,” I squeak out, my spine going rigid and my eyes going wide.

Hello, full-body blush.

Hello, warmth flooding my entire body. Hello, getting so wet that it’s actually the tiniest bit uncomfortable.

Clearly, my body is fine with this turn of events, but I have absolutely no idea what to say to that. Literally none.

I just stare at Caleb for several long, long seconds, confused as hell and wildly turned on.

“Nothing,” I finally say. “I don’t sound like anything.”

He looks at me for another second, his beautiful green eyes studying my face like he’s memorizing me.

Then he smiles, looks down, pulls away a little more.

“I’m sorry,” he says, dimples deep. “Too much.”

“Kinda,” I admit. “I think you’re supposed to save that for the second date.”

“The second date,” he says, one eyebrow lifting. “All right. What are you doing tomorrow night?”

I’ll probably have lots of homework, there’s a meeting for my work-study project at six, and I think I’m supposed to meet someone for a group project at the library after that, but right now I couldn’t care less about any of that.

“I’m free,” I whisper.

“A friend of mine who works in the film department is putting on a free outdoor showing of The Philadelphia Story in Lafayette Park,” he says. “I’ll bring the picnic. You bring yourself.”

“Deal,” I say, and he leans in again, kisses me one more time.

It’s slow. It’s long. His body moves against mine with a grace and restrained force that I can feel vibrating through his muscles, desire radiating from every inch of his skin.

There’s no question what he wants. What I want, I think, even though it’s terrifying and insane to want it of someone I met hours ago.

Finally, we separate. He laces his fingers through mine, takes a deep breath, leans our foreheads together.

“Come on,” Caleb says. “Let’s go look at some art.”

CHAPTER SEVEN

CALEB

CALEB LOVELESS

ASSISTANT PROFESSOR

MATHEMATICS

It doesn’t look right.

I read it again, slowly this time. I double-check the spelling, the kerning between the letters, the capitalization. All fine.

But it still doesn’t look right. The problem must be with me, still not completely convinced that I’ve somehow landed here, in an assistant professor position.

It still feels strange. There were points in the past six years when I seriously contemplated dropping out of graduate school. I thought I’d become a rock climbing instructor, or a whitewater rafting guide or something, anything, that let me be outdoors and never deal with academia again.

Once, after a particularly intense round of backstabbing and drama, I’d even filled out the paperwork but my mom and brother Levi talked me out of quitting.

And now, I’ve got this brand-new sign on my brand-new office in the brand-new Mathematics Department building. Last week I moved out of my grad student apartment that I shared with two other students and into my own place, a renovated carriage house that I’m renting.

Last night, I met a girl. That part’s not unusual. I go on a perfectly average number of dates, but I’ve never been on a date like that. I’ve never been on a date with someone like Thalia.

Long after I got home and went to bed I laid there, staring at the ceiling. Thinking of Thalia’s voice saying I believe in magical, not magic, of her scraped knee outside in the alleyway, of how kissing her made my bones shake.

Of how I wanted her there, then, wanted so desperately to push her skirt up and slide my hand between her legs, make her come just like I told her I would.

But instead I stopped. Not because I thought we’d be caught or because I gave a damn about that, but because I want more from her.

In short, I want to know her before we fuck. It’s probably old-fashioned, and as I laid in bed, watching the ceiling with what felt like the world’s hardest cock, I wasn’t thrilled with myself for my own decision.

My phone dings softly in my pocket, and I pull it out.

Thalia: 7 sounds perfect.

Thalia: What do I bring?

Me: Just yourself.

But there she was, standing in the stall, all bright red lips and winged eyeliner, wearing high heels and a short skirt, black hair tumbling around her shoulders, and I’ve been laser-focused ever since.

Thalia’s not my type. My type tends to wear a lot of flannel and torn jeans, not neat skirts and heeled boots. My type doesn’t wear red lipstick or winged eyeliner. They usually come with a nose ring, at least one tattoo, and tend to look like they could participate in a drum circle at any moment.

Thalia doesn’t look like she attends many drum circles. Instead, she looks like she has a favorite pen and strong opinions about day planners, and somehow, I find that irresistible.

The door to the stairs at the end of the hall opens, and a middle-aged Asian man in jeans and a cowboy shirt steps through.

“Good thing they finally finished the new building,” Oliver calls to me, down the tiled hallway. “You were all set to get the haunted office in the old department.”

“You say that like only one of those offices was haunted,” I call back.

The closer he gets, the more interesting Oliver’s fashion choices become. I don’t have my contacts in or my glasses on right now, so what looked like a gray shirt with embellishments from far away is actually a paisley pattern in various shades of pink, embroidered swirls and stars over the pockets.

“Well, I’m sure that entire building was haunted by the forgotten souls and crushed dreams of those who walked its halls and yet were denied tenure,” he says dryly, coming up and standing next to me. “But we were going to put you in the office where a visiting professor swore up and down that a ghostly little girl used to show up and ask if she could help her find her dolly.”

“Did she help?” I ask, the only logical question.

“I believe instead she called Gerald at three a.m. in hysterics,” he says.

“I’m sure he took that well,” I say, keeping my voice low, and Oliver just sighs.

“We didn’t have another female visiting professor for quite a while after that,” he admits. “No matter how many the rest of us recommended.”

“Gerald nursed a grudge against an entire class of people for the actions of one? Doesn’t sound anything like him,” I mutter, glancing over at Oliver.

My advisor — no, my former advisor, we’re now colleagues — gives me a conspiratorial look.

“Even in a brand new building, the walls here have ears,” he says, one eyebrow raised. “And you don’t want your soul to join the ghosts of the un-tenured, do you?”

I just shudder.

“Perish the thought,” I say, and I’m not being sarcastic.

Being denied tenure is the worst thing that can happen to a professor, barring death of disfigurement, though frankly I might opt to lose a finger, given the choice.

It’s not like getting fired. If you get fired, you can still get a job in your field — get denied tenure and not only do you lose your current job, you stand a zero percent chance of getting hired anywhere else, either.

In other words, if you get denied tenure, you’d better have a backup career in mind. It’s hell.

“Thought not,” Oliver says, lightheartedly. “I, on the other hand, have had tenure for a number of years, so I’m free to call Gerald a total dinosaur who wouldn’t know what to do with a new idea if it bit him on the ass, and who hasn’t had a single original thought go through his head since the first Bush administration.”

I just laugh, and Oliver raises one eyebrow.

“His dinner parties are incredibly dull,” he declares. “The drinks are weak, the food is bad, and he only invites other ancient white men. And me, to prove that he’s open-minded and knows someone who isn’t an old white man.”

“Well, I find Dr. Comstock to be a lovely, wise, generous, dignified, and…”

I trail off, thinking.

“…informative individual,” I say, just a little too loudly, glancing down the hall toward the rest of the offices.

Oliver grins.

“You’ll be a full professor in no time,” he says. “I’ve got a class at two, are you heading to campus?”

“Honors Calc in Keyes,” I say, and we walk down the hall toward a set of glass double doors.

I’m pretty sure I owe my job to Oliver Nguyen. He was my advisor while I was getting my doctorate here, and when this position suddenly opened up last year, he’s the one who practically forced me to apply.

I later found out that there were nearly a thousand applicants, many of whom were probably more qualified than me. It’s a miracle that I got it.

“I hope they’ve fixed the AC,” he says. “No one can learn in a sauna. Last semester it got so out of control —”

“Professor Loveless?” a voice asks, right as we pass the main Mathematics office.

It takes me half a second to remember that that’s me.

“Yes?”

“Dr. Comstock has asked to see you,” says Karen, his Executive Assistant — not secretary, never secretary — calls through an open doorway, framed by heavy wooden doors.

She’s looking at me expectantly from behind a massive wooden desk, her dyed-blond hair practically a helmet.

“Of course,” I tell her, and nod at Oliver.

“Good luck. We’ll talk later,” he says, clapping me quickly on the shoulder, then walking away. Karen gives a single nod, then points to an office door.

“You can go ahead in, Dr. Comstock is expecting you,” Karen says, already looking back at her computer through reading glasses.

“Thanks,” I say, and push open the door.

Behind a huge wooden desk, surrounded by bookshelves, is Dr. Comstock, as he prefers to be called. I’ve never called him Gerald to his face and never will. The only person I’ve heard get away with it was Ezekiel Thurston, an emeritus professor who just turned ninety-three and who’s been around for so long that he could probably get away with burning the place down.

“Professor Loveless,” he says, waving a hand at me while still looking through his glasses at his computer monitor. “Have a seat.”

I sit, crossing one ankle over the opposite knee, and wait. In academia, almost everything is some kind of psychological power play — all about who can make someone else wait the longest, who can inconvenience someone else the most, who has to call who professor and who can get away with first names.

It’s my Achilles heel. I’m straightforward to a fault and have never been able to shake the notion that everyone else is, as well. I’m an awful liar. I hate saying what I don’t mean, even when I know it’s good for my career.

So I wait for Dr. Comstock to acknowledge me. I’ve still got plenty of time to get to campus, so I don’t mind watching the sun stream in through the big windows at the front of the office, scanning the titles of the books on the bookshelves.

“All right, sorry about that,” Dr. Comstock finally says, even though I’m at least savvy enough to know he’s not sorry. “Had to respond quickly to the Vice Provost, you know how she is.”

“Of course,” I say, even though I don’t know.

“Well,” he says, bringing his hands together over the desk. “Normally this is where I like to give new hires a quick welcome, introduce myself properly, let them know that my door is always open, that sort of thing, but naturally you know all that already.”

“Yes,” I agree.

His door is not always open, but we can both pretend.

“Therefore, let me just say that the whole department is extremely pleased to witness your transition from doctoral student to assistant professor,” he says. “On behalf of the Virginia Southern University, welcome to the faculty.”

He stands, holding out one hand. The whole thing has an air of showmanship about it, but that’s part of the job. I stand, shake his hand, thank him for the formal welcome. We exchange a few more pleasantries, and then I turn to leave.

“By the way, Caleb,” he says, just as I reach the door. “I need you to attend the Madison Scholars welcome reception next Friday night. I’m supposed to go, but I’m afraid something’s come up. Could you?”

It’s not really a question. It’s more of a test to see how much I want this, because we both know full well that what’s come up is that he doesn’t want to go to a banquet populated by undergraduates.

“Of course,” I say with a smile. “I’d be happy to.”

“Thank you,” he says, and I leave his office, nod to Karen, and finally make my way to campus to teach my first class as a real professor.

Truth be told, it’s a little anticlimactic. Even though this time I get to write Professor Caleb Loveless on the whiteboard, this is now my seventh year teaching Calculus I. Even though it’s Honors Calculus, all that really means is that we cover more material and the final is a little harder.

In fact, I’m pretty sure I’ve taught in this exact room before. The view from the narrow, vertical window looks familiar, and I think I remember the strange orange spot on the tile floor in the corner behind the computer.

The first student arrives a full seven minutes before class, puts her things down at a desk in the front row, and walks up to me. Before she opens her mouth, I know exactly how this is going to go.

“Hi, Professor Loveless, I’m Angela Gillard,” she says, holding out a manicured hand. “I just had a few questions before class starts.”

There’s always one. VSU is one of the top-ranked public universities in the U.S., so there’s no shortage of intensely motivated, high-achieving students. Angela’s blond, not a hair out of place, wearing slacks and a button-down shirt despite the heat.

She’ll probably be Secretary of State in twenty years.

“Welcome to Calculus,” I answer her, and she nods, then pulls my syllabus from a neatly-labeled folder. I notice that it’s already highlighted in several colors.

“I wanted to talk to you about the class schedule,” she says, and flips pages until she lands on November. “I have some travel planned that I can’t miss…”

Behind her, the other students start filtering in, one by one. Most of them are dressed like regular college students on a hot late-August day — shorts, t-shirts, flip-flops. It’s close to ninety degrees out. I’d be wearing shorts if I weren’t teaching the class.

“…so I’d like to schedule some one-on-one time to discuss what I’ve missed before Thanksgiving,” Angela is saying.

“My office hours are on the first page,” I say.

She gives me a smile like I didn’t understand her. I did.

“I’d really prefer to schedule a time,” she says.

“If my office hours aren’t enough, we can certainly discuss that come November,” I offer. “Did you have any other concerns?”

Her lips flatten into a line, and she gives me an irritated look, but accepts my answer.

“Yes, about the final,” she says. “Can you tell me…”

I check the clock while she grills me about the timing of the final. Three more minutes until my first class starts, and the room is nearly full.

Despite myself, despite the fact that I’ve done this again and again, I get a little bit nervous. I always do. I’m sure it’s only natural.

“I’m afraid the rooms aren’t assigned until later in the semester,” I tell Angela. She’s not pleased.

“I ask because my finals schedule is going to be very complex, and I’d like to know as soon as possible whether I need to request an alternate exam period,” she says, not backing down an inch.

“Rooms are determined by lottery in mid-November,” I say.

“Surely, some can be arranged earlier?” she says. “It doesn’t seem like it’s so much to ask —”

I hold up one hand, stopping her.

“I have nothing to do with the process,” I say. “When I find out when and where your exam will be, I’ll tell you. Now, I need to start class.”

“Who do I talk to about this?” she asks, not moving.

“That sounds like an excellent question for your advisor,” I tell her. “Please take your seat.”

Angela’s not happy with that answer either, but she sits, neatly arranging a pen and four highlighters next to the syllabus she’s already pulled out.

I straighten the stack of syllabi on the table up front, take one, walk to the lectern, center it, adjust the glasses I usually wear for the first few weeks of class, since they make me feel more professorial.

“Welcome to Honors Calculus 102,” I begin. “I’m Professor Loveless. If you’re supposed to be in Modern Dance, you’ve got the wrong classroom.”

It gets a ripple of polite laughter, as usual.

“Today will be a fairly short class,” I say, launching into my usual spiel. “I’ll just be going over the syllabus, policies, and expectations, and we’ll begin instruction on Wednesday. If you’ve got any questions…”

As I talk, I look over the students, who I swear get younger every year. They’re sitting in neat rows, some watching me, some reading along in the syllabus. It’s the first day, so no one is looking at their phone during class yet.

At this point in the semester, they’re still bright-eyed, bushy-tailed, optimistic, even the ones who are required to take this class for their major. That’ll probably change in a few weeks, as things get increasingly complex.

“…will count for forty percent of your grade,” I’m saying, the same thing I say every semester. “Your midterm will count for thirty percent, and the final for —"

I stop short, frozen. My voice sticks in my throat. I can’t even draw a breath.

For a long, long moment, silence reigns in the classroom. Papers shuffle. Pens click.

I stare, disbelieving.

From the back row, spine ramrod straight, eyes wide as saucers, Thalia’s staring right back at me.

CHAPTER EIGHT

THALIA

I want to melt into the floor and disappear into the cracks between the ugly tiles.

I should have left the second I saw him at the front of the classroom. Yes, I need this class to graduate, and yes, this is the only section that works with the rest of my schedule, but taking five years to graduate suddenly doesn’t sound so bad.

Not when my math professor is the same man who pushed me against a wall last night, kissed me like our lives depended on it, and told me he wanted to make me orgasm.

Just the memory of it makes the heat rush to my face again, my hand squeezing my pen so hard it’s a miracle that it hasn’t —

Crack.

— And there my pen goes. I drop it quickly and it lands on my Honors Calculus syllabus, deep blue ink oozing out thickly.

I just stare at it. Caleb — no, Professor Loveless, oh God — is talking again, and now he’s moved on to his absence policy. At least I didn’t get too much ink on my hand, though now I can’t follow along on the syllabus, as if I was doing that in the first place.

He’s my professor.

Last night, I felt my professor’s dick. When it was hard. While his tongue was in my mouth.

And it got me very, very turned on.

I want to disappear.

I glance at the doorway, and contemplate making a run for it. It’s not far. I took a seat in the back row on purpose, for no other reason than I simply could not stand the thought of my peers looking at me in my current state of agony.

But I don’t. I stay put, because making some sort of ruckus would be worse than staying quiet, right? Maybe if I stare at my ink-stained syllabus for long enough, when I look back up that won’t be Caleb any more, it’ll be some other hot professor with glasses —

Nope. Nope, it’s still him.

I don’t look up for the rest of the class period, not until everyone else is shoving papers into their bags and standing.

That’s when I hear, loud and clear: “Thalia Lopez, could I see you for a moment? Everyone else, I’ll see you Wednesday.”

I wait for everyone else to leave before I make my way to the front, tossing my ruined syllabus into the trash, along with my busted pen, rubbing the ink on my palm into a big smear. Two other students are asking him about something — grading policy, it sounds like — so I stand back and try to think about literally anything but last night.

Finally, the last one leaves. Caleb — nope, Professor Loveless, God in heaven I can’t believe this is happening — and I both watch him go.

Then we look at each other. He takes off his glasses, puts them on the lectern, stares at them for a moment.

Then he walks around the table at the front of the room and leans against it, facing me, arms folded over his chest, sleeves rolled up to his elbow.

There’s the tattoo. The sextant. His forearms are even nicer in the daylight, thick and muscled —

“I didn’t realize you were a student,” he says.

I swallow, my mouth dry as the desert, and shift the messenger bag I’ve got slung over one shoulder.

“I didn’t realize you were a professor,” I say.

“That makes what happened last night wildly inappropriate,” he goes on, voice low.

We lock eyes.

“Not if we didn’t know,” I murmur, quietly, so anyone in the hall outside can’t possibly hear.

“Even so,” he says, his voice matching mine. “Ethically, last night is murky at best. And going forward —”

“Is black and white?” I ask, before he can say it, tumbling over the words in my need to get them out first.

I don’t want to hear him say it. It feels easier if it’s me.

“Yes,” he agrees, then pauses. Looks at me, and for one single millisecond I think of holding hands in the botanical garden, following Vivian down the lit path.

“I unequivocally cannot date a student,” he says, his voice low, soft, gentle. Secret. “University policy is crystal clear on that point.”

It hurts.

I knew it was coming from the first second I stepped into this classroom and saw him, but it still hurts.

“Of course,” I agree, holding my body upright, rigid. “It would be wildly inappropriate.”

“It would,” he says.

And then, so quietly I barely hear him: “I’m sorry.”

“I am, too,” I whisper, and then I wait.

I don’t know what I’m waiting for. Something else, some grain of hope. Call me when you graduate, maybe.

But he doesn’t. Right now, he’s probably wishing that he could go back in time and delete yesterday, delete me as anything but one of eighteen students in a calculus class.

So I nod once, gather my wits, and leave the classroom.

I swear to god they’re mocking me.

The moment I open my bedroom door, there they are: brightly colored and vibrant in the late afternoon sunlight. Each one tall, proud, and thick, and a reminder I don’t fucking want right now.

“Margaret!” I shout, practically throwing my bag to the floor. “Your dicks are on my desk! Again!”

“Sorry!” she calls, her voice echoing across the small apartment. “Don’t worry, they’re the social media dicks.”

“Yeah, they’d goddamn better be!” I shout back, and now I hear the creak of a desk chair, some rustling.

“Sorry,” she says again, and two seconds later she comes through my bedroom door. “Your room has the best lighting at magic hour and I was doing some stuff for the store’s Instagram —”

“Could you please not leave a bunch of dildos on my desk?” I snap. “It doesn’t feel like a lot to ask. No giant blue dicks on my desk. Too much?”

“Okay, okay,” she says, scooping all four into her arms in one swoop, holding three against her body and the biggest one, which is purple and quite frankly alarming, in her right hand. “I swear, they’re brand new.”

“I don’t care if they’re brand new or a dick you found excavating King Tut,” I say. “I don’t want them on my desk. I don’t need them in my room.”

I grab my messenger bag off the floor, dump it on my twin bed, wrest my laptop out of it and put it on the scarred wooden desk. Margaret’s still standing there, holding a bunch of dildos, watching me.

“What?” I ask, the word coming out about five times bitchier than I mean it to.

“Are you okay?” she asks.

I pull my desk chair out and sit, staring at my unopened laptop.

It’s been a shitty afternoon, but getting unceremoniously dumped by your calculus professor will do that to you, I guess. I’m angry and hurt and upset, and I don’t even have anyone to be angry at.

At Caleb? What else was he supposed to do? At myself, for not screening him properly last night?

No, I’m just angry / hurt / upset / everything at the universe in general, and it’s really unsatisfying.

“Thalia,” she says again. “What’s wrong?”

For a moment, I don’t even know if I should tell her the truth. Can we get in trouble for accidentally going on a date?

Fuck it, I think.

“You know the guy from last night?”

She tosses the dildos onto my bed and sits beside them, facing me, cross-legged, eyes narrowed.

“Did something already happen?” she asks, astonished.

Last night, when they got home from the bars at one in the morning, I was still awake and may have waxed rhapsodic about my date. I may have waxed a lot.

“Yeah,” I say, resting my forehead on one hand. “He’s my calculus professor.”

Total silence. After long enough, I turn and look over at Margaret.

She’s staring at me in surprise, her mouth a little O.

“That guy is a professor?” she finally says. “Professor. Not a TA or a grad student or something.”

“Pro-fucking-fessor,” I say, a word that I’m not sure makes sense, as I open my laptop.

“And he took an undergrad out? That’s shady,” she says, and now she sounds concerned. “And a serious ethics violation —”

I turn in my chair, holding up the laptop that I’ve opened to the VSU Mathematics Faculty page. She leans in, reading.

“His current research specialty is Diplodean Number Regression Theory and he’s hiked all three major long-distance trails in the US. Someday, he hopes to complete the Great Himalayan Trail,” she reads, then looks at me. “And he dates students —”

“I didn’t tell him I was a student,” I say. “He didn’t tell me he was a professor, I didn’t mention that I was an undergrad, I just thought he was someone who lived in town and had probably graduated a year or two ago.”

“You never asked what he did? He never asked you?”

Margaret sounds suspicious.

“No,” I say, putting my laptop back on the desk and plugging it in.

“What did you talk about?”

Magic and sea monsters and pickup artists and stars, I think.

“Other stuff. You want a transcript?”

“Were you talking?” she asks, both eyebrows lifted. “I thought you said Excalibur didn’t happen.”

Excalibur is what the four of us have named the possibly-mythical dick that finally takes my virginity, after the time that I referred to myself as a ‘reverse sword-in-the-stone situation’ during one late-night chat. It’s become both a running joke and a useful shorthand, and yes, I know that King Arthur took the sword out of the stone.

“Yes, we talked,” I say, looking away so she doesn’t see me blush. “Just not about that.”

She’s still watching me from my bed, concern all over her face.

“We already broke it off,” I say. “You’ll notice that I’m sitting here talking to you and not getting ready to go on another date.”

“It’s just that professors who date students —”

“He’s not a professor who dates students.”

“Q.E.D., he is,” she points out. “I’m just wondering if we should tell someone about this —”

“No!” I practically shout.

“ — In case it’s a pattern,” she finishes.

Suddenly, I’m a little uncertain.

Last night seemed special. It seemed like a bolt from the blue, totally genuine, but now I can’t help but wonder. Am I the first? He doesn’t routinely try to date undergrads, does he?

One accident is understandable, but a professor with a thing for undergrads is… worrisome.

“Look, it was one date,” I say, trying to sound reasonable. “All we did was make out, agree on a second date, and then call it off when I showed up in his class today.”

Margaret looks skeptical, and I can’t quite blame her because ‘professor who dates his undergraduate students’ does sound very, very bad.

“It’s over,” I say. “No harm, no foul, it’s already ended. Caput.”

She takes a deep breath, then lets it out, nodding.

“I’m sorry,” she says, then gives me a searching look. “You okay? You seemed really into him last night.”

I’m not okay. Actually, I’m crushed. Maybe even heartbroken, which is a stupid way to feel after a single date, but oh well. I guess I feel stupid.

“I’ll be fine,” I say.

“C’mere,” she says, holding out one hand.

I scrunch up my face at her.

“Come get physical affection, dammit,” she goes on, still holding out her hand. “It’ll lower your cortisol levels and give your brain a hit of dopamine, which you probably need.”

It’s impossible to argue with Margaret sometimes, so I go flop down on my bed, legs hanging off one side. She flops next to me.

“There’s a dildo poking into my spine,” I sigh.

“That’s not where it’s supposed to poke,” she teases.

I squirm, then finally pull out a long, thick, red, knobby length of silicone that looks more like modern art than a penis. Next to me, Margaret wriggles, then whacks my dildo with the ridiculously-sized purple one.

“On guard!” she says, and finally, I laugh.

CHAPTER NINE

CALEB

I look at myself in the mirror and sigh, scrutinizing the point of my tie where it crosses my belt. I stand up straighter. I slouch. I loosen it ever so slightly, because this thing always feels like it’s strangling me.

In all positions, the point of the tie stays firmly within the boundaries set by my belt. By Jove, after five different tries, I think I’ve got it.

“ — is going to overflow if one of Mom’s church friends brings another lasagna, I swear,” Seth’s voice says from the foot of my bed, where my phone is on speaker.

“Is it Mom’s church friends or is it Eli?” I ask, still regarding myself in the mirror, hoping that I don’t look as ridiculous as I feel.

“Eli would never freeze a lasagna,” Seth says. “Are you kidding? ‘Freezing cheese breaks down the cellular walls and affects the melting point of blah blah blah,’ I can just hear him now.”

I grab my glasses from my nightstand and put them on, but even when I’m no longer slightly blurry, I can’t get over the notion that I look like some sort of corporate douchebag in a suit. It doesn’t matter that it’s dark gray and properly tailored, and it doesn’t matter that after several thousand tries, I finally got the tie right.

I don’t belong in a suit. I belong in t-shirts and jeans, maybe fleece and flannel in the wintertime, whatever lets me get outdoors and move around. Suits are too restrictive. By the end of the night I’m going to feel like jumping out of my own skin.

Because I don’t like suits. That’s the only possible reason that attending the Madison Scholars beginning-of-year banquet might make me feel like I want to jump out of my own skin.

The single reason.

“I’ve been getting twice-daily updates from Daniel,” Seth is saying. “Usually he follows them up with a quick monologue about how they’re totally prepared for a newborn and how he’s feeling very calm, so…”

Seth and Daniel are two of my brothers who own a brewery together in our hometown, so of course Seth is well-informed about our future nephew.

“And Rusty?” I ask. “How are the nursery decorations going?”

Rusty is Daniel’s nine-year-old daughter, and as a way to include her in the arrival of a new brother, Daniel and his wife Charlie asked her to be in charge of nursery decorations.

It’s gone… interestingly.

“Well, they talked her out of the photorealistic Kraken for the wall over the crib,” he says. “And I believe they’re negotiating toward a friendly-looking octopus,” Seth says.

“Progress.”

“She tried to argue that since the baby’s living underwater right now, the Kraken would be a soothing kindred spirit,” Seth says.

“We’re sure she’s not somehow Eli’s daughter, not Daniel’s?” I ask, and he just snorts.

“How’s the job?” he asks. “What’s with the sighing and rustling? Hot date?”

“I have to go to a banquet for undergrads,” I say. “Suit required.”

Not just any undergrads, I think. Madison Scholars.

Like Thalia.

It’s been two weeks now. Six class sessions. Six hours of her sitting in the back of my classroom, taking the world’s most studious notes while I talk about calculating limits.

Two weeks of classes. Six hours of calculus instruction, and every time she walks into the classroom the world still tilts on its axis for a moment.

I hate it.

I hate lusting over a student. It makes me feel like I’m a dirty old pervert, like I’m one step away from hanging around cheerleader tryouts just to leer at undergrads in workout gear.

I hate that I can’t stop thinking about her this way, as the girl who told me about magic and then kissed me in the starlight, and not as a student.

I’m starting to hate myself.

Virginia Southern University has an undergraduate enrollment of 17,289 students, and 17,288 of them look like children to me. I’ve never been attracted to one before. Not my first year teaching, when I was a graduate student who was barely older than some of them; not any of the years afterward.

The thought’s never even occurred to me. They’re students.

17,288 of them, anyway.

For two weeks, I’ve been waiting for Thalia to make that switch. Every day I wake up and think, maybe today’s the day she finally looks like a student and nothing more.

“Undergrads get banquets these days?” Seth asks. “I just got credits for soggy chicken tenders at the dining hall. No wonder tuition keeps going up.”

“What do you know about college tuition?” I ask, giving up on looking at myself in the mirror and opening my sock drawer.

“Who do you think does Daniel’s tuition forecasting?” Seth laughs. “He’s only got nine more years before Rusty’s in college. You know how he likes to be prepared.”

“Is anyone ever really prepared for Rusty?” I ask, digging through a layer of hiking socks to find the ones that go with a suit.

“Well, no,” Seth admits. “Has anyone told you her latest thing?”

Finally, I grab a pair of black socks, a sudden pang of guilt working its way between my ribs. Between moving and the start of the school year, I haven’t visited home or seen any of my family in nearly a month.

“Computer hacking,” I guess. “She wants Eli to buy a whole pig so they can have a proper luau. She’s mastered alchemy and managed to turn lead into gold.”

Seth just laughs.

“Close,” he says. “Medieval siegecraft. Levi’s helping her build a model trebuchet.”

I’m not even a little bit surprised.

CHAPTER TEN

THALIA

“I should pull my hair back,” I say, frowning at myself in the mirror.

“Stop it,” says Victoria, leaning forward to check her teeth for lipstick.

“A bun wouldn’t look more dignified?” I ask. “Maybe a bun with a pencil through it, like, oh, I was so busy studying I didn’t see you there, that’s how studious I am.”

I’ve got on a black sheath dress that falls to the knee, black pumps, a royal blue cardigan, and right now I can’t tell if my outfit says smart, focused, and serious about scholarship or dowdy librarian.

I suspect I’m overthinking it.

“Thalia, you look extremely studious,” Victoria assures me again, adjusting the scarf in her hair. “As if you could quote me the whole DSM-IV.”

“It’s the DSM-V now,” I correct her.

“See?” she says. “Earrings or necklace?”

We’re in the bathroom of our apartment, both crowded in front of the only full-length mirror in the place. I study Victoria’s reflection in the mirror for a moment: she’s wearing a red dress with an asymmetrical neckline, her natural hair pulled back and wrapped with a patterned headscarf, along with her usual ten million bangles and bright red lipstick.

She’s an art major, so making things visually appealing is kind of her thing, but she still looks effortlessly amazing.

“Earrings,” I say. “The neckline is very dramatic all on its own, you don’t need a necklace.”

“I think you’re right,” she says. “God, I envy men. If they manage to show up wearing a suit jacket that’s not utterly ludicrous they get a pass. And if they’ve put a tie on without strangling themselves?”

“Right?” I sigh. “Has any man ever thought they’ll take me more seriously if I wear lipstick?”

“It’s not my impression that men worry about being taken seriously,” she says, half-turning, the backs of her thighs against the toilet tank as she checks out the back of her dress. “They just assume that they will be, and they’re usually right.”

There’s a knock on the bathroom door, and a moment later, it opens and Harper’s head pops through.

“Come on, we gotta go,” she says, giving us a quick once-over. “You both look very smart and or artistic and or accomplished and or sexy. Also, Margaret is going to have kittens if we make her wait much longer.”

“I’m not going to have kittens, I just don’t want to be late,” I hear Margaret say. “Is that so wrong, not wanting to be late?”

Harper gives us a look, then disappears. I give my hair one last finger-comb, then shake it out, open the door, and follow her, Victoria right behind me.

Tonight is the annual Madison Scholars banquet. Even though it’s my fourth time going, since I’m a senior, I haven’t been this anxious about it since I was an itty bitty freshman who was brand new to college and, quite frankly, thought I was in over my head.

Every year, VSU offers twenty-five Madison Scholarships to incoming freshmen. It’s a long, intense application process on top of the already-exhausting process of applying to college, but a Madison Scholarship is worth it.

Not only do you get a full ride plus a very small stipend for school-related expenses, you get access to special Honors classes. There are networking events with professors in your field, special mentorship opportunities, work-study programs, and on and on.

The banquet is one of those events — and three hours ago, I found out that one Dr. Stephen Rossi is going to be not only in attendance, but sitting at my table.

He is, of course, the leading researcher on the use of virtual reality in treating post-traumatic stress disorder, and he heads up the Virtual Lab at the Virginia Institute of Technology.

Naturally, he’ll be one of the people considering my graduate school application there in a few months. My advisor, Dr. Castellano, arranged for him to come to the banquet tonight almost entirely so I can meet and impress him.

For the first time in two weeks, I’ve stopped wondering whether Caleb will be at the banquet in favor of praying that I don’t spill soup on myself or accidentally mix up the frontal and parietal lobes in conversation.

However, in that two weeks of thinking about whether Caleb will be there or not, I’ve come to some conclusions and made some guidelines for myself.

1. He probably won’t be there. VSU has a billion faculty members. Most don’t go to this banquet; why would he?

2. If he is there, it doesn’t matter. Who cares? We’re not together. We’re not anything. There’s nothing between us and nothing to hide.

3. And if he’s there — which he probably won’t be — I’m not going to talk to him. I have no reason to talk to him. Why would I talk to him?

4. If I find myself in a social situation in which I must talk to him because to do otherwise would be impolite, I will talk casually about: the weather. The loveliness of the ballroom in which this event is held every year. The deliciousness of the cheese platter. What kind of salad dressing he likes.

But really, he won’t be there, and leaves me free to not make an ass of myself in front of Dr. Rossi.

“Here,” says Harper, holding out a small, slim packet as I grab my purse, ready to leave.

Despite myself, I blush.

“Caleb’s not going to be there, for crying out loud,” I say, ignoring the offered condom. “And I told you, we shut it down as soon as realized that he was —”

They’re all looking at me like I’ve started speaking in tongues, and I stop speaking mid-sentence.

“If you don’t want a Shout wipe, don’t take the Shout wipe,” Harper says, one eyebrow raised. “You don’t have to get weird about it.”

I look at the thing she’s offering me. It’s not even square. It looks nothing like a condom.

It’s possible that I’m feeling a little high-strung right now.

I clear my throat, grab it, and shove it into my purse.

“Thanks,” I tell my three grinning friends.

The banquet takes place in Randolph Hall, right in the center of campus. Even though it’s the second-oldest building on campus, it’s been beautifully maintained and renovated every so often, and it’s got a certain old-Virginia charm that’s hard to put into words.

When you stand in front of it, you feel like if you turned around, you’d see horse-drawn carriages on cobblestone streets, ladies in long dresses and men in suits, gas lamps lighting the dark.

It’s brick, four stories high, a colonnade on each side, the copper roof now a dull pale green. Each window has a single candle in it, as if it’s waiting to welcome us.

Just in case, I check behind myself. There are no cobblestones, just a few guys wearing shorts and playing frisbee.

Inside Randolph Hall looks just as old-world as the outside: wooden floors with wide planks, ceilings with intricate plaster molding around the light fixtures, lamps in walls sconces, the whole nine yards.

Aside from the ballroom, this floor is a series of small salons, each set up with arm chairs and tables, bookshelves, a fireplace. Originally this building was the center of student life at VSU, where undergraduates could come and discuss their intellectual ideas with one another, back when there were three hundred of them.

“Everyone has a cheese plate,” Harper mutters to me as we make out way through the network of rooms. “How?”

“I imagine there are appetizers somewhere,” I tell her.

“But where?” she asks as a skinny guy in a badly-fitting suit walks past holding a small plate filled with cheese, crackers, and grapes.

“In the foyer,” I tell her, as we walk single-file through a doorway. “It’s always in the foyer. Every year. Cool your tits.”

“My tits are an excellent temperature,” she says, reaching up like she’s going to pat them.

At the last second, she touches the neckline of her dress instead.

“Good save,” I say.

“I’m a demure, sophisticated lady who would never grab my boobs in public without thinking first,” Harper says. “Oh! There it is.”

With that last statement, she grabs my arm, and I can’t blame her. The cheese table is a thing of wonder, just like it is every year: there are cubes and chunks and wheels surrounded by crackers and grapes, some artfully spilled and some neatly stacked.

The cheeses are stacked on multi-level plates, interspersed with other bite-size snacks. Some cheese plates also contain charcuterie, and I even grab a minuscule pickle from one, hoping it’s not merely decorative.

I also get some grapes, but they’re mostly for show because in front of all these professors and colleagues, I’d like to seem like the sort of person who looks at four metric tons of cheese and chooses fruit.

I snack. I even eat the grapes, though admittedly I eat them last. I chat with some other students about the best non-library study spot on campus (it’s in the basement of the Economics building), and inform a few freshmen about the best sandwich place on Main Street (it’s called Shorty’s).

Just as I’m about to grab more cheese, I catch sight of a short, serious, gray-haired Latina who’s practically barreling toward me.

I forget the cheese and stand up a little bit straighter.

“Thalia,” Dr. Castellano says. “I was hoping I’d find you here. Could I have a word?”

As I follow her, I automatically catalog all the things that this could possibly be about. I just saw Dr. Castellano a few hours ago, and everything seemed fine then.

Did I screw up the bibliography that she asked me to put together for her paper?

Are the page numbers wrong? Did I spell a name wrong?

Maybe she doesn’t like the sources I found.

My brain is still whirling as I follow her outside to the colonnade and she finally turns, her back to one stark white column, slowly going blue in the evening light.

She looks at me, her mouth a grim line.

“Is this about the bibliography?” I blurt out, but she just shakes her head.

“Nathaniel was expelled this afternoon,” she says, her face grave.

I just stare at her, trying to process this news.

“Johnston?” I finally ask.

“Yes,” she confirms.

“Nathaniel Johnston was expelled,” I say, putting it all together in one sentence.

I have to be getting something wrong here. There must be some other Nathaniel that she’s talking about besides the guy on my work-study project with me.

Nathaniel is… nice? Quiet? Responsible?

Whatever he is, he’s not the kind of person who gets expelled from college.

“I’m afraid that’s right,” she says.

“What?” I sputter. “Why? How? He’s got all the citations on the neurolinguistics paper, if I have to redo those it’ll take me weeks —”

I stop talking, because I realize I’m missing the point.

“The committee made its decision this afternoon,” she says. “Ethical misconduct.”

“Ethical misconduct,” I echo, still trying to wrap my brain around it. “Plagiarism? Was he taking money to write papers?”

That, at least, makes a little bit of sense. Writing papers for money is big business and college students always need money, even the ones on full scholarship.

I’ve been offered money to write a paper. I know Harper and Victoria have been, too.

But Dr. Castellano shakes her head.

“I’m afraid it was behavioral,” she says, lips still tight. “I’m not at liberty to discuss much more, but I wanted you to hear it from me, rather than the rumor mill, since the two of you worked together.”

I have no idea what behavioral misconduct even means in the context of getting expelled from college, and I really can’t imagine quiet, respectful, polite Nathaniel participating in any such thing.

He was a nice guy. Smiled at puns. Showed me a picture of his parents’ dog once. Seemed to drink mostly tea.

“Thank you,” I finally manage to say. “I appreciate the heads up.”

She sighs, then nods.

“I’m sorry to tell you like this, right before you meet Dr. Rossi,” she says. “Please understand that this sort of extreme punishment is quite rare in the Scholars program. In fact, to be honest I can’t think of another case quite like this one where…”

As she’s talking, there’s a slow trickle of people walking past us and into the building. Most look like students. Some I recognize, some I don’t, and I’m nodding absentmindedly and I’m trying to figure out what the hell Nathaniel did.

Behavioral. What does that even mean? Did he get into a bar fight? Threaten someone?

Doing drugs? Dealing drugs? Does that count as behavioral, or —

Someone walks around the corner, and instantly, my attention shifts. Before I can even see who it is, my attention shifts. It’s like on some subconscious, cellular level, I already know.

It’s Caleb, of course. Dr. Loveless. Whatever I’m supposed to call him.

In a dark gray suit with a skinny black tie. Glasses. Hair tamed, face clean-shaven, suit well-tailored. Even though I’ve had two weeks to get used to seeing him, I am unprepared.

My heart speeds up. I blush. I do my damnedest not to smile, but by the time he’s walking past us, I’ve failed at that.

He smiles back, nods once. I nod back. That’s all.

Then he’s gone, into the building, and Dr. Castellano is reaching out and patting me on the shoulder.

“In short, you’ve got nothing to worry about,” she says with an encouraging smile. “Now, let’s go back inside so I can introduce you to Dr. Rossi.”

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CALEB

I turn to the young man seated next to me at the banquet, because now that dinner’s over, it’s time to attempt a conversation again.

“What sort of creative writing will you be focusing on?” I ask.

“Fiction,” he says.

I wait another moment, just in case he’d like to put some effort into the conversation.

He wouldn’t.

“What authors do you particularly admire?” I ask.

This is making me feel like a nagging aunt at Thanksgiving — what are you majoring in? What are you going to do with that? Can you get a job with a mathematics major? What about econ, there’s always business.

The young man — I think his name is Aidan, but I can’t even remember any more — shrugs.

“Denis Johnson,” he says. “Raymond Carver. Richard Ford.”

“What have they written?” I ask, because they all sound medium-familiar, like I’ve read them and forgotten the name.

“Short stories mostly,” he says, and then goes quiet and blank again.

“Anything I might have read?”

He shrugs, which seems to be his only body language.

“Probably not,” he says.

It’s like talking to a rock, but an uninteresting rock. This is at least my third attempt tonight to lure him into conversation, and it’s also my third failure.

Behind me, a table breaks into laughter. Without turning, I can’t tell which one, but I focus in sharply on the fork in my hand, on the floral bouquet in front of me, and I banish the thought that I can hear Thalia’s laughter.

Suddenly, that’s all I can take.

“Excuse me,” I say, and stand, pushing my chair away from the table. The undergrads on either side of me look up at me briefly, then nod, go back to what they were doing: on one side, talking about fancy airplane travel; on the other, an apparently deep contemplation of the basket of dinner rolls.

Then I look over at Thalia’s table. I don’t mean to do it. I don’t even want to do it, I just do. She’s facing toward me but intently listening to the man next to her, a middle-aged white guy with glasses and graying hair. She’s hanging onto every word he says, nodding along, smiling.

Jealousy pins me like an arrow out of the blue. It’s a surprise. It blows the breath from my lungs for a moment with unexpected tightness, and I look away before I can make it worse.

As soon as I exit the ballroom, I take a deep breath. The air out here, in the foyer, is already cooler, and I feel like I can breathe again. I make my way through the other rooms in the building, all small chambers that look like something out of the year 1750, until I find one that’s empty, the lights off.

It’s blessedly, blessedly quiet, and I sink into a chair in front of the window. This window is candle-free, and through it I can see the backyard of this building, walled in by five-foot-high brick walls, wrought iron benches stationed along brick paths. A strange thing to be in the middle of a college campus, but when a building is this old, no one wants to change it.

Outside, the moon is a sliver. I can’t see the stars over the light of the street lamps, but I imagine them all the same, the constellations that my mom taught us all by heart.

I wonder, not for the first time, if I should be outside with them and not inside with antiques, oriental rugs, and sophomores who own yachts. I wonder if I’m cut out for wearing suits to events and hobnobbing when all I really want to do is go hiking and think about prime numbers.

I think, again, about Thalia looking at another man, smiling, nodding. I wonder if I should be teaching at all, if seeing a student taking an academic interest in another professor — I’d bet a thousand dollars that’s who he is — is going to turn me green with jealousy.

I’ve walked away from everything before, literally, but I think it was easier when I was twenty years old. I have more to walk away from now.

Besides, you can’t walk away from yourself.

I’m still looking outside, naming the invisible constellations to myself when I hear the slightest of creaks behind me.

Before I even turn, I know who it is. I know it in my bones.

“I don’t think you’re supposed to be in here,” Thalia says.

I should say I’m sorry or you’re right or even we shouldn’t be in here together, but I don’t.

“You gonna report me?” I ask.

She laughs.

CHAPTER TWELVE

THALIA

I didn’t think he’d be alone. I didn’t think he’d be in the dark, staring out a window, tie loosened and sleeves rolled up, looking slightly disheveled and somehow even more attractive than before.

“You look like you’re about to howl,” I say, because Caleb makes my mouth function without my brain, and I bite my lips together, close my eyes.

“The moon isn’t full,” he says, as I walk over to where he’s sitting, take the chair next to his, half turned toward his, half-turned to the window. “It’s waning. I’ve got at least two weeks before I transform, according to my math.”

“I suppose your math is trustworthy,” I say, leaning back.

The chair’s upholstered in velvet, the frame wooden. It’s not particularly comfortable, but it’ll do.

“It had better be,” he says. “If I can’t even add up the days of a lunar month, what chance do I have of proving Glessmacher’s theorem?”

“That one’s wrong,” I say. “There, I saved you all that work. You’re welcome.”

In the other chair, Caleb laughs and the sound works itself into my chest, unwinding the knot that had taken up residence there.

“Thank you,” he says, his voice low, the lilt of his accent there even in those two words. “Doubtless, you’ve just saved me years.”

“Glad I could help,” I tease, and then we both go quiet again, looking out the window together.

I shouldn’t have followed him. I know that. I know nothing can come of this, I know nothing should come of this, and I know that I’m just torturing myself by following after him like a lost puppy.

But I’m not sorry. Not yet. I might be, sooner rather than later, but not yet.

“Do you think werewolves ever get the urge to howl at the moon while they’re human?” I ask. “Just a little yip, while they’re driving home at night and the moon’s a sliver, like this?”

“Werewolves don’t exist,” he points out, and I sigh.

“I’m not asking whether werewolves exist,” I tell him. “I’m asking whether they want to howl at the moon even when they’re human.”

“So, to clarify, I’m supposed to know the innermost desires of a creature that doesn’t exist?” he asks, his voice low, teasing.

“You don’t have to know,” I say. “You can guess.”

He props one ankle on the opposite knee, his elbow resting on the arm of the chair, his hand in the air by his face as he regards me carefully, slowly, then glances back out the window, at the moon.

“Of course they do,” he finally says.

“Of course?” I ask. “That’s a lot of certainty for a creature that doesn’t exist.”

“Well, they’re human, right?”

“Sort of.”

“Then of course.”

He pauses, and I feel rather than see his gaze slide from the window to me. In my lap I press my palms together, like that can fight off the heat I feel.

I shouldn’t have come here. I shouldn’t have.

But now we’re here and we’re talking about the moon, and I can already tell that in a few hours I’ll be alone in my bed, remembering the way he looked at me.

“You’ve howled at the moon, haven’t you?” he asks, and now he’s looking over at me, a grin on his face.

“Never,” I say.

“Come on, Thalia,” he says, his voice even lower, a cajoling note there, like he already knows the answer and wants me to say it. “Not even once?”

I start to laugh.

“I swear I haven’t,” I tell him. “Why on earth would I howl at the moon?”

“Because it’s the moon and it’s right there,” he says. “You’ve never looked up at night and been struck by that wild, primal urge to howl?”

I’m breathless, wordless for a moment, because I can’t help but imagine him outdoors, shirtless, howling at the moon, and I can’t help but want to hear more about his wild, primal urges.

“You have,” I finally say.

“I can’t believe you haven’t,” he says.

“My urges are civilized,” I say, looking back through the window, at the sliver of moon hanging low in the sky.

There’s a long, long pause, and I have the chance to really mull over what I just said and wish I’d said something else instead.

“Are they?” he says at last, and I don’t have an answer, because he’s right and they’re not. They’re wild and primal as anything and it’s all I can do here, now, to take another deep breath and press my hand into the velvet of an antique chair and remind myself where I am, what I’m doing.

There isn’t a night that’s gone by without me lying in bed, thinking of him saying I want to see what you sound like when you come. It’s been almost two weeks and that memory is as potent as ever, tinged with the frustration and allure of wanting what I know I can’t have.

“Do you howl at the moon often?” I ask.

“Not any more.”

“But you did.”

“I’m not sure I should answer your questions,” he says. “You’re going to think I’m a werewolf.”

“That often?” I tease.

“It was a long time ago,” Caleb says, stretching out his arm, resting on it on his knee. “Don’t worry, I’m civilized now.”

My heart beats in my throat for one, two, three.

“Are you?” I ask, my voice low, soft.

Caleb gives me a long, slow, searching look.

“When it counts,” he finally says. “But that doesn’t mean I don’t howl sometimes.”

Before I can ask when he still howls, my phone buzzes in my dress pocket. Yes, this dress has pockets. All dresses have pockets.

“Sorry,” I say, as my brother Bastien’s name pops up on the screen, and I hit the red button, sending him to voicemail.

“Junk call?”

“Little brother,” I say, sliding my phone back into my pocket.

“I hear those are annoying,” he says, grinning, and I laugh.

“Sometimes he drunk dials me on the weekends,” I say. “I don’t even know why, it’s not like I’m —”

My phone buzzes again, and I sigh.

“Dammit, kid,” I mutter. “Chill.”

“He’s in school?”

“William and Mary,” I say, shoving my phone into my pocket again, hoping that Bastien moves on to drunk dialing someone else. “It’s not exactly a party hot spot, but he’s having a pretty good time with all the football players who graduate high school and then start questioning their sexuality.”

“Does he help them find answers?” Caleb asks dryly.

“He’s very helpful in that regard,” I say, then sigh, looking out the window again. “And I think he drunk dials me because I’m the only one in the family who knows he’s gay.”

“I see,” Caleb says, just as my phone buzzes one more time.

Bastien. Again. He hasn’t left a voicemail yet, just keeps calling. I flop my head against the back of this chair and sigh.

“Fine, you win,” I say aloud. “Sorry, I’ll be right back.”

Caleb just nods as I walk for the door, pulling my phone from my pocket.

“Hey, what?” I ask, facing the far wall of the room we’re in.

On the other end of the phone, there’s a long, long intake of breath, and I frown.

“Did you drunk dial me again?” I ask.

As I do, his breathing hitches, just for a moment, almost like it’s static on the line or something, but I know it’s not.

Just like that, I know something’s wrong, and a seed of fear takes root in my heart.

Bastien told Dad and now he’s disowned, I think, mind racing. He hit on some homophobe and got beat up.

On the other end of the line, my brother clears his throat.

“What is it?” I ask, my voice tight, high-pitched. I walk for a door, open it, and instead of another cozy, antique-filled room it leads outside, to a brick walkway and a wrought-iron bench. I go through it anyway, too distracted to care.

“Bastien.”

They found Javier.

No. They found Javier’s body.

“Bastien,” I say, ready to scream, shout, tear out my own hair. “Talk!”

“It’s Mom,” he finally says, his voice a ragged whisper. “She was in an accident.”

It sucks the air from my lungs, feels like the floor is opening under me.

“What?” I ask, my voice high-pitched, shaky, the words spilling out of me like floodgates have opened. “Is she okay? What happened? Was it a car accident? Did someone hit her? Was she driving? Who was in the car? Was it —"

“She’s in the hospital, Ollie,” he says, and it sounds like he’s dredging the words up from somewhere deep inside him, against their will. “They’re taking her to surgery, there was a car crash, she was coming home, we don’t know —"

He takes another long breath, and I don’t move a muscle, staring blindly at the brick walkway and the bench and a wall and a few ornamental trees.

“We don’t know,” he finished.

“Is she gonna be okay?” I ask. I know he doesn’t know, but I can’t stop myself from asking. “Tell me she’s gonna be okay.”

“I don’t know,” he whispers.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CALEB

It’s not your business, I tell myself, hands in my pockets as I pace in front of the window.

You’re her professor and that’s all.

I should go back to the banquet, talk to smart undergrads about the wonderful world of mathematics. I’ve already been in this dark room for too long, anyway. I don’t need anyone reporting back to Gordon that I disappeared two-thirds of the way through the banquet.

But I can’t erase her voice from my head, the way she said what is it, Bastien? then yanked the door to the outside open and practically fled the room.

I’m not psychic, but I know panic when I hear it.

And I know that she hasn’t come back inside yet. Maybe she’s still out there, talking to her brother. Maybe this door doesn’t open from that side.

I give it one more minute, then two, and then I can’t stand it any more and I pull the door open, the uneven old wood scraping over the threshold.

Thalia’s head jerks up, her face still lit from below by the glow of her phone, her cheeks streaked and smeared with black. She’s on her knees, on the grass next to an ugly bench, curled into herself, and I’m already down the uneven stone steps, already next to her, kneeling on the ground.

“What is it?”

She just shakes her head, gasping.

“Thalia,” I say. My knees are an inch from hers and I curl my hand into a fist against the ground, lean on it so I don’t reach out and touch her.

“I’m sorry,” she whispers, swiping at one eye with the back of her hand, her knuckles coming away streaked with black. “I’m fine, I’m sorry —”

“Bullshit,” I say, and the force of the word makes her look at me, deep brown eyes ringed with black, already puffy and swollen. “Tell me.”

Now there’s a hand cupping her cheek, a thumb wiping away tears and black streaks.

Mine? Mine.

“My mom was in a car accident,” she says, voice shaking.

It’s like my lungs are lined with lead, suddenly too heavy and stiff to let air in or out, the weight of them pulling down in my chest like it’ll sink me to the ground. Then the bolt of horror, quick, brutal, fresh every single time.

And then I make myself breathe, and it’s gone.

“Is she okay?” I ask, and I force myself to sound calm, to sound collected, like I’m capable of being in charge right now.

“No,” Thalia whispers, and she looks away, pushes at one eye with the heel of her hand, swiping black everywhere.

My heart drops like a bullet through a glass of water.

“That was my little brother,” she says, gasping for air, swallowing convulsively. “He thinks they’re taking her into surgery right now but he’s not sure, he’s in the car on the way there from school so he doesn’t really know anything, he doesn’t even know what she’s having surgery on or what kind of surgery or what happened or —"

Thalia hangs her head and a sob explodes through her, fingers tightening on the bench next to her.

“Not my mom,” she whispers. “Please.”

I pull her into me. I do it automatically, unconsciously, like I’m driven by gravity. I push her head against my chest and loop my other arm around her quaking back, and I hold her there as hard as I can, both of us on our knees, and I let her cry.

And she does. She buries her head in my shirt and wraps her arms so tightly around me that I think she’s trying to break me, her breathing ragged, gasping sobs breaking through when she can’t stop them.

There’s nothing I can say, so I don’t. I close my eyes against her onslaught and I count my breaths, even and steady: in for one, out for two. In for three, out for four. I open my eyes and look up at the moon, and I don’t think of anything.

Eventually, her arms loosen, her breathing get less ragged.

“I’m sorry,” she whispers, pulling away, still wiping at her eyes. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m —”

“Where is she?” I ask gently, cutting her off.

“The hospital,” Thalia says, looking down at herself. “Maybe she’s in surgery now, I don’t know —”

“Where’s the hospital?” I ask, forcing myself to stay calm.

She shoves the back of her hand against her other eye, smearing black outward toward her temple as she fumbles for her phone, clicks it on again, opens a map with shaking fingers.

“They took her to Randolph General, Bastien said, I think that’s the one at Lynnhaven and Broadway,” she says, staring down at the little screen, swiping jerkily from side to side like she can’t stop moving. “I don’t know why, he said she was closer to St. Agatha’s but they didn’t take her there, they took her to Randolph instead and he didn’t say why —”

“Thalia,” I say, softly, to get her attention before she spirals. “In Virginia Beach?”

“Norfolk,” she says, and then looks up at me, face blotchy with tears, eyes bloodshot and red. She takes a deep breath. “It’s in Norfolk. She’s all the way in Norfolk, fuck, fuck.”

I don’t think, I just speak.

“I’ll take you,” I say.

For a moment, she’s silent, no sound but her ragged breathing, her sniffles.

I rise, holding out one hand.

“Caleb, you can’t,” she says softly, looking at it.

“Yes, I can.”

“It’s a four-hour drive,” she says, looking at my hand like it’s some sort of ancient artifact, like if she touches it it’ll crumble into dust. “It’s clear across the state, I’ll borrow a car, I’ll find a bus, it’s fine. I’ll figure something out.”

“Let me take you,” I say, and I sound calm, even as my pulse is racing with remembered panic. “Please?”

“You could get in trouble,” she says, suddenly whispering.

“I know.”

She studies me for a long moment, still on her knees in the grass, her phone held limply in one hand, my arm outstretched toward her.

The knees of my suit are soaked through, grass stained, and my shirt has black smudges from where she cried against me, but it doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter at all.

“Okay,” she finally says, and puts her hand in mine, lets me pull her up. “Thank you.”

For a moment, we don’t let each other go. We just stand there, next to a building older than the country, sliver of a moon above, and look at each other.

I know I should say something to her, some platitude like it’s gonna be okay or your mom will be fine or I’m sure she’s a fighter, but I know better than to lie. I don’t know shit about the future. I only know about the gaping hole that’s opened underneath Thalia. I know that doing something, being in motion, will put it off for just a little longer.

Then we walk to my car, silent except for the click of her heels on pavement.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

THALIA

I stare at the toothbrushes in the cup on the bathroom sink. I stare and I stare because I can’t figure out which one is mine.

When did I call home? Was it Sunday, or Monday?

Is it the orange one? The pink one?

What does my toothbrush look like?

What did we talk about?

My brain feels like sludge, like my IQ has suddenly dropped so many points that something as simple as a toothbrush is utterly baffling. I take a deep breath and my eyes fill with tears again because I can’t even figure out which toothbrush is mine and I can’t do anything, not one single thing to help my mom besides hope that she’s going to be okay and —

“Fuck it,” I mutter to myself, savagely, as I bend down, wrench the bathroom cabinet open, and grab a new toothbrush, still in the package.

I go back into my room, shove it into my backpack with my laptop and my phone charger and a few shirts and pairs of underwear. I’m sure there’s something else I should take but I’ve already been in my apartment, packing this bag, for a little over three minutes, and what if that three minutes makes the difference? What if I’m three minutes too late, what if she wakes up and asks for me and I’m not there, I’m three minutes away and then —

“No,” I say out loud to my dark apartment, slinging my backpack over my shoulder, glancing back at the now-dirty dress that I tossed on my bed, the heels haphazardly kicked off next to it. “No. Come on.”

I leave. I close the door, lock it, barrel down the stairs. Caleb’s car is still there, waiting in front, and I practically throw myself into the passenger seat.

“All right?” he asks, putting it into gear.

“All right,” I say, and we pull away from the curb.

Then I realize I left something behind. Without thinking I pull the door handle and the car door swings open, nearly hitting the parked sedan next to us.

“Whoa!” Caleb shouts, slamming on the brakes. “Thalia, what —"

“I forgot something,” I say, already running back to the apartment, taking the stairs two at a time. I drop my keys twice as I’m unlocking the door, practically counting the seconds because this is two more minutes, and what if five minutes is the difference between seeing my mom one last time and —

The door swings open. I leave the keys in the lock and dart into my bedroom, open my closet, find the jewelry box on the floor. It’s dark but I find what I’m looking for anyway, worn wooden beads that I know by touch.

I leave, lock, run. Caleb’s back in the spot where he was waiting, and I get in again, buckle up.

“All right?” he asks for the second time, and I nod.

“You’re sure?”

I turn in my seat, look at him. I search his face for clues that he’s ribbing me, giving me a hard time for nearly jumping out of a moving car, but he’s calm, serious, intense.

“Sorry,” I say, squeezing the wooden beads in my hand, letting them dig into my fingers.

We drive in silence. In ten minutes Marysburg is in the rear view mirror, fading. The road we take out of town narrows from four lanes to two and then we’re in the country that surrounds the college town, where farms give way to forests that give way to farms, over and over again.

Caleb doesn’t say anything, just drives, the rear windows of the car cracked for air, the breeze shuffling my hair. I check my phone every thirty seconds, I think, but we’re in and out of cell service and nothing comes through.

After twenty minutes, I unclench my hand and the wooden beads click against each other softly, rearranging themselves in the absence of pressure, and I look down, take it in, like I’m seeing it for the first time.

I forgot to call her on Sunday, I think. I had so much homework and I had to meet with Nathaniel about the sources for Dr. Castellano’s paper and I just completely forgot until it was almost ten.

I pull the beads up, through my fingers, until I’m holding the crucifix between my thumb and fingers. I can’t see it in the dark but I can feel the figure of Jesus there, on the cross like always, and I press it against the pad of my thumb until it hurts, trying to remember the last time I talked to my mom.

Was it the Sunday before that? I think, still pressing the metal into my thumb. Had it been that long? What did I say? What did she say?

I can’t remember. I can’t remember a sentence, a word, a phrase. We end every conversation with I love you and you too, but did we end the last one that way?

We must have. Please, God, we must have.

I run my thumb over Jesus again, in the dark, and just like that the words are there in my brain, fully automatic.

I believe in God, the Father Almighty, creator of heaven and earth…

I look down again, and the words feel wrong. They feel like school assemblies, like going to Mass every Wednesday and Sunday, like the one time that I got detention for being late to class.

They don’t feel like my mother. I open my palm, still looking down, and the light from the dashboard catches the centerpiece.

It’s faded with the years, but there she is, La Virgen, resplendent and sad. Cloaked in stars. Crowned by faded red and gold.

Creo en Dios, Padre todopoderoso, creador del Cielo y de la Tierra…

I close my eyes and keep the prayer to myself, and I think not of myself and not of the last time I spoke to my mother and not of her on a gurney, being wheeled into surgery, but of her mother, my grandmother.

I think of her, near the end. Sitting in her chair in the living room of the house in South Texas, all the doors and windows open despite the heat. I think of coming and sitting by her feet, the way she’d put her hand on my head and keep praying, the Spanish words flowing over me like cool rain in the blistering heat.

It was the only Spanish she taught my mom and her siblings. She and my grandfather wanted their children to assimilate, to be comfortable in the country where they were born, so they never spoke to them in her own native tongue.

My fingers work up to the next bead and quickly, silently, I recite the Padre Nuestro, three Ave Marias, the Gloria, and even though I’m not sure I’m really still Catholic, saying the words makes me feel a little bit better, brings me some tiny measure of peace that I’m doing what I can.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CALEB

I glance at the speedometer. Seventy-five. I take a deep breath and ease my foot off the gas, forcing myself to slow the car down to sixty, even though these roads are empty on a Friday night.

I don’t need a speeding ticket. I don’t need to whip around a curve too fast and hit a deer. I don’t need to fly off the road, into a tree.

The last thought sends a shudder down my spine, a chill through the air.

Thalia is sitting in the passenger seat, whispering to herself. I think it’s Spanish. I think she’s praying. She hasn’t moved since she got into the car except to turn her head every so often and look out the window.

I don’t interrupt her. There are a hundred thousand things I could say, but they’re all useless. I know because I’ve heard them all, every last one of them, from well-meaning people who only wanted to make me feel better after my father died.

The truth is that there’s nothing. Words are empty vessels, only said so the speaker can feel as if they’ve helped somehow.

I look down, let the needle rise to sixty-five.

Then her phone rings and shakes in the cupholder, and we both jump.

“Sorry,” Thalia says, grabbing it.

“We’re almost to the interstate,” I tell her. “Sounds like you’ve got service again, though it might cut in and out a little. There are some pretty empty parts between here and the tidewater.”

She clicks her phone open, face glowing blue, flicking through her notification screen.

“Shit,” she hisses, softly.

“News?” I ask, evenly, calmly, like my chest isn’t constricting, but she shakes her head.

“Nothing since she went in,” Thalia says, and holds her phone up to her ear. “But I forgot to tell my roommates what was going on and I think Margaret’s about to call the — hey, it’s me.”

On the other end of the line, Margaret says oh, thank fuck loudly enough that I can hear it perfectly.

“I’m fine, I’m not kidnapped,” she says. “I’m not — what? No, my kidnapper didn’t make me say that.”

She pauses, the voice on the other end quieter now.

“My mom’s in the hospital,” Thalia says quickly, a gasp for air at the end of the sentence. She inhales, exhales. “She was in a car accident. She’s in surgery right now. Bastien called me, that’s all I know, we’re driving to Norfolk and we’re about to get on eighty-one.”

The narrow two-lane road I’m on widens, the trees suddenly further from the shoulder. Through the forest I can see bright fast food signs, a lone Hampton Inn.

Thalia clears her throat, and suddenly I can feel her looking over at me, eyes glassy, lips puffy.

“One of my professors was at the banquet and volunteered to give me a ride,” she says.

There’s a long spell of silence, then: “Does it matter?”

More silence. She leans back in the passenger seat, closes her eyes.

“I know,” she says. “I know. Thank you. Thanks for checking on me. I’ll let you guys know when I’ve got more info.”

Another small pause, and then she says, “I love you too,” a smile in her voice. “Later.”

Thalia puts her phone back into the cupholder, pulls one foot onto the seat.

“They know I’m with you,” she says.

“I told you, I don’t care,” I tell her as the road opens to four lanes.

We go around a wide curve in the road and suddenly a Wal-Mart looms in front of us, two gas stations, a Chick-fil-a, a brightly lit green sign announcing Interstate 81.

“They also know that we went on a date,” she says, the lights passing over her face. “And why we didn’t go on another one.”

“Then they know we didn’t do anything wrong,” I tell her, and turn onto the on-ramp.

“Right,” she says, and goes quiet again as I merge onto the interstate, speeding up until I’m doing eighty.

“Can I ask you something?” she says, after a spell.

“Shoot.”

“How old are you?”

I steal a glance away from the road at her: watching me, her eyes glassy and puffy but dry for now. I understand. There’s only so long at once that you can stay mired in the grief and misery of unknowing; every so often, you have to come out.

“You’re trying to figure out how much of a creep I am,” I say, smiling at the road.

“That’s not quite how I’d phrase it,” she says, and for the first time since she got the phone call, I hear the smile in her voice. “I’d say I’m just after some information.”

“Twenty-eight,” I tell her.

“Oh,” she says, and she sounds relieved.

“Should I even ask how old you thought I was?” I tease. “It’s the glasses, isn’t it?”

“I like the glasses,” she says, not answering my question. “They’re your professor costume.”

“It’s not a costume.”

“You weren’t wearing them when we met,” she points out. “You don’t usually wear them to class, only the first two sessions. And you wore them tonight, to the banquet.”

I touch the bridge of the glasses with one finger, like I’m checking that they’re still there. I try not to read into the fact that she knows how many times I’ve worn my glasses to class.

“What else have you been taking notes on?” I ask, suddenly aware of the weight of my glasses on my face, the few tiny scratches on the lenses. “Have I worn any shirts twice?”

“I’m not the fashion police,” she says, as her phone dings softly and she looks down at it. “I just notice whether you’re Caleb or Professor Loveless on a given day.”

Which do you prefer? is on the tip of my tongue, but I swallow it. I adjust my glasses again, the solid frames against my face reminding me that tonight I’m Professor Loveless and she’s my student, that I’m giving her this ride because I’m a good Samaritan and nothing more.

“Any updates?” I ask, as she types something into her phone, then clicks it off again.

“She’s still in surgery,” she says, taking a deep breath. “Bastien’s been texting me, but there’s no news. Apparently my father’s been standing in front of a window and staring out of it without moving for twenty-six minutes. It’s just the two of them for now, none of my aunts and uncles are local. And me.”

“Your other brother’s not local either?” I ask.

No answer. I look over, and she’s flipping her phone around in her fingers, the rosary wound around one wrist.

“Didn’t you say you had two?” I ask, suddenly feeling unsteady, like I’ve wandered into the wrong territory.

“And you’re teasing me for remembering when you wear your glasses,” she says, but there’s something in her voice that makes me glance over at her. “Do you remember everything I said that night?”

She’s trying to smile but it’s not quite working, her lips not fully cooperating, the smile not reaching her eyes.

“I try,” I tell her, honestly. Too honestly, but Thalia has that effect on me. “I’m sorry, that was the wrong question.”

Thalia is silent for a long moment, thinking. I just drive and listen to the silence.

“I don’t think Javier is local,” she finally says. “But I don’t know, because I don’t know where he is.”

I stay quiet, respect her silence.

“I don’t think anyone knows,” she goes on, her eyes forward, watching the interstate as we rush toward it, white lines disappearing under my car. “Not my family, at least. The last time we heard from him was last March. He was sleeping in a car with a friend of a friend of a friend in Richmond, and he managed to borrow a phone to call my mom.”

She clears her throat.

“I don’t even know how to tell him about Mom’s accident,” she says, and now she’s whispering, her voice ragged again. “No one knows how to reach him, we don’t even know if he’s…”

I reach over and take her hand in mine. I do it without thinking, the movement automatic, the need to comfort her and protect her almost overwhelming even though I know I can’t.

“It’s a whole fucking mess,” she says, and she laces her fingers through mine, squeezing.

I squeeze back, hold her in my grip, the wooden rosary beads pressing into my wrist.

“You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to,” I say.

There’s a long, long silence, long enough that I think she’s chosen not to say anything, to take me up on my offer.

“He was a Marine,” she finally says.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

THALIA

This is a story that I don’t know how to tell because I never tell it. It’s our ugly family secret, our shame, a gaping hole that we’ve slapped a band-aid over so we can pretend that we’re all fine. We tell people that he’s in North Carolina or Washington, D.C., working some job, and then we change the subject because the truth is too much.

I don’t know what would happen if my father found out that I told a complete stranger. He’d be furious, for starters. Even my roommates don’t know the ugly details of it, just the broad strokes, because they’ve watched it go down.

“He didn’t really want to be,” I go on, trying to start at the beginning, not exactly sure where that is. “When we were kids he wanted to be an artist. The two of us used to watch Bob Ross on PBS for hours. You know, happy little trees and all that?”

“Of course,” Caleb says, his fingers still anchored between mine, warm and strong.

“He was pretty good at it,” I go on, trying to remember how to get back to the main point of the story. “Took all the art classes in high school, did really well, and for a while he talked about applying to art school or something. But I guess he wanted Dad’s approval more because one day he came home and he’d enlisted.”

Caleb changes lanes, speeds up, passes a big rig. I look up at the driver for a moment, and he’s staring straight ahead, dead-eyed.

“He did two tours of Afghanistan, and on the second one he tore his rotator cuff, blew out his knee, and compressed three vertebrae in his lumbar spine when they took fire and he dragged his best friend’s body behind a wall while wearing fifty pounds of equipment,” I go on. “He left active duty. Started drinking. They gave him fistfuls of pain meds at the VA and not much else.”

I don’t tell Caleb that last year, when I went home for Christmas break, Javier woke me up nearly every night, screaming. I don’t tell him that he used to disappear for two or three days, then come back wearing the same clothes, rings around his eyes, smelling awful and looking worse.

“I see,” Caleb says.

“He got addicted,” I say, simply. “What he got prescribed wasn’t enough any more, so he found it on the street until my parents put him into rehab. Which worked, until it didn’t, and when they found out that he’d been using again my dad kicked him out and cut him off. And now we don’t know where he is.”

Caleb looks over at me, and I can see the disbelief written on his face, the disgust, the horror. I can’t say I blame him.

“My father believes that the only real love is tough love,” I say, and I try to keep my voice from shaking. “My mom had to fight with him over sending Javi to rehab in the first place. He’s the kind of person who thinks that all help is weakness, that if Javi really wanted it he’d be able to magically will his way back to being better instead of needing sissy bullshit like therapy and rehab and psych meds.”

I take a deep breath, even though I feel like someone is strangling me.

“And now I don’t even know where he is so I can tell him that Mom is in the hospital,” I finish. A tear splashes down my cheek and I wipe it away, exhale a long, shuddering breath, close my eyes and lean back against the headrest. “I guess Bossy and I will start calling all the shelters and halfway houses tomorrow, but they hadn’t heard of him last month, so I’m not really expecting a miracle.”

Inhale, exhale. I bite my lips together and try to keep myself from crying more, because Caleb’s seen enough of my tears by this point in the night. He’s already volunteered to be my driver. He doesn’t need to be my therapist, too.

“I’m sorry, Thalia,” he says, holding my hand even tighter, the pressure warm, steady, reassuring. I’m sorry isn’t enough, but what is? What could someone possibly say that could fix this?

“Thanks,” I say, and then I realize the car is slowing down. I open my eyes as we decelerate, coming to a stop sign at the end of an exit ramp off of I-81. Caleb looks both ways, then turns right and right again, into a gas station so brightly lit that I have to shield my eyes.

He doesn’t say word, just parks across three parking spots, gets out of the car. Bewildered, still trying not to cry, I watch as he crosses in front of the car to the passenger side door.

He pulls it open and I look up at him, one hand stretched out, and I stare like I’ve never seen a hand before, utterly uncomprehending.

“C’mere,” he finally says.

I unlatch the seatbelt. I unwind from the car, still blinking in the bright lights, stand, and then his arms are around me and my head is buried in his chest, and all I can think is oh.

Then I cry, and Caleb doesn’t say a thing. He just stands there and holds me.

I don’t know how long we stay like that. Too long, probably, but he never tries to back away, never tries to let me go. He just stands there and holds me while I cry because I’m scared for my mom and furious for my brother and afraid that I’ll never see either of them again.

“I’m sorry,” I finally gasp, coming up for air. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry —”

“Don’t be,” comes his calm, steady voice.

“I’ll be sorry if I want,” I say, petulant, and that gets a chuckle from deep in his chest.

“Fine,” he says. “But I don’t have to accept it.”

I finally pull away, wiping my eyes, clearing my throat. Trying to act like I didn’t just cry my eyes out in a Mobil station in the middle of nowhere, and failing.

“We should go,” I say. “We’re not even to sixty-four yet, are we?”

“We’re close,” he says, and reaches out, takes my face in his hand.

He swipes away my tears with his thumb, and then, for a long moment, he just looks at me.

I think he’s going to kiss me.

I want him to kiss me.

I’ve wanted him to kiss me for two weeks. I’ve wanted him to kiss me every time I walk into calculus class.

But right now, I really, really want him to kiss me. I feel raw, like the inside of my skin has been scrubbed out, and I feel needy, and I want him to kiss me and fill the void and make me feel something good. I want to climb him like a tree and I want him to shove me against his car, trap me here, whisper more dirty things in my ear.

And then his hand leaves my face and he gives me a half-smile and nods toward the car.

“Come on,” he says, and he walks back around the front of the car, the moment shattered. “We’ve still got a ways.”

There’s no kiss.

Of course there’s no kiss.

There can’t be a kiss.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CALEB

We leave the lights of the gas station and slink back into the darkness of the interstate, illuminated only by headlights, the occasional billboard.

It’s after eleven at night, and we’re sharing the road with tired families and long-haul truckers. I can still feel the warmth of her face on my hand, the wetness of her tears on my shirt, and I try to knock the feel of her body against mine from my mind.

She’s a student. An undergrad. I’m her professor.

Everything about this is inappropriate, yet here I am.

I drive north on I-81, get on I-64, drive east, out of the mountains. Thalia asks me to tell her about my perfect family — her words, slightly sarcastic, not mine — so I tell her about being the youngest of five brothers, about never being called the right name on the first try, about never wearing anything but hand-me-downs, about always being the worst at everything because I was the youngest.

But I also tell her about learning to drive at thirteen because my older brother Eli decided it was time, even after I ran the truck into a ditch. I tell her about the times that Daniel let me sneak out with him, and I thought I was the world’s coolest high school freshman.

I tell her that Levi’s the one who took me hiking and camping when I was a teenager. That his house in the woods is still my refuge, though since his fiancée moved in I make sure to call first before I go over.

I tell her that I talk to Seth, who’s a little less than two years older, almost every day, that he’s my best friend, that I’ve been worried about him lately.

And I tell her about my niece Rusty and how much I love being an uncle. I tell her about my nephew who’s supposed to show up in a few weeks and how excited I am for him.

I don’t tell her about my father. Not now. It’s not the time and it’s not the place.

We drive through Charlottesville, over the Rivanna river, through the woods. Twenty minutes later, trees flashing past, she laughs for the first time since we got into the car. Her face is still tear-stained. Her eyes are still bloodshot and puffy. I know she’ll probably be crying again before morning, because that’s how these things go, but she laughs that one time and I feel like I’ve won a gold medal.

We drive through Richmond and I see her looking out the window at the still-lit city, and I know she’s wondering if her brother is out there, beyond her reach. We stop for gas just outside the city, and she offers to pay. I don’t let her.

The closer we get to Norfolk, all the way on the eastern end of the state where the Chesapeake Bay meets the ocean, the quieter she gets. She checks her phone, again and again, fidgets, looks out the window at the low-slung suburbs outside the car windows, bathed in orange light.

“Anything?” I ask, nodding at her phone, and she sighs.

“Bastien’s just complaining about my dad,” she says, opening it, flicking through the screens, turning it back off. “Apparently he’s alternating between standing perfectly still, staring at the wall, and freaking everyone out, and driving the nurses crazy.”

“How’s Bastien?” I ask. I’ve never met her younger brother, obviously, but since she’s been reading me his texts all night I feel like we’ve become close friends.

“Scared,” she says. “Freaked out. Climbing the walls. I think he’s glad I’m almost there so he doesn’t have to deal with my dad by himself any more.”

We drive through city, then through a tunnel under the Chesapeake Bay. I swear it’s ten miles long, and by the end of it, my palms are sweating on the steering wheel from the thought of being surrounded by that much water.

Finally, we pull into the parking lot of Randolph General. Thalia grabs her backpack, pulls it onto her lap.

“You can just let me out by the doors if you want,” she says.

I almost don’t dignify it with a response, but then she looks over at me as I keep driving.

“I didn’t take this road trip to just push you out of the car and drive away,” I tell her. “I’ll walk you in.”

That gets half a smile, even as her hands twist in the straps of her backpack.

I park. We get out. She puts her backpack on, looks toward the looming hospital. Then she looks at me, and I hold my hand out.

She takes it, and we walk toward the hospital doors.

“They’re in the fourth floor family waiting area,” she says, looking at her phone. “In the north wing.”

The closer we get, the tighter she holds onto my hand until finally, we’re standing in front of two big white double doors, a red-lit keypad on the wall next to them. Thalia looks down at her phone.

“Bossy’s gonna come let me in,” she says.

“I’ll wait,” I tell her.

Thalia turns to me.

“Did I say thank you yet?” she asks.

“I think you did,” I say.

“Thank you,” she says, and her eyes fill with tears again before she turns away, dashing them away with the back of her hand. “Thank you for the ride, and thank you for keeping me company, and thanks for taking my mind off this a little bit, and —”

She stops, takes a deep breath.

“Sorry,” she says, shaking her head. “Thank you for everything, Caleb. No, wait.”

Thalia lets my hand go, then reaches up and very, very gently, lifts my glasses from my face, pushes them until they’re resting on top of my head.

“Now you’re Caleb,” she says, her hands still gently resting on the frame of my glasses. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” I say, and my whole body feels like a neon sign that’s just been switched on because suddenly I’m aware of her nearness, of the way her lips are just barely parted, of the fact that my blood is pumping through my veins so hard they must be able to hear it in North Carolina.

I know what’s going to happen a second before it does. I have a second to stop it, to back away, to leave and preserve myself.

I don’t take it.

Thalia kisses me. She winds her fingers through my hair, stand on her toes, pulls me down to her. She kisses me and I kiss her back, one arm around her waist, one hand cupping her face, and it feels like something inside me unravels, something I didn’t even know was knotted.

It’s a fierce kiss. It’s needy, tinged with desperation. There’s a manic energy to it that presses her teeth against my lip, makes her pull my hair a little too hard, but I don’t mind. I savor it all the same, knowing I should pull away, trying to memorize every second of her lips on mine.

Finally, she ends it. She keeps her hands on my face, her eyes searching mine, and we stand there, locked in the moment.

Then door opens, and we both turn toward someone who looks like Thalia but taller and wider and male.

“Ollie!” he says, and then he’s wrapped Thalia in a huge hug and she’s crying again and he’s squeezing her so tight that I get a little worried, but I step back, out of the scene.

“What’s happening?” she gasps when he finally lets her go. “Is there anything new yet?”

“They just wheeled her out of surgery,” another voice says from the doorway, older, deeper. “We can see her once she wakes up.”

“Dad,” Thalia breathes, and then she’s in his arms, in another tight hug.

“I’m glad you made it,” he says into her hair.

“Me too,” she says, her voice muffled.

Quietly, I take a step back, not wanting to intrude. Still holding the door open, Thalia’s dad releases her, then looks at me.

It’s an appraising, not-particularly-kind look. Thalia clears her throat.

“Sorry, this is Caleb,” she says, holding one hand out to me. “Caleb, this is Bastien, my brother, and Captain Lopez, my father.”

Her father holds out his hand, and I shake it.

“Thank you for giving Thalia a ride all the way here,” he says, looking me dead in the eye.

“My pleasure, sir,” I say, and I think I see Thalia almost smile at sir.

I turn, shake Bastien’s hand.

“Thanks,” he says.

“No problem,” I say.

Then her dad is opening the door wider, motioning Thalia and Bastien through.

“Thank you,” she says, one last time, and I wave.

She leaves. The door shuts behind her.

It’s almost two o’clock in the morning, and I’m almost three hundred miles from home.

But Thalia’s mom made it through surgery. Thalia’s here, with most of her family.

And I can still feel her on my lips. It’s the last thing I should be feeling. I should be feeling relieved, that her mom is out of surgery and the worst is over. I should be feeling guilty that I kissed her back, that I wanted it so badly, that among the thousand things I considered doing, ending the kiss wasn’t one of them.

I should be feeling concerned that her brother and father saw us, that now someone knows something.

But I’m not. I walk out of the hospital and back into the parking lot, toward my car under the orange lights, and all I feel is elated.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

THALIA

“How long until she wakes up?” I ask, and my voice echoes through the nearly-empty beige hallway.

“That depends,” my dad says, walking along efficiently. “Her doctor said anywhere from thirty minutes to two hours.”

As long as she wakes up, I think. I know people don’t, always, especially when it’s emergency surgery and there’s a lot of bleeding and possible brain injuries —

He turns sharply, into a small waiting room lined with cushioned chairs and side tables covered in old issues of People magazine.

Instantly, I can tell that this is the special waiting room. The overhead lights are off, and the room is lit by floor lamps, making it slightly more welcoming than most waiting rooms.

I stop in the door, looking in, thinking this is the nice waiting room where they put families before they tell them someone is dead.

“Move your butt,” Bastien says behind me.

“Don’t tell me to move my butt,” I say, stepping into the room. “I’ll move my butt when I want to. There, I just wanted to.”

“You moved your butt as you were told,” Bastien says, but neither of us really have our hearts in this dumb sibling argument, so I let it drop and take my backpack off, put it on one of the padded benches.

My dad and Bastien look at each other.

“Come sit by me,” my dad says, easing into one of the chairs.

I sit next to him. The fabric is the same fabric as every doctor’s waiting room: stiff, plasticky, clearly waterproof. A single wooden armrest separates the two seats, and Bastien sits on my other side, his elbows on his knees.

They look tired. I think Bastien’s been crying. My father looks like he’s aged twenty years, and he leans forward, rubs his hands together, his gold wedding band glinting in the low light.

“Your mother was t-boned making a left turn on a green arrow,” he says. “The force of the initial impact on the passenger side spun her car around, and the car coming after her didn’t stop in time and hit the driver’s side rear.”

I just nod. There are already tears pouring down my face, and Bastien puts one arm around me, pulls me into his shoulder.

“She had an open forearm fracture, broken ribs, and a collapsed lung,” my dad goes on, his tone still clipped, formal, even though I can feel the blood drain from my face. “The surgery seems to have gone well, but we’ll also need to see how the next day or so goes. It’s possible that her oxygen levels could dip and that would require further intervention.”

I take a deep, deep breath, and stare at the dark beige flecks in the light beige floor tiles.

“But she’s out, right?” I whisper. “She made it through surgery? She’s gonna wake up?”

“She made it through,” he says, tone still grave, slightly formal. But then again, he’s always sounded slightly formal. “And the doctors say they have every reason to believe that other than a possible concussion, she has no brain damage.”

Bastien hugs me tighter as I breathe in, then breathe out, trying to control myself. I want to collapse into the floor and sob with a mixture of sadness and relief and anxiety, but I don’t.

Suddenly, there’s something on my hand. I look down to see my father, taking my hand in his, then holding it tightly.

I look at him. He nods once, his mouth a tight line, his jaw flexing.

“Thanks,” I whisper.

A while later — I don’t know how long — the door to our waiting room opens, and a woman in scrubs leans in, nods at us.

“She’s awake and wants to see you,” she says.

Silently, we follow her through the brightly lit beige hallway, past nurses at stations, past closed door after closed door. Finally, she stops in front of an open door, the inside curtain drawn around it.

For a moment, I wonder why all hospital rooms have a curtain inside the door. Why not just a door or just a curtain?

“Paloma?” she calls, softly. “Your husband and children are here.”

“Come in,” responds my mother’s voice. It’s hoarse and froggy, but it’s her.

My heart thumps. I have to remind myself to breathe, and before I pull the curtain back I hesitate for a second because I’m afraid of what I’m going to see.

Then I do it anyway, and there she is. She’s propped up on pillows, and she looks terrible, but when I come into her room she smiles at me through cracked, swollen lips.

“Ollie, Bossy,” she says, as Bastien and I come in, one on each side of her bed. “Hi. Did you get my voicemail?”

Bastien and I glance at each other, over her bed.

“The anesthesia is still wearing off,” the nurse says, checking something off on a clipboard. “She might be a little loopy for a while yet.”

“Of course, that’s why we came,” Bastien tells her, shrugging at me.

“Good,” my mom says, and she sounds relieved. “You shouldn’t get the tiramisu from D’Agostino’s, they’ve started — “

She breaks off, looking past us, and we turn.

“Javi?” she whispers.

My father, standing at the foot of the bed, clears his throat, his face practically set in stone.

“It’s me, Paloma,” he says.

She blinks, like she’s trying to see through a haze.

“Of course, Raul,” she says. “I’m sorry.”

He steps forward, next to me, and takes her hand in his.

“How are you feeling?” he asks, and my mom closes her eyes, settles back on the pillow.

“Like shit,” she murmurs.

“You’re getting the big one?” Bastien asks, looking over at the paper cup in my hand.

“Yup,” I say, already pouring coffee into it.

“That’s a lot of caffeine.”

“Good. I’m also going to pour a shitload of cream and sugar into it, and I’m getting a donut. And Froot Loops. And chocolate milk. And a package of M&Ms! And you can’t have any!”

I stop pouring coffee into my very large cup and grab a handful of creamers.

“I’ll just steal some when you’re not looking,” Bastien says.

“I know,” I grumble.

I grab all my sugar items, and then we head to the register, where I pay with the twenty dollar bill that my dad handed me for breakfast before he went back to the house to get some things for Mom.

Just because I’m an adult doesn’t mean I’m grown, I guess. I didn’t argue with him.

Bastien and I take our trays full of caffeine, sugar, and one banana to a booth by the wall and sink into it, exhausted. My eyes are so dry that they feel like they’re made of sandpaper, and if I weren’t still a mess of nerves and anxiety, I think I could fall asleep right here at this table.

After we’d been with my mom for a few minutes, a doctor came in and proceeded to practically drown us in medical information: what had happened, what could happen, what else could happen, what decisions would need to be made. The moment she left, another doctor came in and did the exact same thing, only with completely different information, somehow.

Then, finally, the nurse kicked us out so she could rest and Bastien and I came downstairs, to the hospital cafeteria, because we didn’t feel like going anywhere else.

But she’s awake. She’s not out of the woods yet — bleeding could restart, something could rupture, there could be an infection — but the worst is over and I can eat junk food with my brother.

“So,” he says, peeling the banana.

“So,” I agree, biting into the donut. It’s not a good donut. It’s stale, probably from yesterday, but it’s sugary and it’s food and I’m not really particular right now.

“Mom’s not gonna forgive him, is she?” he asks.

“I don’t think so,” I say, wiping frosting from my bottom lip.

“Yeah,” he sighs, then bites into his banana, looking off at the far wall of the cafeteria. There are only a few other people in here, and they look like they’re having the same kind of day that we are.

“You haven’t heard from him, have you?” I ask, already knowing the answer.

Bastien snaps his fingers and gasps.

“Oh, that’s right,” he says, in mock-surprise. “I found Javier and he moved into my dorm room with me and my roommate and I signed him up for crew team, he’s doing really great. Totally forgot to tell you, sorry!”

“All right, then I won’t make conversation,” I say, grumpily.

“You don’t think the second I knew something I’d tell you?” he huffs.

“You need a nap.”

“You need to not ask dumb questions.”

“You need to…” I trail off, because my brain is refusing to come up with an end to that sentence. “Shut your dumb face,” I finally say, shoving the rest of the donut in my mouth.

Bastien just laughs, his mouth full of banana.

“How’s school?” I ask, changing the subject. “Have you taken a single class for your engineering major yet?”

“Technically, yes,” he says, lifting his coffee cup to his lips. “I’ve fulfilled most of the general education requirements.”

“And zero of the engineering ones,” I finish.

Then I rub my knuckles against my forehead, brutally aware of what an obnoxious older sister I sound like.

“Something like that,” he says.

“Just tell them,” I say. “They’re going to figure it out when you graduate with a B.A. In Comparative Literature instead of the B.S. In Engineering they were expecting, just tell them now.”

“I know,” he says. “I just… I haven’t yet.”

I look across the table at my little brother, though little is the wrong word because he’s been taller than me since the moment he hit puberty. Objectively, I’m pretty sure he’s handsome, though subjectively, he’s my brother so ew.

“New topic,” he says, leaning back in the booth. “Tell me about Caleb.”

I clear my throat and look down at my tray.

“What about Caleb?”

Bastien looks at me like I’m an idiot.

“What do you think I want to know about him, Ollie?” he says. “You show up at two in the morning with an honest-to-God hunk on your arm and you think there’s not going to be questions?”

“He’s a friend,” I say.

“You have hot friends, then,” he goes on. “Who apparently play full-contact rugby in suits, judging by the grass stains he had on him. He straight?”

“Yes,” I say, a little too quickly. “I mean, I think so.”

Bastien grins.

“He questioning? I’d be happy to provide some answers.”

It is very, very weird to realize that you and your little brother have the same taste in men.

“I haven’t asked whether he’s settled in his sexuality,” I say, primly taking a sip of coffee.

“And he hasn’t given you any clues?”

I’m blushing, my face bright red, and I know it. I also can’t look directly at Bastien right now or I might accidentally tell him everything.

“We’re just friends and we’re going to stay that way,” I say. “It wouldn’t work out, so we’re just friends. For reasons.”

Bastien gives me a long, thoughtful look.

“He’s really into Insane Clown Posse,” he guesses.

I roll my eyes.

“He legitimately thought that Suicide Squad was a good movie,” he says.

“You think I’m that much of a snob? They’re good reasons, okay?”

“He’s married.”

I nearly spit out my coffee, because that escalated quickly.

“No!” I say, coughing. “God, Bossy, no he’s not married. Are you insane? Of course he’s not married. I would never —”

I pause as words fail me for a moment. Bastien is just looking at me, uncertainty written all over his face.

“ — Take up with a married man,” I hiss, leaning across the table.

“Is he married?” he says, leaning forward, his voice hushed, horrified.

“No!” I whisper-shout.

He doesn’t say anything for a long moment. Then he swallows, frowning at me, giving me a look I’ve never really seen from him before.

“Ollie,” he starts. “If —"

“He’s my math professor,” I hiss, leaning across the table. “There. You happy? Is that better?”

“Holy shit,” he says, and now he looks surprised, but no longer horrified. “I didn’t really think he was married but that’s the problem? He’s a professor?”

“Assistant professor,” I say. “It’s his first year, he just got his Ph.D. in May.”

In the four hours we just spent together in the car, we did manage to talk about more than my stupid, tragic family. For example, Caleb now knows the entire plot of the anime Neon Genesis Evangelion and I know all the ways in which the Lord of the Rings movies differ from the books.

“I would be amazing at math if he were my professor,” Bastien says, his face dead serious. “I’d declare a major.”

“No, you wouldn’t,” I sigh.

“I might if he were driving me across the state and kissing me goodbye,” he says, stealing a chunk of my donut and popping it into his mouth.

Then he looks up at me, and my thoughts must be written all over my face because he immediately looks horrified.

“I won’t say anything,” Bastien says quickly, a few donut crumbs flying from his mouth. “Sorry. I would never, Ollie, I can hardly go and tell everyone your secret.”

He chews, swallows.

“Besides, you’ve got leverage on me,” he points out.

“That’s not leverage,” I protest. “I’m not a monster.”

“Sorry, bad joke,” he says, and rubs his eyes with the heels of his hands.

Speaking without thinking first is probably genetic. I know better than to take it personally.

“You’re at least getting an A in his class, right?” he asks, leaning back in the booth and crossing his arms.

“I think so, but not —”

“Wait, no,” he says, pointing one finger at me and grinning. “You’re not getting an A.”

I shut my eyes and wait for the stupid joke.

“I bet you’re getting a D,” he says, still grinning like it’s the funniest thing anyone has ever said.

“I’m not getting a D,” I say calmly.

“You’re getting the D,” he says.

“He’s my professor, Bossy, nothing like that is happening.”

“You know, D for dick?” he says. “So if he’s giving you the —"

“I get the joke, Bastien,” I say, and toss back the rest of my coffee.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

CALEB

I only get about thirty miles from Norfolk before I realize that I’ll never make it all the way back to Marysburg without either taking something illegal or falling asleep at the wheel, so I pull off the interstate somewhere on the Northern Neck and find a Motel 6.

It’s fine. It’s clean. It’s a Motel 6. I toss my dirty clothes into a heap at the foot of the bed, splash some water on my face, and fall asleep within seconds.

I swear it’s five minutes later when I wake up to the relentless buzzing of my phone, rattling away on the wood veneer side table.

“Fuck,” I mutter to myself, reaching for it.

It’s my brother Seth, and it’s seven-thirty, not five minutes later. My mouth tastes like a swamp, but I answer it anyway.

“What?” I ask, still face-down on the scratchy pillow.

“He’s here,” Seth says.

“What?” I ask again, feeling like I’ve walked into the middle of a conversation. “Who’s where?”

“Charlie had the baby,” he says.

That gets me to sit up in the bed, even as I feel like my brain is water, slowly going down a whirlpool.

“I thought she wasn’t due for another week,” I say, blinking at blackout curtains, trying to gather my wits. “Is everything okay?”

“Everyone is fine, he’s just huge,” Seth says. “Nine pounds, thirteen ounces. Total chunker, he’s got the chubby wrists and everything. He’s actually really cute, Caleb, even though newborns are usually kind of funny looking.”

Seth is smitten.

“What’s his name?” I ask, standing.

Where are my clothes?

There are my clothes.

“Thomas William,” Seth says, and I stop, one leg halfway into my pants.

Of course. The moment he says it, I can’t believe that it hadn’t occurred to me that that would be his name, that the first boy born to one of us would be named after our father.

“Did you know?” I ask, sitting back on the bed.

“Not officially,” Seth says, slowly. “I had a feeling, though. Daniel wouldn’t confirm or deny.”

I wonder, fleetingly, whether I should tell them the truth, a thing I’ve wondered so many times that the thought is a worn pathway in my mind, smooth like a worry stone.

Then I put it away, back into the same drawer where it’s been for years. Not every ugly truth needs to be brought out and aired, and that’s something I decided a long time ago.

“Thomas,” I say, trying out the name in my life. “I like it.”

“Me too,” says Seth. “You coming?”

“Of course,” I tell him, pushing my foot the rest of the way through my pant leg as I hold my phone between my chin and shoulder. “Are they still in the hospital?”

“Yup. Second floor, maternity ward. Text Mom or me first, though, in case they’re napping. Charlie might go full mama bear if you wake him up,” he says.

“Will do,” I agree, grabbing my shirt from the floor. “I’ll be there in… five hours.”

There’s a brief silence on the other end of the line.

“Five hours?” Seth asks.

It’s close to three in the afternoon when I finally walk into Sprucevale Memorial Hospital, almost six and a half hours after I talked to Seth. Sprucevale is further from the interstate than Marysburg, then there was an accident so I got off the interstate anyway, and by 1 p.m. I thought I might starve so I stopped and grabbed a sandwich.

I text my mom and Seth from the waiting room, then stand there for a moment. I’m the only person in there. Apparently late September isn’t a popular time to be born in Sprucevale.

“You got here just in time, they’re about to —"

Levi comes in, then stops short.

“What happened?” he asks, giving me a good, long, head-to-toe look.

Oh, shit. I put one hand over my chest, like it can hide the black eyeliner stains that Thalia left there last night.

“It’s a long story,” I tell my oldest brother.

“Is the long story also why it took you six hours to get here?” he asks, both eyebrows raised so high they’re practically in his hairline.

“I’ll tell you later.”

“Is everything all right?” he asks, coming across the room, lowering his voice.

“Fine,” I say, pushing my sleeves up, like that’ll help. “I’ll tell you later, promise.”

Levi just nods.

Then he starts unbuttoning his plaid shirt, revealing a white undershirt beneath it.

“Uh… ?” I say.

“Take your shirt off and give it to me,” he says, pulling his shirt over his shoulders. “Then put this on. You stand a zero percent chance of being allowed to hold Thomas if you come in wearing that, though we’re going to have to risk the pants as I’m afraid those are personal.”

He holds his shirt out to me, and I don’t argue. I just take my shirt off, hand it to Levi, then put his shirt on. It’s a tiny bit too wide in the shoulders and a tiny bit too short in the sleeves, but for all intents and purposes, we’re the same size.

“I trust that this will be part of the explanation later,” he says, holding up the shirt in one hand. I just nod.

“Room two-forty-one,” he says.

Surreally, it’s the second time today I’ve been in a hospital, and I follow Levi as he walks, nodding at nurses who inevitably smile back at him.

“Where’s everyone?” I ask.

“Mom’s here,” he says. “Seth went home for a bit and Eli’s making dinner for everyone. Elizabeth and her husband just left. June and Violet are with Rusty. It’s me again.”

The last part is directed into a room, a curtain separating us from the interior.

“Come in,” Daniel’s voice calls, and Levi pulls the curtain back.

“Got him,” Levi says, and gestures me forward.

Daniel’s sitting in a chair, shirtless and holding a tiny pink baby, both of them draped with a blanket, and Charlie’s propped up in a hospital bed a few feet away, my mom folding an afghan onto an armchair across the room.

Charlie and Daniel don’t look up, but my mom glances from Levi to me, looking slightly puzzled.

“Hi,” I say, keeping my voice low. “How are you guys doing?”

“You know, normal weekend,” Charlie says from the bed, her eyes never leaving Daniel and Thomas. “Pretty chill.”

“You look good,” I tell her. “How do you feel?”

That gets a tired, woozy half-smile from Charlie.

“Bless your heart, Caleb,” she says. “All things considered, I think I feel pretty good. Better than I did this time yesterday.”

Daniel stands from his chair, both his hands spread over Thomas’s small back. He looks like he’s carrying a sack of loose eggs or something, he’s so careful.

“You want to hold him?” he asks.

I do. I really, really do, but I’m also never sure I’ve seen anything so terrifyingly small and fragile before. I’m the youngest, after all, and though Daniel does already have Rusty, he didn’t know about her until she was almost a year old.

Rusty’s biological mother isn’t a nice person. It’s a whole story.

“Can I?” I ask, pretty certain that Daniel’s kidding and there’s no way he’s going to let me touch this tiny, hours-old human.

“Sure,” he says. “Thomas, this is your Uncle Caleb. I promise he’s the last one.”

Thomas’s head is turned toward me, his eyes barely open a crack, his head covered in a pink-and-blue knit cap, his face puffy.

“Hi, Thomas,” I say, bending forward and talking softly. “Pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

Thomas doesn’t move, but I swear he looks me dead in the eye and then holds my gaze like he’s studying me, one tiny fist next to his face. I don’t know how far newborns can see. I don’t know if he can see my face or whether I’m a big peach blob, but I swear there’s a connection.

Then Daniel is carefully wrapping him in his blanket and my mom is coming over, fluttering a little, supervising.

I wonder, briefly, how she feels about his name, but then Daniel is standing in front of me, Thomas in his arms, nothing but his tiny face visible, eyes now closed.

“You ready?” he asks.

“Do I have to take off my shirt?” I ask, since he’s not wearing one, but he shakes his head.

“We’re supposed to do skin-to-skin bonding with him,” he says. “Apparently it helps to regulate his body temperature, and it releases hormones, and… I don’t know, I’m just following instructions. Here.”

Carefully — so, so carefully — he holds the bundle out, and I take it from him, cautious to put one hand under Thomas’s head, my other arm under his body.

Thomas opens his eyes for a moment, then closes them again, and I just stare down at him. And stare. And stare.

And then, suddenly, I’m nine years old and in the forest, kneeling on the leaves. In front of me are sticks tented together on a patch of cleared ground, thicker on the outside, the interior of the cone filled with pine needles and a wad of newspaper.

Behind that is my father, on one knee, and he’s got a box of matches in one hand.

This might take a few tries, he says.

Making a fire takes patience, he says, and I’m hanging onto every word he says because this is one of the rare times I don’t have to share him with anyone. It’s just him, and me, and his calm voice that Seth got and his dark hair that Eli got and his unflappable nature that Daniel got, his deep love of nature that Levi got.

The first match doesn’t take, and he tosses the burnt stub into the pile of tinder, sits back, and looks at it for a moment. He’s analyzing, thinking, considering the best way to go about improving this, and right there, in this twenty-one-year-old memory of his final summer, I see the parts of my father that I got.

I blink away tears. I swallow hard, take a deep breath, refocus on this tiny, tiny human in my arms.

“He’s perfect,” I say. Levi squeezes my shoulder. Daniel pulls a gray t-shirt over his head. Across the room, I can see Charlie smile.

“I know,” Daniel says.

CHAPTER TWENTY

THALIA

The days while my mom’s in the hospital blend together. Sunday is like Monday is like Tuesday with no real differentiation between them other than the date on my phone.

I visit my mom in the hospital. After a little while, I somehow get used to the tube in her chest and then learn to ignore it. The doctors say it’ll be there for several more days, until her collapsed lung is getting enough oxygen.

Besides that, she’s loopy on pain meds for her broken arm and ribs, and every time I so much as make her smile, the nurses admonish me lest I make her laugh. She spends most of her time fading in and out of sleep, and sometimes Bastien and I take turns napping with her, in the uncomfortable arm chair next to the bed.

My father’s there, too, though he never naps next to her, but he attends to her dutifully. He charges her phone, brings her his iPad, makes sure she has good snacks and plenty of water. He brushes her hair and helps the nurses give her a sponge bath.

I know that they’re on the rocks. They have been ever since he cut Javier off and Javier disappeared, breaking my mom’s heart. But he’s still there, every day, because if there’s one thing my father understands, it’s duty.

I do, eventually, remember to email my professors and explain my absence, even though it’s Tuesday before I suddenly realize that it needs to be done. I beg forgiveness and offer doctors’ notes, copying and pasting the same email to all of them.

Though I hesitate over Caleb’s. I wonder if I should tell him more, expand on the fact that my mom is okay but will still be in the hospital for a little while, if I should thank him for giving me a ride all the way across the state.

Then I remember the kiss. The frantic, anxious, frayed-nerves kiss that I practically forced on him at the end of the night. The kiss that I gave him in a moment of weakness and helplessness even though I knew that I shouldn’t, because it’s not me who will get in real trouble.

If a student and a professor get caught kissing, the student probably gets a stern lecture, maybe a warning.

The professor probably gets fired.

I decide not to say anything, at least not in this email from my university address to his. It was a mistake, an accident, something that I’ve solemnly sworn up and down to myself that I won’t do again, and I’d rather just bury it.

My roommates, on the other hand, get blow-by-blow text updates. We have a group chat and I tell them every time that my mom seems a little extra woozy, every time there’s some decision to be made, every time a doctor has new information.

They send my mom flowers and a balloon. They send me chocolate. One night, as I’m complaining to them about how there’s no food in the house because my father is clueless and my brother is back at school and no one ever seems to think about the fact that we have to eat except me, the doorbell rings.

There’s a delivery man standing there with a pizza.

From them.

Margaret, Harper, and Victoria are my lifesaving angels, and I owe them big time.

Finally, after a week, it’s decided that I’m going back to school. My mom is still going to be in the hospital for another few days, just to monitor her, but there’s no reason for me to stick around. She’s doing well, her broken bones are beginning to mend, and the tube is finally out of her chest.

The night before I leave, I finally, finally decide it’s time to relax. I pour myself a glass of wine from a bottle in my parents’ pantry and load up a dumb movie on my laptop.

Just as I’m about to hit play, my phone rings.

It’s Harper, and I frown. She’s calling me? Harper never calls. I mean, no one ever calls, at least without texting me first and warning me, but Harper in particular never calls.

I cross my fingers before I answer.

“Hi,” I say.

“Hi! Sorry for calling,” she says.

“It’s important,” Victoria says, on speakerphone.

“Did something happen?” I say, twirling my wine glass between my fingers.

“Hell yes it did,” Victoria says.

“Do you have your laptop nearby and is it on the internet?” Harper asks. “And are you at least medium-alone?”

“I’m fully alone,” I say. “Why? What’s going on?”

“Okay, okay, hold on,” Harper says. “You tell her.”

“You worked with Nathaniel Johnston, right?” Victoria asks.

“Yeah, he was Dr. Castellano’s other research assistant,” I say. “But he got kicked out last week —”

“See, I told you she’d know,” Harper says to Victoria. “Well, do you want to know why?”

“Obviously.”

“Check your email.”

I take a gulp of wine, then lean forward, toward the laptop. I pull up my email, click the link that Harper just sent.

“If this gives me a virus I’ll — uh, what?”

A video pops up of a woman, naked on all fours, on a bed. She looks over at the camera like she’s checking on it, then tosses her hair back.

“Come on,” she says in a weird, breathy voice. “I’m so horny for you.”

“Did you send me porn?!” I ask, pushing the laptop away from me. “Why did you send me porn?”

“Just wait,” Harper says grimly.

I drink the wine and watch. It’s very clearly amateur and looks like it was made by propping a phone up on a dresser or something.

Not that I’m an expert. I’ve watched porn on occasion — hi, I’m human — but overall I find it so chemistry-less and mechanical that I may as well be watching a video of someone putting legos together.

A man climbs onto the bed behind the woman, both their faces blurry and in shadow, his dick fully visible. I take another sip of wine.

I hope Dad doesn’t have some sort of tracker set up on the wifi here, I think.

The man inserts his penis into the woman. She makes a theatrical noise. I make a face.

No, if he had a tracker set up he’d know Bastien was gay. I’m good.

“Oh, daddy, I like that,” the woman says. I am unconvinced by her performance.

“Yeah, you like that?” the man says, pumping harder.

“Wait,” I say, bells going off in my head, leaning closer to the screen.

“Mhm,” says Harper, in her I told you so voice.

“I like it, daddy,” she moans again.

“You like that?” the man says, repetitively, and I gasp.

Not because of the bad dialogue, but because I know that voice.

“No,” I tell Harper and Victoria, scandalized. If I had pearls, I’d clutch them. “No fucking way.”

“Fucking way,” Victoria says.

“The money shot is about thirty seconds in,” Harper says.

“That fast?” I ask, trying not to wrinkle my nose.

“Not that money shot!” she says. “Ew.”

“Harper, you are literally showing me porn!”

Victoria is laughing hysterically in the background.

“I mean the regular kind of non-porn money shot. Ew.”

“You do know the term money shot originated in porn? That’s what money shot means.”

Now we’re both giggling. I can hear Victoria snort-laugh.

“Just pay attention for like ten more seconds, okay? There’s a non-literal money shot.”

I take a long drink of the wine and watch my laptop screen through the glass. Frankly, it improves the experience.

Then, suddenly, something shakes whatever the camera is on, and the camera tilts until nothing’s visible but the ceiling.

“Shit,” the man’s voice says.

“Thalia!” Harper says. “Here. Right here.”

Despite my better judgement and serious reservations, I lean in.

A few seconds later, Nathaniel’s face fills the screen.

I yelp and slam my laptop shut, then just stare at the closed lid in horror. It takes me several seconds, first of slow, controlled breathing, and then of gulping the rest of my wine, to process what I just saw.

And what I just saw was my quiet, polite, and utterly nondescript co-research-assistant nailing some girl on the internet.

“What was that?” I ask, the only question I can get my mouth to say right now.

“Well, Thalia, when a man and a woman love each other very much, they set up a camera —”

“That’s the reason that Nathaniel is no longer a Madison Scholar at the Virginia Southern University,” Victoria interrupts. “He’s got a whole RedTube channel. Username NastyNatty.”

The wine sloshes in my stomach, and there’s one second where I honest-to-God think it might come back up.

“NastyNatty?” I ask, weakly.

“It’s all been pulled down, of course,” Victoria goes on. “But the internet remembers everything.”

“Who’s the girl?”

“Her name is Allison or something, she’s not a student,” Harper chimes in. “I guess she’s his girlfriend, she’s in most of the videos.”

I narrow my eyes at TV across the living room, staring into its blank space like it can provide me with an explanation.

“Most? How many have you guys watched?”

Victoria’s laughing again, but Harper huffs.

“We fast-forwarded through several of them out of curiosity,” she says. “I’m not sure he lives up to his moniker. It’s all very straightforward.”

“Not nearly nasty enough,” adds Victoria, still laughing.

“Ew,” Harper tells her, but then they both start giggling.

I stand and head into the kitchen, my phone still with me as I open the cabinet and pour myself the rest of the wine. I haven’t drunk at all this week — as far as coping mechanisms go, I prefer long showers, sleeping too much, and binge-watching bad period dramas — but this is it. This is the straw that broke the camel’s back and drove me to drink.

“This is why he got kicked out of school?” I ask, watching the red liquid glug into the glass. “For having the wrong side hustle?”

“He was kicked out for sexual misconduct,” Harper says, very officially. “At least that’s what I heard. You agree not to do it when you sign the papers accepting the Madison Scholarship.”

I shake the last few drops of wine off the bottle, then place it carefully in the recycling bin next to the trash.

“I thought that meant actual misconduct, though,” I say, leaning against the counter, glass held in front of me. “Like sexual assault or something? I never want to see that again, but it looked consensual.”

“Well, we also agreed to comport ourselves with the highest degree of moral and ethical standing, and also to represent the Scholars program well, and I imagine that uploading your dick onto RedTube wasn’t what the founders had in mind,” she says.

“Though you can bet your ass they’d have loved internet porn,” Victoria offers.

“Everyone loves internet porn,” Harper says.

“Are we even sure that he uploaded it himself?” I ask, still trying to wrap my brain around this. “What if it was someone else trying to get him kicked out of school?”

I did not enjoy the video. I’m already dreading having to open my laptop again, because I know the video is still pulled up.

But it’s two adults having consensual sex, for Pete’s sake. It’s not illegal or anything.

“Oh, he did it himself,” Harper says. “They’ve been investigating for months. One of the other TAs for Roman History was on the ethics committee that got the job, and I finally got her to talk about it the other night. It’s him. He did it. Apparently they were considering giving him a year-long suspension and just pulling the scholarship until he uploaded a video that’s got a VSU sweatshirt visible.”

There’s a long, companionable silence over the line. I can just imagine the two of them, on our couch, feet up on the coffee table. I stare at the wall in my parents’ kitchen and drink the wine I poured and try to remember anything besides vague feelings and blurry images from the past week.

It has been a week.

“Anyway, don’t make porn and if you do, don’t put your face in it and if you do, don’t put it on the internet,” Harper says.

“And if you do, don’t put a VSU sweatshirt in it,” Victoria adds. “The real crime is making the school look bad.”

“The real crime was a total lack of screen presence,” Harper objects.

“There were a lot of crimes,” I say. “Including you two for showing this to me, because now I’ve seen Nathaniel’s dick and I didn’t want to see his dick. Not even a little. I barely even realized that he had one.”

“Sorry,” says Harper.

“I’m not,” says Victoria. “You’re still coming back tomorrow night, right?”

“As long as everything goes according to plan, yeah,” I say. “Barring further emergencies.”

“Good. I miss your face.”

“I miss your butt,” says Harper, and I snort.

“I miss you guys, too,” I say. “I’ll be back. Tell Margaret I said hi. She with some new conquest?”

“Something like that,” Victoria says. “She called it a date but I watched her put a condom in each of her pockets and like five in her purse.”

I wonder, briefly, whether it’s my virginal status, or whether having a condom in each pocket really doesn’t quite make sense. How hard is it to reach across your body, even in the throes of passion?

“Attagirl,” I say. “See you dorks tomorrow.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

From: tylopez4nb@vsu.edu

To: clloveless@mathematics.vsu.edu

Subject: Absence due to family emergency

Professor Loveless,

I hope this email finds you well. Unfortunately, I’ve had a family emergency come up, and I will be unable to attend class on Monday, September 20, and I may also be absent on Wednesday, September 22.

I would be happy to provide doctors’ notes for my absence, and to discuss making up any missed classwork when I return.

Thank you for your understanding.

Best,

Thalia Lopez

From: clloveless@mathematics.vsu.edu

To: tylopez4nb@vsu.edu

Subject: Re: Absence due to family emergency

Dear Thalia,

Thank you for letting me know. We can discuss your coursework when you return to campus, and your absences will be excused.

Best wishes to you and your family.

Sincerely,

Caleb Loveless

From: tylopez4nb@vsu.edu

To: clloveless@mathematics.vsu.edu

Subject: Re: re: Absence due to family emergency

Professor Loveless,

Apologies, but I’ll also be absent on Friday, September 24. I expect to return to school the following week, however.

Best,

Thalia Lopez

From: clloveless@mathematics.vsu.edu

To: tylopez4nb@vsu.edu

Subject: Re: re: re: Absence due to family emergency

Thalia,

Take all the time you need. How’s your mom doing? How’s the rest of your family?

Best,

Caleb

From: tylopez4nb@vsu.edu

To: clloveless@mathematics.vsu.edu

Subject: Re: re: re: re: Absence due to family emergency

She’s much, much better, and expected to make a full recovery. We still haven’t been able to take her home, but it should only be a few more days. There’s nothing I can really do here, so I’m coming back to campus.

My dad and Bastien are as well as can be expected.

Love,

Thalia

From: clloveless@mathematics.vsu.edu

To: tylopez4nb@vsu.edu

Subject: Re: re: re: re: re: Absence due to family emergency

Glad to hear it. See you in class on Monday.

Caleb

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

THALIA

The tile floor is freezing. I didn’t take that into consideration when I planned my outfit for the day. In my head, I just knocked on the office door, Caleb called out ‘come in,’ and I waltzed into office hours.

I should have known better. Office hours are never waltzed into. There’s always a wait, and it’s usually a long one, and more often than not I get tired of standing and wind up sitting on a cold tile floor, trying to get some reading done.

Currently, I’m trying to read an article in Neuroplasticity Bulletin about brain cancer survivors who forgot their first language but learned a second, and I’m not having much luck.

Instead, I’ve read the same paragraph at least five times, but the only thought I’ve managed to have is Love, Thalia.

I didn’t mean to sign my most recent email to Caleb that way. I meant to sign it Best, Thalia, or Sincerely, Thalia, or Professionally and Platonically, Thalia, but I’d been at the hospital all day, then come home and watched The Tudors for four hours straight, and then finally, at two o’clock in the morning when my brain was fried and filled with nonsense, I’d emailed Professor Loveless.

And I signed it Love, Thalia, sent it off, and didn’t even realize what I’d done until he responded.

With any other professor, I’d feel awkward for a few minutes and then shrug it off, because I’m sure people sign their emails without thinking all the time.

But given that the last time I saw this particular professor, he’d just dried my tears and driven me across the state and I’d repaid his kindness by kissing him, this feels more awkward. A lot more awkward.

His door opens. A girl I don’t know comes out, clutching a textbook in front of herself and looking slightly worried about math.

“Next?” Caleb’s voice calls from inside, and the guy sitting across the hall from me stands and goes in while I try to get back to my reading, butt freezing on the floor.

I’ve been back on campus for a week. It’s currently almost five on Friday evening, which means I’ve spent three class periods trying to fight off thoughts of Love, Thalia. I feel like that student in Indiana Jones who wrote on her eyelids, and that thought doesn’t make me feel good.

I sit there for ten more minutes, then fifteen. I finally make some headway with the Neuroplasticity Bulletin and when the guy comes out of Caleb’s office, I’ve finally read three entire pages.

“Anyone else out there?” Caleb’s voice calls.

I clear my throat, getting to my feet.

“Just me,” I say, and push his door open, heart beating faster than I’d like.

“Thalia,” he says, and he smiles a smile that makes my heart skip a beat.

I’ve imagined this moment several more times than strictly necessary, and in those imaginings, Caleb didn’t always smile. Given that the last thing I did was kiss him without permission, I couldn’t blame him for any other reaction.

“Have a seat,” he says, gesturing. “I’ve been wondering all week whether you’d come by.”

“You have?” I ask, heart thrashing again as I sink into one of the chairs opposite him.

The building may be new, or at least newly revamped, but the chairs are clearly a holdover from its former life, old wooden things upholstered in avocado-colored leather.

“I have,” he confirms, sitting himself, his chair creaking slightly as he looks down, grabs a pen from his desk, holds it between his fingers. “You’ve got a fair amount of homework and a quiz to make up, and you seem like you prefer to have your ducks in a row.”

“I do,” I say, and the knot in my stomach unwinds.

Apparently we’re taking the simplest approach to what happened: we’re pretending that it didn’t. I can do that. Much better than talking about it.

He’s wearing his glasses. He’s worn his glasses every day since I’ve been back, at least that I’ve seen, and because I’m a chronic overthinker I wonder if it’s about me.

I know it’s probably because he’s been running late in the mornings, or hasn’t gotten his contact prescription renewed, or his eyes have been bothering him, or one of ten thousand reasons a person would wear glasses instead of contacts.

But I can’t help but wonder whether it’s got anything to do with the fact that I said there, now you’re Caleb before I kissed him.

“And I apologize for not contacting you or coming to office hours earlier,” I say, spine straight as I pull a notebook from my bag, along with my day planner. “To be honest, I’ve had a lot of work to make up and I’ve also gotten slightly behind with grad school applications, so my ducks aren’t as in a row as I’d like.”

“Understandable,” he says, turning the pen in his hands end over end. “Do you want to start with any questions you’ve had about the lectures or the homework? I trust you got the notes from a classmate.”

“I did,” I say, and I look down at the problem sets I brought with me, and I make myself focus on them and only them.

Together, we go over the homework that I’ve managed to get done so far. He stands from his chair and walks to a whiteboard against one wall of his office, erases a set of symbols that I don’t even pretend to understand, and answers my questions simply, thoroughly, and completely.

He’s a very good teacher. He’s probably the best math teacher I’ve ever had, and I’m not just saying that because he’s hotter than an August heat wave. Unlike every other math teacher I’ve ever had, he can understand why something doesn’t make sense to me. If I’m not getting one approach to a problem, he can approach it from another angle, explain it a different way.

Admittedly, I’m not bad at math. I’m perfectly fine at math; it’s not my favorite subject, but I’m not terrified of it like so many people seem to be.

But Caleb is very good at math, and he’s very good at teaching math, so good that in a purely professional, non-sexual way, it’s a pleasure to watch him do it because it’s so rare that you see someone doing exactly what they should be in their life.

I don’t know how long we’ve been talking about integrals and limits when his phone goes off several times in a row.

“Right, so that will be the asymptote as the limit of that particular function approaches zero,” he says, pointing with one hand and pulling the phone from his pocket with the other. “Which, actually, is what we’re covering Monday, so you’re officially all caught up. Is it really seven-fifteen?”

“That’s gotta be wrong,” I tell him, reaching for my own phone, since he doesn’t seem to have a clock in his office.

My phone says it’s 7:16.

“I’m so sorry,” I tell him. “I swear, I thought it was maybe six.”

He’s still got a dry-erase marker in one hand, both sleeves rolled up, and he runs that hand through his hair, ruffling it slightly.

“Well, everyone knows how easy it is to get lost in a discussion of calculus,” he deadpans, his voice teasing as he looks at the whiteboard again. “If you’re not careful, poof, there goes your whole weekend.”

“It should come with a warning label,” I agree.

“Do you have any questions? I’ll leave this up here for a moment, but I actually need to leave,” he says, capping the marker and putting it back into the tray.

“Where are you going?” I ask, casually, copying the last equation from the board into my notebook.

“Home,” he says, moving behind his desk and grabbing a pile of papers. “Well, not home. My mom’s house, for the weekend.”

Then he pauses, the stack of papers held in one hand, and considers me for a beat.

“Charlie had the baby,” he says, and a smile takes over his face slowly, from the inside out.

It’s the first time either of us has alluded to the four hours we spent together in a car, and it’s a relief, pure and simple. Pretending that the kiss didn’t happen is hard enough; pretending that I don’t know him as well as I do would be impossible.

“I thought she wasn’t due for another week?” I say, keeping my voice down.

“She was about ten days early,” he says, maneuvering the stack into a manila folder. “Though I’ve since learned that anything between thirty-eight and forty-two weeks is considered a perfectly normal length for a human pregnancy.”

“Have you met him yet?” I ask, putting my notebook away, slinging my bag onto my shoulder. “You said it was a boy, right?”

It’s oddly heavy, and after a moment, I remember why.

“I went up last weekend,” he says, then glances at the door. There’s silence in the hall, and after a moment, Caleb smiles. “I’ve got pictures. Want to see?”

I just laugh.

“Of course I want to see, I’m human,” I tell him. “We’re genetically programmed to be attracted to babies. Not like that! I just mean attracted in a regular way. Humans like looking at human babies. In studies people always look at pictures of babies for much longer than anything else, even sexual pictures of other adults.”

I am not making this better. I am not making this better at all.

I think Caleb is laughing at me, scrolling through something on his phone.

“It activates the reward center in our brain,” I go on, for some reason. “Some scientists actually think that it’s the reason that we’ve selectively bred domestic animals to be cuter —”

He holds his phone out to me. On the screen is a picture of him, wearing a plaid shirt, holding a brand-new infant swaddled in a blanket.

I feel like my whole body turns to jello, right there and then. One second I’m a person and the next I’m a melting pile of goop, and I don’t even entirely understand why.

I wasn’t expecting it. I’ve seen babies before, even tiny ones, but this picture in particular has activated some deep, instinctual part of my brain that I didn’t know was there.

“Oh my God, Caleb,” I whisper. “He’s adorable.”

I tell myself it’s just the baby. It’s a very cute baby, and my over-the-top reaction has nothing at all to do with the person holding the baby.

“Yeah, he’s pretty cool,” he says, looking down at his phone indulgently. “We hung out for a little while. Here, you can take that.”

He hands me the phone, then goes back to putting papers into a briefcase.

“Are there more?” I ask, suddenly awkward.

People don’t hand other people their phones. Everyone’s got something they don’t want found — dating apps, naked pictures, a really embarrassing playlist.

I wonder if Caleb has those things. If he just handed me his phone, does he want me to see them? Does he not mind if I see them? Has he simply never taken a naked selfie?

Sometimes a phone is just a phone, I remind myself.

“I took about a hundred,” he says, grabbing another stack. “You can just flip through.”

I’m tentative at first, but I go ahead and look through the pictures, shot after shot of various people holding the baby, who seems to be mostly asleep.

However, one thing becomes clear very quickly: Caleb’s brothers are all hot. There are four of them, they all held this baby, and all five of them are handsome beyond reason.

It’s astonishing, really.

“That’s Seth,” he says, his voice rumbling over my shoulder. “and then that’s Levi lurking over in the corner.”

I wouldn’t say that Levi is lurking. I’d say that he’s standing normally, hands in his pockets, attractively looking toward something off-camera.

“What’s his name?” I ask, still staring at the picture.

“The baby?”

I shoot Caleb a look over my shoulder.

“No, this year’s Nobel Prize winner,” I say. “Yes, the baby.”

He’s laughing at himself, the strap of his briefcase over his shoulder, a rakish smile on his face.

“Thomas,” he says.

I look back at Thomas, this time in his dad’s arms.

“That feels like a big name for a small baby,” I say.

Caleb’s quiet for a moment, and I wonder if I’ve said the wrong thing again.

“He’s named after our dad,” he says, his voice quiet as he looks at the picture of his brother and his nephew that I’m still holding.

It hits me like a bolt from the blue: his father is dead.

I look at the tiny, scrunchy face in the picture and it all falls into place. We talked for four hours straight, and he didn’t mention his father once. He’s not in any of these pictures. The way he reacted when I told him about my mom, holding me without saying a word, letting me cry into his shirt in a gas station parking lot. Suddenly, it all adds up.

“I’m so sorry,” I say, the words out before I think to get confirmation.

“About the name?” he teases, voice still soft, his eyes still on the picture. “It’s not so bad.”

“No,” I say, flustered, wondering if I just read this all wrong, if I’m being really weird for no reason. “It’s a good name, I mean about... aren’t babies usually named after...”

Don’t say dead people. Do not say dead people.

He turns and looks at me, a sudden realization coming over his face when he sees the look on mine.

“The dead?” he asks, eyebrows raised.

“That’s what I’m sorry about, not the name,” I say, still floundering. “Unless he’s alive and I’ve really messed up my social cues, which does definitely happen sometimes, so maybe your dad is alive and really excited and not in any of the pictures for some reason? It’s a good name. I like it. Strong. Solid.”

Stop. Talking.

“I thought I’d mentioned it,” he says, and runs one hand through his hair, a hint of an embarrassed smile on his face. “Yeah, he’s dead. Car crash. I was ten.”

I gasp, one hand over my mouth. It’s more dramatic than I mean to be but I can’t help it.

“That’s so young,” I say. “I’m sorry.”

“Thanks,” he says, simply, then reaches for his phone, slides it back into his pocket. “I should get going, I think everyone else has gone home.”

“Actually, wait,” I say, reaching into my bag. “One more thing.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

CALEB

I never know how to talk about my father. All these years and I’ve never quite understood how people think I should react about it. Do they expect me to gnash my teeth and weep? Open my heart to them about how much it sucked to lose my father as a kid?

Am I supposed to say nah, it’s fine, everything is perfect now?

Because the truth is that it’s complicated. It’s thorny. It’s been eighteen years and somehow, my father’s death is still reaching through time and grabbing at my ankles with ugly, bony fingers, but it’s also been eighteen years, and that’s a long time.

“I wanted to say a proper thank you for giving me a ride to Norfolk,” Thalia says, and she pulls a bottle from her bag, holding it by the neck. “It was really kind of you. And it really meant a lot. And I’m sorry that I probably ruined that shirt, and just… thank you.”

I reach out and take the bottle of wine. There’s a ribbon around the neck, a folded notecard hanging from it.

“You’re welcome,” I say, and it feels too formal. I shift the wine bottle to my other hand. It’s a cabernet from 2015, a howling wolf on the label, and I remember our conversation that night, before she got the phone call.

“You didn’t have to,” I say, trying something else, but it also feels wrong in my mouth.

What I want to say is that I’m glad that, by some miracle, I was there when she got the call. I want to say that, despite the awful circumstances, the time we spent in the car might have been the best four hours of my year.

I want to tell her how desperately I wish she wasn’t an undergraduate. I want to tell her that I’d drive her again in a heartbeat, that I didn’t do it for thanks but because I like her and I wanted her to be okay.

“I know, but I wanted to,” she says. “And also, politeness and manners are the glue that hold society together.”

“I thought the glue that held society together was little white lies,” I say.

“We went to different finishing schools, then,” Thalia laughs. “What are they teaching you down here?”

“Mostly how to fix things with nothing but duct tape and fishing line while drunk on Bud Light,” I say, putting an extra twang into my accent. “It’s my understanding that the girls took a course in making flowerbeds out of tractor tires.”

“Practical,” she says, grinning. “Probably more practical than learning to curtsey or waltz.”

“You know those things?” I ask, opening my briefcase and finding a spot for the wine.

“I had to learn before my quince,” she says. “I’d need a refresher before I met the Queen, though. And I’ve got no clue how you make a tire into a flowerbed.”

“Fill it with dirt, then plant flowers,” I say.

“If you ever get tired of math, you could teach redneck finishing school,” she laughs.

I nod at the door, then follow her as she walks for it.

“I’ll consider it my backup plan,” I say, as I close the door behind us.

The hall is still lit but completely quiet, every other door long-since closed. Most nights there’s still someone here until late, but tonight’s Friday, so they’re all gone.

Yet again, I’ve found myself alone with Thalia. I don’t know how it keeps happening. It shouldn’t keep happening. I should be making sure that it doesn’t, but here we are.

“Can I walk you home?” I ask, checking that my office door is locked.

The question comes out of my mouth without me meaning to ask. It’s habit, borne of being mostly raised by my mother: I offer to walk women home, to see them to their cars, make sure they get where they’re going.

“I’m just going next door, to the Crown,” she says, pointing toward the library, though she doesn’t meet my eyes.

“On a Friday night?”

“I’ve got calculus homework to do,” she laughs, but she still doesn’t look at me. We walk through the empty hallway, down the stairs, toward the side entrance nearest the library, talking about nothing.

“You don’t have to walk me to the library, you know,” she says once we’re out of the math building, walking down the sidewalk between the two buildings.

“I’m going this way anyway,” I lie.

“I don’t think I’m going to meet a grisly end in the next five hundred feet,” she says, glancing down the sidewalk, dotted with other students. “And if I do, there’ll be witnesses.”

“You object to my presence?” I ask, dryly, both hands in my pockets as we go up a short set of stairs.

“No, just afraid I’m making your route home inefficient,” she says.

Another hundred feet, and then we’re there at the steps of the Crowninshield Library — aka The Crown — named after some colonial-era bigwig who probably donated a lot of money.

“I guess I trust you from here,” I tell her.

Thalia rolls her eyes, but she’s smiling.

“If I require assistance getting into the elevator I’ll call you,” she teases.

“Is this where I curtsey?”

“Thanks for the homework help,” she says. “And sorry I took your whole evening.”

“It was nothing,” I say, and I mean it. I’d teach her math all night if she wanted. “Come back if you’ve got more questions.”

“Sure,” she says.

We say goodbye. I turn away, something warm and fuzzy still glowing in the center of my body.

I haven’t gotten two steps before Thalia calls my name, and I turn back.

She’s still standing where she was, rooted to the spot, both hands on the strap of her bag. She’s holding her breath, lips slightly parted, like there’s something on the tip of her tongue.

“Thalia?” I say after a moment, stepping forward, but it breaks the spell. She blinks and breathes and her body relaxes and she looks away, then smiles.

“Nothing. See you Monday,” she tells me, then turns and climbs the steps into the library.

“How many onesies can an infant own?” Seth asks, holding up a tiny white garment.

“I suppose that depends on the wealth of the infant and the number of available onesies for purchase in the world,” I tell him. “But it’s a finite number, albeit a large one.”

Seth folds it in half, then carefully places it on one of the several piles next to him.

“The correct answer is so fucking many,” he says, half to himself. “And there’s another pile. How is there another pile?”

“We can switch if you want,” I offer.

We’re sitting on the floor of Daniel and Charlie’s living room. Next to Seth are three separate laundry baskets along with a pile of clean laundry, and in front of me is a mess of plastic and metal pieces that claim to be an infant swing.

On one hand, the swing does have instructions.

On the other, they’re a garbled mess that barely counts as English. I’ve been sitting here for fifteen minutes and I’ve put pieces together and then taken them apart about seventeen times.

“I’d rather fold laundry and complain about it,” he says, grabbing another onesie.

“Delightful,” I say, staring down at the instructions. They’re telling me to fit together a piece that looks like a fire hydrant, sort of, with a piece that looks a little like the letter F, only none of the pieces I have look anything like the drawing in the booklet and also, I’m starting to hate everything.

“Just wing it,” Seth says. “You’ve got a Ph.D., for crying out loud, it’s just a baby swing.”

“I can’t wing this,” I object.

“Of course you can,” he says, folding. “What could go wrong?”

“The swing falls apart and Thomas gets hurt?” I say, looking over at him, a piece in each hand. “There’s no speed control, so the swing launches him across the room and toward certain doom? I can’t be responsible for a baby launch, Seth.”

He grins.

“I’ll tell Daniel that I suggested it. We’ll share blame,” he says.

“You say that like you think I’ve forgotten The Skateboard Incident.”

“If you haven’t, you should have.”

“Never,” I tell my older brother, leaning over the useless instruction booklet again. “Never.”

I flip a page, carefully consider a few pieces, and then fit two of them together. It appears to be the right choice, though I honestly have no idea. I’ve never put a baby swing together before.

It’s closing in on ten o’clock Friday night, and the four people who actually live here are all asleep for now, which is probably a small miracle. Seth and I did the dishes and cleaned, and now we’re trying to accomplish a few more things before heading back to his place for the night.

“Are you really going to not tell me who you took to the hospital last weekend?” he asks, lifting a piece of fabric from the pile. “Also, what is this?”

I snap one more piece onto the first two and look over. He’s holding up something that’s blue with white clouds and looks like a wide T with a pocket at the bottom. I tilt my head, studying it.

“A baby hat?” I guess. “Maybe that part is a chin strap?”

“You mean the wings? These things?” he says, wiggling them. “They’re huge.”

“I don’t know,” I protest. “Thomas has a lot of hats.”

“Tell me who,” he says.

“Just a friend,” I say, turning back to the instructions.

Seth just sighs.

“If it were a friend, you’d tell me who,” he says. “Remember when you lost your virginity to Christine Schmidt your junior year and I drove you to buy more condoms and never told anyone? I’ve still never told anyone.”

“I can buy my own condoms now,” I say, dryly.

“And are you?” he asks, snapping a towel.

I decline to answer.

“If you won’t tell me, it’s someone I know,” he goes on, talking mostly to himself. “An ex you don’t want us to know you’re back with?”

I stop what I’m doing and look over at him.

“What?” he asks after a moment.

“Are you seriously asking me that question?” I say.

“We’re friends.”

“Is that why you’ve been celibate since she moved back?”

He freezes for a moment, holding a crib sheet with sleeping bears on it up, like he’s contemplating it. Then he puts it down, folds it, folds it again with the kind of exacting, studied movements that mean I just got to him.

“Who told you that?” he asks.

“It didn’t take a genius to figure it out,” I say, snapping another part onto the swing.

“I’m just dating women who don’t live in town,” he says, grabbing more laundry. “And taking time for myself, to do some personal and spiritual growth and shit.”

“Well, which is it?” I ask.

He doesn’t answer right away, like he’s thinking.

“Or it’s someone who we don’t know but who you’re not supposed to be with,” he goes on, ignoring everything I just said. “A fellow professor? Your advisor?”

“Pretty sure Oliver’s parents have been dead for a while now,” I remind him.

“The Dean? A student? A research assist — Caleb.”

I’m not moving, my eyes practically boring holes into the page of the manual that say sliding the pole into shaft A, then rotated.

“You didn’t drive one of your students across the state,” he says, sounding extremely reasonable.

“Not a student,” I say, still staring down.

He doesn’t believe me. I can tell from here, without looking, that he doesn’t believe me.

“Shit,” he whispers, and I can hear him swallow. “Caleb, be fucking careful, you can get fired for —”

“Thank you,” I say stiffly.

“I’m serious,” he says. “You just got this job, there’s no way —”

“I’m not looking for advice from the guy who’s following his ex around like a lost puppy dog, even after she broke his heart and rubbed his nose in it,” I say, angrily snapping two more pieces together. “Thanks, Seth, I’m fully aware of the rules and regulations on this one.”

“Are you? Also, fuck you,” he says, yanking a towel out of a hamper.

I flip him off.

He flips me off.

I go back to the baby swing, heart pumping like mad even as I try to breathe through it and concentrate on what I’m supposed to be doing, which is helping Daniel and Charlie in their hour of need, not getting into a stupid fight with Seth over our respective woman problems.

That said, I might kill him if he gets back with his ex. I didn’t go through that with him just for her trashy, lying ass to move back to town and instantly re-bewitch my brother.

Finally, I’ve got the frame put together. I stand it upright.

It stays. It even looks sturdy. Carefully, I attach the swing, then plug it in and turn it on.

It swings, gently, at nowhere near launch velocity, and I look over at my brother.

“Sorry,” I say.

“No, I’m sorry,” he says. “You’re a grown-ass man, you can handle yourself.”

The swing creaks slightly as it rocks, and I turn it off, cross the room, and grab a pair of pajama pants.

“Her mom was in a car accident,” I say, folding them. “She was in surgery in a hospital in Norfolk when Thalia got the call and they weren’t sure if she’d make it.”

Seth understands. I know he understands.

“How is she now?” he asks.

“Much better. They’re expecting a full recovery,” I tell him, grabbing more laundry.

“Her name’s Thalia?” he asks.

“Just a friend,” I say.

Seth doesn’t say anything, but he gives me a look. It’s a big brother look, an I’ve known you all your life and I know your bullshit look.

“Careful,” he says.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

THALIA

Victoria: Wonderbread Woman

Victoria: a One Night Stand

Harper: Chicken Strip! That one gives you an excuse to be sexy.

Margaret: It’s Halloween, she doesn’t need an excuse.

Victoria: Fifty Shades of Grey! We’ll go to the hardware store and steal paint swatches.

Margaret: Or, hear me out, just wear something slutty, it’ll do the trick.

Margaret: Trust me.

Harper: Don’t peer pressure her.

Me: Yeah, Margaret, don’t peer pressure me.

Margaret: What?

Margaret: You said last night that you just wanted to find some random guy and make out with his face!

Margaret: We’re just helping.

I put my phone face-down on the scarred wooden desk of my carrel and rub my eyes. It’s nearly one-thirty in the morning, and the library closes soon, which means I should leave.

It’s entirely possible to get locked in here. No one checks all the floors, they just make the announcements and lock the doors. I know more than one person who’s had to call the campus police to let them out.

My phone buzzes again, but I don’t check it right away, because last night around this time — tired, overworked, and eating cereal around our kitchen table during a study break — I expressed this desire to make out with someone’s face, and my roommates jumped on it.

Of course they did. I knew they would, because they’ve all been a little bit worried about my whole date-with-my-professor situation, and then they were more worried about the whole got-a-ride-to-Norfolk thing, and now that everything between Caleb and I has been perfectly, one hundred percent platonic and above-board for the last few weeks, they think I’m moping.

I’m not moping. I’m busy. And, fine, yes, still masturbating to the memory of our single make out session, but I have to think about something, right? A person can’t just not masturbate, and I can’t get off if I’m thinking about writing a paper.

I probably should just find a random guy and make out with him. Sure, my casual make outs have never been spectacular in the past, but it could help me get my mind off of my calculus professor, and I would welcome the respite.

Harper: You did say that.

Margaret: What about two guys?

Me: Three guys! Four guys!

Margaret: You’re making fun of me, but it can be arranged.

I put my phone down again. I look at my laptop screen, where I’m trying to write a paper on the intertextuality of avian themes in García Marquez and Cervantes, and it is not going well.

I should probably just go home and go to bed so I can tackle this in the morning, but first I stand from the uncomfortable wooden chair. My knees pop like I’m seventy.

When’s the last time I stood up? I think, and I have no idea.

I roll my shoulders, flex my hands, bend backwards, and then stroll along the wall, between the book stacks and the other carrels. There’s no one in any of them, but the ones on this floor are reserved for seniors doing their theses.

I walk all the way to the corner and then stand there, looking out the window.

At the mathematics building.

Dammit.

It’s been a little over three weeks since I showed up at his office hours and gave him a bottle of wine, which means it’s been a little over four weeks since the time I kissed him in the hospital.

I still haven’t apologized. I’ve been in class with him three times a week and back to his office hours twice, and I still haven’t apologized. At this point I don’t even know if I should apologize any more, or just pretend it never happened. Which is worse? Which makes me more of an asshole?

Meanwhile, I’ve been so busy that I’ve barely had time to breathe, between making up for the week of school I missed, graduate school applications, taking the bus home every weekend, and now midterms.

Just survive this week, I tell myself, looking out the tall, skinny window at the math building and the campus beyond, bathed in the orange light of street lamps.

Just get through this week, and then you can breathe for a minute before the last round of grad school applications and then —

There’s an office light on in the math building. Just one, on the top floor, and the moment I see it I have a bad, sinking feeling.

I also have butterflies. It’s a weird combination.

I should walk back to my carrel, pack my things, and leave before I get locked inside the library. That is what I, a reasonable and rational human woman, should do.

I don’t. I cup my hands to the glass to block out the light, then look out the window.

It’s the wrong office, I tell myself. What are the odds —

It’s not, of course, and as I look closer I can see a man sitting in an office chair, at a desk, in front of a computer. Doing something or other.

And I can tell it’s him. I don’t know how but I can, even from here: it’s shaped like him and it’s wearing a shirt that looks like his and he’s running one hand through his hair like Caleb does, pushing his glasses up like Caleb does, turning around like —

Caleb turns to face the window, and I freeze, hands still around my eyes, so obviously spying that I may as well be wearing binoculars.

He looks straight at me. Of course he does.

Slowly, I stand up straight, take my hands away from my eyes.

After a moment, he waves. I wave back.

Then, not knowing what else to do, I flash him a double thumbs-up and walk back to my carrel, where I sit, the paper still open on my laptop screen, and stare at it for a long moment.

The Crown, in its current incarnation, was built in the 1960s, a time that was pretty bad for VSU, architecturally speaking. It’s square and made of concrete, with tall, narrow slit windows that let almost no light in.

One of those windows is next to my carrel, and slowly, cautiously, I look through it.

Yup. There he is, though at least now his back is to me again and he’s on his computer, acting like I didn’t just spy on him and then act extremely weird about it.

Okay, I tell myself. Two more paragraphs and then —

An email notification pops up at the bottom of my screen with a ding, and even though I should be writing, I open it.

From: glassesoff@secretemail.com

To: tylopez4nb@vsu.edu

Subject: Chivalry

You’re not walking home alone at this hour, are you?

I look through the window and there he is, facing the window, one ankle crossed over the opposite knee.

True to his new email address, his glasses are off.

From: tylopez4nb@vsu.edu

To: glassesoff@secretemail.com

Subject: Re: Chivalry

I usually take the campus shuttle.

His reply takes all of two seconds.

From: glassesoff@secretemail.com

To: tylopez4nb@vsu.edu

Subject: Re: re: Chivalry

I’ll meet you on the steps.

I close my laptop as the PA system crackles, and a bored-sounding woman announces that the library will be closing in fifteen minutes. Suddenly, my heart is pounding, my stomach fluttering, and I am very, very awake.

“Are you usually here this late?” he asks as I walk down the concrete steps, zipping my jacket up to my chin, the chilly autumn breeze bracing at this time of night.

“Usually I manage to leave around midnight,” I say. “But it’s midterms, plus I missed that week of classes, so I’m behind.”

Caleb’s standing off to one side of the stairs, wearing a black peacoat and a red plaid scarf, a bicycle leaning against his hip, a helmet hanging from the handlebars.

“Are you usually in your office this late?” I ask.

“Midterms,” he says. “I’ve got a lot of students trying to get caught up before the test, plus I’ve been going home weekends.”

Together, we start walking down the brick path across the quad, buildings looming around us, stars and moon above. It’s a clear night, which is probably why it’s so cold. I shove my hands into my pockets and scrunch into myself, trying to get warmer.

Tomorrow’s a scarf and gloves day, I think.

“Cold?” Caleb asks.

“I’m fine,” I say.

He’s already pulling at his scarf, unlooping it from his neck.

“No,” I say.

“I can’t watch you shiver all the way back to your apartment,” he says, pulling it off.

“I’ll warm up in a minute, now that we’re walking.”

Silently, he holds it out to me. I don’t take it, just keep walking.

“Are you going to freeze just to prove a point?” he teases. “I’m not even sure what point you’re proving.”

“That I’m independent and self-sufficient and don’t get cold easily?” I say. My fists are clenched in my pockets, but my fingers are going numb anyway. “That I didn’t forget to check the weather report this morning, I chose not to?”

“It’s just a scarf, not a moral judgement,” he says. “C’mon. It’s wool. From my mom’s friend’s sheep.”

It does look really, really nice, and I’m still cold.

“Don’t make me carry it like this all the way back,” Caleb says. “My shoulder’s gonna cramp up.”

I sigh, then reach out and take the scarf, then pull it tight around my neck.

It’s still warm from his body heat, still smells like him, like pine and pencil shavings. The tiniest shiver makes its way down my spine despite my best efforts in that arena.

“Thanks,” I say, tucking the ends under my jacket. “You usually get your way, huh?”

He looks at me, one hand in his pocket, the other on the seat of his bicycle, guiding it alongside us.

“It doesn’t feel like I do,” he says.

“Then it’s just with me?”

There’s a long pause, and I mentally smack myself on the forehead. He just gave me a scarf. Why am I being a jerk? Why didn’t I just say thank you for lending me this scarf made from some sheep of your acquaintance and leave it at that?

“I’m fairly sure I’ve never had my way with you,” he finally says, his voice so low it feels like it’s bumping along the path below my feet. “I think I’d remember.”

Suddenly, this scarf is way too hot and I think again, for the thousandth time at least, of being pushed against the wall at the botanic gardens, his lips on mine, his body pressed against me, the way I felt like my skin was electrified.

I stop in my tracks.

We’re right where the brick walkway meets the sidewalk, though the street is empty this time of night, a single stoplight changing endlessly from green to yellow to red even though there are no cars to obey it.

“Gotten, not had,” I say after he also stops, two paces ahead of me. “Don’t get it twisted. There’s an important semantic difference.”

“Then tell me how I’ve been getting my way with you, Thalia,” he says.

“I’m wearing your scarf even though I said I didn’t want it,” I say, pointing at my neck. “You emailed me and informed me that you were taking me home and I didn’t even get to argue.”

“I’m walking you home,” he points out. “There’s an important semantic difference.”

Just like that, my temper flares.

“Right, because walking me home is the sort of completely above-board thing that any nice professor would do but the minute walking becomes taking it’s wildly inappropriate for you to be doing with a student,” I say. “And you would absolutely never be inappropriate.”

Even in the dark, his eyes flash.

“Have I been?” he asks, taking a step closer.

I swallow hard, stand my ground.

“Because if I recall correctly, you’re the one who came and found me at the Madison Scholars banquet while I was sitting alone and minding my own business,” he says, his voice low, nearly a growl. “You kissed me in the hospital. You wrote Love, Thalia on that email and you gave me a bottle of wine.”

“The email was an accident,” I snap.

“Was the kiss?”

“That was just a mistake,” I say, and I’m frustrated and tired and hurt and stressed and hungry, and on one hand I feel like crying and on the other I feel like shouting at Caleb and on the third, non-existent hand, I want to make another mistake and kiss him again.

“My mom had just been in a car accident and we’d been driving all night, it was late, I was tired and stressed and emotional and there’s study after study that shows people in heightened emotional states have poor judgement,” I say, my eyes closed.

I will not cry. I will not cry.

“It seemed like a great idea at the time, but obviously, it wasn’t, and I’m sorry. If I could take it back I would, but to the best of my knowledge no one has figured out how to interrupt the time stream yet and if they had I’m sure it wouldn’t be available to private citizens who did something dumb.”

“Apology accepted,” Caleb says, his face stone.

“Great,” I say, way, way more sarcastically than he deserves. “I’m walking home. Don’t come with me, I think I’ll make it two blocks without getting mugged or abducted.”

I turn on my heel and stomp away, down the street. Full-on stomp because if I’m behaving like a child, why not go all the way and really sell the performance?

“Good night,” he calls after me.

I feel like shit. More than anything, I suddenly feel like too much, all at once: I feel like I want to march back there and kiss him hard and tell him to take me home and have his way with me. I’m witheringly, incineratingly angry that the one person I’ve felt that way about in my life is a man I absolutely, positively cannot have.

I’m mad that he keeps flirting with me when he knows the same. I’m mad that he’s so genuinely kind, that he’s sharp and smart and looks hot holding a baby, that he’s not like anyone else I’ve ever met.

I stomp to my apartment and unlock the building’s front door without looking back at him. Somehow, I know that he stood there and watched me until I got inside, making sure I was safe. Yes, that also makes me mad.

I’m a wreck, I think, slogging my way up the stairs into my building, an old house that now has an apartment on each floor. Just a damn useless wreck.

Then I take a deep breath, keep slogging.

You’re not a wreck, I tell myself. You’re tired and stressed and overworked. Your family circumstances have you emotionally stretched thin.

And, okay, you’re frustrated because you want someone you can’t have.

Also, hungry. Don’t forget hungry. When was dinner?

When I get upstairs, Margaret and Victoria are in the living room, Margaret on her laptop on the couch, Victoria eating cereal at the table.

“Halloween,” I announce.

They both look over at me, eyebrows raised, as if they can see the storm cloud over my head.

“Two guys,” I say, holding up two fingers. “That’s how many guys I’m gonna make out with. Two. I’m gonna dress sexy and have sexy fun and make out with people.”

Who are not my calculus professor.

“Okay,” says Victoria.

“Attagirl,” says Margaret. “Are we talking successive or simultaneous makeouts?”

“Don’t care,” I say, heading through the living room for my bedroom. “Either one, as long as there’s two, because I am getting on the express train to Makeout City. Good night!”

“Night!” they both call, and I shut my bedroom door behind myself, sling my laptop bag onto the floor.

Then I take off my jacket, and when I do, I realize I’m still wearing Caleb’s scarf.

In one final fit of pique, I take it off and fling it into my closet.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

THALIA

“Okay, wait, give me a few more guesses,” Josh shouts over the thump of the bass from the next room, leaning in toward me. “You’re a sexy CEO.”

“No,” I shout.

He takes another sip from his red solo cup. I’m not sure what’s in there, but I’m pretty sure it’s blue, so it’s not beer. I assume the frat brothers here have some special booze stash in the back that’s only for them.

I, on the other hand, have some pretty strict guidelines about what I’m willing to drink at a frat party. If I don’t see it come out of a bottle, or preferably a keg, it doesn’t go in my mouth.

“Sexy lawyer,” he shouts.

I take a tiny sip of my drink — a now-warm beer that I got from the keg my very own self — and shake my head.

“Give me a hint,” he says.

“I’m a specific person,” I say, and point at the cigar in my pocket.

He gives me one more up-and-down look, and I glance away from him, back at the doorway to the dance floor.

“Sexy Bill Clinton!” he says, grinning, like he’s certain he got it. “The cigar is a total —”

“No,” I shout.

I knew I should have gotten a beard, because no one has any idea who I am, but I really didn’t want to wear a beard. It seems like a huge pain in the ass.

“Well, whatever you are, you’re totally sexy,” he shouts. “It’s a good costume.”

“Thank you,” I shout back.

I’m supposed to be making out with Josh. Well, not with Josh specifically, but the idea of tonight was that I would make out with someone and it would scratch my itch and I would stop thinking about Caleb and thus be freed to find a more suitable match.

It’s not working. This is the same story as always: some guy talks to me. I get intensely uncomfortable. He flirts. I try to imagine making out with him, and it weirds me out so much that I make some excuse and leave.

I don’t know what my problem is. It seems like everyone else I know has no problem doing this kind of thing, why do I?

“Guess what I am,” he shouts.

I take another step back and regard his outfit: basketball shorts, flip flops, and a tank top. It’s not really seasonally appropriate, but other than that, he looks like one of the several thousand guys on campus who wear that every day.

“An off-duty lifeguard,” I guess.

Josh looks mildly puzzled and drinks some more.

“Nah, man,” he says.

“A surfer on the weekend,” I try again, and now he laughs.

“I’m a Rho Gamma Delta!” he shouts, holding his drink way up, like it’s a torch. “Haha! Get it! They’re always wearing shorts and flip flops and shit, it’s like they don’t even own real shoes.”

“That’s really good,” I lie. “Super funny.”

I try smiling at him. Is this how you flirt? You tell a guy he’s funny and smile at him?

“Thanks,” he says. “Me and a couple of my buddies are gonna go over there in a little while, they’re having their own party and man, are they gonna be…”

He keeps talking, but I stop listening to stare at his mouth as his lips move.

Can I make out with him? I just have to put my face right there and then get my lips against his…

To be clear, there’s nothing wrong with Josh. He’s nice looking. Good face. Athletic body. My own age. Not my professor.

And yet, the idea of putting my face on his and making out makes me feel like there are worms crawling over my skin.

I don’t want to. Even though, in the abstract, I really do want to accomplish my stated goals for tonight, I just don’t want to make out with this guy.

“That’ll be great,” I say when he’s finished with his plans for pranking another frat, or… something. “Super funny. Hey, I gotta go get a refill, cool talking to you!”

I don’t even wait for a response before I flee.

Like all the frats on campus, Kappa Chi Kappa is in an old house, and I duck around a staircase decorated with fake cobwebs and giant (fake) spiders, then through a hallway hung with skeletons and then past the party room, music pumping out.

I scan it quickly, but I don’t see anyone I know in the writhing mass of bodies, so I skip it.

The kitchen. Another hallway. A room that’s just filled with Christmas lights and people making out on beanbag chairs.

Then, finally, in a room that I think is some kind of closed-in porch, I find Harper and Victoria.

“Heyyyyy!” they chorus when they see me.

“Heyyy,” I say, flopping on the couch next to them.

I choose not to think about the things a frat house couch has probably seen.

“How’s the mission going?” Victoria asks.

“The mission is stupid,” I say.

“So, bad?” Harper asks, taking a sip of her beer. I think they’re both slightly drunker than me, but it’s Halloween. Everyone should be drunk. That’s the point of Halloween in college.

“I tried,” I say, leaning my head against the back of the couch. My extremely-short-cutoff-shorts are giving me an intense wedgie right now, but I don’t care quite enough to fix it. “I just… don’t wanna.”

“Then don’t,” Victoria says. “If you make out with someone just to make out with someone, you’ll only wind up feeling bad about that.”

“It’s okay to only make out with people you actually want to make out with,” Harper joins in.

“I know,” I say. “I just wish I wanted to make out with more people.”

“Do you?” Victoria asks.

“More beer would fix that,” Harper offers.

“I don’t want more beer either,” I say.

“Then I don’t know how to help you,” she says, finishing her own off.

“Where’s Margaret?” I ask, even though I probably know the answer.

“One of her harem boys is in this frat,” Victoria says. “They’re probably upstairs.”

Margaret is — in her own words — a slut, which she defines as “a woman who likes sex and isn’t shy about it.” At any given time, she has several friends-with-benefits relationships going on, all of which seem pleasurable and safe and consensual and am I jealous?

Yes. Kinda. It’s complicated. I’m jealous of some aspects, at least. Such as the ability to make out with someone without making it weird first.

“How come she can bang like twenty guys at once and I can’t even make out with one?” I complain.

“Because you’re different people,” Victoria says, her tone of voice suggesting duh. “People are different, it’s not a big deal.”

“You want to fuck your professor, she wants the whole frat to run a train on her,” Harper says. “Different strokes for different folks.”

I don’t think that’s quite what Margaret is looking for, but I take Harper’s point.

“I need more beer,” Harper announces, then points at Victoria. “You need more beer. And you need more beer!” she finishes, the last statement directed at me.

“Accurate,” Victoria says, and shoves herself off the couch. “Then we should go dance before the organ concert. Shake that booty, you’ll feel better.”

I let her help me off the couch.

“Okay,” I agree. “We’ll dance.”

I’m not a very good dancer. I know that, as a Latina chick, I’m supposed to have rhythm in my soul and salsa through life or whatever, but apparently I missed that memo.

I dance anyway, with Victoria and Harper. After a while, Margaret comes down, looking pleased with herself, and she dances too.

We dance with some guys. We dance without some guys. I have another beer and loosen up a little and don’t care that I’m not a great dancer.

We’ve been dancing for a while when Harper shimmies over to me, grabs my wrist, and shouts in my ear.

“It’s eleven thirty!” she says. “We gotta go.”

We collect Margaret and Victoria, say goodbye to some other friends, and then grab our coats before we leave the booming frat house. The cold night air feels good against my sweaty, flushed skin, and I pull my hair back into a knot as we walk.

“You make out?” Margaret asks.

“Nah,” I tell her. “Not my night.”

She flings one arm around me and squeezes me close, nearly sending both of us stumbling off the path, and we giggle.

“I still love you,” she says, overly effusive and definitely somewhat drunk, but I appreciate it and slide my arm around her waist, and we stumble to Scarborough Hall.

Scarborough Hall has one of the largest pipe organs in the United States, so every Halloween, the school organist puts on an organ concert.

Yes, we have a school organist. I think he’s a music professor in his spare time, though I like to imagine that his main job is playing organ concerts, which also happen at Christmas, Easter, and graduation.

The concert is at midnight, so every Halloween, a huge chunk of the student body stops partying, grabs some blankets, and goes and sits on the floor of a huge, Baroque hall that’s got a pipe organ at one end and portraits of old white men adorning the walls.

We get there in plenty of time and find a space near the front, at the end of the hall opposite the organ, which is situated in a loft above the front door. The lights are off, except for a few spooky-looking sconces, and we sit on the blankets that Harper remembered to bring, bless her.

“Did anyone guess your costumes?” Margaret asks.

“Everyone,” says Harper.

“A couple people, but they really liked it,” says Victoria.

I just sigh.

“I told you that you needed the beard,” Victoria says. “You just look like A Clockwork Orange meets Rocky Horror Picture Show without it.”

Even though I’m lying on the floor, I look down at myself: ankle boots, thigh-high fishnets, thrift store gray trousers cut off to make booty shorts, a half-unbuttoned vest over a pushup bra, and a blazer with a cigar in the pocket.

I’ve been slightly self-conscious all night, but I also saw a girl wearing nothing but a thong under a fishnet dress with stickers over her nipples, so by college standards I’m practically a nun.

“Yeah,” I agree.

Harper took the Fifty Shades of Grey idea and stapled paint swatches to a black outfit. Victoria spent all week creating a complicated getup that’s half poofy prom dress, half football uniform, and has fairy wings attached.

She’s fantasy football.

Margaret’s just wearing a miniskirt and a crop top. It’s not even a costume, though I did overhear her tell someone that her costume was “college girl.”

We wait for the concert to start and talk about nothing at all: which of the white men’s portraits on the wall looks grumpiest, whether hot dogs count as tacos or sandwiches, how many times per week you can eat cereal for dinner and still claim to be an adult.

Finally, at five ‘til midnight, the lights flicker once, warning us that organ music is imminent. Harper squeals and claps her hands, and Margaret laughs and tell her to simmer down. I sit up, leaning back on my hands, looking up at the huge golden pipes gleaming above the entrance to the hall.

Then I look down, at the back of the huge hall.

Caleb’s standing there, leaning against the wall, his hands in his pockets.

I take a deep breath, close my eyes, and lie back on the floor.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

CALEB

I get there just as the lights go dim. Perfect timing.

I almost didn’t come, even though I’ve come every year for the past seven, since I started graduate school here. The organ concert is awesome in the biblical sense of the word, unlike anything else I’ve ever experienced.

But it’s also filled with undergraduates, and even though I always taught undergrads as a grad student, being their professor is somehow… different. Seeing them drunk and dressed as sexy butterflies didn’t feel creepy when I was just a graduate student.

It does now. On my bike ride to Scarborough Hall I passed a girl who was — I think — dressed as a sexy mummy and seeming to be wearing nothing but haphazardly placed crepe paper, and I nearly stopped her just so I could offer her my coat, praying the whole time that I didn’t recognize her.

It’s bad enough that every time Thalia walks into my class, I have to remember pushing her against that wall, hard as hell, the way she gasped and dug her fingers into me. I can’t imagine having to teach calculus to someone whose nipple I’ve accidentally seen.

The floor in Scarborough is completely covered in students, most lying down, Halloween costumes dimly visible. I take off my coat and stand near the back, under the organ loft.

The lights go down. The crowd hushes. I close my eyes, and it feels like church.

“Good eeeeevening,” a voice booms from above, affecting a cheesy Transylvania accent. “And velllcome to the annual All Hallow’s Eve midnight organ concert!”

I can’t see Mike from where I’m standing, since I’m half-below the loft that holds the pipe organ, but I grin anyway. I appreciate a guy who knows how to play to his audience.

The students on the floor cheer and stomp. It’s more raucous than you’d expect for a pipe organ concert.

“Tonight, ve vill begin vith an arrangement of Handel’s Organ Concerto, Opus Seven, Number Vun, in B flat major,” he booms. “Please enjoy.”

The entire hall is dead quiet. It feels like the building itself is holding its breath, waiting.

I wait, eyes closed.

The first note floods the room like dark sunshine, low and vibrant, the sound so thick I feel like I could reach out and touch it. The hairs on the back of my neck stand up. The wall behind me hums.

I’ve never heard anything like this before. I’ve been to plenty of other concerts, but there’s something particular about this one: the way it feels like the air itself is the music, like the building and the organ and the people listening are all part of the same song, the same power.

And I needed it. I needed to go somewhere and feel something new and get away from myself, just for a little while.

It’s been a bad week. It’s been a long week, a rough week, because on top of everything else I’ve had to see Thalia sitting in the back of my classroom, taking notes and turning in homework and generally pretending that I’m invisible.

Of course she was angry. I’d been pretending that, as long as I didn’t touch her, the nature of our relationship didn’t matter. That it was appropriate to contact and walk her home and give her my scarf and flirt with her, as if all that wasn’t also wildly inappropriate.

I shouldn’t have. My entire life is laced through with shouldn’t and don’t and it’s laced through with an intense longing that knocks the breath from me sometimes, and underneath all that it’s laced through with the queasiness at the knowledge that this is over a twenty-two-year-old student.

In that way, Halloween has brought a small measure of relief, that after seeing countless girls in various states of undress, my only thought has been she must be cold.

The organ booms and I feel the music on my skin, in my lungs when I breathe, and I make myself stop thinking about anything else.

I don’t know how long that lasts. The first song ends and another begins, then another and I stand there, against the wall, and float away on a wall of sound.

At last, the music stops. The last note echoes through the hall, a ghost floating away until it dissipates in a hall so silent I swear I can hear the building settle.

Then a thump, a creak from above, and I hear Mike’s voice.

“Sank you for your kind attentions,” he says, still with the same accent. “Ve vill now have ze briefest of intermissions and ven ve return, I vill be playing Louis Vierne’s Organ Symphony Number One in D minor, Opus Fourteen, and of course, Bach’s Toccata and Fugue in D Minor.”

Mike drops the accent when he names the songs, and right when I open my eyes there’s a swish and I see the brief flick of a red cape disappear over the railing of the balcony.

And then, before I can move from the spot where I’m leaning against the wall, I see Thalia.

Walking in my direction, though she’s not looking at me. Wearing short shorts and fishnet stockings with garters, the thin black strap snaking up her thigh, under her cutoffs.

She’s got on a vest that’s half-unbuttoned over cleavage and a gray sport coat over that, something poking out of the pocket.

My whole body floods hot, then cold. I swallow hard and shove my hands in my pockets and try to look away, I swear I do. I can’t. I feel like a cartoon dog going AAAOOGA, eyeballs popping out of their sockets, tongue lolling practically to the ground.

Stop staring. Stop staring.

I can’t. I hate this, but I can’t, and for long seconds I’m standing against the wall, just watching her, like some sort of pervert. She closes the distance between us, still not looking at me, and I dream of cold showers. I imagine standing naked in a snowbank. I think of hiking ten miles in the rain over rocky ground.

I promise that when I get home I’ll immediately put a profile on every dating site in existence just so I can meet someone else and forget about this inappropriate girl, and then she looks at me and tilts her head slightly and smiles.

“Oh hi,” Thalia says, folding her arms in front of herself, like she’s self-conscious. “I didn’t know you were coming. And I didn’t see you there, I was just walking to… that way.”

She nods vaguely behind me, so I turn and look, and it’s just as well because her folded arms only give her more cleavage, her breasts straining at the already-unbuttoned vest like they’re planning a jailbreak.

There’s a hallway. It looks mostly dark. I don’t know where it goes. I don’t think she does, either.

“Walking to that way, of course,” I tease. “Don’t let me stop your walk. To that way.”

“You’re not going to offer to come with me to keep me safe?”

My skin prickles, my defenses slightly up, because I don’t want a replay of the last time we talked. I didn’t even do anything besides attend a concert this time.

“Are there many unknown threats back in the mystery hallway?”

“If I knew, they wouldn’t be unknown, would they?”

“Touché.”

She’s got black eyeliner with dramatic wings and red lipstick, and she reminds me of the night we met, the only other time I’ve seen her look anything like this though there was no fishnet or cleavage then.

“What’s your costume?” she asks, arms still folded in front of her.

I look down at myself: boots, jeans, and a t-shirt that’s got a drawing of a bear and some trees on it.

“A professor who doesn’t stick out like a sore thumb at an undergrad event,” I say, pushing a hand through my hair. “How am I doing?”

“If you were about fifty percent drunker I think you’d blend right in,” she says, laughing. “At least you didn’t wear spectacles and bring a briefcase.”

“They’re not spectacles, they’re glasses,” I correct her, smiling. “Dr. Schwartz assured me they were very cool.”

“Dr. Schwartz wasn’t wrong,” she says.

“Was he right?”

She pauses for a moment, glance flicking away, her lips twitching like she’s about to either laugh or say something, and I don’t know which.

“He wasn’t wrong,” she says again, and now she’s laughing.

“Are you wearing a costume, or is this just Saturday night?” I ask, risking a look at her again.

“Oh, God no,” she says quickly, taking a step back, looking down at herself. “It’s a costume, and it’s a little more than I thought it would be because I told my roommates —”

She pauses for half a breath.

“— they kind of took control of things since I’ve been so busy,” she finishes.

“Who are you?”

That gets a smile, a sparkle in her eye.

“Guess,” she tells me, and the lights go low again.

I try to take her in as cooly and clinically as possible: shorts that look like they were once slacks, fishnets, the vest, the sport coat.

No idea, and then my eye catches on whatever it is in her pocket, and I point.

“May I?” I ask, and she nods.

It’s a long cylinder, paper covered, and as soon as I take it from her pocket I know it by its scent.

Thalia lifts one eyebrow.

“It’s just a cigar,” she says, and there’s a tease in the curve of her lips and in the way she’s looking at me, and instantly, I know who she is.

“Sigmund Freud,” I say, flipping the cigar through my fingers. “If Freud was in a production of The Rocky Horror Picture Show.”

“Congrats on being the first,” she says, and I slide the cigar back into her pocket.

“I wouldn’t have gotten it without the clue.”

“No one else got it with the clue,” she says.

I try not to imagine who else has been looking at Thalia, touching the cigar, trying to guess who she is. It’s absolutely none of my business but the thought of some drunk frat boy ogling her and asking if she’s the sexy Monopoly Man makes my stomach curdle.

“Do I win something?” I ask. “Free psychoanalysis?”

Thalia laughs, then steps forward, and now she’s even closer. Too close, close enough that it sends my pulse skipping and racing, and she puts both hands on my temples.

And stares deeply into my eyes.

All my alarms go off at her touch. All of them. She shouldn’t be doing this and I should be stopping her, but she is and I don’t.

“I was expecting to lie on a couch,” is what I say.

“Shh, I’m analyzing,” she says. “And it turns out —”

“Vellllcome back to ze second portion of our eeevening!” announces Mike, and we both look up, to the balcony, where his voice is booming from though we still can’t see him. “Next, I vill be playing anozer delightful piece by Johann Sebastian Bach…”

She’s still looking at me, dark eyes made wicked by black wings, by the shadows of the organ loft, by the low lights and the moonbeams just barely coming in through high windows.

I don’t hear what Mike announces. It’s another organ piece, the opus and movement or whatever lost on me anyway.

“It’s your mother’s fault,” she says quickly, the moment he stops talking. “Also, I’m sorry for last week.”

“What’s my mother’s fault?” I ask, my voice hushed in the quiet, and Thalia just shakes her head.

“Forget it, it was a dumb psychotherapy joke,” she says, taking her hands off my face. “Freud had a penchant for blaming everyone’s problems on their mothers —”

Then the organ notes hit, filling the room, and the rest of her sentence is lost, her red lips still moving but her voice drowned as she scrunches her face quickly, shoots a glare over our heads at the organ loft.

“I’m sorry!” she shouts. Someone to our right turns, looks at us. A run of organ notes ripples through the air between, and I bend down, my lips an inch from her ear.

“What for?” I ask.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

THALIA

I close my eyes. I pull my jacket tighter around myself, as if it can erase the fact that I walked over to Caleb and struck up this conversation with my tits and ass basically out.

Until he looked at me, I didn’t feel almost naked. Slightly underdressed, yes; not wearing as many clothes as I normally would, yes. But the second he looked at me I suddenly felt like I’d gone on a romp through a Victoria’s Secret catalog and was now wearing the barest minimum of clothing that could be considered clothing.

I stand on my toes, put one hand on his shoulder to steady myself.

“I’m sorry I was such a bitch last week when you walked me home,” I say, as succinctly as possible.

I meant to do this in a reasonable tone of voice, while the intermission was going on, but it’s like I hate making things not-awkward.

“You weren’t,” he says, his voice deep and rumbly, cutting through the organ music, both of them raising goosebumps on my skin, making me feel like I could float away.

I tighten my grip on his shoulder — his hard, muscled shoulder — and try not to think about it.

“I kind of was though,” I say, still half-shouting to be heard, even into his ear like this. “I didn’t have to say it that way, I was just tired and stressed and hungry and —”

I wobble slightly on my toes, and then his hand is on my waist, steadying me. I catch another glare from the same girl as before.

“And felt like I was taking advantage?” he asks, removing the hand.

“What? No,” I say, now to his face, now shouting, and now this girl is full-on glaring me down, lasers practically shooting from her eyes.

I am fucking this up. I’m not good at apologizing, I’m not good at talking about my emotions, and I’m really not good at talking to men I’m interested in, so this is some sort of horrible hat trick of Thalia Makes Things Weird.

Caleb just raises his eyebrows. I glance around, organ music humming and soaring around me, and spot a door in the wood paneling of the entryway.

Without thinking twice, I make for it, stepping over a few people and dodging around a few more. I look over my shoulder just enough to make sure that Caleb’s following me, and sure enough, he is.

The door’s unlocked. I’m pretty sure it shouldn’t be. I’m altogether sure that I shouldn’t be opening it and going through it, but I do it anyway and find myself in a short, narrow hallway that leads to a tall, narrow staircase, a bannister running the length of one side.

Caleb steps in behind me. He closes the door, and suddenly the organ music is dimmed, louder coming down the stairs than through the door.

I take a deep breath.

“I’m sorry I was a jerk on Friday night,” I start over, moving closer. “I still think that what I said was valid, but I didn’t have to —"

He steps closer, leans in.

“—I didn’t have to be an asshole about it,” I say into his ear.

“I think I deserved it,” he says. His lips brush my ear, and my eyes flutter closed.

Don’t, I tell myself. Don’t do a single thing that isn’t apologizing for your behavior.

As if I didn’t seek him out. As if I didn’t drag him into this tiny, cramped back staircase.

“No, you were right,” I tell him, automatically reaching out, steadying myself against his shoulder. “I found you at the banquet. I kissed you later. I gave you a bottle of wine.”

“But I’m the one who should know better,” he says, and then his hand is on mine, holding it against his warm chest. My heart beats harder, faster.

“You think I don’t?”

“I shouldn’t be giving you rides and walking you home,” he goes on. “Pretending that those things are perfectly fine and innocent, because they’re not.”

We shift in the tiny space and suddenly our bodies are touching from shoulder to hip, the jolt of his heat like an electric current.

“We shouldn’t be seeing each other at all,” I tell him, even as I close my eyes, press myself into him so softly I can tell myself I’m not doing anything, my lips millimeters from his ear.

“No,” he says. “The more I see you the harder it is to pretend I don’t like you.”

A hand on my hip, his fingers touching bare skin above my too-small shorts.

“And the harder it is to pretend I don’t want you,” he whispers.

My heart’s beating so hard and fast that it feels like my ribcage is rattling in my body. Outside and from above, the organ hums thickly, surrounding us.

“What if it were my fault?” I ask.

“What do you mean?”

I know I should walk away. I know that. I know Nathaniel got expelled for sexual misconduct and while I have no intention of making porn, I’m fairly certain that sleeping with my professor also falls into that category.

I know he could get fired and his career could be over.

I know a million things wrong with this scenario, and not one of them stops me.

“I mean,” I say, and plant a kiss on his neck, right below his jaw. His fingers curl into my spine.

“What if —" another kiss, higher up, “— it were my fault?”

The last kiss lands on his jawline, right below his ear, my fingers now woven through his hair, his slight stubble sharp on my lips.

He moves his hand until his palm is flat on my back, in the space between the shorts and my vest, underneath the jacket I’m still wearing. He swallows hard, his breath on my neck.

Then his hand is on my face, his thumb stroking my jaw, and he pulls me back, his green eyes nearly black in the dark, his lips parted, his gaze roaming my face. I don’t breathe. I don’t think my heart beats.

And he kisses me.

He kisses me so softly and gently that, for a moment, I think I’m imagining it. The kiss is over almost as soon as it starts, the lightest touch, but he nuzzles his nose against mine and he’s still holding my face, his thumb on my cheekbone now, and he kisses me again.

Still gentle, but firmer, harder. He pulls away, both hands in my hair, leans his forehead against mine. We’re both breathing like we’ve been underwater for minutes on end, our eyes closed as our mouths find each other again and again.

With each coupling there’s less gentleness, more need. I wind my hands through his hair and pull his face to mine. He pushes me backward, walking with me until I’m up against the bannister that runs the length of this short hallway.

He grabs my hips, running his hand up my waist, under my jacket, until his fingers hit my ribcage, his mouth rough on mine, his erection pressing against my hips, pinning me against the bannister.

This time I don’t panic when I realize what it is. This time a delicate, secret warmth blossoms inside me and I curl my fingers into a fist around his shirt, bite his bottom lip between my teeth.

“Your fault,” he whispers, teasing. “What else are you going to make me do, Thalia?”

“Kiss me again,” I say, the only thing that comes to mind as words.

I want more. I want so much more but the words stick in my brain, refuse to come out in sentences.

“Done,” he says, his mouth already on mine, seeking, plundering.

Then, his lips still on mine: “What else?”

I want you to take my clothes off right here and ravish me and make me come and shout and scream like you said you could two months ago and I want you naked and on top of me and oh, God, I want everything.

“Take my jacket off,” I whisper, and as the words leave my mouth he’s already pushing it over my shoulders, lips on my jaw, on my neck, on my now-bare shoulders as it falls to the floor, his arms around my waist, pulling me into him.

“What else?” he murmurs, and I can hear the smile playing across his lips.

I reach behind myself, grab the bannister, hop up, my knees now on either side of his hips as I balance, precarious.

“Come closer,” I say.

Caleb moves an inch, one hand flattened on the wall next to my head, a teasing eyebrow raised.

“Closer,” I tell him. “Closer. Closer.”

I pull him in until my legs are wrapped around his hips and his hardness is against my heat, making me grip the bannister in both hands as he kisses me and his body moves against mine, hungry and needy and wild.

“What else?” he growls.

“Touch me,” I say.

He lights two fingers on one shoulder, draws a slow circle.

“Here?” he murmurs.

I grab his wrist, drag his hand to my chest where a pushup bra and a pair of socks are giving me much more cleavage than I actually have. For the record, the socks are clean.

“Here,” I say, and he groans, both hands closing around me, cock throbbing. “And here,” I murmur into his mouth as we kiss again, unbuttoning the last few buttons on the vest.

His mouth leaves mine as he opens it, traveling to my neck, my shoulder, my collarbone. He slides his hand under one bra strap, twists it around his finger, tugs lightly.

“Like this?” he asks.

“Yes,” I whisper, and he pulls the shiny black strap over my shoulder, onto my arm, and then my nipple is out and he slides his thumb over it, the rough pad skipping along as I arch my back and gasp.

“Jesus,” he says, the word half a whisper and half a moan, the fingers of his other hand already under my other bra strap. “And like this?”

I can only nod, and then he has both my breasts in his hands and he’s pressing himself into me, groaning, and he’s pinching my nipples between his fingers and his very hard cock is rubbing against me, finding my clit even through layers of fabric.

He kisses me again and this time I moan into his mouth, wrapping my legs around him, sliding my hands under his shirt and along the warm, rigid muscles of his torso.

“And you want me to touch you like this?” he rasps, the organ music still soaring, his fingers pinching my nipples, rolling them as he bucks against me.

“Please,” is all I can say.

“What else, Thalia?” he asks.

“Can I touch you?” I ask, already touching him, my hands under his shirt, fingers skimming along the waistband of his jeans, and Caleb grins.

“Always,” he says, thumbs sliding over my nipples, sending a spasm through my body. “Thalia, you can touch me whenever and wherever you want. My body is yours to plunder.”

“Plunder?” I ask. “Are you sure?”

“Do your worst,” he says, and slowly, carefully, I slide the flat of my hand along the length of his clothed erection as he groans.

His head finds my shoulder and his hands find my thighs, clamped around them and he pushes himself into me and groans again like he’s lost.

So I do it again, and then again, and I’m definitely not a dick expert but I think we might be working with a lot here.

I expect the thought to make me anxious, given my virginal status.

It does not, so I pull on the button of his jeans until it pops open.

Before I can grab his zipper, his hand catches my wrist.

“I thought you were mine to plunder,” I say.

“I am,” he says, and slides his hands up my thighs, palms skipping and catching on the fishnet. “But I also believe in chivalry, and most particularly in ladies coming first.”

With that he grabs the waistband of my shorts, pulls me off the bannister, lowers his mouth to mine.

“Can I make you come?” he asks, fingers already dipping below my waistband, teasing at the elastic of my thong. “Please?”

“Yes,” I whisper, and almost instantly I’m undone and he slides his hand past the garter belt that Margaret got me a discount on, under my thong and then his fingers are exploring me, his mouth on mine, his other hand thumbing my nipple.

“You’re wet as hell,” he whispers, catching my lip between his teeth. “Thalia, you’re so —”

His fingers glide over my clit, and my whole body jolts.

“Turned on?” I whisper, an arm around his shoulders like he’s a life raft.

“Fuckable,” he says.

Suddenly, it occurs to me that he’s missing an important piece of relevant information, even as he strums my clit again and my back arches, my arm tightening around his shoulder, the bannister behind me.

“Caleb,” I murmur, and I’m met with a growl from somewhere deep in his chest, his fingers speeding up.

It takes all my presence of mind to grab his wrist, but I do.

“Wait,” I say.

“You all right?” he asks, going perfectly still.

“I have to tell you something. I’m a virgin,” I say, getting it all out in one breath.

Caleb just looks at me for a long moment. He studies my face like I’m a math problem, the solution slowly falling into place.

“By philosophy or happenstance?” he asks.

I’m still holding his wrist, his fingers still in my shorts, between my slick folds.

“Happenstance,” I say.

“Do you want to stop?”

“No!” I say, then clear my throat, release his hand. “No. It just seemed like…”

His fingers start moving again, and I bite my lip mid-sentence, eyes sliding shut.

“Relevant information,” I force myself to say.

“It doesn’t change my plans, if that’s what you mean,” he says, and pulls me away from the bannister, pushes me toward the ascending staircase. “I’ve thought about this at least once a day for two months, and it was usually with one hand on my cock.”

With that he lowers me to the stairs and then he’s on top of me, my legs around him, and he strokes my clit and kisses me hard and just as I’m getting close to the edge, breath coming in gasps, he stops stroking me and slides his hand down further until his fingers are between my lips, teasing my entrance.

“Yes,” I gasp, not waiting to be asked.

He plunges his fingers into me, all the way to the knuckle, and he crooks them forward and tugs my shorts down with his other hand and then massages my clit with his thumb, in perfect time with his fingers, and every stroke brings me closer and closer and closer to the edge until finally, I lose control.

His forehead is against mine, our faces together, and I’ve got one elbow under me the other in his hair and I’m pretty sure I’m whimpering oh fuck yes over and over again, because other words escape me.

I’ve never come like this before. I’ve had plenty of orgasms — my best friend works for a sex shop, where she teaches a class called The Art of Self-Pleasure, so I’m more than aware of how to get myself off — but never one like this.

No one else has ever made me come. I’ve never needed it like this, to the exclusion of anything else. I’ve never come and still wanted more, still wanted to tear another person’s clothes off and beg them to fuck me, right here on this staircase.

“Holy shit,” Caleb whispers, his thumb skipping past my clit one last time, my whole body jolting. “That was beautiful.”

I’m still lying back on the stairs, trying to catch my breath and Caleb pulls his fingers out of me, pushes my legs apart, climbs on top of me. I reach down and find the undone button on his jeans, acutely aware that he’s still hard as a rock and that despite what just happened, I want him.

And then, just as I find his cock, the organ music stops. I wrap my fingers around him and he groans softly, his hips driving forward, pushing his long, thick shaft through my hand.

“Sank you all very much!” the organist suddenly declares, his words floating down from the top of the stairs. “And may the rest of your All Hallow’s Eve be… delightful.”

With that, steps cross the ceiling above us, creaking along the old wood and instantly, Caleb and I realize the exact same thing.

This is the staircase to the organ.

We’re about to get caught.

Caleb leaps up, grabs my hand, pulls me to standing as I’m already putting my shorts back into place, zipping them, and stuffing my boobs back into my bra. I grab my jacket from the floor just as the top step creaks, and then Caleb’s opening the door and we’re out in the foyer in the middle of a flood of undergrads, all leaving Scarborough Hall at the same time.

We just got caught, I think, my heart nearly exploding in my chest.

Oh God, we fooled around once and instantly got caught.

But I look around. I glance over at Caleb who’s standing there, rigid, affecting a casual pose that doesn’t convince me at all, and I realize: I don’t see anyone I know.

Seconds later, the door behind us swings open and the organist comes out, read cape swishing behind him. Caleb nods at him, and he nods back, and I start to relax because even though we did the dumbest possible thing, we didn’t get caught.

I take a deep breath. We didn’t get caught. I look over at Caleb, who’s looking at me, and I button my vest and pull my jacket on and sidle over to him, his face still flushed, his eyes still bright.

“Take me home?” I murmur.

Before he can answer, I hear my name.

“Thalia!” Margaret shouts and I glance toward the crowd of people, my heart sinking. I step away from Caleb, anxiety swirling in my chest, and then the three of them come through the crowd one at a time.

“There you are!” Harper is saying, dodging a guy wearing a cardboard robot suit. “I was afraid you were…”

Margaret and Victoria are already standing there, silently looking at me, then at Caleb, then back at me.

“Oh,” Harper says, and that’s all. The hum of people talking and shouting and laughing rises around us, but none of the five of us say anything for a long, long moment.

I’m positive that what I just did is written all over my face. I’m positive that my three best friends can guess, probably almost verbatim, what just happened and with whom.

“You ready to go home?” Margaret asks pointedly, shooting a glance at Caleb.

“Yep!” I say, about ten times too excitedly. “Sounds great! Let’s do it!”

Victoria says nothing, but I know the press of her lips, even the disapproving cock of her hips in her half-football-half-fairy outfit.

I don’t want to go with them. I want to go home with Caleb and I’m pretty sure I want to ride him like a race horse, but what choice do I have?

I can’t tell them sorry, I gotta go bang my professor.

I glance over at Caleb, catch his eye. He nods, ever so slightly. There’s a half smile and then Margaret clears her throat very obnoxiously and I turn away and follow them out of Scarborough Hall.

The entire way home they talk about how bummed they are to graduate and how still, no one has guessed my Halloween costume, and how they have so much homework to do tomorrow because they got nothing done today.

And I walk and chat and I’m half afterglowy and half cold because I love my friends but I’d rather be elsewhere, with someone else.

Someone who I didn’t even manage to give a handjob to.

It’s something I’ve never felt guilty about before, but I guess it’s a fun new experience.

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

CALEB

I jerk off twice when I get home. I don’t think I’ve done that since I was sixteen, but I lay on my bed with the lights off and I can’t stop thinking about Thalia, about the noises she made when I rolled her nipples between my fingers, or about the way her hips bucked when I found her clit, or about the way her eyes rolled shut and she moaned when I sunk my fingers knuckle-deep inside her.

I come hard, just thinking about it. Then I think about it ten minutes later and take care of that, too, because apparently she’s made me a teenager again.

But even after that, I can’t sleep. I can only lie awake, looking at the popcorn ceiling that I’d like to redo, thoughts of Thalia and transgressions swirling in my head.

I think, black-hearted, oh God, what have I done?

I think, I’d do it again in a heartbeat. Half a heartbeat.

I wonder if her friends are going to turn us in and I wonder if anyone else saw us and I wonder if we can possibly keep this up without getting caught.

I wonder if it matters that she’s a virgin. I wonder if it matters that I’m not. I wonder what she’s done and I wonder with whom and I think about what I’ve done and with whom, and I wonder if I should tell her that our encounter on the stairs might be the peak sexual experience of my life.

Finally, hours after getting in bed, I go to sleep.

“Okay, but — hear me out, dammit June don’t even open your mouth, you don’t know what I’m going to say — a drone is the ring-bearer.”

My soon-to-be-sister-in-law stares at her brother with an expression so stone-faced I start to worry.

Finally, she lifts her drink to her mouth, still regarding her older brother with a mix of wariness, contempt, and plain bafflement.

“Who’s piloting the drone in this scenario?” she asks.

Silas just shrugs.

“Nope, wrong answer,” June says. “You can’t just come up with these half-baked ideas and then not have thought them through. You want a drone ring-bearer? You tell me who’s piloting that shit. You tell me their skill level and you tell me who’s catching it and you tell me who’s troubleshooting this mess and you tell me who is bandaging up Grandma Enid when the drone inevitably hits her and then, maybe then, I will consider your moronic idea.”

“Are you still trying to weasel your way into the wedding party?” I ask Silas, taking a sip of my iced tea.

Silas puts one hand on his chest and tries to look hurt and offended.

“I would never,” he says solemnly.

June just rolls her eyes.

“I was trying to weasel a drone into their wedding party,” he says. “It’s completely different.”

“You want to know a secret?” I ask, sidling closer to Silas.

He lifts both his eyebrows.

“Levi told me Hedwig is his best man,” I say, keeping my voice low. “Saves him the agony of having to choose a human, you know?”

I probably shouldn’t be baiting poor Silas, but I’ll do anything to get my mind off the fact that I had sex with a student last night.

Even though it’s not working at all. Even though the knowledge of what I did feels like a boulder on my chest.

It’s unconscionable. Even if it wasn’t technically intercourse, there’s no mistaking that what we did last night was anything but sex.

If I were someone else, I’d be appalled, no matter what. It’s an abuse of trust and it’s an abuse of power and even though it doesn’t feel at all like any of those things, it feels like I’ve met someone who lights up every room she walks into and makes me want to believe in magic, that’s the cold hard truth.

It’s wrong, and I know it’s wrong, and now I feel awful about myself, and I don’t know how to walk into class tomorrow and look at Thalia, so I’m hassling Silas and June instead.

“I don’t believe you,” Silas informs me. “Though I almost do, because Levi would do that. But I don’t.”

“It’s kind of a good idea,” June says, thoughtfully. “All you assholes can just sit in the front row and chill. Hedwig’s a very good dog, and you’ve still got two more weddings to fight over, probably.”

“No, he has two more to fight over,” Silas says, pointing at me. “Well, he’s got one because the other is his wedding —”

“I’m getting married?” I ask, and even though I’m kidding and I know what it means, the thought sends an odd ripple through me.

They both ignore me.

“ — But for me? This is my one shot,” Silas finishes.

June, his little sister, is marrying my oldest brother Levi. Levi is also Silas’s best friend, and he’s also the entire reason they still haven’t picked wedding parties for a wedding that’s just months away.

Does he stand on Levi’s side, as his lifelong closest friend?

Does he stand on June’s side, as her brother?

He can’t do both, and not being in either wedding party seems so wrong that it’s unconscionable. In the meantime, the rest of us have quietly decided that the suits we wore to Daniel and Eli’s weddings will do nicely for groomsmen suits when we’re inevitably asked two weeks before the wedding.

“Besides, I would make such a good toast,” he goes on.

“We already asked you to make a toast,” June says. “Don’t make me regret giving you a microphone in front of everyone we know.”

Silas just grins.

“Remember that time when you were thirteen, and you wanted to impress that guy you had a crush on, so —"

“Dinner!” Eli shouts, pushing open the back door.

“Thanks!” shouts back June.

Then she turns to Silas.

“You think I won’t kill you at my own wedding,” she says. “I will.”

After dinner and dessert, I help Seth and Violet clear the dining room and do the dishes, and then I tell them that I’m going to check the back porch for more glasses and plates, just in case, and I head back outside.

There aren’t any glasses or plates out here. I knew there weren’t, but I have the world’s nosiest family. I love them, but I’m not sure they’ve ever once respected someone’s desire to be alone with his thoughts.

Somehow, astonishingly, I get a full seven minutes before the door opens and footsteps cross the deck toward me. Seven minutes of staring out at my mom’s backyard, half thinking about how next time I’m here I should rake the yard and clean out the gutters for her, half thinking about last night and Thalia and how I haven’t even texted her today even though I’ve thought about her every three-point-four seconds.

I don’t know if I can text her, or at least, I don’t know if I should. Can the school administration find that? I know they can track the emails we send from school accounts, but my phone has nothing to do with the school, right?

I’m hyper-aware, hyper-alert, more on edge than I’ve ever been.

Breaking the rules and keeping a secret is so, so much harder than I thought it would be. I don’t even know whether to text a girl.

“What’s wrong?” my mom’s voice says, and I look over in surprise because I assumed it was Seth, coming out here to badger me.

I sigh.

“Nothing,” I tell her.

“Caleb,” she says, in the same tone she always uses when she knows I’m lying to her.

“Mom,” I mimic back.

“Don’t get sassy with me,” she teases. “Come on. Seth mentioned Delilah twice during dinner and you didn’t even react.”

“That’s because he’s none of my business,” I say, raising the dregs of my iced tea to my lips. “If he thinks befriending Satan is a good idea, that’s on him.”

She laughs, resting her forearms on the deck railing, looking out at the backyard with me.

“I did something I really shouldn’t have and now I feel shitty,” I finally say.

“What did you do?”

“I don’t want to say.”

My mom gives a long-suffering sigh, still looking out at the forest.

“How bad?” she asks. “Am I gonna want to call the cops?”

I roll my glass slowly between my hands and consider the question.

On the one hand, Thalia’s a consenting adult, so I’ve done nothing illegal.

On the other, it’s ethically murky at best, and my mom is both a college professor herself and an ardent feminist, so there’s no way she’d take this well.

“Maybe not the cops, but you’d want to call someone,” I tell her.

“Lord,” she says, mostly to herself. “You know, once upon a time I thought that if I kept the five of you alive until you hit eighteen I’d be done with parenting? I was an idiot.”

I just laugh, and she does too.

“Some people believe sharing your secrets cleanses the heart and mends the soul,” she offers, and now I frown at her.

“You don’t,” I say. “Clearly.”

“No,” she agrees. “I think that white lies are the only thing standing between polite society and utter barbarism.”

“And also regular lies,” I point out, without venom.

We’ve had some version of this conversation a thousand times in the past ten years. She knows where I stand and I know where she stands, and it’s been a long time since either of us got angry about it.

“I still wish you’d never found out,” she says.

“Me too.”

“Doing a bad thing doesn’t make you a bad person,” she says, after a moment. “Neither does choosing the wrong thing. It just makes you human.”

I swallow, staring forward into the late-autumn night.

“But what are we, if we’re not the sum of our actions?” I ask, not expecting an answer. “What else even matters?”

“Intentions,” my mom says, thoughtfully. “Hopes. Feelings. Thoughts. Desires. All those things matter. If they didn’t, we’d never forgive people who made mistakes.”

“Have you forgiven Dad?”

The question hangs in the air for a moment. For all we’ve talked about this, I’ve never asked about forgiveness before.

“No,” she says, simply. “I haven’t and I’m probably going to be angry with him until the day I die, which doesn’t mean I don’t feel other ways, but I’m pretty sure that one’s here to stay.”

“Oh,” I say, a little surprised at her honesty.

“Just because it’s a virtue doesn’t mean I can bring myself to do it,” she says, shrugging. “He robbed me of a husband, and a partner, and he robbed you of a father, and I really could have used some help around here. God, if someone else could have picked Daniel up from the police station once in a while it would’ve been huge.”

I snort, because the man currently holding a sleeping baby inside raised some serious hell as a teenager.

“I think I’m close to it,” I say, surprising myself. “Forgiveness, not picking Daniel up from the police station.”

“If he got hauled down there now, he’d have Charlie to reckon with,” my mom says.

“I don’t know which is worse.”

“What about your brothers?” she asks, back to the topic at hand.

“I never told them,” I remind her. “You know that. They don’t know there’s anything to forgive.”

She taps her fingertips together, still leaning over the railing, then cocks her head at me.

“And you’re really not going to tell me what this bad thing you did was?”

I consider it. For half a second, I consider it, but there’s no way.

“I’m really not,” I confirm. “You’d hate it, and I’m pretty sure I’m going to do it again.”

“That’s not like you.”

“I know.”

“Still,” she says slowly, thinking, watching the dark back yard and the forest beyond. “It’s better to do a bad thing with intention than slide into it half-assed. Own your actions and then, when the shit hits the fan, own up to them.”

I almost ask her if that’s what she wishes Dad had done, but it’s a moot point because he never got the chance. Maybe if he’d owned his actions he’d still be here, but that’s a long road with too many what if’s.

“Language,” I tease her instead, and she just sighs.

“It’s the one downside of having grandchildren,” she says, straightening, both her hands going to her lower back. “Are you spending the night or heading back?”

“Heading back,” I say, holding up my glass. “It’s iced tea.”

“I know,” she says, then nods her head for the back door. “Come on, I made pie.”

When I get home that night, I go straight for the pile of graded quizzes in a neat stack on my kitchen table. I flip through them.

I find Thalia’s and pull it from the stack.

I spent dessert holding Thomas with one hand and eating pie with the other, since I offered to hold him while Charlie ate, and he promptly fell asleep on me.

Then I spent the entire drive back thinking about what my mom said, about owning your actions. About choosing the wrong course of action with open eyes.

And I think about what I said to her, something that I hadn’t even thought about yet: I’m pretty sure I’m going to do it again.

Open eyes.

I grab a red pen and, before I can change my mind, write on Thalia’s quiz in neat block letters.

Then I put it back into the stack and go to bed.

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

THALIA

Sunday morning, I wake up at seven a.m. and I’m at the library by eight, leaving my apartment before any of my roommates get up and make eye contact with me.

It’s the coward’s way out, but I’m fine with it. I’ll be a coward all day long if it means I get to skip confronting what happened last night, or, more accurately, confronting the fact that my roommates know what happened last night.

If I hide out in the library, I’m free to pretend they don’t know. I can pretend that they’re never going to confront me, never going to ask me what the fuck I think I’m doing and whether I know it’s wrong and whether I shouldn’t report Caleb for being a dirty old pervert and whether he’s a terrible, terrible person for wanting me.

I don’t think he is. Maybe I’m naïve. Maybe I’m stupid for thinking that I’m special. Maybe he’s got a revolving door of young, easily duped students who he seduces for a semester and then discards.

But I doubt it.

I’m at the library all day. Every time my phone buzzes, I scramble to look at it, thinking that it’s either my friends or Caleb, but none of them texts me at all. The only person who does is Bastien, asking me if I have any idea where my high school copy of Moby Dick might have wound up.

I do not.

Meanwhile, I work on graduate school applications with the fire of a thousand suns. I ruthlessly edit my personal statement. I format my resume. I email psych departments up and down the east coast to double-check that VSU has, in fact, sent them my official transcript.

To hear my applications tell it, I was born with a passion for neuroscience. I was reading psych journals while I was still in diapers and asking my kindergarten teacher about the latest in experimental PTSD therapy.

It’s not all that far from the truth. I’m a Navy brat, and while I think my own father is one of the lucky ones who escaped that kind of psychological damage, I was surrounded by it.

And then, of course, there was Javier. I write and delete and re-write and re-delete a paragraph about him over and over again, because I don’t know what I should say and I don’t know whether I should say it in a graduate school application.

I grapple with that. I look at my planner and wonder when I’m supposed to do everything that I’m supposed to be doing. I stare at the wall in the Absolute Quiet room and my mind floats back to last night, and before I know it I’m having dirty fantasies in the library.

When I finally go home that night, Margaret and Harper are both there, and they each give me a look but thankfully, they don’t say anything.

PLEASE SEE ME AFTER CLASS.

I don’t like those words. I’ve never once read them and thought, yay! I get to talk to a teacher after class! I’m sure they have some positive news for me!

Admittedly, I don’t see them a lot. Teachers rarely ask to see straight-A students after class.

I glance over at Caleb, his back to me as he hands back the last few quizzes, and I think for at least the thousandth time about his mouth on mine in the dark, the way he groaned when I touched him.

I’m yours to plunder.

I uncross and re-cross my legs under my desk, desperately trying to quell the heat there and focus on the matter at hand.

It makes for a very, very long fifty minutes, but finally, it’s over. I took four pages of notes but to be honest, I have no idea what today’s lecture was about. For all I know he told us about his favorite Disney Princesses for an hour, though I seem to have written down lots of numbers, so it was probably math.

The other students leave. I hang back, putting my stuff into my bag as slowly as I can, trying to ensure that I’m casually the last one in line to speak with Professor Loveless as he goes over a particularly thorny problem from last week’s quiz. I half-listen, because it was the problem I lost points on, but I’m too distracted.

Then, finally, they leave and it’s my turn. I walk up to the lectern, heart kicking in my chest because I don’t know what he’s going to say and I don’t know what I’m going to say, but I’m pretty sure it’s not going to be about calculus.

Please don’t say we can’t see each other again, I think. We tried that and it didn’t work.

“Hi,” I say.

“Hi,” he says, and he smiles.

Then he takes his glasses off, looks at them, folds them in one hand.

“Can you see without those?” I blurt out.

“Pretty well,” he answers, shrugging. “My eyesight actually isn’t too bad, I just think they make me look smart.”

“Right, your Dr. Loveless costume,” I say, and he laughs.

“Not a costume,” he says, putting them down on the lectern.

Then he looks at me, and I feel like his emerald eyes can see all the way to the bottom of my soul.

“I fucked up,” he says, his voice low and soft. “What happened Saturday night never should have, and I broke basically every ethical guideline pertaining to student-teacher relationships.”

I feel like a balloon, slowly deflating.

“It was wrong,” he goes on. “No two ways about it, Thalia, what we did was wrong as hell and if I had a lick of sense I’d never so much look in your direction again and pray you didn’t feel like going to the ethics committee.”

I’m not deflating any more.

“Is that why you asked to talk to me?” I ask, my voice matching his, soft and low. “To tell me how badly we fucked up and swear you’ll never look at me again?”

“It’s not,” he says. “It’s to ask what you’re doing Friday and whether you’d like to come over for dinner.”

He leans forward, his elbows on the lectern, his folded glasses in one hand.

“Just the two of us,” he says. “With locked doors and a couch in the living room and a bedroom upstairs and tiramisu for dessert.”

“Yes,” I say, then swallow hard and take a deep breath. “Yes. I’d like that.”

“Good,” he says, and then studies my face, a smile tugging at his lips. “I’d kiss you now if I thought I could get away with it.”

As if on cue, a student for the next class walks into the classroom and sits at a desk.

“I’ll pretend,” I say, and then we walk out of the classroom and somehow, we manage to make normal conversation and then we part ways.

Friday can’t come fast enough.

CHAPTER THIRTY

CALEB

I love research. I have a Ph.D. and work in academia; of course I love research. I love discovering information. I love digging deep into a topic I know nothing about. I love the way learning is its own reward. I love feeling prepared for every situation.

That said, I don’t recommend Googling first-time intercourse with a well-endowed man without Safe Search turned on. Most of what comes up isn’t educational in the least.

The last time I had sex with a virgin, I was sixteen. She was also sixteen. We were in her childhood bedroom while her parents were away for the weekend and inexplicably trusted her to stay home alone, and we did not know what we were doing. It’s probably a minor miracle that we managed to fit Tab A into Slot B at all, and an even bigger miracle that we enjoyed it.

In terms of logistics, I don’t know whether it matters that Thalia’s a virgin, but it seems like I should prepare for a range of possibilities. I go a little insane and buy seven different kinds of personal lubricant, then pay for fast shipping. I take notes from one of the few helpful articles I find — go slow, make sure she’s turned on, let her be on top so she can control speed and depth — and put them in my bedside drawer, just in case I need a handy, bullet-pointed reference sheet.

But beyond logistics, I don’t care that she’s a virgin. I see her face practically every time I close my eyes. Every time my mind wanders, it wanders to the sound she made when I slid two fingers into her, the way she arched her back. I want her beyond all reason and sanity.

Whether I’m her first lover or her fiftieth doesn’t really matter to me.

There has never been a longer week in the history of time. Pointless meetings have never dragged on more. My office hours have never gone slower, and since it’s shortly after midterms, every student who still hasn’t grasped basic integration is there, panicking right into my face.

Then, at last, it’s Thursday, and I walk home from campus while the sun is still up, for once, and then I drive to the fancy grocery store across town. That night I’m up past midnight layering tiramisu and texting an annoyed Eli for tips.

He doesn’t ask why I’m making tiramisu, and I don’t volunteer that information. It probably means that Seth has accidentally spilled his suspicions, and while that’s annoying, I can’t blame him. Keeping secrets from brothers who know you have them is basically impossible.

Friday comes. She’s in class just like always, sitting in the seat in the last row that’s become ‘her’ seat, listening attentively and taking notes, tapping her pen between her fingers the same way she always does. Leaning forward on her elbows, focusing on the blackboard, like she always does.

I, on the other hand, call an asymptote an arachnid and write the quadratic equation wrong on the board. I don’t even notice that I write it wrong. A student has to point it out. It’s not my finest classroom moment, but I survive it, even if I can barely think about calculus.

She doesn’t say anything when she leaves. I consider asking to talk to her after class, just because I want to see her up close and hear her voice, but I don’t. I don’t want to raise suspicions.

When she leaves, she catches my eye, and she nods. Almost imperceptibly, but she does and my heart growls and sputters like a twenty-year-old car, and then she’s gone and I realize that a sophomore is asking me a detailed question about the homework and I missed the first half of it.

When I get the email, I’m standing in my kitchen, a notebook in my hand, a recipe pulled up on my phone, trying to take stock of my situation. It’s six o’clock, so Thalia is due in two hours, and I admit I’m feeling a little lost.

I’m also feeling like an idiot for taking Eli’s advice about what to make, because the more I read this recipe, the more I realize that each steps has sub-steps and timing that needs to work out properly. Of course he recommended this as an easy recipe, he’s a goddamn chef. He could probably do this with his eyes closed.

I, however, cannot. I’m a perfectly adequate cook but I don’t think I’ve ever impressed anyone.

I’m reading the recipe yet again when my phone vibrates in my hand and an email slides in from the top of the screen.

The pit of my stomach goes cold before I even read the subject line. All it takes is the email address it’s from.

From: secretknower@gmail.com

To: clloveless@mathematics.vsu.edu

Subject: I know

You’re morally bankrupt.

That’s all. Those three words. I stare at them until my phone screen dims and then goes black of its own accord, and I slowly put it back into my pocket.

Morally bankrupt?

Seriously?

Sex traffickers are morally bankrupt. People who take money meant for charity and buy themselves private jets are morally bankrupt.

I might argue that anyone who knowingly gets in the “15 items or less” line at the grocery store and knows they have twice that many is morally bankrupt, but I’d be willing to hear alternate takes on that one.

Even though it’s silly and over-the-top, the email rattles me. It’s not the charge of being morally bankrupt that does it — is dating Thalia against the rules? Yes. Morally bankrupt? No — it’s the fact that someone knows, and that someone is clearly not happy about this.

But on the other hand, that someone hasn’t reported us to VSU administration. They haven’t even told Gerald, my department chair about it. They’re just sending me emails about my qualities as a person. They’re not even making threats.

And it’s not like I thought I was making an ethically defensible choice. I’m doing the wrong thing with my eyes wide open.

Fuck it.

I pull my phone out, ignore the email, and get back to the recipe that I should have started at least thirty minutes ago.

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

THALIA

I triple-check the address before I walk up the short path to the front door, even though I’m pretty sure I recognize the car in the driveway as Caleb’s. I mean, I didn’t memorize his license plate number or anything, but it’s a silver hatchback at the address he gave me, so I’m probably in the right place.

As I walk I take the bottle of wine out of the black plastic bag it came in and shove the bag into my purse, alongside my toothbrush, a change of clothes, and a handful of condoms. My boots click on the flagstones, the porch light on, revealing a welcome mat at the top of a few brick stairs.

I take a deep breath before I ascend, because I’m nervous. I’m nervous that someone’s seen me walking here. I’m nervous that I’ll knock on the door and Caleb will tell me he was just kidding about this.

I’m nervous that I’ll say something dumb and make him not like me any more, that he’ll realize I’m not actually that interesting, that I’ll be bad at sex.

I’ve spent twenty-two years being the good girl, who got the good grades, who joined the right sports teams, who did the after school activities and had the right friends and won the accolades and made her parents proud.

They would not be proud of me right now. My father would be furious and my mother would strongly not approve of me losing my virginity to my math professor who I’m not even technically dating, I guess, let alone engaged or married to.

I love my mom. I think she’s an amazing woman. But she’s a hundred percent positive that all men have a why buy the cow philosophy, while I prefer to imagine that my worth as a person and potential partner doesn’t reside entirely in my hymen.

Anyway, I knock on the door, gripping the wine bottle by the neck.

There’s no response. I wait, patiently. I check the time on my phone. It’s five ’til eight, so maybe he’s in the shower, or maybe he’s still getting dressed, or doing something else that prevents his answering the door.

Or it’s not his house because you somehow got the address wrong, and this is about to get awkward.

I wait a full minute before I knock again, and this time the door opens practically under my fist and then Caleb is standing there, in gray sweatpants and a black shirt with flour all over it and a smear of something on his cheek.

“Sorry,” he says, and he smiles that smile he has, the one that’s charming and sheepish and rakish all at once, and my heart goes thadunk and I can’t help but smile back.

“It’s my fault, I’m early,” I say, and hold out the bottle of wine. “Thanks for having me.”

“I haven’t yet,” he says, lifting an eyebrow, and I laugh, my anxiety dissolving because this isn’t some high-stakes drama about a scholarship student having a torrid affair with her professor, it’s just Caleb and I being us, together.

“Take the wine and don’t be saucy,” I tell him.

“You look nice,” he says, taking the bottle from my hand. His eyes drift from my face, down my body, and he doesn’t even bother to try and hide it.

“Thanks,” I say, casually, as if I didn’t spend a full forty-five minutes shoving through my closet over and over again, as if somehow the perfect outfit would magically appear among the jeans, t-shirts, two going-out outfits, and a recent deluge of business-appropriate clothing.

What says I really want to have sex with you but also have a twenty-minute walk from my place to yours, during which I might well see someone I know?

What says I quite enjoyed being fingerbanged on a staircase last weekend and would like a repeat performance, but not in a trashy way?

Apparently, a deep red knee-length long-sleeved wrap dress and the same high-heeled ankle boots I was wearing the night we met.

“You look covered in flour,” I say, and he looks down at himself.

I also look down at him. He’s covered in flour but the black shirt is tight across his shoulders and hugs his biceps in a way that makes me feel… things.

That’s not even mentioning the sweatpants. If you’d asked me before this moment whether I like men in sweatpants I’d have give you a resounding ew, no.

But now, I’ve seen Caleb in sweatpants. They hug his hips enticingly. They skim his thighs attractively.

And there’s a bulge.

A notable one. My thoughts turn NC-17.

“It turns out I have terrible kitchen time management skills,” he says. “I meant to put on real clothes half an hour ago. Here, come in.”

“Don’t worry, it’s just me,” I say, stepping in as he closes the door behind me.

“Just?” he says, then leans in and kisses me.

His fingertips just barely brush my face, and after a long moment, he pulls back.

“I don’t want to get flour on you,” he says, apologetically.

“This dress is washable,” I tease, running one hand over his shoulder.

“Are you asking me to get you dirty, Thalia?” he asks, pressing his lips to mine without waiting for an answer, and this time his body follows suit, his heat melding to my skin from chest to knee.

And the bulge. Sweet Jesus, the bulge. I never want Caleb to wear anything but sweatpants again, because I can feel practically every ridge and curve, every hardening inch—

“I did promise myself one thing about tonight,” he says, his free hand skimming my hip, his lips brushing mine as he talks.

“Only one?” I ask.

He puts the pad of his index finger in the hollow of my throat, then drags it slowly downward, over my chest, until it hits the V of my dress.

“I swore up and down that I’d have dinner before dessert,” he says.

“What’s for dessert?” I ask, as innocently as I can. “Pie? Ice cream?”

“It’s a euphemism, Thalia,” he says, laughing softly. “You’re dessert. Obviously.”

“How subtle,” I tease.

“I was trying to be classy.”

“In a flour-covered shirt and those sweatpants?”

“I told you, I meant to change before you got here,” he says, and kisses me again.

Then, after a beat, he pulls away.

“What’s wrong with these sweatpants?” he asks, suddenly suspicious.

I can feel myself color instantly.

“They’re sweatpants,” I say. “That’s all.”

“No, you said these sweatpants,” Caleb says, eyes narrowing. “Spill it, Thalia. Do you not like gray? Is there an enormous mustard stain on the back?”

“Have you looked at yourself in a mirror?” I ask.

“No,” he says, still suspicious.

“They’re obscene,” I tell him.

Just then, there’s a loud, repeated beep from further inside the house, and Caleb grins his most rakish grin down at me.

“I’ve gotta go get dinner from the oven,” he says, dropping a quick kiss on my lips. “You’re welcome to come along if you can handle the obscenity.”

“I’ll try,” I answer, and he leads me into the kitchen.

I also note that the sweatpants highlight his ass in a way I never would have predicted.

Sweatpants. Who knew?

We walk down a short hallway, over creaking wood floors, and take a left into the kitchen.

It smells incredible. It’s also a mess, which does explain Caleb’s current state.

Every burner on the stove has a dirty pan on it, the scent of browned meat hanging in the air. There are two separate chopping boards on different parts of the counter top, one covered in flour and one strewn with discarded vegetable parts. There’s also a food processor, a colander, mixing bowls, a roll of aluminum foil, a couple of empty plastic clamshells, and a spilled bag of pistachios.

All the way at the end of the kitchen, alone on the table, is a square brownie pan with something in it.

Caleb grabs two hot mitts, then flips his oven light on and peers in.

“Golden brown is so subjective,” he says, staring intently.

“Baking’s an art, not a science,” I say, walking behind him, toward the brownie pan.

“Baking is essentially chemistry, which absolutely makes it a science,” he counters. “At the very least, each recipe should give you a color chart with their definition of golden brown.”

I walk back, crouch next to him. In the oven are two things that look a little like pizza, but clearly aren’t.

“That’s golden brown,” I say, with somewhat more authority than I feel.

“All right,” he says, and we both stand as he opens the oven, pulls the baking sheet out. He balances it on top of a pot on his stove, and since I don’t want to watch something tragic happen to something that smells so delicious, I investigate whatever’s in the brownie pan.

It’s not brownies. I looks like some sort of pudding or maybe a cake, with a thick layer of cocoa powder dusted on top.

Experimentally, I reach one finger out and very, very gently touch the powder.

Caleb’s hand wraps around my wrist, pushing my fingertip into something white and gooey.

“No stealing,” he says, his voice surprisingly close. I look over my shoulder and he’s standing over me, his right hand over my right wrist, the length of our arms touching to the shoulder.

“I wasn’t stealing until you interfered,” I protest. “I was just gathering information.”

“Well, now you’ve put a dent in my perfect tiramisu,” he says.

“Call it a sample if it’ll make you feel better,” I suggest.

“Samples are offered. That was purloined.”

His hand is still around my wrist and there’s a wicked, teasing smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. He doesn’t let go, fingers gritty with flour and crumbs.

“So I’m doing something I shouldn’t?” I ask. “Here? Alone with you, at your house?”

He laughs, his voice low and raspy and melodic, and lets my wrist go.

“Touché,” he says, leaning one hip against the counter, arms folded over his chest.

I look down at my fingertip, then back up at him.

Slowly, I put it into my mouth and suck it off. It’s sweet and tangy, followed by the bitterness of the cocoa powder, and I keep my finger in my mouth longer than I need to.

Caleb’s just watching me. As I pull my finger out of my mouth, he swallows, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down.

“Thalia,” he says. “You are trouble with a capital T.”

“Good trouble or bad trouble?” I ask.

“I thought there was only the one kind.”

“I’m bad trouble, then.”

“You disagree?”

Caleb steps toward me, anchors his hands on the counter on either side of me, leans in. I’m wearing heels and he’s barefoot, and he’s still got a good six inches on me.

“I think I’m at least neutral trouble,” I say, anticipation prickling down my spine.

There’s a swipe of flour on his cheek, so I reach up and brush it off.

“You’re the most dangerous kind,” he says, in a voice so low I can practically feel it in the soles of my feet. “Bad trouble that feels good.”

The bulge makes contact just before his mouth does, and I summon all my willpower and grab his shirt in my fist instead. He presses me backward, into the counter, and he kisses me harder and I open my mouth under his and he’s got one hand in my hair, fingers sifting through it, the other around my ribcage, his thumb stroking the spot just below my bra’s underwire.

Tentatively, I put one hand on his chest, over his shirt, and I slide it down, feeling the warm muscles under the fabric as he pushes into me a little harder, the countertop digging into my back.

I think of what he said last time we were like this. My body is yours. My breathing’s gone erratic as his thumb slides up and over the curve of my lower breast until it finds my nipple, and even through two layers of fabric I inhale sharply, heat twisting through me.

My hands dip under his shirt, wandering, exploring. He runs his thumb over my nipple again, now a stiff nub, and he circles it slowly, his other hand skimming down my body, landing on my thigh.

I kiss him harder, deeper, and he grinds against me, very hard and very big against my lower belly, and I don’t mind or panic or wonder what I should do.

I just like it. I like the effect I have on him. I like that he so unabashedly wants me, and he twists my skirt between his fingers, drawing it up and I hook my fingers into the waistband of his sweatpants and I pull at them, ever so slightly.

He groans, softly. He flicks his thumbnail over my stiff nipple and now his palm is against my thigh, moving up, and then he pulls his mouth away from mine as his thumb slides under the elastic of my panties, over my hip.

“How serious were you about dinner before dessert?” I ask, pulling his sweatpants another millimeter lower over the hard muscles of his hips as he rocks against me.

Caleb hooks one finger through my underwear, twisting it, playing.

“I’m willing to reconsider,” he teases, his voice raspy.

“And?”

“And my bedroom’s upstairs, first door on the left.”

He doesn’t wait for me to respond, just gives me one more kiss and then releases me, takes my hand in his, and pulls me through the kitchen and into the dark upstairs, then through a door and into a bedroom.

The bed is made. The only light is from a small lamp on one of the two bedside tables, books stacked next to it. The room also has a bookshelf crammed with books, more books stacked on the floor, two dressers, and a shelf with a few plants on it.

It’s simple, clean, cozy, a far cry from the dorm rooms and student apartments that my few other experiences have been in. Everything feels at home, like it’s exactly where it should be, including me.

The door clicks shut, and I turn just in time to se Caleb pulling his shirt over his head.

At exactly that moment, I realize I’ve never seen him with his shirt off before. Even in the stairwell he was still dressed — we both were — half-blind and in the dark, exploring each other by touch.

No professor should look like this. It should be illegal to have a Ph.D. and a six pack, shoulders that broad, arms that muscled, and an Adonis belt.

That’s the pelvic V that points right to the dick. I learned the name in an Art History class I took, but this is the first time it’s ever come in useful.

Oh, and the bulge is still there, only now it’s less of a bulge and more of a sideways Mt. Everest.

“Ta da,” he says, walking toward me. “I forgot to offer you the tour. This is my bedroom. Office is over there.”

He jerks one thumb over his shoulder as he closes the distance, my fingers find the tie on my dress.

I pull, slowly.

“Is that going to be on the quiz?” I ask.

He watches my fingers as I pull the bow undone, then release the square knot at its base.

“Quiz?” he echoes after a long pause, stopping midway to where I’m standing, by the bed.

“Dumb joke,” I say, and let my dress fall open, pulling the tie loose from around my waist. My heart is pounding and I feel like I can barely breathe, but it’s not from nerves or anxiety. I’m not afraid of what’s about to happen, not even a little.

I’m just excited, breathless with anticipation. Caleb’s staring at me, stopped in his tracks, all his attention utterly focused on me.

It’s a powerful feeling, the sensation that right now I could tell him to walk to me on his knees and he’d do it. I push my dress over my shoulders, pull the sleeves off, let it drop to the floor.

“Jesus, you’re beautiful,” he whispers, still motionless.

He takes one tentative step forward, then another.

“Can I touch you?” he asks, reaching out, curling his fingers around the back of my neck, his thumb across my jaw.

“Please,” I whisper back, a shiver snaking through my body, carrying pure heat with it.

“Here?” he asks, sliding a finger under my bra strap, a slight smile tugging at his mouth.

“Yes,” I answer.

His hand continues down, over my stiff nipple, sliding down my belly.

“Here?” he rumbles.

“Caleb,” I say, stepping forward into him, my hands on the warm hard flesh of his torso. “Touch me anywhere you want.”

With that, his lips crash into mine, needy and powerful, and I’m in his arms so hard I can barely breathe. He touches me and groans, the noise low and deep in his chest, and I slide my hand down and find his erection as it throbs against me and I squeeze him through his pants from tip to root and he pulls away from the kiss, panting, his lips to my ear.

Then my bra is off. I’m still stroking his cock as he pushes me backward, and then I’m against the bed and then I’m on the bed and he’s on top of me, between my legs, his erection right against my clit so that every pulse of his hips sends a jolt of pleasure through me. He holds himself up on one elbow and kisses me feverishly and rolls my nipple between his fingers, palming it, pinching.

He shifts, kneels. I lock my legs around his hips and squeeze, and I reach down into his pants and when I grab his cock he presses his face into my neck, biting me softly as he groans. We rock together, our hips bucking in time, my hand stroking him.

Finally, he shifts again, and this time he’s upright on his knees, still between my legs as I lie back on the bed, and he hooks one of my knees over his shoulder, turns his head, kisses the inside of my knee.

With his other hand, he skims his thumb over the thin fabric of my panties, his light heat on my lips and clit, the fabric probably soaked through.

“Anywhere?” he says.

“Anywhere,” I say, and before the word is out of my mouth he’s sliding my panties off, both legs in the air, and then he’s pushing me further onto the bed and grinning like he just won the lottery.

Fingers brush my lips, teasing them, pushing them apart, exploring the length of my slit as Caleb drops a single kiss on my belly, next to my belly button, then another on the curve of my hipbone.

I inhale and just as I do, his tongue finds my clit at the exact same time that his fingers slide inside me.

I make a noise. It’s half moan and half grunt and half shout and it’s loud, and Caleb digs his fingers into the soft flesh of my inner thigh and doesn’t slow down.

His tongue circles, flicks, laps, and I don’t know what exactly he’s doing but it feels incredible, his fingers inside me stroking my sensitive inner wall in the exact same rhythm.

It doesn’t take long. With every stroke, soon my whole body is trembling, both hands fisted in his comforter, my back arched, my head to one side as I whimper and moan and say things like oh my God that feels so good.

I come hard and fast, my body an unstoppable rush as I shout oh! oh! oh! again and again until I regain my senses, panting for breath, in a haze of satiety. Caleb pulls his fingers out and kisses the inside of my thigh again, my hip, my belly. He briefly sucks one nipple into his mouth and swirls his tongue around it, moving my legs around his hips.

“Turns out the answer is sexy as all hell,” he says, leaning over me, taking my mouth again in a kiss. He tastes like me, but it’s not off-putting.

It’s actually kind of hot, like I’ve claimed him.

“What answer?”

“To what you sound like when you come,” he says, as if it’s obvious. “I told you I wanted to find out the night we first met.”

I kiss him harder, my tongue in his mouth. I snake my hand downward, realize he’s still wearing pants.

“Get these off,” I order.

“I’ll need a proper data set of your orgasms, of course,” he says, standing on his knees, pushing his pants and boxers over his hips, releasing his cock.

Hypothesis confirmed: it’s very big.

“And we’ll need to control for variables, obviously,” he goes on, that rakish smile back on his lips. “It’s not as if I can compare the second or third orgasm in a session to the first.”

I push myself up on my hands, look up at him as he pulls his pants the rest of the way off, tosses them on the floor behind the bed.

“Caleb,” I say, my voice still raspy, sultry. “If you try to get data from a control group I’ll kill you.”

He leans forward, kisses me. I grab his cock in one hand and stroke it and bite his lip, and just like that the fire inside me reignites.

“Never,” he says. “Why, when I’ve got you?”

We kiss again, and we move together and I pull him against me as hard as I can, and then we’re going over and suddenly I’m on top, straddling him, both my hands on his chest and my clit pressed against his cock, already slippery with my wetness as I’m pressed against him.

In the back of my mind, a warning light flashes. I ignore it but for the first time since I got to Caleb’s house I hesitate for a split second before flexing my hips again and pressing myself into him.

“You like that?” he asks, a quiet growl.

“Yes,” I say, the word escaping me in a breathy whisper as I roll my hips over him again, savoring the pressure and the friction.

I keep ignoring my sudden hesitation. Stupid nerves.

“You’re sexy as hell,” he says, one hand wandering over my thigh, fingers closing around my hip. “Especially when you’re using my cock to get off.”

I fold forward, give him a deep, long kiss, keep rocking and grinding, try my best to ignore the alarm that’s slowly getting louder.

I tell myself that Caleb’s not taking advantage of me. I tell myself that virginity is a cultural construct at best and a tool of the patriarchy, used to control women, at worst.

I tell myself it doesn’t matter and I’m not actually losing anything. Practically speaking, this changes nothing.

“You okay?” Caleb asks, his hand still on my hip.

“Yeah,” I say, and take a deep breath. “Do you have any condoms?”

He stretches one arm out, opens the drawer on a bedside table, and grabs a small foil packet and a bottle of lube.

My heart hammers, slamming into my ribcage, and there’s a knot in my stomach. Caleb rips the packet open, takes out the condom, tosses the wrapper back onto the bedside table.

Then he looks at my face and stops.

“I’m sorry,” I say. “I can’t, just — not yet. I’m sorry, I know I just —”

“Don’t apologize,” he says, pushing himself up on his hands, the condom disappearing somewhere.

“Sorry,” I say again, then shake my head. “I mean, I don’t — I don’t know. It’s just…”

It’s just I have no idea what my problem is, other than at the very last moment I suddenly just couldn’t. In the most perfect moment ever, I just couldn’t.

I’m gonna die a virgin.

“It’s okay,” he says, cups my head in his hand, brings my lips to his. “Thalia. It’s fine.”

I kiss him, and the knot in my stomach unwinds slowly.

“It’s not you,” I whisper. “I swear.”

“I didn’t think it was.”

“Virginity’s not even real,” I go on, eyes closed, my forehead against his. “It’s a made up thing, and I doubt I even have a hymen any more, I’ve ridden bikes and horses, I don’t know why…”

“Made up things can still be important,” he says, his voice soft. “I get it.”

He kisses me deeply, his lips still tasting faintly of me, and I kiss back and after a moment my hips move again, like they’ve got a mind of their own, gently bucking against him, still pleasure-seeking.

After a moment he pulls back and I can tell he’s half-smiling again, even though he’s too close to see.

“Can I eat you out again, though?” he asks.

My insides swirl at the thought.

“Please?” he says, and finally, I just nod.

Then he’s lying down again and he grabs me, pulls me forward. I yelp and grab the headboard of his bed, surprised at his strength, though I probably shouldn’t be. He loops his hands over my thighs, pulls me down to his face.

This time there’s no fingers, only tongue. Before he was controlled, steady, but this is fast and hard and furious. In moments I’ve got my forehead against the wooden headboard of his bed, leaning against it, arching my back as he pulls me in harder and licks me.

I’m moaning. I’m gasping, whimpering, and I put my arms over my head so I don’t grab Caleb’s hair like I want to.

The only phrase I manage to gasp out is don’t stop, and I say it over and over again: don’t stop, don’t stop, don’t stop don’t stop don’tstopdon’tstop and then I’m coming again and it’s nothing but a single long moan, shouted into the headboard.

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

CALEB

I love watching her. Even from this angle I love seeing the way her chest heaves, the way her back arches. I love the way she sounds, all breathy moaning and gasping, telling me not to stop like there’s some possibility I was considering it.

When I’m sure she’s done, I stop. She relaxes, slumping against the headboard, drawing a long breath, and I slide out from underneath her, kneel behind her, wrap an arm around her and plant a kiss on the back of her neck.

I’m disappointed, but barely. As much as I admit I’ve been thinking about watching her while she rides my cock, it’s not as if licking her until she comes twice is a step down.

Thalia looks over her shoulder, still kneeling, resting against my headboard, and she smiles.

“You’re delicious,” I tell her, my chin resting on her shoulder. “I could get addicted to making you come over and over again, you know.”

“Oh, no,” she deadpans, turning around, still on her knees. “Sounds terrible.”

“I wouldn’t want to interfere with your studies,” I offer as she puts one arm over my shoulder, tilts her face up to mine.

“I can make time for that,” she says innocently, and bring her lips to mine.

As she does, her other hand wraps around my cock, and I groan. It’s involuntary but it only makes her squeeze harder, stroking me from root to tip.

“You’re not the problem,” she murmurs, still stroking. “I don’t know what it is, but it’s not you.”

Thalia pushes me backwards until I’m sitting and she’s on all fours, kisses me again, and then she’s spinning me around and I’m on the edge of the bed and she’s standing, her lips on mine and her hand on my cock and then she’s kissing my neck, my shoulder, my chest, and then she’s on her knees in front of me.

I groan as she takes me in her mouth, one hand still wrapped around the base of my cock, and then she slides her lips down until I hit the back of her mouth and I whisper oh, fuck and there’s a second when I think I might come on this, the very first stroke.

But I don’t and she pulls back, her lips moving down my shaft, and when she reaches the head she flicks her tongue over it and looks up at me, wicked and innocent all at once.

I want to burn the image of Thalia with my cock between her lips into my brain forever. She’s beautiful and sweet and seductive all at once, and somehow she’s here and she’s mine and even if this is dangerous, I don’t care.

Then she does it again, and again, and in no time I’m seeing stars and I’m grabbing the bedspread so hard with both hands I’m afraid I might tear it.

“I’m gonna come,” I tell her, my voice rough.

She just looks up at me again, and her tongue swirls around my cock and then she pushes her lips down my shaft one more time and I hit the back of her mouth, warm and wet and tight.

“Thalia —” I manage to growl, but then I’m already coming. She pulls halfway back but then she swallows, her mouth working around me, and she swallows again and I’m coming for her harder than I’ve ever come before.

When I finish I feel wrung out, half-melted, like I’m floating in space. I lean forward and kiss Thalia, my musky taste still on her lips as she stands.

I pull her to me, still naked, press my face into her belly, lips against her soft skin. She gives a short laugh of surprise, and then I put my arms around her, hold her close.

“You okay?” she asks softly, sounding puzzled.

I can’t help but laugh.

“I’ve never been better, and I mean that literally,” I tell her.

“Never?”

“Never,” I say, and I mean it. “You’re staying the night, aren’t you?”

“I brought a toothbrush,” she says, running a hand through my hair. “Just in case.”

“Just in case?” I tease.

“You weren’t a sure thing,” she says, laughing. “I didn’t know if you’d want me gone right away or what.”

I sigh, tighten my grip, and then lean backward. Thalia yelps as she falls on top of me, then rolls off, laughing.

“What, exactly, about me says wham, bam, thank you, ma’am?” I ask.

“People have uncharted depths,” she points out.

“Those aren’t mine.”

“All right, fine, I didn’t think that,” she admits. “I was pretty sure I’d be staying over but didn’t want to jinx it. Happy?”

“Yes,” I say, and I kiss her, and I’ve never meant it more because for the first time since we met, she’s not my student and I’m not her professor. She’s not the forbidden object of all my most fervent desires, and I’m not the dirty old man who should know better.

She’s just Thalia and I’m just me, and the outside world can go fuck itself right now. She’s lying here completely naked with her head on my shoulder, black hair fanned around her, the fingers of her left hand unconsciously tapping against my hip.

Even the email from earlier doesn’t bother me, not right now. I know I should have told her. If someone knows and thinks I’m morally bankrupt, she should know, but not right now. Right now I’m selfish and I want her to myself, fully here, fully present, not thinking about some anonymous email.

Just then, my stomach rumbles, and Thalia laughs.

“I didn’t even ask what’s for dinner,” she says.

“Too distracted by my obscene sweatpants?” I tease.

She turns her head and looks at me, her cheeks still flushed, a strand of hair stuck to her. I reach over and brush it from her face.

“I’m just saying, maybe don’t leave the house in those,” she laughs.

“They were less obscene before you showed up.”

“Less obscene is still obscene, Caleb.”

“Leek, goat cheese, and steak galettes with sesame-dressed snap peas and tiramisu for dessert,” I say.

“That’s so fancy I don’t know what it is,” Thalia says, both her eyebrows rising. “Of course you’re also some sort of amazing cook. You do triathlons too, don’t you? And spend your weekend rescuing puppies from burning buildings?”

“I’m an adequate cook with a brother who’s a chef, triathlons sound exhausting, and I’ve never in my life rescued a puppy,” I correct her. “C’mon.”

We both sit up, slowly. I gather my discarded clothing, toss it into my hamper, then pull a fresh shirt and jeans from my dresser.

When I turn back to the bed, she’s still sitting there, one foot tucked under her, reading a piece of notebook paper. Next to her, the bedside drawer is still open.

It takes me all of two seconds to realize what she’s reading.

“I’m not a serial killer,” I say.

She looks up at me, brow slightly furrowed.

“Should I have been worried?” she asks, and I just nod at the paper she’s holding.

“I did some research,” I admit. “And I’ve always found that the best way for me to truly learn information is to rephrase and summarize it myself, and then I left that there in case I needed a quick refresher.”

I’m not making myself sound good, because what kind of weird dork keeps his notes on first-time intercourse in his bedside table, even though they’ve also memorized it? Me, that’s who.

I can’t see it from here, but I know that the piece of paper says:

- Lots of lube

- Go slow

- Be sure she’s aroused

- Make her come first, it’ll help her relax

- Let her be on top so she can control speed, depth, &c.

Thalia flips it over, checks the back to see if there’s more writing, then puts it back in the drawer on top of the condoms and lube, then closes it carefully.

“Sorry,” she says. “It was still open and… I really like lists?”

“Did you like that one?”

She laughs, stands, grabs her bra and underwear from the floor.

“I did,” she says, still laughing, face still flushed. “It’s sweet.”

I walk over and give her a quick, soft kiss on the mouth.

“Come back in a few days,” I tell her. “I’ll make a flow chart. Maybe a PowerPoint, too, if you’re lucky.”

She’s still laughing, still naked, head cocked to one side.

“I can’t wait to see the clip art,” she says.

We have dinner at the kitchen table, then dessert on the living room couch. We each have a glass from the bottle of wine she brought, and while we drink we talk, and talk, and talk.

We talk about nothing: about which Marvel movies are good and which ones are dumb, about which dining hall on campus has the best chicken fingers, about what the weird smell in Hayes Hall could possibly be.

Together, we decide that some enterprising biology student is farming magic mushrooms in the basement, then selling them to other students. It’s much more exciting than my real answer, which is mold, probably.

We talk about everything: about her brother who’s gay and her brother who’s missing, about how every time she gets a phone call from her family, she imagines that he’s dead. About moving constantly when she was a kid, about her grandparents who immigrated from Mexico to south Texas, about how sometimes people tell her she could pass for a “really tan white girl” and then expect her to think it’s a compliment.

We talk about my brothers. I tell her the whole story about Rusty coming to live with Daniel, the story of Eli and Violet almost-eloping, the saga of Seth and Delilah and how much I wish she would just leave town again.

And then, somehow, it’s two o’clock in the morning and we’ve been sitting on the couch with empty wine glasses for three hours, so we leave the dishes for the morning and go upstairs to bed.

Just like that, I’m having an affair with a student.

I hate thinking of it that way. I much prefer to just think of Thalia as my girlfriend who happens to be in a class I’m teaching, but I know that’s glossing over the murky truth of the situation.

The truth that it’s wrong, even if nothing’s ever felt more right. The truth that this is unethical, immoral, reprehensible; the truth that I shouldn’t be getting blowjobs from the girl whose papers I grade.

Three days a week, she sits quietly in the back of my class and takes notes. Sometimes, she asks questions. She got an A on the midterm and she gets mostly A’s on her weekly quizzes, and it’s got nothing to do with the fact that she’s naked in my bed several times a week and everything to do with the fact that she’s smart and studious.

A week passes, then two. She comes over a few times a week, sometimes for dinner, sometimes not. I learn her body as well as I possibly can: what makes her gasp, moan, what makes her eyes roll closed, what makes her bite her lip and curl her toes.

Technically, she’s still a virgin, a fact which throws the entire concept of virginity into question. And technically, I don’t care. She knows where the condoms are, and she knows I’ll do anything she asks of me.

I also keep getting the emails. Every other day, like clockwork. Always vague. Always one line.

Taking advantage of her like this is wrong.

This is against university guidelines, isn’t it?

If you had a shred of decency you’d stop.

Et cetera, et cetera. I still don’t tell Thalia. They’re squarely aimed at me and my wrongdoings, as if the writer thinks I’m a supervillain with a maiden chained to the tracks.

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

THALIA

I lean back in the creaky old wooden chair, stretch my legs in front of me, my arms over my head. It’s one of those chairs that doesn’t feel so bad when I first sit down, but after a few hours I always feel about seventy. I swear every joint in my body pops when I stand up.

The worst part is that it’s the best chair on this floor of the library. I know this because, at one point or another over the past two years, I’ve sneakily tested out every chair on this floor and taken the best one.

On the desk, my phone buzzes.

Caleb: What are you up to?

I lean further back in the chair, let my head hang down, and smile to myself. Even though I just saw him last night for a date — sex, pizza, and a movie, because it’s not like we can go out — for the past hour I’ve been debating sending this very text.

Me: Finishing up a response paper for my comp lit class.

Me: I swear this class is more work than my actual thesis.

Me: But I’ll be done in twenty minutes, if you’re asking what I think you are.

Caleb: You’re at the library?

Me: Yup.

Well, there’s my incentive to type this as fast as humanly possible. I get out of my chair, joints popping, do ten jumping jacks, sit down again, and type like the wind. I’m not completely sure that my opinions on bird imagery in Urrea’s work make much sense right now, but this isn’t even due for another week, so I can edit later. I just wanted to get it out of the way before I leave tomorrow morning for Thanksgiving break, because I know better than to think I’m going to get much work done while I’m home, particularly since my mom’s still in a cast and God knows my father can barely make a peanut butter sandwich.

I’m four and a half pages into a five-page paper when I hear soft footsteps moving through the stacks, so I instinctually hit save and then turn.

Moments later, Caleb emerges from between two bookshelves, twenty feet away.

“Are you the only one up here?” he asks, looking around, keeping his voice low in case I’m not.

“If you were anyone else that question would be terrifying,” I point out, and he glances over his shoulder, then walks toward me, smiling.

“Good thing it’s just me, your dirty old professor,” he says.

“You’re not old,” I tell him as he stands behind my chair, puts his hands on my shoulders.

“Just dirty, then?”

A ripple of excitement splashes through my chest, and I tilt my head back, look up at him as his thumbs dig into the knots in my shoulders.

It feels really good.

It feels even better when he leans down and kisses me, the angle new and a little strange, slow and sensuous.

And public. Even if no one else is here, and I’m pretty sure they’re not, this is the most public we’ve ever been and it sends a thrill spiraling through my whole body.

I reach up, hook one hand over his shoulder, catch his lower lip between my teeth. He responds by taking a hand off my shoulder, skimming it along my throat, then under the sweater and shirt and tank top I’m wearing, under my bra, sliding two fingers around my nipple.

I make a soft, uncontrolled noise into his mouth. My back arches and my hips push back, against the chair, because my body knows what to expect next and it’s ready.

“You finish your paper?” he asks, still fondling me softly.

I take a deep breath and try to focus.

“Yes,” I lie.

Surely I can write one single conclusion while I’m at home, right?

“Good,” he says, growly, gravelly, his voice traveling straight to my core. “Because I just realized how long it’s going to be until I see you again.”

“It’s four days,” I tease.

“I know,” he says, mock-seriously. “Ninety-six whole hours.”

“You did that math fast.”

“How unexpected.”

He kisses me again, then releases me. I shove all my stuff into my bag, put on my jacket, sling the bag over my shoulder. Caleb takes my hand as we walk through the dark stacks toward the elevators and my heart skips a beat even though there’s no one around.

On the elevator he leans against the wall, grabs my hands, pulls me in and we make out slowly, teasingly, one of my hands underneath his jacket and shirt. When the elevator dings I pull away, but he keeps my hand in his, and we walk to his car like that: sweetly, dangerously, even though campus is practically a ghost town.

Then, when we’re in the car he says, “I should tell you something.”

“If you’re married, I’ll kill you,” I say, the first thing that pops into my head, and I instantly shut my eyes and make a face. “I’m sorry. That was nonsense. I’d kill you, though.”

He releases the parking brake, pulls away from the curb.

“I’m not married,” he says. “I mean, I think.”

“Not funny.”

“That was kinda funny,” he says, glancing over at me.

“Caleb.”

“Hand to God, I’m not married,” he says, raising his right hand from the steering wheel as he stops at a stop sign. “I’ve been getting emails, though.”

I sit up a little straighter, look over at him.

“What kind of emails?”

He doesn’t answer right away, looks through the windshield like he’s thinking of the best way to answer.

“Short ones that say they know my secret and tell me I’m a bad person,” he says.

My heart leaps into my throat, and I try to swallow it back down.

“Who are they from?”

“Secret Knower at gmail dot com,” he says.

“How creative,” I say, leaning my elbow against the window ledge, looking out at the dark university buildings going by.

“So far, nothing’s come of it,” he says, and sounds calm, calmer than I am right now. “Whoever it is just… seems to want to make sure that I know what I’m doing with you is shitty.”

“It’s not.”

He’s silent, one thumb tapping on the steering wheel.

“It’s complicated,” I amend myself, tapping the knuckle of my pointer finger against my lips.

After the organ concert incident, we’ve been careful. I’ve barely made eye contact with him in class, only texted, never sent emails. Maybe someone’s seen me walking into his house or coming out in the morning, but he lives in a neighborhood that’s mostly student-free.

It could be another professor. Caleb’s told you how vicious academia is.

“You think they’ll do anything else?” I ask, softly.

“I think if they were going to, they’d have done it already.”

Already?

“How long has this been happening?”

Caleb turns down a residential street, slows, then turns into his driveway.

“A little over two weeks,” he finally admits.

I pause. It’s not the answer I was expecting. I thought he’d say two days, maybe.

“That long?”

“I’m sorry.”

“Why didn’t you say anything?”

He turns the keys, pulls up on the parking brake, turns and looks at me.

“They seemed mostly interested in me, and I didn’t want you to worry,” he says.

I take a deep breath, then get out of the car and walk around the front. By the time I get there, Caleb is standing in his driveway, hands in the pockets of his peacoat, waiting for me.

“I need something from you,” I say, stopping in front of him, looking up.

“Anything,” he says.

“Don’t shelter me,” I tell him, my voice soft in the cold, dark night, but it’s quiet except for the wind rustling the nearly-barren trees, so the sound carries. “I know that on paper, this relationship looks pretty off-balance, and there’s nothing I can do about that. But I need the truth of the matter to be that you’re my partner, not my protector.”

His eyes search my face. Then, slowly, he smiles.

“Of course, Thalia,” he says. “I wouldn’t want it any other way.”

“Thank you,” I whisper.

He reaches out, takes my hand, lifts it to his lips.

“As long as I can protect you sometimes,” he says, lifting his eyebrows.

“As long as I can reciprocate.”

He kisses my hand again, shifts his, laces our fingers together as we’re standing there, facing each other, and I feel an echo of that first warm night we met, standing by the sea monster on the pond.

“We can stop the affair if you want, now that someone knows,” he says, quiet, low, serious.

“I don’t.”

He opens his mouth like he’s about to say something, pauses, smiles.

“Good,” he says. “I don’t either. Ladies first.”

Inside, coats off, bags on the floor next to shoes. He kisses me before the door is shut, after it’s shut, while I’m unlacing my shoes and trying not to fall over. I leave my sweater on the railing of the stairs, my shirt on the floor, and by the time we’re in his bedroom I’m in a tank top and jeans, Caleb shirtless.

We don’t bother shutting the door. The room is lit by bedside lamps and Caleb walks me in, backward, one hand on my back and one twisting in the front of my skin-tight tank top.

“You know what the hardest part of Thanksgiving is going to be?” he asks, hands on my ribcage, his thumbs already brushing my stiff nipples through my bra.

“You?” I ask, and he laughs.

“I’m afraid watching my brothers argue isn’t terribly erotic,” he says, as I take my hands off him, reach for my bra clasp.

“What, then?” I ask, pulling it off through the arm holes of my shirt.

Caleb doesn’t answer, just runs the length of his hands over both nipples, from fingertip to palm, and my eyes slide closed at the friction.

“I like this shirt,” he says, his voice rough as he’s tracing the outline of my nipples with his thumbs. “You should wear it all the time, and you should never wear anything under it.”

I drape an arm over his shoulders, dip my fingers into the waistband of his jeans.

“To class, maybe?” I tease, and he looks at me in slight alarm.

“No,” he says, pinching my nipples between his fingers. “Jesus, never to class. You want me to forget what three times three is?”

“You’ve got a calculator,” I murmur, and slide my palm down the long, hard, thick ridge of his cock.

“Don’t you dare,” he growls, playful, pushing me back again toward the bed. “You’re supposed to be my partner, not my temptress.”

The backs of my knees hit the bed and instead of falling over, I climb on, kneeling, facing him, one hand on his cock and the other pulling at a belt loop.

“I’m not your temptress?”

“I’d prefer if you weren’t in class,” he says. “Just give me two more weeks, and then you can have your nipples out in class all day long. Wait. No.”

I laugh, tugging at the button on his jeans, practically tearing the zipper down.

“Shut up and take your pants off,” he teases, already shoving them over my hips.

I fall backward, wriggle out of my jeans, and Caleb leans over the bed and pulls my panties down too. I shove at his pants as he crawls on top of me and a few moments of maneuvering later, he’s naked and I’m wearing nothing but this shirt, my legs wrapped around him, his thick cock bumping against my clit, my hands on the hard muscles in his back.

I am aching with need and every touch, every thrust makes it worse, like he’s taunting me. I reach between us and grab his cock, the underside already slippery with my juices, and he thrusts into my hand and groans into my shoulder. I stroke him hard once, twice, and then I’ve made up my mind.

“Roll over,” I murmur, and he does, catching my wrist, dragging me on top of him. He pulls my shirt off as I straddle his hips, hands on his chest, automatically grinding against him, my body pleasure-seeking.

In the back of my mind, something ugly and old whispers good girls don’t, and I squash it.

Instead I kiss him again and I push myself against him and think of his list: make sure she’s aroused.

Yeah, check.

I lean over, stretching away from him, open the drawer, and grab a condom.

Then I remember the first bullet point and go back for a bottle of lube. I straddle him again, lower, tear the condom wrapper with my teeth because my hands are too slippery, then pull it from the wrapper.

I’ve never done this part before. I know the theory, and it’s not rocket science, but when you’re putting a condom on a banana as practice you’re never so turned on you think you might explode. You’re never tempted — so, so tempted — to toss the condom away and bareback a banana because you’re just that impatient.

I make sure the condom is right side out, center it on the head of his cock, and it slips a little but then Caleb pushes himself up on one hand and his fingers are on mine as we unroll it onto him.

He grabs the bottle of lube, drizzles it on himself, pours some into his hand and strokes himself a few times, lies back on the bed, his hand on my thigh.

“C’mere,” he says in a voice that turns my insides even gooier.

I lean forward, kiss my lover, push away that tiny voice telling me I shouldn’t because I know, completely and unequivocally, that it’s wrong.

He moves his hand from my thigh, grasps himself, guides himself to my opening.

At last, I take him. I take him a millimeter at a time I ease myself down, my hands spread on his chest as the tip of his cock slides into me and I open, stretching, filling.

It almost hurts, but not quite. It’s a sensation right on the edge of pain, right at my limit.

If he moved it would hurt. If I went too fast it would hurt but he’s gentle, patient, lets me go at my own pace. After a moment he lets his cock go, touches my clit with his thumb lightly.

“Is this okay?” he asks, and I nod. He strokes me and I keep moving, up and down, slowly working him inside me, and then he hits the spot.

I groan and Caleb moves the tiniest bit, his hips flexing and his cock throbbing. I gasp at the quick pinch of pain but then it’s gone and he’s deeper, pressing against a spot I’ve found before on my own but holy shit, never like this. Never anything like this.

“Did I hurt you?” he murmurs, and I just shake my head, dig my fingers into his shoulders.

“I’m fine,” I murmur.

I’m fighting with myself, caught between the almost-pain, the knowledge that I’m on the edge of it, and the instinctual, primal urge to ride Caleb as hard as I possibly can.

I know I need to be careful, take it slow, this first time at least, but I don’t want to. I don’t want to at all.

“Fine?” he asks, thumb still drawing slow circles over my clit, his hand slippery with lube and my own wetness.

“Good,” I say, voice low and rough, and as I say it I flex my hips and move back and for one second there’s another pinch but then it moves his cock against that spot again, harder and longer.

This time I moan out loud, and this time I don’t care that it might hurt and I take him deeper, harder.

Caleb groans, and even though it was too deep and too hard and I should stop, I don’t because it also feels so good that I don’t think I can. I don’t think I can do anything but ignore the sensation that I’m at my limit and take all of him, every last millimeter, my fingers and toes curling and his thumb moving faster on my clit.

I’m whimpering, my eyes half-closed, my lips parted. My hips are barely moving against his but it’s all I can take, stretched and filled, my whole body a live wire.

“Still good?” he rasps.

“So good,” I half whisper, half whimper. I swallow, gulp air, lean in, rock back on his cock.

I find that perfect angle again and I groan, my eyes going closed and slowly, carefully, I ease into a rhythm of small, shallow strokes as he strums my clit.

“Fuck, it’s so good,” I breathe, barely aware of what I’m saying. “God, you feel so good.”

“Tell me how much you like it,” he growls, and his other hand wanders up my body, caressing me. His cock twitches and I inhale sharply then moan, every single movement magnified times a hundred.

“Do that again,” I say, taking his hand, sliding his palm over one breast, his callouses skipping over my nipple. “Please?”

He moves, barely, and my body trills a quick warning but it’s lost among the feeling that I’m a symphony in crescendo.

“You like that?” he says, doing it again, his voice raspy and heavy, his breathing hard and fast. “Just like that?”

“Yes,” I breathe. “Don’t stop. Please don’t stop. God, more, don’t stop. Don’t stop, don’t stop…”

Now I’ve got his hand in both of mine, his knuckles pressed to my lips, eyes closed, and I can barely move but I’m rocking back and forth on his cock and he’s thrusting barely, just barely, and it almost almost hurts and I can barely breathe but I manage to whisper I’m gonna come oh God Caleb I’m gonna come so hard, and then I do.

I come so hard it hurts, so hard I nearly fall over, Caleb’s hand clutched in mine. I shout into his knuckles and whimper and say oh God oh God. I’m wracked. I feel like I’m melting, like I’m a bell being rung for the first time.

It fades slowly, into an afterglow that makes me dizzy, lightheaded. I kiss Caleb’s knuckles again and he stops stroking my clit, moves both hands to my hips, pulls me down another millimeter.

“I love the way you feel when you come,” he whispers, and then he explodes inside me, throbbing and pulsing. He grabs my hips even harder, the muscles in his arms flexing and I rock back, wanting more of him. I need more. In this moment, fuzzy-headed and sated, I feel powerful and wildly possessive, like I’ve been blessed that he’s mine and this is mine, and also like I want to go exact blood revenge for anyone else who’s ever seen him this way.

He slows, stops. He pushes himself up on his hands, still breathing hard, looking wild and untamed and sexy as hell.

“Kiss me,” he says, and I do.

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

CALEB

When I come back from tossing the condom Thalia’s still lying on my bed, one knee up, her arms overhead. She’s naked and beautiful and on display, and I pause for a moment, just trying to memorize this moment.

I wonder if she has any idea how she looks right now, whether she knows that she’s temptation come to life, desire personified. I wonder if she knows my bed looks like there’s a goddess in it.

“You’re sure you can’t stay?” I ask, glancing at my bedside clock. One-thirty in the morning.

“I shouldn’t,” she says, glancing at the clock herself, then making a face. “I still have to pack for break, and my ride’s gonna pick me up at nine so we hopefully don’t hit too much traffic in Richmond or the Tidewater.”

I get into my bed next to her, ignoring the large, sticky spot where I used way too much lube. Thalia looks at it, then rolls over, onto her stomach.

“Also, I should shower,” she says.

“The instructions said lots,” I point out, perching two fingers on her shoulder, then running them softly down her back, to her tailbone.

Just barely, her back arches, hips rising to meet my touch. I flatten my palm against her.

“Well, the instructions worked,” she says, laughing. Her cheeks are faintly pink and I can’t tell whether she’s still flushed from sex or whether she’s blushing anew.

“Once more proving the power of research,” I say.

“Is that what we just did?” she teases. “Prove the power of research?”

“I don’t hear you complaining.”

“I’ve got nothing to complain about,” she says.

Then she catches my eyes, pauses for a beat.

“That was really good,” she says, and now she’s definitely blushing. “Thanks.”

“You don’t have to thank me.”

“What if I want to?”

“Trust me, I got all the thanks I need,” I say, sliding a finger back up her spine, watching the way she rolls her shoulders as I do.

She’s addictive, this girl. The more I get of her the more I want.

“Can I shower here?” she asks, glancing at the clock again.

“No,” I say.

She gives me a look, and I laugh.

“What, you can sleep in my bed and hop on my dick but not shower? Of course you can shower here.”

“I think I’m gonna need to work up to hopping,” she says, then leans in, gives me a long kiss on the mouth.

“I’m available for practice,” I tell her.

“Good,” she says, her lips still against mine. “I’ve brainstormed some ideas for next steps.”

“Already?”

“I’m a planner. I like to think ahead,” she says, then pushes herself off the bed, stands, and walks for the bathroom, still utterly naked. A few minutes later, still on my bed, I hear the hiss of the shower and even though I’m tempted to go in there and offer to get started on those next steps, I don’t.

Instead I change the sheets and set an alarm for six, so she doesn’t miss her ride. When she gets out of the shower I take one as well, then crawl into bed next to her already-sleeping form.

In her sleep, she snuggles back against me. I stay awake a little longer just to savor it.

Seth: Caleb, who are you staying with?

Levi: I thought it was me.

Daniel: If you like being awake at three in the morning, you can stay here.

Daniel: Charlie approved of your laundry folding skills last time you were over.

Eli: You say that like she’s the one in the relationship with opinions on how laundry gets folded.

Daniel: Fine. Caleb, you folded the laundry nicely.

Seth: I folded laundry, he put together the swing.

Seth: But thank you.

Levi: Caleb, the spare bedroom is yours if you want it.

Seth: I’ve also got a spare bedroom. And also, wifi.

Levi: We have wifi. We’ve had wifi for two years.

Seth: You mean June has wifi?

Levi: We live together. It’s our house and therefore it’s also our wifi.

Eli: We know whose wifi it is, Levi. Do you even know the password?

Levi: Yes.

Eli: Caleb, you’re welcome to our couch, but sounds like you’ve got better offers.

Eli: Maybe he’s staying at Mom’s house?

Seth: Earth to Caleb.

Daniel: Caleb, please bring one of those huge chocolate chip cookies from that place near the park when you come. They’re very good and I would like to eat one. This is Daniel.

Eli: Daniel left his phone unguarded again, didn’t he?

Levi: Looks like it.

Daniel: I did not leave my phone unguarded and I would like the big cookie please insert this patch itch extra extra wish bag etc

Eli: Definitely seems like Daniel over there.

Seth: For sure. Better get ten cookies.

Daniel: Sorry. I went to grab Thomas and Rusty got my phone.

Eli: Wow, that wasn’t you? She even said “this is Daniel.”

Daniel: Don’t laugh. I live in terror of the day she learns to lie well.

I’m a quarter mile from the trailhead when my phone starts beeping, ringing, and buzzing like it’s possessed, though it turns out to just be the group text I’ve got with my brothers, not a demon.

The group text is probably better. Probably. A demon might be less nosy, though.

Caleb: Anywhere is fine. I actually hadn’t thought about it yet.

Seth: Your mind elsewhere?

I decide to ignore him, turn my phone to silent, and keep hiking. I should probably be figuring out what I’m bringing to Thanksgiving tomorrow — Eli sent an email about what he’s assigned each of us — but more than anything, I needed to escape, clear my mind, and get some exercise.

Admittedly, I’m mostly thinking about Thalia. I’m thinking that we should go hiking out here instead of only ever having dates in my house. We’ll go somewhere far from campus, and no one else is ever out here. We won’t get recognized.

I’m wondering when I can bring her to Sprucevale to meet my family. I’m wondering if I can get Seth to keep his mouth shut about the fact that she’s my student.

And about last night.

I think about last night a lot, actually. Hard not to. The way she said fuck, it’s so good. The sounds she made. The way she fit me like a glove, the way I could feel every tiny move she made, the way she looked as she slid down my cock —

I sigh out loud and glare at a squirrel, forcing myself not to think about it any more. The squirrel glares back.

“What’s your problem?” I mutter, and it runs away.

Me: I hate Monopoly.

Thalia: Did you lose to Rusty again?

Me: When you play Monopoly, doesn’t everyone lose?

Thalia: That’s not very sporting of you.

Me: Monopoly’s not sporting, it’s stupid.

Me: How was the drive to Norfolk?

Thalia: Uneventful. How’s Sprucevale?

Me: Well, I’ve lost twice at Monopoly and Seth gives me a knowing look every thirty seconds or so.

Me: But otherwise, it’s good. I hadn’t seen Thomas for a couple of weeks and I swear he’s twice the size he used to be.

Thalia: You can’t just say that and not send a picture.

I oblige and send her one that Daniel took of me and my nephew. He’s yawning in my arms, and I’m making that same face back at him.

Thalia: Ugh, what a cutie.

Me: Thanks. I really think this shirt brings out my eyes.

I can practically hear her sigh and try not to laugh.

Thalia: The baby is also cute.

Me: How’s Norfolk?

Thalia: It’s been better.

Thalia: Oh, Bastien wants to know if any of your brothers are single and gay.

Me: Seth’s technically single but not gay, unless he’s REALLY closeted.

Thalia: What about that guy who’s not your brother?

I’m standing in the upstairs hall of my mom’s house, briefly escaping the madness of Thanksgiving Day, and at that question I look up at the wall in puzzlement.

There are a great many guys in the world, and the vast majority aren’t my brother.

Thalia: The one whose sister is marrying Levi.

Thalia: I mean, they look alike.

Thalia: June? Is that her name?

Me: Oh, you mean Silas?

Me: Also, what, did you make flash cards of everyone?

Thalia: If I’d made flash cards I’d have known his name.

Thalia: And yeah, Silas. Hetero?

Me: Hetero and too old for Bastien.

Thalia: Bastien says he’ll be the judge of that.

Me: Nope, I’m doing the judging.

Thalia: Suddenly critical of age differences?

Me: Fifteen is a lot more than six.

Thalia: You’re so good with numbers, have you ever thought of doing something with that?

Me: Nah, I don’t think I’ve got much of a future in math.

“How’s Thalia?” Seth asks, holding a huge tray of leftover turkey and staring into the refrigerator.

“Who?” I ask, standing beside him. “We should probably turn the fridge off for a minute. This looks like a whole project.”

“I meant to come over here and clean it out before today,” he admits. “And don’t play dumb, idiot.”

I reach up and turn down the temperature dial on the fridge, because finding spots for all the leftovers is going to take a while, and there’s no sense in wasting all that electricity.

There were over twenty people at Thanksgiving, and even though we sent everyone home with food, there’s still an astonishing amount of leftovers, and it’s fallen to Seth and I to figure out how to fit it all into my mom’s fridge.

“Can we move these shelves? That one’s a weird height,” I say, pointing.

“Ignoring my question won’t make it go away,” he points out, taking more stuff out of the fridge, putting it on the chair currently propping the fridge door open.

“Yes, it will,” I say.

“No, it’ll make me ask it louder,” he says. “Eventually, I’ll have no choice but to ask how Thalia’s doing so loudly that everyone in the house will hear me, and I bet they’ll also want to know how Thalia’s doing. They might also have follow-up questions.”

“Come on,” I say, as we both reach into the fridge and begin rearranging.

Seth pulls out a small plastic container of something and regards it suspiciously, then tosses it into the sink.

“Not bluffing,” he says.

I say nothing.

“How’s Thalia doing?” he asks, ten percent louder than before.

“Don’t.”

“How’s Thalia doing?”

Twenty percent. I close my eyes and tell myself that he’ll knock it off before someone else actually gets interested.

“HOW’S —”

I punch him in the arm, and he breaks off, grinning.

“Ow,” he says.

“She’s fine,” I mutter. “Doing well.”

“How are her grades?”

“Seth.”

“She still getting a D?”

I don’t answer, even though I already know that it won’t work. For all my cleverness and book smarts, I’ve never figured out how to make any of my brothers knock it off when they’re being obnoxious.

“That stands for dick, specifically yours,” he explains.

I keep rearranging the fridge and do not, repeat, do not make eye contact.

“And asking if someone is getting the D is a colloquialism for —”

“We’re not talking about this,” I say.

“Q.E.D., we are, actually.”

I take a deep breath, stand up straight, push one hand through my hair and gather my thoughts. Generally, I’m a fairly calm, unflappable person.

Siblings, though.

“Things are really good, and they’re not supposed to be,” I say, keeping my voice low. “Because she’s my student, and there aren’t supposed to be things at all, which means that no matter how good they are, I don’t want to talk about them because every person who knows is one more who might let something slip, and that could be disastrous.”

Seth’s quiet a moment, his eyes searching my face, his dark hair slightly mussed like always. I think, for a flash, of how much he looks like our dad, even though his hair was always neat and never out of place. A far as I recall, at least.

“But things are really good?” he says, softly. “Despite the fucked-up nature of your relationship?”

I don’t take that last part personally, because I know exactly what he means.

“They are,” I tell him. “I’ve never met anyone like Thalia before. I really like her, and I really want it to work, I just wish…”

“Right,” Seth says, nodding as he pushes a container into the fridge, then frowns. “Is this gonna keep the door from closing?”

“Dunno, try it,” I say, and move the chair holding the fridge door open.

It swings shut, and then Seth and I both jump.

Levi’s standing right there.

“Who’s Thalia?” he asks.

“How long have you been behind that door?” I hiss.

“Ten seconds. Maybe fifteen, I came to see if you needed help. You all right?”

I don’t know why I’ve ever tried to keep a secret in my entire life.

“I’m fine,” I say.

“A relationship with a fucked-up nature sounds less than fine,” my eldest brother points out, folding his arms over his chest.

“Caleb’s dating someone he shouldn’t be,” Seth explains.

Levi shrugs, looking skeptical.

“No, really shouldn’t be,” Seth says, keeping his voice low. “This isn’t my friend is gonna be mad —”

“He punched me,” Levi points out.

“ — This is Caleb’s life is gonna be ruined if people find out,” he finishes.

Levi just turns and looks at me, silently. And looks. And waits.

I lean my head against the cool metal door of the fridge, close my eyes.

“She’s my student,” I finally admit.

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

THALIA

Bastien looks down at his mocha, then up at me.

“It would be frowned upon to put vodka in this, right?” he asks.

“Did you bring vodka with you?”

“It’s more of a theoretical question,” he says. “In theory, let’s say you’re at your parents’ house for Thanksgiving break, and they’ve barely spoken two words to each other since your dad kicked your ex-junkie brother out of the house while your mom was at work, and also your mom has a cast on her good arm but would literally rather drop a full knife rack on her foot than ask your father for help with something in the kitchen. Vodka in your coffee: yes or no? Also, you’re gay and they don’t know.”

“Thanks, now I want vodka,” I say.

“There’s a liquor store down the street,” Bastien volunteers. “I’ll wait here.”

“This was all a ploy to get me to buy you vodka, wasn’t it?” I ask, taking a sip of my non-alcoholic coffee.

“I don’t need a ploy,” he laughs. “I’d just ask you to buy me liquor. Actually, speaking of which, will you buy me liquor?”

“It’s illegal,” I tease, and Bastien rolls his eyes.

“You’re fucking your math professor, you can —”

I nearly spit out my coffee and kick him under the table.

“Ow,” he says while I cough.

“Don’t,” I hiss, still coughing.

“I’m just saying, on the spectrum of no bigs to big deal, buying your pretty-close-to-legal little brother some booze ranks way below some of your other activities.”

Bastien is utterly and completely delighted that I’m having an affair with my professor. He might be even more delighted than I am, and I’m pretty delighted. He claims it’s because he likes seeing me happy, but I’m not buying it.

Well, I’m sort of buying it. I think he likes seeing me happy, but I think he’s even more relieved that at last, I’m doing something wrong and he gets to know about it.

He’s also enjoyed the (perfectly innocent) pictures that Caleb’s been texting me, and I can’t blame him. Caleb’s hot and he has hot brothers.

“Fine, I’ll buy you booze,” I say.

“You’re my favorite sister,” he says, grinning.

We both take a long sip of our respective coffees, then look out the plate glass window we’re sitting by. This coffee shop is across the street from a big shopping center, which makes for pretty good people watching.

Particularly today. There’s definitely a certain level of schadenfreude involved in watching people shop on Black Friday while peacefully sipping a drink across the street.

“You weren’t actually going to try and buy something, were you?” I ask him, my chin in my hand as I watch two people shout at each other in their cars, both in the wrong lane.

Bastien’s just staring out the window, his coffee in one hand, resting on the table, and he doesn’t say anything.

“I figured you just said that to Mom and Dad as a reason to leave the house because if you said ‘we just really want to not be here right now,’ they’d get all weird about it,” I go on.

He still doesn’t answer. I follow his gaze, but I can’t tell what he’s looking at, other than a general shopping madness.

“Bossy,” I say, and he finally turns to me.

The look on his face stops me cold.

“I think I found Javi,” he says, voice low, eyes locked on mine.

Then he swallows.

“That’s the real reason I wanted to get out of the house — I mean, Mom and Dad are also unbearable, but —”

“Is he dead?”

The question comes out flat and emotionless, my lips and fingers already going cold, my heart a knot getting pulled tighter with every second.

Bastien just shakes his head. He looks away. He looks at me again, and suddenly he doesn’t look like my college student brother who plays soccer and volleyball and rock climbs and is constantly apologizing to girls for being gay.

He looks like my kid brother, young and scared and lost.

“No,” he says. “I mean, I don’t know. That was misleading. I didn’t find him, I found where he was a month ago.”

“A month?” I echo, the knot still tightening.

I don’t want Javier dead. I want to say that first, that I want my big brother back. I want back the guy who taught me to write in cursive long before I learned in school, the guy who drilled me endlessly at kicking soccer goals, the guy who beat up the boy who pulled my hair in fourth grade.

But I saw Javier after he came back, and before he went to rehab, and he may as well have been a ghost. He barely talked, couldn’t joke, couldn’t laugh. The only time he ever seemed alive was when he’d wake up screaming.

In other words, I think Javier might already be gone.

And the truth is that I don’t know which is worse. He’s on the streets and he’s addicted to opiates and winter is coming, and I’m one hundred percent positive that when he sleeps, he still wakes up screaming.

“I’ve been calling around to shelters and churches and groups that work with the homeless,” he says, softly. “A volunteer with the Richmond needle exchange program said she helped someone matching his description at the end of October, right after Halloween. She gave him a bunch of syringes, some medical supplies, and a couple doses of Narcan. Said he turned down an HIV test.”

I nod. I swallow hard, and I keep nodding and I stare out the window at the zillions of cars fighting to get their cheap TVs and underpriced pants, and I have a thousand thoughts all at once.

I think, he’s still using and at least he’s using a needle exchange and at least he has Narcan in case he overdoses and I hate the first, hate that he needs the last two.

I think he was exchanging needles while I was having fun with Caleb.

I think I can’t believe I’ve been so happy while Javi’s been out there, still using, still on the streets…

“When did you find out?” I finally ask, still staring blankly out the window.

“A week ago,” he says.

“I should have been calling too.”

“Ollie.”

“I’ve done nothing.”

“Ollie, knock it off,” Bastien says gently. “Don’t start guilt-tripping yourself.”

“But I should have been —”

“I mean it. I finally talked to someone who’d seen him and what does it help? Jack shit.”

“We know he’s still alive and still in Richmond,” I point out.

“We know he was three weeks ago.”

I look at my hand on the table, my nails shiny and dark blue because I painted them yesterday, listening to my parents ignore each other. It’s good, if minor, stress relief.

“Do Mom and Dad know?”

“No,” he says simply.

“Are you going to tell them?”

He sighs and looks down.

“I don’t know,” he says. “I’m not sure what it helps. I’m not sure if it helps. I mostly told you because I needed to share it with someone and talk about what we should do or if there’s anything we can do.”

“I wish you’d told me earlier,” I say.

Bastien just shrugs.

“You’re really busy,” he says. “And you and Caleb seem like you’re really happy and I didn’t want to harsh your buzz, you know?”

“Telling me Javi’s still alive isn’t harshing my buzz,” I say, more forcefully than I mean to. “He’s my brother. I want to know.”

Now he looks young again, lost.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers. “You’re right.”

I shake my head, trying to clear my brain out.

“It’s okay,” I say. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to…”

I trail off, my words not quite operating at the moment.

“We should tell Mom and Dad.”

“Yeah, you’re right. I was just being a pussy about it because —”

I clear my throat, and Bastien rolls his eyes a little.

“— being a coward about it —"

“Thank you.”

“— because I didn’t want to make things worse between them, but that’s not really my problem, is it?”

“Nope,” I agree.

We’re quiet for another moment, drinking our coffees. People come in and out of the coffee shop, get drinks, sit down. The baristas call names and kids run back and forth and two people hug, laugh, sit down together.

“You find out anything else?”

“That’s all she knew,” he says. “I think a lot of people go through there.”

“They didn’t chat? He didn’t casually tell her that he’s been living in a car in Foggy Bottom or visiting a shelter near VCU or on the streets Downtown or something?”

Bastien just shakes his head again.

“Sorry, Ollie. That’s all I got.”

“It’s good. Thank you.”

Me: Buy anything good today?

Caleb: God, no. I went hiking with Levi, June, and Silas, and then when we got back Thomas fell asleep on me for nearly three hours.

Caleb: Daniel said he must find my funk soothing.

Me: You should bottle it as a baby sleep aid.

Caleb: If this teaching thing ever falls through, maybe.

I make a face and laugh quietly. I’m sitting on the couch in my parents’ den, feet on the coffee table. The TV is showing some action movie and Bastien is sitting at the other end of the couch, both of us looking at our phones.

When I laugh, he glances over at me, then back.

“Are you talking to your lovahhhh?” he asks, and I snort.

“You can’t call him that.”

“Call him what? Your lovahhhh?”

This time he uses a funny voice, and I start laughing.

“Lov-ahhhh. Looo-vahhhhh.”

I throw a pillow at him, giggling almost too hard to talk.

“Thalia,” he says, still looking at his phone. “Has taken a…”

He looks at me, grinning.

“Don’t,” I say.

“LOVAHHHH,” he stage-whispers, raising his eyebrows and doing jazz hands.

I grab the pillow I threw by a corner and start beating him with it.

“Don’t. Wake. Up. Mom. And. Dad!” I hiss, giggling, punctuating each word with a pillow smack.

“You don’t want them to know about your —”

I shove the pillow over his face.

“Uhhhhwuhhhhh,” he says.

Telling my parents that Javier was alive and at a needle exchange in Richmond doesn’t do much for the atmosphere in the house. My mom asks Bastien a million questions that he doesn’t know the answer to — Was he okay? How did he look? Did he have a coat, did he have shoes? — and my father pretty much turns to stone while she cries.

I think he regrets turning Javi out. It can be hard to tell, and to be honest, I’ve never been particularly close with my father. He’s not exactly the warm, fuzzy type.

I’ve suspected more than once that my grandfather, the son of Mexican immigrants and also a military man, was abusive. I’m pretty sure that my grandmother was an alcoholic, possibly as a result of having an abusive spouse and trying to raise six children essentially on her own. They both died before I was born, so I don’t really know. I just know that my father, the eldest, didn’t grow up in a happy household and joined the Navy the second he turned eighteen so he could get out of there.

Not that it excuses anything, but thinking about it helps me to be a little more compassionate.

The rest of the weekend is very, very rough. I try to stick around and be there for my mom, but I don’t know how much I’m helping.

And I can’t stop feeling guilty about my own secret. I can’t stop thinking about how much she’d disapprove, how disappointed she’d be, and she wouldn’t be completely wrong.

Needless to say, I’m pretty relieved when my ride Natalie picks me up, and we head back to Marysburg.

CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

CALEB

“Why would you assign a paper to be due one week before the final?” Thalia asks. “Who does that? What educational purpose can it possibly serve? No one is doing their best work at that point. No one is really absorbing information, it’ll all just be incoherent nonsense brought on by too little sleep and too much caffeine.”

“Sadists?” I ask, leaning back on the couch, lacing my fingers over my head. “Or maybe masochists, because then they’ll have to grade the final and also read all those papers?”

I’ve never once assigned a paper. I had to write them occasionally in undergrad, and every single time, it made me regret taking a humanities course for ‘fun.’

Turns out that I like reading books, but writing papers and analyzing them feels like someone pounding nails into my brain. What’s the whale symbolize in Moby Dick? I don’t know, a whale?

“It’s monstrous,” Thalia says, also leaning back, looking up at me. “And stupid. And dumb.”

“So you’re not staying over?” I ask, even though I already know the answer from her brief tirade.

“I can’t,” she sighs. “I gotta go back and finish this dumb thing, it’s due by eight a.m. And I still have to write four more pages and a conclusion, and then put together my bibliography because Callahan is a maniac about bibliographies.”

Then she curls into me, one knee over my thigh, her head on my shoulder, and I wrap an arm around her smooth, bare skin.

“Sorry,” she says.

We’re both naked on my couch because we didn’t make it upstairs this time. Forty-five minutes ago she texted me and asked me what I was doing, and fifteen minutes after that she was on my doorstep.

Then, in short order, she was naked and I was naked, on the couch, her knees on my shoulders and I was wearing a condom that she’d magically produced from somewhere, and she was breathing hard, both hands on my thighs, and then I carefully, slowly slid inside her and she moaned.

She didn’t last long. I didn’t last long.

I’m starting to think that Thalia might be a sex fiend, and I’m okay with it.

“Better you than me,” I tease, and she laughs.

When she comes over the next night, the first thing she does after she comes in the door is hand me a neatly written, numbered list.

“These your demands?” I tease, before I actually read it.

Thalia just laughs.

“Sort of,” she says, and then my eyebrows go up as I actually read the list.

1. Cowgirl

2. Missionary

3. Doggy

4. Froggy

5. Plow

6. Wheelbarrow

7. Reverse Cowgirl

8. Pretzel

9. Piledriver

10. Side-lying

“Tell me more about how you’re a shy, innocent virgin,” I say.

“I never claimed the first two, and I got over the third,” she laughs. “I did some research during a study break and you know how I like lists. And goals. And achievements. And achieving goals.”

“And fucking me silly,” I say, still scanning the list, and she laughs. “Is there a Powerpoint? I don’t know what all of these even are, and if I try to Google them you know I’ll just get porn.”

“You have to start using Safe Search,” she says.

“That only works sometimes,” I tell her. “If you’re searching, I don’t know, best corkscrew it’ll work but there’s no such thing as a Safe Search when you’re trying to look up doggy style.”

“I thought you’d know that one,” she teases.

We’re still standing in my front hallway as she takes off her coat, puts her bag down, then runs her fingers through her hair, shaking it out.

“Want to help me figure it out?” I ask, grinning, and I pull her to me.

“Duh,” she says, laughing. “That’s the point of the list.”

For the next two weeks, I essentially become Thalia’s late-night booty call. It’s the end of the semester and then finals, not to mention the last few grad school applications are due, and she’s completely swamped with work.

I’m not mad. There are far worse things in life than Thalia coming over for sex and then either leaving or falling asleep in my bed.

Far worse.

We do talk. She tells me about how Bastien found Javier, sort of. I admit that Levi and Seth both know about us. We talk about our families and Thanksgiving and the upcoming Christmas break, about whether we should wait until she graduates to tell our families, or whether we can do it once she’s no longer my student.

Though I could still get fired once that happens. The Virginia Southern University guidelines are very clear, but once I’m no longer grading her homework it just becomes wrong and ethically questionable, not Wrong and Unethical.

Speaking of Wrong and Unethical (and an affront to professors everywhere, and a perverse man who gets off on having power over her, and unambiguously corrupt), I’m still getting the emails. Every other day, like clockwork. In a twisted way I’m starting to look forward to them. They’re at least creative.

I keep Thalia’s list on the bedside table, along with a pencil, so we can cross things off and also make programming notes as appropriate.

For example, on the line next to #9, Piledriver is the single word no. Next to #8, Pretzel, it says actually impossible; #7, Reverse Cowgirl, not nearly as good as regular cowgirl, and the line next to #6, Wheelbarrow, just reads who comes up with these?

But she likes when I put her legs over my shoulders and take her slow and hard and deep, which turns out to be #5, Plow. When we try #3, Doggy, she fucks me back so hard that I’m afraid she’s going to hurt herself, but she doesn’t. She just whimpers my name and then comes, clenching around me so tight it almost hurts.

She likes the variation on #1, Cowgirl in my office chair when she takes me all in one stroke and then rocks back and forth while I’m buried inside her. She likes #4, Froggy, which we try by accident when she collapses onto her elbows during Doggy and then buries her face in the mattress, moaning. She likes #10, Side-lying, in the morning when we’re both half-awake and don’t want to get up yet.

The day before the calculus final, she comes over in the afternoon and brings sandwiches. She texts first, but she’s got a key, so she just comes in to find me grading papers at the kitchen table.

“Any of those mine?” she asks.

“Why, are you offering a bribe?” I ask.

“I brought sandwiches.”

I tap my pen on the table, like I’m considering.

“What kind?”

“Turkey, brie, and arugula on baguette,” she says. “And I brought two cookies from Mason’s. Regular size, not face-size.”

She puts them on the counter, then leans against it, watching me while I sit there, thinking.

“Do you hate brie or something?” she finally asks, puzzled.

“No,” I admit. “I’m trying to think of a good way to offer you my meaty baguette but I don’t think there is one.”

Thalia laughs, her eyes crinkling.

“I brought lunch because I’m starting to feel like I’m using you for sex,” she says. “Shouldn’t we be having deep conversations about life and meaning and the universe or at least what movies we’ve seen?”

“What movies have you seen?”

“I haven’t seen any movies, I’ve been studying,” she admits.

“How about books?” I tease, leaning back, crossing my ankle over my knee, still tapping the pen on the table.

“I’ve been plowing through this really great read called Principles and Theories of Cognitive Neuroscience,” she says. “It’s a real page turner. Ask me anything about the amygdala.”

“What is it?”

“Part of your brain.”

“Thanks,” I deadpan.

“It has to do with emotional response. Mostly fear and aggression. We think it’s very involved in PTSD emotional responses, though also maybe not, because the brain is very complex and sometimes it feels like no one knows anything about it and we may as well be diagnosing mental disorders based on what lumps people have on their skulls,” she says.

“You need a study break,” I say.

“Are you turning down my offer of scintillating conversation over lunch?” she says.

“Never,” I say, still tapping my pen. “I’m just offering a stress-relieving appetizer.”

“Of a meat baguette?”

“I already regret saying that out loud.”

Thalia walks over to me and I sit up straighter, uncross my legs and she straddles me, resting her arms on my shoulders.

“You should, because it was pretty bad,” she teases, then gently takes my glasses by the arms, carefully places them on the table. “There. One more day.”

“Probably two,” I admit, my hands already cupping her ass as she rolls her hips toward me, my cock stiffening. “The class officially ends when final grades are in.”

“I’m not leaving for Norfolk until Monday,” she says. “We get a whole weekend when you’re not my professor.”

I grasp her hips harder, rock her against me, my thumbs on the soft skin of her belly, and even though yesterday we tried some variations on #2, Missionary, I already want her again with a fervor that surprises me.

Can you get addicted to a person? I think I might be.

“Want to go on a real date?” I ask. “Somewhere outside town. Saturday night. Somewhere no one knows us.”

“Do we still know how to act in public?” she asks, her fingertips already on my chest, rocking forward along the length of my cock.

“Did we ever?” I ask, and she laughs.

I don’t see her the day of the calculus final except at the test itself. It’s not in our usual classroom, but rather, in an auditorium with the two other sections of honors calculus, the students spaced far enough apart that there’s no way they can cheat off of each other.

Well, that’s the idea, at least, but they’re honors students. Most would never cheat, but the few who would are probably smart enough to come up with ways around being seated far from someone else.

When Thalia comes in, she glances at me briefly, sitting in the front with the other two Honors Calculus instructors. She nods and I nod back, the exact same way I’ve nodded to my other students today, then go back to grading the finals from my Differential Equations class.

The final starts at eight in the morning, and they’ve got until eleven to finish it, but Thalia’s gone by ten, presumably to the library to finish her Research Methods final paper, which is due at 11:59:59pm tomorrow, the last day of finals.

CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

CALEB

I haven’t checked grades this often since I was a college senior myself and wondering what I got on my Introduction to Knot Theory final. I submitted them by noon Friday, and at 6:30, they still haven’t gone up.

I’d say it usually doesn’t take this long for grades to be posted after I submit them, but I have no idea. Even though I’ve taught for years as a grad student, I’ve never really cared when the students got their grades before. I never had much of a reason to.

Briefly, I turn in my office chair and look through my window, lean a little to the right until I can see Thalia, still at her carrel. I can’t quite see what she’s doing from here, but she looks studious.

I turn back to my desk, where a stack of end-of-semester paperwork is waiting for me. I grab my headphones, put on a podcast, and get to it.

An hour later, my phone dings and I grab it instantly, grateful for the distraction from Building Form 59B, which is for requesting special permission to use a seminar room in the Mathematics Department for next semester’s graduate student seminar, rather than a classroom with shaky desks and a window that doesn’t quite close all the way.

I don’t know why the permission is special. Aren’t seminar rooms for seminars?

Thalia: Only an A, not an A+?

Me: You didn’t earn an A+.

Me: You got two C’s on quizzes and I don’t even want to talk about the question on the final about asymptotic limits.

Thalia: Thank God, I don’t either.

I turn around and look at her, still at her carrel, through my window and hers. She waves, and I wave back.

Thalia: Do you feel better now?

Me: About?

Thalia: Me.

Thalia: Now that I’m not your student any more.

Me: I’ve always felt good about you, that’s the problem.

Thalia: Don’t be willfully obtuse.

Me: Yeah, I do.

I stand from my chair, crack my knuckles on the desk, and stretch. I take a deep breath.

We made it. We didn’t get caught.

Even though we’re still a semester away from being able to admit we’re dating, I feel better already because even though I know that I never treated her any differently than my other students when it came to class, it still felt awful to know I was doing something that wrong.

I spent most of yesterday and today figuring out what to do tomorrow, to celebrate the end of finals and the fact that she’s no longer my student. I’ve considered art shows in Richmond, hikes in the mountains, and several different alleged haunted houses and abandoned sanitariums. There’s something called Foamhenge. There’s an amusement park called DinosaurLand, which has lots of statues of dinosaurs.

I finally settled on taking her to Luray Caverns, because it’s cool, interesting, and no one there is going to have any idea who we are. We can hold hands and display affection publicly, and we’ll just be some couple who wanted to come look at stalagmites, not a dirty old professor taking advantage of an innocent student.

That’s what I hate the most about this situation, why I’m relieved that she’s not my student any more. I know that what we have is real and true and deep, but the simple facts of it feel so shameful: professor, student; older, younger.

I hate that I’m supposed to be ashamed of falling for the most fascinating person I’ve ever met. I hate that I can’t even brag to my brothers about how great she is.

I take my glasses off and rub my eyes with the heels of my hands, then will myself to get back to the last of the paperwork. I don’t usually stay late in my office, but I’m hoping to have this all done so I can go to Sprucevale on Monday and spend Christmas week with my family.

I got Rusty a skateboard. Daniel’s gonna pass out, but she’ll love it.

One last time, I glance through the window, but Thalia’s gone. All the more reason to finish this dumb request form and go home.

I’ve just signed it and am double-checking all the boxes one last time when there’s a knock on my slightly-open door.

“Yeah?” I call, hoping it’s not someone with more paperwork.

“Do you have a minute?” Thalia’s voice says, and my head jolts up. “I know your office hours are over.”

“Miss Lopez, come in,” I say, taking a stack of papers and straightening them against my desk. “Did you have a question about the final?”

She enters, bag slung over one shoulder, her winter coat open, my scarf around her neck. She’s been wearing it lately. I like that she wears it.

“No questions,” she says, then glances out the door and raises one eyebrow at me. “I’m just glad it’s over.”

I nod, and she closes the door. I stand and twist the vertical blinds shut over the window behind my desk, because even though campus is pretty empty no one needs to see us together in my office, after hours, when the semester’s finished.

“Me too,” I say, walking around the desk and leaning against the other side.

Thalia puts her bag on one chair and shrugs her coat off. Underneath it she’s wearing an above-the-knee skirt over tights, and despite everything, the slight glimpse of her thighs pings something in my reptilian brain.

Maybe it’s my amygdala. My hippopotamus? Thalia knows, I don’t.

“I’m officially done with my semester several hours early,” she says, grinning, her hands on her hips. “I saw you were still here and figured I’d come say hi before I meet Margaret and Victoria for beers at the Rail.”

“Congrats,” I say, also grinning. “And no using the men’s bathroom while you’re there.”

“Why?” she asks, laughing. “You’re afraid that I’ll meet another handsome, charming math professor?”

“That could be your move,” I tease. “Lock yourself into a bathroom, play the damsel in distress, next thing you know some poor hapless sucker is so besotted with you that he takes to the botanic garden that very night.”

Thalia glances around quickly, like she’s double-checking that we haven’t overlooked a brand-new window in my office, then steps forward and puts her feet between mine, her arms resting on my chest.

“Okay, one, I’m not a damsel,” she says. “Two, you’re not exactly a poor hapless sucker —"

I grab her ass and give it a quick squeeze. Thalia yelps, then giggles.

“Shh,” I admonish. “People are going to think I’m hurting you. With math.”

“Sometimes math hurts,” she says.

“You mean hurts so good.”

“Do I?”

“You do,” I say, grinning at her. “When dispatched correctly, mathematics can be very erotic.”

“And I assume that you know how to dispatch math erotically?”

“Of course.”

“Go on.”

I give her ass another good squeeze, pressing her a little harder against me, and she laughs again. We’re both in goofy moods, feeling a little punch-drunk from the semester, and she wriggles slightly against me.

“You can’t get out of a discussion by grabbing my ass,” she says.

“I bet I can,” I say, and do it again.

“It’s not working.”

I’ve still got her ass firmly in both hands, and I give it a little jiggle.

“Yes, it is,” I counter. “We’re not discussing erotic math any more, and I’ve got my hands full of the best ass on campus.”

I’m also starting to get hard. I should never have grabbed her ass. I knew what would happen, and we’re in my office, on campus, not to mention she’s about to go get drinks with her friends.

“Well, the best ass just came by to say hi, give you a quick kiss, and ask what you’re doing later tonight,” she teases, looking up at me.

I release her ass and cup it gently, instead. It’s a nice ass. I like touching it.

“You, I presume,” I say. “When you show up at my door drunkenly demanding a good time.”

“Is that a request?” she says, and now she’s got her hands on the desk on either side of me and she cocks her hips and she grinds against me a little as she does, and it doesn’t help my erection situation.

“That you drunkenly demand a good time? You don’t have to be drunk,” I tease back. “I’m happy to give you a good time whenever you demand one.”

“I’d noticed,” she says, a half-smirk on her upturned face.

“Sorry,” I say, grinning. “Should I be saving that for your demands later tonight?”

“Thank you,” she says, sweetly, and tilts her face up to mine for a kiss.

I kiss her quickly, not quite chastely but close enough, and a thrill goes through me. I shouldn’t be kissing this girl at all and I definitely shouldn’t be kissing her here, in my office, where a colleague could theoretically knock on my door at any moment.

Thalia pulls away for a second, still leaning against me, perched on her toes, my hands still cupping her ass, and her eyes search mine like she’s thinking of something.

Then she kisses me again, and this time I lean into it. I know I shouldn’t but I open my mouth, dart my tongue along her lower lip, feel her open to me as she pushes against me a little harder, her ass still in my hands.

By the time we part I’m hard as a rock, and we both know it. Thalia’s slightly flushed, her eyelids slightly heavy, and I know for a fact that she’s wet as all hell right now.

Half of me wishes she hadn’t come by to say hello.

The other half wants to push her skirt up, her tights down, and make her come before she meets her friends for drinks.

“I should go before I land you in hot water,” she says. “Just because I’m not technically your student any more doesn’t mean it’s a good idea to start getting it on in your office.”

“It’s a very bad idea,” I agree, and I finally take my hands off her ass, take hers, give them each a quick kiss.

“Tonight?” she says, with that half-smile and head-cock I’ve come to dream about.

I intend to say of course, tonight, I can’t wait.

What I actually hear myself say is, “The door does lock.”

She turns her head, looks at the door, like she’s confirming this information, then looks back at me.

“And if someone hears suspicious noises and knocks on it?” she asks.

“We’ll pretend no one’s here,” I say, still leaning against the desk, letting myself cup her ass in my hands again. “What are they gonna do, knock down the door?”

Her lips quirk and move in that way that I know means she’s thinking about it. I force myself to remain calm as the blood pounds through my veins, mildly worried that my cock is going to burst through my pants at any moment at the thought of Thalia bent over the desk where I graded her homework.

“I’m trying to keep you out of trouble, you know,” she murmurs, teasing.

“And I’m trying desperately to get into it,” I say, one eyebrow raised.

Then I lean in, kiss her slowly, deeply.

When I pull away, my lips still brushing hers, I murmur, “Tell me you’re not wet thinking about getting bent over my desk and fucked.”

Thalia smiles and leans into me, her belly against my hard cock, her fingers gently hooked under the waistband of my pants.

“All the way from erotic mathematics to this?” she teases.

“You’re right, it wasn’t math,” I concede, and Thalia stands on her toes again, pushing herself up until her lips are against my ear.

“I was such a good girl until I met you, Professor Loveless,” she murmurs, and pulls away.

She crosses the room. Locks the door. Double-checks that it’s actually locked, surveys the blinds, then flips off the overhead lights leaving nothing but my desk lamp on.

“Someone outside might be able to see shapes through the blinds,” she explains, coming back.

“Smart,” I say, and gather her in my arms again. “I knew there was a reason I liked you.”

She presses herself against me, rolling her hips along my hard cock, fingers through my belt loops.

“I thought it was my great ass,” she teases.

I grab it again, obviously.

“The ass doesn’t hurt,” I say, and we kiss. I slide my hands down her hips, grab the fabric of her skirt, and pull it up until I can reach underneath, along the smooth surface of her tights, and between her legs from behind.

Thalia makes a noise that I’ve learned by heart and she presses forward, into me, asking for more as her fingers find the button on my pants, quickly pull it apart, grab the zipper and pull.

If there’s a greater anticipation in life than the feeling of Thalia’s hand pressing against my cock as she undoes my zipper, tooth by tooth, I’ve never found it. I growl and grab her ass again, hiking her skirt up higher, this time pushing my hand between her legs from the front, though she may as well be a Barbie doll with these tights on. I can’t feel a damn thing.

Then she sighs and a tiny oh escapes her mouth while it’s still on mine, and I know I’ve found her clit so I circle that spot slowly, gently, as my zipper reaches the bottom and Thalia grabs my cock through my boxers.

This time we groan together, and then she laughs and I bite her lower lip and she squeezes me a little harder, lightens her grip and strokes me gently with the fabric still between us, the friction thrilling.

I grab her hips again, her ass, slide my hands up her body. I slide them down. As I do she moves her hand inside my boxers and grasps me hard, stroking me from tip to root and back. I groan into her mouth, grab her ass one more time, and she smiles.

Finally, I give up searching for a way into her tights.

“Get these off,” I growl. “Now.”

She pulls back, cocks a smile, looks up at me in a way that’s half sultry and half teasing.

“Yes, Professor,” she says, and reaches way up under her skirt, past her waist, and pulls her tights down, shimmying her hips from side to side as she does.

I make a note of this, for later use, and the moment her tights are past her thighs I grab her again, pull her in, hook my thumbs under her panties and pull them off until they’re tangled with her tights.

She strokes my cock again and I kiss her hard, fast. I slide my fingers between her legs and find her soaking wet.

“I love being right,” I murmur. “I’d ask if you’re ready but I’ve already got my answer.”

“I just really like desks,” she teases, and I give her one more kiss then step around her, pushing her against my desk, one hand on her hips and the other already between her legs again, strumming her clit, fingertips nudging between her slick folds at her tight entrance.

She braces herself, arches her back. I can hear her inhale sharply, hips moving back as my fingers tease at her, asking me to enter.

Then, finally, a thought occurs to me.

“Shit,” I hiss, just as Thalia flexes backward again, taking me to the first knuckle.

“Inside pocket of my bag, all the way to the left,” she says without missing a beat.

I pull away for a moment, open her bag. Find the pocket on the inside, rummage through one side. Just pens. I rummage through the other, hoping, praying.

After a long moment where I find nothing but more pens and a few stray tampons in their wrappers, my fingers search out that square, shiny foil packet that I’ve come to know and love.

Thalia’s watching me, still bent over and arched, grinning like her plan’s come together and in two steps I’m behind her again, the condom held tightly in one hand, my cock nestled between the perfect globes of her ass as I kiss the back of her neck.

“You planned this,” I say, my voice low, raspy.

“I swear I didn’t,” she says, looking at me over her shoulder.

“I should have known better than to think you wanted to come say hi,” I tease her, my lips still on her neck.

“That’s been there since the night we made out in the library,” she says, laughing and arching against me at the same time and fuck she feels good. “I figured that sooner or later we were going to do this somewhere stupid, so we should at least be safe about it.”

It’s no wonder that I’m so desperately in love with this girl. She’s perfect.

I tear the condom open with my teeth, roll it down my cock while she watches me over her shoulder. When I’m done I slide my hand into her hair, move it from the back of her neck, and give her a long, slow kiss.

While I kiss her I tease her with my cock, sliding it between her lips, rubbing the tip against her clit, letting her push fruitlessly back against me while her breathing goes ragged.

Then, when I can’t take it any more, I find her tight entrance with the tip of my cock, look down, and take her with one long, slow thrust.

Thalia groans softly as I enter her, clenches around me as I watch my cock disappear inside her, holding my breath as I sink into her tightness until she’s taken every millimeter and I’m hilted, feeling her squeeze me like a fist.

Then I wait a moment, listening to her breathe, letting her adjust while I hold onto her hips, and after a few seconds she pushes back against me, asking for more.

I give her more. I do it slowly at first, pulling myself nearly all the way out before sinking in again, making sure I hit every single nerve center inside her. I do it carefully, adjusting the angle with every stroke until her moans are nonstop. I give myself to her and I look down and I watch myself fuck her because in the most pure, primal way I love watching my cock disappear inside her.

But I can’t be careful for long, and Thalia doesn’t need me to be. She moans and she whimpers and she whispers my name, bent over my desk.

She whispers oh that feels good and I fuck her a little harder, slide my hands under her shirt, and she glances over her shoulder, eyes heavy-lidded, lips parted.

“Does it?” I growl, driving hard, deep, listening to the noise she makes. “Does it feel good to get bent over my desk and fucked?”

“Yes,” she says, half moan and half whisper.

“Does it feel good to make me lose my damn mind?” I ask, bending closer to her ear.

“Yes,” she whimpers, her breathing sharp, erratic. “Don’t stop, Caleb.”

She’s about to come.

“Please don’t stop,” she gasps. “Don’t stop.”

She doesn’t always beg me not to stop but when she does it’s her tell, a surefire sign that she’s close, ready to explode.

I drive deep, hard, and she tells me again, again and I wrap an arm around her, hook it over her shoulder, pull her back against me as hard as I can.

“Does it feel good to be my bad girl, Thalia?” I whisper.

“Yes,” she gasps, and then she comes.

There’s nothing like it in the whole world: the way she clenches around my length, the way she moans and whispers and says oh fuck, Caleb and pushes back against me. The way she loses control and lets go. The way she grabs my hand and presses my knuckles to her mouth, she way she practically collapses onto my desk.

I don’t stand a chance and I come hard, too, right after she finishes. I bury my face in her shoulder and my cock deep inside her, holding her tight against me and I growl her name into her ear while the aftershocks are still moving through her body and she’s still rocking back and forth against me.

Finally, we stop. I’ve got my arms wrapped around her and we stand here, braced against my desk, towering over the paperwork that I didn’t quite get finished earlier, my office spooky in the low light of the single desk lamp.

“We should probably never do that again,” she murmurs.

I grin, then kiss her on the cheek.

“Probably not, but you liked it.”

“True,” she admits, leaning back against me, laughing softly. “True.”

CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

THALIA

I’m ten minutes late to the Rail, and they’re already suspicious the moment I walk in the door. I can tell. I get a beer at the bar and slide into the round booth next to Victoria, and even though she, Margaret, and Harper all try to act like they don’t notice I’m late, they do.

“Okay,” says Harper, who seems determined to get this back on track. “Here’s to the end of another semester, and to one more ahead of us.”

“Hear, hear,” says Victoria.

“Aye, aye,” says Margaret.

“You’re a pirate now?” Harper asks, and we all drink.

“I’ve always been a pirate,” Margaret says when she comes up for air. “Not my fault you haven’t noticed.”

"I did think all those times you told me to walk the plank were odd,” Harper admits.

“And that hook hand is pretty notable, but I didn’t want to be rude,” I add.

Victoria’s got her beer in one hand, then points at Margaret with the other, her nails a deep, shimmering purple. That’s how you can tell Victoria’s stressed: she’s painted her nails, something she always does when she needs to assert control over a situation, even if the situation is what color her nails are.

“Wait,” she says. “Wait, no, this is a joke about booty and how much of it she finds.”

“Yarr?” says Margaret, and with that whatever nervousness I had about this dissolves, and I start giggling like a schoolgirl. I start giggling and I can’t stop, and after a moment Margaret and Victoria and Harper are giggling too, and then there are tears running down my face and I can’t look at any of them and I also can’t stop laughing.

“Stop,” Harper gasps, hiding her eyes.

“I can’t,” squeaks Victoria.

“It’s okay,” says Margaret. “It’s okay, it’s under —"

Then she snorts and starts laughing all over again.

“Do you bury it?” Victoria asks, wiping tears out of her eyes.

“Booty?” snorts Margaret.

“Those poor boys,” I say. “They must have sand in the worst places if she buries her booty.”

“Oh no,” giggles Harper. “Oh no. No, now I’m picturing it.”

“Margaret’s buried booty?” I ask. “I’m sure she gives them straws to breathe through.”

“Those aren’t straws,” says Victoria.

“This is too weird, stop it,” says Margaret, laughing almost too hard to talk.

“Is there a treasure map?” I wonder aloud. “Is this an ‘X marks the spot’ thing, or…?”

“Here be dragons?” says Victoria.

“Here be booty,” corrects Harper, and Margaret just covers her face.

“I’m dying,” Margaret says from behind her hands. “We have to talk about something else. Med school placements. Anything. How’s Todd?”

“Well, and back in Boston,” answers Victoria. Todd’s her boyfriend of a little over a year. “I guess that’s where the X on my booty map would be.”

I snort.

“Don’t laugh or we’ll talk about where your booty map X is,” she says. “What’s Josh the frat boy up to right now?”

I look from her to Margaret to Harper, then drain the rest of my beer.

I may have told them that I’m dating someone named Josh, a frat guy. None of them believed me for a single second.

“He went home,” I say. “To… California. Does anyone else want another drink?”

An hour and a half later, we’re all on our fourth beers. Should I be having four beers? No. I should never be having four beers, because four beers is so many beers, but The Rail is having a ‘last day of finals’ special and most of campus has already gone home, and why not have four beers for once in my life?

That said, my fourth beer is still practically untouched, sitting in front of me, because three beers was already a lot.

“No,” Margaret is saying, leaning forward over the table. “I hate it. I refuse to accept it. It’s wrong.”

“There’s scientific evidence,” Harper points out.

“My argument is a moral one,” Margaret insists. “I reject this assertion on moral grounds.”

Victoria just sighs.

“Margaret, that’s stupid,” she says, sounding very, very patient.

“No,” Margaret says.

“Dinosaurs having feathers isn’t immoral, it’s just… a thing,” I say, eloquently. “Like how you have skin. And hair. And a nose. Do you guys ever think about if aliens find human skulls a million years from now? They’re going to reconstruct us so ugly.”

I take a quick sip of my fourth beer.

“Dinosaurs must be pissed,” I muse.

Harper reaches out and puts a hand on my arm.

“They’re dead,” she says gently. “Hence the reconstructions.”

“Which are wrong, because fuck feathers on dinosaurs,” Margaret chimes in.

“I think they’re spectacular,” says Victoria. “And fun.”

“Dinosaurs are not fun,” insists Margaret. “They’re impressive. And awe-inspiring. And scary. And not feathered.”

“You forgot fabulous,” teases Victoria.

“And funky,” I add.

“And…” Harper says, then blinks. Then narrows her eyes. “…flippant. Nope. Sorry, guys, my brain’s out of words, I’m just gonna sit over here for a few minutes and be quiet. Few? Is that anything? No.”

“She turned in her Taciturn paper ten minutes before we came over,” Victoria says.

“It was Tacitus, and I hate him,” Harper says through her hands. “I hope he’s in hell.”

“He probably is,” I say comfortingly.

“Thank you.”

“Speaking of things we were doing ten minutes before we got here, Thalia, what the fuck,” says Margaret, who’s the furthest through her fourth beer.

The table suddenly gets very quiet.

“What?” I ask, a bad feeling already worming its way through my stomach.

“You were not in the library. I went there to see if you wanted to walk over together,” she says.

“I ran some errands after I finished my last paper,” I say, drunk and defensive. Then I point at her. “And I don’t have to tell you were I was. Fuck off. I wasn’t running errands, I was in a secret location that I’m not telling you!”

“Not a secret,” Harper says, looking down at the table.

“One last time to say thanks for the A?” Margaret asks.

Victoria puts one hand over her eyes.

“What the fuck?” I ask.

“We know Josh the frat boy is really Caleb the professor because we’re not morons,” she says, taking another drink of her beer and rolling her eyes.

“And you think I got an A because we’re dating,” I say. Anger flares in my chest, but I force myself to hold it back.

“Oh, come on, I was kidding,” she says, smirking at me.

She wasn’t kidding. We’ve been best friends for nearly four years, I know when she’s kidding.

“What a funny joke,” I say. “Thalia’s not smart enough to get an A so she has to date the professor! Ha ha!”

“Sure, dating,” she says. “That’s what you’re doing.”

“Margaret, shut up,” Harper says softly.

“Sorry, are you the only one who gets to call it that?” I ask. “When the rest of us go sleep with someone we’re supposed to say ‘hey I’m gonna go bang this dude’ but you, Margaret, get to call it dating?”

“You don’t get to call it dating when it’s your professor,” Margaret says, and drains her drink. “Calling it dating implies there’s some level of —"

“Enough,” declares Victoria, putting her half-full drink down loudly in the center of the table. “You two can talk about this when we’re not all shit-faced because we’re damn well not doing it now. Margaret, don’t be a bitch. Thalia, stop lying to us about Josh the frat boy, we’ve all seen Caleb drop you off at one in the morning at our apartment and walk you to the front door. Maggie’s at least right that we’re not morons.”

I drink.

“Don’t call me —”

“Quiet, Maggie, or we’ll do it for real,” Harper says. “Thalia, I think it’s weird that a professor is into a student but honestly he seems very sweet and you seem happy to be getting nailed by this dude, so power to you.”

“This dude who you think gave me an A because I’m letting him nail me?” I hiss, leaning forward over the table.

“No one thinks that,” Victoria says quickly, shooting a glare at Margaret. Margaret won’t look at me. “You’re obviously capable of getting your own A.”

“And your own D!” Harper says, brightly.

No one laughs.

“Sorry,” she says.

I close my eyes and lean my back against the booth behind me, but that just makes everything spin unpleasantly, so I hold my head upright, keep my eyes closed.

“Fine,” I say, without opening them. “Fine. Yes, there is no Josh the frat boy and yes okay fine it’s actually Caleb but it’s not in exchange for grades, it just sort of happened, and yes I know it’s bad, but…”

I don’t know but what. All I know is that I shouldn’t have had this fourth beer, end of the semester or not. I know that admitting that we’re together even to my closest friends feels like I’m betraying Caleb, but lying to them about it felt like I was betraying them.

“…but I like him?” I finally say. “I don’t know, you guys, I just like him. That’s all. I like a guy and he sort of happened to also be my calculus professor, and now he’s not any more and if you could please just keep this quiet until June, that would be really cool, okay?”

“Okay,” agrees Harper, instantly.

“Okay,” shrugs Victoria.

I open my eyes, and we all look at Margaret.

“Okay,” she finally says, her eyes on her empty glass and not on us.

“Thanks,” I sigh.

I sleep over at Caleb’s that night. We don’t even have sex again, he just comes and gets me from the bar, then lets me drunkenly raid his fridge while I sober up a little and recount the should-dinosaurs-have-feathers argument that I had with my roommates.

For the record, he is very definitely laughing at me, even as he coerces me into drinking water and eating some bread. I tell him several times that dino feathers are no laughing matter, but I can’t keep a straight face either.

I don’t mention the other argument.

I wake up to Caleb’s hand on my shoulder, shaking me softly.

“Thalia,” he says. “Hey. Thalia.”

I feel like someone’s dragging me up from underwater. When I finally open my eyes and look at him, I’m not sure what’s happening.

“Huh?”

“Your phone,” he says.

“What?”

“Your phone is ringing,” he says, groggy but patient, and I lift my head a little higher.

Then, finally, I hear the muffled, tinny sound.

“What time is it?” I ask, then glance at the bedside click myself.

Four-thirty in the morning.

“Shit,” I mutter, then roll out of bed. At least I’m not drunk any more, but I’m not exactly at my best, either. I manage to find my way to my purse, tossed in a corner last night, and then rummage through it until I finally get to my phone.

The moment I find it, the thing stops ringing, and the missed calls pop up.

It’s from Bastien.

Actually, I’ve got four missed calls from Bastien, and that’s when the fear grips my heart. I let myself slide to the floor, the wood cold against my bare thigh, my head pounding, my whole body feeling heavy.

“What is it?” Caleb asks from the bed, just as my phone starts ringing again. This time, I answer immediately.

“What happened?” I ask, not bothering with a greeting.

On the other end, Bastien clears his throat.

“They found Javi,” he says.

I can’t breathe. I need to know, need to ask, but I can’t find the air to do it with.

“Alive,” Bastien says.

CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

CALEB

Thalia bursts into tears.

I’ve never gotten out of bed so fast. I drag half the sheets and the blankets after me, spilling onto the floor, as I kneel next to her and put one arm around her, my other hand on her leg.

“Where?” she whispers into the phone as she turns to me, eyes wide, tears spilling out.

Then she shakes her head, looks away from me at the wall again, puts her hand over mine on her leg and I have no idea what any of that means.

“In Richmond?” she asks, pauses. “Is that — is he still? Can they keep him, or —"

Another pause, and even though I can only hear her half of the conversation, I’ve got a feeling that I know who this is about.

Thalia closes her eyes and tears drop from beneath her lashes. I plant my lips on her bare shoulder and keep them there.

“Okay,” she says. “Right. But —"

Another long pause, and she looks over at me.

“He’ll be okay, right?” she asks, into the phone. “From this, I mean? The worst is over from this?”

She waits a second for a response.

“Thanks,” she says. “I’ll let you know. Love you. Tell Mom and Dad that too. Thanks, Bossy. Bye.”

She pulls her phone away from her face and hangs up, turns it off, plunging my bedroom back into darkness with nothing but the faint light of a street lamp around the edges of my curtains.

Thalia takes a long, unsteady breath, then lets it out, and I pull her toward me until her head is on my shoulder.

“Javier?” I ask.

“Yeah,” she whispers, her voice rough. She clears her throat, takes another breath, wipes at her face. “He overdosed, but —” she takes another deep, rough breath, “ — he got the Narcan in time and someone called 911, so now he’s in the hospital in Richmond. Bastien and my parents are heading there now.”

“But he’ll be okay?” I ask, letting my fingers drift through her hair.

“He survived the overdose,” she says. “Okay is… a big ask.”

“That’s all I meant,” I tell her, already wishing I’d said something else, like alive.

“I know,” she sighs, and I wrap my arms around her, let her lean against my chest.

“I’m ready to go whenever you are,” I tell her, looking at the street light filtering through the window. It’s close to the winter solstice, so the sun won’t be up for nearly two and a half more hours. We might be there before the sun.

Thalia’s quiet for a long, long moment.

“I can’t ask you for this,” she says.

“You’re not asking.”

“I’ve never given you anything back,” she says, her voice a scratchy whisper in the near-dark. “I came home way too drunk last night and ate all your snacks while I was complaining about dinosaurs, and you put up with me and got me to bed properly, and now it’s not even five in the morning and my stupid family has more awful bullshit and I can’t — you can’t be this nice to me, Caleb. You can’t.”

All I hear is her saying I came home. She just called my house home, and something deep inside me grows wings and takes flight.

“I’m not being nice if it’s what I want to do,” I tell her. “I want you to see your brother. I’d want to see mine. It’s really that simple.”

“I’m sorry we’re such a trash fire,” she goes on. “I’ve got a junkie brother and a closeted brother and my parents don’t talk and my dad’s just a straight up asshole. Jesus. Meanwhile you’ve got this perfect beautiful family with an awesome niece and a cute nephew and four older brothers who are all functional adults and your cool mom is a fucking astronomer, I mean, come on.”

“Those assholes are not perfect,” I say, quietly, and Thalia lets out a single laugh.

“You know what I mean,” she says. “You’re so wholesome and here I come with all… this. I’m sorry.”

I start laughing softly at wholesome. I try not to, but I can’t help it.

“Okay, what?” she says.

“Levi’s a weirdo who talks to trees and has personal relationships with every squirrel in his yard,” I say. “Eli failed out of college and then disappeared for a while to backpack the world before he decided to become a chef. Daniel spent his teens and early twenties raising hell until he impregnated a monster of a woman who didn’t even tell him he had a kid, Seth’ll fuck anything with two legs and tits, and my cool mom’s been lying to everyone for years.”

Thalia’s quiet a moment.

“Oh,” she finally says.

I decide, right then, that I’m going to tell her the thing that I’ve never told anyone.

“And my father, the heroic policeman who has a road and a building named after him, was drunk when he died,” I say.

Thalia goes very, very still.

“In the car accident?” she asks, her voice small.

“He hit a tree doing seventy down a mountain road,” I say, heart still beating fast.

I can’t believe I told someone. It feels surreal, like maybe I could still reverse time and undo it.

“Oh, my God,” she whispers.

“The county coroner knew him,” I say, suddenly unsure how to proceed. “And she knew my mom, and she knew us, so when she found out that he had a blood alcohol level of point twelve she covered it up. My mom was the only person she told. I guess she thought she deserved to know the truth.”

I stare into the dark, remembering two things at once: the late-night knock on our door, watching from the stairs as my mom opened it, Levi’s hand on my shoulder, and then also years later, when I was the only one still living at home, overhearing my mom on the phone.

I remember the fight we got into, the fight we had for weeks afterward: me, a know-it-all, righteous teenager; my mom, steely and pragmatic. I wanted to tell my brothers, to tell the town newspaper, to tell everyone. I wanted to share my disgust and horror with the world, but she talked me out of it.

She said he’d already paid for what he did. That at least he hadn’t hurt anyone else, that we didn’t need to pay for it too. That he wasn’t a bad person — he wasn’t even much of a drinker — he was someone who made a bad decision and paid for it.

So I never told anyone, not even my brothers. Thalia was the first.

“Did he hurt anyone else?” she asks, softly, looking at me like she’s afraid of the answer, but I just shake my head.

“Even the tree lived,” I say. “It’s still there with a marker in front of it, though I never go that way unless I have to. It happened in January. Everyone blamed black ice, and no one but my mom and I know the truth, and we’ve both been lying about it for years.”

“I’m sorry,” she says.

I raise her hand to my lips, flip it over, kiss her on the palm.

“Everyone is fucked up somehow,” I say. “Don’t apologize.”

“You forgot to tell me how you’re fucked up,” she says. “Other than lying to your brothers, I guess.”

I start laughing again, despite everything. She pulls away and gives me a puzzled, amused look.

“Come on, Thalia,” I say, leaning forward and planting a kiss on her shoulder. “I slept with my student.”

“Right,” she says, and she’s laughing and wiping tears away all at once.

“Come on,” I tell her, holding out my hand. “Let’s go to Richmond.”

CHAPTER FORTY

THALIA

When we get to the hospital, Bastien and my father are both outside, standing next to a bench in front of a dilapidated flower bed. They’re not speaking, but when they see Caleb’s car pull into the parking lot, they both nod once in exactly the same way.

Chapman Memorial isn’t as nice as the last hospital Caleb drove me to. The outside is ugly, the gray concrete weathered and stained, the windows faded and ugly, a patchwork of slightly different colors. The first M is missing from the sign over the door that says Chapman Memorial. The garbage cans and ashtrays outside the door are overflowing.

It’s also clearly in a bad neighborhood. I don’t know Richmond very well — hardly at all — but the houses here are all in disrepair and all the stores have bars over the windows, even during the day. Tents dot the sidewalk, and I’m pretty sure I saw a drug deal go down on the way here.

Not that I should be surprised, given why I’m here in the first place.

Caleb parks his hatchback, jerks up the parking brake, turns to me.

“We’re all fucked up,” he says, softly. Despite myself, I smile.

“Thanks,” I say, and give him a quick, chaste kiss.

We talked the whole car ride over. Or rather, I think I talked for most of it and he listened: the Javier I remember as a kid, the big brother who taught me to roller skate, who helped with my homework, who used to drive me to my friends’ houses sometimes.

I talked about the brother Bastien and I both adored, who was sweet and gentle and kind. The brother who loved to draw, who had notebooks filled with sketches, who used to win every art show he entered in middle and high school.

And I tell him how he used to fight with my father. How he joined the football team just to get my father’s approval. How, suddenly, my father was his biggest supporter who went to every game, learned every cheer.

He didn’t apply to college. He didn’t apply to art school. He joined the Marines straight out of high school, the only other thing he ever did that my father approved of.

Caleb and I walk up to the entrance holding hands, because there’s no point pretending we’re just friends. The whole walk from the parking lot, I can practically feel my father’s eyes burning a hole through the back of my hand, he’s looking at us so hard.

“Hi,” I say, when I get up to them. “You remember Caleb, right? How’s Javi?”

“Alive,” says my father, stepping forward, offering Caleb a handshake while Bastien gives me a hug.

“Sir,” Caleb says behind me, and I fight back a smile.

“He’s already sucking up,” Bastien whispers. “Dad’s gonna hate him anyway.”

“Stop it,” I whisper back.

“Thanks for bringing her,” Bastien tells Caleb when he releases me, shaking his hand as well.

“Of course,” Caleb says, and takes my hand again. My father looks at it, looks at me, and then leads us through the doors of the hospital.

The inside isn’t nicer than the outside. We walk past a gift shop that’s got a crack running the length of the plate-glass window, masking tape over it. The tile floor is mismatched. Here and there, a fluorescent light flickers.

Bastien drops back to walk beside us, lets our dad lead the way down hallway after hallway, always walking as if a drill sergeant is watching.

I turn to my brother.

“How is he?” I ask, voice low, dread and anxiety knotted in my stomach. “And don’t just tell me he’s alive.”

I shoot a quick glance at my father’s back. I’ve spent a lot of the last nine or so months trying to, if not forgive him, reach a place of some understanding, some acceptance that he did what he thought was best.

It’s quickly going out the window, now that I’m here. Now that I’m going to have to look my older brother in the eye.

“Please,” Bastien mutters, then takes a deep breath.

I squeeze Caleb’s hand, without really meaning to, and he squeezes back.

“He’s bad, Ollie,” Bastien says, simply. “He’s not Javi any more. He doesn’t look like Javi. He doesn’t talk like Javi, he doesn’t...”

We’ve come to a stop, my father standing outside the door to a hospital room, arms folded, facing us. Bastien, Caleb, and I are ten feet away, and it’s obvious that we’re trying to talk without him hearing us, but I don’t care.

“He wasn’t Javi when he left,” I say.

“He was more than he is now,” Bastien says. “Someone found him on the sidewalk in front of a 7-11, sitting on the curb, doubled over. The only reason he’s not dead is because he was holding the dose of Narcan he couldn’t use in time, and whoever called 911 gave it to him first, then ran off.”

I look at the door to the hospital room, my father standing in front of it, and suddenly I’m afraid of what I’ll find. I’m afraid to look at him like this, afraid to confirm what Bastien just said, that Javier is really gone.

Next to me, Caleb is silent and I squeeze his hand again, grateful, because there’s nothing he could say right now and he knows that.

“I need to ask you a favor,” I say, looking up at him.

“Anything.”

“Would you mind waiting while we go in?” I ask, softly.

“I can do that,” he says.

“I don’t want you to meet him like this,” I say, the words rushing out, a little faster than I mean them to. “I don’t — it’s not fair to him, or to you, for you to meet him now. You should meet him once he’s in recovery, once he’s —”

I almost say better but I’ve already learned that addicts never are, not fully. They’re forever in recovery, but I can’t let this be Caleb’s first impression of my big brother. I can’t.

“—improved,” I finish.

“Of course,” Caleb says softly. “Just shout if you need me.”

Then he bends and gives me a quick, sweet kiss on the cheek, and I squeeze his hand, and then I steel myself and let Bastien and my father lead me into Javier’s hospital room.

It’s not a nice hospital room, just like it’s not a nice hospital, just like it’s not a nice neighborhood. I can’t help but compare everything to the last time I was in a hospital, three months ago, in Norfolk for my mom. I wasn’t really paying attention at the time, but in comparison, it was the Ritz of hospitals.

There are three beds in Javier’s room, separated by curtains. He’s in the middle, and while I can’t see either of the people in the other beds, I can hear the man in the first one breathing heavily and coughing occasionally the whole time I’m in there, and the man in the third bed keeps up a low, painful moan the entire time.

When I enter, my father’s already pulled back the curtain around Javier, just enough for Bastien and I to enter, so I don’t have time to prepare myself.

Not that I think I could have.

He’s thin, cheeks hollow, once-golden skin nearly gray. The circles around his eyes look like black holes. His hair is combed but dirty. Someone’s cleaned his face, but it’s obvious from the smell behind the curtain that it’s the only clean part.

There are bruises down his arms, most old. There are scabs and rashes, his fingernails dirty and broken. He’ll be twenty-seven in May, and right now he looks a rough forty-five.

But none of that is the worst part. I stand there, just inside the curtain, taking it all in. I tried to prepare myself but it didn’t help because I’m shocked, horrified, standing here gawking at him like he’s a freak show and I’ve paid fifty cents to ogle.

The worst part is when he finally looks at me, his eyes flat and lifeless. They linger a moment, then look away again as he turns his head.

“Not her, too,” he says, his voice rough. “Come on.”

“Javi?” I say, his words finally breaking the spell. I step forward, into the space between curtain and bed, stand at his side next to my mom. She’s still got one arm in a cast, the other holding Javier’s hand.

“Did you have to get everyone?” he asks, his eyes still closed. “You just had to make sure that Ollie and Bossy saw me like this, too, didn’t you?”

“Javi,” my mom starts, squeezing his hand.

“They wanted to come,” my dad says, standing at the foot of the bed, curtain still open behind him, arms folded over his chest. He’s standing ramrod straight, as always.

“Raul,” my mom says, without looking at him.

Silence takes over for a long moment, and then she turns and looks at my father.

He leaves without another word.

“He’s right, I wanted to come,” I say. “We’ve been looking for you.”

“I’ve been looking harder than she has,” Bastien says, standing across the bed from me, on the other side of Javier. “She’s kind of been slacking.”

“I’m not slacking,” I say, making a face at Bastien. “I get through my list of phone calls once a week, I just don’t fart around finding out which shelters are in buildings once used as hideouts on the Underground Railroad.”

“So you admit I’m more thorough than you,” Bastien says, and now he’s grinning.

“That doesn’t mean better.”

“Bastien! Thalia,” my mom says, in a tone of voice I know very, very well. “Knock it off and show a little respect, your brother’s in the hospital.”

Bastien gives me a smirk that clearly means yeah, Thalia, knock it off, but then we both look down at Javier.

His eyes are open again, he’s looking at us, and I could swear there’s the hint of a smile on his face. My heart doesn’t exactly leap, but it sits up.

“You two need to help me convince him to go back into rehab,” she says, sternly. “That’s why you’re here. Javier, look at your brother and sister. Don’t you want to see Thalia graduate this spring? She’s even got a boyfriend!”

Anything that was on his face a moment ago is gone now, replaced by the same blankness that was there when I walked in.

“Bastien doesn’t have a girlfriend yet but I’m certain the right girl is out there, just waiting for him,” she goes on. “And for you, Javi. You just have to go to rehab and get clean before you can meet her.”

I reach out and gently touch my mom’s shoulder, and she looks over at me: red-faced and puffy-eyed, her white-streaked hair pulled away from her face in in a low bun, her reading glasses perched on her head.

“Could Bastien and I have a minute with Javier?” I ask, softly. “Just a minute. Please?”

She looks from me to Bastien to Javier and then back up to me. She squeezes Javi’s hand again, then nods and stands.

“Of course,” she says. “I’ll be back, Javi. Promise.”

“Thanks, Mom,” he says, and she takes me by the shoulder, then kisses me on the cheek before she leaves. Bastien watches her go, then closes the curtain, walks back to Javier’s bedside.

“Sorry, I needed to do something before she started naming your grandchildren,” I tell them.

I love my mom dearly, but the way that she deals with hard emotions is often by imagining a happy-but-far-away future, and I don’t think Javier needs that kind of pressure right now.

“Well, Raul and Paloma, obviously,” Bastien jokes.

“Are those the names you and your future girlfriend will be using?” I ask, sweetly, teasing him right back.

Bastien just grimaces.

“Right,” he says. “The sweet, innocent girl who’s out there just waiting for me, and who is very definitely female and not a six-foot-one lacrosse player named Liam from Colorado.”

My eyes go wide.

“Is there a Liam?” I ask.

Ever-so-slightly, Javier’s eyebrows go up, and there’s a flicker of interest in his dark eyes, but Bastien just snorts.

“I wish,” he says. “Sorry, that was more of a request from the universe than a statement of fact.”

“Colorado?” Javier asks, rough and scratchy, and Bastien shrugs.

“People seem like they’re always outdoors in Colorado,” he says. “It’s rugged, you know?”

It’s still weird that Bastien and I have the same taste in men. It makes sense, but it’s weird. I like to think that it would also be weird if he were my straight sister, but who knows. Maybe I’m homophobic in this very specific way. Something to contemplate later.

“He still hasn’t told Mom and Dad,” I tell Javier.

“Can’t blame him,” Javier says.

“I’m not saying he should,” I amend myself. “Just that he hasn’t.”

“They also don’t know that Ollie’s boyfriend is her calculus professor,” Bastien says. “He’s outside, she wouldn’t let him meet you like this.”

“He’s not my professor any more,” I point out. “Semester’s over.”

Javier swallows hard, and a bead of sweat rolls down his temple. His pupils are enormous, and it’s impossible to tell where they end and his irises begin.

“You did that?” he asks. “Really?”

“Yeah,” I admit, shifting my weight to my other foot, rubbing the back of my neck. “Yeah.”

Javier shakes his head, almost like he’s admonishing me, and for a moment there’s a glimpse of the older brother I used to have.

“They’re gonna freak the fuck out,” he says, still raspy, unnatural sounding, still shaking his head. Now he’s shaking it like he’s in a trance and can’t stop, his hands twisting in the bedsheets. “Dad’s gonna flip his shit. He really is.”

He’s right, and several minutes too late, I realize that Caleb and my parents are now all together, somewhere outside this room, and I say a quick silent prayer that my dad hasn’t made any veiled-or-not threats to him yet.

“That’s my problem,” I say, quickly. “We’re not here about my problems.”

Javier pushes his head back against the pillow, his hands still twisting, clenching, like he can’t stop moving.

“Rehab didn’t work,” he says. “I tried it.”

“If you look at the statistics, it almost always takes a couple of rounds,” I say.

“Jesus,” he mutters.

“Many people find Him helpful during the process, yes,” Bastien adds in.

“It’s not going to work,” Javier says, and now he sits up a little, his face going even grayer, pushing at the sheets he’s got over himself. “Last time I lasted a week after I got home. One whole week. Woo-fucking-hoo.”

“That’s got nothing —”

“Then stay clean for more than a week,” Bastien interrupts me, suddenly grabbing the rails of Javier’s bed and leaning over it. “Try two weeks this time, Javi. Maybe go for a whole three.”

Javier swallows again, twice, convulsively.

“And if you relapse we’ll put you back in rehab and when you come out you’ll go for four,” Bastien says. “You’re not escaping us.”

We both know that we’re not what Javi wants to escape, but neither of us say that out loud. I don’t know how to deal with that. Bastien doesn’t know how to deal with that, so we just stay quiet and hope that someone, somewhere will.

“If you go, I’ll give you all the dirt on Bastien,” I offer. “Here’s a preview: his college major isn’t what he told Mom and Dad it is.”

Bastien grins awkwardly and gives Javier a thumbs-up.

“I want the dirt on her, too,” Javier tells him.

“Done,” Bastien agrees.

“And I want to meet this,” he says, then swallows again, takes a breath, “shady-ass professor who thinks he can date my little sister while she’s in his class.”

“He’s older than you, too,” I volunteer. “I went full-on bad girl, and I’ll tell you about it if you go to rehab.”

“This is bribery,” he rasps.

“Yes,” Bastien and I both say at the exact same time.

I swear, Javier nearly smiles.

“All right,” he finally says.

CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

CALEB

I take a seat in the waiting room. At least I think it’s the waiting room; the sign has come off the door, just leaving a few lines of glue where it was once attached. There are blue vinyl chairs arranged in rows, fake plants, and old People magazines scattered around, so it seems like a waiting room.

I take a seat. I pick up a magazine. The cover has a badly-photoshopped picture of two celebrities on it, and a huge headline screams THIS TIME IT’S FOR REAL - BRAD AND ANGIE SPLIT!

I open it to a random page and hope that Thalia’s okay. I understand why she didn’t want me meeting Javier right now. I think I’d have chosen something similar if it were me and one of my brothers, but I wish I could be there for her.

Even if I don’t know how, not really. The big tragedy of my life was a single gut-punch when I was a child, followed by an ugly, uneasy truth learned years later, and I only know how that feels. I only know how to slowly heal from something that’s happened, not how to stay sane when the wound gets re-opened again and again.

I’m staring down at some women in evening gowns and thinking about Thalia when the door opens and her father walks into the room. He stops immediately inside the door, then scans the room like he’s taking note of everything that’s wrong with it.

Finally, he seems to notice me sitting there, and he walks over. He sits in a chair opposite me, his hands on his thighs, back ramrod straight. I put the magazine back down on the coffee table, sit up a little straighter myself.

“Captain Lopez,” I say, and nod.

“Caleb,” he says, and nods curtly back. The minor inequality of our names grates on me — we’re both adults, I’m not his subordinate — but I have every reason under the sun to let it go, so I do.

“How is Javier?” I ask, the natural next question.

“Alive,” he says again, then seems to catch himself. “My wife is in with him right now, trying to talk him into letting us put him through rehab again.”

His jaw flexes, like he doesn’t approve of this plan but has no alternative.

“I see,” I say.

“How long have you been dating my daughter?” he asks, changing direction on a dime. “As I recall, you also drove her to see her mother in September. Quite a drive.”

“A few months,” I say, ignoring the second part of his statement.

“She hasn’t said anything to us about having a boyfriend,” he says, his tone perfectly neutral but somehow aggressive at the same time, like he’d like to start an argument with me in this hospital waiting room.

I am perversely tempted to say well, sir, that’s because she’s one of the many women who I’m casually fucking right now, even though it’s completely untrue. There’s just a part of me that wants to see this man’s reaction to that statement.

“No?” I ask, perfectly neutral.

“No,” he says. “Not a word.”

“I guess that’s her choice, isn’t it?”

That doesn’t get a response. Instead, he crosses one ankle over the opposite knee and puts an elbow on the armrest.

“And what is it you do?”

Shit. It did occur to me that this would come up, but then Thalia’s phone rang again and it was Bastien with another update, and I forgot to tell her we should figure out a lie.

“I’m a graduate student,” I say, since the lie that’s closest to true is usually the best. “Mathematics.”

“What do you plan on doing with that?” he asks.

“I’ll be going on the academic job market soon,” I say.

“Not too many opportunities there,” he says. “You’d make a much better living going into cyber security or working with the dee-oh-dee. That’s the Department of Defense.”

“I’ll see what I can find and consider my options,” I tell him, just as the door to the waiting room opens again, and Thalia’s mother steps through.

I’ve never actually met her before, but this woman looks so much like Thalia that it can’t be anyone else. Raul turns and looks at her, and as she walks over we both stand.

“This is Caleb, Thalia’s new boyfriend,” her father says, and I hold out my hand.

“It’s a pleasure to finally meet you, Mrs. Lopez,” I say. “I’m sorry it had to be like this.”

“It’s Paloma, and thank you,” she says, her grip surprisingly strong. “Thank you for bringing her. She and Bastien are in there right now, trying to talk some sense into him.”

Her eyes are bloodshot, puffy, her cheeks splotchy, but she half-smiles at me.

“He’s a graduate student who’ll be going on the academic job market soon,” Captain Lopez says to his wife.

Her face changes the instant she turns to look at him, her mouth going into a thin line.

“We’re paying for rehab,” she tells her husband. “We’ll pay for it this time, and we’ll pay for it the next time, and with God as my witness we’ll pay for it until he’s clean if it takes our entire life savings and both our retirement accounts.”

“You’re going to bankrupt us coddling him into getting clean?” Thalia’s father says.

“It’s better than turning him out onto the streets to —”

“Excuse me,” I say, step around them, and leave the room.

The day is complete pandemonium before it’s ten in the morning. I’m sitting on a bench, outside the hospital’s back door, watching a man in a hospital gown chain smoke when Thalia texts me that she’s done talking to Javier, where’d I go?

The hospital wants him discharged. They wanted him discharged hours ago, because his life is no longer in danger and they need the bed back, but Paloma had begged them and they relented.

I get Thalia’s laptop out of my car, then head back upstairs with her and Bastien. Paloma is with Javier, somewhere. Captain Lopez has gone to the cafeteria to drink endless cups of coffee and presumably stare at a wall.

Our mission is simple: find a place that can take Javier today, now, before he has a chance to change his mind, and before he has a chance to start detoxing in earnest. Thalia finds locations and phone numbers; Bastien and I do the calling.

Thus begins my crash course in drug rehabilitation centers. Some are simple, affordable, relatively bare-bones. Some sound like resort spas. One offers something called crystal alignment therapy. One offers horseback riding therapy; neither has any openings for weeks.

Together, we work through the listen. Bastien finds a place with an opening, up in Northern Virginia, close to D.C., then I find a place in Maryland, near Ocean City. The list of options grows slowly. There are city rehabs and country rehabs, even a fishing rehab. One’s on a working dairy farm. One is also a daschund rescue. Several are very religious.

But in the end, we choose the place that specializes in addicts who also have PTSD. Thalia is adamant, and neither of us argue. It’s in the middle of nowhere, a few miles outside Lynchburg, and the only reason it has an opening at all is because someone didn’t show up yesterday.

Bastien calls to make the arrangements, and as he paces back and forth, trying to answer questions that I don’t think he knows the answers to, Thalia leans over and puts her head on my shoulder.

“Thank you,” she whispers, and I put my arm around her, then kiss the top of her head.

We say goodbye standing next to her parents’ minivan after we put her stuff into it. She’s going with them to take Javier to rehab, then back to Norfolk for winter break.

After we put her suitcase into the back, she looks at it, then rubs her eyes with her hands, and turns to sit on the tailgate and I follow suit.

“Did I apologize yet?” she asks, leaning her head on my shoulder.

“You did, and I told you to cut it out,” I remind her.

“Did I say thank you?” she asks.

“Yes,” I confirm, resting my cheek against the top of her head, my arm around her, looking out at the other cars in the parking lot, the gray sky, the spindly, leafless trees.

“I wish we were on a date right now,” she says, kicking her feet out in front of her. “Whatever you had planned, I have a feeling it wasn’t a questionable hospital in a bad part of Richmond.”

“Should it not have been?” I ask, and she laughs. “Oops.”

“My parents didn’t get weird, did they?” she asks. “I didn’t realize until it was too late that I’d accidentally left you alone with them, which probably wasn’t a great move.”

“I am a capable adult who can hold his own among other adults,” I remind her. “I know how to act.”

“Calling my dad sir was a very nice touch,” she admits.

“But I also panicked a little and told them I’m a grad student,” I say.

“I’ll take it,” Thalia says, and puts her hand on my thigh. I’ve got my right arm around her shoulders, so I put my left hand over hers.

Then she rotates her temple against my shoulder and looks up at me.

“I also didn’t get to give you my Christmas present,” she says, and then wiggles her eyebrows.

God help me, it works. I barely slept last night and then spent the morning driving and calling rehab centers, but that eyebrow wiggle still works on me.

“Is it the return of Sexy Freud?” I tease. “Tell me you didn’t get rid of it.”

“I mostly didn’t,” she says. “Though the bra was never mine to begin with, and I should probably go ahead and confess that it was mostly socks anyway.”

I stare at a young, leafless tree, quietly replaying select elements of that night in my head. I don’t remember a single sock.

“Your bra was socks?” I finally ask, forcing myself to think of something else.

“Yeah, I stuffed it,” she says, sounding surprised. “The socks were clean, but that was definitely not all boob.”

“Oh,” I say, and Thalia starts laughing.

“You never noticed that my boobs are, like, half the size that they looked in that bra?” she asks. “I couldn’t even get the vest buttoned over the socks.”

“I noticed that,” I say. “But I can’t say I do a lot of critical thinking when I look at your breasts.”

She just laughs.

“Mainly, I’m thinking about how great it is to see them again,” I admit. “How much I like looking at them. How fun it is to touch them. There’s very little analysis.”

“I should have kept my secret,” she says.

“I would literally never have known.”

“That wasn’t your Christmas present, though,” she says. “Can I give it to you when I get back?”

“What is it?”

“You’ll find out when I give it to you, won’t you?”

“Difficult,” I tease.

“Nosy,” she teases back, and I give her a long-but-chaste kiss.

When it ends, she takes a deep breath, then hops off the tailgate of the minivan and faces me.

“I should go,” she says, softly. “See you in three weeks.”

I’ve never lamented a long winter break before.

“Three weeks,” I agree. “It’s not that long.”

“I think it might feel that way,” she says, steps forward, and kisses me. She kisses me sweetly, gently. It’s a long, lingering kiss, and when it’s over, I can still feel it in my bones.

When it ends I give her one brief, final kiss on the forehead, and then it’s over.

“I’ll miss you,” she says, giving my land one last squeeze.

I nearly say I love you, but instead I say, “I’ll miss you too,” and she turns and walks back toward the hospital and I drive back to Marysburg, alone.

CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

CALEB

I pick up another cookie from the plate and pop it into my mouth as I walk through the kitchen.

“The usual,” Thalia’s saying. “Which over here is a big Christmas Eve dinner and then midnight mass. Per tradition, I nearly fell asleep in the pew and Bastien had to keep elbowing me to keep me awake.”

“Midnight’s not that late,” I say, crumbly bits of cookie shooting out of my mouth. I try to catch some in my hand, but I don’t. Oops.

“It was dark and warm and mass is very soothing sometimes,” she says. “What are you eating?”

I swallow quickly.

“A cookie,” I say. “My mom baked. You’ll still be interested if I weigh an extra fifty pounds when I get back to campus, right?”

“We’ll see,” she says, laughing. “Did Daniel actually faint?”

“No, but he might still kill me,” I say, finding a quiet corner of the kitchen and leaning against the wall. “It remains a distinct possibility.”

Seth and I teamed up and got Rusty a skateboard for Christmas. It’s electric blue and bright purple, and has a picture of a badass unicorn on the bottom. She loves it. Daniel, her father, hates it, even though we also got her knee pads, elbow pads, and a helmet.

We’re very responsible uncles. Really.

“She’ll be fine,” Thalia says, as if she knows anything about skateboarding. “By the way, my family says hi.”

“Hi,” I say, and she snorts.

“They also want to know when you’re graduating, what your prospects are, what your dissertation is on, what religion you are, whether you’d convert to Catholicism, when the last time you went to church was, whether you’re also waiting for marriage, where your family is from originally, how long they’ve been in Sprucevale, whether anyone in your direct male line has served in the military, and if it’s not too much trouble, they’d appreciate blood, saliva, and hair samples.”

I glance over at the cookies and contemplate taking one more. On one hand, I’ve already eaten too many, but on the other hand, my mom’s lemon-iced spice cookies are amazing.

“Can you repeat the first one?” I ask.

“The good news is that this means my mom likes you,” Thalia says. “The bad news is that she has a couple of misconceptions about our relationship.”

“Oh?”

“You know, one or two,” Thalia says. “Probably starting with the idea that most of our time together consists of going on dates to the movies and leaving an empty seat between us for the Holy Spirit —"

“Ooh!” a voice says at the kitchen door. “Is that Thalia?”

Charlie’s standing there, Thomas in a carrier on her chest, utterly asleep and oblivious to the world in a way that only small babies can be.

“I’ve been discovered,” I say sotto voce to Thalia.

“Hi!” calls Charlie, cheerfully coming over and grabbing a cookie on the way.

“Which one is that?” Thalia asks.

“Put it on speaker,” Charlie says, grinning practically from ear to ear. “Come on. He won’t quit talking about you!” she calls, standing on her tiptoes next to me and leaning in.

“Do you mind if I put it on speaker?” I ask Thalia, giving Charlie a dirty look.

She and Daniel, her now-husband, have been best friends since I was about eight years old, so she’s the closest thing I’ve got to an older sister. Right now, that means she’s been hassling me about my new girlfriend nonstop, along with the rest of my family.

Everyone knows that she exists and her name is Thalia.

Only a select few — Levi and Seth, and probably June since she’s engaged to Levi — know she was my student, or even that she’s an undergrad.

“Go for it,” Thalia says, and I pull my phone away from my face.

“Behave yourself,” I mutter to Charlie, before I hit the button.

“Hiiiiiii!” she says, grinning like a maniac. “He seriously won’t shut up about you. Oh, now he’s giving me a look like I wasn’t supposed to say that so he could play it cool?”

On the other end, Thalia is just laughing.

“Anyway, how was your Christmas? If you celebrate. If not, how was your Friday?”

“It was nice,” Thalia starts. “It was just my family —”

“Is that the new girlfriend?” Eli asks, suddenly darkening the kitchen door. “How come Charlie gets to talk to her first?”

“Because I found her first,” Charlie says with a mouthful of cookie, spraying a few crumbs on Thomas’s head, then brushing them off. He doesn’t move.

“Hi! Who’s that?” asks Thalia, who sounds like she’s struggling to keep up.

“Pick a name, it doesn’t matter,” I say. “Now that there’s two people here it’s gonna be like —”

“I heard we were taking to the girlfriend?” Seth asks from the doorway.

“I’m sorry,” I tell Thalia, one second before Eli grabs the phone from my hand, then spins and makes off with it.

“Hey!” I shout, but he’s gone.

I’ve tried to get things back from my brothers before. It’s never worked.

“Okay, I’m just gonna introduce you around to everyone,” he says. “I’m Eli, Caleb’s probably said a lot of really good stuff about me...”

I sigh, and Charlie pats my arm.

“Have another cookie,” she says, grabbing one for herself. “And look at the bright side: if she’s still answering your calls tomorrow, it must be true love.”

Winter break is three weeks long.

I last one and a half.

The first I’m in Sprucevale, with my family, before Christmas and after Christmas. I talk to Thalia every day and we text constantly, plus hanging out with my brothers and Rusty and Thomas more than keeps me occupied.

The next week, I’m back in Marysburg. I keep myself busy: working on papers for submission, making lesson plans, going out with friends, but it’s not quite the same. There’s nothing like the madness of Christmas and there’s particularly nothing like the madness of my family at Christmas, and that’s when it settles in that I miss Thalia.

It also settles in that there’s no earthly reason for me not to see her. I’ve got a car. My job becomes very freeform during winter break.

And Virginia Beach, which is right next to Norfolk, has lots of very nice hotels with great off-season rates, so I book two nights at one of them and Thalia tells her parents she’s visiting a friend.

It’s glorious. It’s glorious to be with her again, naked and gasping on the white hotel sheets while I’ve got my face buried between her legs, but it’s glorious that no one here knows who we are.

We go out for every meal, just because we like being together in public. She takes me to the Back Bay Wildlife Refuge for the day, even though it’s cold and windy because it’s the beach in January, and we hike around holding hands because we’re not going to get caught.

Then we go back to the hotel, and we have more sex. Afterwards, still tangled in the sheets, I show her the latest emails I’ve gotten from secretknower@gmail.com that call me a predatory husk of a man and a shameless power-loving degenerate and an unscrupulous dirtbag, and Thalia tells me that the sender is a shallow-brained moron who doesn’t know their genitals from a bowl of cereal. Then she calls me an unscrupulous dirtbag, laughing.

Everything feels better when she’s around. We talk about who the sender is but don’t get anywhere — I’m nearly certain it’s not Seth or Levi, she’s pretty positive it’s not Bastien. She mentions that her roommates have also figured it out, but she’s adamant that they’d take their problems up with her, not send me weird emails.

That night we walk the boardwalk hand-in-hand and look out at the moon over the ocean and lights of the far-away ships, and for a moment I imagine that they’re all sea monsters, raising their heads above the water for a few moments to get a taste of the salty air before diving back for the deep.

Thalia leans against me, looking out at the inky waves, and she tells me that when she was a kid they lived in San Diego for a few years, and Javier told her that if she looked out over the ocean hard enough, she could see Australia.

I ask her if she ever did, and she laughs and says only when she squinted really hard.

When I drive back to Marysburg the next morning, I’m certain of one thing: I have fallen desperately, utterly, and completely head over heels for this girl.

CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

THALIA

I lean my head back against the wall, the tile floor cold against my butt. I think the same thing I always think when I’m waiting to meet with a professor: how come there’s no waiting room?

It’s an academic department at a major university. There must be students waiting for someone in this hallway literally night and day. Why not have a waiting room? Some chairs, at least?

I yawn, stretch, arch my back, and change position ever so slightly. Even though I was supposed to meet with Dr. Castellano at three, and it’s now three-thirty, I’m not particularly surprised that she’s running late, and luckily my classes are over for the day.

School’s been back in session for a week now, and it’s… normal. Despite everything that happened last semester, a semester which started with me accidentally hooking up with my professor and ended with my professor-turned-boyfriend helping me get my brother back in rehab, so far this semester is just a semester.

My brother’s still in rehab, and he’ll be there until the end of March. I go over to my boyfriend’s house several nights a week, and last Saturday he took me on a date to Luray Caverns. My roommates are insane, but the lovable, good kind of insane.

Yes, I’ve got too much homework, and yes, I’m working furiously on my thesis, and I’m still a part-time research assistant and I’m mentoring a high school student who wants to go into psychology, but that’s all pretty regular, just busy. I’m always busy.

Finally — finally — Dr. Castellano’s door opens, and another student comes out, followed by Dr. Castelllano standing in the doorway behind him, one hand on the door, and even though he’s nearly a foot taller than her and looks like he plays sports, it’s clear who’s in charge.

“Thanks, Doctor C!” he says as he walks away, and she beckons me to get off the floor.

“Castellano,” she says, half to herself. “I swear, they can all toss around Gronkowski no problem but they can’t manage Castellano? Hi, Thalia. Thanks for waiting.”

“No problem,” I say, sitting in one of the chairs opposite her desk. “How was your winter break?”

She doesn’t answer, just goes around her desk. Something tightens in her face, around her mouth, and she doesn’t look at me as she sits, then opens a drawer, every movement exacting and precise in a way that makes me instantly nervous.

A shiver works its way down my spine, and suddenly, I notice how cold my fingertips are. It’s from sitting on the floor, that’s all…

Dr. Castellano pulls something from the drawer, shuts it again. It’s an envelope, and for a moment, she holds it in front of herself, looking at it.

I feel like I might throw up, because I can tell that this isn’t good, and there’s almost nothing I hate more than bad surprises.

“Thalia, I’m afraid you’re being accused of an ethics violation,” she says, finally looking at me.

My heart drops to my feet. I can practically feel the blood draining from my face, and I can’t move.

All I can think is, I thought we’d dodged this.

“A report has been made to the ethics oversight committee that you’ve been participating in a romantic relationship with one of your professors,” she goes on, and now she’s not looking at me, she’s looking at the envelope again. “And I’m afraid it’s been determined that that falls under the category of behavioral misconduct.”

I can’t move. I feel like I’ve been encased in a layer of ice, like a tree after a storm, and all I can do is stare at Dr. Castellano and listen to my heart beat and think this isn’t really happening, I’m having a nightmare.

“I specifically asked the committee if they would let me give you the notification in person, rather than send it through the mail system,” she says. “And I have to say, this seems unlike you, Thalia. Is there anything you’d like to tell me?”

I don’t say anything. I can’t even breathe, and I feel like the walls are quickly closing in, white on every side of my vision.

“Thalia?” she asks, her voice sounding distant, far away.

Then, suddenly, I gasp and my lungs fill with air and the walls go back to where they’re supposed to be and Dr. Castellano is just looking at me, concern written all over her stern face.

“Who reported it?” I ask, my voice thick. I clear my throat. “You said there was a report —”

“You know I can’t say,” she admonishes, gently. “There are policies in place to protect ethics reporters.”

“Was it a student?” I ask, barely hearing her. “Another professor? An outsider?”

She just shakes her head.

“Thalia, is there anything you’d like to tell me about this?” she asks again.

I’m silent. I can’t think of anything that won’t incriminate me, and if I’ve learned one thing about any legal process, it’s best to keep your mouth shut.

“The report alleges that this affair was mutual,” she says, slowly, giving me a look I don’t fully understand. “But, as I’m sure you know, the greater responsibility in these ethical entanglements would fall on the professor in question.”

I want to say you don’t understand. I want to say I kissed him first, this was all my fault, but I don’t.

“Were you coerced into this relationship?” she asks, softly. “If you were, that might significantly change the outcome of the investigation.”

“No,” I say, so forcefully that I sit forward in my chair.

Dr. Castellano just nods, business-like, then pushes the envelope across the desk.

“Your hearing is Thursday,” she says. “In the meantime, I’d encourage you to really think through the nature of this relationship and the power dynamics therein. I’d also encourage you not to have any contact before the hearing.”

I nod, numbly. I stand. I take the envelope from her desk, grab my bag, walk for her door.

“Thalia,” she calls, and I turn, still silent.

She’s sitting there, fingers laced together, an expression on her face I can’t quite place.

“If you need anything, don’t hesitate to reach out,” she says. “And please, think about what I said.”

I turn back to her door, open it, and leave.

CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR

CALEB

My chickens have come home to roost.

I’m standing in the hallway of the mathematics department, halfway between the mail room and my office. People are swirling around me, putting on coats and taking them off, wrapping and unwrapping scarves, and I’m standing in the middle of all that, stock still, thinking my chickens have come home to roost.

It’s something my father said sometimes, one of his little pieces of farm wisdom that I thought I’d nearly forgotten. He’d say it whenever the sins of our past caught up with us, like when I knocked over Daniel’s block tower four times in a row and he finally stomped into my room and broke the Lego submarine I’d spent hours putting together.

I read the letter again: an ethics report, alleging improper conduct with a student, a serious violation. A hearing Thursday. A weight settling onto my shoulders, my chest. Consequences unmentioned in the letter but I know what they are.

I’ve always known. Not the first time I kissed her, true. But I knew the second time and all subsequent times, and every single one of them I weighed the consequences of my actions against the feeling of her lips on mine. Every single time I found the consequences wanting.

And here they are, roosting. I can’t help but imagine them as chickens — enormous, heavy chickens — perching on my shoulders and arms and the top of my head until I’m virtually covered with chickens, nothing but hands holding a letter sticking out between the feathers.

“Caleb,” a voice calls, and I look up. The hallway’s empty, and I wonder how long I’ve been standing there, holding this letter, thinking a lot about chickens and not at all about how I’m going to deal with this.

“I just heard,” Oliver says, striding up to me. “Is that the letter? Can I see it?”

I hand it over, silently. His face is grim as he reads it once, twice, then hands it back.

“Come on,” he says, and walks for his office.

I follow, chickens all aflutter, folding the letter and putting it neatly back into its envelope, then closing the door behind myself.

“I can’t believe they’re taking this seriously,” he says, the instant we’re inside, folding his arms over his chest and gazing through his window. “It’s unconscionable how cutthroat this department has gotten. Do you have any idea who came up with this?”

I’m only half-listening to Oliver, the other half of my brain spinning wildly out of control, wondering if I should tell Thalia, wondering if I should tell anyone. Wondering if I can possibly convince the committee that she earned her A, that I don’t make a habit of dating students, that it’s only her. Only ever her.

“Came up with what?” I ask, not quite following.

“Who invented this improper conduct charge,” Oliver says, patiently. “It must be someone with friends on the committee, because otherwise I can’t imagine this sort of thing sticking with no evidence whatsoever —”

“It’s true,” I say.

Oliver freezes, mid-sentence, his mouth still open. He blinks twice. Shuts his mouth. Opens it.

“What?” he says.

I push my glasses off my eyes and rub them, my brain still swirling. I feel like I’m stuck in one of those mirror houses they always have at the county fair, where most things are just reflections but one is real, and it’s nearly impossible to tell which one.

“It’s true,” I say again.

Oliver walks to one of his chairs and sinks into it, his hands over his face. He doesn’t say anything for a long, long time.

“You slept with a student?” he finally says, his voice echoing oddly through his fingers. “Jesus, Caleb, when?”

“I still am,” I say.

He goes quiet again.

And then: “You did it more than once?”

I did it yesterday, I think.

“While she was your student?” he goes on. “She was in your class and you slept with her? While she was in your class? While you were grading her papers and her tests and —"

“Yes,” I say, just to get it over with.

“Why?” he asks, looking up at me. “You? You’ve never done anything like that. Have you?”

“Not until now,” I tell him. “Does it help if she’s a senior?”

“I’m personally relieved that at least the student you’re sleeping with isn’t a teenager, but no, it won’t help with your hearing,” he says. “It wouldn’t matter if she were fifty, she’d still be your student. She, right? Or is there more I don’t know?”

“She. Her name’s Thalia,” I say, as if that helps. As if anything helps. “Any advice?” I ask, though I’ve got a bad feeling about advice.

Namely, I’ve got a feeling that there’s not much advice to be given: I did this, and someone found out.

“Say as little as you can in the initial hearing,” Oliver tells me, instantly. “Don’t lie, but don’t give them anything, either. Figure out what they’ve got, if they’ve got anything beyond allegations, and pray that none of this has become public. If there’s one single news story anywhere — even the school paper — about this, you’re screwed, but if you can deny everything and keep it secret you just might survive it.”

I just nod, wondering if I should take notes.

“More than anything, the University wants to come out of this looking good,” he goes on. “They’ve got aspirations of being in the top ten public schools in the US, and perception has everything to do with that.”

“Don’t go on the six o’clock news,” I say. “Got it.”

“Find out who reported you and discredit them,” he goes on.

I raise my eyebrows, and Oliver puts up one hand.

“It’s dirty, I know,” he says. “But I’ve seen people go through the wringer before, justified and not, and it’s how the game is played. Your best-case scenario is that they decide the charges were baseless and dismiss them.”

“They’re not,” I say.

Now Oliver’s just looking at me, his elbow on the arm of the chair, one finger resting on his lips.

“I know I fucked up,” I say, shoving my hands into my pockets. I shut my eyes, lean my head back against the bookshelf behind me. “I knew all along. It was wrong, and it was unethical, and it was immoral, and I did it anyway.”

There’s a long, long silence between us.

“I’d do it again,” I say.

“Even knowing the outcome?” he asks, his voice quiet, serious.

I take a deep breath and think: that this week might be my last week spent teaching. That after this, if I’m lucky, I’ll be teaching calculus to high school students. That my days in this office, on this campus, getting paid to think deep math thoughts, are nearly done.

And I balance that against Thalia, two days ago, lacing her fingers through mine as we walked to dinner in a town two hours away.

“Yes,” I finally say. “Even then.”

Oliver sighs, and even though I’ve got my eyes closed, I know exactly what face he’s making.

“I know a few people on the ethics committee,” he tells me. “I’ll see if I can find out what they’ve got. It might be nothing, and you could do a lot worse than your word against theirs.”

“Thanks,” I say, just as my phone rings. Thalia’s name pops up.

“I have to go,” I say, already worrying. Thalia never calls without texting first. She told me once that she considers it incredibly rude to just interrupt someone’s entire day by calling them out of the blue.

“That the student?” Oliver asks, looking like he already knows the answer. “This is probably obvious, but you shouldn’t talk to her until this is over, and probably not even then if you want it to stick.”

“I see,” I say, looking down at my phone.

“Godspeed,” Oliver calls, and I leave his office, walk toward my own, hit the green button despite his advice.

“Hey,” I say, keeping my voice down.

On the other end, Thalia takes a deep breath.

“Someone reported us,” she says, her voice shaky. “Dr. Castellano said I shouldn’t be seen with you, but can you meet me somewhere? We have to talk, Caleb, I really need to see you —”

I stop in front of my office door, a slow realization dawning on me like an iron fist around my stomach.

“Thalia,” I say.

“I’m sorry,” she whispers.

“No,” I say, turning the knob on my office door and entering. “No, Thalia, no, that’s not what I’m — did you get a letter, too?”

“My advisor gave it to me,” she says. “My hearing’s Thursday, I guess that’ll happen and then afterward they decide how much more they need to investigate and from there they’ll hand down a judgement —”

“Why?” I ask, an utterly useless question.

“Because I was in your calculus class,” she says, like she’s confused about why I’m asking.

“Why are they going after you?” I ask, the fist around my stomach tightening. I’m nauseous, desperate, shaking. I want to grab books and throw them across the room, upend the whole bookshelf, throw it out the window.

This was my wrongdoing. I was the teacher, she was the student. I had the responsibility. I’m the one who fucked it up, who threw caution to the wind, and it should be me paying for it, not her.

“Because I agreed to uphold the university’s standards of morality when I took their scholarship money,” she says. “Can I see you? Please?”

I didn’t know. There a tightness in my chest like someone’s wrapped a chain around it, put an anchor on the other end, and thrown it overboard, because I didn’t know.

This whole time, I thought it was just me. Maybe that was shortsighted, or naïve, or just stupid, but it’s what I thought.

“What will happen to you?” I ask, staring down at my desk.

“I don’t know,” she sighs. “Can I come over?”

“You have no idea?”

There’s a long, long silence on the other end of the line.

“Someone got expelled last semester for immoral behavior,” she finally admits. “But it was for something completely different.”

I close my eyes, the feeling in my chest nearly choking me.

This is my fault and my fault alone, I think.

“I don’t think we should see each other until our hearings are over,” I say.

“Caleb —”

“I’ll talk to you later,” I say, and hang up my phone as gently as I can.

I don’t know what, exactly, I’m going to do, but I’ve got an inkling. The germ of an idea, if it comes to that.

What I don’t know is whether Thalia will forgive me for it.

CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE

THALIA

When I get home, none of my roommates are there. I’m not surprised, because they’re all at least as busy as me if not more so, but I wish they were because I ugly-cried all the way home and at least want someone to sit on the couch with me and pet my hair and tell me it’ll all be okay.

But they’re not, so I lock myself in my room and cry. It’s pathetic. I know that I should be researching how to beat an ethics violation charge, or at least learning about the Byzantine process that I’ll be navigating, but I can’t. I’m useless.

I know I shouldn’t be so shocked and upset that I’m reaping the consequences of my actions, but that thought only makes me feel worse, not better. I did something and I got caught and I’m just upset that I got caught, how stupid is that?

Really stupid.

I cry harder. I cry for myself, because I’m definitely at least getting put on probation for a year, which means I won’t graduate in May and probably pushes graduate school right out of the picture. I cry because I might get expelled with one semester left to go.

I cry because I can only imagine my parents’ reactions when they find out why I’m getting kicked out of college, because despite everything they were so excited about me graduating.

And I cry because I’m certain I’ve fucked Caleb over, too, and he won’t even talk to me. I know he’s probably just being smart, and I can’t blame him, but right now everything hurts and especially that.

Finally, I cry myself to sleep.

A few hours later, I wake up because I have to pee. The lights in my room are still on, and I’m still in my clothes, half under the covers and half on top of them. My bedside clock says it’s two in the morning, and I feel like shit.

I drag myself out of my bed, pull my now-incredibly-uncomfortable jeans off, and head for the bathroom in my shirt and underwear. If they’re not asleep, my roommates have seen me in my underwear before, and also, I’m about to get kicked out of school so who cares about anything?

I hit the lights in my room before I open the door, but our living room is dark, the only light the glow of a single open laptop on the kitchen table.

“Hey,” I say, keeping my voice down, but Margaret’s got her headphones on and doesn’t move as I cross behind her, on the way to the bathroom.

I don’t mean to, but I look over at her screen, glance at what’s on it.

Then I stop in my tracks, because she’s got an email inbox open in her browser, and it’s for an email address I’ve seen before.

“What the fuck?” I say, and she jumps and whirls around, practically ripping her headphones off.

“Jesus!” she hisses. “Don’t do that, it’s two in the morning and I thought you were —”

“What the fuck is that?” I repeat, pointing at her screen.

She looks back, comprehension dawning instantly.

“I—"

“It was you,” I say, disgust winding into my chest, taking hold. “Holy shit. Why the fuck would you do that, Margaret? You went right over my head like that and never even bothered talking to me? Not once?”

She slams her laptop screen shut, plunging us both into near-darkness, but it’s way too late.

“I talked to you,” she says, defensive. “You weren’t interested in listening to me about how fucked up you were being, so I decided to try a different tactic so that maybe someone would listen and at least have second thoughts.”

“Second thoughts?” I ask, and now I’m loud, nearly yelling, and I couldn’t care less. “You think that getting me expelled and Caleb fired is the best way to make us have second fucking thoughts? You went that far over my head — you reported me to goddamn University Ethics — you’re getting my scholarship taken away so I’ll rethink my life choices?”

Now she’s standing.

“Wait —”

“I’m sorry your dad fucked his secretary and left your mom!” I shout, my voice pitching higher and higher. “Okay? I’m sorry that you think every relationship is a transaction of power —”

“Shut up!” she shouts, and for a second, I do. “What the fuck are you talking about, expelled?”

“I’m talking about you reporting Caleb and me to the administration,” I shout. “Because apparently it’s not enough to send fucked up emails to him, you also had to make sure that we got punished for doing something wrong according to whatever moral code it is you follow so religiously —”

“I didn’t report you.”

“Right, you just called my boyfriend morally bankrupt and a stupid dinglebat and what was that last one he showed me? Unscrupulous pervert or something, but no, it was some other asshole who tattled on us?”

“I wouldn’t get you expelled!” she says. “Thalia, I swear to God, I think he’s a total fucking creep for dating you but —”

“Thanks,” I say, practically spitting the word at her. “Thanks, sure, who could be interested in me but a total creep who just wants to pop my cherry for his trophy wall?”

“You can’t act like it’s not fucked up!” she says, pointing dramatically at the ground, like it’s going to help her make her point. “There’s no such thing as informed consent in a relationship where you are his subordinate —”

“You think I’m incapable of meaningful consent?” I shout, my voice wobbling. I’m half a second from crying tears of rage and trying desperately to hold them in, but it’s not going to work for long. “Because I’m younger than him? Because I’m a student? You think I can’t say yes and know what I mean? Fuck you.”

“I think it’s murky as fuck and he’s a creep for going after undergrads!”

“He’s not going after undergrads, he’s going after me,” I say.

Now I’m crying, my voice all over the place.

“You don’t know that,” Margaret says. “Maybe there’s some girl every year who thinks oh, my professor is really into me, I’m so cool and lucky.”

I feel like I’m going to throw up, or scream, or throw up while screaming and also strangling Margaret.

“Fine,” I say, angry tears pouring down my face. “Sure. Every semester, he picks some girl from one of his classes and uses his immense powers of assistant professorship to coerce her into great sex —"

“How do you know it’s great sex?” she fires.

“So you also think I’m a moron who’s happy to lie back and take whatever dicking she gets because she doesn’t know any better?” I say, sounding borderline hysterical because I can’t stop crying. “Do you seriously think I can’t tell when sex is great?”

I suddenly realize that Harper and Victoria are standing in the doors to their rooms, looking on, horrified expressions on their faces.

“How are you supposed to know?” Margaret snaps.

“Have I ever once given you shit for banging the entire men’s diving team?” I shout. “No. Because I don’t care who you sleep with, so how about you don’t be an asshole and virgin-shame me.”

“I’m not shaming you!” she shouts. “Fucking your professor is inherently coercive —”

“What a fancy phrase for I think you’re too dumb to make your own decisions.”

“Are you really this dense?” she shouts.

“Guys!” Harper says, trying to yell over us.

“No, I’m not dense,” I yell. “What I am is perfectly capable of making decisions about who I have sex with!”

“Stop it!” calls Victoria.

“Not if he’s grading your papers,” Margaret says.

“HEY!” Victoria shouts.

We both look over at her, wearing pajamas and a silk wrap around her hair. I’m crying and doing my damnedest to stop, and Margaret is breathing hard, like she just sprinted a couple blocks.

Victoria furiously points at the ceiling.

“If the bitch upstairs calls the cops on you two my Black ass is not answering the door,” she says, then looks at me. “And your Mexican ass probably shouldn’t either. Let the white girl do it.”

“I’ll talk to the cops,” Harper says behind us, and we both turn. “What happened?”

Margaret and I look at each other, and she holds her hands up.

“Thalia, I swear I didn’t report you,” she says. “I fucking swear.”

“You just sent fucked-up emails in the hopes that, what? He’d dump me?”

“Report what to who?” asks Harper, waving her hands, trying to get us back on track. “You and Caleb?”

“To the administration,” I say, tilting my head back and taking a deep breath. “I have an ethics hearing Thursday.”

The three of them gasp in unison.

“Oh, fuck,” breathes Margaret.

“Oh no,” says Harper.

“Shit,” agrees Victoria.

“I didn’t even know,” Margaret says. “Thalia, I wouldn’t, I would never ever do that, I just think it’s fucked up —”

“Don’t really care what you think,” I tell her, and for once she has the good sense to shut her mouth.

I believe her, though. I’d kind of like to strangle her, but I believe her when she says she didn’t report us.

Victoria covers her face with her hands, then takes a deep breath.

“Okay,” she says, then uncovers her face. “Okay. Thalia, you sit on the couch. Harper, can you make some tea or something? Margaret, you should probably go to bed.”

I sit. Harper goes into the kitchen. Margaret says nothing, but grabs her laptop and leaves, shutting her bedroom door behind herself. Victoria sits next to me on the couch, and a few minutes later, Harper comes in with three mismatched mugs full of chamomile.

“Okay,” Victoria says. “Tell us.”

CHAPTER FORTY-SIX

CALEB

I glance at the clock again and wonder, for at least the thirtieth time in as many minutes, why I’ve agreed to this. True, it seemed like a good idea at the time, but the closer I get to it actually happening, the more I’m dreading it.

I don’t think I can plan any more. I can’t visualize any more contingencies, come up with any more if-this-then-thats. I’ve spent hours on the phone with Seth, my most pragmatic, most forgiving, and least judgmental brother, going over all the options. I’m pretty sure he ran some statistical models.

I still don’t know what to do.

Here’s what I want: I want to go into the committee and explain what happened. I’ll swear on a bible that I graded all her quizzes and homework and tests fairly. It’s math, for fuck’s sake; there’s a right answer and a wrong answer, with not much open to interpretation. They’ll nod their heads and fondly remember the first time they fell in love like this, tell me not to do it again, and send me on my way.

That won’t happen.

Second most, I want to deny that it ever happened. If they have no evidence, only the allegation, it could work. Sure, lying is wrong and immoral, but it’s not like I cared about those things when I got myself into this.

And if neither of those things happen — if they decide that someone needs punishing for this — I want to be the one punished, not her.

The university can have my head, but they can’t have hers.

At exactly seven o’clock, there’s a knock on the door. It opens before I can even stop pacing in the living room, and my brother’s voice calls out.

“Hey!” he shouts. “We’re here.”

I take a deep breath, steel myself, and step into the hallway.

“Hey,” I say, and Seth waves, hanging up his coat in my coat closet.

Behind him, my mom just sighs and gives me a very disappointed look.

God, it’s worse than a knife to the heart.

Seth comes over, puts both his hands on my shoulders, and looks me dead in the eyes.

“It’s gonna be okay,” he says. “I promise.”

“The depends on your definition of okay,” I tell him.

“You’ll see,” he says, and gives me a few firm pats, then walks past me, down the hall, toward the kitchen. “Do either of you want anything to drink? I’m going to make tea.”

Seth is extremely at home in my house.

“Earl Grey would be lovely,” my mom calls, shutting the door to the coat closet

Then she walks down the hall to where I’m standing, and just looks up at me.

“This was the bad thing you didn’t want to tell me,” she says, matter-of-fact. “I guess I understand why.”

My mom is an astronomy professor who mainly works at the Steinberg telescope that’s about thirty minutes from our house and is owned by the Virginia Institute of Technology. She mostly does research and only teaches a class a semester, but still.

“I know,” I say quietly, unable to look her in the eye. “I know.”

“You worked so hard,” she says.

“I know.”

Before she can say anything else, there’s a knock on my front door. I open it and Oliver’s there, wearing a black coat with a green scarf, and he nods at me once.

“Thanks for inviting me to your strategy meeting,” he says, as I usher him inside. “Hope I can be of some —”

He stops, just for a second, looking down the hall at where my mom is leaning against the doorframe of the kitchen, saying something to Seth inside.

“ —use,” he finishes, then shrugs his coat off. Underneath he’s got on a fairly tame shirt, compared to some of the things I’ve seen him wear, though his shoes are a startling shade of blue.

“That’s the idea,” I say, taking his coat and scarf, but he’s already walking down the hall.

“You must be Caleb’s mom,” he says, holding out a hand. “It’s nice to finally meet you.”

“You must be his advisor,” I hear her say. “Clara Loveless.”

“Oliver Nguyen.”

“Be honest,” my mom says as I close the closet door. “How bad has he fucked up?”

Oliver just sighs.

“Bad,” he says.

“So they never get better?” my mom asks, sitting next to me on the couch.

“NSF grant applications? No, I think they get worse,” Oliver says, sitting on a chair across from my mom. “I swear they add three pages of nonsense for you to fill out every year. Why do they need to know what the highest-paid employee at my institution is? Not my fault the football coach makes a pile of money.”

“I was hoping that maybe if I did this for long enough everything would just click into place,” my mom says, gesturing into the air. “Ten years, maybe fifteen.”

“I wish,” Oliver says, and my mom laughs.

Just then, Seth comes into the living room, carrying a tray with four cups of Earl Grey, a few cookies, and some grapes. I didn’t know I had any of those things in my house, but leave it to Seth to find them and present them nicely to the rest of us.

“Thanks,” I say, as he takes a seat, and we all lean forward for our tea, silence hanging heavy in the air between us.

Finally, Oliver clears his throat.

“I spoke with my colleague on the ethics committee,” he says.

I can already tell it’s bad news. Good news comes out immediately. Bad news waits.

“And?” I ask.

“They were sent a short video,” he says.

My stomach drops. I put my tea back on the coffee table and lean my elbows on my knees, rubbing my hands together.

The organ concert, I think, a sharp prickle working its way down my spine. The library. That time in my office. God, how thorough was I about closing the curtains when we were here?

If someone has footage of Thalia naked without her consent I’m going to fucking kill them.

“What’s on the video?” I ask, my voice surprisingly steady.

“It’s you and — sorry…”

“Thalia,” I supply, my voice tight.

“You and Thalia kissing next to a minivan,” he says. “Apparently you’re in some parking lot, but it’s quite clearly you and pretty unmistakable what you’re doing.”

I close my eyes and sigh with relief. I’m pretty sure everyone sighs with relief, though when I open my eyes, Seth is smirking at me.

I wait for Oliver to look away, and I flip him off as subtly as I can.

Then, suddenly, I realize what Oliver just said.

Parking lot.

Minivan.

That really, really narrows down who the reporter could have been.

“Can he say it’s Photoshopped?” Seth asks. “Academia’s cutthroat, maybe someone wants him fired.”

“It’s a video,” Oliver says.

“You can edit videos,” Seth says. “Right now, the technology exists to make very convincing deep fakes. Just last week I saw a video that someone had made of the President saying —”

“It’s not fake,” I point out.

“Yes, I know,” Seth says, in his most patient you are a moron voice. “But can you convince people that it’s fake?”

“Seth,” my mom says sharply.

“We’re talking about a whole committee of people who know what Occam’s Razor is,” I say. “And the simplest explanation is clearly —”

“That’s actually not what Occam’s Razor says,” Seth interrupts. “Occam’s Razor states that the solution that makes the fewest assumptions is likely to be correct, not the simplest.”

“That’s accurate,” confirms Oliver.

I shift position, flopping backward onto my couch and covering my face with my hands.

“But I take your point,” Seth concedes, sipping his tea.

I sit there, quietly, trying to think, but my brain feels like a disused path through the dense forest, like I’m hacking through kudzu and tripping over fallen trees every three feet just to get a single thought together.

“So it’s unlikely that he’ll be able to deny that the affair happened,” my mom chimes in, ever pragmatic. Clearly, Seth got it from somewhere.

“Yes,” says Oliver.

“What are his options?” she goes on. “Is this the sort of thing where he could swear that it’s over and will never happen again, and he’s very sorry? Or have institutions of higher learning moved on in the past thirty years?”

“It isn’t over,” I point out.

Even though I haven’t spoken to Thalia in forty-eight hours and she hasn’t called since I hung up on her, and not talking to her feels like slowly pulling my veins through my skin.

“Not the point,” my mom says.

“That’s very unlikely to work,” Oliver says. “The University takes this sort of thing pretty seriously these days.”

“I’m done,” I say.

The proclamation is greeted by a long, weighted silence.

Then, finally, Oliver speaks.

“Yes,” he says. “It does seem that way.”

I have the sudden sensation that the ground I was standing on has crumbled, and now I’m on a precipice, staring into a black hole with no earthly idea what’s down there.

“Okay,” I say, and sit up straight, try to pretend like the world isn’t tilting around me. “All right.”

“I wish I had better advice,” Oliver says, gently, but I just shake my head.

“I did it,” I tell them, something I’ve said to all of them individually already. “I knew it was wrong and I did it.”

There’s another silence.

“Well then,” says Seth.

“What about Thalia?” I ask, turning to Oliver.

“What about her?”

“She’s a Madison Scholar,” I explain, quietly, and his face changes.

Seth and my mom just look at each other.

“You really stepped in it, didn’t you?” Oliver asks.

“She could lose her scholarship and maybe get expelled,” I explain.

“An academic suspension at least,” Oliver adds. “And this is her last semester?”

I nod, and he just lets out a low whistle.

“This was my fuck up,” I say, my voice low. “It was on me. I was the teacher, I was the one who should have known better, I was the one with the responsibility…”

“You know, I’ve only talked to her on the phone, but I’ve got a strong feeling that Thalia’s also capable of making decisions and exercising judgement,” Seth says.

“Not my point,” I tell him, and he just shrugs.

I turn to Oliver.

“Is there anything?” I ask, dreading the answer.

He doesn’t say anything right away. Instead he leans forward slowly. He grabs a cookie. He sits back. He considers it for several long, long seconds, and then he takes a bite and swallows.

“There might be something you can do to help her,” he finally says. “But it’ll be ugly.”

The three of them stick around to help me with the first draft, everyone crowding around me on my couch.

I hate writing, and I hate writing this more than I’ve hated writing anything in my whole life. I hate twisting the truth, making something beautiful sound so ugly and salacious.

We take a break. I’m sweating, even though it’s a cold night. Seth goes into the kitchen, finds a beer, opens it, and hands it to me.

“I don’t want it,” I tell him, trying to hand it back.

“It’ll help you feel better about lying,” he says.

It’s cold and smooth in my hand, the Loveless Brewing logo on the label, and for one wild second I consider telling him what I know about that dark January night all those years ago, that one bad judgement call can last forever, that alcohol has proven fatal to at least one Loveless man.

But I’m not driving. I’m not even getting drunk. I’m here, and I’m safe, with friends and family. A letter isn’t a twisting mountain road.

And, for better or for worse, I forgave my father long ago, so I take a long drink from the beer that Seth offers me.

“Thanks,” I say.

Oliver leaves after the second draft. After the third, Seth reveals that he’s brought his work laptop and a few days’ worth of clothing, so my mom goes back to Sprucevale and it’s just the two of us and an awful, no good, very bad letter.

Finally, around three in the morning, we decide it’s finished.

“We could ask June to proofread it,” Seth says, his eyes on the screen as he reads it for the thirty thousandth time.

“I’m not showing her this,” I say, also reading. “She’d stab me in the throat.”

“Because it’s poorly written, or…”

“Because of what it says,” I say, and take another gulp of tea. One beer was more than enough, and I’ve switched back.

“Maybe,” he admits.

Finally, he hits save, and we close the window, then close the laptop.

“You’re sure?” he asks, just that one simple phrase.

I think of the first night I met Thalia, watching her face as she watched the light-up flowers. I think of her telling me she believed in magical, not magic.

And I think of the two of us alone on the boardwalk in Virginia Beach, two weeks ago, of how the lights of faraway ships looked like sea monsters coming up for air. Something I never would have thought before I met her, but something about Thalia bends reality in a way that only I can feel.

“I’m sure,” I say, and Seth nods once.

“Good,” he says. “I’ll be on the pull-out bed in your office.”

CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN

THALIA

I lean toward the mirror, checking my teeth for lipstick. It’s a dusky rose color, not the bright red I tend to favor, but this isn’t a girls’ night out, or a frat party, or even the psych major mixer.

This is my ethics hearing, and the last thing I need to look like is some trashy slut who wears red lipstick and has affairs with her calculus professor.

Yesterday, Victoria drove me to the mall on the other side of town and I blew nearly my entire paycheck at Sephora. I bought primer, concealer, foundation. I bought eyeliner and mascara and blush and eyebrow gel and lipstick and I nearly bought false eyelashes, though I changed my mind at the last minute.

I already own most of those things, but I bought new ones because I needed something, anything, to hide behind. If I put on new eyeliner and new mascara, if I paint my nails I’m-so-innocent light pink, if I have on the suit I bought for graduate school interviews, maybe I can get through this.

It’s armor, and I know it. If I thought chain mail would help, I’d wear that, too, but the best armor I’ve got is looking like the kind of girl who’d never, ever do what they’re accusing me of.

Even though I did, and I think they know it.

I don’t know what I’m going to do. The only advice I’ve gotten has been to say Caleb coerced me, and frankly, fuck that.

I’m not above tears, mostly because I’m pretty positive I won’t be able to help it. I’m not above begging for forgiveness and swearing not to do it again. But I’m above throwing Caleb under the bus to save myself.

I take a deep breath. I fix a tiny smudge on my lipstick. I straighten the jacket of my suit, run my fingers through my hair, hope I look good enough to be believed.

Then I turn and leave the bathroom.

Smythe Hall feels like a labyrinth. It was one of the first buildings on campus, so it’s from before things like fire codes really existed. The corridors are smaller than other buildings, the ceilings lower, the floor oddly discontinuous because it was added onto and added onto again, which means you can only access parts of the second floor from the third floor, not the rest of the second floor.

When I find Room 233A, I’m three minutes late and I’m so nervous I’m shaking. I couldn’t eat this morning, and already I’m making a bad impression.

It’s a big, old, wooden door, the doorknob cold. I hold my breath and pray once and then push it open.

The room’s empty. It’s a meeting room, unexpected light pouring in from two big windows, with a big wooden oval table in the middle of the room surrounded by office chairs. Nice office chairs, the kind that cost hundreds of dollars each, maybe thousands.

I’m starting to feel like I’m in a Kafka book, but then something moves in the corner and I realize that Dr. Castellano has been there all along, a laptop open in front of her.

‘Thalia,” she says, taking off her reading glasses and holding them in one hand.

“I thought I had a hearing,” I say. “Am I early? Did I get the time wrong? I know it’s four past three already —”

“The honor case against you is pending dismissal,” she says, matter-of-factly.

I stand there, in the doorway, and stare at her. And stare.

“What?” I finally ask. “What does that even mean?”

She leans forward slightly, her elbows on the table, twirling her reading glasses by one stem.

“It means that, as of a few hours ago, the university is no longer interested in pursuing a case against you,” she says. “I apologize for not letting you know sooner, but I still wanted to speak with you.”

“So they dropped it,” I say, stepping into the room, letting the door slam shut behind me. “All that and they just dropped it?”

There’s a dangerous, bubbly feeling deep inside me, like I’m about to burst into laughter at any moment, like my insides are shaking and I’m so rattled and sleep-deprived that I might just start cackling with relief.

“They dropped your case,” she says. “Professor Loveless resigned this morning in a letter to the administration, effective immediately.”

I close my eyes, replay her words quickly in my head, just to make sure she said what I think she said.

When I open them, I’m smiling. I’m still trying not to laugh because that completely insane urge is still there, in the face of the unexpected, to just laugh like a maniac and maybe all this will go away.

“He did?” I ask.

He didn’t tell me. We haven’t even spoken since Monday, when he hung up on me. Even though I called. Even though I texted.

I just cost him everything.

She picks up a piece of paper and stands, walking toward me. I meet her in the middle of the room, and she hands it to me. It’s a copy, the fold lines clearly visible, and it’s on Caleb’s letterhead.

I can hear the blood rushing through my veins, the sound of my own heart so loud it could drown anything else out, and my eyes skip down the letter, taking in phrases piecemeal because I need to get to the end, I need to understand what he did and why he did it, but I can’t process anything.

To President Levenbaum

Resignation, effective immediately

With Miss Lopez, an undergraduate in my Honors Calculus section

Pursued relentlessly

Insinuated that she might receive a poor grade

“No, he didn’t,” I say out loud, jerking my head up, looking at Dr. Castellano. “That’s not true, he never insinuated anything —”

“Are you sure?” she asks, and I look back at the letter.

I feel like I’m going to throw up.

Well aware of our relative positions

Improper abuse of authority

“That’s not what happened,” I tell her, and now my voice is shaking too. “This isn’t true. None of this is true, he never threatened to fail me, or give me a worse grade, or give me a better grade if I slept with him, or…”

I am, somehow, sitting in one of the expensive chairs, the copy of the letter still in my hand, Dr. Castellano sitting opposite me. I don’t remember sitting down but here I am, feeling like I’m in the center of a whirlpool.

I take a deep breath. I put the letter on the table, because I don’t think I can hold it any more. And then I make myself read it, from start to finish, both my hands over my mouth.

It’s simple. It’s a straightforward, brief, no-frills account of how Caleb took advantage of his relative power over me to convince me to start a relationship with him.

It’s also a complete lie, from top to bottom.

“This isn’t true at all,” I say, when I finally finish. My voice is a hoarse whisper, and I only realize I’m crying when a drop lands on the paper.

I swallow. I clear my throat, but before I can say anything else, Dr. Castellano speaks.

“Professor Loveless has already terminated his employment with the university, and anything you might say to me now won’t change that,” she says, slowly, looking me dead in the eye.

I clench my jaw, grit my teeth, will myself to stop crying.

“If you were particularly determined, you could request that your case be re-opened,” she goes on. “But I want to be absolutely clear that this —" she puts her finger on the letter, “—is already done and cannot be undone, no matter what you might say or do.”

I bite the inside of my lips together so hard I draw blood, then look down at the letter.

I hate every single word on that page. I hate every sentence, every paragraph, every punctuation mark. I hate it for being nothing but lies, and I hate it for being what the University administration wanted to hear.

“The only real question is whether you’d like to press charges,” she goes on.

“No,” I say, the word coming out half-sob. “No. Jesus, no.”

She just nods, and I don’t say anything else. I understand, with crystal clarity, what she’s telling me.

“Then I think we’re done here,” she says, softly, and takes the letter back. She walks, ramrod straight, back to her laptop, picks up her briefcase, puts the letter back into it.

Then she stands again, turns, looks out one window.

“The administration isn’t particularly concerned with true justice,” she says, after a long pause. “But they’re very concerned with the appearance of justice. If this ever comes to light, they want to be able to parade someone’s head on a stick, and now that they’ve got that, they’re happy. And forgive me, Thalia, but I don’t see a reason for you to suffer needlessly.”

I say nothing, but only because I have nothing to say. I’m cold, numb, and feel like any moment now I’m going to wake up from this stupid anxiety-induced nightmare.

“Is there anything I can do?” she asks, finally looking back at me.

I take a deep breath and close my eyes. I’m still crying and still trying not to, but it’s not working.

“He’s not a bad person,” I say, quietly. “He’s not the monster he makes himself sound like, I swear.”

“I suspected as much,” she says, slowly. “You’re a smart woman who chooses your associates well.”

“Who reported it?” I ask, the only other question I have. “It’s over. Tell me that.”

“I don’t know,” she says, but she walks toward me again, puts her briefcase down on a chair. “I sincerely don’t. We weren’t told that information.”

She pulls her laptop from her bag, and I can tell a but is coming.

“But this is the evidence they sent,” she says, opening it, tapping at her keys, pulling up her email, clicking a link.

A video opens. It’s shaky and slightly blurry, like it’s zoomed in too far and shot through a window, but it’s good enough.

On it, Caleb and I are sitting on the tailgate of my parents’ minivan. We chat for a few moments, his arm around me. Then we stand. Embrace. Kiss. The video ends, the window going black.

“Thank you,” I say, my voice strangely robotic.

“I hope it helps,” she says, already packing up the computer.

“It does,” I say, and my voice sounds faraway, like it belongs to another person.

Without another word, Dr. Castellano nods once, then leaves the bright, sunny room, leaving me alone.

I feel more wretched than I ever have in my life.

CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT

THALIA

In the end, I make a list. It takes me an hour, maybe two, though most of the work isn’t in writing the list. Most of the work is in pacing up and down the room, shoes off, angrily crying to myself while I try to sort through everything that just happened.

I’m a mess. I’m on overload, ten emotions at once, all of them ugly. I’m furious with the school for having this rule in the first place, but that’s pointless and I know it, the rage just feels good.

I’m angry with myself, for not having one whit of self-control. I’m angry with stupid Margaret, just because she was such a bitch. I’m angry with Javier for overdosing, with my mom for putting up with my father, and with Bastien for no other reason than he’s irritating sometimes.

I’m angry as hell with Caleb for not answering my calls. For not consulting me in my own fate, for letting people think that he’s a monster and I’m some naïve, innocent victim.

And I’m furious with my father.

That what’s the list ends up saying: School, Me, Caleb, DAD. That’s all, but it’s enough.

I pull out my phone, find a number, and hit the call button before I can lose my nerve. It rings six times and then goes to voicemail: Thank you for calling Captain Lopez, United States…

I hang up and call again. And again. And again.

I call seven times before, finally, he answers.

“What happened?” he demands, short and curt and no-nonsense as always.

Suddenly, words escape me and I wonder what he said when he reported us. Did he call? Email?

I wonder what he said, exactly, to Javier the day he kicked him out, whether it was the same staccato rhythms I’m hearing now or something else.

“Thalia,” he says, the word a statement, not a question. “What is it?”

I look down at my list, and finally, I find my voice.

“Did you report me?” I ask, my voice oddly calm in my own ears.

He’s silent.

“To the university?” I go on, and though my heart is beating so hard I can feel it in my fingertips, I sound completely zen, like nothing could ever bother me. “Did you report Caleb and I?”

More silence. The sound of a door closing.

“I reported Professor Loveless for a clear violation of his contract,” he says, stiff and unyielding. “He should be ashamed of himself for taking advantage of you like that.”

Deep breath in. Deep breath out. Ten thousand words fight to be the next ones out of my mouth.

“You didn’t even ask me,” are the words I finally choose. “Did it ever occur to you to talk to me about it? To ask me what was really going on? Whether I needed your help?”

I can hear the tears behind my voice, feel them heavy in my throat and in my skull behind my eyes, but they don’t come out. I’m shaking with the force of keeping them in, but for once, I do.

My father answers with a silence so flat that for a moment I think the line has gone dead.

“You’re my daughter,” he finally says. “And I’m not going to let your professor sully you like —”

“Stop,” I say, and to my surprise, he does. “Did you even consider talking to me about it?”

He doesn’t answer me, but he doesn’t need to because we both already know that the answer is no.

“Or did you just decide that someone needed to be taught a lesson and you were the perfect person to make it happen?” I ask, and now my voice is shaking. “How many times are you going to confuse cruelty for love before you don’t have anyone left?”

There’s a minuscule part of me that knows exactly why he thinks the only real form of love is tough love, that at least understands the theory behind what he was trying to do, how he was trying to protect me, but I’m not really interested in understanding right now.

After all, it’s not like he was either.

“I’m withdrawing from our relationship,” I tell him, slowly, each word coming to me as I say it. My voice quavers, dips, comes dangerously close to tears, but I don’t give in.

He’s not going to hear me cry. I’m not going to give him that.

“I don’t want to speak to you for a while,” I say, whispering, unsteady. “When I call home, I don’t want to speak to you. I don’t want you at my graduation. If you’d like to know how I’m doing, please ask Mom.”

“You’re choosing some perverted older man over your own family?” he snaps, finally angry. “Hasn’t anyone ever told you that blood is thicker —”

“You turned your own son out onto the streets when he needed your help!” I shout suddenly, violently, the sound of my own voice bouncing from the walls of the conference room a shock.

I take a hard, deep breath but I’m not in time and the tears finally break through. I bite my lips together as I feel my self crumple inward, determined not to let him know.

Keep it together, just for one more minute, please keep it together keep it together…

“Don’t you dare tell me anything about blood,” I go on quiet, strangled. “I’m not choosing him over you, I’m choosing to no longer speak to someone who nearly got me expelled from college and doesn’t seem to consider me a full person with thoughts worth seeking out.”

“What do you mean expelled —”

“Bye, Dad,” I say, softly, and then hang up.

Two seconds later, he calls. I send it to voicemail, then do it again and again, until finally, he stops calling.

Then I sit in a fancy office chair, put my head on the table, and cry.

CHAPTER FORTY-NINE

CALEB

“Put this on, you’re making me cold,” Seth says as I glance at my phone again. Nothing.

I open my texts. She hasn’t read any of the five I’ve sent her in the last couple of hours, hasn’t answered any of my calls.

Is she still in the hearing? I wonder, even though she can’t possibly be because it’s been hours, the sun now almost down.

“Earth to Caleb?” he says, and this time I turn. He’s holding out a thick fleece blanket very patiently, his hair still wet from the shower, his feet bare beneath his pants.

“Thanks,” I say, and take it, suddenly realizing that I’m standing on my back porch wearing nothing but a long-sleeved shirt, pants, and slippers, and it can’t be more than forty degrees out here.

It must be over by now. It has to be. The letter must have worked or not, because although I know what’s happened to me — I packed up my office while a security guard watched; my VSU email has already stopped working — no one would say a single word about what’s going to happen to her.

“You’re supposed to put it on,” Seth says, his patience clearly running thin. “That’s the thing about blankets, they reflect back warmth from whatever part you put them on. So if they’re just wadded up in your hands, all they’ll do is warm your hands, while your face falls off from frostbite.”

“Sorry,” I say, and unfurl the blanket, then slowly put it over my shoulders, wrapping it around myself.

He sighs, goes inside, comes back a moment later with a similar blanket wrapped around himself and his shoes on.

“Does your back yard know what the fuck you’re going to do?” he asks, leaning against the wooden railing next to me.

It’s midwinter, and the back yard looks shitty. The grass is dead. There’s a small garden, left by the previous tenant, and that’s dead. The two small trees and the oak on my property line are all leafless, spindly branches reaching into the darkening sky.

“No,” I say.

“Has your back yard spent even a second thinking about it?” he asks.

“No,” I admit, and Seth sighs.

I’ll never teach again. Not at the university level, not community college, not high school. I confessed, in writing, that I used my position to coerce a student into a sexual relationship, and every job I apply to for the rest of my life will find that out with a single phone call.

I lean forward, crack the knuckles on one hand, my fingers freezing.

“I just want it to work,” I say, softly.

“Moron,” Seth says, matching my tone, looking out at my ugly back yard.

“I was getting fired no matter what,” I remind him.

“And if you hadn’t been?” he asks, gravelly, not making eye contact. “If they’d said one of you has to go, you’d have done the same thing, which is ridiculous and you’re ridiculous.”

He’s right, and we both know it.

“You’d have done the same if —”

“Don’t,” he warns me.

I sneak a sideways glance at him.

“Still?”

“Just don’t,” he says, sounding weary, so I don’t.

I already dragged the poor man on a five-mile hike through forty-degree weather today, after I turned in the letter, because I didn’t think I could deal with people any more. At least not regular people, which Seth isn’t.

After my dad died, it was twelve-year-old Seth who took care of us. Seth made sure that we all took showers, ate meals, did laundry. Seth made tea and built fires in the fireplace. He woke up in the middle of the night when I had nightmares about a car crash, talked me down.

We all reacted differently. Levi got quiet, Eli got spiky, Daniel got angry. I think I was just sad, but Seth somehow became nurturing. Out of everyone, he’s the one who reached down deep and found something good within himself in those dark days, and I’m still grateful.

“Sorry,” I say. “I should know —”

There’s a knock on my front door, and I fall silent for a moment.

Then I drop the blanket to the floor, pull open the back door so hard it slams against the wall, and practically run through my house.

She’s standing outside the front door, bag slung over her shoulder, wearing heels and a skirt, hands curled into fists and jammed into her coat pockets.

Thalia looks at me for a moment without saying anything, and my heart drops through the floor. She looks like hell: eyes glassy and red, ringed with black; face splotched bright pink.

Without a word, she walks past me, into my house. I close the door behind her and she steps out of her shoes, then stands next to them.

“What happened?” I ask, almost afraid to know the answer.

“Nothing,” she says, quietly. “I get to keep my scholarship and stay in school. But you knew that.”

I start grinning, the relief flooding over my head like a cold rain, releasing tension I didn’t know I was holding.

“Thank God,” I say, and I step forward to take her in my arms.

Thalia steps back, and I just kick her shoes.

“Don’t,” she says, and now she’s got her hands on her face, in her hair, on her hips, and she looks away and she sounds edgy and I stop in my tracks.

“I’m sorry I didn’t answer your calls,” I say, fighting to keep a smile off my face. “I thought it was best —"

“Did you?” she suddenly says, cutting me off, her voice wobbly and tired. “You thought it was best, just like you thought it was best to tell the story of how you blackmailed me into having sex with you?”

I feel like the moon must feel when it begins waning: the slow, unexpected march of darkness.

“You were going to get expelled,” I point out, my mouth suddenly dry.

“You don’t know that.”

“There was a good chance,” I go on. “And if you hadn’t been expelled, you’d have at least lost your scholarship —”

“So you felt it was a good idea to make sure that you’re remembered forever at the university as a professor who sexually assaults his students?” she says, her voice rising, eyes wide, face flushing. “You decided to just tell everyone that I was just your victim? Nothing but some innocent girl who wanted an A so badly that she was willing to fuck for it?”

The anger spreads through me with a chill, like frost in my veins.

“I just gave up everything for you,” I say, my voice an ugly snarl. “Tomorrow morning you’ll still be in class, still on scholarship, and I have no idea what I’m going to do.”

“You didn’t even ask me,” she says, hard and flat.

“I spent seven years in grad school and now I can never teach again,” I say, stepping forward again. This time Thalia doesn’t budge, just looks up at me, jaw clenched, lips pressed together.

“You wouldn’t even answer my calls,” she says, her eyes shining, brighter red than before. “You wouldn’t talk to me. You took everything into your own hands — you took us into your own hands — and you didn’t ask me and you didn’t tell me and at no point did you ask about my thoughts or my wishes and Jesus, Caleb, I’m so fucking sick of men thinking that they know what’s best for me.”

“What would you have said?” I say, and now I’m shouting too, taking a step back, pacing away in frustration and then back to her. “Would you have said oh, no, I’d prefer to be expelled from school?”

“I don’t know what I would have said!” she shouts. “I’ll never know because you didn’t bother consulting me!”

“Well, you’re welcome!” I shout, and now I’m pacing back and forth the width of the hallway, unable to keep still. I want to punch the wall and I want to open the door and rip it off its hinges, but I don’t do either because I’m a damn adult.

“Did you think I was kidding?” she asks.

“What are you talking about?”

Thalia points furiously at the front door.

“There,” she says. “When I stood right there after you told me about the emails and you promised to be my partner and not my protector, were you kidding? Were you just waiting for the next moment that you could be some kind of knight in shining armor and come and sweep this little lady off her feet?”

Now she’s crying, tears running down her face, voice strangled and high-pitched and I keep pacing because if I don’t keep moving I don’t know what will happen.

“I’m sorry that you hate not being expelled,” I snap. “I’m sorry that taking all the blame for the affair you’re just as responsible for as I am wasn’t enough, you also wanted pre-approval.”

She stands perfectly still for a long moment, nothing moving but her eyes, glassy and bloodshot, as she watches me pace back and forth.

“What I want,” she finally says, her voice quiet, shaky. “Is to be treated like I’m a person who gets to have input on her own damn life and not some sort of fancy pet.”

“I promise I wouldn’t blow up my entire life for a chinchilla,” I snap. “Though maybe —”

“Jesus,” Thalia hisses. She steps forward and jams one foot into her shoe and then the other, swaying as she does. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry I came here.”

She jerks the door open, the cold hitting us both in the face.

“Sorry about your life,” she says, then steps through and slams the door behind her, the click of her steps fading quickly.

I stare at the inside of the door, clenching and unclenching my fists. I think of a thousand angry comebacks and they crowd into my brain, elbowing each other out of the way.

“Fuck you,” I finally say, the least clever of all, as I turn away from the door. “And fuck me for helping you and fuck — WHAT?”

“Sorry,” Seth says, and instantly disappears back into the kitchen.

I stand there. I seethe. I resist the urge to destroy all my own things.

Then, finally, I grab my coat and my shoes and my keys and I jerk the door open myself, then go for a long, angry walk in the opposite direction of Thalia’s house.

CHAPTER FIFTY

THALIA

Fuck it, I mope.

I spend that night in my bed, wearing pajamas, my suit crumpled in the corner, watching a pirated version of The Borgias. I’ve never pirated something before, but it turns out it’s actually pretty easy.

Will the police come knocking on my door to arrest me? Maybe. After all, I’m a bad, bad girl who watches TV shows that she hasn’t paid for, sleeps with her professor, gets away with it, and then gets mad at him for helping her.

Around midnight, Victoria knocks. She’s got a mug of tea and a giant cookie from the Market Street Cafe, and she asks if I’m okay. I lie and say yes, but I let her come in and watch an episode with me in my bed while we eat the cookie, which is the size of my face and delicious.

She doesn’t press me for answers. I think she knows better. I don’t volunteer any, because I feel like a pile of garbage that someone should light on fire.

I skip all my classes the next day. Why? After that asshole quit his job and torched his career so I could keep my scholarship? Because fuck class, that’s why. Once my roommates are gone, I come out of my room, still in my pajamas, and eat some of Margaret’s ramen because she deserves to have her ramen eaten.

Around three, Harper knocks, then enters. She’s got a burrito with her, and she makes up a long story about how she accidentally got an extra burrito from Jose’s when they screwed up her order, but I don’t really believe her.

She gives me the burrito — it’s my favorite, a breakfast burrito, which probably makes me a bad Mexican but who cares — and when she does, I cry, and she comes over and hugs me, and then I eat the burrito in my bed and we watch another episode.

Harper maintains that no one in the fifteen hundreds was that clean or that sexy, and I maintain that I don’t care, I just want to watch sexy historical figures have stupid escapades because I’m afraid that if I think too much about my situation, I’ll come to some conclusions I don’t like, and I’m still mad.

Saturday, I finish The Borgias mid-morning. I was already halfway through the first season when I started this binge, and it turns out there are less episodes that I thought there were.

After about ten minutes staring at my empty laptop screen, I decide I’m going to be a person, so I grab some clean pajamas and come out of my room, don’t look at Margaret as I walk through the living room, and I take a shower.

As I shower, I wonder what I’m going to tell my mom. Does she already know? Is she going to be angry? Hurt? Will she understand?

Do I deserve understanding? Do I deserve anything?

I cry in the shower.

When I come out in my clean pajamas, at least feeling slightly less gross, Victoria and Harper are in the living room, plugging a laptop into the television.

There are fuzzy blankets on the couch. There’s a bowl of ramen on the coffee table, next to another giant Market Street Cafe cookie and an open bag of potato chips.

“Oh, hi,” says Harper, as though she wasn’t expecting to see me in my own apartment. “We were just about to eat this junk food and watch a historical drama called Reign about Mary, Queen of Scots that’s supposed to be ridiculously over-the-top. There’s also this extra bowl of Margaret’s ramen, do you want it? And to join us?”

Bending over the laptop, Victoria’s trying not to laugh at Harper.

“Yes,” I say, and sink into the couch, then put my head on Harper’s shoulder. “Thank you.”

We do that for nearly four hours. I’m sure they have ten thousand things to do besides watch dumb sexy teenagers in period costumes make bedroom eyes at each other, but they don’t act like it. Instead, we sit there and eat junk food and watch, entranced.

Around episode three, I start talking. I watch overly attractive people whirl around a ballroom in big ball gowns and half-face masks, and little by little, I spill the whole story.

The bar bathroom. The date. The classroom. The Madison Scholars banquet and the hospital; the office hours where we talked half about calculus and half about life; the walks home from the library.

I admit to the organ concert, and if they’re even one percent surprised, they don’t show it. I admit to the affair, to finally losing my virginity, to sleeping with my professor again and again and again and not even being slightly sorry about it.

And then, finally, I get to this week while Mary is sitting on the throne and the show cuts between shots of her face, looking toward a window, and her handsome lover riding a horse away from the castle.

When I tell them about the letter, they both gasp in unison. By the time I’ve finished with the phone call to my father and the fight, I’m crying again but it’s a normal crying, not the ugly, breathless, snot-filled sobs of the last forty-eight hours.

“I think I might just be an asshole,” I conclude, shoving a crumpled dining hall napkin against my eyes, trying to get them to stop leaking. “He’s right, right? He did a nice thing and I should be grateful but I just feel so bad about it.”

The front door opens, and there are footsteps on the stairs. Margaret comes in, looks at us on the couch, looks like she’s about to say something but then just nods and takes herself into the kitchen without saying anything.

“Sure, fine,” I mutter, mostly to myself.

“I don’t think you’re wrong to be mad that he didn’t tell you,” Victoria says, slowly. “That’s a lot to spring on a person.”

“It could also be a control thing,” Harper says, reaching for the bowl of chips and settling it on her blanket-covered lap.

“Go on,” I say, munching one.

“Well,” she says, and then stops. She thinks. “Is he gonna be a martyr about it if you go back to him? Is this part of a pattern, where he decides things for you and performs some sort of self-sacrifice, and then expects you to be happy and grateful afterward?”

Victoria’s just nodding.

“Exactly,” she says. “He could have done this out of love, or as a mechanism for control.”

I blink at the screen. Someone is dragging a feather over someone else’s nude back. It looks… tickly.

“That’s a lot to do for control,” I say.

“It’s a lot to do for love,” points out Victoria.

“That’s the big question,” Harper says, and we both turn to her.

We wait.

“What’s the big question?” I finally ask.

“Is he pure of heart?” Harper says, as if that’s the obvious answer. “If he found a unicorn in the forest, would the unicorn befriend him or stab him?”

She crunches another chip, as if this is a totally normal thing to say. Which, for Harper, it kinda is.

“I thought that was virgins,” Victoria says.

“He’s not that,” I point out.

“It’s open to interpretation,” Harper says.

“How do I find this out?” I ask, suddenly pragmatic. “Where do I find a unicorn? Is there witchcraft I can do?”

“Too bad you don’t have ready access to virgin blood any more,” Victoria says.

“Actually, that’s a misconception,” Harper pipes up. “Virgin blood in most rites doesn’t refer to blood from a virgin, it just means blood that hasn’t already been used. Like olive oil.”

Victoria and I look at each other.

“Actually, that makes sense,” Victoria says.

“I think you just have to use judgement about Caleb, though,” Harper adds.

“Can’t I at least ask a magic eight ball?” I say.

I shower again Sunday morning, and this time, I don’t cry during it.

I still feel crappy, like my skin is lined with lead, making all my movements heavier and slower than they should be. I stand in front of the fridge for a full five minutes, trying to figure out what to eat for breakfast. I wear pajamas for the third day in a row, though I do change into fresh ones again.

That afternoon, I’m sitting at my desk, doing actual homework, when there’s a knock on my partly-open door, and I glance over.

Margaret’s standing there.

“Hey,” I say, sitting up straighter.

“Hey,” she says. “Can I come in?”

I just nod, and she walks into the tiny room, then sits cross-legged on my unmade twin bed and holds a green box out to me.

“There were girl scouts by the library, I guess it’s cookie season,” she says as I take the Thin Mints. “Also, I’m sorry I was such a bitch.”

I look at the box in my hands, then back at her.

“But I swear to God I didn’t report you,” she says quickly, sitting up straighter. “I…”

She trails off, looks out my window.

“I know,” I tell her. “It was my dad.”

Margaret looks back at me, eyes wide, mouth open.

“We’re not speaking any more,” I say, carefully tearing the cardboard strip from the end of the box.

“Your dad tried to get your scholarship pulled?” she says, still goggling. “Holy shit.”

Since talking to my dad, I’ve gone back and forth on whether I think he knew I could be punished.

“Yup,” I say, matter-of-factly.

“Sending those emails was really fucked up of me,” she says, quickly, like she’s nervous and in a rush. “I don’t know what I was thinking. I mean, I do, I was thinking that it was pretty weird and creepy of some professor to sleep with you when you were literally in his class.”

I pull apart the plastic sleeve and shoot her a look.

“But I obviously should have just talked to you instead of… doing that shit,” she says. “I’m sorry. I’m really sorry. Really.”

I crunch into a Thin Mint and look at the cookie for a long moment, thinking.

“I should have trusted you. I don’t know why I didn’t,” she finishes.

“Probably because you’re an obnoxious know-it-all who thinks she’s God’s gift to men,” I say, a small shower of crumbs escaping my mouth.

There’s a long, long pause before she speaks.

“Are you trying to say I’m not God’s gift to men, or…”

“You asshole,” I laugh, and she grins at me. “Also, morally bankrupt? What the fuck, Margaret.”

She hides her face in her hands. I almost tell her that she also has to apologize to Caleb, since he’s the one she told was morally bankrupt in the first place, but I still haven’t worked up the nerve to go talk to him yet because I think he’s probably still pretty mad at me, and I’m still a little bit mad at him, and it’s all still a mess.

“I’m sorry,” she says again, through her hands.

“I haven’t forgiven you yet,” I tell her, eating another cookie.

“I deserve it,” she says, and then looks up at me. “Oh, I have another apology. Wait here.”

I wait, still eating cookies, and in fifteen seconds she’s in my room again, holding something behind her back.

“I hope it’s another box,” I say.

She just grins wider, then pulls the thing out from behind her back.

It’s a dildo.

I think. Actually, I’m only about sixty percent sure it’s a dildo, because while it’s definitely phallic, it’s also tapered and green, the design on it pink and swirling in a series of dots to a somewhat fanciful tip.

I stare for a long moment.

Then I finally ask, “Is that a tentacle dildo?”

“Yep!” she says, holding it up proudly. “It’s brand new from the store’s new hentai collection. It’s got a suction cup on the bottom so you can attach it to the shower wall or your chair or whatever and go to town. Also, it’s still shrink-wrapped.”

I take it from her. It’s surprisingly heavy.

“Thanks, I hate it,” I deadpan, and Margaret laughs.

Monday night, I finally work up the courage and go to Caleb’s house. I pulled up his name in my phone a hundred times that day and nearly called, but every single time I chickened out, and I can’t bring myself to text a ‘let’s talk about forgiving each other and also maybe whether we can move on from this’ message.

So I’m here. I’m walking up his sidewalk, onto his front porch. I’ve still got the key to his house, but this is not a let myself in scenario so I knock.

And I wait.

And I knock again, and wait again, and repeat that at least four more times.

Then I wait. I wait for a really, really long time, and I listen for signs that he’s in there and knows it’s me and is avoiding the door, but I don’t hear a single thing.

Finally, I sit down on his porch steps, the concrete cold beneath my butt.

Me: He’s not there.

Margaret: Where is he? It’s not like he has a job.

Margaret: Sorry.

Victoria: The man still needs to run errands. Maybe he’s at Target.

Harper: Maybe he’s hiking the AT again.

Me: It’s January.

Harper: He probably has a lot of psychic pain to work through.

Margaret: Dude, come on.

I really hope he’s not hiking the Appalachian Trail again. I don’t want to go months without talking to him, and I can’t see myself hiking out there in search of him. For one, there are bears, and for two, I’d obviously never find him, no matter how noble or romantic my intentions. Also, I have class.

As I walk away from his house, I realize his car isn’t in the driveway.

Duh, I think to myself.

And then: I’ll try again tomorrow.

I try again Tuesday. And Wednesday. No car, no Caleb. My roommates tell me to stop being a child and just call him, see when he’ll be home, and then talk to him in person, but I don’t.

Thursday, I go over again. I knock one million times and wait at least ten minutes, but there’s nothing so I finally unlock the door and go inside.

There’s mail all over the entryway. I’ve never seen mail there before. Caleb doesn’t leave mail on the floor. He’s not a mail-on-the-floor guy.

At last, standing in his house, I call him.

The call goes straight to voicemail. I try again. Same.

Slowly, carefully, I collect the mail from his floor. I sort it into a looks legit pile and a pretty sure this is junk pile, then put both piles on the kitchen table before heading upstairs, where I stand in the door to his bedroom for a long moment, afternoon light leaking through the curtains.

The bed is made. Everything is in place, though I notice his phone charger isn’t there.

And then, despite myself, I go in. I sit on his bed, and I feel half like an intruder and half like I’ve come home, and for the first time the thought strikes me that this could be the last time I’m in his house.

If he never wanted to speak to me again, the girl who cost him everything, I don’t know if I could blame him.

I lie on his bed and put my face right on his pillow, then inhale, and suddenly it feels like he’s there, like we’re lying naked and sweaty on his bed and we’re laughing about something, still casually tangled.

Smell isn’t like the other senses. When you see or hear something, those signals get filtered through a part of your brain called the thalamus, which then relays the signals on. Not smell. Our sense of smell is hooked right into the limbic system, the emotional response part of our brain.

I breathe in again, just for good measure, and it’s a gut punch.

Then I roll over, onto my back, and call him one more time.

Voicemail.

I lie there for a long time, thinking. I’m thinking that it’s probably super weird that I’m in his bed. I’m thinking that he hasn’t been here in days and I don’t know where he is. I think there’s a possibility he’s never coming back, though it seems remote.

And then, finally, I think of someone who’ll know. I pull out my phone. I do a single google search, take a deep breath, and hit the phone number.

“Loveless Brewing,” says a friendly female voice. “Tammy speaking.”

I did not have a plan for this.

“Hi, Tammy,” I say after a quick, awkward silence. “Would it be possible to speak with Seth Loveless?”

“I can check, sweetheart,” she says. “What’s this concerning?”

She sounds so nice that I don’t even mind being called sweetheart.

“It’s a whole long thing, really,” I say. “Can you just tell him it’s Thalia?”

“Of course, hon,” she says, and if I didn’t know better I’d say there was pity in her voice. “But he might be busy right now so chances are he’ll have to call you back.”

“That’s fine,” I say.

“One sec,” she says, and then the hold music starts, some instrumental version of the John Denver song Country Roads.

I start pacing, fully prepared to wait a while, but instead the music clicks off after about thirty seconds.

“Thalia?” a familiar-ish voice says. “Oh, thank fuck. I’m nearly out of room for bookshelves.”

CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE

CALEB

I stand back and survey my work, folding my arms over my chest as I do.

Not bad. They still need to be painted, and I don’t think Seth’s walls are perfectly even because the very top of the right side has about a half-inch gap between the wood and the wall, but it’ll do.

I should ask Seth if he still has any of the paint he used to paint that wall, I think. That would be the easiest way to match it and make them look like built-ins —

The key turns in the front door, and out of habit, I glance at the clock.

Then I frown, because Seth is hardly ever home before six and it’s four-thirty.

“ — That every bag had one single poison M&M in it, but you couldn’t learn how to tell the poison M&M until you were ten,” Seth is saying, and I frown harder because whoever he’s telling the story about Eli’s M&M lie to, it’s not one of my brothers.

We all know the story. We all lived the story.

“That seems like it would only work until the first time you decided you wanted M&Ms so much that you’d risk it,” Thalia’s voice says. “And it’s not like kids have good judgement.”

“No, they do not,” Seth says, though I can hardly hear him over the sudden pounding of my heart, and several thoughts crash into each other, all at once.

Did I shower today?

He didn’t warn me.

What day is it?

She’s here. She’s here. She’s here and I’m not ready. I haven’t figured anything out, I don’t know what to say, all I’ve done is build a really big bookcase.

Then they both come around the corner, into Seth’s living room, and Thalia stops.

“Oh,” she says.

“I thought you were at Levi’s,” Seth says, walking past her and toward his kitchen. “Do either of you want anything to drink?”

“No, thank you,” calls Thalia.

“Same,” I say.

“Well, I’m just parched,” Seth says, his voice echoing from the next room over the sound of his fridge opening. “It’s been a whole Friday, you know?”

“Is it really Friday?” I ask Thalia, sotto voce.

“It really is,” she confirms. “What day did you think it was?”

I sigh, run a hand through my hair, because I’m very much not the kind of person who loses track of days, though apparently I am right now.

“Maybe like… Wednesday?” I say.

Seth comes back out of the kitchen, drinking a glass of water, and looks from me to Thalia and back.

“Right,” he says. “Let me just grab something from upstairs and text Levi that we’re not coming over, and I’ll go… somewhere that isn’t here.”

Thalia’s already blushing.

“We could go —”

“Nope,” he calls, already heading up the stairs of his townhouse.

“ — somewhere less intrusive,” she finishes, even though Seth’s long gone.

“It’s fine, he once stabbed me in the hand hard enough to draw blood because I tried to take one of his french fries,” I say. “He owes me.”

“How are any of you alive?” Thalia says, half-laughing and half-horrified. “On the way over here he was telling me about Levi convincing Eli that eating dandelions made you capable of flight.”

“That ER trip is one of my earliest memories,” I tell her.

“All right, I’m out,” Seth says, coming back down the stairs, putting something in his pocket, then grabbing his coat and swinging it onto one arm. “Getting drinks and then seeing a movie with, uh, a friend. I’ll call before I come back.”

“Have fun!” Thalia says.

“Thanks,” he says, and then turns and walks backward, pointing at me. “Don’t fuck this up. I like her and I’d like for us to keep her.”

“Bye,” I call, and then he’s gone and his door opens, closes, and suddenly it’s very, very still in this living room, the smell of freshly cut wood permeating the air and Thalia and I looking at each other.

There are a thousand things I want to say to her, but I can’t find words for any of them. I missed her and I love her and I spent nights roaming the darkness of Seth’s living room, feeling like a thousand tiny cactus spines were working their way into my skin, too agitated to sleep and too tired to do anything but pace.

Sometimes I feel like I’m staring into the void, the sudden blankness that’s the rest of my life. Sometimes I feel like I’m staring into the blue sky, endless possibilities. Which it is depends on the day.

“I didn’t mean to stay here a week,” I finally say. “I guess I got really involved in making Seth the bookshelves I promised him a couple years ago when he moved in here.”

“They look good,” Thalia says, her gaze roving over them, then coming back to me. “I was afraid you’d gone off to hike the Appalachian Trail again when you weren’t home by yesterday.”

“It’s the dead of winter,” I point out.

I did a deep dive into what equipment I’d need and how feasible it would be, what my route would look like, whether I could make it if I started in Georgia now.

“That’s why you didn’t go?” she asks.

“No,” I say. “I didn’t go because I don’t want to escape you. I didn’t go because it’s a long time and I’d miss the hell out of you.”

I pause. We look at each other, something tense and unspoken between us, something that needs words I can’t find. I’ve spent the last week mostly silent, mostly alone: making these bookshelves, hiking solo through the forest, doing a thousand chores at my mom’s house.

I spent the week trying to untangle the sudden mess of my life, trying to find the right words to take back to Thalia, but I still haven’t.

“I miss the hell out of you now,” I say.

She looks at me steadily, unblinking, and then she takes a deep breath and closes the distance between us. She looks up at me, her hands in the back pocket of her jeans, her elbows splayed.

“Are you pure of heart?” she asks.

“No,” I say. It’s instant, the word bypassing my brain and going directly to my mouth, a truth spoken straight from the heart.

It’s not the answer she was expecting.

“Of course I’m not,” I say, going on even though I know I’m giving the wrong answer to this question. “I slept with you while you were a student. I wanted what I shouldn’t have. I took what wasn’t mine to take. I lusted after you before I even knew your name and if you gave me half a chance I’d do it all again. No, I’m not pure of heart.”

Now she’s got her eyes closed, one hand to her forehead, and I think she might be smiling.

“I’m not pure of anything,” I say.

“That was a really weird question, wasn’t it?” she says.

“A little,” I admit.

“Can I try again?”

“Always.”

“Why’d you write the letter?”

I wonder, for a moment, if this question also has a right answer that I don’t know, if I’ve wandered into a labyrinth with a sphinx at the center, and to get past it to Thalia I’ve got to outsmart it.

But then, I open my mouth and the truth pours out.

“It’ll be easier for me to start over than for you,” I say, simply. “Because I already have a post-graduate degree and I can find some other job. Because I didn’t want to throw your life off track.”

I hold out one hand, palm up. Slowly, she takes it, and I fold her small hand into mine, hold on tight.

“And because it was my responsibility and I fucked up,” I go on, just as she looks up at me.

“Caleb —" she starts, exasperated.

“It was literally my job not to sleep with students,” I remind her. “I’m older, I’m allegedly wiser, I was in charge. It was my job to be in control and do what was right and I didn’t. You can say what you want, but it was my job and I fucked it up, and that means I should be the one to take the fall.”

Her hand is a fist inside mine and I squeeze it, fit my fingers to her knuckles.

“I’m sorry,” she says.

“Don’t be.”

“It doesn’t feel right,” she admits, her eyes on our hands, and she swallows hard, takes a deep breath. “This wasn’t something that you did to me. We did this together. I knew what I was doing when I kissed you in the hospital, and when I gave you that bottle of wine, and when I saw you at the organ concert and went over to flirt with you —”

“And I understood the consequences,” I tell her. “I knew precisely what I was risking when I invited you over for dinner, and I was in full possession of my faculties when I did it anyway.”

“Still,” she whispers.

“I wanted to be with you more than I wanted to be a professor,” I say. “That’s all. In the end, it was that simple. There are other jobs but there’s no one else like you.”

Thalia just sighs quietly, looking down at our hands and I look at her and finally, finally, the words I’ve been searching for this past week start pouring out.

“I thought I had what I wanted,” I tell her, slowly, blindly. I speak like I’m cutting myself open and words are coming out instead of blood. “But then, there you were, hiding in the men’s bathroom.”

“God,” she mutters, but I think she’s laughing.

“Until then I thought I wanted to teach and publish papers and go on coffee dates with women who wore flannel, but I was done before you were out the window,” I tell her. “Because it turns out that none of that can hold a candle to you telling me that you like believing in magic for the space of a second, or that sea monsters were really just oarfish, or that you suspect werewolves want to howl at the moon even when they’re human. I want to live my life next to you. That’s all.”

“I was really sure you thought I was a lunatic,” she says.

“I should have told you about the letter,” I say, and I close my eyes, lean my head down to hers, her hair warm and smooth against my forehead. “I’m sorry. I was afraid you’d try to do something and wouldn’t let me.”

“I probably would have,” she admits.

She breathes. She offers me her other hand as well.

“I’m sorry I got so angry,” she says. “But I really want — I mean, you’re — “

Thalia takes a deep breath, pulls away, looks up at me.

“I want to be next to you too,” she says, simply. “That’s all. This is once-in-a-lifetime, and I know it, and you know it, and I don’t want it to be me and you. I want it to be us. Always.”

“Always,” I echo. “Whatever we face, we face together.”

“Promise?” she asks, whispering.

I take my hand from hers, graze my fingers along her chin, tilt her face up toward mine, hold her eyes with mine.

“I promise,” I tell her.

I touch my lips to hers slowly, softly, so gently I almost don’t feel it because I want this kiss to last forever. I pull back, push forward, run my thumb along her cheekbone. She steps forward, into me, suddenly on her toes, her arm slung around me and I kiss her deeper, harder.

I can’t help myself. I never could, not with her, and now I want to fall into this girl, drown in her and never come up for air.

At last, I make myself pull away. I want to pull her onto the couch, brace her against the back of it, wrap her legs around me. I want to give her that promise, skin to skin as we intertwine, but I don’t.

We’re in Seth’s apartment, and it’s Seth’s couch, and I have a better idea than I’d like of what that couch has been through.

So instead I drop kisses on her fingertips and say, “Thank you for finding me,” and she laughs.

“I’m the one who stormed out, so it only seemed right,” she says. “You did enough.”

She tilts her head, looks at me.

“Also, I was afraid you were on some incredibly long hike and I’d never find you,” she says.

“That was only if you didn’t take me back,” I admit.

“You know what we should do?” she says, leaning into me.

Before I can say anything, there’s the sound of keys in the front door, and then it opens.

“Is anyone naked or crying?” Seth calls out.

“Yes. Both,” Thalia says instantly. “It’s really cathartic. Come try!”

There’s a very, very long pause. We’re both laughing silently when, at last, Seth peeks one eye around a corner, quickly followed by the rest of his body.

“I was being polite,” he says, quickly walking through the living room, toward his stairs. “Sorry, I forgot something. One second and you can go back to your orgy of tears.”

“An orgy requires more than two people,” Thalia points out as Seth disappears.

“Oh, he knows,” I tell her.

“Is he the slutty one?” she whispers.

I almost say yes instantly, but then I stop.

“He was,” I say. “It’s… I don’t know.”

I doubt that Seth would appreciate me taking it upon myself to lay out his entire love life and recent lack thereof to Thalia, so I don’t.

“All right,” he says, coming back down, though he doesn’t seem to be carrying anything else. “Sorry about that, please go back to groping each other or whatever you were doing.”

“We were exchanging haikus,” Thalia volunteers.

“Is that what they call it?”

“Bye!” I say, and Seth just laughs as the door shuts behind him.

I look back at Thalia.

“We can’t stay here,” I tell her. “We’ll get lulled into thinking we have privacy, but we’ll only get caught in a compromising position.”

She raises one eyebrow.

“Which one?”

Several possibilities present themselves, and I push them all away.

“Don’t,” I say, bending toward her, my voice dipping lower.

It’s been two weeks. I’m pretty sure that if Thalia said eggs Benedict in the right way it would set me off.

“All I said was —”

I put my thumb over her lips, silencing her. She smirks, her eyes wicked.

“No,” I tell her. “We’re going on a date. In public. Dinner and a movie. We’re gonna hold hands and everything.”

“What’s every —”

“No,” I say again, pressing my thumb to her lips again. Now she’s laughing but my pulse is racing and I’m quickly flipping through a mental catalog of available beds in Sprucevale.

Scratch that. Available private spaces. I don’t care if there’s a bed, but I’m coming up blank: not here, not my mom’s house or Levi’s, not Daniel’s spare bedroom or Eli’s couch.

Okay, I think. What if we just took a tent into the woods —

Then, I think of the obvious answer, and I start grinning.

“What?” she asks, suspicious, the word still slightly blurred by my thumb.

“A date,” I tell her. “We’re going on a date, that’s all. Let me go change.”

She starts to say something else but I lean forward, kiss her, then practically run upstairs to Seth’s study where the pull-out sofa is currently functioning as my bed. I put on clothes that aren’t covered in sawdust, run a hand through my hair, make sure there’s nothing weird on my face.

Then I pull out my phone. I do a quick search. I find what I’m looking for.

And I place a quick phone call.

CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO

CALEB

I take her to the only Thai restaurant in Spucevale, which is uncreatively named Taste of Thailand, but it’s slightly better than the Thai place closest to campus in Marysburg, so I can’t complain.

It’s still odd to be with her in public, and it’s even odder to know that it doesn’t matter if we’re seen. We hold hands over the table like we’re in a cheesy movie. I lean over and kiss her more than once.

And we talk. I tell her about all the irritating things my brothers have done this week, about Thomas and Rusty, about preparations for Levi’s wedding, and she laughs.

She tells me that Javier is doing well in rehab, that he’s making ceramics in arts and crafts class, that he’s painting again, that he’s made friends with a barn kitten named Eustace, that he’s seeing a PTSD specialist every day.

Thalia tells me that Margaret was the one sending the emails to me. She tells me about the huge fight they got into in the middle of the night, and even though I think she downplays it, I can tell she’s rattled by the whole thing.

Then she heaps more sticky rice on her plate and scoops ginger stir fry on top, and pauses.

And she says, “My dad reported us.”

“I saw the pictures,” I say, and Thalia just nods.

“It was probably stupid of me to introduce you,” she says, shaking her head. “Not that I’ve ever introduced him to a boyfriend before, but I didn’t need a crystal ball to know how he’d react. Or that he’d find out you weren’t a grad student with a one-second Google.”

“You had other things on your mind,” I point out, eating one more spoonful of soup.

“I should have known,” she says.

“You should have done no such thing,” I tell her, and I reach out, across the table, capture her hand in mine again.

“I can’t believe he didn’t even talk to me first,” she says, and a pang of guilt works its way between my ribs, but then it’s gone. “He didn’t even ask what was going on. No, ‘Are you okay with this? No, ‘Are you happy?’ Because yes, and I am, and that’s not what mattered to him.”

“We can’t choose our parents and we can’t account for what they do,” I tell her, running my thumb over her knuckles.

She watches my hand for a long moment, then looks up at me.

“We’re no longer speaking,” she says. “I called him when I found out and told him he wasn’t welcome in my life any more.”

“Are you okay?” I ask, and she just nods, pushing her hair out of her face.

“Yeah,” she says, thoughtfully. “Yeah, I’m very okay.”

“The movie theater’s downtown?” Thalia asks, looking around Main Street, her hand in mine. “It must be a really small theater.”

“It is,” I confirm, trying to hide a smile. “One more block.”

We cross a street, pass two antique stores, and then I stop, open a door, hold it for her.

“This is a movie theater?” she says, frowning, reading the sign. “It says it’s the Martha Johnson Inn and —”

The moment she says it out loud, she stops and gives me an I see what you did there look, like she’s trying not to laugh.

“Seth’s sofa bed squeaks,” I murmur into her ear as we walk for the front desk.

“What, when you sleep on it?” she teases.

“Well, it squeaks every time I roll over, so I can only imagine the symphony it’s capable of producing when people fuck on it,” I tell her.

She’s faintly pink from the cold, but I swear the look she gives me glows.

“And here I was hoping for a dark parking lot and the back seat of your car,” she says.

“Never say never,” I tell her, and she laughs.

Check in feels like it takes hours. I went to high school with the owner’s daughters, of course, so I have to get updates on what Amanda and Bethany are doing these days while all I want is to take Thalia upstairs and listen to the way she says my name when I’m inside her.

After all, it’s one of my very favorite sounds.

At last, I’ve got the key to the Lafayette room, and when I turn, Thalia stands from her overstuffed armchair, tosses Rural Equestrienne onto the coffee table, and saunters over to me.

“After you,” I tell her, and nod at the stairs.

I’ve never been inside the Martha Johnson Inn before, but it’s pretty clear that it caters to the ten tourists that Sprucevale gets every year, most of whom are drawn by some obscure point of early American history.

Fittingly, the Inn looks like it was plucked straight out of Monticello or Mount Vernon — everything is hand-turned wood and thick, lushly patterned carpet, including the stairs. The place has a severe, buttoned-up feeling, as if someone in a waistcoat is about to bid me good day and maybe also refer to me as a rake.

After all, I’m about to be rakish as fuck.

Just for fun, I grab Thalia’s ass as she mounts the stairs. I’m pretty sure that my hand is in full view of everyone and anyone in the lobby, and I couldn’t care less.

“Don’t you know half the people watching us right now?” Thalia asks, looking at me over her shoulder.

I don’t unhand her ass. In fact, I squeeze it harder, sliding one finger into the crevice between her legs, and I can hear her breath hitch when I do.

“Probably,” I say. “And I don’t think they’re used to their upscale inn being used like a cheap hourly motel.”

“You never know,” she teases, looking around, then glancing back at me. “Early Americana gets some people pretty hot.”

“Some people?” I ask, as we reach the first floor and I spin the key around one finger, looking for room 104, my other hand still on her ass. “It’s working, then?”

“Sure,” she says as we walk up to the door. “A hand-turned bannister really gets me going, you know.”

“I knew we were in the right place,” I tease, looking down at the key in my hand, then at the door.

It’s an old-fashioned, heavy skeleton key, because of course it is. I shrug and shove it into the keyhole, but it doesn’t turn.

“Come on,” I mutter.

“Maybe you need to be gentle with it,” Thalia suggests, her voice dipping low, her words sending an electric tingle up my spine. She’s leaning against the wall by the door, winter coat open, hips cocked, the curve of her body a tantalizing suggestion.

“You think that’s it?” I ask, pushing a little harder, twisting both directions.

“I’m just saying, make sure it’s good and ready for you,” she says. “Go nice and slow.”

I glance down at her, eyes dancing, a laugh tugging at her lips.

“And how exactly should I go about doing that?” I ask, matching her tone. “Do you want me to talk dirty to a door, Thalia?”

“Only if you think you might get it open that way.”

Now she’s definitely laughing at me, her voice husky, tantalizing, and there’s a moment where I think I might lose my mind. Then I take a deep breath, focus, take the key out, put it back into the lock slowly, carefully.

“Ooh, just like that,” she whispers. “Fill it up nice and deep. Mmm.”

“Do you imagine you’re helping?” I tease.

“No,” she laughs.

I reach out, grab her by the waistband of her jeans, her hip hot against my cool fingers, pull her in toward me.

“Well, you’re not,” I tell her.

“Try turning it real hard and slow,” she murmurs. “Make it beg.”

I let her go but her body is still pressed against mine, still standing outside this stupid shut door. I run my thumb across her bottom lip, and all at once I’m trying not to laugh and also trying to get this door open before I give up and tear her clothes off in this hallway.

“Quit it,” I growl, twisting the key again and motherfucking hellfire bitch-ass fuck, it still doesn’t turn.

Thalia grins, and now she’s got one hand underneath my shirt, slowly tracing shapes along my skin.

“Have you tried,” she murmurs. “Jiggling it?”

I jiggle the key, ever so slightly.

It turns the tiniest bit, and Thalia gasps. It’s the same way she gasps when I do something she likes, and the noise goes straight to my already-painfully-hard cock.

“Don’t stop,” she murmurs, looking up at me, teasing me even as her face flushes a shade of pink I’ve come to know well. “It’s so close, Caleb. Don’t stop. Please don’t stop.”

I jiggle it again and the lock turns, slowly, then all at once and the bolt slides back.

I swear Thalia makes the quietest of moans as it does.

I shove the door open so fast it slams into the doorstop on the other side, the crack echoing through the hall so loudly I’m certain someone will come investigate.

I grab Thalia, laughing. I push her inside, slam the door, bolt it again, take her by the hips and walk her backward.

“Tomorrow everyone’s going to be talking about how the youngest Loveless brother tried to fuck a door, and it’s all going to be your fault,” I tease her.

“Oops,” she says, her arms already around my neck, her fingers in my hair, clearly not sorry. “But it worked, didn’t it?”

She backs up against a table and without thinking I grab her, lift her onto it. It protests slightly under her weight, and it’s probably hand-made from expensive wood, and I couldn’t care less as I grab her hand and press it against my cock, still straining at my zipper.

“Did it?” I ask, capturing her mouth with mine, her bottom lip between my teeth. “Did it work like you wanted, Thalia?”

I shrug my coat off as she wraps her legs around me, kiss her again, harder, groaning into her mouth as she slides her hand from tip to root.

“Because this is what happens when you suggest that I do anything slower and deeper and harder,” I go on. “But you knew that.”

“Well, I was hoping,” she admits, a smile in her voice.

“Liar,” I say, grinning. “You know exactly the effect you have on me and you enjoy every second of it. Get this off,” I tell her, pushing her coat over her shoulders.

She sits back, pulls it over her arms, and it slides off the table.

“And this,” I say, tugging at her sweater. She pulls it off and I get my own shirt over my head just as she reveals a long-sleeved shirt.

“That too,” I say, planting my hands on the wooden table, her thighs between my hips and forearms. “Anything else you’ve got on, get it off. You’re done teasing me for today.”

“It was cold,” she says, revealing a tank top, pulling that over her head.

“But it’s warm now, and I like it when you’re wearing nothing,” I tell her.

She unhooks her bra and I practically rip it off her body, pull her to me, kiss her feverishly. Her skin against mine is molten, electric, and I think I growl as I run my hands up her stomach, let her breasts fill my hands, pinch her dark nipples between my fingers.

Thalia groans into my mouth, her legs tightening around my hips and I press myself against her, cock throbbing like I might explode.

She opens her mouth under mine, and I find her tongue with mine, tangle them together as I roll her nipples again between my fingers, feel the tremor move through her body and into mine.

I do it again, feel the tremble, the aftershock and I record every motion, every noise, a seismograph to her earth. She makes me believe in magic, it’s true, but I still want to map her bit by bit, know precisely what causes which reaction.

It’s by far the most fascinating data I’ve ever compiled, and I pinch her nipples again, harder and this time she gasps, bites my lower lip.

“I did miss you,” she murmurs, her mouth on mine, and I take her nipples between my fingers, brush my thumbs over the pads.

“Tell me again,” I say, and I feel her smile against me.

“I missed you,” she says, and she sits forward. “When I couldn’t find you I went to your house and laid in your bed.”

I move my hand, run them down her back, along her spine, feel the way she arches. I grab her ass, pull her into me, imagining her naked and spread on my bed, one hand between her legs as her eyes drift closed.

“And what did you do?” I ask, my voice rough.

“What do you think?” she murmurs.

I pull open the button on her jeans, practically rip the zipper open, splay them open around her hips. She leans back, on her elbows, and she lifts her hips and I pull her jeans off, throw them on the floor behind myself, drop to my knees.

“I think I should probably be concerned that you went to my house when I wasn’t there and got yourself off on my bed,” I tell her, pushing her legs apart.

I press my mouth against the inside of one thigh, then suck her soft skin into my mouth, just hard enough to leave a welt for the next day or so. She makes a soft noise that’s half gasp, half moan, and I breathe in her scent: heady and musky and so, so sweet.

“I have a key,” she says, her breath coming faster, teasing. “I didn’t break in.”

I laugh softly and mark her again, harder this time, leaving a bruise that’ll last a few days on the inside of her golden thigh. I like thinking of her finding these later, in the shower, when she’s getting dressed, and blushes as she remembers what left them.

I look up at her. She’s propped herself up on one elbow, her eyelids low, and as she watches me she slides a hand through my hair, one knee thrown over my shoulder, her other foot on a chair.

“Are you marking me?” she asks, and I run a thumb over two small splotches on the inside of her golden thigh, my heart beating so hard I can feel it in my fingertips.

“Yes,” I admit. “It’s so I can come back here tomorrow and remember right now.”

“Good,” she says. “I like the reminder.”

“Good,” I say, and finally slide my hand up the inside of one now-marked thigh until my fingers reach her wetness, skimming across her lips, and her hips jerk. “I like giving you something to think about.”

Thalia makes a noise in her throat that’s partly a strangled groan, partly a sharp gasp, and her fingers tighten in my hair, then instantly release, like she’s afraid of hurting me.

She can’t. Not when she’s so wet for me that my fingers are soaked from a single touch. Not when her lips are swollen with desire, not when her hips move ever so slightly toward me.

I’m lost, giddy. I want to fall into her and never come out. I want to possess her. I want her to never say another name that isn’t mine. I want to be the last person to ever spread her legs and find out just how wet she is, the last person to feel her shudder at the first lick, the last person to feel her come.

Thalia says my name, barely a whisper. I slide my fingers along her slit and revel in her one last time, and I push them inside her and find her clit with my tongue and God, she moans. I lick her harder, sink myself in her to my knuckles, and I swear she tastes like honey on my tongue.

I take her right to the edge. I wait for the tremor that says she’s holding her breath, that she’s almost there. I wait for her toes to curl and I wait for that sound, that high-pitched gasp, and then I stop. I lick her one last time and I pull my fingers out of her, turn my head, mark her one last time as she releases me.

I stand and she’s already sitting up, mouth on mine, tasting herself as she practically tears my jeans open.

“Tease,” she gasps, pulling down the zipper.

“Just greedy,” I say, pressing my body to hers, my mouth to hers, and she wraps her hand around my length, strokes me. “I like when you come in my mouth, but Thalia, I really like when you come on my cock.”

“What else do you really like?” she murmurs, stroking me again.

“Raindrops on roses,” I say, and she bites my lower lip, stopping me.

I grab a condom from my pocket and I get my pants off, my cock still in her in hands. I reach between her legs again just because I can, strum her clit again, feel the wave move through her body.

“I like that out there, you’re a polite good girl, and in here you’re my own personal sex goddess,” I tell her. “I like the list you made of ways you want to fuck me. I like that you took notes when we tried them.”

I didn’t care that she was a virgin when she told me. I still don’t, but there’s something about knowing she’s never said this to anyone else that makes my heart beat like a drum.

There’s something about first that, despite everything, makes me flutter.

There’s something about only that makes me feel like I own the universe.

I step back, find the chair, sit and pull her after me.

“And I like that being with you feels like the solution to a problem I didn’t know I had,” I say. “You’re strangely like coming home, Thalia. Truth is, I just like you.”

She straddles my lap and the chair creaks below our combined weight as she moves forward, pressing my length along herself.

“I like you too,” she says, simply. I put my thumb on her lower lip, slide it over her chin, down her neck.

“But what do you really like?” I murmur. “Come on, Thalia.”

She smiles and leans forward, her face against mine, and without looking she takes the condom out of my hand.

“I like looking across a room filled with people and knowing that I’m the one who gets to go home with you,” she says, pulls back slightly. She rips the condom open with her teeth, and my cock jumps against her.

“What else do you like?” I ask, holding onto her hips as she grabs my cock, rolls the condom down it, pumping me slowly, a slow, wicked smile spreading across her face.

“I like the way you look on the very first stroke,” she murmurs, breathless. “I like the way you feel inside me. I like the sound you make when you realize you’re not going to hurt me and you start fucking me as hard as you can.”

For a moment, I’m speechless, because I’ve never heard Thalia say anything like that before.

Speechless and utterly, completely desperate for her.

I grab her, pull her up until she’s half-standing and half kneeling, her forehead still against mine, and I slide the tip of my cock against her clit, between her lips, against her tight, hot entrance.

“Are you teasing me?” I whisper.

“No,” she murmurs. “I’m savoring the moment right before you make me lose my mind.”

With that, she sinks onto me. Her eyes slide closed and she groans, her fingernails digging into my shoulders as she takes me all in one stroke and my vision goes black, then gray.

I have her by the hips, holding her so tight I think I might leave bruises but I can’t stop myself, pulling her down, pushing as deep as I can as she moans, her hips rolling, her whole body a single movement that begs me for more.

“That look,” she whispers.

“The one I make because you feel so fucking good I’m afraid I’m going to come instantly?” I ask, voice rough and low.

She leans forward and kisses me. It’s a soft kiss, a delicate kiss, careful and gentle, even as she rolls her hips against me and moves my cock inside her and I can’t help but growl, can’t help but grab her and move her and push myself harder and deeper and feel the quiver that moves through her body.

I want her. I need her like I didn’t know I could need someone else. I want her to belong to me in a way that transcends possession, that transcends everything. I want to burn her into my skin just so everyone who sees me knows whose I am.

We kiss again and then she leans away, just slightly. She reaches behind herself and anchors her hands on my thighs. She rocks back and forth and I drag her into me, over and over again, as hard and deep as I can.

I watch her face, feel the way she shakes and I hit that spot over and over again. She whimpers, moans, bites her lip. Her breasts bounce, her nipples tracing circles in the air and she’s gloriously beautiful, flushed and rapturous and, unbelievably, mine.

“Caleb,” she whispers, and she reaches one hand for my face, darts a thumb across my lips.

“Thalia,” I answer, the only word I have right now.

“You’re not gonna hurt me,” she says.

I pull her onto my cock as hard as I can. Every muscle in my body tenses and Thalia cries out, gasps, digs her nails into my thighs so I do it again and she whimpers, moans, pulls me forward.

“Please,” she says, the words hardly audible. “Caleb, please.”

“I love you,” I say, and she trembles and I sink as hard and deep as I can, like maybe I can meld our bodies into one.

“I love you back,” she says.

“Come,” I tell her, the word a growl, a command, a foretelling as she flutters, clenches, her foreshocks rocking through me. “Let me feel you come, please let me feel you —"

“Caleb,” she whimpers, and she does.

I feel like the earth shakes, like the timber of my bones might crack apart. Thalia is a cataclysm, a force of nature, unstoppable and perfect as she says my name again and again and clenches like a fist around me, still somehow begging for more.

I follow her instantly, helplessly. Everything I have is hers, and I offer it over and over until she finally stops moving, warm and supple against me. I kiss her on the neck and on the cheek and then, finally, on the mouth, my arms around her as she curls herself around me.

We stay like that for a long time, my face pressed into the crook of her neck, her chin atop my head as I run my fingers up and down her spine and she traces idle circles on one shoulder.

Finally she shifts, just enough that I slide out of her, and she moves and sits on me sidesaddle, one arm slung around my shoulders as I lean back against the chair that we’ve probably just sullied.

“I have a confession,” she says, playing with my hair again.

“Go on,” I say, and can’t help but smile.

“I lied about what I was doing on your bed when I went to your house.”

I pause for a moment, looking at her.

“Were you really on my bed?” I ask, tapping my fingers against her back.

“I was,” she says. “I really did miss you. I just didn’t lie there and think of you and masturbate.”

Damn.

“You just laid there and missed me, then?” I ask.

“Not exactly.”

“Thalia,” I say, and I’m trying to scold her just a little, but my voice comes out slow and lazy. “The hell did you do on my bed?”

“I called your brother,” she says, her eyes dancing with laughter. “To see if he knew where you were.”

I can’t help but smile, start laughing myself.

“Thank you for lying earlier,” I say. “That’s the least erotic thing you could have said.”

“I’m sure it’s not the least erotic,” she says, then gives me a quick kiss and hops off my lap, heading for the bathroom.

“It is,” I call. “Seth’s a total bonerkiller.”

“Be nice, he’s letting us stay with him,” she calls back, then shuts the door.

The room has a four-poster bed, a plush couch, and a fireplace, not to mention a very fancy shower and fluffy, luxe bathrobes.

We sit on the couch in bathrobes and debate which founding father was the coolest, though we quickly settle on Benjamin Franklin. We talk about my future and our future and then my future again, though it’s not much of a distinction because it’s obvious they’re the same thing. We talk about a month from now and six months from now and a year from now and we both assume that we’ll still be together so easily that it’s completely unremarkable.

Then she takes a shower and obviously, I interrupt it and it turns out I like the way she moans my name when her voice is bouncing off tile.

We fall asleep together in the huge bed, and I don’t dream about a single thing.

CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE

CALEB

I hear the door shut downstairs and the sound jerks me from half-awake to fully awake, the springs of Seth’s sofa bed sighing underneath me. I lie there, Thalia sleeping next to me, her arm draped over my chest, and I listen.

Footsteps: a creak on that floorboard in Seth’s living room, then quickly, quietly, up the stairs.

I glance at the clock: six-thirty in the morning, and a dark shadow flickers across my heart because I know, I know, that he’s just now coming home. I haven’t seen him since Friday afternoon, and now it’s Sunday morning, and I have a sinking feeling about where he’s been.

I move Thalia’s arm as gently as I can, roll off the sofa bed. I find my pants in the dark and pull them on, glance back at her one more time, open the door of Seth’s office and close it quietly behind myself.

Two doors down, the outline of my brother pauses.

“Did you just get home?” I ask.

“I went out for a run,” he says, his voice quiet, hushed.

“In jeans?”

Seth sighs, rocks back on his heels. He turns and faces me, arms folded over his chest, and looks me dead in the eye.

“What?” he says.

“Don’t do this,” I say, softly.

“Do what?” he says, his voice low, quiet, deadly.

“Don’t go back to her again,” I say, nearly whispering. “Do you remember the last time? You swore —”

“I was lying,” he says, and I close my eyes, take a deep breath.

“Please?” I ask.

My eyes are adjusting, and now I can see his face, light eyes and dark hair, cheeks and jaw and chin all variations on my own.

“I’m fine,” he says, answering the question that I didn’t even have to ask.

“Are you?” I say, and the words drop like a stone into the floor, lie there between us.

“Of course I am,” he says, and turns away, opens his bedroom door. “I’m totally fucking fine, just like always. I’m gonna take a shower, see you in a few.”

Seth closes the door behind himself and I stand there, glaring at it, wishing that I knew black magic so I could curse her name.

Then I take a deep breath, shake it off, and go back into a sleeping Thalia.

CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR

THALIA

“All right,” says Caleb, looking at his phone and swiping a few times. “So far, so good. Next.”

He holds his phone screen out to me and I lean forward, studying the face that he’s zoomed in on: bearded, brown-eyed, very obviously one of his brothers.

“Levi,” I say instantly. “I met him yesterday. Oldest brother, engaged to June, lives in the cabin he built, Chief Arborist for the National Forest, has a dog named Hedwig and a rug named Jedediah.”

“Excellent,” says Caleb, taking the phone back and swiping more, then holding it out again.

“Violet,” I say. “Married to Eli, the middle brother —”

“Second oldest,” Caleb corrects.

“Damn. Married to Eli, the second oldest, lives in the house on the lake, manages operations at the Folk Art museum.”

“You’re on fire,” Caleb says, grinning, looking at his phone and swiping some more. “Okay, who’s this?”

He holds out a picture of a man who’s handsome and smiling, but who doesn’t look related to him. For a moment, I’m stumped.

Then I snap my fingers.

“June’s brother,” I say. “Levi’s friend. Lawyer, former Marine…”

“And his name is…?”

I squeeze my eyes shut in concentration.

“Rhymes with… guileless, sort of?”

“Guileless?” I repeat, baffled.

Then, it hits me.

“Silas?” I say.

“Correct!” Caleb says.

We’re sitting on Seth’s couch in his living room, both drinking coffee while Caleb quizzes me on the people I’ll probably meet this afternoon.

“That doesn’t rhyme at all,” Seth’s voice says from the staircase, and half a second later, he appears.

“Seth,” I say to Caleb, pointing. “Fourth oldest, owns the brewery with Daniel.”

“Don’t forget coolest, handsomest, and smartest,” Seth says, walking in front of us and to the kitchen.

“He’s not that cool,” Caleb says, flipping through pictures again as he sips his coffee. “Or that smart,” he mutters, mostly to himself.

“Did you make flashcards?” Seth calls.

“Not technically,” Caleb calls back.

“Dork,” Seth says.

“Dweeb,” says Caleb.

Seth comes out of the kitchen with his own steaming mug, looks from me to Caleb and back, then takes a seat in the leather armchair opposite us as Caleb holds his phone out toward me again.

“Daniel,” I say. “Married to Charlie, owns the brewery with Seth, has a nine-year-old named Rusty and a baby named Thomas. Will give you a hard time if you curse in front of his kids.”

“He’s relaxed about that a little,” Seth offers. “I think Rusty’s finally learned about context and doesn’t call the lunch line at school a total clusterfuck any more.”

“Charlie’s also a calming influence,” Caleb says, flipping through pictures again. “I think that’s pretty much everyone.”

“And if you get a name wrong, don’t panic,” Seth offers. “Mom still doesn’t get my name right on the first try half the time, and she gave birth to me.”

“I’m Levi or Daniel a lot,” Caleb says. “Even though I’m way better looking.”

“I get Javier sometimes, and we’re not even the same gender,” I offer.

“Last week Mom called me Thomas, and he’s been dead for almost twenty years,” Seth says. “Unless she meant the baby, I guess.”

Caleb and I exchange a quick, half-second glance, and then it’s over. I wonder if he’ll ever tell his brothers. I wonder if he should.

“You and Eli do look a lot like Dad,” Caleb says.

“So I hear,” Seth says, then finishes his mug, stands, stretches. “Anyone else need more coffee? I’m gonna make another pot.”

“You’re not nervous, are you?” he asks, taking my hand as we walk up the gravel driveway to the big, old farmhouse.

We’re back in the woods, probably a quarter mile from the road, the naked trees waving overhead in the breeze. It’s cold but clear, the air so crisp I swear it smells like leaves and granite.

“Of course I’m nervous,” I say. “I’m about to meet your entire family for the first time and I just cost you your job.”

“No, I cost me my —"

“You know what I mean,” I say, my other hand tugging at the scarf around my neck. It’s the same one he lent me a few months ago, and even though I keep offering to give it back, he never takes it.

“I do,” he says, slowly. “But I prefer to think of you as the girl so amazing that I didn’t mind giving up my job, and that’s definitely how I’ve been pitching this.”

“Thanks,” I say, and I try to sound light, but I’m nervous. Of course I’m nervous. I’m sure it would be easy to see me as some wicked seductress who led to their youngest brother’s downfall, not to mention I’m younger than Caleb and way younger than his brothers.

That said, I did do the math, and I’m technically closer in age to Levi than to Rusty, so hopefully they still let me sit at the grownups’ table.

We head up the stairs to the front porch, but before Caleb opens the screen door, he turns to me, takes my shoulder in the hand that isn’t holding several baguettes.

“I love you, and so will they,” he says, quietly, then gives me a quick, soft kiss.

“Thanks,” I say again, trying to quell the beating of my heart.

Then Caleb glances at the door, and for the first time, he looks a little apprehensive.

“That said, their love can be kind of a lot, so steel yourself,” he says, and pulls the door open.

“ — tell pine from oak just by looking at it,” someone is already shouting. “It all looks wooden.”

“The heavier one is oak,” a voice calls from the next room.

“Hey, Caleb,” says a woman’s voice as we step inside, and I look around. “Oh! Shit! Hey, Thalia!”

“Hey, Charlie,” Caleb says, already laughing. “This is —”

She’s already practically scooped me up in a hug, her wild curly hair all over the place.

“We’re so glad you could make it!” she says, cutting Caleb off. “Seriously, it’s been nothing but ‘Thalia this’ and ’Thalia that,’ so thank God you’re finally here!”

“It’s nice to meet you too,” I say when she releases me, slightly stunned.

“Hey, Thalia,” calls a man who’s kneeling in front of the fireplace. “Can you tell pine from oak?”

“One’s got needles,” I point out, and Charlie laughs.

“I mean in log form,” says Eli, standing and brushing his hands off. “Hi, it’s nice to meet you in person.”

He also gives me a hug. Apparently we’re all huggers here.

“Here, I’ve got your name tag,” a woman says as he lets me go, and I turn to see Violet holding up a large sticker that says:

HELLO

My name is

THALIA

• Caleb’s girlfriend

• Psych major

• Navy brat

“Wow,” I say, because for a moment, words truly fail me, but Violet just laughs.

“I tried to include at least one conversation starter,” she says. “Oh, here’s Caleb’s.”

“I’m literally the one person here who everyone knows,” he points out, accepting the sticker anyway.

“Let me have my fun,” Violet says, and he dutifully puts the sticker on his chest.

“This was fun?” he teases her.

“You have no idea,” she says.

Caleb was right, and everyone is wonderful. For a little while I feel guilty about how nice they are, just welcoming me into their lives like they’ve been waiting this whole time, especially when my own family has been somewhat less than kind to Caleb.

Okay, a lot less than kind.

But still, I remember what Caleb told me when I was crying on the floor of his bedroom, when I called his family perfect and he laughed and told me everyone’s flaws, the ways they’d fucked up.

Finally, meeting most of his family for the first time, I realize his point: flaws are just flaws, not the entirety of a person. They matter, but what really matters is learning to look past them.

I meet Eli (whose name tag says older brother / married to Violet / chef), who tries to get me on his side in some argument he’s having with Levi about wood, and Violet (married to Eli / knows a lot about quilts), who laughs and pokes holes in his logic.

There’s Levi (oldest brother / engaged to June / likes trees), and June (engaged to Levi / ask me anything about old-timey outlaws), who I met yesterday at dinner, and I talk to them for a while about the checkered history of firearms in national parks. It turns out that June has a deep and broad knowledge of everyone who’s been murdered in a national park, and we talk for a while.

I meet Rusty (Daniel and Charlie’s daughter / knows skateboarding tricks), who very quickly tells me that technically, Charlie is her stepmom but since Charlie is her legal guardian, she and Violet decided to simplify the name tag. She also asks me if I know anything about an Olympic sport called skeleton.

I do not. She tells me. It’s like the luge, but you go head first.

I hold Thomas (Daniel and Charlie’s son / hates socks). I meet Clara (mom / astronomer / baker of pies), and we talk for a long time about grad school, about academia, and then finally about why we can send people to the moon but not make high heels that don’t suck.

We have dinner, then pie, and by the time that I’m practically quizzing Daniel (middle brother / married to Charlie / Rusty and Thomas’s dad / co-owns the brewery) about yeast behavior at various temperatures during the fermentation process, I’ve completely forgotten that I was ever nervous to meet them in the first place.

After dessert I use the bathroom upstairs, and when I come out, Caleb is on the landing, alone.

“I’m allowed to be in there,” I tell him, and he just laughs.

“I didn’t come to bust you for using the wrong bathroom, I came to see how you were doing,” he says, keeping his voice low, glancing at the stairs. “Like I said, I know they can be a lot.”

At the bottom of the stairs, someone — Silas? — is asking loudly about some kind of event permit, Thomas is starting to fuss, and I can hear Daniel very patiently explaining that something or other is dangerous. I don’t know what’s dangerous, but I’m pretty sure I know who he’s talking to.

Caleb casts a suspicious glance at the downstairs, then nods his head and pulls me into one of the bedrooms.

“Was this one yours?” I ask, looking around. Right now it’s just a guest room: bed, dresser, curtains, all perfectly nice but nothing that suggests who slept here.

“They were all mine at some point,” he says. “I think we changed who slept where every six months or so. There were a lot of shifting alliances.”

“Sounds tricky,” I say, still glancing around.

“It wasn’t really,” Caleb says, laughing. “If nothing else, we’re all pretty straightforward so it was pretty much a matter of me telling Daniel that I was annoyed with him and I’d like to sleep in Levi’s room now, please, or Levi getting tired of sleeping with a middle-schooler and swapping me for Eli, or… you get the idea.”

“I don’t. I’m the only girl, I always had my own room,” I say.

“Aren’t you fancy?”

“Yes.”

“You doing okay?” he asks, pushing a strand of hair from my face.

“With your family?”

He nods.

“I am,” I say, a little surprised at how easily the words come. “They’re really nice. And actually interesting.”

“That’s one way to put it,” he says, and I laugh.

“I like them,” I say. “I like you, and I like them. Deal with it.”

“If you insist,” he says, bends down, and kisses me.

I very, very briefly consider the guest bed that we’re standing next to, but it’s clearly the worst idea in the history of bad ideas.

“Thanks for calling Seth from my bed and tracking me down,” he says when the kiss is over. “I was a little out of sorts.”

The corner of his name tag sticks to me slightly, and I pull it from my shirt, anchor it back to him.

“You like it?” he asks, looking down.

HELLO

my name is

CALEB

• Youngest brother

• Thalia’s boyfriend

• Good at math

“I guess it’s only fair,” I point out. “Though I’m not really sure who it’s for.”

“It’s for Violet and June, who made these and thought it was funny,” he says, smiling.

“They were right.”

“I kind of like having a label that says I’m your boyfriend,” he says, running his finger across the handwritten name tag one more time.

“It does look good on you,” I tease. “Should we head back out there? I should head back to Marysburg soon, I’ve got class in the morning.”

“Probably,” he says, but as I turn he catches my hand.

“Hey, Thalia.”

I just raise one eyebrow.

“Love you,” he says.

I twist his hand around in mine, bring his knuckles to my lips.

“Love you too,” I say. “And for the record, I love them. Flaws and all.”

“I wouldn’t say that until you know their flaws,” he murmurs.

“I know yours and I love you anyway,” I point out, and he leans in again, rests his forehead against mine.

“I have no idea what I’m going to do,” he admits, his voice low, quiet. “To be totally honest, I only know one thing.”

The base of my neck tingles, and I close my eyes, lean into him.

“What’s that?”

“I’ll be doing it next to you,” he says. “And I’m pretty sure I can handle anything if you’re with me.”

“Anything?”

“Anything.”

I put a hand around his neck, draw him in, kiss him. He tastes a little like cinnamon, smells a little bit of pine and just-fallen leaves and I wonder again, for the thousandth time, at my luck in finding him.

Then the kiss ends. Caleb squeezes my hand, reaches for the door, pulls it open and the cacophony floods in.

And it sounds just like home.

EPILOGUE

THALIA

SIX MONTHS LATER

I ignore the sweat pouring down my back and crouch in front of the box, bending my legs and keeping my back straight. The corners firmly in my hands, I take a deep breath, plant my heels, and lift.

“Ollie, for fuck’s sake,” a voice behind me says.

“I got it,” I gasp out, fingers already slipping.

“You don’t,” Javier says, hurrying around the other side of the box I’m attempting to lift. “What happened to I’ll get the smaller boxes?”

He wraps his arms around it and takes it from me, lifting it like it weighs nothing.

“I can get that one!” I protest, but Javier ignores me and walks down the ramp of the moving truck, then into the open front door of our apartment.

“Do you think you’re Rosie the Riveter again?” Bastien asks, hopping up into the moving truck.

“I’ve been taking a weightlifting class at the gym,” I protest, eyeing the rest of the boxes, because I think Javier just took the last one I had even half a chance of lifting.

The rest all seem to be labeled BOOKS.

Turns out that between Caleb and I, we have a whole lot of books. That’s actually one of the reasons we picked this apartment in Ochreville, the town that contains the Virginia Institute of Technology: the living room is lined with bookshelves.

“Has that made you taller than five-foot-two or infused your body with testosterone?” Bastien asks, casually lifting a box and hoisting it onto his shoulder.

“I’m five four,” I tell him, and finally grab a floor lamp that’s sitting next to a box. It’s very light, and I carry it into our new living room, then plant it on the floor and look around.

Boxes. Boxes everywhere, interspersed with furniture that mostly came from Caleb’s old apartment, because it’s not like I fought to keep the coffee table that Harper, Victoria, Margaret and I found on a curb our sophomore year.

“Which room is green?” asks a voice, followed moments later by Silas, bringing another box in.

“Green is the study, purple is the bedroom, blue is the living room,” Levi says with the patience of someone who’s explained something a thousand times. “It’s on the chart on the wall.”

“You know, Thalia,” Silas calls, walking down the hall. “Some people just label their boxes with words.”

“Every system has flaws,” I call after him and Levi.

I didn’t even know Silas was coming until he showed up this morning at Levi’s house, where Caleb and I had spent the night. He claimed that he just wanted the free donuts and pizza, but as we were driving, Caleb told me his suspicions.

It’s early August, and the two months since I’ve graduated have been a whirlwind. My lease with my roommates ended in June, so I moved in with Caleb for a little while. Dr. Castellano offered me a summer job continuing my research for her before I started graduate school this fall, and Caleb got a freelance gig writing problems for a mathematics textbook.

Slowly but surely, things are working themselves out. I kept my scholarship and graduated Magna Cum Laude; Caleb has been tutoring and working on textbooks and generally figuring out what to do with his life, now that he can do anything.

I was worried he’d hate it. I was worried that he’d resent me for losing his job, that he’d feel like he’d wasted years of his life in graduate school only spend one semester as a professor, but he’s been fine.

Happy, even. Almost giddy. Once a week he comes home with some new harebrained scheme, and even though he never acts on any of them — an audio tour of the Appalachian Trail? An app that will instantly tell you if a number is prime or not? — he’s got a verve and energy just talking about them, about all the possibilities that he’s got now.

“You’re not just standing around, are you?” he says, and speak of the devil, Caleb comes into the living room through the sliding glass door that leads to the back yard we share with the other two apartments in this building.

“I’m strategizing,” I say, my hands on my hips.

“Sure,” he says, grinning. “Looks exhausting.”

“Well, every time I try to move a box someone else comes along and does it for me,” I point out.

“Poor thing,” he teases.

“I’ve accepted that my fate is to direct the lot of you,” I say. “Someone’s gotta be the project manager.”

“And someone’s gotta be the workhorse?” he asks, raising his eyebrows.

I just shrug, laughing, and he heads back outside to get some more boxes.

Twenty minutes later, it’s done. Or, at least, everything that was once in the moving truck is now in our apartment, so Silas, Levi, Javier, and Bastien are done.

Our unpacking adventure, on the other hand, is just beginning. Or it will be, soon. Not today.

Today, the six of us flop on the floor, couch, and kitchen chairs, drinking cold lemonade that I had the foresight to bring. I’m on the couch between Bastien and Caleb, Levi is on a kitchen chair flipping through my paperback of One Hundred Years of Solitude, and Silas and Javier are on the floor while Silas digs through a box of my old textbooks.

“That’s also the golden ratio,” Javier is saying, lifting lemonade to his lips. “Everything is the golden ratio. It’s golden. Humans just like it.”

“What about the Mona Lisa?” Silas asks.

Javier leans back on his hands, sighing and looking thoughtful. He’s still wearing long sleeves, despite the heat, but his skin is back to being the right color. There’s life in his eyes again. He’s been out of rehab for a little over three months, and so far, I think it’s working.

“Probably,” he says. “Da Vinci was all about using math in art.”

Caleb leans back, puts one arm around me.

One second later, he takes it back.

“Sorry,” he says. “Too hot.”

“Also, you’re sticky,” I say, laughing.

On the floor, Silas pulls out my Abnormal Psychology textbook.

“Well, you’re also sticky,” Caleb says, resting his hands on top of his head. “We should unpack the shower first.”

“Pretty sure the shower’s already there,” I say, and Caleb just laughs.

“I’m not the one who has a specific conditioner for each day of the week,” he teases. “Just hand me some dish soap and I’m good.”

“I didn’t just hear that,” I tell him. “Are you trying to decimate your moisture barrier?”

“Yes?” he asks, quizzically. “No? Which one’s the right answer?”

“No,” offers Levi, still reading One Hundred Years of Solitude. “You need your moisture barrier.”

I point at Caleb’s oldest brother.

“He knows,” I say.

“Fine,” Caleb concedes. “We’ll unpack the shower accoutrement before bathing.”

We go quiet again. Silas and Javier are still talking, leaning against boxes, as Silas asks Javier why my textbook is so ugly and Javier explains all the design problems with the cover.

He’s been taking graphic design courses at night and working in a hardware store during the day, still living with my parents, and I admit, that last part worries me. I wish I could get him out of Norfolk, away from the same people who were there last time he slipped, but I haven’t been able to yet.

On my other side, Bastien leans in toward me.

“You know,” he confesses, quietly, “I thought there would be fewer shirts.”

I look around the room, and then at him.

“Is that why you helped?” I ask, giving him a look.

“No, I helped because you’re my favorite sister and you asked very nicely,” he says. “But…”

“You know they’re all straight,” I point out. “And also one is your brother.”

“I wasn’t excited for him taking his shirt off,” he says. “And I know they’re straight. Doesn’t mean I can’t look.”

Caleb leans toward me again.

“What are you two talking about?” he murmurs. “Are you talking about Silas and your brother?”

“Sort of,” I say.

“It’s not important,” Bastien says.

“Wait, what about them?” I ask.

They’re still talking, animatedly, sitting on the floor. Now Silas is just pulling random books from boxes, and they’re flipping through them, talking, laughing.

“I think this is why Silas came,” Caleb says.

“To meet Javier?” I say, quietly, as my brother and my boyfriend both lean in toward me.

“Wait, what?” Bastien asks. “Hold on.”

“Silas heard that you had a brother in rehab who’d come out of the Marines with some pretty bad problems,” Caleb says, shrugging. “He asked me a ton of questions last time we were both at my mom’s for dinner, probably because he’s also a former Marine.”

Bastien and I just stare at Silas and Javier, on the floor, chatting away.

“Huh,” we say, exactly in unison, then look at each other.

“Jinx, you owe me a coke,” Bastien says.

“Put it on my tab,” I tell him, then lean back, into the couch.

“Okay,” I say, raising my voice enough that the whole room can hear me. “What kind of pizza do you guys want?”

After we eat, Silas and Levi both leave for Sprucevale again, though Silas gives Javier his card before heading out. I unearth a trash bag, throw away pizza boxes and paper plates, and then take a good, long look around at the apartment.

At our apartment.

It still feels a little surreal. I’ve wondered a couple times if this is a good idea, if moving in with my older boyfriend at twenty-three is the right move. From the outside, it looks weird, like I’m settling down too fast when I should be sowing my wild oats and living a wild life and… whatever you’re supposed to do in your twenties.

But I don’t feel any of that. I know I’m supposed to wonder what it’s like to have sex with other people, but the truth is, I don’t really care. I found my person. What does it matter if anyone else is out there?

I’m still standing there, looking at the living room, when Caleb comes up behind me and wraps an arm around my waist, slings the other over my shoulder, rests his chin on top of my head.

“We should probably get rid of some books before the next time we move,” he says, contemplating boxes.

“I can’t think about moving again right now,” I admit.

“I thought it went pretty well.”

“It did,” I say, hooking my hands over his arms and leaning back. “Though I think I lifted, like, two things, so of course it went well for me.”

It also went well because I got to watch Caleb lift a lot of heavy things, which is one of my favorite sights, even if he didn’t take his shirt off.

Down the hall, in the room that’s destined to be the study, I can hear Bastien and Javier talking, the sound of an air mattress being inflated. They’re spending the night and heading back to the Tidewater tomorrow.

“You’re not going to surprise me by being one of those people who organizes her bookshelf by color, are you?” he asks, his arms still around me.

“What if I am?” I say, still leaning back.

“Well, I’d point out that there are far better ways to organize a bookshelf,” he says, his voice dipping. “And I, for one, value efficiency over looks.”

“I’m gonna make a heart,” I tell him, and point at the bookshelves. “Right there. In the middle.”

He just sighs.

“And I’m gonna mix all your nerdy sci-fi books with my Jane Austen, and your number theory stuff with my neurology stuff, and you know what else?”

“I can’t bear to listen,” he says, laughing quietly.

“I’m not even going to separate fiction from nonfiction,” I whisper dramatically. “It’ll be chaos. You’ll rue the day you decided to live with me.”

“I doubt that,” he says. “Chaos, yes, obviously. Rue the day, never.”

“Textbooks and poetry, side by side,” I threaten.

“You’re gonna have to try way harder than that to get rid of me,” he says, arms still tight. “Thalia, I’ll love you even if you start using bookshelves for non-book items. Like plants, or knickknacks.”

“Even knickknacks?” I tease.

“Even knickknacks,” he confirms. “Even if they’re creepy porcelain dolls.”

I just laugh.

“I won’t,” I promise. “I love you too much for that.”

“Thank you,” he says, and plants a kiss on top of my head, and we stand there for a long moment, just looking at the living room together.

“I like this place,” I say, finally. “I like that it’s ours.”

“I like that too,” he says, softly. “And I like that the next place we live will also be ours, and the next one, and the next one.”

I turn my head so that I fit perfectly under his chin, speak to his shoulder. It’s been a long, hot, hard day, and my whole body feels slightly fuzzy, like I’m out of focus. Like I’m fading into him.

“Promise?” I ask.

“Absolutely,” he says. “You’re gonna have to grow old listening to my opinions about bookshelf organization.”

“Only if you agree to grow old watching me rearrange books to be prettier,” I tease.

“I can’t think of a better way to live,” he says, and I laugh, and I raise his hand to my lips and kiss his knuckles.

“Love you,” I say, softly.

“Love you back,” Caleb says.

I close my eyes. I relax, sinking into him. I try to crystallize this moment in my mind, this second where everything is perfect, because I know it won’t always be. There will be rough times and fights and we’ll get angry with each other, and I might need this moment then.

We’ll get through it. I have complete and utter faith in that, in our love for each other, in the unbreakable chain that binds my heart to his.

I still don’t believe in magic.

But this, I know, is magical.

THE END

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roxie@roxienoir.com

MR. MARSHALL’S METHOD

JESSA YORK

To those of you for whom something else calls.

Listen.

“I don’t know what lies around the bend, but I’m going to believe that the best does.”

L.M. Montgomery

ALSO BY JESSA YORK

Love In Santa Lena Series:

Book One: Falling For Jack

Book Two: Convincing Harper

Book Three: Waiting On Jason

Book Four: Healed by Chelsea

Learning To Love Series:

Book One: Mr. Marshall’s Method

Book Two: Professor Richter’s Rules

Book Three: Dating Doctor Deveraux

Christmas At The Sugarberry Inn Series:

Book One: A Holiday Homecoming

Las Vegas Angels Duet Series

Book One: Zero Pucks Given (Gigi & Beau duet #1)

Book Two: Zero Pucks Left (Gigi & Beau duet #2)

Book Three: One Night Puck (Lexi & Trey duet #1)

Book Four: Pucked Up and Married (Lexi & Trey duet #2)

The Rosetti Crime Family Series

Book One: A Billion Desires

Book Two: A Billion Secrets

Book Three: A Billion Reasons

Book Four: A Billion Lies

Book Five: A Billion Consequences

Book Six: A Billion Decisions

Book Seven: A Billion Regrets

Book Eight: A Billion Vendettas

Mr. Marshall’s Method

Copyright © 2019 Jessa York

Thank you for reading and reviewing this book. It is illegal to distribute or sell this copy in any form. All rights reserved. No part of this book can be reproduced in any form or by electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems, without the express written permission of the author. The only exception is by a reviewer who may quote short excerpts in a review.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

Ebook

Cover Design by More Than Words Graphic Design

Proofing by Emily Kirkpatrick

Created with Vellum

CHAPTER ONE

Holly

“Fuck me hard and then some,” Ivy said, peering over my shoulder as I shoved more junk inside my locker, praying it would shut this time.

“Thanks for the offer, chickie, but I’ll refrain if that’s okay?”

“Is he a student or a teacher?” Paige said, slithering up on the other side of me. She gave my locker a body check to assist my efforts, eyes sticking off to the side.

“Teacher,” Ivy said, running her fingers through the mess of blonde curls on her head, fluffing herself up like she was ready to pounce.

Turning around, I shook my head. “What are you guys...holy cow,” I whispered as any breath I had in my lungs disappeared. The man these girls were talking about was hot. Take your breath away, strip your panties off kind of hot.

His dark hair was on the longer side of short. Just enough so I could run my fingers through it.

The man could be in film—he had just the right amount of rugged good looks mixed with boy next door charm.

They giggled at me while I attempted to recover. “Pick your jaw up, Holly,” Paige said, tapping her finger under my chin. Her arms were full of books and assignments not due for weeks. I’d bet my life on it.

“I would have done my makeup if I’d known we were getting a new teacher,” Ivy said, currently sporting an hour’s worth of face fixing.

“Kensington’s ticker went on the fritz last week,” Alex said, moseying on up to us. “My mom said he’ll be out for weeks if not months.” His mom was the principal of our high school. Therefore, he was our inside scoop into any and all gossip on the students and teachers.

“The new guy’s name is Mr. Marshall. Brand new to the system so we get to break him in,” Alex said, giving his hips a thrust.

“I have a feeling my English mark is about to improve dramatically,” Ivy said, shamelessly sticking her chest out before strutting off to introduce herself.

“You go, girl,” Alex said in his high-pitched voice. Ivy’s skirt was too short—her tight shirt, too low. Just like every day. The admin stopped calling her on dress code violations years ago. It did nothing anyway. The girl wore what the girl wanted to wear.

Which was interesting because we all had the same uniforms, but Ivy liked to get them—altered.

The last time Alex’s mom sent her home for improper hemlines, Ivy’s mom created such a shitstorm on social media the school ended up with a PR nightmare.

Thus, the reason little Miss Ivy got to prance around in her short skirts and gaping necklines. Not that any of these “boys” at school were her type anyway. She just liked to flaunt and tease the young hopefuls at Santa Lena’s Academy for the brightest and best—and those with the deepest pockets who were lucky enough to snag a spot.

Her real sights were normally set on college guys. Not that I blamed her one bit. While some of the boys in my school could be nice, they just didn’t—do it for me, if you know what I mean.

I’d always been attracted to men’s bodies as opposed to pre-growth spurt. Of course, it wasn’t only their physical selves that needed to catch up—their mental and emotional states were years behind us as well.

That was where I differed even more. In my mother’s shining brilliance, she decided to hold me back a year before sending me to kindergarten. My birthday is in August, so mom decided to give me a leg up on my classmates.

This backfired drastically on her once I began puberty earlier than expected. Add on the extra year I was already ahead of the other kids--you can imagine the awkwardness.

Sporting a full C-cup in grade six was not something you wanted when most of your friends were still playing with dolls when nobody was looking. Those middle school years were filled with boys’ stares, rude comments and unwanted, “accidental” touches.

Ivy flipped her hair back in the universally known love language of, “I’ll do whatever the heck you want,” as she laughed. Mr. Marshall nodded, smirked, then strode into his awaiting classroom.

“Burn,” Alex yelled, quickly getting Ivy’s attention. She saluted him with her pink-tipped middle finger before walking away.

“God damn it.” I heard a raspy voice say further behind the auditorium stage. It kind of freaked me out because other than myself, nobody was ever back here. Normally when I came during lunch to work on the drama set, I was all alone. Treading more carefully, I hugged my backpack closer to my stomach. The scent of decades of musty, dusty costumes and props filled my nose.

Passing the last curtain, I poked my head into one of the makeshift dressing rooms. It was the new teacher, shoulders hunched awkwardly over as he maniacally rubbed at his crotch. “What the…” I said out loud, not able to contain my confusion at what I saw. Was he getting—friendly with himself back here? My backpack dropped to the floor, creating a hollow, thudding sound.

His head jerked up, rag in hand, more than a little surprised to see me. My eyes couldn’t help but travel down to his pants where a large, blue spot appeared beside his pocket. “Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t realize anyone else would be back here,” I said, floundering with embarrassment. The white rag sported streaks of the same blue stain on his light brown pants.

“What happened?” I asked, retrieving my bag, walking into the room.

“I’m supposed to check on how the props are coming for the play. One of the projects tried to get up close and personal,” he said, a sexy smile popping up on his way-to-handsome face.

“I don’t blame it one bit,” I said in a low voice, taking the time to get a good look at our newest faculty member. The sleeves of his button-down shirt were undone and rolled up to his elbows, displaying the finest arms I’d seen in my life. If his forearms were that muscular, what would the rest of him look like?

“Pardon?”

“I said, I’ll help you out in a minute.” A faint blush started somewhere around my breasts then traveled upwards. Bending down, I hid my face for second, opening a few zippers in my bag before finding what I was looking for. “Got it,” I said, victorious, smiling as I stood.

“A marker?” he asked, not understanding my glee.

“It’s one of those stain eraser pens. Here,” I said, handing it over. His fingers touched mine when he grabbed it. A zing of hot electricity shot straight through me.

“Hmm, what do you do?” Not waiting for instructions, he uncapped the lid, rubbing the stain, making even more of a mess.

“No, no, no.” I scolded him, snatching the pen out of his hand. “You’re just making it worse.” I was close enough now to smell his spicy aftershave. My body couldn’t help swaying toward him for another sniff. Kneeling down in front of him, I ripped the rag out of his hand. “First, you’re supposed get as much off as possible.”

Dabbing the spot, I glanced up at him. His sparkling blue eyes bore into me, giving me a funny feeling in my stomach. “Then you have to push the applicator in, so the stuff comes out.”

His eyes closed as another smile appeared on his face. Placing his hands on his hips, he said, “You don’t say?” One dark, eyebrow cocked upwards while he looked back down at me.

“Trust me, I’ve done this a hundred times,” tumbled out before I could stop it. I was mortified as a blush burned my cheeks. Scribbling harder now, trying not to think about what I’d just said, my other hand dropped the rag so I could get a better grip on his leg. Holy crap, his thigh was made of concrete or something. The heat radiating into my hand was nearly scorching. All on their own, my fingers flexed, confirming the fact that Mr. Marshall rarely missed a workout.

“Have you now?” he said suggestively, his tone making my cheeks even redder.

“I’m a bit of a klutz,” I said, dabbing the ever-improving stain. “It looks better already, see?”

“Better, but still noticeable. I’ll have to go home and change, thanks anyway,” he said, reaching down for my hand, halting any further attempt.

As he pulled me up, we were face to face, his eyes falling to my mouth. My breath caught in my throat as I began to feel a bit dizzy. “No, really. Dry it with the hand dryer in the washroom and use this again,” I said, swinging the stain remover in front of him as nonchalantly as I could while my heart thumped a crazy beat.

“That’ll work?” he asked, eyes still stuck on my lips, hand continuing to grip my sweaty one. The skin on my hand tingled, sending a sensual warmth through me.

“Yep, trust me. It works.” Sliding the pen into his pocket, his mischievous eyes darted up to mine.

“We haven’t been properly introduced. I’m Evan,” he said, shaking my hand. Well, more like holding it tighter.

“Holly.” I choked out, sputtering a bit from a throat that had suddenly gone dry.

“Grape?” He cocked his head to the side.

Puzzled, I searched his face. “My name’s Holly, not grape.”

Leaning in, he smirked. “Your gum, is it grape?”

My jaw gaped open. We were so close he could smell the flavor of my gum. I swallowed loudly. “Uh, yeah, I think so.”

His eyes flickered over my face as a slow, sexy smile crossed his face. “I like grape,” he whispered into my ear, leaving goose bumps in his wake. I inhaled sharply, shocked at his insinuation. “What do you teach, Holly?” he asked, squeezing my hand a little more now, peering down at me. We were so close, his lips wouldn’t have far to go if he were to kiss me.

“Teach?”

“Teach. Or are you just the resident laundry personnel?” He joked, his other hand moving to my lower back.

“I don’t teach, I’m a student.”

“What?” he said, shocked, the air leaving his lungs as though someone had punched him.

“I’m in grade twelve.”

Eyebrows up, eyes practically bugging out, he immediately dropped my hand, taking a step back. “You’re, you’re—a student?”

Sad for the loss of his touch, I sighed. “Yeah.”

“Fuck,” he said, raking his hand through his hair. “I’m so sorry, Holly. Jesus, I thought you were a teacher.” His eyes scanned me again. Shaking his head, he said, “You look a lot older than grade twelve. And where’s your uniform?”

“I don’t wear one when I’m working on the props. Things get messy back here,” I said, glancing again at his stain.

“Damn, I’m really sorry.”

“It’s fine. Look,” I said, grabbing onto his arm. It felt—manly. His eyes dropped down to my hand. “No harm, no foul. All I did was help you out with a wardrobe malfunction in the drama department. Happens all the time.” My smile was genuine. Right now, I wanted nothing more than to relieve his anxiety. “Besides, even if something had happened—I’m no snitch.”

With that, I picked up my backpack, turned around, heading back out to my project.

CHAPTER TWO

Evan

An hour later and still, all I could think about was Holly’s hands on me. Every time I closed my eyes to shake her out of my head, I pictured her gazing up at me from her knees. I’d never had to concentrate so hard on keeping myself in check.

There was only so much Shakespeare I could recite on demand. The Bard never let me down when I was in a bind—like when sexy, cute, blondes began rubbing the front of my pants. How I managed to keep an erection at bay, I’d never know.

The bell rang, interrupting my train of thought. “Paraphrase the next chapter for homework, please.” I instructed the class as they collected their books. Sounds of chair legs scraping the floor filled the air.

“Mr. Marshall?” I heard my voice called behind me. Turning around, I saw it was that same blonde who had been outwardly flirting with me this morning.

“Hi—Amber, is it?” I said, even though I remembered quite well what her name was.

Her forced giggle made me nauseous. “Ivy,” she said, laughing like it was the funniest thing she’d ever heard. The way she flipped her long, curly hair told me I hadn’t made myself clear with her earlier.

“Right, Ivy.” I nodded, giving her a completely neutral look. This girl didn’t need one ounce of encouragement.

“Umm, the assignment?” she said, twirling a strand of hair around her fingers while she gave her best attempt at sticking out her chest. Good grief.

“Yes?” I answered, crossing my arms in front of me, getting increasingly more annoyed.

“I’m not sure I exactly understand it?” She looked at me from under her long, mascaraed eyelashes.

Holly didn’t wear a lot of makeup. She was more of a natural beauty—shit. My blood ran cold. I needed to stop thinking about her. “Look, Amber—I mean Ivy—I explained it thoroughly during class. Try your best at it tonight. We’ll share in class tomorrow.”

With that, I spun around, putting away the books I had used for this class, then opened the ones for the next. One more period, then home time.

“But do you think you could—”

“Time for your next class, the bell’s about to ring,” I said, not bothering to look up. Leave, little pest. Erasing the wipe off board like it was my soul purpose in life, I peered over my shoulder to see her rushing out the door.

One more hour. Then I could congratulate myself on my very first, full day of solo teaching. The fact that little Miss Stain Remover hadn’t shown up in any of my classes filled me with relief. Last thing in this world I needed was to deal with her and those wide, almond shaped eyes staring at me for an hour every day.

The bell rang, signaling the beginning of class. “Okay, everyone. Take your seats please. My name is,” I said, stopping the second my vision landed on her. Shit, so much for being home-free. Our eyes locked immediately—Holly’s holding mine a willing hostage. Her delicate hand grasped a silky tendril, winding it seductively around her finger. “Mr. Marshall. I’m taking over for Mr. Kensington while he recuperates.”

A wave of heat shot through me as I watched. Dragging my gaze away from her, I cleared my throat attempting to remember what exactly I was doing here.

Scooping up a stack of freshly photocopied handouts, I strolled down the aisle handing out papers to the students as I went. A few more steps and I’d be at Holly’s desk. Her long legs came into view first—that skirt seemed very short as my eyes lingered over the expanse of smooth, tanned skin. My gaze whipped to hers as I held my breath.

“This contains the course outline for the next month.” I inhaled, deeply. “If Mr. Kensington is gone longer…” The paper I passed to Holly somehow slipped through her hand. Bending down, I reached for it just as she leaned over. Our heads collided with a crack.

At this angle, I could see directly down her shirt, those breasts that I’d ogled earlier, now in full view. My breath caught in my throat. “I’m so sorry,” I said, standing up once she was safely out of harm’s way. “Are you all right?” Her fingers traced a red mark on her forehead.

“Yeah, fine. Sorry, I shouldn’t have…”

“No, it was completely my fault, I didn’t see you.” That was a lie. Every fiber of my being knew exactly where she was. Heat curled down my spine as she adjusted her shirt, glimpsing up at me with the most captivating eyes I’d ever seen.

A small smile appeared on her face. “Thanks,” she said, pulling the course paper out of my hand. Deciding to stop standing there like an idiot, making even more of a scene than I already was, I continued my way around the classroom.

Discussing exams, papers, grading, etc. took up a large part of our first class. Luckily for me—but unfortunately for Mr. Kensington—they’d only been in class a couple of weeks before he had a heart attack. That meant there was still time to mold the first part of the semester how I wanted it, yet still fit in with what was already taught.

Complaints about the upcoming Shakespeare sections made me smirk to myself. Not many kids liked those compulsory aspects of English classes. To me, though, that was my favorite part. Reading, deciphering, then absorbing his words gave me a certain—high, if you will.

As I said, my opinion wasn’t exactly popular. Certainly not to a bunch of seventeen-year olds. “We use many of Shakespeare’s own words today, in our everyday language. Can anyone give me an example?” I asked, knowing full well I’d look out into a sea of lowered eyes and uncomfortable glances.

To my surprise, one hand went up. Quirking my head to the side, I asked, “Yes?” More than curious to hear this answer. My heart rate quickened—almost nervous for her.

Holly’s sharp eyes examined me as she straightened herself in the desk. “Wild-goose chase.”

A smile the size of London crossed my face along with a sudden burst of pride. She had beauty and brains. “Very good.” Scanning the rest of the class, it appeared just as I’d expected.

“How about, “Eaten out of house and home”? I’m sure you’ve heard your parents say that.” The students began talking to each other.

“Bet you hear that every day, Wyatt,” a kid with spikey, blonde hair said, kicking the desk in front of him—which likely held Wyatt. I didn’t doubt his accusation one bit. The student in question was at least a head taller than his classmates. And that was with everyone sitting down.

“Whatever, jerk,” Wyatt said, swatting his log of an arm behind him, swooping a few papers as he went. The class laughed at their exchange.

“Anyone else have anything to add?” I leaned back on my desk, taking my glasses off for a brief second to rub the bridge of my nose.

“Green eyed monster. That’s in Othello.” Holly announced, not waiting for me to call on her.

“Brown-noser,” the girl beside her said, giving her a sly smile while Holly just rolled her eyes.

The sound of the bell surprised me for the first time today. Reluctantly, I shoved my glasses back on. “Review your notes on what Mr. Kensington gave you on “Romeo and Juliet”. We’ll continue with it tomorrow. More groans of protest followed my instructions.

As everyone filed out with the usual roughhousing by the boys and cliquey magnetism of the girls according to their social strata, one student lagged behind, slowly filling her backpack. I wiped a sheen of sweat from my brow as I arranged my books, notes, pens and laptop into my bag, waiting until she was closer to my desk.

Gliding up the aisle, her skirt swayed enticingly, drawing my eyes again. Snapping my vision up to her face, I nodded toward her. “I was very impressed with your answers,” I said, digging around in my pocket for what I was looking for.

“Oh, that was easy. I love Shakespeare. It’s a bit of a hobby for me,” she said, a beautiful flush covering her skin, apparently embarrassed by her answer. That caused a desire deep inside of me to flicker to life. Every inch of my body craved her.

“You like Shakespeare?” I asked, a bit surprised as I removed my glasses. God, I hated these things.

“Mmm hmm, always have.” I wanted to hear her explain in that breathy voice why she liked Shakespeare and what her favorite plays were. Maybe we shared similar views or—even better—perhaps we didn’t. Damn, how I wished we could go out and talk endlessly about this. Closing my eyes, pinching the bridge of my nose, I took a deep breath.

She’s your student. She’s your student. I repeated in my head.

“I wanted to thank you for letting me borrow this,” I said, handing her the stain remover pen.

Holly giggled, shaking her head. “That’s fine, I have like three more in my locker. Just keep it.” Hiking her backpack on her shoulder, she prepped to walk out.

Everything in me wanted to stop her. “No, really. I insist.” Holding out the pen, she moved to grasp it, our hands touching during the exchange. A shock ran through my body at the sudden contact with her soft skin. Her mesmerizing eyes met mine, holding my gaze as our fingers stilled. Did she feel it, too?

“Umm, thanks.” Was all she said before ripping it out of my hand, hurrying from the classroom. I watched her go, my stomach sinking as she left.

CHAPTER THREE

Holly

“Babe, we have watched this movie twice already tonight. Now, you know I love me some Audrey Hepburn but even my eyes are starting to cross,” Alex said as he fell back on the nest of pillows he’d arranged on the floor of Ivy’s room.

Ivy threw a stuffed giraffe at his head. “Hush, Holly likes it,” she said, squeezing me in an awkward backward hug as I laid on my stomach on her bed.

“I know, I know, she was named after the beautiful heroine,” he said, rolling his eyes as he threw his arms out.

“Oh, come on. I see you making eyes at George Peppard,” I said, fluttering my lashes at him.

Alex simultaneously stood and snapped his fingers. “That man is all class. Let me tell you.”

“They don’t make actors like that anymore.” I sighed, dragging the pillow with me as I sat up.

“Mr. Marshall has that same debonair look about him,” Alex said, dramatically falling back down on the pillows, his hand over his face as though he were fainting.

“Mark my words—I will have that man.” Ivy pointed her finger at Alex.

My stomach tightened at her words. I could feel my heart pounding in my ears. The thought of Ivy having Mr. Marshall made me feel sick.

“Get in line, sistah. Get—in—line,” Alex repeated as he reached his long arm over to grab more chips from the bowl beside him.

Paige stood up from her place on the oversized chair, stretching and yawning. “I should go.”

Ivy shot her eyes over, glaring at poor Paige. “Sit down, the night is young,” she said, slowly pointing her finger toward the chair.

Sighing, Paige said, “I’ve got work to do.” Then bent down to pick up her bag.

“Drop it, missy,” Ivy said, shaking her head. “You agreed to a movie night with us and you’re staying.”

“We’ve watched two movies already. Besides, I need to get this novel assignment finished—”

Ivy rolled her eyes. “The assignment that’s not due until next month?”

I giggled as Paige’s face dropped, a look of defeat crossing it. “One more movie and then we can stop for a study break?” I suggested with a smile.

“Fine,” Paige said, giving up with a loud exhale as she sat back down, bag in her lap.

“I can’t believe we’re in senior year already, can you?” I asked, attempting to change the subject.

Ivy smiled ear to ear as she rubbed the palms of her hands together. “Senior class trip, the drama production—”

Alex cut her off. “Prom,” he screamed, jumping up clapping his hands maniacally. These two thought about prom far too often. For me, it was just another event that I didn’t have the money for.

Ivy gasped, covering her mouth with both hands. They gazed at each other like they were in on a secret I wasn’t privy to. “I almost forgot,” Ivy squealed, flying off the bed and dashing off to her closet.

I shot Alex a puzzled look. In a soft voice he said, “Keep an open mind, sister friend. Promise?” His eyebrow raised in a, “You better listen or else” warning. Oh boy. Whatever conspiracy they’d dreamed up made my stomach twist and my palms sweaty.

Before I could pump him for answers, Ivy zoomed out with her arms full of dresses. “Oopff,” she exclaimed as the dresses went sailing onto her canopied bed. “There,” she said, out of breath, fixing her ponytail. “Which one do you guys like?” Her eyes snapped to me as she tilted her head in that cute way she had about her.

Moseying up for a closer look, I chose one immediately. “You look killer in red,” I said, grabbing the long, silky, deep colored dress. It shimmered in the light making it even more glamorous.

Ivy shifted to the side. “I already picked mine, silly. Which one do you like?”

My breath caught in my throat. “What do you mean?”

“She means, pick a damn dress already and try it on.” Alex reached around me, snatching a pink dress. “Pink is definitely your color.” He draped it over my shoulder, careful with the hanger. Pushing me toward the closet, he said, “Make it snappy, we haven’t got all night.” He turned to Paige, “You, too. Get a move on.”

“My mom’s making mine.” Paige huffed, leaning her head on her hand, elbow resting on the arm of the chair.

“Oh, I’m sure it’ll be great,” Alex said, trying to recover even though we all knew it would probably not look great. Paige’s mom was single. Her dad was around but not a lot—he mostly spent his time taking care of his new wife and their three kids.

They were better off than I was. That didn’t mean life wasn’t tight for them, though. Paige’s dad was often too busy to send a maintenance check. Meanwhile, her mom worked as a maid.

“It’ll suck but mom’s intent on sewing it for me. She’s so excited, too. I don’t want to hurt her feelings.”

A pang of jealousy stabbed through my stomach. Paige’s mom loved her so much and was involved in everything she did. It drove Paige crazy, of course. What I wouldn’t give for a mother like that.

“Honey, don’t you worry. I’ll do your makeup so well that it won’t matter if you’re wearing a paper bag,” Alex commiserated with her. “Now you,” he said, pointing at me. “Try that on.”

Still confused, I tried to question their motives. “But—”

“That’s right, get that curvy butt of yours into this immediately,” Alex said with glee. One more quick nudge from his hand got me into Ivy’s closet.

Admittedly, her closet was probably as big as our entire trailer. Not to mention nicer. Rack after rack of clothing, cubbies bursting with shoes, it was every teenage girl’s dream.

Hanging the dress up while I removed my clothes, I couldn’t help but ogle it. The halter neckline would leave my shoulders bare. A zing of excitement ran through my body at how daring that would look.

Two minutes later, I emerged from the closet, dramatically leaning against my hand as I struck a pose for them. “No way,” Alex whispered, one hand to his throat, the other on his hip.

“It’s perfect on you,” Ivy screeched, rushing up to me. “You have to pick this one. I mean—try on the others but this is the one.” Her fingers straightened the long skirt.

Paige squealed, “You look like a movie star.” She’d dumped her schoolwork to come get a closer look.

My heart stopped as my stomach did a strange flippy thing. “Ivy, I can’t afford it. Unless I quit paying the electric bill for the next year,” I said, giving her a sweet smile.

She breathed out a gentle sigh. “It’s on me, you know that.”

“I couldn’t,” I stated, shaking my head. “It’s too much.”

“You have no choice. We need you with us at prom before you go jetting off to some Ivy league school, leaving us behind.” Alex gave me a pouty face, his hands together in a praying position. “Please?”

“It’s too expensive.”

“Hush, Ivy’s dad makes that much in a minute I bet.”

“More.” Ivy shrugged and they both laughed. “Whatever you don’t take I’m just donating anyway. You might as well take it.”

She was always so generous with her clothes—giving Paige and I things she claimed were just taking up space. “Are you sure? I feel bad,” I said to Ivy, moving a step closer. She cracked a grin, pulling me in for a hug.

“Girl, it would be a crime not to wear that. It fits you like a glove,” Alex said, retreating to his spot on the floor. Digging through the cabinet under the TV, he pulled out a DVD case. “Patrick Swayze and I’ll be waiting for you when you’re done.” He cackled, cracking open the container.

CHAPTER FOUR

Holly

Beep, beep, beep. I heard the familiar, annoying sound. “No way,” I whimpered, searching the covers for my phone. Finally locating it, I shut the noise off. Laying back down was all I wanted to do. Instead, bleary-eyed, I plopped my legs over the side of the bed, feeling the soft rug under my feet.

The fun fur ran through my toes as I moved them gently. Sighing, I stood to turn on my light, glimpsing at the alarm clock on my tiny dresser. Four-thirty. Yawning, I ran a brush through my hair before twisting it up into a neat bun at the back of my head.

Gazing into the cracked mirror, thoughts of everything I had to do today came flooding into my brain. I closed my eyes as feelings of anxiousness flooded through my body. It was like this every morning. And every morning, I allowed myself a few moments of self-pity before shaking that off and getting on with my day.

“Three sunny side up, on white,” I yelled through the narrow window to the kitchen on my way to grab the pot of coffee.

“Gotcha, Dolly.” Len snickered from the back. His nickname for me always made me laugh, even at six o’clock in the morning.

“Coffee?” I asked, pouring and swaying through the breakfast rush of business people on their way to work. Why they all couldn’t just cook their own eggs at home, I didn’t understand.

The sharp sound of ringing caught my attention. Looking up, I saw Len hitting the bell with his long handled, silver spatula. Yay. More orders to deliver.

“Hey, toots, hit me up before you go,” a familiar voice sounded from the table to my left.

Ahh, Mr. Over-Entitled was back again. “You bet,” I said politely, even though all I wanted to do was smack him over the head.

“Whoa, baby, leave some room for cream and sugar, will ya?” he said, pulling the cup as I poured, causing me to spill a bit.

“Sorry about that,” I told him, yanking out the small rag I kept in my apron. “My fault.” Resisting the urge to roll my eyes, I quickly mopped up the puddle of coffee.

“It’s okay, beautiful. I like the view,” he said, leering at my behind, making his other three friends at the table laugh. “Bring me a muffin next time you come by.”

Flushing a bit, I nodded, then rushed off to grab my next set of orders.

“Can’t you stay a few more minutes?” Dave begged as I filled out the timesheet in a hurry.

“I’ll be late for school, I’m sorry,” I said to my boss. Glancing down at my phone, I knew I’d likely be a few minutes late as it was. If the buses were running on time, I probably just missed the one I was supposed to take. “See you later,” I called on my way out.

Raindrops hit my face as I stepped outside. Just my luck. Shoving my bag over top of my head, I ran for the bus stop. The very empty bus stop.

“Shit, shit, shit, shit,” I shouted stamping my feet as I realized that I’d be waiting there at least another fifteen minutes in the rain. Throwing my bag down on the ground I looked up into the sky, and yelled, “Really? Like you haven’t thrown enough shit at me? Now you’re going to add rain?” I stood there letting the water rush over my face, milliseconds away from bursting into tears. Suddenly, a loud horn sounded, scaring the crap out of me.

Clutching my hands to my heart I opened my eyes wide to see a dark Jeep directly in front of me. I picked up my bag as the passenger window rolled down.

“You okay?” Mr. Marshall asked, quirking his eyebrow up.

“Umm, not exactly.” Stunned, I stood as still as a statue, rain dripping down my eyelashes, making it difficult to see.

“Need a ride?” he asked looking me up and down.

“No, I’m fine thanks.”

Mr. Marshall turned his head and looked out the front window chuckling. “I think you’re less than fine. Get in the Jeep, Holly, I’ll drive us to school.” His eyes found mine and a sexy little smile crossed his face.

I peered down the street, hoping to see my bus driving up. No such luck. In fact, I couldn’t see much through the sheets of rain that were now falling down from the sky.

Weighing my options, I quickly understood there were none. I would be stupid to pass up a free ride to school in this weather. Slinging my bag over my shoulder, I opened the Jeep’s door.

The spicy smell of his cologne surrounded me as I jumped inside. I shut my eyes, inhaling deeply while I reminded myself that this man was my teacher.

“I don’t think you’re supposed to give rides to students,” I said, attempting to dry my face off on my sleeve. Realizing that my sleeve was even wetter than my skin was, I stopped the pointless action.

“So, I should just leave you out in the rain? That would be safer?” he said, glancing over at me quickly before watching for an opening to get back on the road. Traffic was crazy at this time of day. Add in the bad weather, and it turned into a virtual nightmare.

“I think there are rules about faculty driving students around.”

He smiled again looking over at me. “You going to tell anyone?” He took his right hand off the wheel and reached behind us moving his body closer to me, causing his shoulder to bump mine.

“No,” I said emphatically, shaking my head wondering what he was doing.

“Good, use this. It’s clean,” he said, tossing a gray towel in my lap. I picked it up, taking a quick sniff. It did indeed smell wonderful.

Mr. Marshall started laughing so hard his body shook as he pulled back into traffic. “Believe me now?” he asked still chuckling.

I couldn’t have been any more obvious. “No, I believed you. It’s just a habit. I love the smell of fresh laundry.” Undoing my hair, I let it down my shoulder as I used the towel to sop up as much water as possible.

Once again, his eyes checked me out, making me feel even more self-conscious. “Just getting off work?” he asked his eyebrows coming close together as he nodded, staring at my diner uniform.

“I work the early shift at the diner some days.”

We stopped at a light and he turned to me. “You have a shift before school?”

His attention made me uncomfortable causing me to squirm a bit in my seat. “Yeah, today I did,” I said offhandedly like it was no big deal.

“How many days a week exactly?” His probing gaze not letting me go.

“As many as they need me for,” I answered back quickly, using the towel on my chest and neck.

“And how many days a week would that be?” he asked pushing on the gas after the light changed.

“Most of them,” I said, slightly annoyed to be found out.

“What?” he said as though he didn’t believe me. The only thing I did was shrug.

“What time do you start?”

Sighing, I decided to just tell the truth. “Five.”

“Five o’clock in the morning?” his voice rose with surprise.

“Yep, I’m at the school on scholarship.” I explained in as few words as humanly possible.

His eyes shifted, then he nodded and continued driving. “That must be tough.”

That was an understatement. This man had no idea about my life or how hard things were. “It’s okay, really. I’m grateful that I even have a job.”

“And you don’t have a car?”

Peeling off my sweater, I began drying my arms. “If I had a car would I be standing outside at a bus stop?”

“Good point,” he said turning onto a street that was just a few blocks from the school.

“Can you pull into the donut shop, please?” I asked, pointing to the right side of the road.

“Why? You hungry?” he said, taking his foot off the gas.

“No, I ate at work. I have to change into my uniform before I go into the school. I’d hoped I would make it to the bus on time if I didn’t change first.” Boy was I wrong.

He pulled into the strip mall parking lot, right up to the doors. The rain was still just as fierce. When I tried to return his towel, he refused, saying, “Keep it. You’ll probably still need it.”

Tucking it into my bag, I prepared to jump out. “Thanks for the ride, Mr. Marshall.”

Those dark eyes of his, scanned my face. “You’re welcome.”

Evan

She’s your student. She’s your student. She’s your student. I repeated again on a constant loop. Christ, having her sitting beside me like it was a wet T-shirt competition wasn’t exactly helpful. The lace of her bra showed right through the thin material of her light-colored uniform.

Pinching the bridge of my nose, I tried like hell to get that image of her out of my mind. And what the hell was she doing working at a diner at five o’clock every morning? Then off to a full day of school?

As I continued through the drive though, I turned off the heat in the vehicle—blasting the fan to cool myself.

It didn’t help.

Sipping on my coffee, I kept watch on the donut store door. Well aware of the issues I could be getting into, I decided against propriety and waited for her anyway.

Finally, I spotted her blonde locks and school uniform. Honking the horn made her jump about a foot in the air. Her head snapped toward me, an incredulous look on her face that made me laugh. She quickly switched direction, stomping up to my window.

“You really need to stop doing that before you give me a heart attack,” she said, standing back a few feet under the cover of the store awnings.

“Your heart is young, I’m sure it can take all kinds of exertions,” I blurted out before I realized what I’d said. Images of her breathless, underneath me flooded my brain. She’s your student. She’s your student.

Her eyes narrowed on me. “What do you want? I have to run,” she said, jerking her head in the direction of the school.

“I’ll drive you there. Get in.” She looked all around, hugging her bag to her body. Her indecision was driving me crazy. “Holly, get in the Jeep,” I ordered. “I’m not letting you get soaked again.”

She gave up, sprinting to my Jeep. “What if someone sees?” she said in a huff, jumping inside then pulling hard on the seat belt to buckle up.

“Then I guess they’ll see a teacher giving a wet rat of a student a ride to school,” I said snidely. Placing my arm on the back of her seat, I slowly reversed with extra care and attention in this weather.

She thwacked me on the arm. “I’m not a wet rat.” I caught a whiff of her soft, floral perfume. A powdery, clean smell. It caused me to take a few extra moments to back up just so I could inhale her scent.

My damn eyes may have lingered on her bare leg where her school skirt hiked up a bit. She’s your student. She’s your…shit, when I looked up, her eyes were on me. Holly caught me looking. Clearing my throat, I put the Jeep into drive.

“What’s your first class?” I asked, trying to get my mind on something else.

“Bio,” she said, exhaling hard.

“You don’t like biology?” I asked, signaling to turn down the road the school was on.

“Not really.”

“I was a bio wiz kid. If you ever need help—” I said before she cut me off.

“That’s nice of you. I do well in it, I just don’t really like it. I find it boring.”

Of course, she does well in bio. She likely does well in every class if she’s here on a scholarship. They don’t hand those things out to just anyone. You’d have to be exceptional for the academy to accept you.

“What subjects do you like?” I asked, waiting behind a group of cars as they stopped for a few pedestrians blindly crossing the street in the storm.

“English and Art mostly,” she said, wiping some of the condensation off the inside of her window with her light-pink polished finger.

My heart beat faster when she said, English. She could just be saying it because that’s what I taught. On some level, I didn’t quite believe Holly was the type to bullshit or brown-nose her way through life.

“I’ll drop you off behind the school?” I asked, slowing to turn into the parking lot. This would be the best way not to get noticed.

“Yeah, that’s cool, thanks.” Holly slipped an elastic off her wrist, gathering her hair together on the back of her head. Those movements caused her breasts to jut out in a very alluring manner, enticing my eyes to snap over for a quick peek.

Once we were at a safe enough distance, I stopped near the benches. It was dry there because of the overhang from the roof.

“Thanks, Mr. Marshall. And seriously, I won’t say a word. I promise,” she said, looking at me with a sweet, genuine smile before opening the door to hurry out.

She’s your student. She’s your student. She’s your student.

Closing my eyes, I tried yet again to stop thinking about Holly Anderson.

CHAPTER FIVE

Evan

“It really just makes sense, Evan. I mean you do teach English. Romeo and Juliet is on your docket at the moment. The leap to drama isn’t out of your wheelhouse, I’m sure,” my boss lectured me. Apparently, the drama teacher’s wife had their baby early. Too early. He was going to be gone for a while.

Now, Principal McGreggor needed a fill in for that teacher as well. “I’ve never directed a drama production before. Honestly, I wouldn’t even know where to start.”

“I was told you acted in plays?”

Damn, she caught me. “Acting and directing are totally different things.”

“We hold three major drama plays here each year. It’s a fine oiled machine. Most of the regulars are involved already. The cast has been chosen so you don’t even have to go through the torture of auditions. All you’ve got to do is be there to direct and act as a go-between.”

Looking out the window, I saw the sun finally peeking out from behind the morning’s storm clouds. If Principal McGreggor was asking me to help, they were obviously hard up. Plus, it’s not like I had any seniority to say, no, and pass it off to the next sorry teacher.

I was the sorry teacher. “If you think I can do this, I’ll try my best,” I said, rubbing the back of my neck. Doubt and uncertainty were my new best friends.

My boss smiled a knowing grin. “You’ll do just fine, don’t worry.” Then she opened her laptop signaling the end of our chat.

Great, I’d somehow gone from overseeing the set displays and costumes to directing the whole fucking shebang. Walking out of her office, I felt like a load of bricks had been dumped on me. Without even thinking, my feet headed straight for the drama department.

Opening the giant doors with a loud screech, I walked to the back where the light was on. Sure enough, there was Holly, wearing tight, black yoga pants and a loose, pink top. Her hair was up in a messy topknot, a few lazy tendrils escaping down her face.

“How’s it going?” I asked, leaning up against the wall.

Her head turned fully to me. “Good. You don’t have to worry about me. I’ve been in charge of the sets before.” Her hand held a large paintbrush, full of the same blue paint that had accosted me the other day.

“Not worried about the set,” I lied, because I had no idea if Holly knew what she was doing or not. Not to mention the fact that the large, blue board in front of her looked very—blue. Just like yesterday. No change at all. “Apparently, Mr. Rodriguez’s wife had their baby this morning.”

“Oh that’s,” Holly started out all cheery, then her face dropped. “Way too early. Is everyone all right?” she asked, voice and face full of concern.

“So far so good. He’s taking time off starting now.”

“Good for him. Gosh, I hope everything turns out,” she said, staring at the ground. “Who’s going to direct the play now?” she asked, gazing up at me.

I didn’t answer, just lifted my eyebrow. “No way,” she said, beginning to giggle. The sound of her laugh lightened my day.

Nodding, I said, “Uh huh, lucky me.”

“Have you ever directed before?” she asked as her eyes studied me.

“Nope.”

More giggling. In fact, she laughed so hard, the paint brush dropped to the brown paper that was covering the floor. Blue paint splattered in a neat effect, splaying out like the sun’s rays. “Oh shoot,” she said, bending over to pick it up. Her round, shapely behind on full display.

She’s your student. She’s you student.

“This is all, very nice,” I said, creeping closer to her. “It’s extremely—blue.”

She burst out laughing. “It’s blue, now. Later, it’ll be less blue.”

I raised my eyebrow at her in disbelief. “I’ll take your word for it.”

“You’ll eat your words, Mr. Marshall. Just remember that. Great works take time to create.” She looked me over again then turned back to making more stuff—blue.

Holly

“Did you hear?” someone screamed behind me, causing me to drop my brush again, splattering paint all over my pant leg.

Spinning around, I said, “You scared the crap out of me.”

“Mr. Marshall,” Ivy squealed, bouncing around. “He’s our new drama director.”

“Oh really? Why’s that?” I responded, not wanting to let on that I already knew.

“Mr. Rodriguez’s wife had their baby and our hot teacher gets to take over for him.” She skipped over to me grabbing onto my shoulders, jumping. “Can you believe it? Getting into his pants is going to be even easier than I originally thought.” A chill ran down my spine at the thought of Ivy getting anywhere near Evan’s pants.

Gently removing her fingers from my shoulder blades, I backed up snagging my brush again. “Why exactly do you want to get into his pants? He’s a little old, even for you.” I turned back around, dipping my brush into the paint as I felt a sudden rush of butterflies invade my stomach.

“Are you blind?” she asked, then began counting off on her fingers. “He’s hot. He’s not that much older than us. Did I mention he’s hot?”

“Yeah you may have mentioned it. What you didn’t mention was the fact that he is our teacher.”

“So?”

“What do you mean so? Typically, we shouldn’t use high school faculty as a dating pool.”

“Oh, who cares? He’s maybe only a year or two older than the guys I normally date anyway. Can you stand how hot he is when he takes off his nerd glasses and rubs between his eyebrows?”

Ivy was not wrong, Mr. Marshall was entirely too sexy when he took off his glasses. Actually, he was equally as hot with them on. “He’s your teacher. He’s off-limits. Besides you have at least three college guys on the line right now as we speak. That’s not enough for you?” I tried not to growl as I plastered on a fake smile.

She shrugged, flipping her hair. “They mean nothing to me. Anyway, I’m pretty sure Mr. Marshall is into me.”

For some reason that statement tied my stomach in a knot. “Why would you say that?” I asked turning back around to finish painting.

“Just the way he looks at me when I talk to him. Give me a week. I’m telling you he’s definitely interested. Who could resist all this?”

I twisted my head back around to see Ivy doing a sexy dance that made me snort. “You’re crazy.”

Ivy did one last suggestive shimmy before she strode out the door.

After she left, I tried to get rid of the sense of dread that came over me. I wasn’t sure if the feeling was fear that Ivy would make a fool out of herself or fear that she would succeed in her endeavor.

Evan

What a mess. Well-oiled machine my ass. This was more like a cluster fuck if you asked me. However, it was now my cluster fuck, and I needed to get things under control. The kids and their bags, sweaters, papers and various other paraphernalia spread out over the entirety of the auditorium.

Fingers to my lips, I did a shrill whistle before I spoke, “All right everyone quiet down please. I am sure you have all heard by now, Mr. Rodriguez and his wife just had their baby and I’ll be taking over his duties. I’m not going to lie—I honestly have no idea what to do here. You guys are going to have to help me.”

“I know, how about we start on the first page,” a short girl with even shorter hair suggested as she pushed glasses that were way too big for her face back up.

“You don’t just—start—Belinda,” a know-it-all sneered at her. “Don’t you know anything?” she said, completely disgusted. Everyone began taking sides, arguing their points amongst themselves.

It was even louder than it had been before. Raising my voice, I said, “What I need you to do is gather into groups based on your duties or roles and choose a representative. This will be someone who will report to me and come to me with questions or concerns. For example, we’ll need a group consisting of cast members, a group consisting of stagehands, lighting, sound, etc. You get the point.”

“Do that for me now, please. I’ll give you five minutes to assemble and choose a rep,” I said, dismissing them with my hands. For a moment or two everyone stood looking rather shell-shocked. Then the born leaders began to take control.

Searching around the theater, I saw Holly walking off to the side of the stage by herself. I knew I should stay where I was—both in mind and body.

Something inside of me made that impossible. Something about her drew me in. Before I knew it, my feet carried me to her. Those light blue eyes looked up at me. “I didn’t take you for a loner, Miss Anderson.”

She cast her eyes to the ground for a second before gazing back at me. “Hmm, you’d be surprised,” she said, fidgeting with her skirt.

“Really though, why aren’t you in a group?” I asked, bending down on my haunches so I was closer to her now.

“I am in a group.”

“By yourself?”

“Yep.”

“You’re serious?” I said, frowning at the genuine expression on her face. She had skin that would make Snow White jealous—a perfect complexion. And not because of powders and creams and other shit that chicks put on their faces. Holly was a natural beauty.

“Set design isn’t high on most peoples’ lists.”

“You can do this yourself?” I asked, having more serious doubts about our designer’s fetish with blue.

Holly, laughed, throwing her head back like I’d said the funniest thing in the world. “Yeah, it’s pretty easy to slap a bunch of blue paint on stuff. I should be finished in an hour or so,” she said, giggling again.

The sound of her laughter squeezed at my heart like nothing ever had before. Now that I’d heard it, I wanted to hear it more. No matter what I had to do. Clearing my throat, I said, “I’m pretty good at painting. If you need help, let me know.”

That set her off again. So much so that she doubled over, unable to catch her breath. When she finally controlled herself, wiping under her eyes she said, “I don’t think it’s me who’s going to need help.”

Staring into her eyes, it didn’t feel like I was speaking to a high school senior. At all. “You’re probably correct on that assumption. If you were me, how exactly would you run this operation?”

She looked me over. If I wasn’t mistaken, I’m pretty sure there was pity in her eyes. “You’re off to a good start. But—”

“But?”

“Yes, but. You’re going to need more structure. I’ll bring you the handouts that Mr. Rodriguez usually gives us at the beginning of each production.”

“When?”

“Tomorrow morning?”

“What about tonight? Can you scan and email them to me?”

Her hands twisted together as she hmm’d and haw’d. “I don’t have a scanner.”

Although I thought it was odd for anyone to not have some kind of scanner in this day and age, I offered a compromise. “No problem. Can you just take pictures of the pages and email them to me?”

Holly took a deep breath. “I have a shift right after this, and I won’t be home until late.”

Wait a minute—she had to work again? “What? You just worked this morning. What time do you work tonight?”

“In about an hour. Usually, I’m off by nine or ten. It really depends on how busy it is.”

“You’re nearly working full time hours and going to school? When do you have time to study?”

“I fit it in.”

She’s your student. She’s your student. She’s your student.

“Tomorrow’s fine, Miss Anderson. Thanks,” I said, trying to smile even though my heart bled for her. If my assumptions were true, her homelife was probably less than fun.

With that, I ended our conversation and called over the chosen representatives. Then I pretended like I knew what I was doing.

CHAPTER SIX

Evan

There she was, five o’clock in the God damn morning unlocking the tiny diner’s door. I yawned again, fiercely. My body shook from lack of sleep. How did Holly do this every day?

Lights flickered on reluctantly, like they also were too tired to wake at this ungodly hour. A few minutes after the lights went on, a man of larger stature walked up to the door and swung it open. He wore white pants and shirt. I’d bet he was the cook.

Still, I kept an eye on him. Holly waved to the man as he entered then marched his way to the right. It was still dark out, so the inside of the diner shone like a real-life diorama.

She moved around quickly, my tired eyes sometimes losing her as she went from table to table, setting up for the day. Ten minutes later, the first customers began filtering in. I waited until six o’clock before I left the comfort of my Jeep.

By then the place was humming. A bell announced my entry as I pulled the door open, looking around for Holly. Her eyes immediately caught me. Surprise showed on her face before she composed herself, walking up to me.

“You’re up early,” she said with a sweet smile.

“I guess,” I said, not really knowing what else to say.

“Table for one?” she asked, tilting her head toward the door probably to see if I was with anyone.

“Just me.”

She grabbed a menu from the stack on the counter. “Follow me.” She smirked, her eyes cast down for a second. I didn’t mean for it to happen, but my vision fell to her swaying hips as she walked in front of me. It was mesmerizing, like some kind of marvelous, sexy pendulum.

I was so hypnotized that I nearly bumped into her when she stopped at a table. “Oh shit, sorry,” I said, grabbing onto her arms so I didn’t push her over.

“Ooff,” she said, before letting out a laugh. “No, I shouldn’t have stopped so quickly. My fault.” She twisted out of my hands.

“I wasn’t watching where I was going, it was completely my fault.” I apologized again. What I really should have apologized for was being a creeper.

“No problem, have a seat,” she said cheerily, sliding the menu on the table.

I sighed getting into my chair. “Thanks, Holly.” I picked up the menu. Basic diner foods: pancakes, sausages, fruit, cereal, toast.

“Coffee?” she asked, back already with a steaming pot.

“Please. And keep it coming.”

She smiled, flipping over the cup before filling it. “I’ll be back in a few minutes,” she said then rushed off to pour coffee for dreary patrons.

Before I knew it, she was back, order pad in one hand, pen in the other. “Ready?” she asked in such an—awake voice, she actually startled me.

“Uhh, the toast and eggs special, please,” I said, yawning as I handed back the menu. She nodded, then spun around before I had time to blink.

Drugs. She must be on drugs or something to do this every day. Pulling my phone out, I checked my social media. Hmm, apparently everybody I knew was still sleeping. Lucky bastards.

Out of nowhere, a pretty, pink binder slapped onto the table, jarring me out of scrolling on my phone. Peering up, I saw Holly grinning down at me. “I didn’t forget. That’s the binder with all of Mr. Rodriguez’s handouts. I made some notes as well. You know, what worked, what didn’t work, what we should change to make things more efficient.”

Grabbing the binder, I pulled it closer, then opened it. Christ, there were dozens of pages in here. I had assumed it would be some three-paged deal. “Thanks, this is a great start.” She just smiled, then zoomed off to seat more customers who’d just walked in.

I’d only flipped through a few pages by the time she came back with my breakfast and more coffee. “Anything else for you at the moment?” she asked, staring down at the open binder.

“Your notes are incredible. I have a few questions when you have a minute.”

She looked around at the full tables. “I’ll try and sneak back over.”

Holly’s observations on what worked and what didn’t were a thing of beauty. Going over the details she had on the pages would help out a ton. This certainly was over and above what I thought she’d be giving me.

“Okay, I might have a minute now.” Holly crept up beside me. “I’m just going to pretend that you’re ordering more food so nobody gets pissed off,” she said, grabbing her pad of paper and pen.

I nodded and played along. “When you said that Mr. Rodriguez should ask the actors for their opinion of the characters, what did you mean?”

“One year, for “As you Like It”, he tried telling everyone how they would play their part, but it didn’t work out very well. That’s why I noted it. It was better when he met first with everyone in a group and then individually to iron out interpretations.”

“Hmm, smart. And what about assimilating the crew?”

She briefly explained why she’d added that as well as a few other things to her notes. “Sorry, I have to make my rounds again,” she apologized for nothing as she shoved her pad and pen back into her apron. Off she went, seating customers, serving food, and filling cups.

It was never-ending hell.

I sat there forever, reading page after page, slowly making my own plan of action for today’s drama meeting. Holly’s brilliance lifted much of the hesitation I had for taking over this play. It was still going to be a lot of work but having a plan now, put me at ease.

The bell over the door clanged again. In walked a much older gentleman. Holly smiled at him as she stood behind the counter, filling out something on a clipboard. As they talked, she shook her head sadly at him, then set the clipboard down. They conversed for a minute longer before she hefted her big bag over her shoulder, ready to leave.

Gathering up the binder as quickly as I could, I raced out of there right behind her. “Holly,” I called to her. She turned around, surprised to see me out there.

“I have to catch my bus,” she shouted back to me.

My hand reached out to snag her to a stop. “I’ll drive you. I’m here anyway,” I said, knowing that I was venturing into dangerous territory. Again. “Go change, then we don’t have to stop.”

“It’s fine, really. The bus is coming right now,” she said, trying to jerk away from me.

“Holly, that’s ridiculous when I’m right here. Come on, I’ll drive you,” I coaxed.

She looked conflicted as her eyes traveled from me to the bus that was pulling up. “Are you sure?”

My head nodded. My brain shouted a loud, “No”.

“I guess I’ll go change,” she whispered, glancing down at my hand on her arm. Immediately, I let go.

“Holly,” I called to her as she ran back to the diner.

“What?”

“I’m parked across the street.” I nodded in the general direction.

“If I were you?” she asked, a hint of humor in her voice. “I’d tell them to get buddies and then they can run their lines off with each other.”

“Huh, that’s not a bad idea,” I said, raising my eyebrows at her. “You’re good at this.”

Holly shook her head. “No, I’ve just been around the drama department longer than you have, Mr. Marshall.”

“Evan,” I blurted out.

“What?”

“You can call me Evan when we aren’t in school. Nobody’s around to hear you.”

“Yeah, but it’s a respect thing. It’d be too weird calling a teacher by their first name.” She frowned at me, twisting her body toward me.

“It’s my name, Holly. It’s not weird. And really,” I said, turning my head to look down the street before I made a right turn. “I’m not exactly that much older than you.” I’d checked out her file yesterday. Curiosity got the better of me. “If you think about it, you calling me, Mr., is more odd.”

“How old are you?” she asked in a low whisper.

“Just turned twenty-two.” And she was eighteen—legal in every state. My hands grasped the steering wheel a little firmer.

“You look older than that,” she said, her gaze washing over me like soft silk.

Laughing, I turned my face to hers. “Do I need some work done on my crow’s feet?”

That made her burst out laughing. “Yes, I didn’t want to draw attention to them but a touch of Botox,” she said, placing her fingers near my temple, “right here would do wonders to erase the years.”

I couldn’t help but smile. “Who do you use?” I shot back, grabbing her hand. Instead of pulling it out of my grip like I thought she’d do, Holly squeezed my hand back.

“I never divulge my beauty secrets,” she said in a fake, Russian accent. At least I think it was supposed to be Russian.

Realizing I was still essentially holding her hand, I quickly set it down on her knee—my fingers grazing her thigh as I did so. A sudden wave of desire flowed through me.

“Drop me here and I’ll walk the rest of the way. I’ve got more than enough time today,” she said, pointing to the side of the road.

For a second, I considered protesting. She was right, though. This was by far the safest option. As I came to a stop, she picked up her bag. “Thanks for the ride. Again.”

CHAPTER SEVEN

Holly

“But I need someone to run my lines with, Holls,” Ivy begged me again for the millionth time, stealing another fry from my plate.

“I work at night sometimes. How can I possibly help you? Alex or Paige can do it,” I suggested, giving her two perfectly good options.

“Ugh, they’re terrible actors. I need someone half-decent.”

I rolled my eyes at her backhanded compliment. “Thanks, I strive to be half decent in everything I do,” I snarked back, pulling my plate closer to me in an exaggerated way.

“Oh don’t get all butt hurt. You know what I mean. You’re just more—artsy than they are. It’s incredibly difficult to go all in with lines when the person you’re practicing with is awful.”

The problem was, I completely understood what she was talking about. Paige and Alex sucked at acting. They’d come out to support their friends in the play—Alex also assisted backstage with makeup. As for helping with anything else, they were hopeless.

Sighing, I picked up a fry. “I’ll do my best, but you should really have a back-up buddy to help you.”

Ivy gave me a naughty smirk, waggling her eyebrows. “I intend to have Mr. Marshall back me up.”

Normally, I would have joked around about her rude comment. This time it felt different. I mean, I know I was an idiot for even thinking it or feeling it. After the last couple of days interacting with Evan—Mr. Marshall, it almost, kind of felt like he was my friend.

“What’s your problem?” Ivy kicked me under the table, giving me a nasty look.

“Nothing, just tired.”

“Skip out on work tonight then. Run lines with me instead.”

Exhaling loudly, I said, “You know I can’t do that.” This was like banging my head against a brick wall. Trying to explain to my very rich friend why I needed to work was pointless. To her, money grew on trees.

“I’ll pay your rent for the next two months if you quit and help me instead.”

That thought made me laugh. Not out of merriment, though. “And then where am I going to live in sixty-two days?”

Ivy squealed in her exaggerated way, bouncing in her chair, “You can move in with me. My parents would love that.” She clapped her hands, bringing more attention to our table.

“Your parents are barely there.”

“It’s not my fault they like L.A. better. Besides, they’d love to have you keep me company.”

“Right, my mom could bring her sleeping bag.” I snorted at the thought of us showing up at Ivy’s mansion.

“Babe, you know I love you, right?” she asked, dramatically covering my hand with hers.

“Yeah, of course.”

“No way in Hell can your mom move in. Like ever.”

My eyes started to water a bit. “Gotcha. I’ll go unpack,” I said sarcastically even though her words stung a bit.

“Is she, you know, still drinking?” Ivy whispered, eyes wide.

Barely opening my mouth, I said, “Yep.”

The familiar look of pity filled her face. “Did she at least find a job yet?” Ivy asked, taking her hand back and stealing another fry.

“Umm, not really,” I said, taking a slurp of my drink as I shrugged, not wanting to talk about this. My mother’s drinking and unemployability were my least favorite topics.

“Not really? Oh my God, did she get fired again?”

“Fired is a relative term.” I gazed down, picking at my nail while I blushed a bit.

“In relation to termination of employment, did she get canned?”

“Difficult to get canned if you don’t show up for your first day of work.” I huffed out as I confessed my mother’s latest cardinal job sin.

“Oh, for fuck sakes,” Ivy said, arms up in the air.

“Who are we fucking?” Alex asked, straddling the bench I currently sat on.

“Holly’s mom screwed up again.” Ivy stared at Alex without blinking.

“Is it Tuesday already?” he asked sarcastically, hands askew by his shoulders, mouth open wide for extra emphasis.

“I need Holly to run lines with me but she’s always busy working because her mom’s a deadbeat.”

“Umm, am I chopped liver? I can run lines with you anytime,” Alex announced.

“No offense, but Holly’s a way better actor,” Ivy whined, fluttering her long lashes.

“That’s because she knows all the damn words to all the stupid plays by heart like some Shakespearean prodigy,” Alex complained. “How can anyone compete with that?”

“I don’t know all the words,” I said, shaking my head.

“Fine,” Alex said, banging the palms of his hands on the table for emphasis. “You, Holly Anderson, only know ninety-nine percent of the words to every painfully boring play ever written.”

Shoving my shoulder into his chest, I offered him a fry. “I like plays. You know every shade of eyeshadow, lip gloss, and nail polish.”

“Damn right I do. And I’m telling you we need to get rid of this baby soft pink for something more dynamic.” He picked up my hand, examining the current shade I sported on my nails. “Like vivacious red,” Alex screamed so excitedly, most people stopped to look over at us again. “I just happen to have some in my locker.” The funny expression on his face made me laugh so hard. The only thing that made Alex happier than applying makeup to himself was using it on others.

“I have to work tonight,” I told him, rubbing his arm for the kind gesture.

“That’s it. I’m hooking up your house to my mom’s truck and having it towed to Oregon. Your mom won’t even notice,” he said.

I felt slightly offended, but these guys weren’t trying to put me down on purpose. “That’s the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to me.” I joked, hugging him tight.

“For real, sister. Anytime you’re done with that woman, say the frickin’ word and I’ll come pack your shit up. Actually, just leave it all there and we can go on a shopping spree.”

His kind words brought tears to my eyes that I refused to let fall.

Evan

It was definitely Holly’s voice reciting the role of Romeo in the balcony scene. The voice with no emotion or feeling reading Juliet’s much shorter lines was Ivy. How she’d won this role baffled me. If Ivy was the best pick for Juliet that told of the scarcity of talent at the school.

Originally, I’d come here to ask for Holly’s advice on something. Now it was five minutes later and I was still standing like some stalker outside the door. Time to make myself known. Slowly, I walked into the open doorway. Neither of them looked my way.

Ivy was too busy with her head down, reading from a script while Holly balanced on a ladder painting that same huge board—blue. I opened my mouth to speak when I suddenly realized that Holly wasn’t reading from a script. She knew these words by heart.

“I have night’s cloak to hide me from their eyes, And, but thou love me, let them find me here; My life were better ended by their hate Than death prorogued, wanting of thy love,” Holly said as though she were performing on a stage.

I was dumbstruck. Awestruck. How did an eighteen year old high school senior know Romeo and Juliet, verbatim? Standing there for another few moments, Holly finally glanced over when she descended the ladder.

“Didn’t see you there, Mr. Marshall,” she said calmly, going to fill up her paint can. Her gorgeous, shining, blonde hair was tied back in a neat ponytail today.

“We’re just going over lines,” Ivy said, shooting me her usual fuck-me eyes. This was getting tiring.

“That’s great,” I said, my gaze naturally gravitating to Holly.

“My mom said she’d even hire me a professional acting coach,” Ivy added. The girl was going to need more than that to help her out. I smiled back at her briefly. “Want any food, Holls? I’m going to eat before drama practice.” Ivy stood up, brushing the dust off her skirt.

“Nah, I have to leave in ten minutes anyway. Thanks, though,” Holly said before climbing the ladder, armed with more blue.

I moved to the side as Ivy passed me with another, I want you so bad look. Good grief. “More blue?” I asked, surveying the project that looked exactly the same as it did yesterday.

“More blue, Mr. Marshall,” she said, pausing to smirk at me.

The brown paper crinkled under me as I sat on the cold floor. We stayed silent for a while as I gazed up at her, watching every move she made. I felt like I could stay here for hours doing nothing more than observing her and watching the paint dry.

Suddenly, our positions made me snicker. Holly looked down at me, a quizzical look on her face. Clearing my throat, I said, “But soft, what light through yonder window breaks? It is the east and Juliet is the sun! Arise, fair sun, and kill the envious moon,” I started, then finished Romeo’s line. She giggled a bit, a shy smile on her face before she turned fully, peering at me. After a brief hesitation, she began reciting, right on cue. Line after line we exchanged, Holly getting into her role just as much as I was in mine.

“Art tho not Romeo, and a Montague?”

“Neither, dear love, if either thee dislike,” I said, rising from my place on the floor, hopelessly compelled to her beauty and playfulness. A small, delicious hum warmed my body. Our eyes locked together as I began to climb the other side of the ladder. Holly laughed a bit. Instead of saying her next line, her gaze lingered over my face as I got closer, desire burning inside of me.

An indescribable force drew me in as my pulse sped up. There was nothing in the world I wanted more than to be next to her. Her skin flushed darker with each step I took. A slow smile crossed my face as the corner of her mouth quirked up. Everything in me wanted to kiss that grin off her face.

Finally, our faces were so near, I could feel her sweet, cinnamon laced breath on my cheek. “How cam’st thou hither, tell me, and wherefore—” she said before being interrupted by the echoing sound of students entering the hallway. Damn but they had poor timing. I stepped down unsteadily from the ladder that had served as my lattice, inwardly cursing our interruption.

When I reached the floor, I took a few steps back, clearing my throat. “How exactly does a high school senior know Shakespeare by heart?” I asked, my voice sounding deeper than usual as I crossed my arms in front of me.

Holly turned back to her blue paint. “The balcony scene from Romeo and Juliet is one of the most famous scenes in literature. I’m sure a lot people know it,” she said like it was no big deal.

“Mmm, hmm. It’s highly unusual for someone of your age and stage of life to know that scene.”

“You know it,” she shot back at me, making me grin.

“I do.”

“Why do you know it?”

“Firstly, I love literature. Majored in it.”

“And secondly?” she asked rather sheepishly.

“Secondly.” I chuckled. “Secondly, playing Romeo in school plays got me a certain amount of—attention.”

“From girls?” she asked, pointing her paint brush at me. I shrugged my shoulder a bit. “Basically, what you’re saying is you played Romeo to get laid?”

“It helped.”

Holly shook her head as she let out a hoot. “Good to know. Glad The Baird was there to assist.”

“You didn’t answer my question, yet. Why do you know all the words?”

She sighed then made her way down the ladder with her paint, the ladder squeaking as she did so. “Nanny—my grandmother—used to play Shakespeare on her old record player. She was straight from England and never lost her love for home—or Shakespeare.”

“Your grandmother passed away?”

“Yeah, a while ago.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Thanks. I still miss her a ton. She’s the one who taught me how to read and write. I even copied her English accent for a while. Drove my mom crazy,” she said, sticking her brush in the sink while covering the paint can with plastic.

“That’s a beautiful story,” I said, swallowing over the lump in my throat, thinking about how she’d had—then lost such a close relationship.

Holly didn’t answer. She just kept on washing her brush. I slowly plodded over to her, feeling almost nervous. Resting my hip on the large, white sink, I stood there, watching her. The blue paint circled the bottom of the porcelain sink before falling to its doom.

Much like our current conversation. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to upset you,” I said in a low voice. Stretching out my hand, I pulled the brush from hers. She let me have it, willingly, then shifted to the side to give me room.

“I’m not upset. It just—brings back memories.”

“You guys were close. It must be difficult to lose someone you loved so much.” Squeezing out the last of the water from the brush, I tapped it a few times on the side of the sink. “You were lucky to have that kind of relationship with her. Even if it was for a short time.”

“She practically raised me,” she said, grabbing the brush out of my hand and placing it bristles up in a glass jar to dry.

My heart sunk at her admission. Shit. If her grandma raised her, where the hell was her mom?

“Mr. Marshall, Carlos wants to use the red filter for the lighting. I told him this is Romeo and Juliet, not Dracula,” a student with a nasally voice barged in, complaining. “Can you please come talk some sense into him?”

“Uh, sure, umm,” I started, trying like hell to remember the student’s name.

“Angela,” Holly whispered to me, her back still turned.

“I’ll be right there, Angela.” Angela, seemingly vindicated, spun around and ran out the door. Feeling uneasy about leaving right in the middle of our conversation, I struggled to think of what to say to Holly. “Look, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean for things to get so—heavy.” My finger grazed her arm briefly.

“Not a problem. Thanks for washing up. I have to go. See you tomorrow,” she said, glancing at me quickly before scooping up her bag and leaving me alone to ponder how unfair life was.

CHAPTER EIGHT

Holly

The deep, rhythmic bass of the music filled my ears as I tried my best to duck out of our teacher’s sight. What were the chances we’d run into Mr. Marshall at a bar?

“Come onnn,” Ivy whined in the middle of the club. Her double D’s nearly spilling out of her skimpy blue dress. Those spaghetti straps weren’t going to hold on forever. “He’s a cool teacher. No way would he rat us out,” she said, begging me again to let us stay.

“Dude, he works with my mom. We need to get down on our knees and pray that he didn’t see us,” Alex said, trying his best to hide behind me.

“Oh, I’ll get down on my knees for him any day,” Ivy said, licking her lips in a seductive manner.

Rolling my eyes, I said, “We have to go, Alex is right.”

“Fiiine, you win. We’ll find somewhere else to go,” she said, grabbing onto my arm.

“Yo, my sistahhh.” Xavier Lewis interrupted us, giving me a big hug. He must’ve stumbled in when we weren’t looking. “How’s ya guys?”

“Not quite as good as you from the smell of things,” I said, pushing him away roughly. His body banged up against the opposite wall. “I’m sorry,” I said, rushing forward to make sure he was okay. “I didn’t think I pushed you that hard.”

“You didn’t,” Ivy said in her annoyed voice. “He’s loaded.”

Ivy and I shared a look of concern. “Who are you here with?” I turned back to Xavier, hands on his shoulders, attempting to keep him still.

“Owen’s comin’” he slurred, gesturing toward the doors.

Sure enough, Owen stumbled his big, stupid self through the doors right at that moment. “Oh, you guys. How’d you even get here? Do not tell me you drove or I’ll beat you,” I threatened, shoving his shoulders even more.

“Billy dropped us off, chillax,” he said as his noxious breath nearly made me gag.

“Friends,” Owen said, tripping his way down to us.

“We’re leaving. Now,” I said to Ivy and Alex.

“We just got here, babe,” Owen said, draping his arm around me like we were best friends. Or potential lovers. Neither of which we actually were.

“And now you’re leaving,” I said, putting my arm around his waist as I grabbed Xavier’s hand and pulled. “This way. Time to go.”

“You guys are a disaster,” Ivy said, clomping behind me in her heels—that were at least two inches taller than mine. “Come on, buddy, this way,” Alex said, taking command of Xavier for me. It was a relief to only have one drunk to take care of.

“They aren’t getting in my car like that. What if they get sick?” Ivy said once we got out the doors.

“What are we supposed to do? Leave them here?” I asked Ivy, shaking my head. “They live right near you. Plus, you have a convertible, just leave the top down.” She didn’t come up with another argument, so we continued on to the parking lot.

After getting the two drunkards seated and buckled, Ivy said, “And where are you supposed to fit?” Her arm motioning at the tiny car built for four.

I sighed, admitting defeat. “I’ll stay back,” Alex offered, like the good friend he was.

“That makes no sense. You live in the same neighborhood as they do,” I said, resigned to my fate.

“I’ll come back and get you,” Ivy offered.

“It’s a forty-five minute drive. Both ways.” Closing my eyes, I thought about what to do. “I’ll catch the bus.”

“You’re not taking the bus,” Ivy snapped at me as she angrily dug in her purse. Opening her wallet, she pulled out a card. “Use this. You can take a cab,” she said, shoving a credit card in my hand.

“That’s nice of you,” I said, gazing down at the shimmering gold card. The flashing lights from the bar’s sign reflecting off its perfectly smooth surface. “But I can’t accept,” I said, handing it back to her.

“Take the card or I’ll—oh, just stop being so proud and use it. Unless you want to sit on Owen’s lap?” she asked, opening her eyes up wide.

“Woohoo, yeah baby, come to papa,” Owen said, pumping his hands up in the air.

Even though he was being an ass, I giggled slightly. “Shit.”

“Yeah, shit,” she said, curling my fingers around the credit card. “Promise me you’ll use it.” The look of worry etched on her face somehow warmed my heart.

“I’ll use it,” I said, giving her a quick hug before spinning around to Alex. “Take care of them and make sure she doesn’t leave them on the side of the road,” I told him, wrapping my arms around his shoulders.

“Anything for you, Holls,” he said into my ear.

After they drove off—the drunk boys singing a boy band song from the nineties—I hurried out of the parking lot. Looking down the street, I considered hailing a cab. A bus would take twice as long but I also wouldn’t have to worry about paying—or more like, not paying—Ivy back for the fare.

Truthfully, cab fare would be a drop in the bucket of what that girl would put on this card in a week. My friend loved to shop with her daddy’s money.

The ethical war battled inside me—pride winning again.

Not many people took the bus at this time of night. It was just me, waiting. An uneasiness came over me like an invisible, itchy blanket making my skin crawl. Spinning around, I saw a man slowly making his way in my direction.

Mentally, I calculated how long it would take me to run in these heels back to the club.

Too long.

“Whatcha doin’ out here on your own, beautiful?” he asked, his tone smarmy, shirt undone too far down his chest. The gold necklaces around his neck swayed from side to side as he shimmied closer. I had a faraway thought wondering if the hair on his chest ever got tangled up with all that jewelry.

Backing up as he advanced, I said, “Just waiting for my boyfriend to pull up with the car.” My heart pounded away, fear coursing through my veins.

“Yeah? I don’t see no boyfriend,” he said, his arms out to the side in an exaggerated way while looking both ways down the street.

“We parked further down and he didn’t want to make me walk,” I said, trying like hell to keep my voice steady. Assholes like this smelled fear.

“I’ll drive ya, come wiff me,” he said, stepping closer.

“No, really. He’ll be here any minute,” I said, escaping around the bus stop bench. A cold shiver ran up my spine. I shouldn’t be here.

“Ohh, you wanna play hard to get? I like that game,” he said, a sneer crossing his face. He lunged around the bench as I took off in the direction of the club. Even drunk, he was faster than me. His fingers dug into my arm. “Caught ya,” he bellowed as he pulled hard on my arm, causing a shooting pain in my shoulder.

“Ow, let go,” I yelled, attempting to wrench my arm away from him. It didn’t work. Instead, he yanked me into his sweaty body. The stench of body odor was overwhelming. “I said, let me—”

“What the fuck?” I heard a man say directly behind me. It was enough of a shock that smarmy guy’s grip loosened for a split second. I took the opportunity to escape, although not without injury.

“Whassup, buddy? Just talkin’ to my girl here. It’s all cool,” smarmy guy said, with a smile.

“Your girl? She’s my girlfriend and I’d like to know what the hell you’re doing with your slimy hands all over her,” Mr. Marshall said, hands on his hips, legs spread slightly. My heart thudded louder as panic seized my chest.

“Heyyy, not my fault the girl came onto me. She likes me better I guess,” smarmy guy said, before he grabbed for me again. Anticipating his move this time, I got away. Barely. I shrank back as I trembled, willing my knees to stop shaking.

“I see you’re a slow learner,” Mr. Marshall said, pushing smarmy guy’s shoulders, sending him stumbling back. You’d think the jerk would get the hint and take off but instead, he recovered his footing looking even more angry than before.

“She’s mine,” the jackass said again, bolting toward Mr. Marshall. My body stiffened, a small squeak exiting my mouth as I watched helplessly.

Evan was done. He pushed the guy harder this time, causing him to fall back on his ass. “You need to leave,” he told the jerk. But up he got again.

“She’s mine.” This time smarmy swung a punch. Evan easily evaded it before offering his own right back. The drunk lurched back, holding his cheek. He gazed up at each of us as though deciding what to do next.

Luckily, tail between his legs, he took a few unsteady steps backward, then turned around to hightail it out of there.

“You okay?” Evan said, coming at me like a freight train.

Instead of answering, I opened my mouth, then closed it. Too shocked and scared to speak just yet.

“Jesus, come here,” he said, pulling me into him. I melted into his warm body easier than I should have, his spicy cologne filling my senses. God, he felt good. He squeezed me even tighter.

“I’m fine, he just scared the crap out of me. Thanks for helping,” I said into his perfect neck as I used every bit of restraint I could to not kiss it.

“Spotted you guys when you walked in. What are you doing here anyway?”

Pushing back a bit, I gazed up into his eyes. “It’s far enough from home that nobody we know comes here.”

Evan chuckled. “Uh huh, that’s why I suggested this place, too.” He smiled sadly down at me. “Now tell me why your friends took off on you?” he asked, his comforting hands moving to my shoulders, stroking me gently. It felt so good, I wanted to stay here forever.

“Owen and Xavier showed up. Inebriated. Ivy brought her convertible so there was only room for four.”

His eyes closed. “They left you behind to take the bus? At this time of night?”

“I volunteered. All of them live in the same neighborhood anyway. It just made sense for me to stay back.”

“Yeah, makes perfect sense to leave your friend alone with a bunch of drunks,” he said sarcastically. “Are you all right?” he asked, stepping back, then grasping one of my hands in his. He gently turned my arm around as his fingers grazed the red marks still visible on there. “Does it hurt?” His eyes were so kind, his voice so soothing, I wanted to float away on it.

“Not really,” I said, too hopped up on adrenaline and distracted by Evan’s actions to feel any pain.

Dropping that arm, he picked up my other one, investigating it just like the first. My breath caught at the feel of his rough fingers on my soft flesh.

“These will likely bruise,” he said, flinching sympathetically while his fingers circled the bigger marks. Watching his movements on my skin made me dizzy.

“I’m fine now. Thanks for intervening when you did,” I said so low it was almost a whisper. Grudgingly, I pulled my arm out of his hold. I didn’t know how much more of his touch I could take.

“I’ll take you home. Come inside for a minute. I have to tell my friends I’m going and I don’t want to leave you out here alone,” he said, reaching for my hand.

Before I knew what was happening, Evan guided me back in the club. When we stepped further into the entryway, he said, “Wait here for me. Don’t move.” With that, he squeezed my hand one more time then strode off to find his friends.

He walked with a smooth confidence I wish I possessed. My eyes dropped to his fine behind. I couldn’t help it. His tight jeans accentuated his attributes very nicely. Very, very nicely.

“Holy shit, did you see that hot guy,” a girl not much older than me blurted out to her friend as they passed by.

The other girl laughed. “Girlfriend, he is way out of your league.” Her friend pushed her playfully in the shoulder.

Looking up, I could see Evan talking with some guys at a small table. They were all grabbing their phones and throwing down what I assumed was tip money on the table. As they made their way in my direction, I was careful to not make eye contact. I even turned around completely, pretending to be very interested in the sign on the wall.

“Heaven is missing an angel tonight,” a guy behind me said. “Would you look at that perfect, heart-shaped ass?”

“Down boy,” Evan said. Briefly, I glanced behind me for a quick look. He was walking out with his friends. My heart sunk for a moment, scared he was going to leave me behind, too. “You know what? I think I forgot my phone. You guys go on ahead, I’ll meet you there.”

They exchanged nods and see you laters.

Phew. I breathed a sigh of relief. He wasn’t going to skip out on me.

“Sorry about my friend,” Evan said into my ear. As I turned around, our cheeks brushed together lightly. The stubble on his face scratched my skin. “Shit, sorry,” he said, frowning, placing his fingers under my chin as his thumb softly grazed my check.

My heart nearly stopped. The feel of his touch on my skin electrified me. “It’s fine,” I said, instinctively grazing his hand with my fingers. “I don’t break that easily,” I murmured. Our eyes met and something changed in that moment. A few beads of sweat fell down his temple, his breathing accelerated. I could smell his manly, musky scent now magnified from the altercation. I don’t know exactly what transpired in the seconds or minutes we stared at each other like that. All I knew was after that, things were different.

“I should go,” I said reluctantly, breaking the spell. “It figures, you know?”

“What does?”

“This is the first night out I’ve had in weeks and look what happens.”

“You don’t get to cut loose very often, do you?”

“Practically never.”

“Do you dance, Miss Anderson?” Evan asked, grabbing my hand again, stepping closer to me.

“Like a champ.”

He laughed so hard he threw his head back, exposing that neck I was so close with just minutes before. “Show me,” he said, picking up my other hand then walking backward. The devilish look on his face stole my breath away.

“What if someone sees?” I asked nervously, turning my head this way and that, looking for recognizable faces.

“Nobody we know is here,” he said with a mischievous look on his face as he turned around. Dropping one hand, he tugged me along more quickly. An excitement ran through my body. Was I really going to dance with my teacher?

Maneuvering through the crowd of people, we stopped in the middle of the dance floor. Surrounded by gyrating, jumping dancers, Evan let go of my hand and started to move his body to the beat. That cocky, sexy smile came out again.

I couldn’t help it—I burst out laughing then joined him. His eyes dropped from my face to my chest, then back to my eyes. That smirk got wider. Even though he wasn’t touching me, I could feel his eyes traveling the length of me, lingering on my curves.

Stepping closer, he gently placed his hands on my waist as though he was testing out the waters. The heat from his skin burned sensuously into mine. A small ache in my lower belly intensified into a throb I couldn’t ignore.

Evan pulled me tightly to him and I realized the music had changed. He picked up my hands, dropping them on his hard, muscular, shoulders. I could feel a slight dampness seeping through his shirt. My breasts pressed deliciously into his chest as his hand on my lower back pushed me further into him.

I inhaled a deep breath as his thick arousal made itself known against my belly. Just thinking about what was under those jeans gave me immediate palpitations. Slowly dragging my hand from his shoulder down his sharp pectorals caused my knees to wobble.

Would I survive this? Being this close to him made my head swim with thoughts and ideas you shouldn’t have about your teacher. “We shouldn’t be doing this,” I said in a voice too soft for him to hear.

He dipped his head, his scruff once more gently scraping my cheek, sending a wave of heat over me. “What?” he asked, his breath hot on my neck causing goose bumps to form.

“I said we probably shouldn’t be doing this.” Oh God, inhaling his musky, spicy scent while staring at his beautiful neck was too much. My fingers tensed into his shirt, again feeling the taught muscles there.

“Probably not,” he said into my ear, his lips lightly touching my skin as he spoke. I’d heard what he said, loud and clear. But neither of us made a move to part.

Quite the opposite happened. We swayed to the slow song for what felt like hours. Eventually, my head rested on his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart against my ear. His hand slowly dragged over the expanse of my back as we continued to move with each other. The friction making my body sizzle.

“What do you say we get out of here?”

CHAPTER NINE

Holly

Did he just suggest leaving? Of course, he did. He was dancing with his student whom he felt sorry for. Now he was done. Disappointment washed over me with its cruel vengeance. Did I really allow myself to believe I had a shot with him?

I tried my best not to let Evan see how crushed I was. “Okay, I just need the ladies’ room before we leave,” I said into his ear. My nose touched his dark, damp hair and I inhaled his scent one last time before starting toward the bathroom.

Maneuvering through the crowd of people was no easy task, especially as the next song changed to a faster one again.

“If you’re out before me, wait here,” Evan said, wrapping his hand around my upper arm. I turned around, seeing him point to the wall between the bathroom doors.

“Yes, sir.” I grinned and saluted him before disappearing into the washroom. Oddly enough, it was empty. I had to close my eyes tightly for a minute. I’d misinterpreted Evan’s intentions tonight. Right at this moment, I was feeling like quite the fool.

The man was being kind. Nothing more. How could I be so stupid?

After washing my hands, I held a paper towel under the cold water for a few seconds. Squeezing it out, I pressed it to my cheeks. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t for the life of me change the funky mood I now found myself in.

He’s your teacher, you idiot. No matter how hard you crushed on him, he had better things to do than hang around a silly student who lived on the wrong side of the tracks.

Taking a deep breath, I blinked my watery eyes, threw out the soggy paper, then plastered an “I’m perfectly fine” look on my face. After all these years, I was getting pretty good at that.

Stepping out into the hallway, I couldn’t see Evan yet so I stood against the wall to wait for him. My eyes started to fill again as thoughts of how unfair the universe was invaded my mind. Really, I couldn’t be surprised. This was the story of my pathetic life.

“What’s wrong?” Evan said, rushing right up to me, putting his index finger underneath my jaw then tipping it up. He examined my face. “Something happen?”

Feeling his warm breath on my face made me want to dive into him. The stubble on his face was more visible in this lighting. My hand itched to reach out and feel it.

“No, just tired. I’ve been yawning,” I lied, putting on a smile for him. Not sure if he bought it or not but he stared at me for a few more seconds before letting it go. His hand grasped mine then he slowly led us outside.

The cool air hit my body with a shock. An instant shiver traveled through me. Evan stopped, pulling me over to the side. “Here.” Before I knew it, he’d taken off his jacket then placed it around my shoulders. Tilting my head down, I took a quick sniff as I shoved my hands into the sleeves. I couldn’t help myself.

Gazing up at him, he had a half-smirk on his face. “What?” I asked, knowing full well he’d seen what I’d done. A slight blush rose up on my face.

His eyes scanned me one more time. “Nothing, let’s go.” He grabbed my hand again, pulling me more quickly to the parking lot. We walked for a couple of minutes, neither of us saying a word until we stood in front of a motorcycle.

“Is this yours?” My eyes went wide with surprise.

“Yep,” he said, letting go of my hand as he picked up the helmet. Adjusting the straps first, he walked over to me, putting it on my head. It was heavier than I thought it would be. “It needs to be tight but not too tight.” The feel of his fingers on my neck as he did up the buckle gave me more goose bumps.

“Still cold?” he asked, obviously feeling me shiver again. Only this time it wasn’t from the weather. Stepping closer to me, his hands rubbed up and down my arms.

I stood there, mesmerized by the smell of his jacket, the motion of his hands and the proximity of his body.

“I’m good,” I said, my eyes looking up into his. If he leaned down just a little bit, our lips would touch. That thought alone caused my lower belly to tighten and that dull ache started again. As I took a breath, I exhaled loudly, stepping away. “Do I get on first?” I asked, turning to face the bike. Dragging my fingers on the cool, leather seat, I remembered I was wearing a dress.

“Uhh, I can’t ride this,” I said, frowning up at Evan.

“No? How come?” he asked, striding over then straddling the motorcycle in one quick move. He shot me another grin. “Get on.”

Anxiety shot through me. “I’m wearing a dress,” I said, pulling down the short hemline. It was pointless. No matter how hard I tried, I’d never be able to stretch this material.

Evan laughed, his entire body shaking. “Just get on. Nobody will be able to see anything. You’ll be behind me.”

Creeping up to him, I unsuccessfully tried to lift my leg, nearly falling over in the process. Luckily he grabbed ahold of my arm. “Whoa, careful,” he said, peering down at my legs.

I looked down, noticing part of my white, lacy panties were showing. “Shit,” I said, fixing myself too late.

“Hands on my shoulders,” he said, laying my right hand on his right shoulder, pressing down.

Again, the heat radiating through his shirt made my knees weak. There was no getting out of this, I just had to do it. Placing my other hand on his opposite shoulder, I swung my leg around, hoping nobody was around to see the show as my dress rose hopelessly up.

Evan started up the motorcycle. Immediately, it began to vibrate my bottom. I felt the motion acutely, not having much between me and the bike. Being pressed up to Evan’s back, my legs tight to his felt so—forbidden. But also so right.

He used his hands to capture mine then pull them around his waist. In the process, my entire body was now virtually crushed into his. Including my crotch. Only the thin material of my panties now separated me from Mr. Marshall’s jeans. The thought made me clench deeply inside myself—a slow, methodical throb beginning for him. My skin heated as a new desire coursed through my veins.

His head turned around briefly enough to say, “Hold on, don’t let go,” grasping my hands together on his stomach—his very hard stomach. Clench. My heart skittered being this close to Evan, his manly smell clouding what was left of my brain.

Finally, he took off out of the parking lot. As we turned left, I realized I hadn’t told him where I lived. I opened my mouth to speak just as he accelerated onto the street. There was no way he’d be able to hear me over the roar of the engine. Maybe he had looked at my student information and memorized my address?

At this point, I didn’t care. Being this close to Mr. Marshall was its own personal Heaven and Hell. It was so wrong but felt so right.

The wind rushed past us even faster as he sped up. His hand covered mine as if to ask if I was all right. Without thinking, my body pressed even further into his. He let go of my hands, pressing on the gas again.

I couldn’t help but laugh out loud. Being so close to Evan, having the wind whip mercilessly over us, feeling so—free. Not a care in the world. Joy bubbled up inside of me and I felt light for the first time in a long time.

In fact, I was so into the ride I completely lost sight of where he was taking me until he turned left into the parking lot of the beach. A big smile crossed my face. I hadn’t been here in ages.

Evan had his pick of spots in the completely abandoned lot. A few lights above made it possible to see in the otherwise dark, black night. After he turned off the bike, the sound of crashing waves filled my ears. Another smile filled my face as I closed my eyes, breathing in the salty air.

“You asleep?” he asked, shifting around in his seat.

My eyes popped open as I startled a bit. “No.” I giggled softly, looking into his dark eyes. “I haven’t been here in forever. Just enjoying it.” A fresh energy filled my body as I fell into his gaze.

“We can enjoy the actual beach if you get off,” he said, raising his eyebrows, chuckling.

“That sounds like a great idea.”

CHAPTER TEN

Holly

My legs felt a bit like jelly as we walked down to the water. Being so close to Mr. Marshall—Evan, was like being in some sort of dream that I didn’t want to wake up from. And now, smelling the salty, fresh ocean air deep in my lungs and feeling the cool, wet sand between my toes—my spirits lifted in ways I couldn’t explain.

When we neared the ocean’s edge, I dumped my shoes and Evan’s coat carelessly behind me, rushing to the water’s edge. Immediately I sunk in a few inches like quicksand relieving me of all my cares. Joy bubbled up in me, ready to explode.

The constant slosh, slosh, slosh soothed the angry, tired beast I tried to hide from everyone on a daily basis. It was exhausting. Just then, the vibrant moon peeked out from behind the clouds to say a hello.

Cautiously entering the cool water one step at a time, I stopped once I was up to my knees, enjoying the ocean’s refreshing touch. The waves hit me even higher, surprising me as it splashed further up my thighs. Staring up at the moon again, I wondered when the last time was that I took a moment to really appreciate its brilliance. Life was always so busy—such a struggle minute by minute—that I rarely had free time to do things like this.

Taking in another soul-cleansing breath, I closed my eyes to let all of this soak in.

Looking back, I saw Evan still at the edge of the water. “Come in, it’s beautiful.”

“It sure is,” he said, staring right at me. My stomach flipped and squeezed watching him, completely still, not taking his eyes off me. Clearing his throat, he widened his stance. “I left my bathing suit at home,” he said dryly, making me laugh.

“Too bad. Didn’t think you were a chicken,” I said in a sing song voice, stepping forward a bit more as I bent over to stick my hands in the water. A rogue wave hit me higher on a very sensitive area. I inhaled loudly. “Ohhhh.”

Beside me, I saw a flash of a person running directly into the ocean—in his underwear? Turning around to check for Evan, I quickly surmised it was him in the water. Holy cow. Mr. Marshall in his very tight briefs mere feet from me. My heart sped up watching him dive into the water once he was in up to his waist.

Did he really just strip down to his unmentionables and jump in the ocean? Right in front of me? When he came up for air, I yelled, “You’re crazy,” to him, cupping my hands on my mouth.

“Couldn’t let you have all the fun,” he responded from a distance. His voice breathy and carefree.

I’m not sure if it was the shroud of night, the excitement of being back on the beach after all this time or just getting caught up in a moment. Whatever it was, Evan’s playfulness and willingness to throw caution to the wind gave me the courage to say, “What the hell?” as I unzipped my dress, pulling it over my head before I tossed it in the general direction of my shoes.

The cool breeze brought goose bumps to cover my body. Wrapping my arms around my breasts to hide myself a bit from his eyes I slowly ventured further in. Every step I took warmed my skin after the initial shock of it.

“Just rip off the Band-Aid, woman,” Evan yelled to me.

What exactly did I have to lose now? We were alone out here and he did remove his clothes first, after all. My lacy bra and panties weren’t much coverage but on our beaches there were many women who wore a lot more revealing things I guess.

With that logic, I ran screaming into the waves. I was almost positive I heard Evan shouting with laughter as I continued my daring entry into the dark, black sea. Once the shock of it wore off, I dipped my head back, wetting the rest of my hair as I swam toward him, the water trickling off me as I glided though its warm caress.

Slightly out of breath, I paused to tread when I got near enough. His focus jumped from my lips to my eyes and back. He drifted closer—so close I thought he’d kiss me. My breathing ceased as I waited for his lips to meet mine. Instead, he suddenly sunk down with a loud, whoosh, creating a surge of waves in his midst.

Coming up for air, his lips parted in a devilish grin, water dripping down his handsome face. The dark shadows the moonlight created accentuated the commanding, chiseled features on his face. A tightness in my lower belly intensified.

“Follow me,” he said, diving off in a powerful stroke leaving me in his wake. I trailed behind him, moonlight on our shoulders, the water invigorating me with each stroke I took. Evan checked for me frequently—making sure I was close—slowing down whenever I fell behind. His kindness made my heart burst with happiness.

After a while, he flipped, floating silently on his back. The water coursed over his rippled abs with each swell of the ocean’s call, tugging again at that tight sensation inside of me. Unable to stop myself, I eyed the large bulge in his underwear. Swallowing with a dry throat, I closed my eyelids, gently drifting on my back.

Aware that my wet, lace covered breasts would be visible only a few feet from his eyes—if he decided to look—made my nipples harden at the thought. Unadulterated lust flowed through me as all pretension of modesty flew out. A wonderful throb began between my legs at the thought of Evan gazing at my chest, seeing my curves that craved his touch.

I squeezed my legs together, attempting to quell the desire as I imagined first his hands traveling over me—then his mouth. It was my turn to sink into the water, hoping to douse the flames inside me.

Rising back up, I tried again to float, my breathing even, eyes closed, allowing all the shit I had to do tomorrow and the next day and the next to gently exit my mind. Nothing mattered except being here. Now.

That odd feeling you get when someone’s watching you, crept over me. Turning my head, I saw Evan treading beside me, water droplets falling down his face. His black hair slicked back in a way that made my hands itch to reach out and feel it between my fingers.

Righting myself, I treaded face to face with him. “Thank you for bringing me here. You have no idea how much I needed this,” I said, my voice cracking a bit with emotion. My eyes began to fill with tears all on their own free will. It surprised me because I never allowed myself to go down the dangerous path of self-pity—except for a minute a day, first thing in the morning.

I knew firsthand what a poor me attitude did to a person.

He swam closer, his fingers resting on the side of my face as he wiped under my eyes with his thumbs. My heart stuttered at his tender touch and the look of heartbreaking concern on his face. “Shh, don’t cry. I brought you here to make you happy, not sad.”

Sniffling, I said, “I am happy.” More tears fell in contradiction to my words.

“Then why are you crying?” he asked in a voice so deep I wanted to fall into it and never climb out. His hands cradled my head as his eyes darted over my face.

As I opened my eyes, I inhaled deeply, attempting to calm myself. Evan made it so easy to open up to him. I spent my days shutting this part of myself down so people wouldn’t know how horrible I felt. “Because I can’t remember the last time I felt this way.” My vision clouded while I openly cried, mortified at how I was acting. A physical pain surrounded my heart, wringing it without care.

“Holly,” he said, firmly, demanding my attention as his hold became more insistent.

I looked at him, his face so fierce it almost scared me. “You have no idea how wrong that is. Someone like you should feel like this every day.” My heart skipped a beat at his kind words.

Sniffling, I answered back, “It’s just not in the cards for me.” A sense of dread weighed down on me like a hundred bricks. I’d never get out of the mess I was in—the life I was born to. A stab of remorse shot through me.

“That’s not true,” he said, his eyes boring into mine. “You deserve so much more.” His vision darted down to my mouth, making me wish he’d kiss my waiting lips.

“I’ve never met anyone like you before,” his voice rasped before he leaned over, touching his mouth to mine. I sighed as his tongue searched and found mine, a new kind of excitement zinging across my skin.

His hands dug deep into my hair as he claimed my mouth, causing a new desire to spark inside of me as he groaned loudly down my throat. I found it difficult to keep up to his enthusiastic kissing, but I did my best.

Evan inched back a bit before giving me one last lingering kiss that shattered everything I’d ever believed about longing and passion. I wasn’t completely innocent— there’d been boys in my life. Awkward, front seat fumblings—groping, sloppy, messy kisses.

But this? Kissing Evan? It wasn’t even in the same universe. This was hot, heavy, forbidden hunger—we both knew the consequences of our actions if anyone found out.

We panted for a minute, our breath mingling, unsure of what to do next. I closed my eyes for a moment as my heart rate slowed. Looking blindly into the sky, I found the moon sneaking behind a cloud. Was this all a dream?

I could feel Evan’s penetrating gaze searching my face for answers to the questions I didn’t want to think about. Not right now. Not ever. We waited in silence, neither of us quite ready to break the spell. I let out a breath I hadn’t realized I’d been holding, my lips swollen and numb yet still tingling from our kiss.

Nothing in my life thus far had taught me what to do after your English teacher kissed you in the moonlight. So, I did the only thing I knew. “Race you,” I said with a huge smile on my face.

Evan’s mouth twitched. “On five, four—”

Needless to say, I didn’t wait for his countdown. Laughing as I swam made it difficult but not impossible. Feeling like my lungs and heart might burst at any moment, I slowed down to catch my breath. Spinning to my back, I saw Evan was directly behind me.

As soon as I’d slowed, so did he. “I didn’t take you for a cheater, Miss Anderson,” he said in a very formal manner, making me giggle.

Splashing him with my hand, I said, “Am I in trouble now?” My heart leaped, feeling mischievous and daring.

Twisting his head to the side from the onslaught of water, he chuckled. Looking at me, wiping his face with one hand, he said, “I’d say I’m the one in trouble.” His eyes looked at me tentatively, worry etched in his expression. My heart dropped to my stomach and stayed there, jabbing with anxiety.

I slowly made my way closer to him. Setting my hands on his shoulders, feeling the scorching heat emanating from his bare, wet skin, and meaning every word, I said, “No, you’re not.”

His dark eyes reflected the moonlight back to me as his expression sobered. “Yeah, I really am, Holly.” Again, my pulse raced as his strong hands found my waist, pulling me into his body. “Big trouble.” His jaw tightened—a vein popping out on his neck. The feel of his fingers seizing into my skin made me feel like I was trapped—willingly of course.

Something inside of me needed to show him I was okay with whatever we were doing—even though I really had no concept of exactly what that was. My fingertips grazed the stubble on his face then moved up into the hair I’d been so curious about. “Mmm,” I moaned, running my hand through his soft, wet waves.

He didn’t do anything, other than scan my face and allow me the freedom to do as I pleased. Trailing a finger from his temple, down to his mouth, I touched the pad of my index finger on his soft, smooth, still wet lips—the lips that were nearly devouring me a minute ago. I wanted him to do more than just kiss me. A lot more.

I felt completely unguarded as I memorized the small dip in his top lip and the slight roughness to the bottom one. His searing gaze cut into me like a knife, opening up a sensual part of me I didn’t know existed. My stomach tightened as I thought about how badly I wanted this man.

Yielding, I pressed myself close, my breasts tight against his chest. The friction we created rubbing my nipples in the most divine way, sending shocks to my pussy. Sighing, I kissed him gently, tasting the salty sea water. His hands dropped to my behind, shoving me more forcefully to him. A rush of water rose up between us, hitting our faces for a brief moment.

My heart thumped faster as I melted further into him. His slippery skin made it nearly impossible to maintain a hold on his sculpted frame. My core throbbed with need for him.

Maneuvering my legs around his waist, he set on a devastating frenzy on my mouth. If I was hungry—he was ravenous. Somehow, he managed to keep us afloat as my hands explored his back, feeling the tight, lean muscles under my fingertips.

Eventually, he laid back, gliding through the water with me on his chest. I held onto his shoulders as he pulled us through the jet black sea. “You’re a good swimmer,” I said, still holding on while he towed me.

A bit out of breath, he answered back, “I love the water. You’re not so bad yourself.”

I kicked my feet but it was clear who was doing the lion’s share of work here. The power Evan had in his strokes surprised me—it also turned me on even more. He flipped over quickly, grabbing my arms to put them on his shoulders.

We swam like that for a while, the moon up above us, reflecting in the vast, dark water. Coming to a stop where he was able to touch the bottom, he swiveled around, moving me from his back to his front once again, my legs wrapped around him.

“It’s like being in a different world out here. Like nothing else matters,” I said, my fingers playing with his hair, feeling the water drip down my hands. My flesh tingled everywhere we touched, a longing for more whispered through me, but I was unsure how to ask.

Evan replied by crushing his mouth to mine. We were used to each other by now, so I responded just as enthusiastically. His tongue fighting with mine, dueling for control I was too willing to give. He tasted of desperation as though these were our final moments on Earth. His hungry mouth kissed down my neck, licking, sucking, nipping. Even in this cool water, I melted with the fire of his touch.

I bent my head back as his lips found my nipple over top of my bra. With only the lace between us, his hot mouth on me felt beyond incredible. When he added his tongue, I was sure I’d lose my mind. My heart nearly stopped as he flicked the hard nub, shooting waves of delicious heat down to my core.

My thighs tightened around him, my hands grasping his head. That ache between my legs was now an entity of its own, needing more. “Evan, I need you,” I whimpered while he moved to my other breast, leaving his fingers behind to continue playing.

The shocks that shot through me were relentless. I’d do anything to relieve this ache. “Please, I want you,” I whispered into his hair, kissing his head. He stopped what he was doing then kissed my lips with more determination than before. He stole my breath as his tongue plunged so deep in my mouth I could barely breathe—his grip tensing even harder on me.

Sighing, I clutched onto him for dear life, letting him do as he pleased.

My hands touched his feverish skin everywhere I could. Finally, I tore my lips from his and kissed down his perfect neck. He tasted divine. Alternately kissing and licking his skin, I couldn’t help but press myself closer.

His hands roamed my back, stopping on the closure of my bra. In one second, it went slack. I backed up, both of us scrambling to get rid of it, pulling it forcefully off my arms as though it was a matter of life or death.

Skin on skin, our chests finally touched without the confines of anything between us. Moaning into his mouth, I hunted for his tongue. Once I found it, I drew it into my mouth, grazing it slightly with my teeth. That brought out a guttural moan from Evan that I’d never heard from anyone before.

“We should stop,” he said before taking over the kiss, his hands heading straight for my breasts.

“Probably,” I replied, smiling as his hands caressed my nipples into hard peaks. “But I want you, so much.”

He ceased his kisses and his touches, leaning his forehead onto mine. “You have no idea how much I want you, too,” he said, lightly shaking his head side to side.

My hand brazenly traveled down his chest to his abs then even further down until I felt his hardness. “Mmm,” he said, taking my mouth again. I continued touching him for a moment before slipping my hand inside his tight underwear.

Gasping at the feel of him, I gripped his hard, veiny length then began stroking him at a slow, steady pace. His hips thrust up into my hand asking for more. The thing was, I didn’t know what else to do. This was about as far as I’d ever gone.

All I was certain of was that I needed him. All of him. However that came.

“Please?” I asked one more time before he conceded, placing his hands on my behind, walking out of the water to where our clothes sat. With my legs still around him, he bent down to his knees then spread out his jacket on the beach.

Lowering us down on the sand, I sighed. This is what I wanted. Me underneath Evan. His warm, wet body above mine. I could feel his cock, hard and hot against my stomach as he kissed my neck. “Yes,” I moaned as his hand cupped my breast and his mouth covered my nipple, sucking harder this time. As though they were somehow connected, my pussy contracted at his attentions.

Evan’s hand moved from my breast, down my stomach to find my core. When his hand dove inside my panties I knew this was going to be the night. I wouldn’t be leaving this beach a virgin. An excited thrill surrounded me thinking how perfect and unexpected this all was.

“You’re so wet for me,” he said, laying on his side, his fingers doing amazing things I’d never felt before.

“That feels good,” I said, kissing his lips lightly.

His finger found my entrance, slowly going further and further inside me. My hips pushed up against his hand, craving more contact, more movement—more of something I didn’t really understand. When his thumb brushed over my clit, I gasped out loud, my fingers digging into his arm.

“You okay?” he asked, stilling.

“Very okay.” Placing my hand on his, I encouraged him to start again. “Keep going.”

Touching his lips to mine again as he gently restarted his movements. “More, Evan,” I said breathlessly into his ear. His hand yanked hard on the lacy material of my panties, pulling them down. Once he removed my underwear completely, I spread my legs open, encouraging him with my hands to lay on top of me.

He reached over me, looking for something in our discarded clothing. Pulling out what looked like his wallet, he opened it. A crinkling sound came next and I knew what he was doing. After he was fully covered, he laid on me. “Are you sure about this? Is this what you really want?”

My hands went to the sides of his face. “I need you, please? I’ve never done this before,” I told him in barely a whisper.

“Holly,” he said, motioning like he was going to move off of me.

My heart panicked at the thought of him leaving. “I want you to be my first.” My legs and arms tightened around him attempting to hold him where he was.

“Are you sure?”

I nodded, then answered, “Yes.” I’d never wanted anything more in my life.

He reached down between us, lining himself up with me. “Relax, I’ll go slow,” he said, his lips touching my cheek. The bright moon was directly in my sight, surrounded by a million stars. It was like being in some kind of dream.

The fullness he created as he pushed inside of me took my breath away. I’d never felt like this before. After a few moments, Evan worked his way back and forth in a slow, torturous motion. When he was fully inside of me, my legs relaxed. Raising my hips up, I bucked him to let him know I was all right.

Withdrawing slightly, he pushed back in with such restraint my heart nearly burst. Evan treated me with such care and concern, it brought tears to my eyes. “Oh no, am I hurting you?” he asked, his face filled with regret.

Smiling, I said, “No, you’re being so sweet.” Pulling him down, I kissed him.

He wiped away my tears, kissing one eyelid then the other. His movements sped up after that, creating a sensual fire that quickly drove me insane. Evan lifted up on his arms, powering into me faster now. “You are so beautiful,” he said, dipping down to me for a second to kiss me, then going back to quicken his pace even further.

Tingling started, just like when I touched myself at home alone in my bed. Only this time it was with Evan inside of me. The sensations he created shocked me, I didn’t know what to do so I held onto him for dear life as every muscle in my body tensed.

“Are you coming?” Evan asked as I wrapped myself around him, not breathing, unable to answer back. He kept thrusting into me, filling me up so completely I felt dizzy. “Let go, I’ve got you,” he said in a strained voice, surrounding me in his safe cocoon.

Flashes burst behind my eyelids as I cried out. “Oh, yes, ohh,” I said grasping at Evan’s back, looking for purchase so I didn’t fall away. My entire body pulsed with the force of my orgasm, his movements making it go on and on like I was floating away, never wanting to return.

“Fuck,” he said, stilling inside of me as he gasped over and over again. His chest expanding and deflating with such force I worried if he was okay. Moving in and out of me a few more times, he withdrew, rolling over onto his back.

“Come here,” he said, pulling me with him onto his chest as he tried to even his breathing. His hand rubbed my back while I settled into his sweaty body. Playing with his slight spattering of chest hair, my heartbeat finally returned to normal. “Holly?”

Reluctantly lifting my head, I rose up resting my chin on his chest. “Mmm hmm?”

His arm bent behind his head, propping it up. “You okay?”

“I’m way better than okay,” I said, tapping my finger on his hard pectoral muscles.

“Yeah?” he asked, his eyes scanning my face.

“Yeah,” I said, moving up to touch my lips to his.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Evan

Seven o’clock in the morning and I was already planning a nap in my Jeep at lunch. How did Holly work these crazy hours and keep up her grades? Stretching one more time in the Jeep, I swung open my door, making my way to the diner.

The entire weekend my mind was a flurry of wondering if she was going to report me. Would I walk into school and be shown the door? Did Holly hate me now that we’d slept together? She made no attempt at exchanging numbers when I dropped her off at her house—or trailer, I should say.

By the time we got to her place it was late. Really late. Because of how loud my bike was, she’d wanted me to leave her at the entrance to the park but I wouldn’t listen. Instead, I parked and we walked to her driveway.

I’d dragged her into me for one last kiss. In fact, I swear I could still feel her body touching mine. It was so perfect.

Ding, ding, went the bell above the door as I sauntered inside. Her eyes met mine instantly, like a magnet. She finished pouring a few cups of coffee then made her way to me. “For one?” she asked politely as if we’d never met.

“Please,” I answered back, both relieved and disappointed she didn’t run into my arms.

“Follow me,” she said, coffee pot in one hand, menu in the other. She sat me at the same spot as last time. Flipping over the cup on the table, she emptied the pot into it. “Do you need a moment? Or do you know what you want?”

My eyes traveled the length of her, remembering what was underneath that uniform. I knew exactly what I wanted. Her sweet body squirming beneath mine on the beach, under the moonlight and the stars.

“Uh, just give me a minute, please.”

“I’ll be back,” she said before spinning around to take more orders and remove plates. I needed to get my head on straight. Every time I was around her, my brain clouded—only wanting one thing. My palms were sweating profusely now, and I wondered if the rest of my body was as well.

Once I remembered how to read, I decided on the special. Taking a few deep breaths, I steadied myself for Holly’s return. When she finally made her way back to me, she said, “What would you like to eat?”

Now, I have no idea if she said it in a provocative voice or not, but hearing her say that made me think of certain things we hadn’t gotten around to that night on the beach. Things I would very much like to do right now.

“I’ll have the special,” I practically croaked as she giggled to herself.

“Sounds good,” she said, stuffing her order pad into her apron. Hesitating for a moment, like she wanted to say more, she gave up and walked back to the kitchen.

I relaxed against the back of the seat. Part of me knew it would be weird, seeing her in the daylight after our night together. This was more awkward than I’d imagined. My heart was beating like crazy and my brain couldn’t remember any of the prepared speeches I was going to make to her.

Closing my eyes, I tried to think about what to say. Blank. Nothing came to mind.

“Tired?” she asked, startling me a bit as she filled up my untouched cup.

That familiar floral scent I knew so well wafted toward me. “A bit. I don’t know how you manage to get up so early every day,” I said, pouring sugar into my cup.

“You do what you have to do,” she said in a chipper voice. “I’ll be right back with your order.”

I watched her hips sway as she walked away from me. She had this job because she needed the money. A concept so foreign to me it wasn’t even funny. Never in my life did I have to work even half as hard as Holly.

When she came back with my order, I thanked her. “You’re welcome. Just call if you need anything else.”

As she moseyed away, a man stopped her, gesturing with his hands, then taking an obvious look right at Holly’s behind. What the fuck? A second later, his hand touched her ass and stayed there. Oh, I did not think so.

Instead of helping her, the other men at the table laughed. Screw this. Pushing away from the table I rose up, storming over to them. “Excuse me, I think the lady would appreciate it if you removed your hands and left,” I said, nodding toward the door.

“I think the lady would appreciate me keeping my hands on her and staying. Right, toots?” he said, squeezing her ass.

That was it. I saw red as I pushed between Holly and the asshole. “I asked you to take your hands off her and leave. Not saying it again.”

“Why? You’ll get your turn after,” he spouted back, his buddies laughing again.

Reaching down, I grabbed the front of his shirt, pulling him up. “Let’s go. Now.”

“Hey, hey, hey, I was just jokin’ around. You and your tie need to settle down, boy,” he said, moving back a bit. “The girl flirts with me every morning. We got a thing, ya get me?”

“I get that you aren’t welcome in here again. And if I see your stupid face, I’ll call the cops.” Shoving him with my fist still in his shirt, he stumbled before straightening himself up.

“Yeah, we’ll see who’s allowed back in here after I speak with the manager,” he said in a loud voice, looking around the restaurant. “And I got witnesses, too.” His hand went into the air to accentuate his point. Yanking his coat from the back of his chair, he stomped out first, followed by his motley crew.

“You okay?” I asked Holly, putting my hand on her arm.

“Fine, thank you,” she said, avoiding my gaze as she picked up the money the men had thrown haphazardly on the table. Her lips were pressed into a tight line. The other patrons had quieted, their eyes and ears focused on us.

Not knowing what else to do, I went back to my seat. Pushing my food around, unable to eat with the sick feeling in my stomach, I wondered how often ignorant men put their hands on Holly. No matter what that jerk said, she wasn’t flirting with him at all.

Someone slid into the chair opposite me. “Thanks.” Holly leaned her elbows on the table. “You didn’t have to do that, but I’m glad you were here.”

“That happen often?” I asked, staring into her sparking blue eyes, remembering how she looked up at me in wonder right before she came hard on my cock. I shifted in my seat, taking a breath. She bit her lip for a second. Hesitation was never a good thing. Throwing down my fork, I said, “You need to quit working here. It’s not safe.”

She laughed briefly. “It happens but not every day. There are slimeballs everywhere, Evan. This diner isn’t anything unusual. I’ve worked at lots of different places.”

My hands clenched together, wanting to punch every asshole who’d ever touched Holly. Including myself. How could I have crossed the line with this innocent girl? “That’s just not right.”

“That’s just how it is,” she said, rising from her chair, a sad look on her face. “Anyway, thanks again for sticking up for me.”

Sitting in my Jeep, I waited illegally in the bus zone. Holly ran out of the diner like it was on fire. Struggling with her bag as she simultaneously fixed her shoe, I chuckled at the sight before me. Man, she was cute.

Beeping my horn, she looked up at me. Her face changed from “how dare you” to something I couldn’t read. Hiking her bag onto her shoulder, she marched to my vehicle. “I’m taking the bus.”

“You’re getting in. We need to talk.”

“We don’t need to talk. I’m getting on the bus. Now go before it pulls up,” she said, motioning with her hand to where the bus would soon be arriving.

“Holly, get in the Jeep. You’re not winning this. I’m not moving, so you’ll be the reason I get a ticket if you don’t hurry up.”

“Gahh,” she said, ripping open the passenger door then jumping in. “Why are you so stubborn?” she asked, arranging her bag on the floor before reaching for the seat belt.

“Habit,” I responded as I shoulder checked before pulling out into traffic. Glancing down for a quick second I noticed she had already changed into her uniform. “We need to talk about—” I started, looking at her in the eyes.

“You have nothing to worry about.” She sighed, staring out her window. “I told you I’m no snitch.”

“I—we—I shouldn’t have done what we—did. I’m your teacher and I crossed a line you’re never ever supposed to cross with a student. It was wrong and it won’t happen again.” My stomach sunk saying those words because that was not how I felt at all. What I wanted to do was keep driving to the beach where we’d spend the day in the sun and the water. With me reapplying sunscreen to her beautiful skin several times. Then we could go back to my place and—

“I get it. I’m not some doe-eyed kid who doesn’t understand how the world works. If there’s one thing I know how to do it’s keep my mouth shut.” Her face turned to me. “I have no interest in getting you fired or gossiping to my friends. Don’t worry.”

The look on her face was so sincere it made me want to pull the Jeep over and kiss her. No matter how relieved her words made me, I was still deeply saddened by what she said. “Why are you good at keeping your mouth shut?”

She rolled her head on her shoulders. A movement someone her age shouldn’t be doing to relieve stress. Something inside of me wanted to erase all of the anxiety in her life.

“I just am, Evan. It’s just how things are.” Holly exhaled heavily, and I wished she’d trust me enough to share her burdens with me. But I needed to keep my distance. What happened that night on the beach could never happen again.

My hand reached over to touch her knee gently. “Tell me why,” I asked as I turned right down a street close to the school.

Her eyes caught mine again and it frustrated me that she wouldn’t share. “Drop me off here so nobody sees us,” she said, waving her hand at a side street. Holly gathered her bag and took a quick look at her perfect face in the mirror in the visor.

I took the turn she advised but when I came to a stop, I grasped her arm so she couldn’t leave. “Holly, stay for a minute so we can talk,” I urged her, hoping she would listen.

“Everything’s fine,” she said, her eyes getting a bit teary. “Thanks for your help at the diner with that guy. I really appreciate it.” Before I knew what happened she’d slipped from my hand and out the door.

CHAPTER TWELVE

Holly

Looking down at my phone, I saw the time. Eight thirty-six in the morning. Calculating in my head, I could cry in approximately—fourteen hours, give or take. I told myself I could do this.

However, my broken heart said something completely different.

It was silly and I knew it—to think a student and a teacher could have a relationship. The entire weekend, I went over and over that night in my mind. Being with him seemed so right. Like we fit.

After talking to him this morning, my hopes were finally dashed. He didn’t want to continue anything with me. It was wrong—according to him he crossed a line. I suppose it didn’t matter that I wanted him to cross that line.

Again, my heart squeezed, and my stomach hurt constantly. All I wanted to do was get under the covers and hide from the world. There was work and school and—my mother.

“Yo, girlfriend,” Alex said with his funny little staccato voice that always made me laugh despite the fact all I wanted to do was cry.

I spun around to see him behind me strutting down the hall. What I wouldn’t give to be as happy as he was. “Hi,” I said, looking down at his bright sneakers.

“You okay after the club de-bac-le?” he asked, separating the last word into syllables.

“I already told you I was fine,” I said, frowning at him. Alex was a good friend and he’d texted me while I was still with Evan that night to make sure I was safe.

“My dear, it took you forever to respond to my text. I thought someone had kidnapped you for the sole purpose of making a woman suit out of your gorgeous skin,” he said, gently pinching my arm.

“No such luck. I went home, showered and didn’t look at my phone,” I semi lied to him again. I did eventually go home to shower but not until after my rendezvous with Mr. Marshall.

“I bet you were studying, you big geek,” he said, wrapping his arms around me. “I’m sorry for dumping you. Do you really forgive us for being such asses?”

Hugging him back, I said, “All is forgiven.” Holding him even tighter, I continued. “Besides, it’s not your fault that Owen and Xavier showed up wasted. We didn’t exactly have many options.”

“Do not even get me started. I’m not on speaking terms with those two idiots.”

“What’s with all the touchy feeling stuff going on?” Ivy poked me in the back.

“I was re-apologizing to our girl for leaving her stranded,” Alex said, pushing away from me, glaring at her.

“Don’t make it sound like it was my fault those morons showed up drunk,” Ivy said, continuing on her way to our lockers.

“I almost forgot,” I said, rummaging through my bag. “Here.” I pulled out her credit card that she’d given me.

“Thanks, did it take long for you to find a cab?” Ivy asked, opening her locker.

“Nah, I got a ride right away,” I said, a faint blush starting on my face. I was the worst liar ever. She looked at my face, frowning.

Scared that she’d call me out, I was grateful when Paige showed up, hip checking Alex. “Rumor has it that you guys saved Owen and Xavier’s asses at the club on Friday night.”

“We were bumping and grinding our brains out when I spotted the fine Mr. Marshall at the very same establishment,” Alex said, raising his eyebrows up and down. “That’s when we hightailed it out of there right into Owen and Xavier.”

“Holy shit, Mr. Marshall saw you?” Paige asked, face full of surprise.

“We don’t know if he saw us but we certainly saw him,” Alex said, throwing his hands up in the air, dancing to his own beat.

“He wouldn’t have narced on us,” Ivy said, clearly disgusted. “We should have just stayed.”

“Not wise, my sister friend.” Alex grabbed Ivy’s binder for her. “No need to poke the bear. Although,” he said, placing his finger on the corner of his lips. “I’d poke a lot more than his bear.” Alex broke out in hysterical laughter, nearly dropping Ivy’s binder.

“Get in line,” Ivy said, rescuing her schoolwork from the crazy man. “If anyone’s getting poked, it’s me. Watch and learn, people,” she said, shaking out her hair before making a beeline right for Mr. Marshall whom she’d just spotted.

“Good grief, does she really think she has a chance with a teacher?” Paige asked, as I shoved things into my locker. “What do you even have in that bag?” she asked, frustrated at the door not shutting.

“The kitchen sink,” Alex said, pushing us all out of the way so he could give it a try.

“I thought the saying was everything but the kitchen sink?” Paige asked.

“Yes, but Holly brought that, too,” Alex said, laughing his face off, finally closing the door.

“Very funny,” I said. What I didn’t say was that they’d need to carry a lot of stuff around, too, if they were going to be gone until bedtime.

“Look how she’s practically shoving her boobs right in his face,” Paige said, scowling at the display Ivy was currently making for Mr. Marshall. At that exact moment, his eyes darted directly to mine. “Oh my gosh, he’s looking at us. Do you think he heard me,” Paige asked, swirling around so her back was now to them.

“Your voice does carry,” I said to her, sliding my hand around her elbow. “You should have tried out for the drama production,” I teased her.

“Do not even mention drama. Your bestie has been hounding us to run lines with her every second of the day,” Alex said as his hands curled up into fists by his sides.

“And no offense, but how in the world did she even get the part? She’s terrible,” Paige whispered to us as we passed by Mr. Marshall, Ivy, and her very perky breasts.

“Terrible is too kind of a word,” Alex said, barely moving his lips while he smiled at Mr. Marshall on our way past.

“Well, she needs more practice then,” I replied.

“Girlie, she could practice until the next millennium and I’d still prefer being eaten alive by red ants to watching her act.”

“That’s harsh, Alex,” I said, snorting at his words. Truth be told, Ivy was a weak actor. I was fairly certain the only reason she got the part was because her parents had donated a load of money to the library renovation fund.

“Sometimes the truth hurts, my love,” he said, skipping off magnanimously to his first class.

Normally, painting relaxed me. Today it gave me too much time to think about and dissect everything that had happened since I’d met Evan. And not just the physical things that we’d done, but how we’d connected on another level. Or so I’d thought.

Dancing with him had been so much fun then when he’d pulled me close for the slow song, I felt like I was going to faint. It seemed like he was into it and having fun, too. At the beach, he really cut loose. Being with him felt like it did when I was with a good friend.

Until the kiss. That was his idea, wasn’t it? Maybe I wasn’t good enough at all the other stuff we’d done on the beach. He could have anyone he wanted. I’m sure he probably did have anyone he wanted. Why he’d gone all the way with me I didn’t understand.

This morning he’d kicked that jerk out of the restaurant for touching me. It was like a scene from a movie how he’d pushed his table aside to get to me faster. That was twice now he’d helped. Just like back at the club when the drunk approached.

Nobody had ever stood up for me like that before.

Later when we were in his Jeep, his words cut into me like a knife. I don’t know what I expected him to say but not that. All that was left for me to do now was lick my wounds in private. And cry. In exactly—six hours.

“Congratulations, Miss Anderson. This looks substantially less blue today,” Evan said, startling me.

I gazed up at him from the floor. “Thanks.” Turning back to my work, I ignored him, wishing I could also ignore the feelings that bubbled up whenever I was around him.

“Hey, I’m just teasing. You know that, right?” he whispered, bumping his foot on mine.

“It’ll be fine, Mr. Marshall. I’m on schedule to have it done on time, don’t worry,” I said, feeling like a hurt little kid. It wasn’t easy for me to lie. Right now, my heart hurt, and my arms felt like lead. I wished he would just leave me alone.

“I see,” he said to my back.

Switching brushes, I tried my best to ignore him, hoping he’d go. Hearing his footsteps get further away, I breathed a sigh of relief as I wiped a stray tear from my face. I was such a baby sometimes.

The slamming of a door had me twisting around out of surprise. “What are you doing?” I said nearly out of breath.

“Come here,” Evan said, walking over to me with his hands out. Reluctantly, I reached up to him. He pulled me up, our bodies touching. His manly smell drove me crazy. As I looked up into his eyes, my hands clutched his even harder. Standing here this close to him was too much.

“What are you doing?” I asked, wanting him to lean down and kiss me.

“We need to talk,” he said with more authority this time, sounding like he was pissed off at me. I found it sadly funny that he should be mad at me.

“No, we don’t.” I found my backbone somewhere, pushing away from him, walking through a set of doors that led into the costume room.

He followed me, right on my heels. “Would you stop?” he said, anger in his voice.

Turning around on my heel, I said exactly what I wanted, “I get it. It was a mistake. It never should have happened.” Chest heaving with anger, my head felt like it was going to explode. Why was he pushing this?

Striding over to me, he grabbed onto my upper arms, holding me close to him again. “Holly, you don’t understand. The last thing I’d want you to think was that what we did was a mistake. It was by far the most beautiful, meaningful night of my life. What we did was—unforgettable. I meant everything I said and did. And I wouldn’t trade it for anything.”

His words made me cry. Tears flowing down my cheeks, I said, “It was my first time. I know I wasn’t that good.”

The expression on Evan’s face changed in a snap. His brow furrowed as a deep frown crossed his face. In a soft voice he said, “Is that what you really think?” His eyes stayed on me, unblinking. “Fuck, I can’t believe you would think that,” he said, hugging me firmly. “You gave me a gift, Holly. A perfect, wonderful gift that I’ll never, ever forget. It was incredible for me. I had hoped it was good for you, too,” he said into my ear, stroking my hair with one hand, holding my waist with the other.

“I’m sorry if it wasn’t what you expected. I really tried my best to go slow but—” He didn’t finish his sentence.

“You didn’t hurt me,” I said into his warm, hard chest. How I wished I could stay here forever. Leaning back a bit, I said, “It was—beautiful.”

He bent down, nearly touching my lips. “Under the moonlight, feeling you, touching you, kissing you,” he said before touching his mouth to mine. Our tongues tangled together in a hot, passionate kiss. His hand held my head to his as his tongue probed into my mouth, like he was making love to it.

My legs felt weak, thinking about what else he could thrust inside of me like that. Moving my hands up his back to his head, I ran my fingers through his hair.

“Holly, are you in here?” I heard someone call from the other room.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Holly

“Shit,” I said, practically jumping out of Evan’s arms. Looking around, I whispered to him, “That’s the only door out of here.”

“I’ll stay here until you give me the all clear,” he said, fixing my hair then wiping under my eyes with his thumbs.

Running out, I saw it was Ivy. “Why were you in the costume room?” she said suspiciously, giving me the once over.

“I’m in charge of costumes, too,” I said, shaking my head, taking my place back on the floor to continue painting.

“Why are you acting so weird? And your hair is screwed up,” she said, narrowing her eyes on me.

“What’s your problem? I was digging through boxes and racks of clothing.” Picking up a brush, I painted a green leaf on what would eventually be a tall vine.

“Holly,” she said, and I turned my head to her. “I need someone to run lines with me before drama practice starts,” she said, waving her script in one hand.

“I have to leave for work in five minutes, sorry.” Another lie. I was really racking them up today.

“Already? Why so early?”

“Someone has an appointment I think,” I said, making up a few more lies.

“You work too much,” she said, shaking her head. “I’m really worried about you.” A crease formed as her eyebrows drew together.

Feeling guilty as hell, I spun around to face her. My stomach dropped. I couldn’t tell her the truth and admit I was just making out with our English teacher so she needed to leave. Now. “It’s okay, really.”

“No, it’s not,” she said, her face holding so much concern for me, my heart ached at my deception.

“I’ll help you tomorrow, I promise. Go ask Alex. He’s probably out back.”

“All right but you’re coming over tomorrow for supper and to hang out.” She gave me a sad smile before spinning around to leave.

I let out the breath I’d been holding and jumped up to save Evan. Gliding around the corner, I stopped short seeing Evan with a sword in his hand and donning a pirate skull mask. When he saw me, he assumed the fighter’s pose, even cutting a “z” in the air.

That cracked me up. “Having fun?” I asked, eyebrows raised, stupid smile on my face.

“Actually, yes. It’s been a while since I’ve played dress up.” He swaggered up to me, making me laugh again. “Ever been kissed by a pirate?”

“Not lately.”

“Then today’s your lucky day.” Literally sweeping me up in his arms, he dipped my body down, kissing my lips as I giggled in his arms.

“I think I’m in trouble, Holly,” he said in between kisses. I didn’t answer him because I agreed that we were both definitely in trouble.

“The grease traps need to be cleaned out again, Lenny,” I said as I walked through the kitchen. “Those sinks aren’t draining like they should.” And I would know after doing an hour of dishes.

“I’ll take a look, Holly. Have a good night,” Lenny replied, continuing to scrape the grill.

“You, too,” I smiled back at him as I searched around for my bus pass. “Ah, gotcha,” I murmured to myself, pulling the card out. I didn’t especially like working evenings. For one thing, it took away from my study time. For another, it was dark—really dark by the time I left.

Stop being a sissy, I coached myself. No matter what I did, thoughts of that drunk man outside of the club came flooding back, freaking me out even further. A horn honked from somewhere, making me jump. “Holly,” someone called from across the street, waving an arm out the window.

It couldn’t be. Could it? After my eyes adjusted, I saw that it was most definitely, Evan. What was he doing here at this time of night? My bus wasn’t due for another ten or fifteen minutes, so I jaywalked across the street.

“Get in, I’ll drive you home,” Evan said. For roughly one second, I considered fighting him on me taking the bus instead. Then I gave in. I was exhausted.

Without a word, I circled his Jeep and got in, grateful for the door to door service. After I clicked my seat belt, I glanced over at him. “What?” I asked, unable to read his face.

“You got in.”

“Are you going to drive or just sit here?”

He shook his head, starting the vehicle up. “You have time for ice cream or something?” he asked, watching for cars before pulling out.

Did he just ask me if I wanted ice cream? “I would, but I should probably go home and study.”

“How long does the bus take you to get home?”

“Umm, I’d have to wait another fifteen minutes for it. The ride itself takes about a half hour depending on how many stops we make.”

“It only takes ten minutes to get to your place. Therefore, with the minutes we’re saving, you should have time to get ice cream,” he said, glancing over me.

What exactly was he doing? “I suppose I understand your logic, Mr. Marshall.”

He smiled at me then kept driving. When we pulled into the drive thru at the ice cream joint, he asked me, “What kind do you like?”

“Umm,” I said a few times, reading over all the flavors. “Double Chocolate, I think.” It was a tossup between that and Sinful Strawberry.

When he handed me my gigantic cone, I giggled. “This thing is huge.”

He snorted, shaking his head as he took a lick of his strawberry cone. “What?” he asked, narrowing his eyes on me.

“I was going to get strawberry.”

“Then why didn’t you order it?”

“Because I also wanted chocolate.”

He threw his head back, laughing. “Makes complete sense. You want some?” he asked in the most sensual way, his eyebrow cocked.

“Yeah,” I said, feeling surprisingly brave right now. Holding out his cone to me, I took a long, slow, lick, as I held his eyes with mine.

“You’re not helping matters,” he growled in a deep, gravelly voice.

I leaned back into my seat, concentrating on my ice cream now. We drove for a bit, then Evan signaled left into the parking lot of the same beach we were at a few days ago. Again, it was completely empty.

Shifting into park, he shut the Jeep off then undid his belt. “Walk with me?” he asked, taking another lick of his ice cream. All I did was raise my eyebrows. He’d told me what we did on the beach would never happen again. “Just walk. I promise.”

Knowing full well I should go right home instead of taking a stroll with this man, I went against my better judgement and opened the door.

Taking a deep breath, the ocean air filled my lungs making me smile. “All it takes is some sugar and the beach to make you happy?” Evan asked, holding a hand out for me.

“Yeah,” I said, shooting him a grin as his warm hand enveloped mine, caressing it leisurely with his thumb. We walked in silence until we arrived at the edge of the water. I kicked off my shoes first relishing the feel of the sand on my feet.

Evan took his off next then we ventured into the water creeping up on the beach. The only sound I could hear besides our footsteps was the rhythmic crashing of the waves. Closing my eyes for a moment, I imagined a life where I could do this every day—with Evan.

It was a stupid, unrealistic fantasy—one of many that I’d allowed my brain to entertain the last few days. I was devastated this morning when Evan told me what we had done was wrong and it would never happen again.

The way he was treating me now seemed to suggest he’d changed his mind. “You good?” he asked, forcing me to open my eyes.

Turning my head to him, I saw his eyes focused on me. “Very good,” I said, squeezing his hand, taking another lick of ice cream. His eyes narrowed on my cone. “Do you want some?” I asked, licking my lips.

“Absolutely,” he said, pulling me flush against his body. Surprised and more than a little shocked, I looked up at him, mouth open. In an instant, his lips sank down to mine. The taste of sweet strawberry filled my mouth and I couldn’t get enough.

He devoured me endlessly like he was never going to stop. His hand pulled me closer, deepening our kiss even more. After a few more breathless moments his kiss turned light and playful, teasing me as his tongue licked at my lips. “What are you doing?” I attempted to twist away from him, giggling at the same time.

“I have no idea,” he said in such a serious voice I stopped moving.

Gazing into his conflicted face, his eyes wide as though he was struggling to figure out some kind of mystery, I sprang forward. He reacted immediately, taking over the kiss, pulling me tight to him. Standing there on the beach in Evan’s arms I felt almost drugged as the longing for him inside of me spread. My nipples hardened, pressing against his hot, muscular chest. Through the thin material of our clothes I could feel his heart beating nearly as quickly as mine. Tearing my mouth from his I kissed down his neck, tasting just a hint of salt—his intoxicatingly spicy scent of desire overtaking me.

“I couldn’t stop thinking about you all day,” he whispered, making my heart race even more. “I don’t think I can stay away from you, Holly.”

“Then don’t.” I pushed back a bit so I could see his face.

“I’m your teacher,” he groaned, touching his lips to my forehead.

“Not right now you’re not,” I said, lifting up on my toes to find his mouth again. Feeling a coolness on my skin, I lowered myself back down. “This ice cream is getting everywhere.” I held out my arm, chocolate running down it.

Evan’s face changed completely once he saw, pinning me with an almost feral look. Throwing his cone down on the ground he grabbed ahold of mine with one hand as he clutched my arm with his other. Slowly lowering his mouth, licking the chocolate off my skin as he refused to break contact with my eyes.

He moved his tongue down the delicate skin on the inside of my arm and across my pulse. It was by far the most erotic thing that had ever happened to me. Feeling Evan’s hot tongue linger on my arm made me clench my thighs together, in a vain attempt to find some kind of relief. He stepped closer, kissing me again with the taste of delicious chocolate in his mouth.

He slowly withdrew his lips from mine before taking a mouthful of ice cream from my cone as he proceeded to tip it against my lips. I couldn’t open my mouth fast enough as the cold liquid spilled down my chin.

Evan licked down my neck, bending me back slightly to gain better purchase. His tongue trailed down the sensitive part of my neck under my ear, drawing circles until I writhed in his arms. I shivered as he licked up the other side of my neck, tasting everywhere he could with his roaming tongue. Finally, he backed us up further onto dry land, still tormenting me with his actions.

Lowering me down on my back, his free hand went for the buttons on the front of my uniform. Fumbling, unable to open them fast enough, he said, “Open these.” Fire shot through me at his demand, making me squirm as I thought about what he was going to do. My belly tightened and my breasts swelled as I undid my dress.

The back of his hand grazed my nipple. “Bra, too.” Evan’s sharp gaze penetrated mine, his jaw tight as his nostrils flared. Undoing the front closure, I shuddered as he stared at my naked breasts. “You are so beautiful,” he whispered, right before tipping the cone above one nipple. I gasped as the chocolate spilled on my hot peak.

His tongue swirled, sweeping my nipple into his mouth. “Mmm,” he said, sucking harder. He repeated the same process with my other breast, pouring the cold cream in circles this time. Immediately, his mouth began relishing every last drop, sparking more and more of a flame inside me. A hot, carnal shock shot directly to my clit, feeling like I may come just from his attention on my breasts.

Being bare to him—the light, warm breeze caressing my body—was a unique torture. I yearned for more of him. Fumbling, I wriggled out of my panties, unable to withstand much more.

Without a word, Evan moved between my legs, cone still in hand. Spreading my legs apart, he bent down before tilting the melted ice cream onto me. “Ohh,” I said, bucking upwards. That’s when his mouth found my core, stripping me of any insecurities I might have had.

He gently licked at my folds, keeping an eye on me as he went. After a few moments, his tongue slipped into me, tasting, thrusting, teasing. My hand covered my eyes as I surrendered to him fully. I writhed against his mouth, reveling in the feel of him.

Suddenly, he ceased his actions. I mewed a protest at the loss of his tongue. “Hold this,” he said as he peered up at me for a brief moment handing me the cone. I couldn’t fully comprehend what he was asking or why. Clumsily, I grabbed the cone realizing briefly what it was before I fell back into ecstasy as he added a finger inside of me, doing things to me I didn’t know were even possible.

Evan touched places that made me tremble with need. When his tongue began flicking at that bundle of nerves, I knew I had no choice but to succumb to him. “Oh, Evan,” I muttered as every muscle in my body flexed at the same time. He continued licking and rubbing as I shattered into a million pieces.

With continued swipes, his tongue urged more from me even while my legs quivered, and my body shook. When the last of the aftershocks left me, he sweetly kissed my thighs then my stomach, making his way back up. “You okay?” he asked, lying beside me, lightly running his fingers over my sated body.

“I’m great but I’m afraid the cone didn’t survive.” We both looked over at my hand where the remnants of the cone remained.

Evan chuckled. “You completely crushed it,” he said, reaching over to remove a few broken pieces of cone from my palm.

“Had my mind on other things I guess,” I said, smiling up at him.

“You’re sticky in a lot of different places,” he said, stroking my breasts playfully.

With as much sarcasm as I could muster, I said, “I wonder why?”

He shrugged. “I’m a messy eater I guess,” he said, smug smile on his face.

That cracked me up. I laughed, my body shaking, still open to the world. “Are you going to—finish?” I asked, feeling a full body flush rising up.

“This was just for you,” he said, standing with his hands out. I grabbed hold as he pulled me up. My legs were still a bit wobbly but somehow, I managed to stay upright. “Let’s clean you up before I take you home.” Then he proceeded to slide my uniform and bra down my arms, freeing me of any and all clothing.

“Only if you come with me,” I said, grabbing hold of his hands. “Please?” I said, not waiting for his answer as I began lifting up his shirt. His arms rose, pulling the shirt off the rest of the way. Then his hands sat on my waist while I undid his button and zipper.

Pulling down on his jeans, the huge bulge in his underwear was impossible to deny. As I gazed up into his face, I held onto the sides of the material, setting the huge length of him free. My brain thought for a moment at the impossibility of all of that fitting inside of me.

I turned around, ready to splash into the waves. The water was cool but welcome on my overheated body, making me shiver a bit as I stepped in one foot at a time. Just like last time, Evan rocketed past me.

As he dove into the water, I laughed again watching his commanding form in the water. He truly was at home here. “Get a move on,” he yelled, coming up for air.

“I’m chicken, I have to go slow,” I said giggling, trying my best to hurry.

He swam quite a distance away from me then turned back just as I got in deep enough to swim. Gliding my way to him, I savored the sensation of the water on my naked body.

We raced, kissed, and floated for a while until the threat of going back home crept over me. “We should probably go,” I said, voice full of regret as I treaded water beside Evan.

“Or—we could stay out here forever.” He grinned, the moonlight shining in his eyes making him look even more handsome if that were possible.

“I wouldn’t want to fall asleep in my English class tomorrow,” I said, circling around him. “My teacher’s a real hard ass.”

“While I agree he’s got a hard ass, I think he’d still pass you anyway,” he said, grabbing me as I swam by.

“Hmm, I can’t disagree with you there,” I said, finding his very toned behind with my hand and squeezing.

“I’ve had a great time with you,” he whispered to me, placing a light kiss on my lips before putting my hands on his shoulders and towing me closer to the beach.

Once we could touch land again, I held onto his hand, slowing us down a bit. When the water was almost knee height for him, I pulled to a stop. His arms immediately went around me, hugging me tight. There truly was no better feeling than our two wet, naked bodies so close.

“I’ve never done this before, so I might be really bad. You’ll have to teach me what to do,” I said, kissing his neck, chest, and further down until I was on my knees in the water.

“Holly, no, I’m fine. You don’t have to—”

“But I want to. Very badly. I’ll need your help, though,” I said, staring up at him. His cock began hardening of its own accord before I even touched it. Wrapping my hand around it, I steadied myself with my other hand on his thigh. Opening my mouth, I put the head in first, licking around it.

“Fuuuuck,” Evan said, widening his stance, sighing. I sucked on it again then removed it from my mouth to run my tongue on the tip. “Take in as much as you can,” he said, his hand on my head, guiding me forward as he held his manhood in the other hand.

I tasted the salty ocean but also his own special saltiness now leaking out a bit. Before my gag reflex kicked in, I stopped. “Now move your head back while you suck,” he said, moaning as I quickly did what I was told. “Yeah, that’s perfect.”

Evan’s groans told me I was pleasing him. Or at least I hoped I was. I’d never attempted to do this before, so I honestly had no idea what to do. “Add your hand in,” he suggested, peering down at me, his eyes hooded. I placed my hand near his cock, not sure what he meant. “Like this,” he said, closing my hand around him. “Now move it in time with your mouth.”

It took me a few tries to get into a rhythm. Once I did, Evan’s noises increased. “Fuck, that’s so good. Mmm hmm, just like that.” His words of encouragement were a big help, that was for sure. They were also a huge turn on. I started aching down below again, squeezing my thighs together, searching for relief. Taking back my hand that was on his thigh, I instead used it on myself. I moaned when I found the exact spot I needed while still keeping up my furious pace with Evan.

“Are you touching yourself?” he asked, almost completely winded. I nodded slightly. “Fuck, you are so hot. Yeah, that feels perfect, Holly. Just like that. Keep touching yourself, I want you to come with my cock in your mouth.”

His dirty words made me hotter, causing my clit to swell up even more. A few more rough touches and I began shuddering as my pussy contracted violently. I moved back a bit, but Evan held me to him. “Keep me inside your mouth while you come.”

Doing what he asked, I breathed heavily in and out of my nostrils as my orgasm finally left me. After I was done, I started back on him, just how he asked. Except faster and with more intent. I wanted him to feel as good as I just did. Nothing would stop me in my quest.

His cock swelled so impossibly big inside my mouth I nearly couldn’t accommodate him. “I’m going to come, back up,” he warned, moving my head with his hand. But I didn’t want to let him go. What I wanted was for him to finish. I gripped his behind with my hands, nails digging in a bit and kept going, sucking harder than before.

More of the salty taste came out of him until eventually he grabbed my head, stilling me. What I had been waiting for finally rushed down my throat in strong bursts as Evan cried out in the night. I sucked on him for a few more strokes after I felt the last throb of him in my mouth.

Letting go of him completely, I stood and took a few steps into shallower water and sat down to rinse out my mouth. Evan followed, splashing me as he threw himself down beside me. “You are amazing,” he said, putting his arm around me.

“You’re just saying that,” I said, wiping the ocean water off my face.

In one quick movement, he picked me up, placing me on his lap facing him. “That was far and above the best head I’ve ever had in my entire fucking life. Swear to God,” he said, crossing his heart.

Seeing the content look on his face along with his actions filled my heart with warmth. “It was fun for me, too,” I whispered against his lips.

“I noticed. And that,” he said, pulling me closer so my breasts touched his chest, “was what made it even more incredible. You feeling comfortable enough with me—trusting me enough to share that part of you is unbelievably sexy, I can’t describe it.” His eyes were so soft and genuine I leaned over to kiss him one last time before we’d have to leave this paradise and go back to real life.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Evan

“Son, you need to reconsider once this term is up for you.”

“Going back to school is not what I want to do, I’ve told you that already,” I said to my father for the umpteenth time in years.

“How is teaching going to help you get your foot in the political door, hmm?”

That was kind of the whole point. “I don’t think politics is for me, you know that,” I said, rubbing the bridge of my nose hoping for the intense pain to leave.

“It is. And if you’d have listened to me five years ago and taken law classes instead of education,” he spat out like it was a distasteful word. “You wouldn’t be in this predicament.”

“I’m not in a predicament, Dad. It sometimes takes time to get a full-time teaching job,” I told him, sitting down on my couch, switching the phone to my other ear.

“You’re lucky that teacher had a heart attack and I could get you into a decent school. Otherwise you’d be stuck in a public school right now,” he said it like that would be the worst thing in the world. “Do you have any idea what goes on in the public school system? It’s a bloody free for all.”

Sighing, I leaned back against my couch. “It’s not that bad. I would have gladly taken a position in any public school.”

My dad coughed. “Son, listen to me. The public system is not where you belong. You weren’t brought up like that.” Here we go again—the lecture on my upbringing. “We have a higher station in life and we need to uphold that appearance.” Yeah, we need to pretend to be something we aren’t so you get voted back in. “If people see us taking menial jobs then they’ll automatically assume we couldn’t do any better.”

“If you’d have become a lawyer like we told you to, you’d be set for life. Having to backtrack now and fix what you’ve done wrong is going to take valuable time away from building up your career. Just look at Emmit.” Yeah, let’s discuss my older, much more successful brother and all the ways he’s perfect. “He followed our plan to the “T” and he’s sailing along. The wedding is in August, by the way. Your mother will send you the details.”

Yes, the royal wedding. The perfect merger of two political houses to create the ultimate bond. Too bad one member of the lucky betrothed was also very gay. I didn’t know if my parents were really that stupid or if they just chose to ignore all the signs that my brother wasn’t straight. More than likely the latter.

“Looking forward to it. I’ve got to go now, Dad. I’ll talk with you next week,” I said, pressing the giant X on my screen. “Fuck,” I said out loud to no one. Placing the palms of my hands against my eyes, I tried my best to erase all the shit in my life that floated around endlessly in my brain.

The first thing to pop up, as usual, was Holly. Jesus, what the hell was I thinking? Starting an affair with my eighteen year old student was not something I’d planned on doing. She had somehow gotten under my skin to the point where she was all I thought about.

Not even sleep could stop my brain from replaying visions of her in my head. My brain kept telling me to stay away, this would only end in pain and heartache. But my heart and my body wanted her—no, craved her.

Just thinking about her on her knees, looking up at me with my cock in her mouth as she touched herself made me hard all over again. Remembering how I’d tasted her—how she’d responded—drove me crazy.

Something inside of me wanted to scoop her up out of her shitty trailer park and dead-end job and carry her away to a safe place where she’d never have to work that hard again. Somewhere she’d be happy and free just like she was with me on the beach.

Physically we sizzled, there was no doubt about that. Intellectually, she was my ultimate match. Yeah, I was older than her, but Holly was one of the smartest, most intriguing women I’d ever met.

My doorbell went off, bringing me back to real life. Standing up, I strode to the front door. “Jake, I didn’t know you were showing up,” I said, making room for him to come in.

“You’ve gone radio silent on us, buddy. What’s going on? Hiding a hot little number in here somewhere?” he asked, hitting my shoulder on his way past me. His words made me wish that Holly was upstairs in my bed waiting for me.

“Busy with work, that’s all,” I explained away my absence—which was only partially true. Indeed I was also spending time with a “hot little number” as well.

He walked into the kitchen, heading straight for the fridge as usual. “After you ditched us at that club, we assumed you found somewhere else to spend your time,” he said, reaching his long arm in, pulling out an apple.

“Nah, I was tired. They’ve got me in charge of the drama production as well. I’m at the school a lot longer than I’d thought I’d be.”

Jake nearly choked on his mouthful of apple. “How in the hell did they rope you into the drama production?” He laughed as he chewed.

“Long story but I’ve got the least seniority.”

“But the most experience. You always did love acting in those stupid plays,” he said, taking another huge bite out the poor apple. “I have to admit that I was jealous when you’d get into the lead actress’ panties so easily, though. They always fell for your leading man bullshit.”

I laughed at his words. “How could I help it if I was irresistible to the prettiest girls?”

“Uh huh. Anyway, Studly, what are you up to tonight? You still owe me a beer.” Unable to come up with an excuse quick enough, he continued. “Okay, that settles it. I’ll pick you up at eight.”

“You are so funny,” Maria said, grabbing my arm, making sure to rub her breasts on it at the same time. She was hot. Her sleek, long hair shined with the lights of the bar we were currently in. I could feel the steady thump of the music vibrating through the floor.

“Evan has lots of fun stories he can tell you back at his house in The Heights,” Jake said, emphasizing where I lived.

“Ohh, I’m up for that,” Maria said into my ear as she pressed even closer. Jake waggled his eyebrows at me.

Holly

“Thank you so much for staying late, Holly,” my boss said again. “I don’t know what we’d do without you here.” His glossy eyes tired and defeated.

I felt sorry for them. Trying to keep a small business like this going at their age must be difficult. “It’s okay,” I lied. The few breaks I’d had weren’t enough for me to finish all the homework and studying I had to do for tomorrow—well, technically today. “Hopefully Millie will get out of the hospital soon.”

His wife had taken a tumble down their steps at home and was currently in the emergency room under observation. “No broken bones,” he said. Yeah, this time. It seemed like falling was a regular pastime with her now. I had an uneasy feeling some kind of health issue was to blame.

“You clean up the last of the tables and get home. Your mother is going to be mad that we made you work so late.” Holding in my laughter at what he said, I smiled then went to clear the few tables that had just left. My mother wouldn’t notice what time of day I came home.

Dumping the last of the dirty plates into the bin, I wiped off a table as I heard the bell ding at the front of the restaurant. Must be some late partygoers from the bar down the street. We made a lot of money off of the drunk and disorderly at this time of night because of our location.

Inwardly I groaned thinking of staying even a few more minutes to seat them and take their orders. Looking up with a fake smile on my face, I headed to the counter for menus. What I didn’t expect was the shock I was in for.

Two men and two women—obviously on a double date scenario—likely straight from the bar. The brunette hanging off Evan, giggling herself silly was gorgeous. All hair, legs, and fake boobs, she knew what she wanted. And that was Mr. Marshall in her bed.

Nausea overcame me with such a force I wanted to rush to the bathroom. Somehow, I was able to keep my cool. “Table for four?” I asked in a chirpy voice, pretending the sight in front of me didn’t gut me to the core.

“Well, maybe three because I think Maria’s going to spend the entire time in Evan’s lap.” Everyone laughed at the joke except Evan who was currently staring at me unblinking. Evidently, Maria decided this was a good time to sneak her hand up his shirt and stroke his chest. The very same chest that had been naked next to mine barely twenty-four hours ago.

Every muscle in my body tensed. “Follow me,” I said, leading them to a clean table. Placing their menus down, I asked if they wanted anything to drink.

“I think we’ve all had enough to drink for tonight,” the friend said, wreaking of alcohol. Again, they all laughed except for Evan. I could feel his stare burning into me as I took their drink orders, refusing to look Evan in the eye.

Marching away, I heard his friend say, “That waitress is smokin’ hot.”

His girl chided him. “Hey, you’re here with me.”

Even though the drinks were behind the counter, I walked around the corner, bracing myself against the cool, brick wall. Closing my eyes, choked with anger I convinced myself not to burst into tears until I was home. My head pounded in pain, confused at what I had just witnessed.

Evan was here with another woman. A tall, beautiful woman his age. My stomach churned at the thought of him touching her, kissing her—doing other things to her. Pushing off the wall, I went back to work. The quicker I finished with them, the sooner I could go home.

“How about we skip eating and just go back to your place right now,” the brunette said into his ear loud enough for all of us to hear.

“Maria, you dirty girl,” Evan’s friend said, laughing again. Another wave of nausea hit me as I tasted bile rising up.

“Here you go,” I said, putting their drinks on the table as my blood ran cold. “Are you folks ready?” I asked, pulling out my notepad from my apron. My fingers were numb. I didn’t know how I was going to write.

“I’d say Maria’s been primed and ready for a half hour already,” his friend blurted out. The women giggled, not embarrassed in the least. I forced down the urge to heave as my stomach churned at the thought of Evan taking that woman home and—

“Jake, enough with the bad innuendos, buddy,” Evan finally spoke up. “I’ll have fries,” he said to me. I still refused to look at him. I jotted down what the others wanted then quickly dashed straight to the kitchen.

“You okay, Holly?” Bert asked when I nearly ran into him.

“Yeah, fine. Just tired.” I looked up at him, my knees more than a bit wobbly.

“I heard Dave call you a cab. Go home and get a few hours sleep, girl,” he said, taking the order slip from me.

A small surge of relief ran through my body when I realized I was almost free. “I’ll take this cardboard outside first, thanks.” Gathering up the few empty boxes in my hands, I walked to the backdoor. The night was dark and the air around me felt heavy, hard to breathe. Chucking the boxes into the bin, I jumped when I saw someone else back there with me.

“It’s not what you think,” Evan came out of the shadows, startling me. Part of me was relieved it wasn’t an axe murderer. The other part wasn’t sure which was worse.

“My Nanny used to say, “If it walks like a duck and quacks like a duck, it’s probably a duck”,” I said to him, catching my breath as my mouth turned dry.

“Holly, there’s no ducks here. I promise you that. Jake wanted to go out and—” he started before I cut him off.

“You don’t owe me an explanation of how you spend your time, Mr. Marshall. I’m just some stupid teenager,” I said as I glared at him, heat creeping into my cheeks.

He frowned back, mouth grim. As I strode passed him, he clutched my arm. “Would you just listen to me for a minute?” he asked, anger in his voice.

Shaking off his hand I kept walking. “There’s nothing from you I need to hear. You should go back inside. I’m sure Maria needs someone’s lap to sit on.”

His hands stopped me by the wall in front of the stairs. Pushing me against the hard exterior of the building, he said, “The only person I want in my lap is you.” The scent of whiskey was strong on his breath.

Tears started forming and I chastised myself for not being stronger. “She’s gorgeous, Evan. I get it. Can’t blame you for picking her over me,” I said, sniffling as I looked to the side, avoiding his glare.

“You are the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen,” he said, kissing me lightly on the cheek. Tears escaped when I closed my eyes.

Shaking my head, I told him, “Just go. This hurts too much.” I gasped as a sob tore out of my throat.

“I can’t tell my friends about you. Jake was suspicious of where I went after the club that night I saw you. I ditched them to be with you,” he said, his hands on either side of my face. “He wanted to go out tonight and I didn’t know what to say. I’m sorry, Holly. So, so, sorry. I honestly didn’t think you’d be at work this late.”

His admissions made sense but his apologies made me cry even harder. Still shaking my head, I said, “It won’t work with us anyway. You should just leave with her.”

Wiping the tears from my face, he leaned in. “I want you.” His lips touched mine, gently at first then he plunged his tongue inside my mouth, searching with abandon for mine. When I finally gave in and kissed him back, he groaned loudly with need. Wrapping my arms around him, he completely overwhelmed me—physically and emotionally.

Heaving me up with his hands, I wrapped my legs around his waist as he imprisoned me against the wall. His hardness pulsed against my panties as I clung to him, wanting nothing more than for him to fill me.

“I want you so much,” Evan said, inflaming my desire even further. His hand reached down between us feeling me. “Fuck, you’re already wet for me,” he whispered against my lips. Moving aside the thin material of my panties, he shoved a finger inside me.

“Uhh,” I said, snapping my head back against the wall.

“You like that?” he murmured in my ear.

“Yes,” I answered back nonsensically. The sensations he created rendered me helpless.

“How much?”

“So much, Evan. Give me more, please,” I requested, his lips on my neck. He answered immediately, adding another finger to the mix.

The friction he created was magical yet maddening. Something was stopping me from tumbling over the edge. “Undo your buttons,” he ordered. I quickly obeyed as I felt another rush of electricity between my legs.

I moaned again as he increased the speed of his hand. Shoving down the silky cup of my bra, he lowered his head to capture my nipple in his mouth.

“Mmm,” he said, almost growling as he sucked on me, using his tongue to lick and sweep across the hard bud.

It was exactly what I needed to skyrocket over the top. “Ohhh,” I said, surrendering to my primal desire for pleasure. An exquisite spasm finally started, pushing me mercilessly over the precipice. Satisfaction pulsed through my entire body as I clung hard to Evan.

“Yeah, give me that,” he said, still milking every last pulse of my orgasm out of me with his fingers.

“Evan?” We heard a voice call from the top of the stairs. Our heads swung over to see who it was. “Jesus, man. Couldn’t wait until you got home?” He chuckled, closing the door behind him.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Evan

“Not complaining about your choice, man, but you had a woman willing, ready, and able from the bar. What the fuck is up with taking that hot waitress out back?” Jake asked after we dropped the women off.

The cab was headed to our neighborhood now but not nearly as fast as I wanted it to go. “She’s the one I met at the club that night. The reason I didn’t follow you guys,” I said, telling my friend a partial truth as I gazed out the window.

“I knew it,” he said, punching me in the arm. “I told the guys you were off getting laid.” He laughed for a second, then stared at me. “How old is she? She looks pretty young.”

He was telling the truth. Without her hair and makeup done, Holly looked her age. “Young but not too young.”

“What the fuck’s that supposed to mean?”

“She’s legal. Barely.”

“Fuck, me. You could have any woman you wanted, and you choose jailbait?” he said in an admonishing tone.

“Shut up, she’s not that young.”

He looked me over, suspicious as hell. “If you think about it, she’s young enough to be one of your students.” My head snapped to his at his perceptive as hell senses. I must’ve looked guilty because he said, “No, man. No, no, no. She’s not one of your students?” he whispered loudly. “What the fuck is wrong with you?” He jabbed me in the arm. “The press gets a hold of this and it’ll mean disaster for your dad. You get that, right? Those vultures love a good scandal to take a political figure down.”

“Nobody’s going to find out.”

“You think I wouldn’t like to nail some of the talent that walks into my classes? But I don’t, dude. Never will.” He eyeballed me for a minute. “However, at least my students are university age—not fucking high school, man. You need to break this fling off. Now.”

Holly

“Mom, I told you not to smoke in here,” I yelled at my mother who was nearly passed out on the couch. “One flame and this whole trailer will cook us alive,” I said, shaking her shoulders.

“Was waitin’ fur yew,” she mumbled out of her stupor nearly dropping her cigarette.

“I had to work late, Milly had another fall and she’s in the hospital.”

“Shhhurrr, I bet,” she spat out at me, saliva hitting me in the face. As I put her arm around my shoulders to lift her up after she stubbed the cigarette out in the coffee can. “Out wiff some boy, more like it. You fink I don’t see your wet hair when you come in here? Lookin’ like a little slut,” she bellowed, swinging her arm around.

“Let’s get you to bed, it’s late,” I said, ignoring what she’d just called me even though it hurt like hell. She’d been saying things like that to me for years now.

“Yeah, fineee, don’t admit sleepin’ around like some little hussy.” She stumbled, almost taking both of us down. Mom couldn’t have been more than eighty pounds but at this point it was all dead weight.

“How’s your side?”

“Hurts like a bitch. You should beee home lookin’ affer me, not out wiff all those boys.”

“I was at work, Mom, honest. I really wish you’d go to the doctor and let them look at it.” Finally at the door to her room, we went inside. She dropped down on her bed. I helped put on her nightgown, looking down at her distended stomach. For someone so thin, her stomach was big.

By the time I laid her onto her back she’d already passed out.

When I walked out, I opened some windows in the living room and kitchen area to get rid of the stale smoke smell.

Opening the fridge, I noticed that she hadn’t eaten the food I’d made ahead for her. Again. Always complaining that she wasn’t hungry. If there was some way I could convince her to go to the doctor I’d do it. Shutting the door, I headed for the bathroom to shower.

As the warm water flowed over me, I picked up the soap, running it sensually over my body, everywhere that Evan had kissed and touched. It was like I could feel him doing it all over again. Tilting my head to the side, I smiled, remembering how he’d talked dirty to me. “You’re so wet” danced through my head causing my nipples to bead up under the water.

When I soaped up down below, I was still tender from where his fingers played with me for so long.

What he’d told me about him wanting me and not that woman he’d come into the diner with seemed implausible. Any man would have gladly taken her home. He wanted me. He’d said it and apologized, making me listen even when I didn’t want to hear it.

After I dried off, I grabbed my bag and dragged it and my sorry ass to my room. Pulling on my robe, I looked at the clock. One o’clock in the morning. Taking a deep breath, I calmed myself before opening up my biology textbook to get to work.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Evan

“Mercutio, we need you over here with Benvolis and Romeo for the orchard scene,” I called for the second time with as much patience as I could muster. Four weeks of practice and it seemed like everyone was worse than when we’d started.

“Oh sorry, Mr. Marshall,” he said, moseying up from a dark corner where he’d likely been making out with the girl who was playing Juliet’s nurse. Apparently those two thought drama practice consisted of sticking their tongues in each other’s mouths for as long as possible.

I rolled my eyes at Holly who was currently securing the first part of the backdrop to the ground. Don’t ask me why the stage manager was helping her instead of managing the actual stage like he was supposed to be doing. My guess would be those yoga pants that Holly was wearing which showed off that perfect ass of hers.

Holly smiled briefly then went back to her work. I had to admit she was quite the artist. The vast blueness of her original artwork now made sense as she’d added vines, flowers, stars and a moon—the balcony was still a work in progress.

“Where do you want us to stand?” Our Benvolio inquired.

I was tempted to say, “Out in the street,” but somehow, I behaved myself.

Three painful hours later, I was packing up to leave. The students had all left except for Holly. She was still busy with her electric screwdriver on the set. Grabbing my bag, I strolled over to her. “You’ve done enough for today, Miss Anderson,” I said in a regular voice in case anyone was listening.

“One more screw,” she said, smirking at me as she pulled the trigger once more.

Stepping closer to her, I whispered, “You don’t have a shift now?” She shook her head. “Wanna come over?” I asked, wanting nothing more than to get into my hot tub with a naked Holly. She nodded.

“Meet you at the donut shop,” she said in a low voice as she turned her back to me.

We’d gotten good at hiding our affair over the last month. Holly’s hours were difficult but somehow we made it work without anyone noticing. “Oops, look at that. I accidentally undid your bikini,” I said, slyly watching the white strings go slack then fall down her chest.

“That was no accident,” Holly said, climbing into my lap. Casually swiping the cups of her top down with my index finger, she sat exposed, nipples in perfect, hard peaks for me.

My hands touched her breasts, made slippery from the bubbly, hot water we sat in. “It was, but now I suppose we should make the best of it,” I said, leaning in for a kiss. Her arms went around my neck, settling into me with a sexy sigh.

She ground herself against my hard cock in an erotic, insistent way making it difficult to hold myself back. Trailing my lips down her neck, that flowery scent I’d grown to love filled my nose. Her skin was damp from the water but also from the heat of the hot tub causing a thin, sheen layer of perspiration on her luscious skin.

My tongue licked the salt from her shoulder as my fingers gently pinched her nipples. Holly moaned, pressing herself closer to me.

“So, this is where you’ve been spending all your time,” a voice called from the side gate making Holly jump in my arms.

“It’s just my friend,” I said in a low voice, helping her tie up the bikini strings behind her neck. “Why don’t you go upstairs and wait for me?” I suggested, kissing her lightly on the cheek. She made her way up the steps then into the house, holding her towel close.

“Remind me to never go in your hot tub again,” Jake said with a devilish smirk on his face.

“You forgot to call first,” I said, resting my arms on the edge.

“If you ever answered your phone I would have.” He walked closer to me, staring down at the ground for a bit.

“Is there something you needed?”

“Yeah, we need to talk. Meet you inside,” he said, picking up a towel and throwing it at me. Then he swaggered toward the house.

He was right, I’d been avoiding him and the rest of my friends in favor of any stolen moment I could spend with Holly. Drying myself off, I headed to my house to face the music.

In my fridge as usual, I waited for him to make his choice. “There’s chocolate cake on the top shelf if you want,” I said, rubbing the towel on my head.

He peered over at me, narrowing his eyes. Grabbing a plastic container, he shut the door with his hip while opening it. “Homemade,” he said, yanking the cutlery drawer open after chucking the lid on my counter. “Mmm, at least she can bake,” he said through a mouthful of cake.

I didn’t answer him even though what he’d assumed was correct—Holly had baked it. She loved my kitchen, taking so much joy in cooking “on a real stove” and baking with decent pans. Jake was also right—she was a great cook.

Striding to the fridge, I pulled out the milk, pouring him a glass then setting it beside him. Leaning my hip against the counter, I asked, “It was nice to see you, but this isn’t exactly great timing.” Trying to give him more than a hint that he needed to leave.

“It’s never great timing, is it?” He looked up at me as he shoveled in more cake. “What the fuck do you think is going to result in you dating a student? I understand you saw a great piece of ass and wanted it. But, buddy, she’s a teenager,” he said, setting the cake down then picking up the glass of milk.

“That’s not really any of your business.”

Choking a bit as he drank, he coughed into his hand, clearing his throat. “It’s going to be everyone’s business pretty soon if you continue this bullshit. How long do you think it’ll take the press to get wind of this?”

The crappy part of all this was that he spoke the truth. “Do you think I haven’t thought about that? We’re careful, nobody knows anything.”

He laughed, taking another huge gulp. “Evan, Evan, Evan, you stupid fuck. Those assholes eat people like you for breakfast. If you’re doing shit like this, it’ll come out.”

“She’s eighteen.”

“Ha, they have an entire industry based on barely legal, my friend. You really think that’s what the papers are going to say when they skewer you and your dad on the front page? She may be legal but she’s your fucking student, man,” he said, slamming his glass down. I had no answer for him. This is stuff that ran through my head every day.

“One question before I take off.” He looked me up and down. “She worth it?”

To that, I had a definite answer. “Absolutely.”

Jake shook his head. “Think about it, bro. You’re going to take down an entire dynasty because of some teenage pussy. Nothing is worth that.” Patting me on the shoulder, he turned around and left.

Holly

I stood there, stock still, listening to every word that Evan’s friend said. His dad could lose his political present and future because of me? My hands shook uncontrollably. There was no way that I wanted to be the reason for anyone’s downfall or embarrassment.

If Evan’s friend was right, and his dad was a prominent figure then the risk was too great. Linking Evan to his student—who also lived in a trailer park—was the last thing in the world their family needed.

There was only one thing to do.

Picking up my bag, I walked down the stairs after Jake left. Turning the corner, Evan stood in the middle of his kitchen, thumb and index finger pressing the bridge of his nose. He only did that when he was stressed or tired.

“I should go, it’s getting late.” My breath hitched as I tried my best not to cry. “Can you drive me, or should I take a cab?” I wandered up to him, a bit unsteady.

He glanced at me before opening his arms. “Come here.”

“Really, I have homework to do. I need to leave.”

“Holly, come here.” He insisted, wiggling his fingers. Unable to refuse him, I dropped my bag and stepped into his body, his chest still covered with a few small droplets of water. “You hear any of that conversation?”

Nodding, I decided not to lie. Jake’s voice was commanding, and it carried without much effort.

“He’s my friend and he’s pissed that I haven’t been spending time with him lately,” he said into my hair, squeezing me closer.

“I don’t want anything bad to happen,” I said into his neck.

“Nothing bad is going to happen.”

“What kind of politics is your dad involved in?”

Clearing his throat, he said, “Can we talk about that later? Look, we’re careful and who knows how much longer I’ll even be at that school.”

Panic hit me directly in the stomach. Shoving away from him, I said, “You’re leaving?”

“I’m only there until Mr. Kensington recovers. Then I’ll be stuck trying to find another job.”

“Right.” Laying my head on his chest I savored this moment of just us, alone. My heart hurt thinking about what I was going to say next. “Maybe we should take a break until your term is done.”

His body went stiff. “What?”

“It would be safer and the last thing I want is for you or your family to get in trouble because of me.”

Hands on my shoulders, he reassured me. “Nobody is going to find out.”

“Jake said that the press might.”

Exhaling deeply, he said, “He’s concerned about me, that’s all.”

Shrugging, I looked into his eyes. “Evan, he seemed fairly certain we were going to get caught.”

“Nobody will find out, stop worrying. Besides, Jake doesn’t know you. He doesn’t understand how things are between us—how much I care for you. Right now, all he thinks is that you’re a fling.” His eyes roamed my face.

“I’m not a fling?” I asked, my heart filled with hope and surprise because I really didn’t know what I was.

A frown covered his face. “No, you’re not a fucking fling. Do you think I’d risk everything for a lay?”

Shaking my head, I said, “I think you could get that anywhere. Still, maybe we should cool it for a while until you’re at a different school or even the end of the year.” Just the thought of not seeing Evan until the end of school made my stomach twist with sadness.

His jaw dropped. “The end of the year is eight months away.” That seemed like an eternity to wait for us to be together. “Forget it, just stop. There’s no way in Hell I’m giving you up. We’ll figure this out, somehow.”

Evan

It was still dark outside. Holly slept soundly in my arms all night, not moving a muscle. I however, hardly slept. Not because she was in my arms but because of what I’d read on her phone before she’d fallen asleep.

Holly had texted her mother, telling her she was sleeping over at a friend’s house tonight. It was a Friday evening, so I hoped she wouldn’t put up a fuss. We’d never spent an entire night together and I’d wanted to wake up with her in my arms.

After she finished texting, Holly snuggled into me, falling asleep almost instantly. Her phone was still in her hand, so I slipped it out ready to put it on the bedside table. When I looked at the screen, it was still in text mode—locked mode hadn’t clicked in yet.

I knew I shouldn’t read it. However, curiosity got the better of me. What I read make me sick.

Mom: You’re at some boy’s house, aren’t you? Slutting around as usual.

Holly: No, I’m at a friend’s. It’s late and she’s going to drive me to work in the morning. Make sure you try and eat something, okay?

Mom: Ain’t hungry. Not that you care.

Holly: Of course, I care. Just try and eat something. There’s casserole in the fridge you can warm up. Night.

If that wasn’t bad enough, I scrolled up to see more of their conversations. Mostly stilted, Holly checking in from work or school reminding her mom of her schedule and instructing her to eat or call the doctor or both.

From the look of it, their relationship was a complete role reversal—Holly was the parent and her mom the troublesome teen.

Of course, from our discussions, I knew that her homelife wasn’t the greatest. I’d dropped her off at her trailer, so I knew they weren’t exactly rolling in money. Holly never mentioned a father and I hadn’t pressed the matter. Yet.

To see how her mother treated her made my throat tighten up. Holly didn’t deserve that. Refraining from throwing her phone, I shut it down and put it away.

My parents were far from perfect. We fought and had our differences. There was never a time when they resorted to name calling. I knew they wanted the best for me even though our ideas of what that was differed greatly.

What Holly’s mom was doing to her was out and out mental abuse. I’d never met someone who was as focused and hardworking as Holly. She brought home money that I assumed she used for them to live off of. Nothing about her screamed extravagance—not her clothes, hair, or makeup. Not to mention her lack of a car.

The guilt I felt about the discrepancies in our upbringings was fierce. Why I had what I did, while Holly barely scraped by confounded me. It made me want to give her the world.

The only problem was—the world couldn’t know about us.

She stirred a bit next to me, her body likely knowing the alarm would go off in twenty minutes. Kissing her head, she stretched as she yawned loudly. “I didn’t know where I was for a second.” She wiggled her sweet ass against my crotch.

Smiling into the dark, I said, “Right where you should be.” I gently thrust my now raging hard on against her backside.

Pressing further against me, she said, “Mmm, that feels good.”

“Lift up your leg, honey,” I asked, using my hand to assist. She did what I asked without any question. Plunging a finger into her, I found her more than ready for me.

“Mmm hmm,” she muttered, tilting herself back for me. Removing my finger, I replaced it with my hungry cock.

“You always feel so fucking perfect,” I said into her neck as I slowly sunk into her. Surging up, she groaned a long, low mournful sound, encouraging me to go faster. My hand slid to her breast, playing with her nipple while she sighed.

“Kiss me,” I demanded, needing her mouth. She turned her head as far as she could as I met her halfway. Her mouth was warm and needy just like her tight pussy. “You like that?” I asked, continuing to fuck her from behind.

“Yes,” she said against my mouth, opening hers to let me in again. Sliding my hand down her stomach, I went in search of that one spot that drove her crazy. Once I started rubbing her, I felt her walls beginning to tighten on me. She was close.

Quickening my pace, I said, “Come hard for me, Holly. I want to feel you.” That was all it took for her to let go and squeeze my cock until I couldn’t hold out any longer. “Ahh, I’m going to come.” Gasping, my orgasm surged out of me as Holly continued squeezing me with her own release.

Sliding my hand up to her stomach, I tried to soothe her as the last of our spasms left. “Why does it get better and better?” Holly said, snuggling up closer to me.

That made me laugh. “I think I’m going to take that as compliment,” I said, kissing the side of her head, now damp with perspiration.

“You definitely should. Just when I think it can’t possibly get any better, you surprise me with something new.” She stretched her arm out as she yawned just in time for the alarm to go off.

“Can you call in sick?” I asked, palming her breast in my hand.

“I wish I could stay here all day.”

“Then stay,” I said, kissing her again, wishing not for the first time that our circumstances were much different than they actually were.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Holly

“When did you know that you wanted to teach?” I asked Evan as we laid on the blanket, looking up at the stars. The soothing sound of the waves in the background nearly lulled me to sleep. It had been another early morning, followed by another long day, which turned into a late night.

Story of my life.

Evan had picked me up from work bearing gifts of burgers and fries. We’d eaten, made out for a while and were presently laying on our backs, observing the dark sky.

He squeezed my hand. “Honestly?” he asked, briefly turning his head to me.

“Yeah.”

“My dad wanted me to go into law. I knew I definitely didn’t want that but time was running out to pick. I chose education because I really wasn’t sure what else to do.”

“You don’t like teaching?”

Raising his shoulders up and down a few times, he said, “It’s okay—but nothing like I thought it would be.”

Rolling over to my side, head resting on my hand, I asked, “Then what do you, Evan Marshall, want to be when you grow up?”

He chuckled for a while before he turned to me. “I’m not completely sure. Stupid, right?”

“No, not at all. You’re young. I read somewhere that people switch careers many times in their life.”

His hand reached out to me, sweeping my hair behind my ear. “It’s stupid to go to school for that many years when you’re not sure it’s exactly what you want to do for the rest of your life.”

Smiling at him, I asked, “What would you have done instead? Say you had a time machine and could go back and do it all over again.”

He gazed at me fondly. “Exactly the same thing because that’s how I found you.”

“You’re so cheesy sometimes.” I pushed him in the shoulder so he ended up on his back again. “Seriously, close your eyes. Don’t even think about it. First thing that comes to your mind.”

He shut his eyes as his forehead creased. “Ummm, ummm.”

“Hurry up, you can’t think about it.”

“Travel around Europe?” he said, opening his eyes, staring right at me.

“What would you do there? Ravish all the sexy French girls?”

“Oui, oui,” he said, making me snort as I slapped him playfully on the chest. His body shook from laughing, too.

“You aren’t playing along. What would you do there?”

“I’d go to England and visit the places Shakespeare lived in and wrote about. Watch endless, horrible plays, and eat food I’ve never heard of.”

“I’ve always wanted to go to England. So many of the books I’ve read take place there. I’d love to see what it looks like in real life.” Laying back down, I grabbed his hand again.

“You should go, Holly. For real. Go before you start university and get caught up in starting a life you don’t know you want or not.”

“Not everyone has that choice. I have responsibilities here. There’s no way I can leave.” A sudden hollowness entered my heart as I briefly considered his suggestion. There’s nothing more I’d love to do than travel but there’s only so far you can get with a student’s bus pass and a few dollars in change.

“Is your mom any better?” he asked, turning to look at me as I answered.

“Worse. And she refuses to see a doctor,” I said, my voice hitching a bit as my lower lip quivered.

Putting his arm out, he said, “Come here, honey.” I skootched over, laying on his chest. “I’m so sorry. You have no idea how much I wish I could make life easier for you.” His mouth touched the top of my head.

“You do make it easier for me.”

“I complicate the hell out of your life.”

“No, you make it fun.” Resting my chin on my hands, I looked at him. It could be the way the moonlight hit his eyes, but they glistened.

“Holly Anderson, I think that’s the nicest thing anyone has ever said to me.”

Kissing his chest, I said, “It’s true. I’ve never been this happy in my whole life.”

He rolled over top of me. “You break my heart. Do you know that? Do you realize how much I want you to be happy? Somedays that’s all I can think about.”

Tears fell down the sides of my face. “You’re doing a great job,” I whispered, pulling his head down to mine.

“You could stay over at my place,” Evan said as we got into the Jeep.

“There’s nothing more I want to do right now, trust me. But I have to get home and check on my mom.”

He nodded in that cute, defeated way he had about him. “You didn’t finish the game.”

Tilting my head to the side, I asked, “What do you mean?”

“You never said what you wanted to do after high school.”

“Ohhh. Well,” I said, looking out my window. “That depends on if I get any scholarships or not.” University cost a lot of money. Money I didn’t have.

“Pie in the sky, you have all the money in the world. What would you do?” he asked, pulling out of the parking lot.

“Umm.”

He laughed out loud. “You’re cheating. You’re not supposed to think about it remember?”

Giggling, I closed my eyes and waited for inspiration to hit. Blank. Nothing. All I saw was darkness. My eyes began to well up all on their own as a drowning sense of hopelessness and terror overcame me.

“Hey, hey, what’s going on?” he said, holding onto my hand as he pulled the Jeep over to the side of the road.

Opening my eyes, I quickly shut them again as I sobbed. “There was nothing there,” I cried, putting my hands on my face. In no time, Evan had both of our belts off, hugging me.

“It’s just a stupid game. You’re exhausted as usual. I shouldn’t have asked, I’m sorry for upsetting you,” he said, rubbing my back.

“That’s the point. It’s just a dumb game. I should be able to come up with something.” His hand held my head to his chest.

“You can do anything you want,” he mumbled into my hair.

I did a weird laugh-cry with a hiccough as my hopes plummeted. “No, I can’t. Don’t you see that?” I drew away from him, wiping my eyes. “There’s not much that I can do.” Disappointment sagged through me as the reality of my life surrounded me.

“We will figure this out. I promise you.” His hands went to my shoulders. “Holly.” I looked at him through my tear-filled eyes. “You have options. I’ve never met anyone as smart, talented, and beautiful as you. Together, you and me will figure it out.”

“You and I.” I corrected him.

He threw his head back, chuckling. “Did you just correct the English major?”

“Maybe.”

His eyes scanned my face for a minute. “Can you trust me on this one thing?”

I sniffed. “On what? You’re poor grammar?”

Again, he chuckled, making me smile. “That and figuring out what you’re going to do with the rest of your life.”

“Deal,” I said, lying. I was young, but I also knew there wasn’t much he could do to fix my sad, sorry life.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Holly

“Oh come on, please? It’ll be so much fun. And you owe me some friend time. You haven’t hung out with me for weeks,” Ivy whined, begging me to come to some masquerade ball in L.A. with her.

“It’s too expensive. Where would I get the money for a dress?” I stated the obvious.

Ivy looked at me softly, placing her cool hand on my arm. “It’s on me, you know that,” she stated, giving me a smile. “I want you to come with me. You’re always so busy and I miss you.” She shot me her cutest pouty face that always made me laugh.

Pondering the trip again, I sighed, realizing everything—and everyone that would stand in the way of me leaving the city. “Three days? I can’t leave my mom for that long.”

“Get the neighbor to check in on her. It’s not like you’re there twenty-four seven anyway.”

“Even if I could arrange it, there’s no way I can miss out on three days of pay or finding someone to fill in for me.”

“Hmm,” she said, tapping her finger against her lips. “I bet I can. Are you working tonight? Mr. Turner loves me. It’ll take me about ten seconds to convince him how much you need this break.”

“You are listening but not hearing. I can’t go without the money.”

“Minor detail. Give me a second,” she said, pulling out her phone, texting furiously. I tried to ignore her the best I could. Taking a bite of my sandwich, I stopped myself from even entertaining the thought of going to a huge, masquerade party with Ivy and how much fun it would actually be.

I refused to think about getting dressed up in a gorgeous dress, having my hair, nails, and makeup done and dancing the night away in a huge ballroom. Sighing, I took sip out of my water container.

“Done,” Ivy squealed, throwing her hands up in the air, pumping them like a fool. “Who’s your best friend in the world?”

“Alex?”

She hit me playfully in the shoulder. “Me, you big dork. I texted my aunt and you can help out in the kitchen before the ball for twice what you’d be making at the diner.”

My tiny heart jumped at what she said. “Twice my wage?”

“Yep, so really, it would be fiscally irresponsible for you not to go.” She raised an eyebrow as she crunched down on a baby carrot.

“It’s still going to be impossible to get out of work.”

“Leave that to me, young grasshopper.” Ivy pointed her half-eaten carrot in my direction.

“Watch and learn,” Ivy said to me as she swayed over to Mr. Turner, all full of smiles and over confidence. She’d said that she didn’t want me around, so I watched from afar as she worked her magic. This was the final piece of the puzzle. I’d spoken with a few of our neighbors and they agreed to take turns checking in on Mom while I was gone.

If Ivy was able to swing this then I’d be home free to have my first real vacation—aside from a few hours of paid labor in the kitchen. Pretending to look busy, I kept a steady eye on my friend as she flipped her hair, giggled, and leaned in with a hand on my boss’s arm.

She was actually a really good actress when she wasn’t on the stage and was able to make up her own script. My boss nodded with a sad face then Ivy hugged him. The butterflies in my stomach were making me queasy. I hadn’t allowed myself to actually hope everything would fall into place until now.

“Holly,” my boss called to me, waving his hand. Walking up to them, my legs felt shaky as I tried my best not to let my nerves show.

“Your good friend here said you’d like to take some much deserved time off to visit her grandmother?” he asked, his face smiling down at me.

Visit her grandmother? Good one, Ivy. “It would be nice, but I totally understand if you can’t find anyone to fill in my shifts,” my hands clenched into fists as I answered.

“We can figure it out. You deserve a break,” he said, standing up to leave. “Write everything down for me on the scheduling forms so I don’t forget.”

After the door closed behind him, Ivy grabbed my shoulders, jumping up and down as she squealed, “We did it.”

“You did it. I can’t believe I actually get to leave the city for the first time.”

“Wait until you see the hotel we’re staying at,” she said to me, eyes wide with excitement.

A bit confused, I asked, “Aren’t we staying with your family?” Ivy’s parents had been insistent that she attend the private school in Santa Lena. They didn’t want her influenced by the glitz and glam of L.A.

However, the amount of time they actually spent with her in this city was negligible. I often thought Ivy missed them, but I kept my nose out of their arrangement.

“My house is too far of a drive to the ball. Besides, it’s harder to sneak around if I’m at home.” She raised her eyebrows. “I told my parents you’d rather stay in a hotel. We’ll still have to visit them,” she said sighing. “Other than that, it’s shopping, manicures, and hot guys galore.”

“Thank you so much,” I said to her, leaning in for a hug. “I owe you.”

“Where are you going exactly?” Evan asked me as I sat between his legs on the beach, watching the moonlight on the water.

“Ivy is taking me to some masquerade ball at a huge mansion in Los Angeles.” I giggled at the sheer insanity of me being in such a place. “We’re getting our hair done, manicures—the works,” I said, twisting my head back to him.

“I assume there’ll be handsome, masked men at this ball?” He squeezed his legs around me. I loved how safe and secure I felt when he held me like this—like nothing bad in the world could touch me.

“That would be a logical assumption. Although technically, nobody will really be able to tell how handsome because we’ll all be wearing masks.” I teased him, knowing full well nobody would interest me except him.

“I see. And what will you do when one of these men—handsome or not—asks you to dance?”

“It’s a ball. You dance.”

“Do you know how to dance?”

Oh crap, I hadn’t thought that far ahead. Panic shot through my stomach. Everything else seemed so unlikely I forgot about what I’d actually do if I got there. “Not exactly,” I said, a small cloud now covering my formerly sunny anticipation.

“You’re in luck, Miss Anderson. You’ll find I’m quite a proficient dancer.” He stood, swishing sand around in the process. He held his hand out to me with a formal little bow. “May I have this dance, m’lady?”

Laughing, I reached up, placing my tiny hand in his. “Why thank you, kind sir.” I loved it when he was playful and fun.

“First, I’ll teach you the waltz. It’s the most popular at these types of things.” He stepped into me, one hand on my waist as he held the other out to the side. “Hand on my shoulder,” he said, nudging my arm up with his elbow.

“Pretend we’re making a box. You’re the bottom and I’m the top.”

“What if I want to be on top?” I said in a naughty voice, glancing up at him as I fluttered my eyelashes.

He snickered as he kissed my lips—making my belly squeeze. “If you keep talking like that you’ll never learn. I’m the man, I lead. That’s just how it goes. Live with it.” His eyebrow raised humorously as he gave me one last quick peck.

“Whatever,” I said dryly, feigning annoyance as I shook out my hair.

“In your head, you need to count, one, two, three, one, two three. Okay?”

“Got it. One, two, three.”

“I step forward, you step back. Like this.” He showed me, making sure to avoid stepping on my much slower foot. “Good. Now a step to the side,” he said, moving me with him. “Then you get to step forward.”

After a few trips and missed steps, Evan somehow managed to get us into a smooth rhythm as he hummed along. “Thanks for teaching me this,” I said, feeling a blush begin.

“Anything for you,” he said, kissing me while keeping up the slow, methodical beat.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

Holly

“I’ve never been this relaxed in my whole life,” I said, as firm, magical fingers dug into my back.

Ivy peeked up from her massage bed to look at me. “I go at least once a week. With the pressures of school, I need it to function.” She laid back down.

Refusing to think about how our pressures differed in my eyes, I decided instead to be grateful. “Thanks for bringing me here. I’ve had so much fun already.” And that was true. We’d had our nails done and were now getting massages.

“We need to look our best for tonight. I hope they didn’t work you too hard in the kitchen?” she asked, sounding genuinely concerned for me.

The kitchen she referred to was the catering service. All I really did was wash dishes for about three hours straight. “It was okay. I don’t think I worked hard enough to earn all the money they paid me, though.”

“Ugh, trust me. Whatever they paid you wasn’t nearly enough. Yuck,” she said as though I’d been emptying bedpans all morning or something.

“It was pretty easy work. I almost felt in the way.” So much so, that I began wondering if Ivy had invented a job for me to do. My heart squeezed a bit as I thought about what a good friend she was to me.

“Holly, they were lucky they could find someone to do that grossness. Blah,” she said, making herself fake shiver. “Let’s talk about something else—like how many hot guys there’ll be there tonight.”

We sat reading gossip rags, laughing, and joking as best as we could without cracking our facial masks. Sitting in this plush robe was so luxurious I could stay here forever—I’d never felt anything so decadent before.

“I’m still confused about why we had to take off all our clothes to get facials,” I said, sipping on the champagne we were served, the tiny bubbles tickling my nose. Nobody had thought to card us, so we accepted.

“It’s for after the facials,” Ivy said, finishing her glass then signaling for more.

“What’s next?”

“Waxing.”

“I’m really not sure about this. I’m more of a trimmer than a waxer,” I said hesitantly while Olga’s back was turned. My heart started to beat like a drum. I’d never had anything waxed let alone down there.

“What if you meet, “the one” tonight? You don’t want to be all—unkempt down there,” she said, whistling, waggling her eyebrows.

Evan had never complained about the state of “down there”. I wondered if he’d prefer me waxed? “That’s not likely.” I snorted, rolling my eyes.

“Oh, you never know. Someday you’ll get that cherry popped,” she said, giggling as her hands wrapped around my arm. “I’ll leave you to Olga. She’s a pro.” With a quick pat on the shoulder, she turned and left.

“Ohhh, this would look perfect under your dress,” Ivy said, handing me a white bustier with pink roses sewn on it. It was breathtaking. I wondered how it would feel to wear something so lush.

Reality brought me back to Earth. There was no way I could afford it. Still, curiosity knocked and I flipped the price tag over, frowning. “I have a bra I can wear.”

“You need to have something like this under your dress so you don’t fall out, my dear. Trust me. I’ll buy it for you.” She stuffed it in my hands. “Look at the sexy matching undies,” she squealed, waving them in my face.

Butterflies took up residence inside my stomach as I thought about owning such beautiful, expensive things. Pride took over. “It’s okay, you’ve been too generous already. I can’t ask you to buy this for me.” My shoulders drooped when I attempted to put the items back.

“No way,” Ivy said, halting my efforts. “You can’t wear a regular bra under our gowns. It’ll look awful. Trust me.” Her eyes looked me over for a second before she whispered discreetly, “Stop worrying about how much everything costs, okay?” The sincerity in her eyes and voice made my eyes start to water. “My dad makes gobs of money, you know that. I wanted you to come—you’re my guest—I pay.”

I squeezed my eyes shut as I gave her a quick hug. My throat felt dry as I sniffed. “You’re too nice.”

Ivy hugged me back, then took a few steps to the side. “What do you think about this on me,” she said, picking up a black lace bustier, holding it close to her body.

“That is hot,” I said, feeling the intricate lace between my fingers. I didn’t dare flip that tag over.

Posing in front of the mirrors, she said, “Not for tonight. For Mr. Marshall.”

My stomach sunk as all the breath in my lungs fled. “What do you mean?”

“When I finally land him.” She shimmied a bit, wiggling her hips in a seductive dance as she stared at herself in the mirror. “It’s just a matter of time before he gives in,” she said, tossing her curls around then suddenly doubling over, grabbing her belly. “Ouch,” she said, her face contorting in discomfort.

“Are you okay?” I asked, holding onto her arms, scared she might fall.

Taking a few deep breaths, she shot back up. “I’m fine. Just a quick pain. Let’s go try these on.”

Looking at myself in the mirror, I barely recognized the person staring back. I didn’t even have my mask on yet. My fingers traced down my fitted bodice, feeling the intricately beaded appliques. The butterflies in my stomach had called their friends and were now having some kind of rave.

“Whoa, you clean up nicely, Anderson.” Ivy walked out of the bathroom in her bustier that needed to be commended for holding everything up. Without straps.

“How is that even staying up?” I asked, jaw dropping, sincerely amazed at the wonder before me.

Ivy laughed, giving me her signature shimmy. She stopped after a few shakes, holding her stomach again. “Are you all right?” I asked, rushing over to her, worried something was really wrong.

“Fine. Just a cramp or something. Help me get into my dress, will you?”

Fifteen minutes later, dressed, primped, waxed, exfoliated and entirely too excited for words, we left for the ball.

I’d never worn such a dress before. It was interesting navigating down the stairs and into the limo that Ivy ordered. When we were seated, she asked, “Champagne?” Holding up a green bottle?

“I’m a little lightheaded from the two glasses I had at the salon,” I said, speaking the truth. Unlike Ivy, I had made a point of eating so I wouldn’t feel sick.

“Come on, live a little. We’re in L.A. now. Nobody here knows you,” she said, passing me a half full flute. “To us finding hot, rich, trust fund babies tonight.” She toasted, cracking me up as we clinked our delicate glasses.

CHAPTER TWENTY

Holly

After driving down the longest driveway in history, we finally arrived at the biggest house I’d ever seen. My imagination couldn’t even fathom what kind of people lived here.

“Nice, right? It’s Senator Stanton’s house.” Ivy fiddled with something in her purse. I was going to be inside of a senator’s house? This was crazy. “Here, I almost forgot.” Handing me a fancy mask with glitter, feathers, and ribbon that matched my dress. “Turn and I’ll tie it for you.”

Masks secured, she informed the driver we were ready. He got out, opening our door for us and helping us as we got out. The brightly lit water fountain held my attention as I waited to follow Ivy into the house.

Two doormen opened the oversized wooden doors for us. “Thank you,” we both said to them as they nodded.

“Do people seriously live here? It looks more like a museum.” Looking around, I was in complete and utter awe at the magnificence of the place. “Or a palace,” I said, whispering to Ivy as I admired the huge chandelier hanging above us.

“Shhh, stop freaking out. Pretend like you’ve been here a thousand times,” she said, turning her head to the side while she spoke.

“Margaret, is that you?” she said, spotting someone in the distance while I lagged behind. Ivy was clearly in her element—me, not so much. Wandering around the entryway, I paused to look at the artwork on the walls.

Pedestals held vases of elaborate floral displays that probably cost more than I made in an entire year. People walked up and down the wide, flowing staircase. Women in ballgowns of all design—men in tuxes.

Music echoed from the second level. When I finally caught Ivy’s eye, I motioned that I was going upstairs. She nodded and waved. Holding my skirt so I didn’t trip and fall, I took one step at a time feeling like a movie star or royalty as I went.

Entering what must be the ballroom, I stood there, stunned. An orchestra played at the front while people danced—waltzed—in the middle. The sides and back held tables and chairs where attendees sat, laughed, and drank.

Talk about a fish out of water. The song ended followed by the dancers on the floor clapping. Everything was so formal, like something out of a movie or a book.

Staying close to the wall, I headed toward the punch bowl. “Thirsty?” a gentleman asked beside me.

A bit shocked that someone spoke to me, I stopped and turned to him. “Not really, just trying to look busy,” I said, giving him a brief smile. He had on a dark red and black mask and his hair was a well-combed sandy blond.

“I can do my best to keep you busy. Would you like to dance?” he asked, holding out his hand.

He seemed nice enough, so I agreed. We walked slowly, side by side to the dance floor. I mentally prayed that I didn’t look as awkward as I felt. “Oooff,” I said, the third time our bodies bumped into each other. “I’m sorry, I’m not a very good dancer.” Apologizing for my ineptitude. Why was dancing so difficult with this man yet so easy with Evan?

“Completely my fault,” he said, a kind smile on his face. I knew better, though. This was all me.

We started again, this time he stepped on my feet. “Ouch,” I said, backing up hoping to end this disaster.

“May I?” A dark haired man appeared in front of me, asking my dance partner for permission to take his place. Boy, was he brave.

“Be my guest.” My former partner slapped him on the arm, wishing him luck. He’d need it.

“Look, I’m not very good at this, I think I’ll just sit this one out,” I said as my new partner turned to me.

“M’lady,” he said, bowing at the waist with his hand out.

I knew that voice. And that hair. “Evan?” I asked, touching my throat as I inhaled deeply, not believing that he of all people would be here.

He stepped into me, taking my hand with his. Pulling me closer, sliding his hand to my waist, we began to dance. “One, two, three, can you hear it?” he hummed into my ear, causing goose bumps to form.

Amazingly enough, I danced well with him. “Why are you here?”

“Because you’re here,” he said, leaning down to kiss my bare shoulder. Desire flickered to life as the heat from his lips traveled through my body.

“But how did you get in?” I asked, bewildered at how he managed to get an invite to a senator’s ball.

He chuckled into my neck. “I know people who know people. Are you not happy to see me? Shall I call that young man back here to finish your dance?”

Pushing back, I smiled at him. “He was more than eager to let you take over.”

“The third time he stepped on your feet I knew I had to intervene.”

Shaking my head, I said, “I don’t understand why I can dance just fine with you but when I tried with him it was a huge fail.”

“It’s because I know your body, inside and out.” His low, husky voice reminding me of how he spoke when he was deep inside me. “I know the sway of your hips—how you move underneath me when I’m making love to you. How you follow my lead—everywhere.”

Looking up into his eyes, I slid my hand behind his neck, pulling him down to me for a kiss. He brought us to a halt, our bodies close, the fresh, manly scent of him surrounding me. “You look beautiful tonight, Holly. Simply irresistible, as always.” One more kiss, then he smiled and said, “Follow me.”

Not that I had a choice. My hand was in his firm grip as he tugged me to a set of ornate doors. Walking through, they led to a balcony where a few people stood chatting. He pulled me behind him until we arrived at a set of stairs.

One hand holding the railing, he kept possession of my other one. “Where are we going?”

“Shh,” was all he said until we were at the bottom. “Over here.” He led me to a tall gazebo, covered in mini fairy lights. Flowers sat in pots all around the perimeter.

“Are you sure it’s okay for us to be here?” I asked, scared that a security guard was going to pop up and catch us.

Again, he chuckled. “It’ll be fine, trust me.” Spinning me into the middle of the floor, he started dancing a slow waltz with me in his arms.

I laughed at his smooth moves. “I’m so happy you’re here,” I told him, running my hand over the back of his neck.

“Ready?” he asked.

I knew exactly what he was talking about. He spun me out then I circled back to him, his arms around me, my back to his front.

Turning my head, I giggled as he stole another kiss. His arms dropped mine, turning me around. We kissed for a moment before he said, “Follow me.” He shot me a roguish grin before sweeping me off to who knows where.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

Evan

Holly was always beautiful to me. But tonight, seeing her in that gown, dancing with her in the gazebo—she was stunning. Her golden hair fell in curls down the back of her pale, pink satin dress. If I hadn’t known better, I’d think she was born to this life.

“Where are you taking me now?” she whispered, her chest rising and falling rapidly as we entered the staff doors.

“Just trust me,” I whispered into her ear, lightly grazing the sensitive part of her ear with my lips.

Telltale goose bumps rose on her delicate skin as she shivered. “You always say that. Why can’t you just tell me?”

“It’ll ruin the surprise.” I smirked then turned around, pulling her with me. What a surprise I had planned. My cock swelled just thinking about it. One more corner and we’d be—

“Why hello, Mr. Evan. I didn’t expect you to be here,” one of the maids said, shocking the shit out of me. My heart started beating faster.

“Laurette, nice to see you again. We’re just passing through,” I said, trying to dismiss us as quickly as possible before anyone else saw.

“What do you—”

“We’ll talk later, we’re in a rush.” I gave her a fast wink before proceeding on at a quickened pace.

Zooming passed Laurette, Holly said, “We’re in a rush?”

“Shh.”

“These shoes weren’t exactly made for stairs.” She huffed, grappling at her long skirts as to avoid tripping. “How many more flights?” Holly said, likely feeling the burn of doing three flights of stairs in extremely high heels.

Relief ran through me as the door we needed finally appeared on the left-hand side. “Hold on, let me look first.” I took a deep breath before carefully poking my head out, checking for anyone in the hallway, praying it would be empty. “All clear. Run if you can,” I told her, taking off down the hall until we came to a familiar room. “Inside,” I clipped nervously, shoving her in then closing the door behind us.

Leaning against the shut door, I let out a long, relieved sigh as I let my eyelids close for a moment.

“I don’t think we’re supposed to be here.” Holly turned to me, frowning, her face filled with apprehension.

“It’s okay, I know the guy who it belongs to.” I smiled down at her.

She turned, walking further into the room. “It’s someone’s bedroom, Evan.”

“Look at the pictures on the wall and the dresser,” I said smirking, my back still against the door.

Unsure, she slowly wandered from picture to picture, gently grazing her fingertips on some before recognition finally hit. “This is you?” Confusion written all over her face as her eyes narrowed on me.

Locking the door behind me, I pushed away, nodding.

“I don’t understand,” she said, a framed photo of me in her hand. “This is Senator Stanton’s house. Are you—”

“His son.” Taking the picture from her, I set it back down on the dresser as I rolled my shoulders trying to rid the tension.

“But your last name is Marshall?” She looked up at me, perplexed.

Sweeping her hair behind her shoulder, I said, “It’s my mother’s maiden name. Stanton is too recognizable. If I use it then people treat me differently.” My stomach knotting, hoping like hell she’d understand.

Turning away from me, she walked to the bed, sitting down. “I feel like you lied to me,” she whispered in a breathy voice, her eyes wet.

I ripped off my mask, feeling an uncomfortable tightening in my chest. “I’m sorry. I couldn’t tell you until I was certain you wouldn’t say anything. The only person at school who knows is Principal McGreggor and I’d like to keep it that way.” Sitting down beside her, I grabbed her hand.

She pulled it away. My heart sunk as my stomach churned with worry and disappointment. “You should have told me. Ugh,” she said, putting her hands over her face. “You saw the trailer I live in and you grew up here? In a palace?” Her voice laced with pain—and perhaps embarrassment? Jesus, that was the last thing I wanted her to feel.

Laughing in a low voice, I said, “It’s not a palace. Would you look at me, please?” I begged, reaching for her hands again, my heart hurt to see her act like this. “I can’t help where I grew up any more than you can. And you know I don’t think less of you for living in a trailer, right?”

“Why don’t you?” Her eyes questioned me.

“Do you think less of me for having lived here?” I asked, scanning her face for the truth, worried she’d already changed her opinion of me.

“No, but it freaks me out a little. A lot, actually.”

“It freaks everyone out, that’s why I try to hide my family when I can.”

“Same.”

Unable to stop the chuckle that burst out, I rubbed her hands. “I don’t mean to laugh, but you kill me sometimes.” Gazing into her eyes, I asked, “I’m sorry I kept this from you. Can you forgive me?”

She didn’t take any time at all to answer. “Are those trophies all yours?”

Squinting my eyes, I answered, “Yes, why?”

“Your parents didn’t buy them for you?”

I threw my head back, laughing. “I’m very athletic and was rewarded accordingly. Now that you know my trophies are the real deal, can I kiss you?”

“Mmm hmm,” she said, finally giving me a smile. I removed her mask then leaned down, taking her mouth gently, letting her know how sorry I was to keep a secret like this from her. As I began lowering her down on my bed, she protested. “No, my hair will get all messed up,” she said, pushing me away.

Standing up with a groan, I took her hands, lifting her to her feet. Reaching behind her, I felt for her zipper, yanking it down slowly. Her eyes widened and her jaw dropped but she didn’t say a word.

As her dress fell to the floor, my heart stopped beating. “You are stunning, my dear,” I said, blood rushing to my cock in record time. The bustier she wore combined with matching panties drained my lungs of air. Helping her step out of the dress so she didn’t trip, I held her to me. “I need you, Holly. So much.” My kiss was not gentle this time. I crushed my lips to hers, feeling my erection hard against her stomach. Her hands wandered down to my button, carefully undoing it then the zipper. Easing her hand inside my underwear, the touch of her cool hand on my cock drove me wild.

“Turn around. Hands on the dresser,” I ordered, my cock twitching and ready.

Doing exactly what I said, I kissed her shoulder, inhaling her flowery perfume before I began unhooking her bustier. Finally, at the last hook, I opened up my prize—a naked, gorgeous, Holly. Tossing the lingerie to the side I eagerly sidled up closer behind her as I got rid of my jacket.

My hands caressed her back then traveled around to her breasts, palming them as she closed her eyes. Squeezing her nipples between my fingers, she moaned. “Spread your legs,” I growled, tapping my shoe beside hers. She opened for me. “More, honey. And bend over, like this.” Moving my hand to her upper back, I pushed gently.

“Yes, that’s good,” I said, watching as desire transformed her beautiful face in the mirror as I moved her thong to the side and got my cock ready at her opening. Driving inside her, filling her, I inhaled sharply. “You are absolutely exquisite,” I said, thrusting myself back and forth. Her tongue darted out, licking her lips as I went deeper.

Watching her breasts move in the mirror as I fucked her from behind nearly sent me to the brink. She needed to come first—she deserved to come first. My hand crept to her pussy. I gasped, feeling the soft skin.

“You’re fuckin’ bare, baby. I love it,” I grunted, getting even harder the more I played with her. Touching her where I knew she liked it best, I felt her get even wetter. I could feel my orgasm coiling up in my balls, ready to shoot into her. “Open your eyes. I want to watch you come.”

With those words her back arched even more as her eyelids opened. Staring into her eyes, I couldn’t hold back any longer. “Ahh,” I moaned with one last thrust. Seating myself to the hilt, my cock jerking a few more times as she, too, found her own release. I leaned over her, gasping for air as I placed my mouth against her neck for a gentle kiss before I reluctantly pulled out.

“I can’t keep my hands off you,” I said, turning her around, pulling her into my arms. God, she felt good as she let out a satisfied sigh, warming my heart to have her this close.

Her fingers dug into my shoulders. “Ditto.” Kissing my chest, she clung onto me as we held each other in our afterglow.

“We should go back to the party before Ivy starts looking for you.”

“I completely forgot about her,” she said, leaning away from me, jaw slack. “I should check my phone.” I couldn’t help but watch the show in front of me—Holly in high heels and a pair of the sexiest panties I’d ever seen. Bending over to retrieve her phone out of her purse, she said, “Oh no, no, no, no, no.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

Evan

Doing up my pants, I prowled up to her to see what was so upsetting. Snatching the phone from her hand, I read the texts.

Ivy: Where are you?

Ivy: Holly? Where did you go?

Ivy: I’m going to the hospital. The pain in my stomach is worse. Text me when you get this.

“She’s sick?” I asked, unclear of what Ivy was talking about. From the look on Holly’s face it seemed like she already had an idea of what was wrong.

Furiously typing into her phone, she spoke to me, “Her stomach was hurting her today, but she insisted she was fine. I bet something bad happened and I wasn’t there to help. I’m such a horrible friend.” Her voice hitched a bit at the end.

Rubbing her shoulders, I said, “You couldn’t have known something was going to happen. This isn’t your fault.”

“I should have been there for her,” she said, beginning to cry. “She says they are doing tests on her now.”

Hugging her into my body, her back to my chest. “How is she feeling now?” I asked, snapping up her hand.

“Better, I guess. They gave her some painkillers and she’s telling me about all the hot doctors.” She giggled as she sniffed.

Putting my arm around her, I said, “That’s a good sign.” Kissing her cheek, she gazed over at me.

“I hope so.”

“What do you want to do? Go back to your hotel or—go back to the party?” My thumb circled the top of her hand.

A sad look of indecision crossed her face. “I don’t know what to do.”

Pulling her in for a hug, I said, “It’s okay, take your time. Why don’t you ask Ivy what she thinks?”

Releasing me, she said, “That’s a great idea.” Texting madly on her phone again, she began to laugh herself silly.

“What?”

Unable to speak, she handed the phone to me.

Holly: What should I do? I can pack up and take the bus home.

Ivy: If you do that, I will personally come down there in my hospital gown and slap you! Enjoy yourself and pick up a hot male specimen. Tonight might be THE NIGHT.

Holly: I don’t feel right about partying while you’re in the hospital. I should go.

Ivy: DON’T YOU DARE LEAVE. After all the work we did to make this weekend special? You better enjoy it. Maybe I’ll bust out of here tomorrow. Stay as long as you want at the party and I’ll text you the limo driver’s number. I paid him for the entire weekend so take the car wherever you want to go.

Holly: Are you sure?

Ivy: YES. Now stop bugging me. I just turned my hospital gown around “by mistake” so when the hot doc comes back in to check my heart, he’ll get a nice surprise.

I passed the phone back to her. “She’s very—”

“Aggressive?”

“Sure.” I gazed down as Holly smiled at me. It was nice to see her a little less worried.

“So, Miss Anderson? The world is your oyster this evening. What’s the verdict?”

“Stop in at the hospital for a bit? At least until Ivy’s parents get there?” she said, uncertain of my reaction.

“Your wish is my command.”

Holly

Stretching, I felt a strong, warm arm pull me closer. “Morning,” Evan said, his voice a combination of sexy-sleepy deliciousness. My nipples immediately beaded up just hearing his voice.

His hardness up tight against my behind was a bit of a catalyst as well.

Turning in his arms, I said, “Morning.” He smiled down at me, taking my lips for a quick kiss.

“You sleep?”

Nodding, I said, “Yeah, but not much. I was texting with Ivy until two or three.” I yawned loudly. By the time Evan dropped me off at the hospital the doctors were already discussing sending Ivy home. She was not pleased to see me and gave me heck for leaving the ball.

I definitely got some looks stumbling into the E.R., rolling two huge suitcases behind me as I struggled with my long skirts.

Ivy had asked me to pack up her stuff and send it with the limo driver to the hospital. Instead, Evan drove me and her luggage then waited in the parking lot. Her mom had a fit with her on the phone, insisting Ivy had to go back home with them if/when she was released.

In the end, I was only there about an hour before her parents showed up and they all shooed me out. Relieved that my friend was going to be okay, Evan drove us back to the hotel.

“That’s good. Is she home yet?”

“They released her but couldn’t tell what the problem was. One doctor said maybe she had a cyst that broke or something. She was feeling no pain, though.” I laughed, remembering some of the things Ivy had texted.

“I’m glad she’s better. What do you want to do today?” he asked suggestively, tracing his finger along my cleavage.

“Whatever you want.”

“Whatever I want?” he asked, his eyebrow raising as he smirked, causing my belly to do a delicious flip.

“Sure.”

“Well, first,” he said, kissing my neck as he rolled me over to my back, “there are a few things I’d like to do right here.”

“Really?” I gasped as his hands roamed.

“Mmm hmm. And then I want to show you my favorite place in the world—other than this bed.”

“This is all yours?” I asked, looking out the windows of the Jeep, amazed at what I was seeing.

The smile that covered his face was contagious. “It’s been in the family for generations.” The massive ranch-style home was impressive. Even more amazing was the astounding grounds surrounding it.

“Is anyone else here?”

Shutting off the Jeep, he turned to me. “My parents are both back at the house in the city this week. They always stay there whenever they hold a big bash.”

He’d pointed out his parents to me last night at the ball. There was a constant circle of partygoers surrounding them at any given time. Even still, Evan kept us far away from them, not wanting to catch their eyes. Which really wasn’t difficult to do with the massive space and hundreds of people attending.

“Only the outdoor grounds staff. They’ll be more than kind. It takes a lot of hands to run this kind of operation.” Reaching over to click open my seat belt, he kissed me on the lips. “Let’s go have some fun.”

With a bit of hesitation, I opened my door, stepping out onto the brick driveway where he’d parked. Ahead of us was a sprawling bungalow that seemed to go on forever.

Evan sauntered around the Jeep then grabbed my hand. As we walked, I noticed an almost imperceptible shift in his mood. He seemed lighter—happier, like he was a kid walking into a toy store. We arrived at row upon row of grape vines as far as the eye could see.

“This is incredible,” I said, reaching out to touch the rough vines. “There are so many, everywhere.”

“Harvest is almost done for the year. It’s an exciting time here,” he said, tapping his finger to the fruit.

“How can you tell when the grapes are ready to be picked?”

He pulled a grape from a full bunch hanging down in front of us. “Open up,” he asked.

Doing as he asked, Evan slowly popped it into my mouth. Biting down on it, the sweet, crisp flavor filled my mouth. “Mmm,” I said, chewing. “So good.”

“That’s one way to know if they’re ready.” He grinned, wiping a drip from the side of my mouth. “We also have what’s called a Brix that measures the amount of sugar in a grape.”

“How much sugar does it need to have?”

Holding my hand, he led us further down the path. “It depends on what kind of wine we’re using the grape for.”

He continued to walk us down the row, telling me all the intricacies of growing successful vines. One thing bothered me but I didn’t want to ask in case it came across as rude. Stopping us, he reached for my hand. “You okay? You’re quiet.” His finger lifted my chin as he scanned my face.

I smiled up at him, backing away as I kicked at the rocky soil. “This dirt is—”

“Complete crap?” he answered, booting a large stone down the pathway.

Raising my eyebrows, I answered back, “How can these vines survive?”

“They don’t just survive—they prosper,” he said, haltingly. Gazing down at me, he added, “The poor vitamins and nutrients in the soil cause the roots to shoot further down until they find what they need. Year after year the plants struggle against their surroundings to survive. Only the toughest make it through and what’s left brings us the best quality, sweetest fruit possible.”

“Too bad they have to fight so hard.”

“You don’t get it, do you?” he said in a near whisper. “It’s the battle that makes them the best of the best, producing some of the highest quality stock in the world.”

“I bet the plants feel differently.”

Evan gave me a sweet smile then leaned down brushing a gentle kiss across my cheek. “I don’t doubt that one bit. Their struggle is rewarded, though. Don’t ever forget that. Sometimes a plant appears helpless and just when you think all is lost—boom—it starts growing like crazy because it’s finally found what it’s been searching for.”

We both knew what he was alluding to. My eyes filled with unshed tears as I hugged him tight. “So, it’s all worth it in the end?”

“I guarantee it,” he said solemnly into my hair as he stroked my back.

Evan

“This has been the best weekend of my life,” Holly said to me, sipping her third, small glass of wine. I’d pulled out a few of my favorites for her to try.

“I would have to agree with you on that.” My hand covered hers on the table. “I only hope I didn’t bore you with my lengthy tour of the grounds and buildings.” If there was one thing I could go on and on about besides literature, it was this vineyard.

Holly shook her head as she chewed one last forkful of salad. “It was fun. Seriously,” she said, intertwining our fingers. “I had a great time.”

Sitting out here on the terrace, eating supper that we’d cooked together, it was easy to forget what was waiting for us back home. Too easy. Being here with Holly felt so—right.

Not having to hide from anyone’s prying eyes set us both at ease.

After swallowing a mouthful of Montoya Cabernet, she said, “Thanks for bringing me out here.”

“It was my pleasure. Which of the three wines do you like the best?” I asked, curious what her answer would be.

“This one,” she said, holding up her glass.

Smiling, I asked, “Can you tell what the subtle taste is?”

“I’ve been trying to figure it out,” she responded, sitting back in her chair, looking a bit perplexed. “Take a guess.”

Swishing the deep, red liquid around in her mouth, she pondered my question. A few moments later she said, “Plum?”

A huge grin erupted on my face. “Exactly. Well done.”

We sat for another hour, watching the sun go down on the rows and rows of vines, chatting, enjoying our quiet time together. Eventually, we had to get up to clean the kitchen. Since my parents weren’t here, neither were any inside house staff. Clean up was up to us.

I’d just finished putting the last plate in the cupboard when we heard the front door swing open. Holly’s questioning eyes shot right to mine.

The entire open concept kitchen/living room was in full sight of the front door. It wasn’t difficult to see who it was.

“Oh, Carl, stop.” A woman’s voice echoed from the entryway.

My dad’s voice soon followed. “I’ll go get your other ten suitcases after.”

“After?” the woman questioned in a suggestive manner as they moved further into the entryway. My guts twisted, bile rising up once I realized who it was. My father was a real piece of work.

“Evan?” Dad called from across the wide expanse, his voice loud and powerful. He stood stock still as though he were shocked to see me.

Clearing my throat, I answered back, “Hi.”

He dropped the luggage in his hands, marching over to me. “What are you doing here?” he asked, coming to a stop in front of us, looking over Holly with his speculative eye. She actually took a step backward as though my father’s gaze physically moved her.

Throwing the dishtowel down, I replied, “I was about to ask you the same thing.” Hands on my hips, I stared him down. We both knew what and who he was doing here.

A crooked smile crossed his face as he ran a hand through his hair. “Samantha and I have planning to do. You know how crazy that house gets after your mother puts on a party. I couldn’t hear myself think so we came out here instead.” My stomach churned at his explanation. “Election year is nearly upon us. We need to discuss campaign strategies.”

“I don’t think we’ve met,” he said, turning to Holly with his hand stuck out. “Carl Stanton, and you are?” his voice laced with condescension.

Holly’s hesitation made me want to clock my dad in the head. “Holly Anderson.”

“Nice to meet you, Holly.” How he managed to say it in a way that made even me feel bad for Holly I’d never understand. I knew why he did it—Dad always had to be the biggest dog in the room and let everyone else know it.

“You didn’t mention coming out here, Son,” he said, glaring at me just as Samantha strutted up, swaying her ample hips.

“How nice to see you again, Evan. I didn’t catch you at the party last night,” she said, fluttering her eyelashes at me.

Giving her a fake smile, leaning my hip against the stove, I said, “The masks made socializing more challenging.”

“True.” She giggled back in her annoying tone.

Dad stepped forward a bit, almost in challenge. “You didn’t say what you were doing here, Son,” he asked as he crossed his arms.

Turning around to put a glass in the cupboard, I answered as nonchalantly as I could, “Just came out here to show the place to Holly. We’ll be out of your way momentarily.” Shutting the cupboard door, I snatched up Holly’s hand, hoping to remove us from this situation without a confrontation.

Holly picked up her purse. Another thirty seconds and we’d be home free. “Evan, a moment of your time, please,” Dad called from behind us. Damn.

Closing my eyes, I exhaled. “I’ll be out in a minute,” I said to Holly, nodding toward the still open door.

She looked at me with a worried expression on her face, nodding slightly.

Holly was barely out the door, and Dad started in on me. “You know how your mother worries about me working too hard,” he said, slapping me on the back like we were old friends. “No need to upset her by mentioning I’m here to work with Sam. I told her I came up to relax and check on things.”

It took everything in me not to hit him. “I won’t say a word.” Swinging my head towards him, I said, “Wouldn’t want Mom to worry about you overextending yourself.”

“With that out of the way,” he said, patting me on the back again. “I picked up a few things for you. Meant to give them to you at breakfast but you were already gone.” My eyes followed him while he walked to one of the bags. Shuffling through a pocket, he pulled out some papers. “I have more information on law school for you. I spoke with the dean and—”

“Dad, I don’t want to go to law school.” I raised both my palms toward him, taking a step back. Same old fucking fight. Anger spiraled through me.

Completely ignoring me, he continued on, shoving the stack of papers at me. “I got them to include forms for a business degree as well. It turns out you’ll actually be able to transfer a lot of your classes—”

Hands on my hips, I barked back, “I don’t want to go back to school.”

His famous dead calm persona emerged. Dad was known in the media as The Piranha for the way he devoured his opponents during a debate. “You don’t want to go back to school?” he said, eyes narrowing on me, preparing for attack.

Holding his gaze, unflinching, I said, “You know that.” I ground my teeth so hard my jaw ached.

“How exactly do you propose to get into office if you don’t get a real degree. Hmm?” He leaned in further. “Do you know how fucking embarrassing it is to tell people what you do?” he spat out the words in frustration. His face looked as though he’d tasted something bitter. “A son of mine—teaching?” he said as though it was one of the lowliest jobs around.

“There’s nothing wrong with teaching for a living.” Clenching my fists at my sides, I tried to keep myself under control. What made it worse was that I really didn’t enjoy teaching, so my dad was partly correct. I didn’t know what I wanted to do but law school was a definite no.

“No, Son, there’s nothing right about it. It’s a dead end. Where do you think you’re going to end up in five or ten years?” He threw his hand with the forms up in the air. “You need to get your ass back to college.” He leveled a glowering look at me. “And earn a useful diploma in something other than glorified babysitting.” His words hit me like a punch to the gut. He had no clue about the work involved in teaching teenagers.

I could feel the blood pulsing through my brain, ready to explode. “Have fun with your planning,” I said, raising an eyebrow as I shot out the last word and stormed out.

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

Holly

“Get Nan in here to help. I need some pain pills, my back is killin’. Grab my smokes, too, will ya?”

Fear gripped my stomach so tight it was difficult to breathe. “Mom, Nanny passed away years ago. You know that.” Holding my mom’s hand, I squeezed it, hoping her mind would return.

“Don’t talk such nonsense. She’s in the kitchen. Now get her in here like I said,” she attempted to yell but instead it came out as a wheeze. A knock on the door startled me.

“I’ll be right back,” I said, letting go of her cold hand.

Closing the bedroom door behind me, I hurried to the front door, the insistent noise echoing through the room. Turning the knob and shoving the door open with my hip, I saw Ivy standing on my steps. “I didn’t know you were coming over? Were we supposed to go somewhere?” I asked her in confusion.

“We need to talk,” she hissed, barging in, newspaper in her hand. Now even more baffled at my friend’s behavior, I shut the door then followed her.

Spinning around on her heel, her eyes flashed with such anger I was taken aback. What was Ivy so ticked off about?

Holding the paper to her chest, she said, “Anything you need to tell me?” Staring down at the black and white print, it said, “Senator’s Son Smitten.” I drew in a stuttered gasp as my stomach threatened to revolt. Below the bold words was a picture of Evan smiling down at me as we danced at the masquerade ball. My heart sunk as my brain raced for a reasonable explanation.

Ivy tossed the paper at me, displaying another. “Hearts Break across Cali as Vineyard Heir Finds Perfect Vintage.” That had a photo of Evan kissing me in the gazebo at the ball. A heavy weight pressed on my chest, robbing me of breath.

Forgetting how to inhale and exhale, I somehow managed to squeak out a flustered, “I can explain.” A cold shiver ran down my spine knowing there was no possible way to get out of this now.

The look on Ivy’s face changed from angry to furious, her gaze slicing through me. “You knew I liked him, and you went after him anyway.” I stood there, dumbfounded, unable to move. “After all I’ve done for you. I thought we were friends?”

“We are friends,” I stammered, gazing downward, stunned into near silence for what this might mean not only for me but also for Evan’s career. My heart clenched at the thought of him getting in trouble because of me.

“Really?” she shouted, stepping closer to me. “In my world, friends don’t fuck their friend’s boyfriends.” Fear twisted in my gut as I registered exactly how angry she was.

“He’s not your boyfriend, Ivy. It all just sort of happened. We didn’t mean—” I said, wringing my hands together, feeling trapped inside this aluminum cage.

“You didn’t mean to sleep with the guy I was gunning for? I made it more than clear. You must’ve had a good laugh over me after you bagged him instead. Honestly, I never thought you had it in you to burn me like this.”

“Ivy, I said—”

“It’s a shame that Mr. Marshall’s career is going to be over before it even starts,” she snarled, an evil expression on her face.

My knees buckled as all the remaining air left my lungs. “You can’t report him. Please, Ivy, you can’t do that,” I begged, placing my hand on the kitchen table to lean on it before I toppled over.

“I certainly can.” Ivy positioned her hands on her hips, her foot jutting out.

Sitting down in the chair, I said, “No, please, this isn’t his fault.”

“You’re trash, Holly. Everyone knows it. The only reason I was friends with you was because I felt sorry for you. Living in a dirty trailer park with a drunk for a mother.”

If she’d physically punched me in the stomach, I couldn’t have felt more pain. Tears flooded my eyes at her hurtful words. “Think what you want of me but don’t take it out on Evan. You’ll ruin his life. And his father’s.”

“Oh, I’m sure Senator Stanton would love to hear how his son has been slumming it.”

Wiping my eyes, I continued to beg. “Please, there must be something I can do to make you change your mind.”

“Stop seeing him.”

I felt sick. The thought of ending things with Evan made me ill. My stomach churned at the thought of not having him in my life anymore. He was the only good thing I had. “Ivy, I—”

“It’s simple. Dump him or I’ll go straight to Principal McGreggor.”

My voice caught in my throat. There was only one thing to do.

Evan

Marking the English papers took twice as long as they should have with my mind continually wandering to the perfect weekend I’d had with Holly. Even my father’s unexpected interruption didn’t damper it.

Being away from the hustle and bustle of the city and spending two full days alone with Holly was incredible. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t wipe the smile off my face.

Ding dong, ding dong, my doorbell went off. Some jerk kept pressing the button. “I’m coming, I’m coming,” I yelled, shoving away from my desk.

Opening the door, I saw my very angry father there. “Move,” he snapped, pushing past me forcefully. I stepped back to let him in.

“Where’s the fire?” I asked sarcastically, not understanding what exactly could be the matter this late on a Monday evening.

“Where’s the fire? On the front fucking page, that’s where, you idiot,” he shouted, marching into the living room.

Slamming the door, I said, “Excuse me?” Confused at what he could possibly be talking about, I followed him.

“Here, lover boy,” he said, thwacking a newspaper into my stomach.

Bewildered, I peered at the front page. Holy shit. Me and Holly kissing in the gazebo at the masquerade ball splashed over the entirety of the front page. “So what? I kissed a girl at the ball. Who cares?”

“My constituents, that’s who. And they will really care once they find out she’s your damn student. How could you be so dumb?” he said, throwing his arms out, beginning to pace. “All these years I’ve spent building up my career, making the right friends, gathering support and you’re going to throw it all out the window for a piece of trailer trash.”

“Who told you she was my student?” I asked, my mind racing as I frowned.

“It doesn’t matter. What matters is the field day the press is going to have when they find out you’re sleeping with a minor.”

“She’s eighteen, Dad.”

Veering straight for me, he stopped dead, nearly toe to toe. “That makes it better? I can’t believe you did this to me. After everything I’ve worked so hard to get.”

“She’s wearing a mask and it’s not even a very clear picture. Nobody’s going to find out.” Looking again at the grainy photo, it would be near impossible to tell.

“Somebody will find out, Evan. End this. Now.”

Sitting on my deck, feet on the railing, I stared out into my backyard. I didn’t know what I was going to do. That’s not true. The one thing I did know was that I wasn’t about to end things with Holly. That was for certain.

We had a connection I’d never come close to feeling with anyone else. No way was I going to throw what we had away. Not even for my overbearing father.

I looked down after my phone rang. “Hey, beautiful. How was your night off?” I asked, knowing that Holly had a rare evening off. She felt guilty for being gone so she’d opted to spend time with her mom and her schoolbooks.

Instead of an answer, all I heard was crying. Standing up, I said, “Are you hurt?” Ready to go save Holly from whatever happened.

“Ivy saw the papers.” She sniffed.

Sighing, I ran my hands through my hair. “She won’t rat us out, will she?” After Dad left, I realized we could add Ivy to the small list of people who would now know about us. Ivy gave Holly the dress and mask to wear to the party. Of course, she would recognize her. I held out hope that she wouldn’t see the pictures. It was naive of me to think a girl like Ivy wouldn’t comb the society pages.

“Evan—she’s had a crush on you ever since you came to the school. She’s so angry.”

Falling back into my chair, I rubbed the bridge of my nose. “Yeah, that was abundantly clear from day one.”

“She said if I don’t stop seeing you, she’s going to the principal.” Holly’s crying got louder, breaking my heart even more.

“Let me speak to her. I bet I can change her mind.”

“You don’t get it. There’s no changing her mind once she’s made it. Ivy will get you dismissed and—” Her voice wobbled. “Who knows what she’ll do to your father’s career. We can’t risk it.”

“We’ve been careful, Holly. It’s worked up until now. We can keep seeing each other—”

“Do you think I’ll be in line for a scholarship if this comes out? What college is going to want a student with that kind of a scandal following her?”

I sat back, feeling like the wind just got knocked out of me. “We’ll figure it out. Don’t worry.”

“There’s nothing to figure out,” she whispered.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

Holly

My wake-up alarm started beeping. There was no need for it since I hadn’t so much as shut my eyes. A steady stream of tears trickled out all night long. Sitting up in bed, I turned on the light before standing.

The mirror was not kind.

Swollen eyes, red, puffy face. No amount of powder was going to cover this train wreck. It was a valid reflection of how I felt inside—like someone had socked me in the stomach repeatedly. With a hammer.

My head pounded as I stared at the unrecognizable person in the mirror. How had things gone so wrong so fast? Tears threatened again while I replayed my last conversation with Evan in my mind. “We’ll figure it out,” he’d said. No matter how much I wanted to believe that, I knew it would be a lie.

Our relationship would end up ruining two mens’ careers and possibly my hopes of getting a college scholarship—my only ticket out of this trailer park.

Several deep breaths later, I slogged into the bathroom to splash some cold water on my face. Nothing helped. Exhaustion seeped out of every pore.

Tip toeing past Mom’s door, I heard the soft snores of sleep. Finally. She’d been up sick a few times in the night. Which meant I was also up to help. My level of worry for her was officially through the roof. No matter how many times I suggested going to the hospital she’d out and out refused.

The crushing weight of concern for her combined with the soul killing devastation of losing Evan was too much.

I had no one to lean on—nobody to help carry the burden.

My friendship with Ivy was over. She’d made that abundantly clear. I imagined her poisoning the minds of Paige and Alex as well. They’d side with her or whatever warped version she came up with to explain why she hated me. Unless she decided to tell them the truth.

Closing my eyes, taking another deep breath, I thought about what exactly I could control at this moment. Not much besides putting one foot in front of the other. Which is something I had gotten quite good at over the years.

“Aww, baby Hope, how are you?” I said, reaching immediately for my friend’s baby. “Look how big you got.” Extending my arms so she now looked down at me, Hope gave me the sweetest baby smile ever.

“She’s good. So am I, thanks for asking,” Jason replied, nudging me. I hadn’t seen Jason or his family in some time. Much too long.

“Grab a menu if you need one,” I called back, carrying the baby with me to get a highchair. “Are you eating Auntie’s hair?” I said, looking down as Hope mouthed a chunk of my ponytail. She answered me with a slobbery, toothless grin. Babies held some kind of special magic that could change your crappy mood on a dime—even when you’d just broken up with the love of your life.

“Here, let’s wipe that,” I said, dumping the silverware from the napkin to use on her wet face. Her Snow White skin was dripping with baby spit.

“It’s pointless. You wipe off a bit and a bucket more comes in its place.” Jason sighed, plopping down in the chair as only an exhausted, first time father can.

I sat opposite him, bouncing Hope on my knee as I quickly gave her a wipe down. She protested, putting her chubby arms in front of her. A quick tickle to her sweet, soft belly quickly brought back her grin.

“How was your trip?” he asked, eyes not leaving me.

“Good.” I kissed Hope’s hand, the delicious smell of baby powder wafting up my nose. “Thanks for checking in on Mom,” I said, changing the subject.

“Holly,” he said, commanding my attention.

Regretfully looking up at him, he said, “Your mom’s even worse than the last time we saw her.”

Nodding, I agreed, “She won’t go to the doctor.”

His eyebrows nearly hit his hairline. “Viv and I practically begged her to go. Offered to drive her and everything.”

“I’ll try talking to her again.”

“How are you holding up?”

“I do my best.”

“What about school? That okay?”

“Just because you lived beside me nearly my whole life doesn’t mean you get to ask me what kind of grades I’m getting,” I said, cracking a smile I never knew I had in me.

“How’s school?” he asked, leaning in this time.

Rolling my eyes, I told him, “My grades are great.”

Shaking his head as he sat back, he said, “I don’t know how you do it. Work, school, work, your mom.”

“How did you do it?” I asked, knowing full well he went through the same shit I am.

Blowing air out of his mouth, he confessed, “One fucking day at a time.”

“Would you stop swearing in front of the baby?” Vivienne glided in, giving Jason a look from under her perfectly mascaraed eyelashes.

“She has no idea what I’m even saying,” Jason argued.

“Even so—you need to stop or Heaven knows what her first word will be,” Vivienne said as she sat down in her skirt, pulling at her matching jacket that didn’t quite fit her properly. “Will I ever lose this baby weight?” she exclaimed discouragingly, yanking harder on the poor fabric.

Jason’s eyes traveled down to her chest. “I hope not,” he said in a low tone but still loud enough for me to hear. Vivienne rolled her eyes and narrowed her gaze at him as he winked back.

Giving baby Hope a kiss on her cheek. “Let Mommy wipe.” Once again, the baby fought having her rosy complexion dried. “You are a regular drool machine.”

“Why even bother? She’s a constant fountain.” Jason huffed, holding his hand out for the damp napkin. Vivienne handed it to him, but he held onto her fingers, pulling her down for a quick kiss. They really were sweet together. I had my doubts in the beginning because of their age difference, especially as Jason was so much younger. Seeing them together, you understand how well their personalities fit.

“Did you discuss, you know—” Vivienne asked, semi covertly as she cocked her head in my direction.

“Smooth, Viv.” Jason shook his head. “We were just talking about Holly’s mom, yes.”

Vivienne’s hand clasped over mine. “Sweetheart, you ever need anything—and I mean anything at all, you call us. Right? We have so many rooms in our house we don’t know what to do with them all.”

Jason smirked at her and said, “I thought we were going to fill them up with babies?”

She whacked him in the chest with her hand. “Hush. Aren’t you supposed to be writing?”

He looked at me sheepishly. The fact that Jason had gotten out of our trailer park, worked hard to stay out, and found the love of his life made my heart unbelievably happy. “I thought you’d feed me first?”

“I suppose.” Vivienne blinked at him then turned back to me. “I’m not kidding, girl. You need help, call.”

“Thanks, Mr. Turner. I had a great time,” I told my boss as I prepared to rush out to catch the bus. He’d asked about my weekend, causing another stabbing pain to shoot through my already shattered heart. “See you tomorrow.” Waving my goodbye, I ran past a few customers on my way out.

I stopped dead in my tracks at what awaited me. “Hey,” Evan said, pushing away from the side of his Jeep. Slowly swaggering over to me, he carefully checked me out. “You look—” His hand moved out as if to touch my face.

Dodging him, I answered back, “Like shit, I know. You need to leave. What were you thinking, coming here again?” I frowned at him then swung my head to watch for the bus.

“I was going to say, sad.”

“Whatever. Just go before someone sees you.”

“Get in the Jeep, Holly. We need to talk,” he said, cocking his head toward the vehicle.

All I wanted to do was jump into his arms and kiss him while he assured me everything would be okay. The one part of my brain that still worked knew that was an awful idea. “Evan, leave. Please? Can’t you see how much harder you’re making this?” I pleaded, tears invading my eyes again as sorrow closed up my throat.

“Don’t cry, we can fix this.” He moved closer to me, the smell of his cologne wafting up my nose. I had to stop myself from doing something stupid.

“Please, I’m begging you,” I sobbed, cursing the universe’s cruel fate that kept us apart. A loud honk sounded drawing my attention down the street again.

“Get in the Jeep before the bus comes,” Evan said more sternly now. I stepped further away from him, shaking my head. “Please,” he said breathlessly as I shut my eyes, shaking my head. “You’re fucking serious? You’d throw away what we have? Just like that?” His hands jerked to his hips.

Unable to move, I stared at him, tears in my eyes.

“I don’t believe you.” Turning on a dime, he hurried around the Jeep, hitting the hood with his fist as he went.

“Something up with you two?” Alex asked me after Paige and Ivy left our lunch table.

Pretending to not understand, I said, “What do you mean?”

He rolled his eyes. “Girl, it was so frosty in here I could build a snowman,” Alex said in his typical sing song tone.

Attempting to play it off, I countered back. “She’s probably just upset about getting sick during the ball.”

Alex narrowed his gaze. “Anything happen between you two at the big bash?”

I let out a big sigh. “Nothing at all. Would you just drop it already?” I asked, stabbing my salad with a bit more force than necessary.

“What did that romaine ever do to you?” he said, sliding my plate over a few inches.

Shoving it back, I glared at him.

“Ohhh, if looks could kill,” he said, eyes wide, hand to his heart. “Fine, consider the subject—on hold for now. But if I may say, you’re in need of my miracle eye serum today, missy.” Digging through his backpack he pulled out a tiny pink tube. “This,” he said, holding it up high with one hand while doing a game show model wave towards it with the other, “is the best thing since the invention of lip plumpers.”

He screwed off the cap, squeezing a pea sized glob onto his finger. “If you won’t tell me what’s going on at least you can look fabulous as you scowl at everyone.”

That made me giggle a bit. “You’re crazy, you know that?” I said, closing my eyes as he lightly dabbed around them.

“Ain’t tellin’ me something I don’t already know, sugar. Now open wide. We need to prevent those crow’s feet at all cost.” After he finished applying the cream to my face, he fanned me with the nearest book until everything dried.

Giving him a big hug, I said, “Thanks.”

Alex pulled me in. “Anytime. You know I’m here for you, right?”

“I do, but it’s still nice to hear.”

“How’s your mama been feeling?”

Shaking my head on his shoulder, my breath hitched. “Not good.”

He squeezed me tighter. “I’m sorry. Now I feel bad for all the shit we talked about her. I didn’t know she really wasn’t well.”

“It’s fine, don’t worry.”

“Has she gone to the doctor yet?” Alex asked, pushing away from me a bit.

“My neighbors even tried to take her while I was away, but she refuses to go in.” My eyes started to tear up.

“You ever need me to come over and help, just call, okay? Just because you’ve been ignoring our asses for weeks now doesn’t mean I won’t drive over in my silk pajamas to help my girl out.”

Wrapping my hands around him again, I said, “Thanks, that means a lot.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

Holly

“People, we have two weeks left to get this right. It’s not fun and games anymore. You need to buckle down and memorize your lines.” Evan slammed his dogeared script on the stage then removed his glasses, rubbing the bridge of his nose. We’d begun meeting during lunches as well, not that it was helping much.

From somewhere behind me, I heard a guy whisper, “Holy shit, Marshall is pissed right off.” There was a low grumble as people reacted with whoever was nearest.

Ivy and her Romeo stood tight-lipped on the stage while the rest of the onlookers gawked. Their performance thus far had been dismal at best. Evan turned, storming out of a side door. After it slammed behind him, the volume in the theater got louder. “Do you think he’s coming back?” one of the stagehands asked.

A war battled inside me. At this stage in the game I really didn’t care if Ivy bombed. But something inside me took pride in my set and the work we’d all put into preparing for the big night. If they looked like a laughingstock—so would we. Guilt by association.

Gathering up my courage, I used my big girl voice. “Take ten everyone. Mr. Marshall will be right back.” The students looked at each other for a second before dispersing. Dropping my hammer on the stage, I headed toward the same door Evan had exited.

“Typical,” Ivy said as I walked past. Twisting my head, I shot her back a nasty look to which she returned a condescending smile. Whatever. I had other more important things to deal with right now than her infantile attitude.

It took me a while to track him down. Closing the door to the costume room, I leaned my back against it as Evan looked up from where he sat on the floor. “You need to go back out there and get control of your group.”

His dark brown eyes settled on me, looking me up and down. “You’re talking to me now?”

“I never stopped speaking to you,” I lied.

Tilting his head back against the brick wall, he scoffed. “You haven’t said boo to me in a fucking month.”

Keeping my distance, I straightened up a bit. “I’m in your class every day. That’s not true.”

His eyes shot to mine. “The only time you answer me in class is when I specifically call on you. Four weeks, Holly. Trust me, I’ve been keeping track.”

“You lost your cool out there and everyone’s wondering if you’ve quit,” I asked, changing the subject.

“I’m still deciding.”

Unable to help myself, a laugh bubbled out.

Evan’s face fell. “I’ve missed that.” The room filled with silence. “I go all day hoping to hear your voice. Thinking maybe today will be the day you pick up your phone when I call or text.” He stood up, wiping his hands on his thighs.

“You have to stop calling,” I said weakly, not meaning it at all. I, too, craved having him reach out—happy he hadn’t forgotten me. Yet. It was a cruel kind of torture seeing his name pop up on my phone several times a day. Each time, I’d read the text or listen to his voice mail, wanting him so badly.

There was no sense to it, though. Being with him was impossible. We both needed to face that and move on.

Stalking toward me, my nipples hardened at the look of pure determination on his face. As he halted directly in front of me, I inhaled deeply smelling his fresh, spicy scent, not knowing what he was going to do. With everything inside of me, I fought against the invisible pull he still had on me.

Hands against the door, he leaned in, speaking directly into my ear. I shivered as his breath washed over my skin. “Tell me you don’t want me. Tell me you don’t miss me,” he said, voice husky like he was trying to control it but failing miserably.

Feeling the heat radiate off him, my heart sped up to an impossible beat. His lips grazed my neck as I let out a sigh, my body remembering exactly what this man was capable of. He lightly kissed the edge of my jaw, creating a tingle that shot straight to my lower belly. Those soft lips traveled down my neck, his tongue gently licking as he went.

My brain fizzled as the heat from his touch made me clench my thighs together, seeking relief. I couldn’t help it—I was weak. Turning my head, he captured my lips in an impossible kiss.

My arms shot around his neck, seeking to be as close to him as possible. Below, my belly tightened into a delicious ache already wanting more. Pulling me into his body, he moaned down my throat, searching almost angrily for my tongue. I responded immediately, opening up for him, matching his kiss.

Running my hands through his hair, he pushed me up further against the door while his hand found my breast. It wasn’t a kiss—he devoured me, mind, body, and soul. “You taste so sweet,” he said against my mouth before kissing me roughly down my neck.

Wetness pooled between my legs as I leaned my head to the side, giving him more room. I let out a squeak when his hands found my behind, lifting me up so my core was in line with his hardness. Forcing me further back into the door, I was willingly trapped.

Wrapping my legs around his waist, he continued kissing down my chest, letting go with one hand to use it on my top. Shoving aside my tank top, the strap slid down my arm. Once my nipple was free, his warm mouth found it, drawing it inside.

“Ohh,” I almost whimpered, finally feeling what I’d wanted for so long. Waves of desire shot through my body as his tongue flicked at my nipple. My pelvis moved in time against his. The friction created by rubbing against his pants made me go faster, seeking my own release.

“Pull down the other side for me,” Evan instructed, his breath coming in heavy pants, keeping his hands tight on my ass. I yanked the strap down, pulling my bra cup with it. He took my mouth in a deep kiss as his fingers did wonderful things to my breast.

A subtle tingling sensation began then quickly spread. My fingers dug into him, not believing what was about to happen. “Give in, honey. Let it take over,” Evan groaned in between kisses.

There was no stopping it, so I gave in, just like he said. Sparks exploded behind my eyelids as my body finally found what it had been craving so desperately. Every muscle in my body contracted at precisely the same time overwhelming me with sensation.

Evan’s mouth covered mine, absorbing my soft cries of relief. My legs tightened around him, jolts of ecstasy still shattering me from the inside out. As the roar of our passion faded and my extremities became limp, he turned then lowered us to the ground.

Sitting in his lap, his back leaning on the wall, I laid my head against his chest, listening as his heartbeat finally slowed like mine. His hands methodically rubbed my back as I unwillingly reentered the world—our screwed up, unfair world.

“I’ve missed you, Holly. You’re all I think about,” he repeated the same words he’d texted me over and over again during the last month. My only answer was to snuggle further into him. “Try with me.”

Pushing back so I could see his face, I said, “Try what?”

“This,” he said, pulling me toward him. “Us.”

“We—” Was all I got out before there was a knock at the door. “Oh no,” I whispered, jumping off his lap like it was on fire. Panic filled my brain as I rushed to fix my clothes before whomever was at the door barged in.

“Your hair,” Evan motioned, one hand holding the door shut. As quick as I could, I undid my ponytail then redid it. “Go in the back,” he said, barely audible. “Wait until I leave.”

Doing as he said, I ran around the costumes to the back of the room. I heard some words that I couldn’t make out then silence for about ten minutes. Figuring it was safe to leave, I carefully poked my head around the corner. Nobody else was in the room. My shoulders sagged with relief.

Double checking my top, I strolled out of the door nearly bumping right into Ivy. She had her back against the wall, clearly waiting for me. Our eyes met then a snide little smirk formed on her flawlessly made up face. “Just what I thought,” she said, looking me up and down before pushing off the wall and sauntering away.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

Evan

“All right, are we all clear on inverted subjects? This will be on the test,” I said, wanting to invert something other than subjects and stick it—

“Mr. Marshall?” a voice called from the corner.

“Yes, Leslie?”

“I still don’t understand compound subjects.” A sheepish smile crossed her freckled face. Honestly, if I had to explain this one more time, I was going to scream. Taking off my glasses, I turned around to sit on my desk.

“Um, I can help.” Holly turned to talk to Leslie. “If your compound subjects are joined by “and” then they are always plural. Like, “The cat and dog are friends.” Not, “The cat and dog is friends. Always use the plural form of the verb with compound subjects so they agree.”

Holly should probably be teaching this instead of me. “Thank you, Holly. Leslie, does that clear things up?” She nodded her head, writing furiously in her notebook. “Good. Now on to Romeo and Juliet. Any questions or concerns? Have you begun thinking about themes for possible essay questions?”

“Light and dark,” one student said.

“Good, very good. There are a lot of possibilities with that. Anyone else?” I gazed around the classroom, glimpsing Holly with her hand up. It was increasingly more and more difficult seeing her in class—unable to really speak or touch her how I wanted. Constantly checking myself and my actions toward her was exhausting. However, the alternative was far worse.

Pointing to her, she answered, “Forbidden love,” with a sexy, knowing smirk on her face.

My mouth opened slightly, suddenly unable to form a coherent sentence. Instead, wanting to grab her and kiss that smile right off. She stared back at me as we communicated something unspoken between us. Clearing my throat, I said, “Yes, that’ll work.”

Directing my gaze toward another student, he answered, “Conflict between children and parents.”

“Good answer. The bell’s about to ring but I think you all have a good grasp on what’s expected. Go over your notes.” Two seconds later, the bell rang. Everyone gathered their things while I wiped the boards.

When I turned around, Holly was there, books in her arms, staring at me. I tentatively gave her my most heartfelt smile. “Hi.” My hands itched to reach out and pull her body into mine. The rose blush on her face, her lips still slightly swollen from our earlier rendezvous looked much too tempting to me.

Several times, she opened her mouth to speak but nothing came out. “You work tonight?” I asked, cocking my head to the side.

“Yeah, I have to leave right away so I can’t make drama. The set is nearly finished though.”

Sitting on the corner of my desk, I asked, “What time are you off?”

A cloud of hesitation passed behind her eyes before she said, “Early tonight, nine.” My body clinched at the thought of being alone with her again.

“Lift your leg for me. A bit more,” I urged as I continued rocking inside the woman I’d missed so much. Her heel dug into my ass cheek, urging me to go faster.

“Ouch,” Holly said as her head hit against the door of the backseat again.

“Damn, honey, I’m sorry.” Sliding my hands underneath her, I pulled her down a bit. “Good?” She nodded, her hair splaying wildly around her. Leaning down, I slowly licked her nipple until I heard a gasp slip out of her panting mouth.

“Don’t stop,” she said, bucking up with her hips. I knew what that meant. Rising up, I pushed my hips forward, teasing her with an unhurried, languid pace. Watching her head move from side to side in sweet agony was almost too much for me.

She moaned as I bent down to nibble on her sweet neck. “Please, Evan,” she begged, wrapping her arms around me, caging my body to hers. My mouth found hers while I reared back to give her what she wanted.

“Are you close?” I asked, my lips touching hers, my tongue teasing—licking her lower lip before I grasped it between my teeth. She sighed, her sweet breath washing over me.

“Yes,” she said as I increased my rhythm. The throb of release grew insistent inside my balls, eager to finally climax. The second I felt her clench me tight—I let go, exploding as Holly writhed below me. I felt the searing, hot, wetness of our combined ecstasy dripping down around the most intimate parts of us.

Finally catching my breath, I kissed her and said, “I missed this so much. I missed us.”

Her eyes sparkled up at me, reflecting the bright moonlight. “Me, too.”

“Ivy was waiting for me after you left today,” Holly said, taking a bite of her burger as I drove.

Glancing over at her, I said, “Outside the costume room?” She nodded, grabbing a few fries. “Shit. She needs to give up already.”

“I don’t think Ivy’s the type to give up. What are we going to do if she goes to the principal?”

Signaling left, I said, “I really doubt she’ll do that. And anyway, all she’s got is a grainy picture of us. It’s her word against ours.”

Holly looked out the window. “I think her word has a lot more credibility than mine.”

Putting my hand on her knee, I shook it. “Your word holds just as much weight as hers.” It didn’t sound the least bit convincing, even to my ears.

She spat out a bitter laugh. “Nice try. Who’s going to trust trailer trash over a trust fund baby?”

“Hey, stop. You’re no such thing. Besides.” I looked over at her with a smirk. “I’m a trust fund baby, too.”

Rolling her eyes at me, she said, “Whatever. Must be nice.”

I shrugged, turning onto the gravel road near her place. “I haven’t gotten it yet. Not until I turn twenty-three.”

“Why do they make you wait?”

“Well, in my family, grandparents set it up for their grandkids. I guess their reasoning is not to put too much money in the hands of stupid kids.”

Taking a swig of our shared drink, she said, “I doubt you were ever a stupid kid.”

Laughing, I stole a few of her fries. “I did plenty of dumb things. Didn’t you?’

She pondered my question for a second, frowning a bit. “Other than sleep with my teacher?” she said, raising her eyebrows at me as I shook my head. “Not really. Just sneaking into clubs and underage drinking.”

“You never know who you’ll meet in a bar,” I said, grabbing her hand, remembering the night we danced at the bar and later, our first time together on the beach.

As we pulled into the trailer park, Holly sighed, squeezing my hand. Pulling over to the side, I parked the Jeep and turned to her. “You’re thinking too much. Stop.”

The look of concern on her face broke my heart. “I’m worried that Ivy won’t keep quiet.”

Placing my fingers on her chin, I moved her face so I could look into her eyes. “There’s nothing we can do about that right now. She’s either going to tell or not. That ball is in her court now. The only thing for us to do is be as careful as possible.”

“But we weren’t careful—”

“Holly, I didn’t think for a minute that the stupid newspapers would give a shit about who I danced with at the masquerade ball. If I had, I would have been more cautious. I’m sorry, that was my fault.”

Her hand snaked behind my neck, pulling me closer until our foreheads touched. “No, it was a fluke, you’re right. Seeing you there—being able to dance with you—”

“Other than our first night at the beach, it was the best night I’ve ever had.” My lips entwined with hers, forcing her mouth open under mine—leaving her no choice but to take what I was giving.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

Evan

“Juliet,” I said to Ivy. “With more feeling. The love of your life just killed himself for you. We need more emotion.” I don’t know why I bothered. All Ivy did was scowl at me now. At least her annoying flirting days seemed to be over.

“Mr. Marshall, please come down to the office,” a voice said through the intercom in the theater.

“I’m busy with students. Can I come in an hour?”

A minute of silence before it clicked on again. “No, I’m sorry. You are needed urgently.”

What the hell could be so important at four o’clock? “All right, everyone take fifteen minutes.” The students scattered as I gathered my notes together. A sick feeling overcame me when my eyes met Ivy’s. She sent me a half-smirk but not the usual kind. This smile had more of a “fuck you” written all over it.

Holly peered up at me with a worried glance where she knelt, pinning an actor’s costume. “I’ll be right back,” I said, trying to be comforting.

By the time I entered the office, my blood pressure was through the roof. “Go right in,” our admin assistant said, not looking me in the eyes.

Principal McGreggor’s door was open. Knocking lightly anyway, I hesitated to go in. “Have a seat, Mr. Marshall. Close the door first, please.”

Holly

My knee wouldn’t quit bouncing no matter how hard I tried to stop it. The palms of my hands left sweaty patches on the skirt I wore. I wiped them on my calves while I sat patiently as possible on a chair.

Evan hadn’t come back after the office called for him. Twenty minutes later, they called my name. The kids had all hollered like they always did whenever someone got paged to the office. As I walked past Ivy, she stared right at me with a grin on her face.

I nearly fainted. Had she reported us?

That was the only thought going through my mind right now—other than where I’d have to transfer to if Ivy had ratted us out.

Finally, the principal’s door opened. Evan walked out, looking pissed. His eyes darted to me as he tilted an empty box my way.

They knew.

I simultaneously wanted to throw up, run away, and scream. Fortunately—or unfortunately, depending how you looked at it—I was so frozen with fear I couldn’t even breathe.

“Miss Anderson,” Principal McGreggor said in her doorway.

My poor brain just about exploded. What was I going to say?

As calmly as possible, I stood then walked into her office.

Closing the door behind me, she said, “Have a seat, Holly.” Not once in my life had I been called to the principal’s office. Sitting down, I wiped my hands on my skirt again.

Giving me a short smile, she finally sat behind her desk. “Look, this is a difficult thing to ask.” Her dark brown eyes looked at me almost sympathetically. “First of all, because of the subject matter and secondly because you’ve been over to my house for supper more times than I can count. You and Alex have been friends for years.” She gazed down for a second, as though collecting her thoughts.

“Someone has come forward with a very serious accusation against one of the teachers,” she said, cutting her eyes back to me. My blood ran cold. Ivy did it. She actually went ahead and did it. “They said Mr. Marshall and you are having an—affair. Is there any truth to this?”

I thought I had prepared myself to hear this—apparently, I was wrong. The air in my lungs was sucked out and I was sure I’d fall forward onto my face. That would be no help to Evan, though. Instead of bursting into tears, I allowed myself to process the shock then gave the most convincing performance I could muster.

“What? That’s crazy? Who would even say such a thing?” I shook my head, curling one hand on my leg.

“I can’t betray that confidentiality, Holly. Now, I need you to think hard on this. If Mr. Marshall has in some way stepped over the line, I need to know.” Principal McGreggor leaned forward onto her elbows.

“Mr. Marshall is my teacher and nothing more. I don’t know why anyone would think differently.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

Holly

The waves lapped methodically onto the beach. I loved hearing and watching the guaranteed predictability of it all.

Such enormous strength harnessed against its will. Just waiting for the time when it was unleashed and exposed the true power held secretly beneath the calm.

“What are you thinking?” Evan bent his head down, whispering in my ear as I leaned my back against his body. His legs and arms held me in a false cocoon of safety.

“I wondered if the ocean was happiest now in its serenity or when it lets loose, surprising everyone with its strength.”

He hugged me tight. “I think it’s happiest when it finally gets to do and be what it was always meant to.”

I sniffed as a few tears finally escaped my tired eyes. “I bet you’re right.”

We stayed like that under the light of the moon and stars as the minutes inevitably turned into hours. “When do you have to go?” I asked, not wanting to know the answer.

“Not sure. I’m on suspension right now but there’s no way they’ll let me back in after today.”

My heart physically hurt. Nodding, only slightly relieved he wasn’t actually fired, I said, “I’m so sorry. I never thought Ivy would tell.” More tears streamed down my face as I sobbed.

“No crying. This is not your fault.”

“Then whose fault is it?”

He had no answer because sometimes shit just happened.

If you were me—it was pretty much guaranteed.

“I heard he was banging a student, so they canned him,” Ivy said, looking straight at me as she pinned up her hair.

“What? For real?” the girl who played Juliet’s nurse asked while she fiddled with her wig.

“That’s what I heard, too. Lucky, whoever she—or he is,” Alex cackled as he worked on Ivy’s makeup.

Ivy dabbed her lipstick. “I’m sure we’ll find out soon enough. That kind of thing never stays a secret long.” She stared at me in the makeup mirror giving me a look that could kill.

“For realzies, I’d like to shake the hand of whoever got into the panties of that fine, fine man. It takes skill and superior trapping abilities to snag that kind of quality tail,” Alex said, shaking his makeup brush around like he was conducting an orchestra.

“Holly, you were in the office around the same time. Did you see anything? And why did they call you up there during drama practice?” Ivy asked, lifting her chin so Alex could continue applying powder.

Playing it off as no big deal, I kept sewing the loose button on our Mercutio’s shirt, refusing to look at Ivy anymore. “I had some scholarship papers to deal with. Yeah, I saw him walking out of Principal McGreggor’s with an empty cardboard box.”

“That is one huge shame to no longer have his gorgeous self gracing our hallowed halls. I’d like to bitch slap the idiot who reported him,” Alex said, hands on his hips looking ready to do just that.

So would I, Alex. So would I.

Evan

“What did I tell you to do, man? Jesus, is your head made of stone?” Jake asked, chucking a couch pillow at my head.

Catching it with one hand, I scowled at my friend. “We were careful,” I said, frowning as I put my feet on the coffee table.

Jake stood, raising his arms. “Careful? You call it being careful to be in the social pages of at least two large newspapers?”

“Settle down, we were wearing masks.”

“You think the press won’t be able to track down your teenage lover?” he said, storming over towards me.

Leaning my head back against the couch, I sighed. “I told you, she’s of age. Besides, I’m using mom’s last name now. They won’t find me here.”

He laughed, flopping down onto the couch opposite me. “You stupid, stupid bastard. I know I’m older than you but how can I be this much wiser?”

“Five years makes such a difference,” I mumbled sarcastically, shaking my head.

“It does, you moron. For one thing, I know how to choose my lays a hell of a lot better than you. Keep it casual. That’s the only way. You need to be like me and use the right head when you pick up pussy from now on.”

“Yeah, you’re a real pro.”

“My rules have never failed me.”

Shaking my head, I barely stopped myself from rolling my eyes. “Yes, your famous rules.”

He took this as a personal challenge. “Mr. Richter’s failproof, ironclad rules,” he said, sitting back up. Holding out one hand he began to count off on his fingers.

“More like, Mr. Richter’s Ridiculous Rules,” I mumbled under my breath.

If he heard me, he ignored my comment completely. “Number one, never date a student.” His eyebrows raised at me as his mouth slightly opened. “Number two, use a different name. But make sure you remember which name you used—”

Jake really was crazy. I huffed knowing there were still more stupid rules to come.

“Number three, only one night. Number four—or technically it could be just an addendum to number three—never stay overnight.”

Holly and I had broken that rule. The thought of having her in my arms all night long made me grin to myself.

“Get that stupid smile off your face, man,” Jake scoffed, briefly halting his information session before carrying on. “Number five, do not—and I repeat for those in the back,” he said in his very best professor voice, “do not get attached.”

“Sometimes things just—happen. You don’t plan it. The same thing could just as easily happen to you.” And man, if that wasn’t the honest to God truth. There was no way I saw this thing with Holly coming.

Jake laughed, shaking his head. “I’m smart about it. Way too smart to sleep with a barely legal student.”

Looking over at him, I said, “This isn’t casual.”

“What?” He leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees. “You in love with her?” I didn’t answer, instead letting my silence speak for itself. Jake groaned, falling back onto the cushions, “You’re so screwed.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

Holly

“You have a good day. Text me when you’re off,” Evan said, kissing me once more inside his Jeep. I undid my seat belt, hopping out. Waiting on the side of the road, I waved to him, still basking in the glow of spending the day with him.

Looking both ways, something caught my eye off to the side. Paige.

My heart came to a screeching stop when I saw her shocked, pale face staring at me, her arms stiff against the side of her body. She didn’t blink, she didn’t move—she didn’t take her unbelieving eyes off me.

Closing my eyes, I restarted my heart as I gulped in air, hoping my legs wouldn’t give out. I swung my bag onto my shoulder and crossed the street to talk to my motionless, stunned friend.

“You—”

“Yeah,” I replied, gazing down at the sidewalk for a second.

“And—”

“Yeah.”

Her entire upper body nearly collapsed in on itself as she heaved out a breath so hard, I wondered if she was going to topple over. “What are you doing? Are you crazy?” she asked, her voice choppy and breathless like she’d just finished a marathon.

Shifting on my feet, I silently thanked my knees for holding me up. Fear clenched my heart, afraid I’d lose another friend now that she knew the truth about me and Evan. “Probably.”

“What—”

Letting out a breath, I asked, “Can we talk in your car?” I looked around the abandoned sidewalks. We were alone out here, true. Except I felt so open—so exposed here. More than likely I’d be late for my shift, but I had to explain things to Paige.

Paige nodded faintly, crossing her arms in front of her as though she was trying to hold herself together. Her car was right beside us, so we climbed into it. Doors closed, I turned to her as my heart thudded harder inside my chest.

“It just happened. We didn’t mean for it to—”

“You’re sleeping with Mr. Marshall?” she asked, her hand gripping the handle on her door.

“Uh, yes.”

Her head thunked against the seat. “You’re insane. Do you know how much trouble you could get in?” Paige’s bright blue eyes shot back with disbelief. “A teacher, Holly? Really? You could have any guy at school, and you choose the English teacher?” She gasped, drawing in a sharp breath.

Tears threatened as I searched for air, my lungs screaming for oxygen. “It just happened,” I said, my hand covering hers. Immediately, she snatched it away as though I’d burnt her. She shook her head back and forth. “I—I really like him,” I whispered to her, my voice barely audible over the sound of my own heart.

“Ivy knows, doesn’t she? That’s why you two are acting all weird.” Her shoulders sagged as her eyes filled up.

Nodding, my voice tripped over itself. “She knows.” A single tear fell down my cheek, the ache in my chest almost too much to take. Paige needed to understand. “I can’t lose another friend. Please don’t hate me, too.” That was it—all my emotions could take before bursting into loud sobs.

My hands covered my face as my body shook, not able to handle the possibility of Paige hating me. Arms wrapped around me, then a hand pulled my head to her shoulder. “Don’t be stupid, I don’t hate you.” She sighed into my hair. My face was buried in her soft, silky, black hair—a hint of coconut traveling up my nose. “I think you’ve lost your freaking mind—a teacher?” She let out another breath.

“Not just a teacher,” I said, moving back so I could see her face. “We really—connect.”

Her loud snort broke some of the tension. “I bet.” Her perfectly shaped eyebrows raised as she gazed at me knowingly.

Rolling my eyes, I said, “Not exactly what I meant.” We broke out into nervous giggles, her hand gently rubbing my shoulder.

“You know what you’re doing?” Her eyes narrowed on me as she looked me over.

A warmness flowed through me almost like I could feel her concern and worry so acutely it made my heart swell. “Not really,” I said, a few more tears sneaking out before I could wipe them away. “But it feels so right. You know?”

“Not personally, but according to every love song ever written there are billions of people who do.” Her lips parted in a whisp of a smile.

“You’re gorgeous, my friend,” I said, reaching out to take a lock of her hair between my fingers. “If you left your living room once in a while you’d find someone in a minute.” It was the truth, too. I’d never met anyone as naturally pretty as Paige.

Her long, dark eyelashes flawlessly framed her almond shaped eyes. The girl really didn’t need a lick of makeup but the way she added her smoky eyeliner added to her allure.

Her head shook vehemently side to side. “No time for that nonsense. Besides, who wants to risk ending up like my mom?” she stated, eyebrows raised. “That’s all I’d need. Some jerk to walk into my life, leave me with a bundle of joy then run off. No thanks.” Paige’s greatest fear in life was to be knocked up and alone. It wasn’t difficult to see the emotional damage her father’s abandonment had caused.

“Paige—” I started but she cut me off, never wanting to talk in detail about her family life.

“Ivy must be freaking jealous,” she said, her eyes wide as she beamed an even bigger smile at me.

I sat back in the seat, fixing my uniform as my stomach sank at the mention of Ivy. “You could say that.”

A loud gasp came from her mouth as she covered it with one hand. “Did she rat you out?” Her eyebrows nearly at her hairline.

There was no sense in denying it. I mean, she could easily just ask Ivy what happened. “She told on us.”

“That little—”

“Like you said, she’s jealous,” I said, cutting her off as I grabbed my bag. “Promise me something?” I pleaded, tilting my head to the side. “Pretend you don’t know? I would rather not give her more fuel to add to the fire. Right now, I’m just grateful she hasn’t actually told the whole school I was the reason Evan got suspended.”

“Evan. Oh man, you’re on a first name basis with our English teacher.” Her beautiful face stared back at me, still dazed.

“Former English teacher,” I corrected with a small sigh.

“You be careful, okay? If you need anything, you call me.” The look of sincerity in her eyes squeezed at my heart as relief flowed through me, grateful she still liked me.

“Thanks,” I said, sniffing one last time as I hugged her so hard I worried I might have broken a rib. Then I ran out to my shift, thankful to still have one friend at my back.

CHAPTER THIRTY

Holly

“We don’t actually have to do this,” Ivy said, giving me a snooty look.

Shooting her my nastiest glance, I said, “Trust me, I’d rather be anywhere than here. Mrs. White is right, though. You need to work on your lines. Opening night is in a week.”

“I’ll be—” she said, doubling over, holding her side.

“Are you okay?”

“Fine,” she said out of breath, both hands on her side now.

Gathering my patience in case this was some kind of stunt, I walked over to her. “Is it that same kind of pain you had at the masquerade ball?”

“You mean the one you spent fucking our English teacher the whole night?” she grunted out.

“That would be the one,” I said dryly, arms crossed in front of me.

“It’s worse. Go get my keys,” she said, flapping her hand at me. “I need to go home.”

Assessing the situation, I decided to take her at her word. “You need a hospital. I’ll go get Mrs. White.”

Attempting to stand up unsuccessfully, she yelled out in pain before bending back over, “Ouch, no. Get me my keys and I’ll drive myself. My backpack is in the theater.”

Exhaling loudly, I ran to get her bag.

“Do you have any disorders? Other than your desire to ruin lives?” I asked sarcastically as I filled out the form on the clipboard.

Ivy looked up. “Nice. I’m dying here in pain and you’re making stupid jokes.”

“Wasn’t joking,” I said, cutting her a serious look.

Putting her hands on the wheels, she tried to move away from me in her wheelchair. “Nope, you’re not going anywhere, slick,” I said as I locked the brake handle down.

“Ms. Davenport, the doctor can see you now,” a nurse in dark pink scrubs said.

I stood up, handed the papers to Ivy, unlocked the brake, and wheeled the patient down the hall.

“Your mom wants to talk to you,” I said, holding Ivy’s phone up to her ear.

“Hi, Mom. No, it’s way worse than last time.” I could hear her mom’s raised, worried voice reply. “They think it’s my appendix. Nothing showed on the ultrasound but they’re going to go in and take it out. The doctor said it’s probably what’s been causing my issues.”

Ivy’s mom must’ve yapped non-stop for five minutes without taking a breath or letting Ivy get a word in edgewise. “I’m really scared. What if it’s not my appendix? What if it’s something even worse?” Ivy sniffed, starting to cry. “No, he seems capable. But they also don’t know for sure.” Now her tears were really falling as her face contorted in fear.

Removing the phone from her ear, I took over. “Hi, Mrs. Davenport, it’s Holly again. I’ll wait here until you guys arrive. The nurse said they’re taking her into the O.R. any minute now.”

“Thanks, Holly. I’m so glad you’re there with her. I can’t believe this has flared up again,” her voice hitched as she spoke, unable to continue.

“She’s going to be just fine. The doctor and surgeon were confident it’s her appendix. They said sometimes it hides and they can’t get a good look at it until they’re inside.”

“Hug her for us, will you? She sounds so scared.”

I swallowed the lump in my throat. “Of course. I’ll keep the phone with me until you get here.” She hung up and I stood, grabbing onto Ivy’s hand.

“What are you doing?” she asked, peering up at me with suspicion in her eyes.

Leaning over her, I lightly wrapped my arms around her shoulders. “Your mom wanted me to give you a hug from them.”

Her arms wrapped around me, her fingers clinging to me in a death grip. “You’re hugging me after everything I’ve done?”

“It’s not from me, it’s from your parents,” I said, not letting go.

She let out a loud, mournful sob. “I’m a shitty friend.”

“The shittiest.”

She did a painful sounding laugh-cry that echoed in the otherwise quiet room. “I might die and the last thing I did was hurt my best friend because I was jealous. I’m going straight to Hell.”

“You’re not going to die. They do tons of appendectomies every day.”

Ivy hugged me tighter. “I love you and I’m sorry for being the worst friend in the history of friends. Can you ever forgive me?”

Her pain, fear, and pure patheticness tugged at my heart. Don’t get me wrong, I was still mad at what she’d done to ruin Evan’s job and end our friendship over a guy. But there was really nothing else to do right now. “Yeah, I forgive you. We didn’t plan for it to happen and when it did—I just—couldn’t tell you. I couldn’t tell anyone.”

She cried some more until I felt a wet spot on my shoulder. “But I should have been there for you and I wasn’t.”

“It’s okay.”

“All right, ladies. It’s showtime,” the nurse said, startling us.

As I stepped out of Ivy’s embrace, she whispered to me, “I’ll make this right again. After my surgery, I’ll fix everything.”

Nodding, I gave my friend a small smile, knowing in my heart there was nothing anyone could do to fix what she’d done.

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

Holly

“Regrettably, with no lead heroine, we will have to shut down this production.” Mrs. White announced on the stage to everyone.

Loud protests of, “That’s not fair”, and “But we’ve been working so hard every day” rang out from the actors, stagehands, and other various helpers.

“Why can’t Tara take over? She’s the Juliet understudy, after all,” another angry student shouted.

Mrs. White cleared her throat. “Tara has stepped down as understudy. There really is no other option than to call it a day. We can’t go forward without a Juliet.”

“Holly can do it,” Alex practically screamed as he jumped up and down. “She knows every boring—she knows every Shakespeare play by heart.” He clapped his hands, proud of his suggestion.

I stood there, unable to blink, breathe, or think. What was he doing?

Turning to me, Mrs. White said, “Is this true?”

Taking a deep breath, I said, “I’ve never acted before, Mrs. White. I’m afraid I wouldn’t know what to do, I’m sorry.”

“We have six days to prepare you.”

Shaking my head, I blurted out, “Honestly, I wouldn’t know the first thing.”

“Baloney,” Alex said, running up behind me, shoving me onto the stage with his hand on my lower back. “You know the words. Which is more than anyone else can say at this point.” Pulling me over to Noah, he said, “Romeo, meet your new Juliet. Start at the part where you hold hands, talking about pilgrims and lips. I have no idea what it means but it sounds dirty.” Alex giggled hysterically, placing our hands together.

“It’ll be okay. Being up here is actually kind of fun,” my Romeo whispered with a comforting grin on his face. He looked the picture of calm, cool, and collected while I was relatively sure fainting would be in my near future. “Ready?” I shrugged, looking around at all the hopeful faces looking up at us with excitement.

“If I profane with my unworthiest hand, This holy shrine, the gentle sin is this, My lips, two blushing pilgrims, ready stand, To smooth the rough touch with a tender kiss,” he said, holding my hand tightly in his hand.

“Good pilgrim—” I started before he cut me off.

“Louder. Almost like you’re shouting. It feels weird at first. Try it again.” He let go of my hand.

Filling my lungs like he demonstrated, I made a second attempt. “Good pilgrim, you do wrong your hand too much, Which mannerly devotion shows in this: For saints have hands that pilgrims’ hands do touch, And palm to palm is holy palmer’s kiss.” We held our hands out, touching the palms of our hands together.

Smiling down at me, he said, “Have saints lips, and holy palmers too?”

“Ay, pilgrim, lips that must use in pray’r.”

“O then, dear saint, let lips do what hands do, They pray—grant thou, lest faith turn to despair.

“Saints do not move, though grant for prayers’ sake.

“Then move not while my prayer’s effect I take,” he said, lifting my chin up with his fingers. “Thus from my lips, by thine, my sin is purg’d,” he said as he put his arms around me, dipping me back slightly, away from the audience—making it look as though we were kissing.

Everyone in the theater exploded with cheers and whistles.

“You’re joking.”

“I’m not,” I said, cutting into the chicken and pasta Evan had made for us. “It’s completely crazy.”

Evan sat there, fork suspended in the air, staring at me. “You’d make a perfect Juliet.”

“Correction. I make a Juliet. Desperate times call for desperate measures,” I said, stuffing a forkful into my mouth.

“No, I bet you’re a natural. It never really occurred to me before now. Good for Alex for pointing it out.”

“Yeah, I’m thrilled,” I said sarcastically, lifting an eyebrow.

Evan laughed, picking up his water. “When are you going to have time to practice with them?” he asked, his eyebrows furrowing together.

Wiping my mouth with the napkin, I said, “Get this. The powers that be called my boss, begging to steal me away until after the performance. They worked something out and I’ll be financially compensated through some kind of Angel Fund at the school. I won’t technically miss a paycheck.”

He dropped his fork on the plate. “You’re kidding me.”

Shaking my head, I reached for my drink. “Nope. This is out of control.”

Evan sat back in his chair. “How’s Ivy doing?”

“She called me right after practice. I guess she spoke to Principal McGreggor and told her she lied.”

“Too little, too late.”

Regretfully, I nodded in understanding. “I thought so.”

“Once the rumor mill starts there’s no taking it back. They’d have parents protesting, calling the office. There’s no way they’d ever take me back now. Not at a private school.” His hand covered mine, squeezing it. “I can help you with your lines, though.”

Smiling over at him, I said, “I need to run lines. No funny business.” I shook my fork at him.

“Forget it then,” he said jokingly, kissing my forehead.

Evan

Holding her in my arms, I stroked down her ribs, past the dip in her waist and over her hips. Memorizing every curve.

Time was like a guillotine above us—uncertain of when or how it would drop. The only thing we both knew for certain was that it would. Soon.

“You promised no monkey business,” she said lazily, kissing my chest.

Hugging her closer, I bent forward to kiss the top of her head. “I could never do that.”

We stayed like that, wrapped in each other’s arms, refusing to let the real world and all its problems in.

“When do you have to leave?” she asked the question neither of us wanted to think about.

“Soon.”

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

Holly

“You look perfect,” Alex said, adding more blush to my face as I stared blankly into the long, rectangular mirror. The round lights along its perimeter shining almost too brightly into my eyes.

“I can’t believe I’m doing this,” I muttered, unblinking, barely able to move my lips. Anxiety settled inside of me, more unsure of myself than ever.

Alex bent down, his face right next to mine. “I can’t believe you’ve never done this before. You’re a real pro out there, my dear. Everyone says you’re the next big thing.”

I shook my head. “That’s not true.”

“It is. When you get up on that stage, you become—someone else. We’re all sitting here like, where did Holly go?” he said, moving his head comically from side to side.

That made me giggle a bit. “I feel different up there, you know?” I tried but failed to find the words to explain the sheer joy I felt on the stage. Everyone had been extremely kind and helpful, working with me until all hours to make sure I was prepared.

The bulk of the training I’d received was from Evan. He went over scene after scene with me, making sure I had a good feel for my lines, movement, and placement.

They’d all made it fun. Even when I was ready to throw in the towel. They had my back.

“You are different out there. Now go break a leg, kid.”

“Nervous?” Romeo asked with a cute grin on his face. His costume and makeup made him seem almost unrecognizable to me.

“Very,” I responded, allowing my shivers to show for a second.

“You have fun out there, right?” he asked, staring down at me, giving me a serious look. I nodded, not understanding what he was getting at. “It’s like the world disappears and you get to be whatever you want—whoever you want.”

Taking a deep breath, I smiled. “It’s like a totally new world out there.”

His dimples showed as he chuckled. “You’ve got the acting bug, congratulations. I can see it in your eyes—you come alive when the curtain opens.”

“I’ve been doing this a week,” I said, shaking my head as I poked him in the arm.

“Doesn’t matter. You’re either born for this or you’re not. You feel it—or you don’t.”

His words struck a chord inside of me. Everything he’d said was true. “It’s weird but when I’m out there, I feel like I—belong,” I said, shifting nervously from one foot to the other, hoping what I said wasn’t too out there.

“That’s because you do.” The curtains began to open. “See you out there,” he said with a wink.

“Yea, noise? Then I’ll be brief. O happy dagger,” I said, picking up Romeo’s dagger, holding it out for everyone to see. “This is thy sheath;” I said, pretending to stab myself. “there, rust, and let me die.” In dramatic fashion, I collapsed on top of Romeo’s already perished form.

There was silence for a few seconds before the others entered and finished up the final minutes of the play. After our Prince Escalus exclaimed, “For never was a story of more woe, Than this of Juliet and her Romeo.” My breath hitched as tears came to my eyes.

“You did it,” Romeo said beneath me as the gentle breeze from the closing curtains blew on my face. The audience exploded in applause.

“All right everyone, up, up, up,” Mrs. White said, rushing around with the stage crew to move props and actors around in one giant flurry of excitement.

“You were awesome,” Anna, the actress who played the nurse said, hugging me fiercely. “We knew you’d save this shitty play.”

“Hey, it wasn’t that bad,” our Mercutio said, dusting off his pants.

Anna said, “Before Holly showed up, we sucked.” Others chimed in with their agreement. Before I could disagree, the curtains opened again, and we all bowed. One by one the actors took their turns stepping up to the edge of the stage while the audience clapped.

When it was our turn, Romeo turned to me and said, “Stay here, let me go first, okay?” I frowned a bit, not understanding. This wasn’t what we’d rehearsed. “Just trust me.” Then he strode up to the front by himself, giving a few hardy bows and waves.

Striding back to me, he took my hand, leading me up to the front then he bowed grandly toward me, his knee on the floor. “You saved our asses, Juliette.” He hurried back to the line of actors behind me. In one fluid, wave like motion everyone stood, clapping, and whistling even louder.

I smiled, absorbing their applause and acceptance into the depths of my soul. After a few curtseys, the curtains began closing. Turning back toward the cast members, they rushed at me all at once. “You were the best,” our nurse said, squeezing me tight. “That was incredible,” Romeo said, forcing me to turn and face him. He gave me a quick hug before letting the rest of them at me.

Once my fellow actors took turns thanking and congratulating me, I noticed someone in a wheelchair off to the side. She smiled as she motioned for me to come to her.

Unsure of what she wanted, I walked over. “Hey.”

“You were fantastic,” she said, smiling up at me with glossy eyes.

Shrugging, I said, “Nah, you’d have been better.”

Ivy let out a loud laugh, holding her side, clearly still in discomfort from the operation. “Not even close. Everyone knows I sucked. Luckily my appendix saved me from public humiliation.”

I shook my head. “You would have been great.”

She looked down for a second before gazing back at me. “I’m really sorry for the shitstorm I caused.”

Pursing my lips together, I grabbed onto my skirts. “It’s—”

“It was a terrible thing to do all because I was jealous.” We stared at each other for a minute, feeling awkward, not knowing what to say or do. “If it’s any consolation I wish I could take it all back.”

Taking a deep breath, I said, “Thanks, that means a lot.”

“There’s someone waiting for you in the park behind the school,” she said, quirking her head to the side.

Frowning, I said, “An axe murderer?”

Laughing, she replied, “Someone better.”

Taking my chances on it not being an axe murderer I managed to sneak away from the hubbub of the crowd. The night was dark and quiet except for the scraping of my shoes on the asphalt in the parking lot.

The grass was getting dewy so I picked up my long skirts with my hands as I walked. “Hello?” I said, feeling some trepidation as I walked further into the park.

I heard a rustling of leaves to the right and then, “She speaks. O, speak again, bright angel, for thou art As glorious to this night, being o’er my head, As is a winged messenger of heaven Unto the white-upturned wondering eyes Of mortal that fall back to gaze on him When he bestrides the lazy-puffing clouds And sails upon the bosom of the air.”

Smiling into the darkness, I said, “O Romeo, Romeo! Wherefore art thou Romeo?”

I let out a gasp as I was suddenly lifted high into the air and spun around. “You were the most perfect Juliet in the history of Juliets,” Evan said as I slid down the front of his warm, hard body.

Giggling in shock, I wrapped my arms around his neck. “There’ve been a lot of Juliets in the last four hundred years.”

“And you were by far the best,” he said against my mouth, his breath minty as it wafted over me.

Kissing his cool lips, he pulled me closer. “Did you watch?” I asked, hoping he’d say, yes. I was no great judge, but I felt pretty proud of my performance.

“Of course.”

“Did anyone see you?”

His head shook. “I stayed in the storage room off to the side until the curtains went up. Ivy spotted me because she was at the back in her chair.”

Tilting my head to the side, I asked, “You guys talked?”

“Mmm, hmm. We had a nice little chat,” was all he said, not offering more.

“What did she say?”

He touched his lips to my cheek. “She apologized. Explained why she did what she did.”

Nodding, I squeezed him tighter. “When do you have to go?”

Our cheeks pressed together as he spoke gently into my ear, “Now.”

My stomach dropped as a heaviness settled over top of me. Grateful for his big arms holding me up, my legs felt weak. “Okay,” I said as stoically as possible—which in reality wasn’t at all.

“I got offered a position in Boston.”

“For the rest of the school year?”

“Yeah.”

I promised myself that when the time came, I wouldn’t cry. “Boston’s far away.” My voice shook slightly anyway despite my efforts.

He looked me in the eyes, lifting my chin with his finger. “You need to be with your friends—live your senior year like a regular eighteen year old,” he said, his fingers digging into my skin. “Take the leading role in the next drama production. Show everyone what you can do on the stage—not just behind it.” His voice was gruff, filled with emotion.

This was his version of letting me down gently. Only problem was that it killed me just as much. Relaxing my body while my mind remained a virtual landmine of questions and oppositions was one of the most difficult things I’d ever had to do.

If there was one thing I was, it was proud. The petty, mad, selfish part of me wanted to yell and scream and beg him to stay with me. The realistic part of me knew he wouldn’t change his mind. Instead I’d just end up embarrassing myself. “I’ll miss you,” I whispered as I felt my tiny heart officially crack in two. Holding back my tears, I kissed him one last time.

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

Holly

“Thanks, Dave. See you tomorrow,” I yelled to my boss as I shoved my shoulder against the door of the diner. My hands were busy attempting to find that elusive bus pass. “Where the heck did I put it this time?” I mumbled to myself as I rummaged through my backpack.

“Holly?” I heard my voice being called a few yards away. My heart stopped in my throat as I gazed up into a pair of handsome eyes.

Recognition only took a moment before realization kicked in. Evan’s rude friend. Great. We’d never been formally introduced—Evan had made sure of that. “Yeah. What are you doing here?” Suspicious, I took a few steps back, placing my hand back on the door.

He immediately put his hands up—palms toward me. Shuffling away a bit, he shook his head. “Just wanted to talk.”

Defenses still up while my stomach twisted, I said, “I doubt we have anything to talk about.” From what I’d overheard him say to Evan, he wasn’t exactly my biggest fan.

Eyes closing briefly, he cleared his throat. “Look, I—I’m a dick sometimes. No, not sometimes,” he said, shrugging his shoulders. “A lot of the time. With Evan being gone now, I just wanted to say that you can call me if you ever need—help. Or anything. He told me about your, um, situation.”

When he said Evan’s name it felt like a knife through my gut. The last thing I wanted was to give him the satisfaction of knowing how much I still hurt.

My laugh came out as more of a cackle as I threw my head back. “I’ve been dealing with my situation for years now. But thanks for the offer.” I glared up at him for a second before squinting back into my bag. Ah, success. Closing my hand around the bus pass, I zipped up my backpack, slinging it on my shoulder. “I’m going to be late.”

Attempting to rush past him to the bus stop, his hand darted out, seizing my elbow. “I just want you know that I’m here if you need me.” The shock of his warm hand on my skin almost made me panic. His eyes darted down to where he was grabbing me then let go instantly. “You don’t need to be afraid of me. I only—look, if you need any kind of help call.”

Jamming his hand into the back pocket of his jeans he yanked out a shiny, white card. Stuffing it into my hand, he held my eyes with his. “Any time of the day or night.” Jake’s eyes shone with such sincerity I almost believed him. “I swear I’m not a bad guy.”

“Isn’t that what all bad guys say?”

A huge smile crossed his face. “Good point, Miss Anderson. Good point.” He did a quick scan of me and said, “I like you. You’re—spunky.”

“Let me guess,” I said, tilting my head. “Under different circumstances we’d be friends?” I snarked at him with a fair bit of sarcasm.

His grin grew. “I bet we would. Take care, Miss Anderson.” He gave me a quick wink before he turned to walk away. After a few steps, Jake pivoted then continued walking backward as he spoke one last thing, “Anything you need. Call.” His finger shot out at me to further punctuate his statement.

Peering down at his card, it read: Professor Jake Richter.

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

Holly

“Really, Ms. Anderson. After your performance three months ago as Juliet, I’d have expected you to jump at this next challenge,” Principal McGreggor said as she sat across from me with a stern look on her face.

“I appreciate that you thought of me but—”

She shook her head sharply, deep frown on her face. “How many interviews did you do after the play?”

Closing my mouth, I looked off to the side. “A few.”

“How many?”

“A dozen.” Give or take.

“Right. And how are your acting classes going?” she asked, drumming her fingers on the desk.

I had to smile at her question. “Really well.” There was no way I could lie about that. Somehow, one of the most prominent acting schools got wind of me after my debut performance and invited me—free of charge—to join them twice a week.

It was seriously some of the most fun I’d ever had. Evan had left a huge hole in my heart that was impossible to fill. But being on stage and acting in Romeo and Juliet had ignited something inside of me that I didn’t know existed.

The acting classes fanned that flame into a new passion and a new world opened up before me that I’d never even dreamed of.

“With my job and school, I’m not sure I’ll have the time,” I said, grasping the arms of the chair.

Her lips came together before she sighed. “You’re down to much fewer hours at work now since your scholarship funds were increased, correct?” A stern eyebrow raised.

“Well, yes. My mother needs me at home quite often to help her as well, though.”

“Is she still refusing to see a doctor?” she asked gently. I nodded, resigned to the fact that my mother would never receive the help she needed. “I see. Well, it’s completely up to you. If there’s anything the school can do to help make your life easier, you know we’re here for you, right?”

They had already done so much to help, I was reluctant to ask for anything more. “Thank you, that means a lot.”

She nodded before rising from her chair. “Think about it. The leading role is yours if you want it.”

“Did you see this?” Ivy asked me as she bit into an apple. Shielding her phone from any snoopers, she shoved it in my face.

The title of the article read, “The Pirhana’s New Prey”. Below it was a picture of Evan’s dad and his assistant, Samantha, in a heated clinch.

Eyes wide, I read the article, not taking the time to even blink. “Holy crap,” I whispered to her, clicking off the screen.

“I know. My dad said he’ll have to step down from his campaign.”

“Really?” I asked, my voice almost squeaking.

Nodding, she said, “This isn’t something he can just sweep under the rug.”

“I wonder if they’ll get a divorce?” I asked in a low voice.

“You ever hear from him?”

I stared at her as my stomach twisted. It felt like so long since I’d said his name out loud. “Evan? No.”

“Not at all?” she asked, eyes squinting in disbelief.

“Nope.” I gazed down at the beige tile flooring, hoping Ivy would change the subject. My shoulders slumped as I slid my arm onto the table and rested my head in my hand. The pain from losing Evan was a palpable force I tried extremely hard to keep at bay. If I allowed myself to wallow, I’d never leave my bed.

“Let’s go out tonight,” she said, tossing her hair over her shoulder. “Find us some men. I haven’t been able to show off my appendectomy scar to anyone yet,” she said, a hint of mischief in her eyes.

I laughed. “Mom’s been even more sick lately. I should just go home.”

“Can I help with anything?” she asked, placing her hand on my arm. “How about I bring over pizza?”

My eyes got a bit misty. “That would be nice.”

“Oh man, if she picks that loser I’m going to scream,” Ivy said, scooping up another piece of pepperoni pizza, pointing at the TV.

I had to agree. “He’s hot but stupid,” I said, taking a bite of my breadstick.

“Who would even go on these shows? It’s so humiliating.” I shrugged.

“Holly,” we heard my mom call from her room before a loud thump rocked the floor of the trailer.

Dropping our food, we both rushed into the dark room to find her on the floor, unresponsive. “Mom, Mom,” I said over and over, turning her onto her back. This was far from the first time I’d found her on the floor, but this time was different.

In the past, she would have reeked of alcohol. For the last week or two, she hadn’t touched any booze at all. I could feel my heart beating in my throat. “Should I call 911?”

Looking up at my friend, I nodded.

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

Holly

“You’ll be fine,” I lied to my mother, holding her cool, frail hand in mine. Her skin was mottled with a yellowish tinge. She looked so tiny and frail in the hospital bed.

The whites of her eyes were even tinted a sickly mustard gray. Shaking her head, she said, “We both know I’m not going to be fine.” Her cough shook deep from within her tiny body.

“Of course—”

“It’s my liver. They told me last year it was incurable.”

My hands instinctively clasped hers even harder as my stomach fell. “What do you mean? You went to the doctor and didn’t tell me?”

The thin, wispy hair on her head moved slightly as she admitted her secret. “They said there was nothing they could do, I was too far gone. One doc offered me a line of treatments that sounded worse than the actual disease,” she said, starting into another coughing fit.

I put my arm behind her back, feeling the sharp bones poke into my skin. Lifting her slightly forward until she finished and could lay back down. “Why didn’t you tell me.” I gasped, finding it difficult to breathe.

“What would it change?”

“We could have gotten you some help?”

“Nothing anyone could do. I chose to drink myself to death. Figured I’d finish the job and save the taxpayers some money.”

The bright florescent light above us flickered. “What about me?” I asked, realizing that soon I’d be left all alone. No mother, no grandmother, no father.

“You’ll be better off. The trailer is paid for and Nanny set aside some money for you. There’s papers in my bottom drawer.”

The room around me spun while I closed my eyes, trying to absorb my mother’s words. Months of refusals to see a doctor when she’d already gone but not told me. I felt like I was going to slide right onto the hard, tiled floor.

“Good afternoon,” a deep voice sounded from the door. Gazing over, my eyes focused on a tall, white haired man in a white coat. “I’m Dr. Perry,” he said, walking over to us, hand stretched out to shake mine and then my mom’s.

He cleared his throat. “Holly, do you mind if I take a minute to examine your mother alone, please?”

“I’ll wait outside,” I said, quickly finding my feet then walking out the door. The hallway was bustling with nurses, doctors, patients, and worried family members. Everything around me began spinning again.

“Whoa, there sunshine,” a female voice said before wrapping an arm around my waist. “What’dya say we go find a seat?” I looked up into the kindest eyes I’d ever seen as I burst into tears. It was all too much. “No, no, hang onto me. Let’s go into the greeting room for a minute,” the nurse said, guiding me past the craziness into a quiet room. My fingers grabbed tightly into her pink scrubs, afraid of letting go.

I sat down and a moment later she handed me a cold, Styrofoam cup of water and ice. “Here, have a sip.” I didn’t know where it came from but I was grateful all the same.

“Thanks,” I said, my hands and voice shaky as I drank the cool liquid.

The nurse sat down beside me, arm around my body for a side hug. “I’m Laura. Is Julia your mother?”

“Yeah.”

“Did the doctor speak with you yet?”

I shook my head, taking another sip.

She rubbed my back. “She’s real sick. You understand that, right?” she asked as I looked up at her with teary eyes and nodded. I understood now. “Can I go and grab the doctor to explain things more clearly to you? I bet this is all very confusing for you. Is there anyone we can call to be with you? Any family?”

“No, it’s just us.” Tears fell as I realized it would be just me now.

“Stay here, I’ll be right back with the doctor, okay?” I nodded, shrugging my shoulders as my mind raced. What was I going to do now?

A silent TV on the wall played a well-known talk show. I swirled the ice around in my cup, thinking how much my life had changed in the last six months.

“Holly, I’m sorry to make you wait.” Dr. Perry stepped in the room, Nurse Laura close by his side.

Gazing up at his stoic face, my stomach churned, acid rising further. Barely able to swallow, I did my best to not get sick. “It’s fine.”

His white lab coat flapped when he sat down in a hurry. Hands threaded together, he sighed. “This is difficult to discuss. Is there another family member we can call to be here with you?” His bright blue eyes searched mine. Deep frown lines on his forehead spoke of how stressful his job must be.

“It’s just me. Nobody else is left,” I said, stopping my chin from quivering.

He looked down, taking another breath. “Your mother is in the final stages of liver failure. I’m afraid the only thing we can do now is make her as comfortable as possible.”

Again, my world spun as Nurse Laura sat beside me. The doctor continued. “We have a call into hospice.”

“Hospice?” I asked, the word vaguely familiar.

Dr. Perry reached out for my hand. “It’s where patients who are at the final stage of their illness go.”

Final stage. Those words smacked me hard in the face.

Nurse Laura spoke up, “They’ll make sure to manage your mom’s pain and keep her as comfortable as they possibly can.”

Wiping my eyes, I sniffed. “That would be good.” She handed me a tissue. “How long do you think she’s got?” I asked the question I didn’t really want an answer to.

His answer shot right through my gut. “Not long.”

“Do you want anything?” I asked, watching my mother struggling to breathe.

Her boney hand found mine. “No sense. It won’t be long now.” Closing my eyes, I tried to keep myself composed, tears leaking out despite my efforts. “I should have been a better mother.” She gasped, turning her head slowly to look at me.

“You were fine,” I lied, placing my other hand on her arm.

That started another coughing episode. “I was a shitty mom. I’m sorry you got stuck with me, kid. Thems the breaks, though. Ya get what ya get. At least when Nanny was around, she looked after you.”

Then she closed her eyes, drifting halfway between here and somewhere else.

The stale smell of cigarette smoke and sickness filled the air as I walked into the trailer for the first time in three days—or had it been longer? One day had dragged into the next making it impossible to tell how long I’d been there.

Slamming the door shut behind me, everything looked so foreign but the same. My mind pulled me to Mom’s room, clumsily finding the switch, illuminating the mess. This was the one place she refused to allow me to clean.

Shoving boxes and clothes away from the solitary dresser, I pulled the handles on the bottom drawer. It was stuffed full of papers, manila folders, envelopes, and pictures. Things I never knew she’d kept, like my school photos and report cards.

One by one, I sorted everything into pictures, papers, and important documents until halfway through, I found a pink envelope that didn’t seem to fit in with the rest—the edges faded lighter from the passage of time. Turning it around, it read, “To Holly”, on the front.

Opening it up, I immediately recognized the handwriting as my Nanny’s.

Dearest Holly,

You’ll never know how sad I am to be leaving you. Ever since you were born, you brought such light into my life.

I had full intentions of being here to watch you graduate, venture out into the world, get married, and one day have little ones of your own. But this damn disease had other plans.

I’m not sure if your mother will ever tell you about your father. If not, I’ve included that information for you. One day, you may be curious about what happened and who he is—which is your right.

All I’ll say is that your mother changed the day he left. She stopped caring about anything or anyone. Instead of being thankful for you, I think she saw you as the reminder of what would never be.

Promise me one thing? No matter what happens in your life, don’t do what your mother did. Being bitter and blaming others for your lot in life only hurts you in the long run. You’ve been given many gifts and talents—I could tell that almost instantly. Use what you have to live a happy life.

No doubt your road may be bumpier with more twists and turns than most. That just makes life more interesting.

Hearing the ticking of time is difficult, especially now. When I’m with you, it’s nearly deafening. It’s hard to believe I’ll be gone, leaving you here.

Hopefully you remember our many happy times—how we listened to Shakespeare’s plays, acting them out while we baked, cooked, cleaned. I’d read them to you, too, in hopes that one day you’d find a love in literature like I did.

Right now, a quote that sticks in my mind is from As You Like it:

“All the world’s a stage,

And all the men and women merely players:

They have their exits and their entrances;

And one man in his time plays many parts.”

It’s my time to exit the stage, Holly. For you? It’s time to make your grand entrance.

You’re a reasonable child, so I expect you’ll always have a good head on your shoulders. What I’m about to say will seem strange and at first, you’ll think I’ve already gone crazy.

I’m leaving you money to do what you want with. No strings attached. You do well in school, I’m sure college is in your sights. But if something else calls to you, my dear, I want you to follow your dreams. No matter how silly or impulsive they may seem.

Life is short. Trust me.

Don’t be so overly sensible that you forget to enjoy it.

I’m not gone yet so I intend to listen to you laugh and watch you play as much as I possibly can until it’s my time to go.

I love you, my sweet, Holly.

Nanny.

Tears fell so quickly onto the letter, I was scared it would get ruined. Pulling it away, I wiped my eyes with my hand as I sniffled loudly into the silent room.

I truly was all alone.

CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

Holly

Out of pure exhaustion I finally dropped into my bed some time the early hours of the morning, eventually finding sleep. I didn’t know what time it was but I could feel the steady knocking on the front door all the way through the trailer. Blinking against the light shining through my window, I groaned as I moved my tired legs over the side of the bed.

The weight of what had happened fell down me like an anvil in a children’s cartoon show. Only I had no desire to pop back up like an adorable character. Instead, I shuffled to the front door. Jason’s anxious face pressed up close to the window.

His shoulders sagged when he caught sight of me and stepped back as I opened the door for him. “Hey kid. How are you doing?” His voice was low and wrought with concern for me as he stepped inside, looking around.

“Did you use your key? She’s still not answering her phone,” Vivienne said, rushing inside holding baby Hope on her hip with one hand and her phone plastered to her head with her other. “Oh, child.” She gasped, clutching the phone to her chest as she stopped short. “You scared the living daylights out of us.”

Viv’s eyes got watery then she handed off the baby to Jason. “Come here,” she said, her voice hitching, full of pity. I took a few steps toward her as she met me halfway. Her arms surrounded me like vices, gripping on like she was singlehandedly going to hold me together.

My vision blurred as pain gripped my heart so acutely, I figured for sure I was going to fall. If it weren’t for Vivienne’s strong arms, I would have. “We are so, so sorry, my dear. I wish you would have called us so we could have been with you and—” She ceased for a second, taking a deep breath. “And you wouldn’t have been all alone.”

We stayed like that for a while, her just holding me, gently rocking from side to side as we both cried in each other’s arms. My already broken heart was shattered beyond repair.

“Come here, kid,” Jason said, lifting one of Viv’s arms up to move her away. She took the baby from him, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand. Jason’s arms engulfed me in a huge bear hug. “Should’ve called us, Viv’s right. When your boss told us just now, we ran right over.” More tears burst out, knowing that I’d caused my friends to worry about me.

“Pack some stuff, missy. You’re coming home with us.” Vivienne rubbed my back then I felt a sudden patting from a tiny hand. Hope started making baby noises as she hit my shoulder. It was enough to bring me back to Earth.

Turning around, I let go of Jason, capturing her little hand in mine. “Hi, baby,” I said, blinking away the tears that refused to stop. She pulled my hair, letting out a big, belly laugh as she did it.

“You need to stop laughing when she pulls your hair, Viv. Now she thinks it’s a big joke.” Jason scolded her as he untangled Hope’s relentless hand from my hair.

“It is a big joke,” Vivienne said, her eyes already swollen from crying. “Look at her laugh.” She pointed at Hope’s smiley face.

“Her hand’s going to grow. You know that right? It’ll be a whole lot less funny then.”

Vivienne rolled her eyes, reaching for my hand. “Yeah, she’s a regular monster.” She gazed up at me and said, “Go pack some things. You’re staying with us.”

“I couldn’t impose, really, I’m fine—”

“You need to be around family now,” she said softly. “And we need to be around you.”

Her words filled my heart with a warm, fuzzy feeling. In no way, shape, or form was I related to any of these people in my living room. “She’s right, kid. Go pack.”

CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

Holly

“You’re really leaving us?” Paige asked, her face pouty and sad. I answered her with a nod. She launched forward, pulling me in for a hug.

“What a waste of a great prom dress.” Alex frowned, crossing his arms in front of him as he fake glowered. I knew how happy he was for me.

Pushing away from Paige, I poked Alex’s shoulder. “You said you’d do my hair and makeup for pictures before I go.”

He sighed, placing one hand on his hip. “It won’t be the same as if you were actually here, though, instead of abandoning us for greener pastures.”

I couldn’t help the smile that completely overtook my face. I was leaving for greener pastures. Way greener. “But we’ll have pictures and Ivy said we’d have a mini-prom at her house before I leave.”

“Repeat after me: Not. The. Same.” His stare refused to let me off the hook.

“Alex, chill. We’ll have a fabulous sendoff party for Holly,” Ivy’s head twisted in his direction, shooting him a look that could kill. “Who we are so incredibly happy for.”

“Yeah, yeah.” He sighed dramatically then wrapped his arms around my shoulders, pulling me close. “I’m going to miss you so much. Who’s going to make sure you’re using the right mascara with the correct liner? Or who’ll remind you to use the under-eye cream so you don’t get horrible bags and premature aging?”

My shoulders shook even though I tried my hardest to hold in my laugh. “Uh huh, it’s all fun and games until you wake up one morning resembling a Shar-Pei instead of a hot, young actress.” He scolded, not at all kidding.

That was it. All I could handle. I burst out laughing as did the other two girls. Alex just continued to glare. “I’ll video message you all the time so you can still control my moisturizing regime,” I said, trying to placate him.

“Uhhhggg, those cameras are awful. I’ll need you to send me daily snaps on top of that,” he replied all matter of fact.

“Deal.”

“Can I text you? Gosh, our time zones are going to be murder to line up,” Paige worried, looking off to the side like she was calculating in her head. She was correct—our time difference was going to suck.

“You better text me.” Pointing at the rest of my friends, I said, “You all better text me. Often.” My eyes began to water thinking about not seeing them for a while.

“Paige will still be up at all hours studying her brains out so that won’t be an issue,” Ivy said dryly, tossing her hair over her shoulder.

Alex cleared his throat. “Paige needs to stop studying her brains out and instead get her brains—”

“Alex,” I yelled before he was able to finish. “Baby steps. But I agree you need to go out more, Paige.”

“More?” Ivy scoffed. “That would imply the girl ever left her desk.”

Paige rolled her eyes. “I leave my desk.”

“Yeah, to pick up another book,” Alex shouted, laying down on the couch.

“They’re right, honey. You need to cut loose sometimes. It’s not healthy to stay cooped up studying all the time.” I squeezed her hand lightly.

“Look who’s talking. When was the last time you went out with us?” Ivy questioned me and rightly so. Between work, school classes, acting classes and getting ready to move, there hadn’t been a lot of free time. Whenever I did have a spare moment I liked just hanging with Viv, Jason, and the baby.

Over the last six months we’d gotten even closer. Whenever I’d suggested getting my own place and moving out they’d both out and out refused to hear of it. But when this opportunity came up for me even they couldn’t deny how wonderful it was.

I was really going to miss them. They’d stepped in and become the family I never had. Just like this group in front of me. I guess when you aren’t given family—you find it.

“You guys pick a date for mini-prom and let’s start planning. Oh, and don’t forget Viv is having a big supper for me before I go, too. You’re all invited.”

“That woman can cook,” Alex announced, jumping up from the couch, wiggling to a beat only he could hear. “Count me in.”

Paige hesitantly said, “Finals are only two months away, I should probably stay home and study.”

Ivy’s jaw dropped open. “After finals, you, and I, are going out and we’re finding you a man.”

The look of shock on Paige’s face was too funny. “I don’t need a man.”

“Girlfriend, we all need a man. But you especially. Keeping all this,” Alex said, gliding up beside us again, pointing to her face and body with his finger, “locked up in a tower is a crying shame. You need to let it all hang out sometimes.”

She looked to me for support. “They’re right, you know. You’ve gotta put the books down more often. Promise me you’ll try?”

Sighing, she slumped her shoulders. “I suppose. But not until after finals.”

CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

Holly

“Absolutely marvelous, darling,” the stage director said to me in her strong English accent as she put her arm around my shoulders. Her perfume almost as overbearing as her personality. “Just remember to keep in mind that your voice carries differently in the outdoors. You’ll be a roaring success. I just know it. Oh, and your Romeo finally arrived. He’s three days late but he makes up for it with his looks and charm. Trust me.” She squeezed me closer to her side.

“He wanted to meet you in person. Just stop by his dressing room before you leave.” One last hug and she pushed me toward the stairs that led to our tiny dressing rooms.

Lifting my skirt as I ascended the steps, I gazed thoughtfully at the many empty seats surrounding me. Without a doubt they would all be filled on opening night. A tiny smile came to my mouth as I thought about what performing on this kind of a stage would be like at night, under the stars—just how it was meant to be.

The well-placed lanterns swung in the breeze, just as happy to be here as I was. “Holy crap, did you see him? He’s hot,” the actress who played Juliet’s mother said to a costume designer before she caught my eye and my sleeve. “Wait until you see Romeo,” she said, pulling hard on the fabric. Her eyebrows waggled, making me laugh.

“I’m headed to his dressing room right now. Thanks for the heads up.” I smirked as I kept on walking past her into the building.

My fingers grazed the makeshift sign on my dressing room door while I strolled on by. I’d been so happy to see my name on it. The room beside mine now had a handwritten nameplate as well. But all it said on it was, “Romeo”. No real name on it.

My knuckles lightly rapped the old, wooden door. A minute or so passed before I knocked again, harder this time. The door opened only slightly then stilled. Frowning, I pushed it the rest of the way.

My heart stopped.

“Hi,” Evan said with that sexy smile on his face that I’d missed so much.

Unable to move, I stood there, frozen. My brain couldn’t make sense of what was going on. “I was hoping for a more enthusiastic reaction than that.”

“What—”

He stepped forward, reaching around me to slam the door shut. “Let’s try this again,” he said in his low voice, those brown eyes piercing mine. “Hi.” His hands touched my arms, pulling me closer.

My lungs still not fully working, I replied with a breathy, “Hi.”

“I missed you,” he said as his fingertips gently pushed my hair behind my ears.

“You did?” I asked, still muddled and confused.

He cracked a smile. “Mmm hmm. Did you miss me?”

Nodding ever so slightly, I said, “You’re here.”

He chuckled, tilting my head back as his lips came down on mine. “I’m here.” Evan stole whatever breath was left in me as his mouth moved over mine. My heart fluttered while his arms folded around me. When my mind finally caught up with what was happening, I kissed him back, hands on his shoulders, pulling him closer.

“But why? I don’t understand why you came?” I pushed back a bit, needing answers.

“For you,” he said, the back of his hand grazing my cheek. “I nearly counted the days until your graduation.”

“I didn’t go.”

Evan laughed, throwing his head back. “I noticed.”

My face dropped at his words. “You came back for me?”

“Yep. Flew all the way there, stayed incognito and couldn’t find out where the hell you’d gone.”

Looking to the side, I explained. “Somehow, I got on with this drama company over here. They offered me a position, but wanted me early.”

“So, you took finals a month early and ran off to England. I know, Ivy told me.”

“She did?”

“I’m so sorry about your mom,” he said, his eyes getting serious. “I wish—”

“I know,” I said, placing my index finger on his lips to quiet him.

Reaching up, his hand grasped mine, kissing it before pulling it down. “I wish I could have been there for you.” His words traveled through me, creating warmth and a—calmness in their wake. My vision blurred as my emotions caught up. “It must’ve been so hard to do that all by yourself. You’re so brave.”

Immediately, my arms circled his body as my head crashed into his chest. Since I’d read Nanny’s letter, I hadn’t cried at all. Now it felt like months of tears and heartache burst out all at once. “I stayed with friends for a while. They looked after me.” Memories of Vivienne and Jason coming to my aid during that horrible time choked me up even more.

Evan held me, my body wracked with grief and unshed emotions I’d somehow managed to bottle up for so long. Until now. “I’m so sorry. You have no idea how much.” Our bodies swayed as he absorbed the hefty weight of my burdens.

“I haven’t seen you in so long and now I’m bawling all over the place,” I said, shaking my head as I gazed up at him.

“You’re beautiful,” he said, wiping the tears under my eyes with his thumbs.

“Liar,” I said, rolling my eyes, a hint of a smile emerging.

“Where are you staying?” he asked, changing the subject.

“With the director and her husband for now. Everything’s so expensive over here.”

A huge grin spread on his face. “I know a good place.”

“Really? Any strings attached?”

He leaned down, whispering right against my lips, “Lots.”

39

CHAPTER 39—A FEW MONTHS LATER OR AN EPILOGUE OF SORTS…

Holly

“You ever miss home?” Evan asked me as we walked barefoot along the beach. This was still one of our favorite things to do when I was wasn’t busy rehearsing or he wasn’t dealing with business.

“Almost never,” I replied truthfully. “I mean, I miss Viv and Jason and baby Hope. And my friends of course.” However, I didn’t miss the restlessness I felt there—like I was wearing an ill-fitting outfit.

“Seeing as they call you all the time you haven’t had much opportunity to miss them,” Evan stated, giving me the side eye.

I giggled, pushing my shoulder into the side of his body. He reached around, pulling my body closer. “That’s mostly Alex. He’s very concerned with my skin care regime and what the English countryside is doing to it.”

“Well that makes sense,” he said with sigh, shaking his head. Just then, his phone started ringing and he pulled it out of his pocket to take a look. “Just Jared. He’s probably wondering about the vineyard in Italy.”

“How many vineyards does one man need?” I teased him.

“Two, apparently. Maybe three if they accept my offer.” We waded into the ocean a little further, our pants rolled up a bit. “Did you like it there?”

I turned my head to him. “In Italy? Who wouldn’t? All that pasta and bread went straight to my hips and ass though. I have to be more careful in carb country.” All that was true—just ask my pants.

He laughed, squeezing me tighter. “You look just as gorgeous as you did before we left.”

“Uh, huh.”

“You’re beautiful.”

“My agent said I need to stop with the carb comas if I’m going to audition for that new Blade Bodwin series.” My stomach tightened at the thought. I tried not to think about it but Blade Bodwin was huge. As in big, huge.

“When you audition.”

“I don’t know. I can’t see any reason for them to pick me out of all the other options they have.” I dug my fingernails into my hands as I squeezed them into fists.

“Number one, you’re a fantastic actress. Number two, they specifically contacted your agent and gave you a personal invitation to the audition. They want you. Don’t you want to try?”

I wanted it more than anything. Whoever got in with Blade Bodwin would get more exposure than you could ever dream of. “Of course I do. I’d have to be crazy to turn that down. Besides, you’re right—It would be nice to stop in and visit everyone while we’re there. Show off my new English accent.”

“I thought we could show them something else, too.”

“My superior English toffee recipes?” I joked with him. In fact, I had yet to not burn a toffee concoction.

“Yeah—and this,” he said, stopping us in the water as he pulled out a blue velvet box.

Any and all breath left my lungs. My heart pounded so loudly I was sure he could hear it. Evan opened the box slowly, holding it out for me to see. I’d never in all my life seen a ring with a diamond that big before. It was a huge, square rock with smaller ones traveling down the band. The way it sparkled in the light made me dizzy. “What—”

“Will you marry me?”

I slapped my hand to my heart as my skin tingled all over. “You’re serious?” I breathed out, barely having enough air to say those two words.

“We spent months together and months apart. I can’t be away from you again.”

Fear clutched at my stomach. “But if I get this part—filming is in Los Angeles. I’ll have to—”

“We’ll have to—” he cut me off.

“We?”

“Yep. We’ll go wherever your career takes us.”

“What about your businesses? You’ve got vineyards to run.”

“I’ll run them and be with you. We’ll make it work.”

“My career?” It sounded funny to say that word about something that was so much fun for me, most of the time it didn’t even feel like work. Evan nodded. “You make it all sound so simple.”

“It is. Wherever you are—so am I. Simple.” He shrugged as if it was no big deal to follow me around at a moment’s notice.

“What if I fail?”

“What if you succeed?” he asked, his eyes holding mine until a big, goofy grin emerged on my face. Evan had always been my biggest supporter.

“I’m only nineteen. Who gets married at nineteen?”

“You’re the oldest nineteen year old in the world. And my mother is going to want us to have a huge wedding. That’ll mean months of planning.”

“Months? I haven’t even met your mother,” I said, eyes wide and unblinking as my heart caught in my throat.

“You will when we go home and tell her we’re engaged.”

“It’s kind of bad timing—with their divorce and everything.” And what a divorce that was. Public, humiliating, and messy were the nicest words I could use to describe it.

“With those two it’ll always be bad timing. I’m not waiting to marry the woman I love because my father couldn’t keep it in his pants.” There was a weighted silence between us as he continued to hold out the ring. “You haven’t answered me yet.”

“Answered what?”

His large, warm hand reached out for mine. “Holly Elizabeth Anderson, I love you more than I ever thought I could love anyone. Will you do me the honor of becoming my wife?”

“Are you sure?” I squinted at him and then one more time at the ring to make sure it was really as monstrous as I’d thought.

It was.

“You’re giving me a complex here,” he said, raising an eyebrow as he tilted his head.

He looked so cute I dove forward to hug him, my heart ready to explode. Mumbling into his chest, I answered, “Evan Alistair Marshall-Stanton, I love you more than I ever thought I could ever love anyone.” Tipping my head back, gazing into his handsome face, I said, “I would love to be your wife.”

40

CHAPTER 40—OR—WHAT’S NEXT?

Paige

“This is seriously the lamest,” Alex said, rolling his eyes as he sipped on a martini. He bumped my arm with his elbow and said, “Let’s give it five more minutes then we can take off.”

Giving him my best smile, I made a different suggestion. “Or we could leave now and go home to watch a movie?”

His head tipped to the side, eyes narrowing. “You’re not getting out of this. You promised Holly you’d come out with us and that,” he said, pointing his finger into my bare shoulder, “is exactly what you’re doing. We’ll find you a man even if I have to go to extreme measures.”

My eyes widened. Alex’s extreme measures were to be avoided at all costs. They were sometimes loud and always—guaranteed—embarrassing. “No, no, no, that’s not necessary at all,” I said, shaking my head, grabbing onto his hands. “Five minutes it is.” I prayed that my smile was believable enough.

The truth was—I liked being out. Way more than I should. If I didn’t keep a tight handle on myself I knew I could end up like my mother. A young, single mother, working her fingers to the bone for a family of rich people. My grandmother had gotten pregnant with my mom before grandpa had married her and made an honest woman out of her like he always joked.

To me it was no joke.

No way was I winding up in trouble with no husband and most importantly no education.

As soon as I was old enough to cogitate, I promised myself I’d never follow in their footsteps. So far, so good. I’d never even had a boyfriend.

“Time to play Who Would You,” Alex announced, setting his martini glass down then slapping his hands on his lap.

I laughed out loud, nearly spilling my drink. Playing this game with Alex was always hilarious. He’d bring it up in the most inappropriate places—school retreats, his cousin’s bar mitzvah, or my personal favorite—a homeowners meeting his mom made him—us—go to once when she was out of town.

The full name of the game should be, Who Would You Sleep With. It was a funny way to pass the time especially in mandatory boring situations.

“Hmm, I think that guy over there with the really tight pants is just right for me,” he said, raising his eyebrows as he wiggled his body on the stool. “Your turn.” His head snapped to me waiting for an answer.

Scoping out the place, my eyes traveled along until they stopped suddenly on a pair of bright blue eyes aimed directly at me. His stare was so intense, I spun around on my seat, leaning on the bar.

“Good, great God up in Heaven, please let that hunk of perfection whisk our good girl—Paige—up in his very muscular, very strong arms, and carry her away.”

Glaring over at Alex, his hands pressed together in prayer, eyes shut tight, I punched him in the arm. “Would you stop? Someone might hear you.” My vision searched for the man who’d been staring. A shock went through me when our eyes met again. The side of his handsome mouth quirked up, sending a warmth down to my lower belly.

He looked like trouble.

The kind I knew better than to get involved with.

Also the kind I was very much attracted to.

“Knock me down and call me Susan,” Alex said, grasping my arm. “Not once in four years have I ever seen you blush.”

Turning around again, I grabbed my barely touched drink. “I’m not blushing,” I said, shaking my head at him. “It’s the alcohol.”

Alex snorted so loud I glared at him. “You’ve barely had anything.” He rolled his eyes as he straightened his shirt. “You’ve got a thing for Mr. Hotstuff over there. Admit it.”

I would do no such thing—to him or to myself. “Whatever.”

“All right, girlie. Part deux of Who Would You commences now.” He fake shook out his hair like he was some kind of diva—which he was. “Watch and learn, my dear. Watch and learn.” Then he strode off as though walking down some kind of imaginary red carpet only he could see.

That made me laugh again so hard I had to put down my drink or risk spilling it. The second half of Who Would You consisted of making some kind of contact with your chosen one. Be it touch or talk it didn’t matter. Fail to complete this part of the game and you’d lose.

We didn’t play for money or anything. But losing your pride was worse.

As he neared his intended victim, I kept my eyes glued on his progress. A few more yards and he’d be there. My stomach gave a small twist wondering what stunt he was going to pull this time. With Alex you just never knew.

Two more steps and then the show really started. He pretended to trip then both his hands reached for Mr. Tight Pants’ arm. Alex ended up on his knees, pulling so hard on the guy’s arm that he was nearly bent in half attempting to assist.

The look on Alex’s face made me chuckle out loud. He was quite enamored. I had to admit that Mr. Tight Pants was a hottie.

The piece de resistance was yet to come. Struggling to get up, Alex took full advantage by leaning on his new friend, wiping his brow in an exaggerated manner and trying to get as close as he could to him. When Alex finally moved to leave, the tablecloth had other ideas. Like staying attached to Alex’s watch.

As he swung his arm up to wave goodbye the drinks on the table went crashing to the floor as though Alex were some kind of mock magician. He looked genuinely shocked—I don’t think that was part of his act.

Wait staff from all around zeroed in on the crisis, moving to pick up, clean, and make sure no one was hurt.

The commotion that created made me laugh so hard I doubled over, nearly unable to breathe. My stomach hurt and tears streamed down my face. A few minutes later, the man of the hour glided up to me.

“You’re turn now, missy.”

That set me off again. “How am I supposed to follow that?” I raised my hands in the air and pretended to bow multiple times. “You win, dude. There’s no way I can beat you. You’re the master.”

Yanking on his collar with his thumbs and index fingers he said, “True. I am the best at this game but it’s not truly finished until all participants participate. Now, off you go. Get.” His hands pushed me off my stool forcing me forward.

I’d been friends with Alex for years. He would never give up until I at least tried. “Fine, but I don’t know who to pick.”

Alex shouted, “Ha, yeah right. The guy you’re making googly eyes with. Now scoot.” One more push and I was on my way. No fooling him.

The rules were really pretty simple. Contact could mean anything. Even just a polite, hello. I could say hi to someone. It wouldn’t be the showstopper Alex embarked on. That was okay. One quick greeting then we could leave.

My heart drummed a steady beat as I approached my Who Would You target. I could see the back of him now. His hair wasn’t unkept so much as a few weeks past needing a cut. Which made it just the perfect length for me to run my fingers through.

That thought jarred me out of my daydream. I needed to stay focused. Get this done then get home. Wiping my clammy palms on the sides of my dress, I inhaled a deep breath. A few more seconds and this would be over.

My pace slowed now that I was directly behind him. Lollygagging there for a bit I waited in the hope that he’d turn around, halting any further need for me to grab his attention.

Watching the curve of his neck move as he tossed back the amber remnants in his glass caused my skin to heat. Something in me wanted to reach out and stroke the skin there. I bet it was hot—maybe even a bit sweaty.

If I touched my lips—just so—I wondered if—

Just then someone bumped up behind me with so much force I couldn’t help but be propelled into the very neck I had been daydreaming about. “Oooff, I’m sorry,” I said, genuinely shocked to now be pressed up fully to my target’s back.

His skin felt almost scalding through his shirt into my clumsy body. The heat from his back sizzled against my breasts causing my nipples to harden at the contact.

“Well, I’m honored,” he said, twisting around placing his hands on my waist. “Thought for a minute I was wrong. But I’m never wrong.” That smirk emerged again holding my attention as well as my breath hostage.

I felt almost dizzy being so close to him. My stomach clenched, filling with butterflies. “You’re honored for what exactly?” I asked, squinting at him, not comprehending his meaning.

His smile grew. “You and your friend,” he said, nodding in Alex’s direction. “You’re playing, Who Would You. Correct?”

My stomach dropped. How did he—”I’ve played it many times before. Hell, I practically invented that game.” He chuckled, his fingers tightening into my skin.

A blush rose on my cheeks, my legs desperately wanting to give out. “Umm,” was all I could say.

“You are the cutest thing I’ve seen in a very long time.” His eyes raked me from head to toe, spending a bit more time on my cleavage than he should have. “By the way, I’m Jake. And you are?” he asked, sticking his hand into mine. His large, warm grasp engulfed my tiny one.

“Umm—Mindy,” I replied, not wanting to give him my real name for some reason. Like if I did, maybe it would make this—real. And it couldn’t be real.

“Can I tell you a secret?” he asked, lowering his voice a bit, pulling me closer to whisper in my ear, creating waves of goose bumps. “I already picked you out as my, Who Would You.”

Curious about what kind of trouble Evan’s best friend, Jake gets into with Holly’s friend, Paige?

I guarantee you’re going to love watching this notorious playboy being brought down to his knees—literally.

Grab some popcorn, get a front row seat and hunker down as Professor Jake Richter breaks his own iron clad rules in:

Professor Richter’s Rules

Pre-order now!!

Don’t miss out.

Do you hear wedding bells for Evan and Holly? Because I sure do…

Want the juicy inside scoop on what happens next with our favorite up and coming actress and her vineyard heir? Make sure to pre-order Professor Richter’s Rules to find out!!

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

As always, I have to thank my husband for his patience and love and support. My love for you grows endlessly. My rock and constant to cling to when the waters get rocky. Which they often seem to do.

Carla Kay VanZandt, again…WHAT would I do without your genius to help and guide me? Thank you my dear.

Tina Snider, your help and friendship is as always—invaluable.

Alexis Krobatch and Leslie Wiggins Spraggs—Your input was HUGE. I thank you again for dropping everything and reading a VERY rough draft. Your opinions aid me in all the best ways.

Kristen Theobold—Thank you again for being my beta. Your texting while you read made me smile. Especially the yelly ones.

QB Tyler—Thank you for answering my questions and guiding me in the right direction.

Gywn McNamee—Your advice was direct and spot on with this one. As usual. Thank you.

This book was a joy to write and I had so much fun putting these words down on paper.

What I hadn’t expected was how much LIFE was going to get in the way.

It did.

We dealt with it. Then dealt with it again. And yes, once again.

Finally setting this book out in the world is not only a professional accomplishment but also a personal one.

Sometimes it’s one step at a time, one foot in front of the other. And that’s okay.

Just as long as you keep moving forward.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Jessa lives in a very nondescript, unassuming town filled with the best kind of people. Most days, she can be found in the stands of various soccer fields, cheering on her Youngest, or discussing books with her Oldest (who is an English Honors student).

At night, if she’s not up burning the midnight oil, Jessa enjoys snuggling up to her real-life-chef hubby and watching his latest cheesy romance movie pick. He always chooses the best ones (after he cooks supper, of course).

Visit her BLOG or drop in and say “hi” on any of the social media links below.

THE DARKEST HOUR

THE SURRENDER SERIES - BOOK 4

LAUREN SMITH

For Terri and Craig. I’m so honored that you named your son after Royce Devereaux. I’m blessed to have you in my life.

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

Copyright © 2018 by Lauren Smith

Cover design by Cover Couture

Stock Photography © Shutterstock and DepositPhotos

Lauren Smith supports the right to free expression and the value of copyright. The purpose of copyright is to encourage writers and artists to produce the creative works that enrich our culture.

The scanning, uploading, and distribution of this book without permission is a theft of the author’s intellectual property. If you would like permission to use material from the book (other than for review purposes), please contact Lauren@Laurensmithbooks.com. Thank you for your support of the author’s rights.

The publisher is not responsible for websites (or their content) that are not owned by the publisher.

ISBN: 978-1-947206-53-3 (ebook)

ISBN: 978-1-947206-54-0 (Trade paperback)

CHAPTER ONE

Long Island, The Gold Coast

MacKenzie Martin rubbed her eyes, which were blurred from staring too long at her computer screen. The antique clock hanging behind her desk ticked away, and she could see the numbers reflected on the monitor. Ten minutes before eleven. It had been a really long day and she just wanted to be done with her work.

Rain tapped softly against the window. Kenzie couldn’t see any of Hampstead University’s campus through the darkened pane. It was unusually warm for the middle of December, warm enough that she’d trudged through icy rain rather than snow to get to the campus offices. Usually the campus would be buried in snowdrifts which was typical for Long Island this time of year. All she wanted to do now was get home, take a hot bath, listen to some music, and fall into bed. But she had to finish what she’d come to do.

She focused on the screen and entered the final grades into the university’s online grading software. As a graduate student and teaching assistant to Dr. Devereaux in the paleontology department, she had the “lucky” job of inputting his grades for the semester. Dr. Devereaux despised logging grades into the university system, and whenever she mentioned it he went rigid before rattling off a dozen excuses of things he had to do instead before he vanished from the office so quickly papers were still ruffling.

She shouldn’t have been surprised. He was not the sort of man to sit idly behind a desk and read through hundreds of essays.

Kenzie smiled. Royce Devereaux was anything but idle. He was a tall, dark-haired, brown-eyed walking sex-god. With muscles that made her stomach flip whenever she saw them and an ass made for gripping during hot, wild sex, Royce was like catnip mixed with ecstasy. During the in-person job interview, she’d had to relearn how to speak because he’d fried all of her circuits when he’d flashed that sexy I’ll-fuck-you-good-baby grin at her.

He hadn’t made a move on her during the interview, of course. He’d been a perfect, but all-too-tempting gentleman as they discussed her duties as a teacher’s assistant and the possible research projects they’d work on together.

Protoceratops were her specialty, and she’d focused on that over and over in her head rather than the thought of her future boss sliding everything off his desk so he could bend her over it and take her until she screamed. She bit her lip, trying to erase that particular fantasy. It had been a recurring dream she had every night whenever she and Royce worked late into the evenings.

Saturday nights were off-limits, though. He never worked that day of the week, and she knew why. When he wasn’t deep into a dig in the Badlands of South Dakota, he was usually paired with the latest flavor of the month. Not that she knew that for certain—she’d only overheard the whispered chuckles and agreement to meet for drinks at some club here on Long Island.

More than once she’d imagined herself as the lucky woman on Royce’s arm. There was something about the feral intensity of his eyes when he looked at her that made her certain he would be explosive in bed. She was almost afraid to look him in the eye because she feared he’d see her darkest desires reflected back, that he’d see what she wanted a man to do to her.

Would he tie her up with those rough hands? Lay a strong hand on her ass to punish her? His tanned skin sliding over paler, softer skin as he fucked his woman into oblivion… A shiver of forbidden excitement ran through her like quicksilver.

I should not be fantasizing about my professor.

She felt guilty that she even had such thoughts. It was far from the professionalism she wanted to project. But she wanted a taste of that darkness so bad that it made her body ache and throb to the point of pain.

I’m screwed up. I should be happy with the guys I’ve dated and the nice sex I’ve had.

Nice. That was how she categorized her past sex life. And it more than anything else described the problem.

It was a battle she fought every day. Her little desk faced his across a large office. More than once she had glanced up and seen him leaning back in his chair, wearing faded blue jeans, his biker boots propped up on the corner of his desk as he sketched out lecture notes, a pen cap hanging from his lips. He would tap a light, unrecognizable rhythm on his desk with two fingers, and his rich chocolate-brown hair would fall across his eyes. Royce would eventually get bored and toy with the tyrannosaur claw he had on his desk, a small trophy from a dig in Montana.

He never noticed her watching him. It would be embarrassing if he ever found out she was crushing on him in such a big way. Besides, she couldn’t be in a relationship with the professor she worked directly under. If she wanted to date any other professor she’d have to file paperwork with the department, but if she dated Royce she’d have to stop working with him.

Even knowing how off-limits he was, she clung to her fantasies. Despite the fact that they were both adults—she was twenty-eight and he was thirty-three—there was a professional code of conduct that professors and grad students had to maintain. In just five months she’d be done with her program and have her own doctorate. Then they’d be equals, at least in their profession.

Kenzie had worked with him for an entire year, often late into the night, and she had gotten to know a lot about the infamous Dr. Royce Devereaux. As an undergrad she had been spellbound by the sexy professor who rode a million-dollar one of a kind Harley Davidson Cosmic Starship motorcycle and looked like an Armani model. Now she was working alongside him and was even more fascinated by him.

Maybe it was totally normal to fantasize about a man she spent most of her time with. Maybe she was just bored. Her sex life thus far had been average at best. The only time she ever got hot and bothered was when she thought of Dr. Devereaux. Sometimes just thinking about Dr. Sexy got a little too real for Kenzie, and she had to force herself to take a step back.

“God, if I don’t leave now I’m never going to get home.” She knew she shouldn’t be talking to herself, but she often did when she worked late on her own. Sometimes the campus creeped her out late at night.

She exited the program on her computer and had just shut it down when she heard a distant crash, like the shattering of glass. Kenzie froze, her ears straining to pick up any sound.

There was an eerie silence before a hiss of low whispers rippled up from the hall toward Dr. Devereaux’s office. A janitor wouldn’t be whispering or talking to anyone, right? Kenzie tried to ease out of the desk chair, but it creaked and she winced at the loud sound. The lamp on the corner of her desk was still on, calling out like a beacon to whoever was down the hall.

Shit.

Footsteps echoed against the stone floor outside, and Kenzie had no choice but to hide and pray they weren’t interested in breaking into this office. She pushed her chair back and ducked under her desk, hiding in the space beneath. An instant later she heard voices directly outside.

“It’s locked,” a voice growled. “I thought you said you saw someone in here.”

“Of course it’s locked, you moron. Just break the glass, Monte.”

“We’re supposed to be using code names. So shut the fuck up, Gary,” the second man snapped.

“Oh for fuck’s sake, just do it!”

Oh shit…oh shit…

She held her breath, but her heart was beating like a drum.

The office window shattered. The frosted glass scattered across the floor, stopping right at the edge of the desk she hid under. Kenzie stared at the pieces, inches from her hands, fragments of Royce’s name scattered in wild disarray. She closed her eyes, panting as her heart raced.

There were more muffled curses, the click of a deadbolt unlocking, and then a creak as the office door opened.

“He’s in here. I know he is. I saw the light from outside,” Gary said.

“I don’t see anyone,” Monte muttered.

Black boots appeared by the edge of her desk. Kenzie swallowed the sudden lump in her throat and tried to hold her breath.

“Light’s still on.” The man leaned over her desk. “Computer’s warm too.”

Kenzie couldn’t think. Every instinct told her to run, but she couldn’t.

Maybe they’ll leave if I’m quiet.

One man jumped down to the other side of her desk and crouched, like a cat leaping in front of its prey. She jumped up, hitting her head on the underside of the desk. His face held an evil grin.

“Well, well, who do we have here?” He snagged her by the arm, dragging her out into the open.

“Let go of me!” She balled a fist and smacked the man in the jaw.

“You little bitch!” he bellowed, and backhanded her across the face. She crumpled against her desk, clutching her face. The man still held her by the arm, his grip now bruising.

“Who the fuck is that?” Gary demanded.

Monte shook Kenzie roughly by the arm. “How the fuck should I know?”

Gary stepping closer to her. “Who are you, and where is Devereaux?”

They’re looking for Royce, here, in the middle the night? What the hell had her professor gotten himself into?

“I’m his TA. I don’t know where he is. I swear.”

Monte’s eyes swept up and down her body. The predatory gaze made her skin crawl.

“If you lie to us, we’ll cut you into little pieces and throw you into the sea, you got me? After we’ve had some fun, of course.” He laughed, and his friend sneered.

Kenzie tried to think fast. What was someone supposed to do in a hostage situation? Negotiate? Comply? Resist? Right now she felt like throwing up and crying—but that wasn’t going to save her life.

“Please, I don’t know where he is. Just let me go. I won’t tell anyone you’re here.”

“Where’s your phone?” Gary demanded.

She didn’t answer, but she couldn’t stop her gaze from darting to the brown leather purse on the couch by the door. Monte jerked his head, and Gary picked up her purse and emptied the contents onto the floor. When he saw her phone, he picked it up and turned it on.

“What’s his number?” Gary asked.

Kenzie stared at him, lips pursed in silence as she held her breath. He scrolled through her contacts until he found Royce’s number. Then he pulled out a gun and pointed it at Kenzie’s head. She stared down the barrel, fixated on the tiny black hole that could end her life in an instant.

“Tell him you need him to meet you here,” said Gary. “Make up some excuse. If he doesn’t come, we’ll shoot you and find him another way.”

“And if he comes?” she whispered.

“Then we get him to help us. We have no intention of hurting him. Once we have him, we’ll be on our way.”

“Help you with what?” She couldn’t imagine Royce would have any connection to men like this. He was rich and had the world was at his fingertips. The only thing he indulged in was that club. Thugs like these weren’t a part of the Gilded Cuff crowd, though. So who were they?

“Devereaux has expertise in an area of our boss’s latest business venture,” Gary explained.

Smugglers? It was the only thing that came to mind. Kenzie swallowed hard. Why would smugglers want Royce? It also occurred to her that when bad guys told someone their plans, they didn’t typically leave that person alive to talk about it.

Monte was still gripping her arm when his phone rang. He glanced between her and Gary as he answered. “Yeah? Stay downstairs by the van. We have a plan to bring him to us. Keep an eye out and call if you see him.” Then he hung up.

Kenzie focused on the details, trying to calm down. Three men. Monte, Gary, and an unknown third. Gary was short, muscled, and bald, with cold black eyes. Monte was tall and lean with hard lips and icy blue eyes. She tried to memorize their faces and their voices so that she could identify them later.

Assuming they didn’t kill her.

Gary hit the dial on her phone and the speaker button. Then they all waited, listening to it ring. The room was so silent that she swore everyone could hear her pounding heart.

Finally the voicemail cut in.

“This is Royce. Leave a message.”

Gary nodded at her.

Kenzie licked her lips. “Hey, Dr. Devereaux. It’s Kenzie. I’m at the office. I know it’s late, but you need to come here right away. It’s really important and can’t wait till tomorrow.”

When she was finished, Gary ended the call and lowered his gun.

“Fuck. He might not check his phone. We should have our guy in the PD put a BOLO on his car.” He turned back to her. “Seems like we might not need you after all.” He set the gun down and looked at Monte, who suddenly grinned. A wave of terror rolled through Kenzie, and she tried to think fast.

“H-he could be in the teachers’ lounge. They have a couch he sleeps on when he works late. It’s just down the hall. I’m sorry I didn’t think of it earlier.”

Monte narrowed his eyes. “Why didn’t you say that before?”

“Because you have a gun on me and I’m fucking scared.”

A cold draft seeped in from the cracked window between her desk and Royce’s. Although it was shut for the winter, there was always a sliver of a chill that got in. It gave her a wild and completely insane idea. If she could get Monte and Gary to leave her alone for one second, she could climb out that window. There was a drainpipe she could shinny down, and it was just one story. If she fell it might not hurt that bad, and her car was only fifty feet away in the student lot. If she could escape, she might not die tonight.

“Gary, go check it out.”

“It’s the fifth door on the left. He might have locked himself inside.” If he broke the window, she’d hear it and know he was busy checking the lounge. That would leave her alone with Monte, giving her one quick chance to try to escape.

Monte’s fingers loosened on her arm as he leaned back against the desk. There was a phone there, an old nineties-style one that was big and hefty. She could use it to knock him out, at least long enough to get to the window.

She reached her free hand for the phone while Monte watched the door. The moment she heard the glass shatter down the hall, she snatched the phone from the desk and swung it, haymaker style, right at Monte’s head. He started to turn around, but it was too late. The phone smacked into his temple with a loud crack.

He released her arm, and she grabbed her phone and keys from the floor, shoving them into her pockets. Then she ran for the window. It groaned as she forced it halfway up.

Monte clutched his head as he staggered toward her. “You fucking piece of shit!”

Fuck, fuck, fuck! She kicked out the still open window. The glass shattered and the windowsill fell down, but it left a space big enough for her to get through. She scrambled through the window, but just as her hands closed around the drainpipe, Monte grabbed her feet and began to tug her back inside.

“No!” She screamed and kicked wildly, every instinct sending her into flight mode. Her boots connected with something that crunched, and Monte howled in pain. Her grip on the drainpipe slackened. Cold metal scraped her palms as she slipped and fell fifteen feet to the ground. The bushes crunched as she landed on them, and their branches jabbed her as her breath rushed out of her lungs.

It took every ounce of willpower for her to get up and run. Everything hurt, and she was shaking bad enough that she could barely walk, let alone run. One of her knees stung, and she felt something warm run down her leg. Blood.

Kenzie raced for her gray Mazda in the student lot around the corner. She scrambled to dig her keys out of her pocket as she reached the car. She expected Monte or Gary to stop her at any moment, but less than a minute later she was speeding out of the lot. Glancing in the rearview mirror, she sagged in relief at the empty road behind her. No one was following her.

Her hand reached for her cell phone to call the police. It took her two tries before she got 911 dialed.

“Nine-one-one, what is your emergency?” a cool feminine voice asked.

“My name is Kenzie Martin and…” She froze, remembering what one of the men had said about their man in the local police department. “There’s been a disturbance at the university. Someone broke into the campus offices.”

She hung up the phone, cursing. Then she called Royce again. This time he answered, and his gruff voice made her want to cry with relief.

“Kenzie, you know my policy on Saturdays. This had better be an emergency.”

“It is,” she gasped, her eyes blurring with tears. “Please, I’m so scared, I—”

Royce’s tone changed completely. “What’s wrong? Tell me what happened and where you are.”

“I’m driving. Where are you?”

“Kenzie, pull over to the side of the road and take a deep breath.”

“I can’t,” she gasped. “Some men broke into your office, Royce. I barely got away. I can’t stop.”

There was a heartbeat of silence, and then Royce was back in control.

“Follow these directions exactly, do you understand me? It’s a safe location. You’re going to drive to the Gilded Cuff. It’s a nightclub in an old warehouse. Ask for me at the front desk.”

Kenzie took note of the directions as she drove, and when she felt she could handle it, she hung up. Her hands were shaking, but she gripped the steering wheel tight, refusing to let herself panic more than she already was. She was going to Royce and to a safe place. It was going to be okay. Soon her breathing calmed and she was able to think a little more clearly.

She kept the car lights off as she drove, only turning them back on when she reached the turn in the road Royce had directed her to. She knew the cops weren’t likely to be out on this particular road. She’d never thought she’d be afraid of cops, but if one of them was involved with Gary and Monte, who could she actually trust?

The nightclub was hidden just off a little road, and the club itself occupied a huge old warehouse. He had described exactly how to get there over the phone.

No doubt he’ll be pissed for ruining his Saturday night.

But she didn’t care. She’d had a gun shoved in her face, and two men had threatened to kill her. Because of him. Kenzie knew at some point she was going to come to a grinding halt and the shock of what she’d survived was going to set in. But she had to fight that off for now and focus on the next step, then the next, and however many more it took to feel somewhat safe again. She almost missed the sign for the road that led to the nightclub. She parked right in front, not caring that the sign in the spot she’d taken said “Reserved.”

Her body stung and ached as she walked to the door of the club. The rain drenched her clothes, making her shiver. The club’s front door was made of heavy oak, and she used the last bit of her strength to pull it open. Her breathing echoed harshly off the craggy stone walls and floors of the lobby. For a second Kenzie simply stood there, listening the sound of her own breath bouncing back at her from every angle.

You got this far—you can keep going. She wasn’t a fan of nightclubs in general, but she wasn’t going to let a strange new setting scare her, not after everything she’d been through tonight. If anything, she’d feel safer in a crowd.

A fancy antique desk was toward the back of the lobby, close to another door. The woman behind the desk was studying the screen of a sleek computer monitor. She wore a pencil skirt and fitted jacket, and her hair was pulled up in a fashionable chignon, like some kind of sexy librarian. A man in a black suit stood behind her, and his grim expression showed a brief flicker of surprise at Kenzie’s disheveled state.

“Mistress Aria.” The sound was a low murmur, but Kenzie heard it due to the acoustics in the room.

The woman at the desk looked up at Kenzie, now standing in front of the expensive antique desk.

“Excuse me, could you tell Royce Devereaux someone is here to see him?” she asked, shivering.

“I received no instructions that he was expecting any guests, which means you are not permitted inside to see him.” Aria glanced at the man behind her before meeting Kenzie’s gaze. There was some sense of controlled power about the woman.

Mistress Aria. Why had the man called her “Mistress”? That was such an old-world sounding word that didn’t fit with a nightclub. Aria reminded her of Royce, with that cool, bossy attitude. She’d never admit to anyone that it turned her on a little when he got that way.

Sometimes he’d tease her, saying little things that set fire to her body, like “Little Mac, you better get that lecture ready or I’ll remind you who’s in charge.” He’d smile at her like he was thinking something particularly wicked and wonderful. Yet he’d never said anything bad enough to get either of them in trouble. He knew how to walk the line between acceptable and not. And God, she wanted so badly for him to just cross that line and do what his eyes seemed to promise.

“I know all the members of the club, which means I know that you are not one. I cannot give away any information regarding our members to nonmembers, and I will not allow you to enter the club to speak to them. We are also not open to new memberships at this time, so please don’t pretend to ask for a tour.”

Kenzie shook her head. “I don’t care about that. I need to speak with Royce Devereaux. It’s an emergency. I’m his teaching assistant at the college. He said I should come here. Just go ask him. Please.”

She paused, remembering how the man behind the desk had addressed this woman. Maybe it would curry more favor if she did the same. “Mistress Aria.” She lowered her head, doing her best to look pitiful, which wasn’t hard considering how much pain she was in and how scared she was. If Aria didn’t let her speak to Royce, she was going to call him again.

The woman was silent for a moment. Kenzie didn’t dare look up to see if her behavior was having any effect.

“Very well. What is your name, little one?” Aria asked.

“MacKenzie Martin.”

Aria arose with a nod to the man behind her. “Stay here with her, Bruce.” She walked over to the door at the back and disappeared behind it.

“Please, take a seat, Ms. Martin.” Bruce escorted Kenzie over to a bench against the wall. She sat down and curled her arms around her chest, shaking from the cold. Water dripped from her hair onto the bench and pooled at her feet. Her heart was still pounding heavily. The door opened, and she lifted her eyes.

When she saw Royce Devereaux, her heart stopped. He wore jeans and a black T-shirt that hugged his torso tight enough to fill her stomach with butterflies.

“Dr. Devereaux?”

He strode over and knelt down on one knee, cupping her cheek, turning her face to his. “Kenzie, what happened?”

She suddenly realized how she must look right now, and she closed her eyes, blinking as tears flowed down her face. Royce brushed a tear away with the pad of his thumb.

She felt safe now that she was close to him. He had that effect on her. Royce projected strength, and he had a way of making her feel that he would stand between her and the world if she needed him to.

“Can I speak with you privately?” she whispered. Bruce and Aria were still there, watching them.

Royce’s eyes narrowed. “Okay, sure. There’s a room in the club where we can have some privacy. But I have to warn you, this isn’t just a regular nightclub. The Gilded Cuff is…well, it’s a BDSM club. Just stay close to me. You might feel a bit startled by what you see. No one will harm you.”

He held out a hand, and she didn’t hesitate in grasping it. She needed him to touch her, to ground her so she didn’t feel like she was going to fall apart. It was the only way she could stop shaking.

But a BDSM club? Was he serious? She knew what the letters stood for: bondage, discipline, sadism, and masochism. But she’d never thought she’d get to see a real-life club where people participated in an alternative lifestyle. She was going to have to trust him to keep her safe. She followed Royce toward the door leading to the club’s interior, hugging his side.

She drew in a deep breath as she stepped into the Gilded Cuff and saw Royce’s private world for the first time.

CHAPTER TWO

The scents and sounds of sex surrounded Kenzie like a dark erotic haze. She clenched Royce’s hand tightly as they wove through the maze of brocaded couches and past the imposing yet elegant drink bar. Kenzie stumbled as she noticed a woman clad only in expensive-looking lingerie who lay stretched lengthwise down the bar on her back. The bartender placed a row of shot glasses on the woman’s torso, then retrieved a bottle of whiskey from the back of the bar and began to pour into the glasses. Men in expensive suits watched the alcohol drip over the tops of the glasses and trickle down the woman’s skin.

Oh God… Kenzie pictured herself as that woman, every man’s gaze on her bare body as she lay there exposed, whiskey dripping down her body. Would one of the men lick it off? Taste the alcohol on her skin and lose himself in her body? A shiver rolled through Kenzie, but it wasn’t one of disgust. It intrigued her in ways she didn’t have words to express. She wanted to experience that. Wanted it so bad it hurt.

The overwhelming decadence and carnality of the room was intense. Whispered sighs and the slap of leather on flesh were punctuated by the occasional gasp and shout of pain and pleasure blurring together. Men and women were bent over leather benches while Doms stood behind them, wielding paddles. A man was strapped to a Saint Andrew’s cross, while a female dominant stroked the strands of a flogger along the corded muscles of one of his biceps. Submissives sat beside couches, leather collars tied with silver chains around their throats, keeping them close to their masters. It was everything Kenzie had read about in her romance novels, an erotic playground that was too decadent to be real. Yet here it was.

So this was Royce’s dark paradise. She never would have imagined he’d be into something like this, but now that she was here, seeing it for herself, she could picture him here every Saturday night.

Women in sexy lingerie walked with smooth confidence throughout the room. They were nothing like her. She’d never felt so out of place in her life, and that scared the shit of out her. Her heartbeat pounded up against her eardrums. As freaked out as she was by everything she was seeing—the whips, the chains, the sexual indulgence—one thing at the back of her mind scared her more than anything: this place was turning her on.

Her body hummed at being in a place where her own fantasies could come true. She thought of the small leather cuffs she’d hidden in a box beneath her bed and what Royce might do with her if she gave them to him.

The one time she’d asked her last boyfriend to use them, he’d flipped out and dumped her the next day via text message. She’d felt like a freak, and he’d call her a girl whose “weird needs” he couldn’t satisfy. The words had burned. She had gone into a funk and hadn’t dated anyone since.

That had been four months ago. Since then, she’d buried herself in her work and shoved the leather cuffs deeper into the recesses of her bed, trying to forget they were there. She wished she could embrace this dark world tonight, lose herself in this land of sexual fantasy, but she couldn’t. She had to talk to Royce.

He led her into a hallway with a series of heavy wood doors that each had a silver letter to identify them. She had only a few moments to appreciate the beautiful hallway with its gilt sconces and elegant artwork between the doors before Royce pulled her into the first door on the left. She halted when she saw massive black wood bed in the center. The fantasies she’d been indulging in seconds ago ground to a halt as she the reality of this moment hit her.

She’d followed her professor into a sex club and was now alone with him in a secluded room with a bed. He was staring at her, that all too sexy man, with his jeans just tight enough and a shirt that looked like it had been painted onto his body. Concern darkened his brown eyes. In that moment, all she wanted was him, and that was dangerous.

“What—” She swallowed hard. She hadn’t come here to break her vow of staying away from him. No, she couldn’t. They couldn’t.

“Relax, Kenzie, it’s just a bed. We needed some privacy, and the rooms here are as private as they get. Sit down and tell me what happened.”

His hands touched her shoulders, gently easing her toward the bed. She collapsed onto the black velvet coverlet and saw him go to a dresser. She stared at Royce’s nice tight ass in his jeans as he opened the top drawer. She sighed. What she wouldn’t give in that moment to be just a girl and not his TA. They could have been on this bed together, exploring every desire she’d kept bottled up inside for years. Trying to distract herself, she focused on the room and not him.

So this is a sex room. She looked around at the walls. There were metal rings and hooks, half hidden by the expensive decor. Like a medieval torture chamber designed by Hugo Boss. Kenzie was fascinated, not afraid.

When Royce turned around, he had a small first-aid kit in his hands. He sat on the bed beside her and dug through the kit for antiseptic pads and Band-Aids. He tore open a package and lifted her injured leg on the bed. Blood oozed from a cut on her knee where her jeans had been torn during the fall from the office window.

“This may sting,” he warned.

The cloth did sting as he wiped away the blood and dirt. Kenzie bit her lip, holding the hiss of pain inside. The last thing she wanted was for him to see how much pain she was in. He applied a Band-Aid to her cut, then cupped her chin and tilted her head back so she had to look up into his warm brown eyes.

How could a man who had such a dark side be so…compassionate? But then, wasn’t that how true Doms were? In the romance novels she’d read, they were strong, sexy as hell. Men who fucked a woman until she couldn’t walk. But then they also cared for her as if she were the most precious thing on earth.

Kenzie wanted that, wanted it so damn much. And he can’t give it to me, even if I wanted him to. She’d worked too hard to let one mind-blowing night of sex cost her everything. It could put her doctoral candidacy at risk. All the work she’d done with Royce would be tainted by an inappropriate relationship, and the committee in the paleontology department could refuse to grant her PhD. Ten years’ worth of work would go up in smoke. It wasn’t as though she could start over. An inappropriate relationship with her mentoring professor would follow her to any other university. It was a career ender. It could also create chauvinistic and sexist expectations from men she might work with in future jobs.

“Tell me what happened.” His tone was soft, but there was a strength of command in it that she couldn’t ignore.

She swallowed and nodded. “I was in your office, uploading the exam scores to your database.” She licked her lips, wincing at the sting of a cut she hadn’t realized was there. “Two men broke into your office while I was there.”

Shadows flashed across his eyes, and a strange intensity masked his features, shocking her. She was used to the calm and cool professor, the demeanor he carried through the working day, interacting with her and the students. She had even glimpsed that playboy charmer side of his—when he picked up calls from various women as she worked, unseen, next to him. But this? This was something altogether new and a little scary. He looked as though he would burn the world to ash in vengeance, and more importantly, that he had the power to do it.

“And?”

“They were looking for you, Dr. Devereaux. They grabbed me before I could get away. One hit me a few times.” She reached up to touch the aching spot on her cheek and winced. That was going to leave a nasty bruise.

Royce continued to watch her, so she went on. “I tricked one into looking for you in the teachers’ lounge. When the second guy wasn’t looking, I climbed out the window behind your desk.”

“What? That’s a second-story window.”

Remembering that fall made her cringe all over. “Yeah. One hell of a drop. It’s how I got so banged up. I’m just glad I had my car keys in my jeans and not my purse. I drove straight here.”

“Why didn’t you go to the police? Or go home?”

A flush of heat infused her cheeks. “I thought they might have checked my wallet. It has my driver’s license in there, with my apartment address on it.”

A frown marred his beautiful face. “You should’ve gone to the police.” He disposed of the cleansing wipes and Band-Aid wrappings. She bit her lip to keep from snapping at him.

“They said something about having an inside connection in the police department. I didn’t want them finding me. And they seemed to want to talk to you about illegal trafficking. I didn’t want to get you into the middle of something…” She let the words die as he faced her.

He leaned back against the dresser, his palms curved over the edge of the wood by his hips. His shirt hugged his abs, hinting at the six-pack beneath. It was a good thing he only dressed like that on Fridays and weekends. Most days he rocked a three-piece suit, which was sexy in a completely different way. More than once she’d imagined going into his office and asking to be bent over his desk for a spanking. It didn’t matter what he wore in her fantasies, but somehow the T-shirt and jeans made him feel more real, like she could really lose control and beg him to take her.

Man, I have some serious issues.

“Illegal trafficking?” he mused. “I have no idea what they’re talking about.”

“Dr. Devereaux, I’m afraid to go back to my apartment.”

His gaze softened, and he smiled reassuringly. “Don’t worry. I’ll take you somewhere safe tonight.”

Kenzie lowered her bandaged leg over the side of the bed, wondering if he was referring to a safehouse or something. “Where?”

“My home.”

She opened her mouth to protest, but that fierce look was in his eyes again, the one that made her all fluttery and a little scared at the same time. It was a commanding look, but it didn’t frighten her.

“Until I figure out what’s going on, I want you near me. You’ll have to trust me when I say that I’ve been in situations like this before. Allow me to protect you. Understood?”

What could she say besides yes? Guns, trafficking, and bad guys were way out of her depth. She nodded at him.

“Good. Now, let’s get you out of here. The quicker we figure this out, the better.” He held out his hand again. Part of Kenzie felt she should keep her distance, but she wasn’t sure she could walk through a sex club without holding on to him. It would be like Alice tumbling through the rabbit hole.

They left the bedroom and walked back through the club. The woman on the bar was still lying there, but her lingerie was gone and a man now had a hand between her thighs as he drank directly from a bottle of scotch. His fingers were playing with the woman, inserting slowly, withdrawing, toying with her, and she moaned on the counter until he set the bottle down and gave her thigh a little smack. She gasped and attempted to hold still as he resumed his teasing touches.

“Jesus.” Kenzie clenched her fingers around Royce’s hand as they walked by. Royce slowed and glanced down at her, then at the woman on the counter. He didn’t say a word—then again, he didn’t have to. She knew her face had to be fire-truck red, and she kept licking her lips. She was intrigued and a little aroused. She couldn’t stop looking. And the devilish grin growing on Royce’s lips told her he knew exactly what she was thinking and feeling.

“Can we go?” she begged him in a whisper.

He chuckled as they reached the door. “Kenzie, you are a delight. Just when I think I have you figured out, you manage to surprise me.”

A delight? What the hell did that mean?

They left the club. Royce nodded at Mistress Aria and the serious-looking bouncer beside her before they walked out to the parking lot.

“My car,” she said as they passed by the Mazda.

“Leave it. I’ll send someone to collect it. Tonight we’re taking mine.” He nodded to the red-and-black Lamborghini Aventador parked in a reserved spot. Royce opened her door, and it lifted up rather than out. Wow. He’d never driven this to campus before. He noticed her eyeing him and then the car before he shut her door. The man looked far too smug at her open appreciation.

Royce walked around and got into his seat to start the car. The engine had a throaty purr, like a big jungle cat.

“Where’s your motorcycle?” she asked as she buckled herself in.

Royce chuckled. “Sometimes I don’t go home alone, and the women here are dressed for straddling me, not a motorcycle.”

The thought of straddling him made her insides quiver. Stop it. Don’t think about him or sex. She’d managed to be his TA for a whole year—she would not blow it now by letting herself get carried away. She changed her focus to something much safer.

“So what’s the plan?” she asked.

Royce didn’t speak for a long moment as he drove them down the winding New York’s Gold Coast roads back to Devereaux House. She’d never been there, but she’d seen pictures on the internet. The Gold Coast was famous for sweeping American castles and 1920s era oil baron mansions. Royce’s home was part of that historical legacy. The sweeping lawn, the lavish gardens, the white ashlar stone a sunny beacon amid the green foliage on summer days. Of course it would be different by night, but she felt safe now that she was with Royce. She smiled as she let the anticipation build inside of her. Would it look more like an antebellum-era ghost in a pale white gown drifting from the dark woods?

“We’ll go to my office tomorrow morning and check things out, but I don’t want you going home. Not until we learn more. I know a guy who has some connections with the police. He can do some digging to see what’s going on there. I also want to make a few calls to some friends and colleagues.”

Kenzie angled herself in the passenger seat to look at him. “Oh?”

“Yeah. There’s only one kind of trafficking anyone could try to connect to me.”

“What kind?” She held her breath, but she couldn’t stop her heart from pounding wildly.

“Fossil smuggling.”

The answer caught her off guard. “Fossil smuggling?” She knew about it, of course, but she’d never really given it much thought since it didn’t relate to her work directly.

“It’s a bad business. Easy to get into, and it pays well for those involved. Big finds go for hundreds of thousands in legitimate auction houses. Some steal fossils from museums and sell them on the black market. Sadly, it happens quite often, and the public never knows. Museums rarely ever publicly acknowledge the thefts. I’ve consulted for the New York Natural History Museum in the past to assure them that their collections are indeed legitimate and not replicas. Occasionally during that process I find out a fossil isn’t from where the paperwork says it’s from. Fossil smugglers lie about the country of origin if that country doesn’t allow fossils to be sold.” He turned the car down a narrow gravel road. Two white stone pillars marked an entrance to an estate. Iron Ds in cursive script were carved in the stone.

“Wow.” Kenzie had never really focused on the dark side of her chosen field. She’d focused on the joy of discovery and the research of the animals’ lives, not how much you could sell it for at an auction block.

Rain was coming down hard on the front windshield, making it hard to see as Royce pulled the car into a circular drive in front of a large house.

“You’re shaking like a leaf,” Royce said.

Kenzie’s body was shaking, but she pushed aside her discomfort. There was too much at stake right now. He exited the car and came around to open her door. She had never wanted a guy to open a door for her before, but there was something sweet about the gesture. She couldn’t help but wonder if that was part of Royce’s charm. He was the guy who’d open your door, hold an umbrella over your head, protect you, but once you were in his bed, he would be wild, uncompromising, and rough during sex. Like a god delivering pleasure to his devoted worshipers. A man like that could own the world, could own her.

She got out of the car walked up to the house, blinking away the rain that still fell. The house was lovely, the stones almost pearly white in the dim light. It was built in the style of one of the chateau mansions in Newport, with a mansard roof and eaves with decorated brackets below. Simple, elegant, and old-world. Her father had a thing for architecture and was always talking about the East Coast mansions.

Royce started up the steps and unlocked the front door. “My butler, Mr. Lansdown, will be asleep. I’ll get you a room and something to wear to bed. You hungry?”

Kenzie shook her head. After the scare she’d been through, she wouldn’t be hungry for a long time.

She brushed her feet on the entry mat and then gasped when she looked up. Ahead of her was a massive staircase of walnut wood. The wall cloth bordering the stairs resembled a tapestry made to look like a forest. The ends of the banister were lit with bronze lamps nestled into the wood. The soft gold glow make Kenzie feel like she was passing between worlds, leaving reality behind as she entered a wooden glen lit by midsummer fairy lights. Dark-green carpets rippled up the stairs, adding to the effect of a forest floor. She took in the entryway and staircase, her breath caught by its beauty.

A gentle hand touched her shoulder. She turned to see Royce standing there, watching her. Raindrops clung to the tips of his dark hair, glistening like diamonds before they dripped onto his shirt. He looked so…

Irresistible, like a god of storms who’d taken mortal form to seduce an unsuspecting maiden.

For the hundredth time Kenzie cursed her libido and how she longed for things, for a man, she could never have.

“Let me make you some hot cocoa at least,” he offered.

If there were two things that tempted her most in the world it was hot cocoa and a hot man. Put them together and…

I’m so screwed.

Royce took her to the kitchen. It could have produced enough food for a hundred people, but it had been redesigned for more modern-day uses, including an open-concept eating area. A small table was tucked in a cozy nook next to a large walk-in pantry. Kenzie sat down in one of the chairs and watched Royce as he turned the stove on. The blue gas flames lit up, and he placed a pan on the stove. He retrieved milk, sugar, and a tin of cocoa.

Homemade cocoa? This man really was the devil.

He opened the fridge again, giving her a chance to study his profile in its sharp light. His features seemed to be cut from marble. His patrician nose and full, kissable lips were a siren’s call to her. Every part of him she could see was well defined, and Kenzie tried not to fantasize about nibbling him in more than one place. He had a body made for love bites. With a slight frown, he closed the door and turned back to her.

“I hoped I had a steak or cold pack for your cheek. Some ice will have to do.” He put some cubes in a bag and wrapped a tea towel around it while the milk heated. He placed the makeshift ice pack against her cheek. Their hands met when she tried to hold the bag. For a long moment he didn’t move his hand away. The connection made her skin burn deliciously.

“I’m so sorry, Little Mac. You must have gone through hell tonight.” He let go of the pack, but he didn’t move away. Instead, he brushed a wet lock of her hair behind her ear. His fingertip lingered against her skin as she shivered, but it wasn’t from the cold.

Little Mac. Mac for MacKenzie. The affectionate nickname he used when they were working in his office that drove her insane and made her feel special at the same time.

He cleared his throat and stepped back. “I better check on the cocoa,” he muttered, and resumed his preparations.

When it was ready, he offered her a mug, which she gratefully accepted.

“I can’t believe you made homemade cocoa.” She let the heat from the mug seep into her fingers before she took a sip. Taste exploded on her tongue, and a hint of nutmeg gave it an extra kick.

“My father taught me two things: to seduce a woman you need to know how to dance and how to make homemade cocoa.” As he spoke, his smile was bittersweet.

Kenzie held her breath as she hurt with him. Everyone knew the story. The Devereauxs had died in a plane crash. Royce had been nineteen and an only child. She couldn’t imagine how lonely he had to have felt in this house with no one but him and the servants to keep him company.

She smiled, hoping he’d smile back. “Your dad sounds like a smart man.” She was rewarded with a slow grin.

“He was. Best man I’ve ever known. He was an architect. He wanted to make things. Create dreams, he used to say.” Royce sipped from his mug, a thoughtful expression on his face. A lock of damp hair fell across his eyes, and Kenzie fought off the urge to stand and brush it away for him.

“My dad is big into architecture too, as a hobby. And your mom?”

“She was a doctor. They didn’t need the money, but she loved helping people.” His head dropped a little, lost in thought. She’d never known a deep loss like that. She was lucky. Her parents were a dentist and a paralegal, both still alive. Nothing world-changing had ever happened to Kenzie or her family, but they also had never suffered a loss. She was fortunate. Yet she had a feeling she’d never truly lived either.

Royce suddenly straightened and pulled a cell phone out of his pocket.

“I need to make a call. Be right back.” He slipped out of the kitchen, leaving Kenzie alone. She stood at the closed door, wishing she knew what to do next. She shouldn’t stay here at his house, but she didn’t want to go home either.

Please let no one find out about this. It could ruin his career and kill hers before it even had a chance to start.

That was assuming those men who’d hurt her didn’t get to them first.

CHAPTER THREE

Royce slipped into the hall and leaned against the banister by the stairs as he struggled to get control. Tonight was going to be a huge test of his strength. Letting his sweet, innocent and incredibly smart teaching assistant sleep under his roof was going to damn near kill him, because he wanted her.

There were reasons he preferred visiting the Gilded Cuff. The safety and security of a place where everyone understood the rules, and everyone was a temporary player. MacKenzie Martin was not that type of girl. She was the kind a man fell in love with and married, and he wasn’t the marrying kind.

Having her under his roof was like waving an expensive glass of scotch in front of an alcoholic. Just the scent of her, the feel of her hair beneath his fingers, and seeing those wide brown eyes begging for his help… She was a temptation he would do almost anything to possess.

He hadn’t hired her based on her looks, even though she was sexy as hell. He’d chosen to hire her after a stellar phone interview followed by an in-person follow-up. But the moment she’d walked into his office two years ago as a twenty-six-year-old graduate student wearing nothing but jeans, a Hendrix concert T-shirt, and black Converse shoes, he had taken one look at her and known she was going to be trouble. She had that girl-next-door sweetness and vulnerability but also a touch of sass that drew him in and made him a little crazy with lust. Yet there was so much more to her than just the physical temptation.

She was funny and so smart he sometimes wondered how he’d gotten lucky that she’d wanted to work for him. When she looked at fossils, it was like she could see the past, see the ancient creatures roaming a very different landscape than the one where the bones had been found. Kenzie had a gift for reading the dirt, reading the fossils and the rocks in a way he’d never seen before. And when she talked to him about their work, her eyes lit up and her face was so full of animation, and he was fascinated. He wanted to watch her and listen to her for hours. And that was when he’d realized he wanted more than just her body. He wanted her—all of her.

He hadn’t known he’d want a woman like that, but he did. Fuck, he really did. So he’d hired her on the spot. That meant he had to ignore every instinct in him to cross the professional lines that kept him on his best behavior.

It was the curse of every good dominant involved in the BDSM lifestyle; they were drawn to protect those who needed it. Kenzie was strong as hell—most submissives were—but when it came to responding to commands, they were delightfully obedient in the bedroom. He sensed Kenzie was a natural sub. Smart, feisty, and naturally equal to him, she likely had no idea that she needed a bit of kink in her bed, kink he wanted to provide over and over again until she was exhausted or overwhelmed with ecstasy.

Her reactions tonight at the club had suggested that she was a submissive in nature. The woman stretched out on the bar being handled by Jaxon, the club owner, seemed to have aroused Kenzie. Her cheeks had flushed, and she’d been unable to look away. More than just idle curiosity there. It would be such a treat to show Kenzie how fun his world could be. He was tempted to lean down and whisper in her ear, “Come over to the dark side. We have cookies and hot sex.”

But dating students was off-limits, and for good reason. A BDSM relationship involved a power exchange, and someone who wasn’t familiar with the lifestyle would mistake his domination as an abuse of his power as a professor and not see his being a Dom for what it was.

If he wanted to date Kenzie, she’d have to leave her position as his TA and then sign a ton of relationship forms with the paleontology department and the school. If he didn’t, his reputation would be ruined. It would be a fucking nightmare. He knew he shouldn’t be thinking about that right now. He and Kenzie had bigger problems, like the men who’d hurt her tonight trying to get to him.

Guilt dug into him. He should have been there working with her on the grades tonight, not enjoying himself at the Cuff. He had no way of knowing those bastards would show up, but still, he should have been there.

I just have to figure out what these men want, then I can keep Kenzie safe. He lifted his phone up and called someone he knew who could help. It rang only twice before someone answered.

“Brummer here,” a deep voice said.

“Hans, buddy…I need some help.” Royce grinned as he heard a dramatic sigh on the other end of the line.

Hans Brummer was a professional bodyguard. He had been employed by the family of Royce’s closest friends, Emery and Fenn Lockwood, since they were eight years old. Hans had been Emery’s protective shadow ever since Emery had recovered from being kidnapped as a child, along with his twin brother.

The danger to Emery was over, and his long-lost brother was home again. Now Hans was bored. For the last couple of months, Royce had taken to hiring Hans to teach them things like lockpicking, safecracking, and tactical firearms. He’d always been a fine shot at a target range, but he’d never had to shoot like his life depended upon it. Now he was glad he had improved his marksmanship.

“What did you have in mind?” Hans asked.

“Can you come over to my place tonight? My TA was attacked while working late at my office. She said they were looking for me. They roughed her up pretty bad, but she got away. I need someone I can trust to help me protect her and get to the bottom of this.”

Hans chuckled. “Sounds like you need someone to watch your ass as well, Devereaux.”

“Probably. You up for it?”

Hans sighed. “This is serious shit, isn’t it?”

“Could be. They shoved a gun in Kenzie’s face. Hit her too. She jumped from a second-story window to escape the bastards. I want to find them and make them pay.” He couldn’t keep the growl out of his voice as his anger built up like a storm.

“No cops?”

“Kenzie said they might be compromised. Best to keep them at arm’s length.”

“Understood,” Hans said. “I’ll be over in ten minutes. I’ll bring my gear and some other fun toys. Make sure you turn on your security system. If they know where your offices are, they know where you live.”

Royce wanted to hit himself. He’d been so focused on Kenzie that he’d forgotten the first rule Hans had taught him. Make your home a safe place. He usually didn’t worry about security. He’d never had a reason to, until tonight.

He pocketed the phone and went over to the small gray panel by the front door, activating the window and door sensors. Then he returned to the kitchen. Kenzie was perched on a chair, her mug of cocoa still in her hands. God, she was as cute as fuck. And every time he saw the bruise on her cheek and her split lip, he wanted to beat the shit out of the men who’d done it.

“Come on, Little Mac, let’s find you a spare bedroom.”

She rolled her eyes at being called Little Mac. He couldn’t resist, though. It’s what he usually called her at work, a way of keeping a level of deeper intimacy from forming, yet it also gave him a chance to connect with her because he did care, all too much.

Kenzie followed him out of the kitchen, and he led her upstairs. The Devereaux mansion seemed to impress her, judging from the way she took in the paintings and Edwardian-era furniture. His mother had loved decorating this house. It’d become a shrine to her fine taste after she died. In a way, the ghost of his happier days lingered here so long as the house remained just as it had been before his parents died. When the sunlight hit the library in the middle of the afternoon, he could almost see his mother curled up in her favorite leather armchair, a Mary Stewart book in her hands. She’d fostered his love of learning, and reading in particular.

“How many rooms does this place have?” Kenzie asked when they reached the top of the stairs.

“Ten bedrooms. Fairly small compared to the other houses on the Gold Coast. The Old Westbury Gardens, for one, is huge.” He escorted her to a spare bedroom that was kept ready for guests. More often than not, Emery or Royce’s other best friend, Wes Thorne, would crash there after a late night. But they hadn’t been by that much lately, too busy getting married and running off on extended honeymoons. Royce felt decidedly alone in a way he hadn’t since his parents died more than fourteen years ago.

“Here we are.” Royce gripped the brass knob of the spare bedroom and opened the door. “My bedroom’s at the end of the hall if you need anything.”

Kenzie slipped past him into the room and turned, her eyes wide and soft.

“Do you have some pajamas or…” She rubbed her arms, and Royce nodded as he noticed her sweater was still damp.

“Sure, wait here.” He left her and went down to his room. He didn’t have any clothes for women there, but he had something that would do for tonight. He pulled out a pair of button-up striped blue-and-white pajamas with pants and walked back to the guest room. He found Kenzie standing by the tall window, arms hugging her chest.

The rain was still coming down outside, and the warmth of Kenzie’s body fogged up the glass. It created an eerie ghost of her form, and the sight made him shiver. The fact that he could have lost her tonight was starting to sink in. His Kenzie. His Little Mac. Royce didn’t let these thoughts continue. It wouldn’t be smart to admit she meant more to him than just being his student. Over the last year he’d grown to think of her as a friend first and foremost.

He came up behind her. “Try these.”

She spun and almost bumped into him. “Oh! Sorry.”

Too close… She was too close to him with that vulnerable look in her eyes. Every instinct inside him demanded that he rush in and slay her dragons for her.

“I need to see to a few things. Change and take a hot shower if you need to. Try to get some rest. The security is on, and I have someone I trust coming over to help.” He gave her shoulder a gentle squeeze, even though he wanted to do so much more than that. As long as she was this close he’d be tempted, over and over again.

God, I’m so screwed.

Kenzie took a minute to enjoy this moment, even though she felt some guilt that she did. She was in Royce Devereaux’s mansion in a bedroom just down the hall from him. She was staying the night in an American castle with a man who starred almost nightly in her fantasies.

Keep calm, girl! She tried to remind herself not to get carried away. She was here because he wanted to protect her, not because he wanted to sleep with her.

She set the pajamas down on the bed and was starting to undress when she heard the strains of an old song drift down the hallway. It was a song she recognized—Dinah Washington’s “This Bitter Earth.” A beautiful, crooning song that was half a century old. Typical Royce. The man could wear a leather jacket, a Van Halen concert shirt, and ride a motorcycle to work yet listen to Dinah Washington. He was a complete mystery to her sometimes. It was as though he was trapped in the past and yet streaking toward the future. It confused and intrigued her, knowing that she’d never be able to predict what he’d do or say next.

She changed into the pajamas and padded on bare feet down the hallway. She paused at the top of the stairs, listening to the song and watching the gilded wall sconces cast gold blossoms of light on the forest wall cloth.

How wonderful it had to be to live in such a house. It wasn’t like her tiny apartment a block from the school’s campus. This house was a like an old-world dream, a place where princes lived and magic whispered from the walls. Kenzie placed a hand upon the polished gleaming banister and followed the song’s notes down the carpeted steps and through another corridor until she saw a door ajar. Pausing at the entrance, she peered inside.

A large wooden desk sat at the back of a beautiful room with pale butter-colored walls painted with creeping vines and blossoming flowers. Floor-to-ceiling bookshelves loomed behind the desk, filled with hundreds of books. Various curious objects were used as bookends, such as a saber-tooth tiger’s skull, a hadrosaur’s leg bone, and a cast model nest of oviraptor eggs. The nest would have been the most valuable piece in his collection if it hadn’t been a replica. She’d heard real nest fossils went for a several million dollars at auctions. Everyone loved the idea of baby dinosaurs. And finding intact eggs was rare. Eggs were fragile and rarely survived the harsh conditions that led to fossilization.

Royce was seated at his desk, boots popped up on the edge as he leaned back in his chair. He was brooding, turning a large brown fossilized claw over and over beneath the light of his desk lamp. But Kenzie knew from his expression that he was thinking about something else. This was the way he tackled difficult problems at the university. Beside his desk was an old turntable, which was the source of the haunting and beautiful song.

Royce paused spinning the claw and looked up at her. His eyes darkened as he lowered his legs from his desk and got to his feet.

“Feeling better?” he asked. His voice was soft, a rich rumble that sent delicious shivers through her. She’d never thought a man’s voice could sound like liquid sin, but his did, like a glass of bourbon aged to perfection.

“I guess,” she replied. “I’m still not sure all this has really set in yet. I’m not used to jumping out of windows or running from psychopaths.” I’ll probably have nightmares. That part she didn’t tell him. It made her feel weak, and she knew he already blamed himself. For a man who had wicked desires in bed, he had an amazingly soft heart at times.

A frown tugged his kissable lips down. “Don’t joke.”

“I’m afraid I’m going to just break down if I don’t.”

“It’s okay. I’m here, Little Mac. You should try to get some sleep.” He came over and cupped her chin, tilting her head back. His warm breath fanned her face, and she trembled. They’d hardly ever touched before, just friendly pats on the shoulder or arm. Always safe. Never intimate. Kenzie thought she could keep herself distanced from him and hide her attraction. Before tonight, she’d done a good job of rebuffing his occasional teasing, but now she was too vulnerable, too exposed, and it would be so easy to get lost in him.

The light from his desk lamp cast a silhouette of their bodies against the wall, and she shivered, her heart racing. Royce’s masculine aroma with hints of pine enveloped her. She wanted to rub herself against him to trap the scent on her clothes, let it envelop her completely.

Royce leaned his head down ever so slightly as she rocked up on her toes, their lips just inches apart…

A distant door chimed, and Royce blinked, pulling back. He cleared his throat. “That will be Hans.” He stepped around her to get to the study door.

“Who’s Hans?” Kenzie asked as she trailed after him, her body deflated with disappointment. They had been so close only to be saved by an actual bell.

“Hans is a friend. A bodyguard. He’s here to help us with our little problem.”

Little problem? Kenzie snorted. I had a gun shoved in my face. I wouldn’t call that a “little” problem.

When Royce opened the door, Kenzie saw a tall muscled man in his early fifties standing there, rain dripping off his coat. A black duffel bag hung from his shoulder. He was handsome, with dark brown eyes and dark hair with a threading of silver near the temples.

Royce grinned and welcomed the man inside. “Hans.”

Kenzie couldn’t take her eyes off the bodyguard. There was a lethal grace to him that made her pause. All her instincts were telling her this was a dangerous man. With a polite and warm smile, Hans came inside and set his bag down.

“Hans, this is MacKenzie Martin, my TA.”

“Just call me Kenzie.” She blushed as Hans shook her hand while glancing curiously between her and Royce.

“Nice to meet you, Kenzie.” Hans set his bag down with a heavy thump. Whatever was in there was definitely not clothes. “So, are you ready to fill me in?” Hans asked as he wiped his boots on the mat and slipped his coat off.

“Why don’t we make some coffee first, then we’ll tell you everything.” Royce nodded toward the kitchen.

Soon the three of them sat at the table. Kenzie shared her story, and Hans interrupted a few times with questions.

“Three men?” he asked.

She nodded. “Yeah, plus whoever they have in the police force, but I’m pretty sure they were all working for someone else.”

Hans stroked his chin. “Makes sense. Usually it’s hired muscle who do the smash-and-grab jobs.” He looked at Royce, his face solemn. “She’s lucky to be alive. People like that don’t have qualms about silencing whoever isn’t crucial to their plan.”

A shiver racked Kenzie’s body. She’d known those men intended to kill her. The evil in Gary’s eyes when he’d pointed the gun at her head was something she’d never forget. She buried the memory in the back of her mind and focused on Royce and Hans.

“So what do we do?” she asked them.

“I’d suggest having the police dust for prints at your office. Even if they have someone on the take, the department still has to follow protocol. You said they weren’t wearing gloves. It might give us a match for aliases. If we can figure out who hired Monte and Gary or who they have ties to, it might give us some answers. We’ll have to be careful about whoever they have on the inside helping them, but I suspect the most they’ll be able to do is let the perps keep tabs on what the police are up to. Tonight we should secure the house and try to get some rest.”

As exhausted as Kenzie was, she couldn’t imagine sleeping, not when she knew three men were out there looking for her and Royce.

“Are you okay?” Hans asked.

The bodyguard was too perceptive. “Probably,” she muttered, embarrassed that she’d revealed her fears so openly without realizing it.

“I’ve got a Jacuzzi if you want to warm up and relax,” Royce suggested. “Hans and I will be busy securing the house. You will be safe. I promise.”

A hot bath did sound nice. “Okay.”

Hans and Royce headed for the hall, but then they both suddenly halted, their large bodies blocking her view of what was ahead.

“Did you…?” Royce whispered softly.

Hans shook his head. “Those aren’t mine. I wiped my boots on the mat.”

“Shit.” Royce stepped back and turned to Kenzie.

“What is it?” she whispered. Every hair on her body was standing at attention.

“Wet footprints. Someone else is in the house.” Royce’s lips formed a hard line as he gave a nod to Hans before looking at her again. “I need you to stay right here. Hide in the walk-in pantry. Don’t come out, no matter what. I’ll come back for you. You hear me?”

His eyes burned straight through her, and the command in his tone was undeniable. She couldn’t disobey, not when he used that deep dominant voice. She shivered, half from her reaction to him and half from fear of what might happen in the next few minutes.

Someone else is in the house? Oh God, oh God…

Kenzie struggled to calm her panic and nodded to show Royce she would do as she was told. She backed up, her gaze seeking the doors of the walk-in pantry by the fridge. Her heart was hammering so hard it felt as though it was bruising her ribs.

Everything became quiet. Silent. She closed the pantry doors, her breath shallow and harsh in the confined space, a rasping whisper that grated on her ears.

Moments later, gunfire erupted somewhere in the house. Glass shattered. A scream ripped from her lips before she could stop. Kenzie clapped her hands over her mouth. An animal instinct to hide drove her to her knees and then to her stomach as she flattened herself completely on the floor.

More silence, then the crunch of glass beneath booted feet. She heard shouts, low and guttural, followed by another deafening round of gunfire. The noises were drawing closer, the crashing, the guns, all of it. She covered her ears and prayed silently for it all to stop.

Jars and cans exploded above her, food raining on her along with shards of glass. Splinters of wood showered down as pinholes of light broke through the thick pantry doors. The handle fell to the floor. Kenzie stared in horror as the doors slowly creaked open. Straight ahead lay a man on his back. Monte. His face was turned up as he snarled at the man who stood over him, his booted foot pressed into Monte’s chest. An automatic pistol was aimed at Monte’s forehead, and the man holding the gun was Royce.

“Your one partner is dead, and the other just drove off in your ride. You’re all alone, you piece of shit.” Royce leaned heavily over the man, pressing more weight on his chest.

“I don’t give a fuck. I’m not talking.” Monte spat, and blood painted his teeth as he smiled coldly.

“You will,” Royce promised and jerked his head toward Hans, who had just entered the room. “Or my buddy here will start cutting off your fingers in creative ways. He’s trained in half a dozen forms of torture. Did you know that? He’s one badass motherfucker.” Royce’s smile was dark and frightening. “But hey, if you do talk, I won’t shoot your nuts off for hitting Little Mac, you get me? No one touches her.” He pressed his boot harder until Monte wheezed.

“Fuck you,” Monte said. “If I talk, my boss will kill me.”

Royce exchanged glances with Hans. “Maybe. But we would give you a head start. Sounds like your boss won’t.”

Monte gasped for breath a moment longer before he nodded. “Fine. I’ll talk.”

“Good. Who is your boss, and what does he want with me?”

“Vadym Andreikiv. He lives in Moscow. He hired me and Gary. Sent along one of his own men for backup, Jov Tomenko. He wants to bring something out of Mongolia. He said you’re the man to help him get it out. All he said was that we have to get you and bring you to Ulaanbaatar.”

“Ulaanbaatar? Why there?”

“I don’t know. Something about smuggling fossils,” Monte said.

“Nice. This fucker sounds like a Bond villain,” Hans muttered. “What does he do, twirl his mustache in his fucking yurt?”

“That’s all I know, I swear.” Monte started to lower his hands, but Royce cold-cocked the bastard with his gun. Monte’s head hit the floor, and he lay unconscious at Royce’s feet.

“At least I didn’t shoot your nuts off. Hans, would you take out the trash? I need to check on Little Mac.”

“Sure.” Hans bent and grabbed Monte’s legs and started to drag him out of the kitchen.

Kenzie was lying flat on her stomach, staring up at him. Her body was locked in place, every muscle frozen. Royce slowly set his pistol down on the table before he approached her.

“Kenzie, it’s okay, honey.” He knelt down and gently helped her get to her feet. She swayed a little, and he caught her by the waist. Her heart was sprinting inside her chest, and she was having trouble breathing.

“Easy there,” he said.

She stared up at him, confused by his separate personalities. The man who joked about torturing someone and pistol-whipped a man was not the same man who held her now and called her Kenzie in that husky and gentle voice. She knew she had to be in shock again. But she just couldn’t seem to snap out of it.

“Why don’t you sit down?” Royce’s eyes were laden with concern. “You’re really pale.”

She looked back to the pantry, where splintered wood and shattered glass showed her just how close she’d come to dying.

“Dr. Devereaux… I don’t feel so good…”

It was all she got out before she collapsed in his arms.

CHAPTER FOUR

Kenzie had fucking fainted.

Royce cursed as he caught Little Mac in his arms and lifted her up. He should have known that would have been too much for her. Hell, it had been scary as hell for him too, and he’d had training for moments like this for almost a decade. Glass crunched beneath his boots as he carried her out of the kitchen. It had been a thankfully short battle, but violent. The three men had been in the room across the hall, waiting for them to come out. He and Hans had taken positions behind the walls and managed to put one man down. Another had shot his way through the large window and escaped. The third they’d captured, but not before he had riddled the pantry with bullets.

And almost killed Kenzie.

Royce would never forget the moment he’d run in after that man had started spraying metal death along his kitchen wall. Knowing he’d been the one to tell Kenzie to hide there. It would be his fault if she was hurt. His fault if she was killed.

But the door swung open and there she was, alive and safe on the floor. Her eyes had been wide with terror. It’d taken every bit of his training to resist the urge to run to her, not while the third man was still a threat in the room.

He had dealt with that piece of shit and now had Kenzie in his arms. Safe—for now. But how long would she really be safe while she was around him?

Everyone I love gets hurt. It was a thought that haunted him, ever since the policeman had shown up on his doorstep and he’d learned of the plane crash. Before that, he’d lost one of his best friends at age eight to a child abduction, the infamous Lockwood twins kidnapping. That had screwed with his head too.

Fortunately in Fenn’s case, he turned out to be alive, but it still convinced Royce of one thing: loving someone meant losing them. Whatever sunny memories of boys playing in the woods he may have carried with him, he could not forget the memories that came next. The endless searches for a body, the baying of bloodhounds, the faces of his best friends on every paper and TV screen for nearly two months, the hushed conversations he heard his parents have about protecting him.

It was all dark, all bad.

Royce shook his head to clear the murky thoughts of the past. He needed to focus on Kenzie and turn his thoughts to the man behind their current mess, Vadym Andreikiv. Kenzie was in danger as long as she was connected to him. If Royce had learned anything from Hans it was that in a situation like this you had to take the fight to the other side. Sitting and waiting for axe to fall was no way to live, and it gave the enemy all the advantages.

No, I’m a fighter. If Vadym wanted Royce that badly, he was going to get far more than he’d bargained for. He was going to go to Moscow and take him down.

Royce reached the spare bedroom he’d chosen for Kenzie and sat down on the bed. Tucking one pillow under her head, he lost himself in the sweet scent of her, a sexy, tempting woman who would always be off-limits. He stroked her cheek with the backs of his knuckles. Then, with a heavy sigh, he took the thick soft throw from the foot of the bed and covered her up to her chin to keep her warm.

“Rest easy, Little Mac,” he murmured as he left the room.

Hans stood in the hallway, hands on his hips. “She okay? I saw you carry her upstairs.”

Royce nodded. “She fainted. I think it was a little much for her.”

Hans snorted. “You think? She just got dropped headfirst into your world without any warning or preparation. It’s a little much for me too, and I should be used to it by now.” Hans’s smile didn’t reach his eyes. “I called the local 5-0. They’ll be here. We’ll have to wake her up for them to take her statement. And then we have to call in flights to Moscow.”

“You really want to fly to Russia with me? I’m touched,” Royce teased.

The usually stoic bodyguard chuckled. “You forget, I know you, Devereaux. You are too damned cocky for your own good. You need someone to watch your back. Emery would be pissed off if I let you get yourself killed by some Ruskies.”

Royce smirked. “Fair enough.” He followed Hans back downstairs to wait. He didn’t pick up or touch anything. The cops would treat this as a crime scene, so he went back to his office to wait and think.

His office had always been a place of refuge. No matter what happened in his life, he could always go there, shut out the present, and lose himself in the distant past.

He walked over to his bookshelves and lifted up a small fossil. It was only two and a half inches long. An Archimediella shell, white and rounded like a narwhal horn, with whorls overhanging the sutures that wound around the shell from base to tip. It was an ancient, primeval snail shell, yet it was also a thing of beauty, even though it was the kind of fossil one could find almost anywhere in the world.

This one had been found on a lonely stretch of New York’s Gold Coast by a dark-haired woman with laughing gray eyes.

“Royce, come here, darling!” his mother shouted. She stood in ankle-deep water that rushed up the beach before it was pulled back out to sea. Royce ran across the cold sand to reach her, taking the slender object she held out in her hands. A white hornlike shell.

He wrinkled his nose and studied the object, wiping the sand off it. “What is it?”

“It’s a shell, a very old one,” his mother said. “A fossil.”

“Like the dinosaurs?” Royce was immediately obsessed with the shell now. His room was full of dinosaur books.

“Yes, like the dinosaurs.” His mother bent over and kissed his forehead, making him squirm and jump out of reach so he could wipe the offending kiss away.

“Ugh, Mom, please. I’m too old for that.”

“Too old for what?” a voice asked behind him. Royce jumped at the sound. His father was a tall, handsome man with warm brown eyes that crinkled when he smiled.

“Mom’s kisses. I’m too old for that, Dad.” He returned his attention to the shell.

“Too old for your mother’s kisses? What a pity. I never tire of them.” His father rushed into the shallows and scooped his mother out by the waist, kissing her soundly. He twirled, letting his wife spin in the air before setting her down and kissing her again.

Royce watched them, smiling. Normally he would have shouted for them to stop, that it was gross, but not today. It was okay for Dad to kiss Mom. That’s what a good dad did. And his dad was the best.

The memory caught Royce off guard. It was like a beacon of light cutting through the heavy shroud of darkness around his heart. The brightness made him flinch. Thinking about them, two good people dead and gone, two people who’d been his whole world—it fucking hurt like hell.

They had also set him on his course to be one of the world’s most renowned paleontology experts. Every time he dug into the earth and found a new fossil, somewhere deep inside he became that boy again, seeing that shell for the first time. And for a brief moment, his parents were still alive.

Setting the shell down, he glanced out his window to see two police cars and an ambulance racing down the drive toward the house. Damn, this part was going to suck. He didn’t have time to explain to the cops why he and Hans had shot a man, and he hadn’t forgotten what Kenzie had said, that the men involved claimed to have a man planted in the local PD.

“Royce,” Hans called out from the hallway. “The 5-0s are here. I’ll wake Ms. Martin.”

Royce wiped the blood off his hands before he left his office and met the officers at the door.

Half an hour later, the ambulance took the body to the morgue, and the asshole they had captured was hauled away in a cop car. Kenzie had barely spoken except to answer the questions the police asked. Royce had told her to tell the truth, even about the smuggling. He was not connected to anything bad, so it didn’t matter what the cops heard. What mattered was the police finding that the fatality was in self-defense and that Royce was not required to stay for further questioning.

Fortunately, that’s exactly what happened. He was sure part of that had to do with who he was. There were some perks to being the sole heir to a vast fortune on the New England Gold Coast. He didn’t usually like that he was treated differently, but in this case having the cops off his back was a good thing.

Hans escorted the officers to the door, and Royce focused on Kenzie, who was still in shock. Hell, he would be too if he’d been normal, but normal had died in him a long time ago.

“Hey, Little Mac, why don’t you take a shower?” He would have suggested a bath, but he could see the look in her eyes—a glassy, almost frozen look. A shower was better for clearing a person’s head after crazy shit went down.

“Okay.” She bit her bottom lip. He cursed inside as the sight of her teeth sinking into the soft, pale-pink flesh of her lips made him hard. It was probably all the adrenaline from the firefight. He normally had better control.

“Come on.” He held out a hand and she took it, trusting and sweet like a child, but there was nothing childish about the full curves of her womanly body. The tall, model-thin blondes he usually slept with at the club didn’t feel real, and he couldn’t fall in love with something fake. But Kenzie? She was the sort of woman men would fight to the death over, not just to make love to, but to keep and treasure forever. That was the last thing Royce needed. He knew he needed to keep his distance from Kenzie, for both their sakes. He tightened his fingers around hers, squeezing in a silent show of support.

“Come to my room. The shower is better in there,” he said as they climbed back up the stairs. She looked so small and vulnerable in his large button-up pajamas. Fucking adorable. And I’m the idiot who’s telling her to use my shower.

If anyone needed a shower, it was him. A cold one.

“Thanks, Dr. Devereaux,” she said as they reached his room.

“You can call me Royce, Little Mac. We’re not on campus.” He smiled at her look of startled hesitation. “Seriously, Royce is fine.” After everything they’d been through together, he did not want a reminder of the big fucking elephant in the room between them.

“Royce.” She smiled a little, and it warmed him inside. The smile was a good sign. She was coming out of the shock if she was showing more emotions.

As they entered his bedroom, he nodded toward the shower in the bathroom. “Go and take care of yourself. I’ll have Hans make a run to your apartment for some clothes and anything else you need.”

She wrinkled her nose and blushed. “He doesn’t mind? I mean…”

“He won’t mind, and don’t be shy, not unless you’ve got something to hide. Do you have something to hide, Little Mac?” He was teasing, but given how wide her eyes grew, he wondered if there might be. He reached out, catching her hips in his hands so she couldn’t retreat.

“I can leave a list of all the things I need,” she said, avoiding the question. He could feel her trembling in his hold, and her pupils were a little dilated. So she was hiding something. Rather than pry for details, he decided he’d have Hans find out whatever it was.

“There’s a notepad in the drawer by my bed. Make a list before you shower, and I’ll get it to him.”

He let go of her, forcing himself to remember this kind of contact was wrong. He needed to go downstairs and figure out what the hell to do about all the damage to his place while he was in Russia. He went back downstairs and found Hans in the hall with a broom, sweeping up the glass. Mr. Lansdown, the butler, stood next to him in his dressing gown, eyes wide and solemn.

“Dr. Devereaux, I can arrange to have someone out here tomorrow morning to give us a quote on the glass and other repairs.”

“Thanks. I’ll be leaving for Moscow sometime tomorrow. I’ll leave you to handle it. Call me if anything urgent arises.”

“Will do, sir.” Mr. Lansdown was used to running Devereaux House whenever Royce left for a dig or a conference.

“Hans,” Royce said. “Would you mind running to Kenzie’s place and grabbing a few of her things from her apartment?”

“No problem. It will give me a chance to see if her place is being watched.”

“Oh…” Royce paused. “It’s probably nothing, but let me know if you turn up anything interesting. I think Kenzie might have a few secrets she’s hiding.”

Hans raised a brow. “Anything I should be worried about?”

Royce grinned a little. “Probably nothing serious. My guess is just something that embarrasses her.” Royce tucked his hands in his jeans pockets and watched the bodyguard shake his head. “Still, better safe than sorry.”

Hans rolled his eyes. “You boys, your women and your secrets.”

Royce laughed. No doubt the bodyguard had thoroughly searched more than a few women’s homes over the years.

“I’ll just go grab her list.” Royce went back upstairs and heard the water running. The door to the bathroom was ajar. Kenzie’s curvy body was beneath the spray, but she wasn’t standing. She was huddled in a tight ball in the center, her head bowed as water rained down around her. Royce grabbed the list and ran to give it to Hans, then raced back to the bathroom. His Little Mac needed him.

Kenzie kept her eyes shut tight, but she couldn’t keep out the violent flashes of memory of everything that had happened tonight. The gun barrel aimed at her head back at the office, which already felt like a lifetime ago. The escape through dark and wet streets to the Gilded Cuff, uncertain if anywhere would be safe. And then the shots, the shattering glass and wood of the pantry door exploding above her.

I could have died. The panic filled her with an unexpected rage, and she shook all the harder beneath the hot water.

“Kenzie, honey…” Royce’s rough voice drew her slowly out of the depths of her thoughts. She didn’t look up, not at first. She was too ashamed, too mortified he was seeing her like this.

“Honey, please.” The shower door opened, and Royce stepped in, still in his clothes, but without his boots. He knelt beside her, then eased onto the tile floor, his arm touching her bare shoulder. He reached his arm around her shoulders, holding her close to him.

Kenzie watched his other hand settle on one of her knees. Small cuts on his hand caused thin red rivulets of blood to trickle down from his skin to hers. She raised her head. Her nose brushed his cheek, feeling the slightly rough stubble along his jaw.

“You’re hurt,” she said, gazing at him. A pain hung there in his eyes, burning like a setting sun upon a distant horizon, but she didn’t think it was because of the minor cuts.

“This is nothing,” he said. She could almost hear the unspoken words flashing in his eyes. He’d hurt so much more than she’d ever know. She could feel the pieces splintering inside her chest.

She brought his hand to her lips, pressing a light kiss on the back of it, wishing she could take the pain from his eyes. From the moment she’d met him, she’d noticed this pain inside him, especially when he thought no one was watching. There had been a part of her that wanted to hold him close and promise she would not let him suffer any other hurts the world would bring. Yet here she was in a fetal position in the shower, unable to help herself, let alone him.

Royce’s lips parted and he cupped her face, turning her toward him as he leaned down. Their mouths were inches apart, and Kenzie felt an overwhelming need to feel those lips upon hers.

Please kiss me.

“What you went through tonight was hell, I know. It’s not easy to shake off the memories or the thoughts of ‘What if?’ But you can do this. You’re safe now. You can get through this, you got me?” He stared at her lips, and she leaned into him, wanting to close the last inch between them.

He pulled away before they would have kissed. A half-hidden smile twisted his lips. “I always knew you’d be the death of me, Little Mac.” The words cut but the tone was tender, which only confused her.

“You don’t want…?” She swallowed her humiliation. He doesn’t want me. All this time he was just teasing me for fun, not because he was interested.

His dark eyes were full of honeyed fire. “I do…want. But you’ve been through a nightmare tonight. No good wolf touches his kitten when she’s hurt and scared, except to comfort and protect her.”

“Wolf? Kitten?” she asked, not understanding the comparison.

Royce traced her lips with a fingertip. “It’s sort of BDSM lingo. A Dom is like a wolf, fierce and rough but loyal and protective. The sub is like a kitten, quick, smart, with sharp claws, but she needs to be handled with care. It’s a common analogy for my lifestyle. Do you know about BDSM?” he asked, still stroking her lips.

She nodded. “A little.” Her body was no longer shivering. A new heat spread through her at his close proximity and his touch.

“Never think I don’t want you.” He was frowning now. “But we both know that we can’t. It’s not wise.” He growled the words as though he were as frustrated as she was with their situation.

“But you do want me?” If he did it would only make this harder, but she needed to know she wasn’t alone in her desire. She was so tired of feeling alone and shut out from a world that was full of passion. Her friends were all in great, loving relationships. She was the only one left out in the cold because she yearned for something more, something darker.

He smiled again, a playful grin. “Yes, Little Mac. I do. Someday, when you’re not so full of adrenaline and crashing from shock, I’ll tell you all the things I’ve imagined doing to you.”

She sighed, and her shoulders dropped. The hot water was burning her skin into his, almost melting them together.

“We need to get you to bed so you can rest. Hans has your list and will be back soon.”

She didn’t want to leave the shower or give up this rare, unusual intimacy they were sharing.

“Royce?” She watched him stand, his clothes dripping as he got out of the shower.

“Yeah?” He retrieved a large fluffy white towel and held it up for her, his face turned away. Ever the gentleman.

She paused, trying to figure out how to ask what she needed. “Can I stay with you tonight?”

“Stay with me?” He waited as she stood and took the towel, wrapping it around her body. He nudged gently for her to dry off.

“In your room…with you? I don’t know if I can sleep alone right now. I keep seeing those men.” She shuddered.

He watched her, his keen eyes not missing her body’s reactions to the memories. “Sure.” He then smiled at her. “Guess that means no more sleeping naked. Damn.”

And just like that, one little tease from him and she felt safe.

He left her alone in the bathroom, and she watched him through a crack in the door. He peeled off his soaking T-shirt, revealing a beautiful back with rippling muscles. A few cuts marred his tan skin, but he didn’t seem to notice. When his hands went to the fly of his jeans, she turned away, her face flushing. She knew better than to torture herself with visions of a naked Royce. She was already going to have trouble sleeping.

Once she was dressed and her hair dried, she entered the bedroom. Royce had fresh jeans and a shirt on, and though his hair was damp he looked a little drier, as if he’d bent over and tousled it dry with his hands. He nodded at the bed.

“Get some sleep. I’ll stay with you.” It was a promise, but she sensed his thoughts had gone somewhere far away.

“Are you not sleeping?” she asked.

“I will, once Hans gets back. We’ll take turns watching the house.”

Kenzie’s muscles went rigid. “You think the other man will come back?”

“I don’t.” His reply was confident, no sense he was hiding any worries from her. “We’re just taking precautions, that’s all.”

Kenzie walked over to the large king-size bed. She almost had to get a running jump just to get on top of it. She pulled the covers back and climbed inside. The pillow smelled of Royce, like a rich aftershave. It was an addictive scent and so very male. She nuzzled the pillow and closed her eyes. She heard him chuckle in the darkness.

“You’re deliberately rubbing in how comfy you are, aren’t you?”

“Hmm,” she purred softly, biting her lip to hide a smile. It was fun to tease him back for once. She’d never had the chance to before.

“Rest,” he said, firmly but gently.

It was so easy to obey that voice and just drift away.

CHAPTER FIVE

Royce stood beside his bed, quietly watching Kenzie as she slipped into sleep. Her breathing slowed and became deeper, and her hands unclenched for the first time in hours. The worry lines that framed her eyes smoothed as she slipped into dreams.

Damn, he had to be careful. She was his, but she could never truly be his. And not just because protecting her meant not letting her ruin her career for him. No, it was because life was a cruel bitch.

Whenever he thought of loving someone, he was overwhelmed with thoughts of the loss of his parents. The night they died and what had happened to them became a recurring nightmare as his imagination played out what their final moments must have been like. He was watching the runway through a small plane window. The blinking lights of the plane flashing and fading in the thick fog. The white dashes of the runway vanishing…the sudden flash before everything went dark.

After the accident, waking up became a routine: His chest constricted until he could barely breathe, and his eyes stung with tears. Then he would slowly remember where he was and regain control of his body. He couldn’t take another trauma like that. He couldn’t lose a loved one if there was no one to love. This was why he only took home women who knew their time together was casual.

Yet Kenzie was still his. Could a man claim a woman without ever kissing her?

Sounds from below came to his attention. A door shutting. He pulled the covers tight up to Kenzie’s chin and turned off the bedroom lights before he left to check who it was.

Hans shook off the rain and glanced up the stairs as Royce appeared. He wasn’t alone.

“Cody still falls asleep listening to his police scanner.” Hans chuckled, and the two men behind him came into the light - Emery and Fenn Lockwood. His childhood friends. Emery had lived the life of a recluse for twenty-five years, until Fenn had been found in Colorado and brought home. Before that, Emery only had his bodyguard Hans and his resident tech geek Cody to keep him company. Not that Royce would ever call Cody a geek to his face. The kid was built like a surfer who spent as much time on the weights as the waves.

“Emery. Fenn,” Royce replied slowly, sending Hans an annoyed look. He loved his friends deeply, and they were brothers in all ways but blood. That was why he didn’t want either of them here right now. Because of the danger he was in, he’d never forgive himself if they got hurt because of him.

“You didn’t think you’d keep this a secret, did you, Royce?” Emery grinned as he slipped off his black peacoat and hung it on the coat rack.

“Hans says you’re having a bit of trouble?” Fenn shrugged off a black duster, looking every inch the Colorado cowboy he’d been until he was reunited with his brother and parents.

“It’s not trouble,” Royce argued, shooting Hans another look. He did not want his friends getting caught up in all this. They’d only just survived some seriously fucked-up shit of their own. Their own cousin tried to have them killed so he could inherit the family fortune. After everything they had gone through, they deserved to be on a beach somewhere, drinking imported beer and sexing up their gorgeous wives.

“You know us better than that,” Fenn said. “So what’s this I hear about a grad student sleeping in your bedroom?”

Royce narrowed his eyes. “I never said she was sleeping in there.”

The bodyguard shrugged. “If she isn’t in your bed now, I bet she’ll be there tonight. She won’t sleep well alone after what happened.”

Was Hans a psychic or something?

“I thought you didn’t sleep with students?” Emery pointed out.

Royce came down the rest of the stairs to meet them. “I don’t and I haven’t. It’s my TA, Kenzie Martin. And she’s in shock. I’m just trying to keep her comfortable.”

Fenn whistled, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “The Kenzie?”

Royce crossed his arms over his chest. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

The Lockwood twins exchanged glances. Emery grinned. “Royce, you always talk about her. Kenzie this, Kenzie that. She’s the only woman you ever talk about.”

Royce huffed, ignoring whatever his friends were trying to imply. “She’s my teaching assistant. I work with her. I don’t spend enough time with other women to have a reason to talk about them.”

“Uh-huh.” Fenn was still smiling, but he quickly sobered. “So what happened? Cody woke us up shouting about shots fired at Devereaux House and a fatality.”

“Hans here won’t say a damn thing, despite the fact that I sign his paychecks,” said Emery. “Said it’s up to you to fill us in if you want to.”

He had to give Hans credit for not letting anything slip, but he’d have felt better if he’d also told the brothers to go home. He sighed. It seemed the only way out was through. “It’s a long story. Come into the billiard room. I’ll pour us some drinks.”

Hans and the Lockwood twins followed him into the billiard room, where brandy was poured and the balls were set for a game. As they played, Royce and Hans relayed the night’s events, including all that had happened to Kenzie.

“Jesus,” Fenn muttered. “That’s fucked up.”

“So you intend to leave for Russia tomorrow?” Emery asked as he bent over the billiard table and took a shot.

“Yes.”

“And you want us to look after your TA while you’re gone?”

Royce took a sip of the brandy. The liquor smoothed away some of his worries, but not all of them. “Could you? I need to know she’s safe.”

“Of course,” Emery and Fenn replied in unison. He nearly laughed. They used to do that all the time as kids. God, he’d missed that.

“So we keep an eye on your student. Should be easy,” Fenn said.

Easy? There was nothing easy about Kenzie. She was a temptation no man could resist. Lucky for him they were both married.

The door suddenly burst open. Kenzie stood there in his PJs. Who knew a woman in oversize PJs could look so damned cute. She had rolled up the legs and the sleeves. Fuck. How much trouble would he be in if he just ripped them down and

“I’m going with you to Moscow,” she said.

Royce held back the growl that started to rumble in his chest. “No, honey, you’re staying right here where it’s safe.”

Fire lit Kenzie’s dark-brown eyes. “I almost died tonight,” she reminded him. Not that he needed that awful reminder of how close he’d come to losing her.

“Exactly. Which is why you’re staying here where my friends can watch over you.” He set his cue down on the billiard table and started toward her.

Kenzie stepped back but then seemed to reconsider and advanced again, her chin lifted.

“I’m involved in this now, and I’m not going to let you run off without me when I can help. I’m your TA. The A stands for assistant, so let me assist.”

Emery and Fenn snickered behind him.

“You assist with grades and lectures, not fighting Russian fossil smugglers.” Royce now stood directly in front of her, palms itching to smack her ass for disagreeing with him when it came to her safety. Was she completely ignoring him when he told her about the wolves and kittens?

“If you don’t let me go, I’ll just show up on my own. I have your phone LoJacked, and I can track you down in Moscow. Don’t think I won’t.”

Royce’s jaw dropped. Fenn started to chuckle. Behind him, Emery picked up his pool cue and poked Royce in the back with the tip.

“Didn’t you say something about spanking the sass out of her the last time you mentioned her? Don’t tell me you’re getting soft now, Devereaux.”

Kenzie glared at him, then she glanced toward his friends behind her, and she went very still, like a rabbit sensing wolves were sniffing her out. Smart little kitten.

“Maybe I should.” He was definitely growling now. Kenzie moved away from him but didn’t leave the room. Instead, she ran smack-dab into Emery, who caught her firmly by the arm.

“Easy, little one,” Emery said with a chuckle. Royce glared at his friend. Earlier this year he and Emery would have laughed over the idea of catching a runaway sub. But Kenzie didn’t know what she was doing to the men in the room. A sassy-mouthed woman with a natural submissive nature was every Dom’s fantasy.

“Should you do the honors, or should I?” Emery asked.

Fenn and Hans were both hiding grins. Kenzie let out a strangled little sound of shock when Royce held out a hand and Emery nudged her toward him.

“Don’t scare her, Emery. She’s not used to our lifestyle.”

“What?” Emery blinked. “But I thought… Why else would she…? Oh.” He backed off a little, raising his hands.

Kenzie turned her focus on Royce, seemingly unafraid but definitely on edge.

“If you hit me…” She growled like a puppy snapping her teeth. Fuck if that didn’t make him hot.

He had here a chance to live out a fantasy with her, assuming she was willing. He wouldn’t go too far and take her to bed, of course, but if it turned out she was into it… Royce curled his fingers around her arm and turned her so she was pinned between the pool table and his body. He knew exactly how to deal with her now and keep her safe.

“So, you want to go to Moscow?” he asked, using his most seductive voice, the one he used right before he punished a submissive.

“Yes.” He saw a hint of suspicion lurking in those brown eyes he adored. She was smart enough to know he was up to something but brave enough to stick to her guns and see what he would do next.

“If you want to go with me, you have to take a punishment for arguing with me just now. We aren’t on campus. You’re in my world. So I offer you a choice: If you don’t take the punishment, there’s no harm done. You can go back upstairs and sleep and let my friends protect you until I get back, but you won’t go to Russia.” He watched her face as comprehension dawned in her eyes. She took a long moment to think it over, just like he knew she would. What he did not expect was her response.

“And I get to go to Russia if I let you do whatever it is you want to do?”

He nodded slowly.

“Then do it.”

He had to be sure she knew what he meant to do. “Do you understand what you’re saying? You were at the Gilded Cuff…”

“I am going to Russia.”

Emery and Fenn laughed. Hans rolled his eyes. “I’m going to secure the perimeter. I do not want to see whatever you’re going to do that poor girl. But considering I found leather cuffs under her bed, I’m guessing she’ll be into it.” He left the billiard room.

“Cuffs, huh?” Royce grinned.

Kenzie glanced at Fenn, Emery, and finally at Royce. She gulped and didn’t respond to his question about the cuffs. Royce nodded at his friend. Emery reached under the pool table and flipped a switch. Two panels by the end of the table opened on the felt surface and two silver rings appeared with handcuffs attached. Perfect restraints to keep a woman bent over the pool table.

She stared at the rings, her eyes wide. “What are those?”

“It’s not too late to back out, Little Mac. No hard feelings.” Royce prayed she would give in and go back upstairs. Who knew where this would eventually go? “That’s part of the deal. You get cuffed and take ten slaps to the ass or the deal is off.”

Kenzie stared at the handcuffs, biting her lip. He wished he knew what was going on inside her head.

“Okay.” She said the word so softly that all three men leaned in to hear it.

“Holy shit,” Fenn said with a laugh. Emery shook his head, smiling. Royce simply stood there, his finger still curled around her arm. She had actually agreed to take a spanking just to go to Russia? He wasn’t sure if he should be impressed or concerned. But he knew Kenzie, and she was willing to put herself in danger to see this through…and to help him.

“Can we just get this over with?” Kenzie asked, her voice a little shaky.

He cupped her chin with his other hand. “You’re serious?” He had to make sure. There was fear in her gaze, but also trust and no hesitation. She would make an excellent sub.

If only she could be my sub.

“I told you, I’m going to Russia,” she said. The delightful spark of defiance in her eyes was marvelous.

“Very well.” He released her arm and pointed at the restraints. “Bend over and place your hands by the cuffs.”

Kenzie obeyed slowly, tremors running through her as she bent over the pool table. Royce nodded at his friends, who both stepped forward to click the cuffs around her wrists. If he’d dared to restrain her himself, it might have been too much to resist.

“Last chance, Kenzie. We can free you and you can still go upstairs.” He dared not touch her, not until she was sure. The picture of her bent over the pool table, even wearing his large pajama shirt and damn pajama bottoms, was erotic as hell. He’d had a completely naked woman lie there before, but nothing excited him the way Kenzie had.

“Quit stalling, Royce,” Fenn said. “The girl’s made up her mind.”

Royce walked to the side of the pool table so Kenzie could see him. He braced his hands on the table and leaned down so she didn’t have to strain see his face.

“Ten blows. That’s all. I want you to count each one and say, ‘Thank you, sir.’ If you fail to do this, we start all over again. If the pain is too much, just say yellow. I’ll pause and we’ll discuss. If you become too scared, can’t breathe, or genuinely fear me or the situation, you say red. Red stops the game and I let you go back upstairs, but you won’t go to Russia. Yellow means you can still stay and we keep going until we reach ten. Do you understand the rules?”

She met his gaze. “I do.” Her fingers clenched, and the cuffs rattled shut. Damn, that was a wonderful sound. He could never truly hurt a woman, of course. That wasn’t the point of such roleplay. It was all about being safe, sane, and consensual. But he liked it when a consenting woman showed a hint of apprehension, which was not the same as fear.

The real pleasure for him as a Dom was being with a woman who trusted him completely but didn’t necessarily trust herself to give in to the pleasure right away. The woman’s inner struggle to finally let go was the most erotic thing he had ever experienced. If Little Mac wanted to go to Russia, she had to prove she could take anything and surrender to the feelings she hid within herself.

Fenn and Emery settled in at the end of the pool table opposite Kenzie, which was good. She would need some space if she was going to handle the embarrassment of being spanked in front of two men she didn’t know. Royce came back around behind Kenzie and trailed a fingertip down her spine. She started to shake, but didn’t say a word. He stopped when he reached her lower back just above the waistband of her pajama bottoms. Normally he would lay a hand to bare flesh, but this was Kenzie, not a sub from the Gilded Cuff.

“Ready?” he asked as he cupped one ass cheek, squeezing lightly.

She tensed, her breath catching.

“Remember to count and thank me each time,” he reminded her. Her short nod was enough. He lifted his hand and smacked her ass hard enough to startle her, but not enough to hurt.

“One…” Her words seem to tremble upon the air. “Thank you, sir.”

“Good girl,” he praised and stroked her cheek, then brought his hand down again, lighter this time.

“Two. Thank you, sir.” He smiled at the obvious relief in her words. That was best—let a sub believe that they knew what to expect, and then you surprised them. The surprise would flood them with adrenaline and arousal.

The third smack he made hard, with his open palm connecting in an almost whiplike strike.

That got a little yelp out of her and she jerked, the cuffs clinking as her whole body reacted. He had mastered delivering little blows that stung but did not do a sub any harm. He would never hurt Little Mac.

“Kenzie…” he warned as he pressed his palm against the tender spot, knowing it had to burn a little.

“Th—three. Thank you, sir.”

Now he was getting somewhere. Punishment could serve two purposes in his world: sexual punishment, or genuine punishment. Sometimes light pain would be used to bring a sub into the subspace where they let go of inhibitions and fears and existed on a higher sexual plane. With Kenzie his goal was strictly punishment, however. If he was going to take her to Russia, where danger would surround them, he needed her to trust and listen to him.

He waited until her breathing calmed, and then he struck a new spot, closer to the back of her thighs.

“Four. Thank you, sir.” The words came out through gritted teeth, and he smiled. She was fighting him again. While he wanted that fire and sass to stay, it did not belong in her punishment.

He glanced up from Kenzie and saw his friends were watching him, not her. Fenn held a half smile, and Emery had an odd expression on his face, one of bemused puzzlement.

Frowning, Royce delivered three successive blows to Kenzie, and she hissed out a sharp breath for each.

“Five, six, seven… Thank you, sir.” This time he could tell she was close to breaking down. It was her first time being spanked in this fashion, he could tell. But she was taking it like a true submissive, in front of two men she didn’t know. God, the woman was brave, and he would reward her for it later.

“Three more,” Emery said to Kenzie in gentle encouragement.

Royce didn’t let up. The last three were just as sharp, and he knew it would leave her bottom burning all night. She counted the last three, one at a time, her words almost a whisper, and by the last her muscles went lax and she lay panting on the pool table.

Royce glanced at his friends, who were still watching him.

“Take care of her,” said Emery. “We’ll have Hans update us.” The twins slipped from the room together.

Royce unfastened Kenzie’s handcuffs and tried to help her stand. She jerked away from him, her face stained with tears.

Fuck. He had gotten to her. Too much too fast. For a submissive who didn’t know she was submissive, her only reactions to punishment could be frightening and humiliating. But to me, her tears are beautiful. They were a sign of trust, a sign of strength. Everyone thought subs were weak, but it was the opposite. It took strength and courage to give yourself over to another’s control and let them own you in that vulnerable moment. Kenzie had done so beautifully, but he knew she had to feel raw and exposed.

He caught her up in his arms, even though she kicked and struggled.

“Hush, Little Mac. It’s over now. You did very well, and I’m so pleased.” He carried her to his room, where he planned to hold her until she calmed and fell asleep again. He passed by Hans on the stairs.

“We’ll need three tickets to Moscow,” he said. Hans nodded and continued his silent watch over Devereaux House.

“Hush, Little Mac. It’s over now. You did very well, and I’m so pleased.”

The words seem to come through a fog. Kenzie was cuddled in Royce’s arms, unable to move and barely able to think. Her bottom burned, and she knew she had been crying. But she had no energy left to care. She was exhausted. But he is pleased with me. Feelings of self-loathing swept through her, because she was happy that he was happy…for letting him hit her.

That can’t be right. I am so messed up. And the worst part was that it had hurt, yes, but that edge of pain from the softer blows… It made her flush with heat, and wetness had pooled between her thighs. She had been aroused by him spanking her. Just like in her fantasies. Only she hadn’t known that the pain would be that acute.

She wasn’t really hurt. Royce had known just the right amount of pain to give her, and that terrified her. Yet he didn’t. She burrowed into him now, inhaling his scent and wanting to imprint it on herself. There was nothing beyond this moment for her, the quiet breaths and her trembling, exhausted body wrapped against his.

I won’t think about tomorrow or how I’ll have to face him. I’ll just enjoy this moment. After that, she surrendered to sleep in Royce’s arms.

CHAPTER SIX

My ass hurts.

That was the first thought that crept into Kenzie’s head when she woke up. Bright sunlight shone through the windowpanes where the curtains had been pulled to the sides. She winced as she sat up and pushed the covers back. The sheets were heavy and soft—too soft—and the room she was in was lavishly decorated with antique furniture, not the cheap IKEA stuff from her apartment. A trickle, then a flood of embarrassing memories came back to her. She covered her face in her hands.

Oh my God, I let my professor spank me last night. In front of his friends.

She peeked between her fingers, checking to make sure the room was in fact empty. It was. Then she slipped out of bed and dashed to the bathroom. Her toiletry bag sat on the counter. Hans had been really thorough when he’d retrieved her stuff. She hastily brushed her teeth before she had the courage to tug down the pajama pants and look at her ass in the mirror.

It was a light-pink shade and still incredibly sensitive. Every time she sat down today she was going to remember being bent over that pool table, cuffed, and spanked. How humiliating. And yet…

And I’m going to Russia. It’d been worth it for that. She knew last night that she had to go. She was wrapped up in this thing now and couldn’t let Royce face this alone. She couldn’t stay here when she knew what he would be facing. It didn’t seem right to just sit back like some idiot damsel in distress when she could help him somehow. She’d find a way to justify going, but at least for now, she was relying on her instincts, and her instincts told her she had to go with him.

You only live once, right?

She stared at the mirror and took a brush out of her bag, running it through the tangled brown strands of her hair before she pulled it up into a ponytail. She needed to shower and change, but first she needed to call her parents and let them know she was leaving for Russia. She pulled her laptop from her backpack and turned it on. Her mom would be making coffee right now in the kitchen, checking her emails on the computer. When she called them via her webcam, she watched the little green phone icon vibrate on the screen.

Her mother’s face appeared on the screen, a coffee mug in her hands. “Hello?”

“Hey, Mom! I’m glad I caught you. Is Dad around?”

“Andrew? Come in here, honey. Kenzie wants to see you.” Kenzie smiled at the sight of her parents hunched together as they watched her through the screen. Her dad smiled broadly.

“Morning, kiddo. What’s up?”

She braced herself, not knowing how they would take it. “I have some big news.”

“Yes?” her mother asked.

“Dr. Devereaux is taking me to Russia today. It’s a last-minute decision, but we’re flying to Moscow.”

“Russia?” Her dad’s brows rose. “This for some paleontology thing?”

“Yes. We’re going to visit some universities over there.” She wanted to tell them they would be digging, but it would be frozen in Moscow and there would be no way to dig this time of year.

“Wow,” her mom said. “Russia. You’ll be safe, won’t you? I hear it can be a little dangerous.”

Kenzie nodded. “Dr. Devereaux is bringing a bodyguard. We’ll be perfectly safe.” The lie felt a bit acidic on her tongue, but there was no way she could tell her parents the truth about why she and Royce were going to Moscow. Telling them about a Russian fossil smuggler and the goons who tried to kill her sounded like a terrible idea.

Her dad pushed his glasses up on the bridge of his nose. “When will you be home?”

“I’m not sure. Probably a week?” That sounded reasonable.

“Good, we don’t want to miss you coming home for Christmas.”

“I won’t.” She smiled at them, feeling instantly better until Royce walked into the bedroom.

“Up and at ’em, Little Mac,” he announced, and then paused. He’d noticed her sitting in bed with her laptop.

“Who’s that?” her dad asked, his eyes narrowing.

“Oh, that’s…” She glanced at Royce in terror. This she could not explain.

“Is there a man at your apartment?” her mother asked, then frowned. “Wait…that doesn’t look like your apartment.”

“I’m staying at Dr. Devereaux’s.” She knew this was one truth she couldn’t avoid. “We had to be ready to leave for the airport together, so I stayed here overnight in the guest room.”

“Oh, okay,” her mom said, still frowning. “Can we meet him? Is he still there?”

Royce made a polite cough. Kenzie turned his way. He gave her a little nod, and she turned the laptop his way. Royce came over and bent to peer at the screen, flashing that charming smile of his.

“Hello, Mr. and Mrs. Martin. I’m glad to finally meet you.”

Kenzie’s mother all but swooned, and her father grinned. That was the thing about Royce Devereaux. He could charm snakes—and even overprotective fathers.

“So nice to meet you too! Kenzie’s told us all about you. So, Russia? What a treat that will be.” Her mother was beaming now, and Kenzie wanted to crawl into a hole and die. She loved her parents, but they were sometimes a little too eager to help further her career, and right now they were embarrassing her.

“Hey—” She cut into the flurry of questions her parents were currently directing at Royce. “We have to go now, okay? I’ll call you when I get home.” She slapped the laptop lid closed and once again covered her face with her hands.

“They seem nice,” Royce said as he pried her hands away from her face.

“They are,” she agreed, still not looking at him. They weren’t going to talk about last night, were they? She wasn’t ready for that. Hell, she’d never be ready for that discussion.

“You don’t need to hide from me, sweetheart. Last night was intense for both of us. But you have nothing to be ashamed of.” He gave her ponytail a gentle tug.

So they were going to talk about it. She finally looked at him, expecting what she didn’t know. But she a saw fierce tenderness in his eyes, and he was smiling.

“Most subs are emotionally vulnerable after their first punishment. It’s because you opened up to me, and that made you feel vulnerable. And I liked that you were open with me.”

“You did?” She wanted to know what else he liked, but they were already treading in dangerous waters. He should not have touched her last night, and she sure as hell shouldn’t have let him. But she had to know more about him and the dark world he lived in that seemed to fill a void inside of her.

“Yeah, I liked it a hell of a lot. If you and I weren’t…” Royce’s smile faded. “If we didn’t work together like we do, let’s just say I’d have done everything to you last night.”

Her mouth was dry and she struggle to swallow. “What do you mean by everything?” I’m only going to torture myself asking him to tell me what I want to hear, like looking at a pair of Jimmy Choos when all I can afford are sneakers.

Royce leaned over her on the bed, one hand fisted in her ponytail, and he pulled her head back as he gazed into her eyes.

“I’d only scare you if I told you.”

“Tell me,” she begged. Her heart pounded against her ribs, and a hunger lurked deep within, wanting to know what he defined as everything.

He shook his head. “No sense in speaking aloud that which I cannot do.” He said it like a kingly proclamation and was smiling again. “Get up and get showered. Our flight leaves in three hours.” He released her hair after one more playful tug.

Half an hour later, Kenzie was showered and packed, her bag by the front door. Hans and Royce were there waiting for her.

Hans handed her a slim black phone. “Here. This is your personal satellite phone. It has a tiny tracker wired in that I can trace at a distance of five thousand miles.”

“Whoa,” she whispered as she accepted the phone.

“Five thousand? Emery must’ve extended the range of the Black Widow.” Royce was checking out his own phone with new appreciation.

“What’s a Black Widow?” Kenzie asked.

“It’s a tracking device. Emery’s company makes them. Powerful little bug. Handy as hell.” Royce pocketed his phone and focused on Hans. “We taking any protection?”

Hans shook his head. “Too risky, even with permits. Dimitri Razin will meet us in Moscow and see that we receive any necessary firepower.”

Guns? They were talking about guns? The room spun a little as Kenzie recalled the shooting from last night. How she’d managed to forget it in the first place she didn’t know.

“Kenzie, it’s okay,” Royce said, touching her shoulder. “We won’t let you get anywhere near the dangerous stuff. I promise.”

She nodded, wanting to trust him. But she certainly didn’t trust whoever that man Vadym was. She knew in her gut that whatever they faced in Russia would not be easy or safe, and she’d made a vow to herself to face that danger and follow through on helping Royce. But if Royce wanted to pretend for a little while longer that he could keep her safe, she would let him. Her eyes would stay open, and she would stay alert.

“Everyone ready?” Hans looked at her, as though trying to make sure that she was truly set on coming.

She tightened her grip on her suitcase handle. “Ready.”

This is crazy. Flying off to Russia with my professor and his scary-ass bodyguard to stop fossil smugglers? God, I hope I know what I’m doing.

CHAPTER SEVEN

Royce hated planes. He didn’t used to, but since he lost his parents, he’d viewed them as giant deathtraps. The pilot announced their flight time and the weather conditions on the way to Moscow, and Royce’s stomach knotted. He’d flown often over the years but had never gotten over the ache of his memories of that tragic night.

He would sit frozen in his first-class seat of the Boeing 747 and not be able to breathe. The engines would come to life and the flight attendant would walk the length of the cabin, calm and casual, but nothing could distract him from his fear. He would grip the armrest until his knuckles were white, even before takeoff.

Every time the memories of losing his parents came back, they were as dark and heavy as a midnight sea, drawing him down into their depths.

Royce grinned as he, Wes, and Emery raided his dad’s liquor cabinet and sat in the den watching TV. His parents wouldn’t get home until late tonight, and they could hide the empty bottle of Jack Daniel’s long before then. They didn’t talk about school. They talked about girls or sports or a hundred things that seemed so important at the time.

The phone rang, but he ignored it. Half an hour later the police arrived at his door. Two officers stepped out of their vehicles, caps in their hands, heads bowed.

“Are you Royce Devereaux?” one man asked.

He nodded and searched their faces, trying to figure out why cops would be here at all.

“There’s been an accident. The plane carrying your parents missed the runway in the fog.” The second officer swallowed thickly and continued. “I’m sorry, but there were no survivors.”

The words seemed to make the air hum like a hive of bees deep in his skull. He couldn’t escape the sound. He tried to speak, but no words came out. His eyes burned. His heart froze, unable to beat.

When Royce’s legs gave out, it was his friends who caught him and held him up.

“Dr. Devereaux, do you want nuts?” The sweet, slightly husky voice jerked him out of the past.

Nuts? What the fuck?

Kenzie waved a bag of peanuts in front of him. “Peanuts. You want some?” The smile on her lips faltered, and he realized it was because he was glaring at her. He wiped the scowl from his face and took the shiny red packet from her. The flight attendant walked by, and Royce flagged her down. “One glass of scotch on the rocks, please.”

The woman, who was no doubt barely older than Kenzie, smiled invitingly. Her eyes were warm and appreciative as she took him in. “Of course, sir. I’ll bring that right away.”

In another time and place, he would’ve taken the attendant into the nearest bathroom and punched another hole in his mile-high club card, but the thought wasn’t as appealing as it used to be. He shot a look at Kenzie, who was focused on her laptop, which was already propped open on her tray table. Hans sat in the aisle seat in the row across from them, neck pillow behind his head, his eyes closed.

Smart man. I wish I could sleep on a plane like him.

Royce focused on Kenzie again, not missing that the small confines of the plane even in first class made their legs touch and their arms press together on the armrests. A soft floral scent teased his nose, and he leaned in a little, wanting to inhale the fragrance. He started to close his eyes again, but as he did so Kenzie started talking.

“I downloaded some information about Mongolia before we left. Do you want to read it?” she asked.

“Mongolia?” He was still focused on that sweet scent that was beckoning him.

“Yeah. Monte said the Russian guy, Vadym-whatever, was involved in fossil smuggling in Mongolia, remember? I figure it has to be about the Gobi Desert. That’s the richest fossil location in the world.”

Royce nodded. He had been in Mongolia before when he was younger. One of his first digs had been out on the steppes.

“Your drink, sir.” The flight attendant set the scotch in his hands, and he didn’t miss how her touch lingered on his hand a little too long. An invitation?

“Thanks. Do you want a drink, Little Mac?”

Kenzie glanced up from her screen, her cheeks pinkened. “I don’t need anything.”

“Rum and Coke for the lady,” he told the attendant, who nodded and left.

“I don’t think she wanted to get me a drink,” Kenzie mused, a slightly puzzled look in her eyes.

“It’s her job,” Royce said. “Now show me some of the maps. It’s been a while since I’ve been there.”

Kenzie angled her computer his way. “What’s the Gobi like? I’ve never been to a desert.”

“It’s colder than you’d think, this time of year. Plus, it’s full of camels and yurts,” Hans interrupted. Royce and Kenzie both stared at him. His eyes were still closed and he seemed to be asleep, but he’d been listening. Crafty man. Royce shook his head, trying not to laugh.

“Yurts?” Kenzie’s nose wrinkled.

“Big circular enclosed tents. Can house about fifty people comfortably,” Royce added.

“Comfortably?” Hans said, his eyes still closed. “Try packed like sardines.”

Kenzie returned to her original question. “What’s the desert like?”

Royce tried to think of a way to describe it. “It’s bleak and harsh. A vast open land that’s eerily silent. Sound carries across the dunes for miles. There’s ice-filled canyons, and the dinosaur fossils in the steppes. Once you’re out among the dunes, you can completely disappear. In a lot of ways.” He sipped his scotch and noticed Kenzie was watching him with fascination.

This was one of the things he loved about her. Whenever they talked it was a genuine conversation, not just small talk. They listened to each other. Kenzie wasn’t picturing her next shopping spree or wondering if her makeup looked okay. She had depth—she was real. She loved dinosaurs, just like him. They passionately argued about the conclusions of various new discoveries, conversed about the latest academic papers, and he enjoyed every minute of it. Being with her wasn’t like being with the women at the Gilded Cuff. Those women were there for sexual release and physical satisfaction. Sometimes he went for hours without saying a word to his partners. With Kenzie he felt he could talk for hours or sit in silence without awkwardness. It was nice.

Kenzie lowered her voice. “So what’s your plan for when we reach Moscow?”

“I have a friend, Lev Abramov. He’s a professor of paleontology at Moscow State University. If there’s anything going on in the fossil world on that continent, he will know about it. He’ll most likely have classes during the day, so we could take in some of the sights. Hans will take care of reconnaissance on Vadym. We need to find out who he is and anything else we can about him.”

Royce sipped the last of his scotch as Kenzie finished her rum and Coke. He waved the flight attendant over to collect the empty glasses. The cabin lights dimmed overhead, and a yawn escaped Kenzie’s lips.

“You’ve barely had any sleep,” he reminded her. “Not deep sleep, anyway. Why don’t you rest? Use my shoulder if you need to.” He shifted his body closer. His inner Dom growled in approval. She nodded, her eyes drooping a little as she leaned her head against him and settled into sleep. When it came time, he would have their chairs reclined into beds and make sure that she slept comfortably.

One of her hands came up and curled around his biceps, holding him close like she would a favorite stuffed animal. Her dark lashes fanned across her cheeks as she closed her eyes and sighed, soft and sweet, like a dream of flowers and sunshine. She deserved such dreams.

Royce settled into his seat. Moments later, he too was falling asleep. The feminine scent of Kenzie and the feel of her body tucked against him were a dream he wished he deserved, a dream he would cling to as the god Morpheus dragged him into the darkness of sleep.

Hans Brummer opened one eye and smiled as he saw the grad student cuddle up to her professor. Royce acted tough, and hell, he was tough, but he wasn’t much older than Kenzie.

Kids today. They think they control themselves.

It was obvious to any fool that Royce was captivated by Kenzie. Hans was no stranger to Royce’s lifestyle or the type of women he met at the Gilded Cuff. He’d seen more than his share of that following Emery Lockwood around for the last decade in the shadows of the Cuff, watching over him.

BDSM required trust. But Hans knew that Royce had not yet learned to trust himself, and until he did he would never be truly happy, but Kenzie had made him open up. That made Hans nervous. Love could be dangerous. If he loved someone, they could be used against him, and that could get him hurt. He hadn’t wanted Kenzie to come, but he knew Royce. Once his mind was set, there was no changing it.

Hans peered out the window of the plane, watching the clouds far below turn turbulent and stormy.

Moscow was a strange mix of the past and present. Kenzie stared at the sights from inside the private cab that took them from the airport to the hotel. The famous multicolored onion domes of Saint Basil’s Cathedral shimmered in the distance, accented like a castle in a foggy world, backlit by snowy skies. The streets were full of tourists and locals bustling along the icy streets, coats clutched tight with woolen scarves blowing in the wind.

Beside her, Royce leaned back in the cab, seemingly at ease, his gaze distant. He’d been silent for much of the long flight, and she was afraid that spending most the time cuddled against him asleep had been a mistake. What if he was regretting letting her come? What if he didn’t want her here? That led to worse questions.

What if he doesn’t want me at all?

When they’d been together in the shower, he’d come so close to kissing and then after he punished her, he’d said things that had given her hope. Not that she should hope. They couldn’t go down that road together, not when it could destroy their careers.

She tried to start a conversation. “So…where are we staying?”

“The Lotte.” Royce pulled his cell phone out of his pocket and focused on the screen, ignoring her.

Right. So he didn’t want to talk. “Hans, what’s the hotel like? Have you been there?”

“Once. Pretty good. They have an underground pool.” He offered her a smile from where he sat in the front seat next to their driver.

“A pool?” She’d packed a swimsuit, thinking she might use a hotel pool if she had the chance. Swimming was one of the few ways she could truly find peace in the world around her.

I doubt we’ll have time for swimming, though.

“Here we are,” Hans said as the cab came to a stop.

Kenzie climbed out and gasped up at the glittering pair of buildings that formed the hotel. One was tall and the other short and wide. The words “Lotte Hotel” glowed in white over the shorter building.

Hans and Royce carried their bags into the lobby, where a bellhop rolled up with a cart and loaded the luggage onto it. Kenzie stuck close to Royce and Hans, following them deep into the lobby. The floors were a pale cream with alternating diamond patterns leading past lavishly decorated lounge areas. Crystal-encrusted chandeliers guided guests toward the check-in desk, illuminating the path on the floor. Everything around Kenzie was clean and glittering, with subtle hints of gold in the design. It was stunning.

“Man, I can’t wait until dinner,” Hans grumbled as they reached the front desk.

“Dinner?” Kenzie asked.

Hans patted his stomach. “The Lotte has a couple of good restaurants, with menus prepared by a Michelin-starred chef. Not too bad, eh?”

“Michelin?” She’d never eaten at a restaurant of such renown before.

“Yeah.” Hans grinned and sighed dramatically.

Royce checked in, while Kenzie and Hans hung back. “Hans, is he mad about me coming with you?” she finally asked, dreading the answer.

Hans’s smile faded. “It’s not that he doesn’t want you here. This shit is dangerous. If it was up to me, you’d be in a safehouse stateside. I think the only reason he let you come is he’s worried that there’s no real safe place right now, except maybe by his side. Until he’s made certain that you’re safe, he’s going to be grumpy about it.”

“Great, a grumpy professor. Nothing I haven’t dealt with before, especially when it’s time to grade finals.”

“Well, I imagine angry, dangerous Russian mobsters are a bit worse than grading finals.”

Finished at the desk, Royce came over holding a trio of room keys. He handed the first to Hans.

“You the suite connected to us.” Hans nodded and plucked his card from Royce’s hand.

“Us?” Kenzie’s voice came out breathless, and she inwardly cursed.

“There’s no way you’re staying alone anywhere in the city. You’re out of your depth here. Human trafficking is big in this part of the world. You would be like fucking catnip to the sick fucks who steal women off the street.”

Kenzie’s mood deflated. So she would be sharing a room with him, but only because she was being protected. She took her keycard from Royce.

Be glad it’s not about sex. Sleeping with him ends your career before it even starts. Remember?

Royce led them to an elevator bay, and they got off on the fifteenth floor. Kenzie sagged with relief against the wall as Royce activated the door with his key. Despite sleeping on the flight, she was suddenly dead tired and was worried she couldn’t make it another step.

“Our luggage will be here soon. Why don’t you rest for a bit?” Royce opened the door after a cursory check that the room was empty, and then he let her join him. As the lights came on, her jaw dropped. There was a massive king-size bed with a dark wood frame and a dozen fancy pillows resting on top. A tall wall between the bed and the sitting room had two couches and a large dining table that could seat at least six people. Kenzie headed for the window, her feet dragging a little, but she really wanted to check out the view. She wasn’t sure how long she stood there, taking in the seemingly unending skyline of Moscow.

Wow, I really am in Russia.

Royce’s voice drew her focus to him. “I’ll take a shower first, if you prefer to crash.” He put their luggage on a set of racks and slid off his leather motorcycle jacket. He tossed the coat onto the bed and headed for the distant bathroom near the door of the massive suite.

Kenzie eased down on the bed, listening for the sounds of Royce in the bathroom, the door closing, the running of the taps, and finally the shower. Then, after waiting a few minutes, Kenzie inched her fingers along the bed to grasp the leather jacket. She pulled it up to her nose, inhaling Royce’s masculine scent that clung to the leather.

The emotional roller coaster of the last couple days seemed to suddenly form a pit in her stomach that soon filled with a black leaden knot. She had been attacked, chased, shot at, and almost killed. She’d explored Royce’s private life, feeling like an intruder as she was exposed to his secrets, and the dark desires he had that mirrored her own. When he’d spanked her on the billiard table, something had changed. She couldn’t go back, whatever she wanted to believe. The truth was that he’d owned part of her in that moment, and she had wanted him to.

If she ever had sex with him, it would obliterate her completely. He was a living, breathing force of nature, and she felt suddenly very small and foolish that she could even exist on the same level as him.

Kenzie laid his coat back down on the bed and stretched herself out near the headboard. She closed her eyes, but sleep was slow to come. The faces of the men who’d attacked her were there waiting for her, as was the light glinting off the barrel of the gun.

She jolted awake at the sound of distant voices. The door to the connecting suite was almost shut, but not quite. Kenzie slipped off the bed and approached the crack in the door, straining to hear the voices.

Hans’s deep voice rumbled. “Are you sure about bringing the kid? We could still put her on plane and send her with Fenn to Colorado. That ranch is hard to find, even for the Russian Mafia.”

“Yeah, I’m sure,” said Royce. “We can’t risk getting anyone else hurt. She’s my problem, and I’m the one who should be responsible for her.” His words cut through Kenzie’s heart like a knife.

I’m a problem. A burden. She wasn’t here to help; she was here so he could keep an eye on her. Tears burned at her eyes. She hated when someone made her feel insignificant and childish, especially when that person was someone she respected and admired like Royce. How stupid she’d been to think she would be able to help him somehow. Instead, she’d thrown a fit like a child and demanded that he take her along. Now she knew why he’d agreed.

Kenzie almost opened the door, but confronting Royce would do no good. What was she doing here? She wasn’t trained to fight or shoot a gun. It wasn’t like she knew more about dinosaurs than Royce. She’d never even been to a dig site outside of the US. What was she even doing here? Maybe he was right. Maybe this was a mistake.

She walked over to her bag on the luggage rack and started to pack. She was zipping it up when Royce opened the connecting door and came back into their room.

He froze when he saw her standing there with her backpack. “Kenzie, what’s going on?”

“I…I’m going home. I’m just in the way and—”

Royce’s face darkened, and he strode over to her, putting one hand flat on her suitcase.

“You’re not going home. You’re staying here.”

“I’m only going to get in the way. You’ll be splitting your time between Vadym and looking after me. I’m a problem.” She threw his words back at him, feeling foolish, but she wanted him to know she’d heard what he said.

He cupped her chin, holding her still. Her body trembled in fear and excitement at the way his gaze burned through her. “You are problem, and I do have to look after you. Do you want me to say why? Because once I do, there’s no going back. There’s no happy endings with white picket fences. You get the truth from me. The hard fucking truth.”

Her nerves skittered through her. She’d never seen him like this before—no, wait, she had when he’d been standing over the man who tried to kill her. This was the Royce who was capable of anything. He was fierce, he was frightening, and yet he didn’t scare her.

She knew asking for the truth would be a mistake, but she had to know. “Why?”

“Because the moment you walked into my office that first day, I wanted to do bad things to you. I wanted to make you moan and scream. I wanted to take you into my world and own you like no one else can. But if we did…”

“It would ruin our careers,” Kenzie finished.

“But that doesn’t change how you make me feel. How I feel about you. What I want to do to you.”

His fingers moved from her chin down her throat in a featherlight caress. She held very still, spellbound by his words. He wanted not only to be with her, but to possess her. And as bad as it was to admit it, she wanted that too.

“So now you get it,” he growled softly. “Those pretty brown eyes are wide with fear and I hate that, but you wanted the truth. You’ve been to my club, you’ve seen what I need from a woman. I’m a Dom. When a woman I want is in danger, I break all the rules. That’s why I let you come to Moscow.”

His fingers curled around her throat in a gentle hold. “Because whether or not we both want to admit it, you’re mine. Even if I can’t have you the way I want, I’ll take whatever I can get, even if I can only see you in my office every day and do nothing else.” His eyes burned into her, flooding her with an arousal so hot she almost forgot to breathe. She wanted to be his more than was wise.

“You done scaring her?” Hans asked, standing in the doorway that joined their rooms. “We’ve got a weapons deal to worry about.” He looked a bit like an intimidating overprotective father. If Kenzie hadn’t been shaken by Royce’s words, she would’ve laughed.

Royce backed away from her. “Stay in the room until we get back. Don’t open the door for anyone but us, do you understand?”

“You really think it’s that dangerous?” She’d been hoping to go down to the pool and have a quick swim before dinner.

“It could be. We can’t take any chances.” Royce looked to her bags and then back at her. “Go ahead and unpack. Give us half an hour, then order room service. We should be back before it arrives.”

“What about the Michelin star restaurant?”

“Not tonight, I’m afraid. Not until we know what we’re dealing with here. I’ve got some friends in the city, and I need them to tell me what kind of shitstorm we’re facing with Vadym.”

Kenzie made a show of sitting on the edge of the bed. “Okay. I’ll stay here.”

Royce nodded in approval. “We’ll be back soon.” For a moment she thought he might come over and kiss her, but instead he turned away, following Hans into the hallway.

Kenzie waited for a good fifteen minutes and then got up from the bed to find her swimsuit. She was going to swim.

I’m not as helpless as he likes to think. With two older brothers in the family and an overprotective dad, she had gotten good at slipping away unnoticed. There were certain skills little sisters had to hone in order to do what they wanted—otherwise, they never did anything.

She found her suit and goggles, changed, and grabbed a towel. She would be done with her swim before Royce got back. And he would be none the wiser.

CHAPTER EIGHT

“So, are we going to talk about it?” Hans asked as he and Royce climbed in the back of their hired SUV.

Royce leaned back, resting his head on the headrest as he stared straight ahead. “Talk about what?” Hans had the most amazing way of making him feel like he was a ten-year-old boy and not a man of thirty-three.

“About the fact that you basically told your grad student you want to fuck her brains out. Are you fraternizing with students now?”

“No. There’s a fuck ton of paperwork involved, for one thing. And I would have to stop working with her. If it’s handled wrong, it could damage the academic integrity of any research we did together.”

“Jesus. Why didn’t you send her somewhere safe if she’s such a temptation to you?” Hans asked. “She would have been fine at Fenn’s ranch in Colorado.”

Royce watched the streets of Moscow blur as their driver sped up when the street cleared. He didn’t want to admit it, but he’d told Kenzie the truth. As a Dom, he had a natural urge to protect his sub. It was hard to fight that kind of pull.

“It’s my own fault. I was sure she wasn’t going to agree to my terms.”

Hans shook his head. “You wouldn’t have given her terms at all unless part of you wanted her to say yes. You should have just told her to stay, end of story.”

“Well, it’s too late for that now. I can’t have her out of my sight. Not until this is over.”

“Fine, so we find out about these bastards, who they are, what they want from you, and then we take them out. With most enemies you could find a way to convince them to leave you alone, but mobsters don’t think like that. It’s you or them. No other choice.” Hans’s succinct solution made Royce grin. It was why he’d made such a good bodyguard for Emery all these years.

“Who are we meeting with for the…equipment?” Royce asked more quietly in case their driver was listening. Even though Moscow was a heavily populated city, he didn’t want to make the mistake of assuming that the Russian mob didn’t have eyes and ears everywhere, even hired cabdrivers.

“Wes thought we should call Dimitri Razin. He is well connected in the right places, and he will have some idea of where to start when we track down those bastards.”

Royce stroked his chin. Dimitri was a Russian art lover and no friend to the current political regime. Wes said Razin’s family had been a solid supporter of the Imperial family before they were killed in the early twentieth century. Razin was not a member of the mob and never would be. He had his own team of loyal men and women, and he somehow kept himself apart from the reaching fingers of the Mafia. In fact, they stayed well clear of him.

“Dimitri is a good call,” Royce agreed.

“I checked with him before we left the hotel. He’s bringing a weapons specialist with them, some man named Barinov.”

Royce grinned again. If things went south they were going to need some decent firepower, and Razin’s connections would be very helpful.

“Where’s this meeting going to be?” Royce sat up in his seat as the SUV slowed to a stop against the curb.

Hans pointed to the building just outside. “The Sandunovsky Baths.” It was a rather unremarkable structure, probably built in the late eighteen hundreds. Royce paid the driver as they left.

Inside the bathhouse, Royce was impressed by the ornate archway, heavily decorated with sculptures of nymphs on horseback. The nymphs were emerging from the sea and using Triton’s shell trumpets. At least some beautiful things hadn’t been destroyed when the Bolsheviks took over.

Hans whistled low in appreciation as he followed Royce inside. The interior was a flamboyant mix of baroque, Gothic, and Moorish styles. It looked like something out of a James Bond movie. All that was missing were a bunch of aging tattooed Russians with nothing but towels and smoking cigars.

Royce went to the reception desk and gave his name to the young woman monitoring the guest arrivals.

“Dr. Devereaux, your suite is this way.” She waved for them to come with her. The red-and-white diamond floors bore an Iberian influence, but the baroque columns presented a sumptuous counterpoint design. Typical of Dimitri to pick a place like this, he thought. He was one selective bastard.

The woman paused at the door, slipping a brass key from her pocket into the keyhole. Royce marveled at the ornamental mystique of a place like this for a clandestine meeting. The attendant opened the door but didn’t enter. She simply inclined her head with a smile.

“The changing rooms are just inside, and beyond that is your pool. The rest of your party is already waiting.”

Royce entered into the room, taking a moment to study the dark mahogany lockers and the supply of shoeboxes and hangers. Hans waited until the door closed behind them before he started stripping. Royce followed suit. With towels wrapped around their waists, they followed the signs pointing toward the private pool.

The room here was simple in terms of decoration compared to the rest of the bathhouse. The water was clear, and the blue tiles at the bottom contrasted with the white pillars that loomed around the pool like Athenian sentries. The light from the chandeliers hanging above the pool area was soft and muted, letting the water glow. It looked as though Royce and Hans had stepped into the past, to a place of old-world opulence.

Two men stood at the far end of the pool, fully dressed. Dimitri Razin wore an expensive suit, looking intimidating as fuck. A man in a leather jacket with dark-brown hair had to be Razin’s contact, Barinov. Royce was a little pissed that he and Hans were practically naked while the Russians weren’t, but perhaps that was by design. He saw Hans’s eyes dart between the shadows into the nooks and crannies behind the pillars.

“Devereaux,” Dimitri said with a chuckle, his gaze moving between Royce and Hans. “A little underdressed for an arms deal, aren’t we?”

Royce rolled his eyes. “You said to meet at the bathhouse. You didn’t warn us not to strip naked.” He waved at the towel.

Dimitri grinned. “When Russians ask you meet them at the bathhouse, never undress.”

“Duly noted,” Hans said, his voice dry with sarcasm. “Although I’m not totally naked. Got my Barretta.”

Royce glanced at the bodyguard, unable to see where the man kept the gun. “Aside from the fact that I don’t know how you got that through customs, I don’t want to know where you’re hiding it,” he whispered.

Hans chuckled. “You’re right. You don’t.”

“Let’s get straight to business then, shall we?” Dimitri said. “This is Rurik Barinov, a friend of mine. He has a decent grasp on mob activities in the city. More importantly, he’s brought you just the right amount of firepower to comfortably protect yourselves.”

Rurik grinned, and Royce noticed a thin scar on his face that stretched from his forehead down to his cheek turned a pale white. He bent to retrieve two black briefcases and handed them over to Hans.

“This should take care of your little smuggler problem,” Rurik said with a dark chuckle.

“Much obliged,” the bodyguard replied.

Royce turned back to Dimitri. “So what’s the word on Vadym? He’s based in Moscow, but he sent his cronies after me all the way on Long Island. That’s an awful lot of trouble for one guy.”

Dimitri crossed his arms. “From what I know of him, he’s looking for new lucrative money streams. Fossil smuggling and raiding archaeological sites is his latest hobby for cash. He’s been trying to get fossils out of Mongolia, and he needs a paleontologist to authenticate them as Russian fossils instead of Mongolian.”

“But he can’t use a Russian paleontologist,” Rurik added. “It would only raise suspicions later on.”

Dimitri nodded. “Once he gets them cleared, he could sell them to American and European museums or private buyers for a vast amount of money.”

“Fuck, it’s simple, but it makes sense,” said Royce. “Get someone like me to verify the country of origin on fossils, and it’s hard to challenge later unless the original country knows about the thefts and can prove it.” He suddenly felt bone-weary. This was the kind of shit he hated dealing with: people who used the unique and rare bits of Earth’s history to pad their own pockets. It wasn’t just fossils, either. Ancient Russian burial mounds had been bulldozed to get at the treasures inside, not only robbing the world of those items, but of any chance of understanding the history surrounding them. Usually the authorities were three steps behind them at every turn. There was a war going on in the shadows, one that few even knew existed.

“So the bastard picked Royce,” Hans mused. “Because of his high profile, no doubt.”

Dimitri nodded. “It seems so. I heard he’s watching for you, and he knows you’re in Moscow. You threw yourself into the belly of the beast, my friend.”

Rurik chuckled as though his comment was amusing and not damning.

Royce knew it would be impossible to protect the Mongolian fossils. The best he could hope for would be for the man to look elsewhere for his paleontologist. “So what can I do to stop this guy and get him to leave me alone?”

Dimitri and Rurik exchanged a long glance before Dimitri spoke grimly.

“He knows you know about him and his plan. He won’t let go, and he won’t let you expose him.” Dimitri’s tone was soft and deadly. “There’s only one way to put an end to this.”

“You mean put an end to him,” Royce said. He wasn’t a killer—he didn’t just take lives. He glanced at Hans. The bodyguard had killed men before to protect Royce’s best friends, Emery and Fenn, but that had been in the heat of battle with bullets flying.

But you almost killed someone, the voice inside reminded him. You stood over Monte and almost shot him to protect Kenzie. Would this be so different?

“I can get you in the club he frequents and get you close. Then you can take him out,” Dimitri said.

Royce shook his head, balking at the idea. “I can’t shoot a man in the club.” He stared at the ceiling and the mosaic pattern.

“I’ve already thought of that.” Dimitri held out a small vial of a dark crushed substance. Royce took the vial, wondering what was inside.

“It’s ricin. Get it in his drink and he’s done.” Dimitri’s deathly calm voice chilled Royce to the bone.

“Ricin is what killed Georgi Markov, that Bulgarian dissident writer,” Hans cut in in a soft voice. “That’s dangerous stuff.”

Royce almost handed the vial back to Dimitri.

“It is,” Dimitri agreed. “But Vadym is a dangerous man. He doesn’t just deal in fossils. He deals in people.”

Royce glanced at Rurik. The man was flexing his hands and curled them into fists, a growl barely audible. Dimitri’s words sank in, and Royce felt his stomach heave. His blood began to boil.

“You mean human trafficking.”

Dimitri slipped his hands into his pockets. “Yes. He’s one of the biggest traders in the flesh markets.”

If there was one thing in the world that could change Royce’s mind about killing a man in cold blood, it was sex trafficking. The monsters who did that to women, who stole their freedom, their bodies, their lives—it was a fate worse than death. It was hell. Royce stared down at the vial of ricin in his hands, and made his decision.

“Then he’s a dead man,” Royce said. He wasn’t going to let someone like Vadym continue breathing if he had a say in the matter. It wouldn’t stop human trafficking in general, but he was going to stop this bastard if he could.

Hans looked to Dimitri. “Guess that’s that. Where can we find him? You mentioned the club he gets into?”

“It’s called the Black Diamond Bar, but it’s not a bar.” Dimitri flashed a rueful smile. “It’s a BDSM club.”

“You ever go there?” Royce asked him. “We need someone who’s familiar with the territory.”

Dimitri stroked his chin. “A few times, but they tend to prefer sadists, and that’s never been my thing.”

“How can I get in?”

Dimitri reached into his back pocket and pulled out a wallet. He handed Royce a black card with a silver diamond symbol.

“That will get you in, but you’ll need a sub. They don’t let unattached Doms come to play, not unless you’re shopping for a pet who isn’t legal. The club gets used as an auction house for traffickers. When I found that out, I looked for membership elsewhere.”

Royce tapped the black card against his palm. It looked like a fancy hotel card key. “You still have an active membership?”

“Yes. I kept it to help with an Interpol raid once. They didn’t catch everyone, but it did slow the trafficking for a short time. I felt it might come in handy again someday.”

Royce glanced at Hans. “Tomorrow night I’ll go with Kenzie.”

“Don’t be an idiot,” said Hans.

Dimitri’s eyes sharpened. “Who’s Kenzie?”

“The assistant I mentioned earlier.” Royce met the Russian’s eyes. “I brought her to Moscow with me.”

“The assistant Vadym almost killed?” said Dimitri. “You brought her to Moscow, and now you plan to take her to a BDSM club to hunt and kill Vadym? My, Devereaux, you just throw all the rules out the window, don’t you?” The Russians laughed, but Royce didn’t. Nothing was funny about him bringing Kenzie to the club, but he wasn’t going to take anyone else with him.

“You have someone Hans could take, right?” Royce asked Dimitri.

Hans looked at his hands. “That bondage stuff isn’t my thing.”

“But you can’t get in otherwise,” Royce reminded him. “It’s just an act.”

“Fine. But I’m not spanking or whipping anyone.”

“I will hire someone for Mr. Brummer. One who will understand her purpose there,” Dimitri assured Hans. “We will see you at the Black Diamond Bar tomorrow. It’s south of the center of the city. Ask a driver to take you to the Soho Rooms. It’s a tourist spot where the runway models and the Mafia meet for a night of fun.”

“Thanks.” Royce shook hands with Dimitri and Rurik before he and Hans picked up the weapons and headed back to the changing room.

“I kinda hoped we’d get to use the bathing pools,” Royce muttered.

Hans laughed. “You really have been watching too many James Bond movies.”

“You stripped naked before I did,” Royce reminded him.

“Touché.”

“We have to get back to Kenzie. There was a mischievous twinkle in her eye that I don’t quite trust.” Royce reached into his locker and began pulling out his clothes and dressing.

“Mischievous twinkle? She’s not Tinkerbell.” Hans was grinning as he slid his jeans on.

“No, she’s not,” he growled. “But I’m afraid she’s not taking this as seriously as she should. She might be treating this like a game to avoid the trauma of the past couple days.”

“Yeah, well, taking her to this club isn’t going to help that delusion. It’s all about roleplay there.”

He wished Hans hadn’t reminded him of that. He didn’t want to think about all the things he wanted to do to her, bad things, dirty things, things he knew by her reaction to the Gilded Cuff that she would love.

Hans must have seen the look in his eyes because of the way he grunted. “So it looks like I’ll be babysitting both of you tomorrow, because one of you or the other is going to lose your mind.”

“I don’t lose my mind,” Royce said as he jerked his leather jacket on.

“Yeah, you do, kid.” Hans carried the weapon cases to Royce, who was putting on his boots.

Royce looked up at Hans’s reflection in the mirror. “I haven’t been a kid in a long time.” Not since he was eight, when Emery and Fenn had been kidnapped. Everything had changed after that. Everything.

No matter how carefully he’d tried to put his world back together, he just couldn’t make the pieces fit. Masked gunmen kidnapping your best friends had a way of destroying a boy’s innocence. The intangible bogeymen of his boyhood nightmares suddenly became real, and they wore black ski masks.

There was a part of him that would always be that child who spent one evening camping in the woods, sharing ghost stories with his friends, and the next night sitting on his father’s lap in his home, shaking as a policeman asked questions about his missing friends.

Hans’s voice softened. “You went through hell, I know. Trust me, I know. I remember all of it, every damn minute from the day the Lockwoods hired me to protect Emery. I wanted to protect all of you. Just like I am now.”

Royce’s throat tightened and he straightened his leather jacket, tugging it down slightly. Hans was in his fifties, but he’d been close to Kenzie’s age when he started protecting Emery. Half of his life had been spent watching one rich kid with a target on his back.

“You’re a good man, you know?” Royce could barely get the words out, even though he meant it.

Hans nodded, saying nothing. “Let’s get you back to your brown-eyed girl, eh?”

“My brown-eyed girl, huh? I like that.” Kenzie, his sexy, tempting, and forbidden brown-eyed girl.

When they got back to the hotel, they’d been gone far longer than he’d expected, and he assumed Kenzie would have ordered room service and fallen asleep. But as he opened the door, he didn’t see Kenzie. His brown-eyed girl was nowhere to be found. He opened the connecting door to Hans’s room.

“Kenzie there?” He peered around the second suite of rooms. Hans was checking the guns in the cases, and he shook his head.

“She’s gone?”

“Yeah.”

“Maybe she went to the pool?”

“Alone?” Royce almost growled the word. If she’d gone against his orders, orders he’d given to protect her, she was going to be punished. That kind of behavior in this situation could get her killed or kidnapped.

He stormed back into his room. “I’m going to redden that ass of hers.”

“I think you might be overreacting,” said Hans.

“She disobeyed me. If she does that now, what about later at the club? I agreed to bring her along, but I’ll be damned if I let her put both our lives at risk.”

“Don’t forget to take your swim trunks!” Hans’s laughter followed him as he grabbed a swimsuit from his bag and stepped into the large bathroom to change.

CHAPTER NINE

One, two, three, four…

Kenzie fell into the cathartic pace of counting her strokes as she did laps in the massive underground pool of the Lotte Hotel. The square blue tiles along the pool bottom seemed to glow like neon from the underwater pool lights. She felt weightless, as if she were swimming in a distant galaxy of glowing stars rather than a pool in Moscow.

She swam until her arms burned. With each stroke she tried to banish the memories of the horrors she’d faced.

Monte gripping her throat, squeezing…wood splintering above her. Glass and splinters raining down on her…gunshots piercing the night, louder than she’d ever imagined they could be…bullets embedded in the wall where her head had been…broken glass glittering on the expensive stone floors like hundreds of diamonds.

She’d never been close to death. She’d never seen the ugliness of true violence or crime. She had lived a sheltered life full of love, happiness, and her textbooks. Dinosaur bones over human bones. She could never have imagined the lingering stain the violence she’d experienced had made in her mind. Dark and yet bright, flashing there so as never to be forgotten, always dragging harder and faster until she thought she’d burst right through her own skin, powerless to erase the images from her brain.

So Kenzie swam faster. Long, furious strokes up and down the heated pool until her limbs felt like lead and her whole body was exhausted. Maybe, if she pushed herself hard enough, she’d be able to sleep tonight. Find peace in the dreamless absence from consciousness.

She gripped the edge of the pool, catching her breath, her cheeks flushed and her body buzzing with warmth. The room was silent except for her heavy breathing, and yet she felt something in the air. She looked up. She saw bare feet, inches from her hands. She tore her goggles off only to see Royce’s thunderous expression staring down at her.

“Little Mac, I told you to stay in the room.”

The last time she’d seen that expression, he’d been mad that she was pushing him on finishing his edits for her thesis paper.

She pushed away from the side of the pool, swimming into the center away from him. Royce was wearing navy-blue swim trunks, and he was bare-chested. The sight of him made her tongue stick to the roof of her mouth. God, he looked perfect, with corded biceps and a six-pack that didn’t even look real. More like chiseled by a master sculptor.

He crossed his arms over his chest, scowling.

Finally, she found her voice. “I had to clear my head. I called the front desk, and he said the pool area was keycard protected. I thought it would be safe enough.”

“Safe enough? Safeenough? You think Vadym couldn’t book a hotel room and get his own damn keycard? Because he would if he knew we were here. No place is safe.” His voice deepened as he began to prowl around the edge of the pool until he reached the shallow end. He used the ladder to climb down into the pool, his movements slow and measured as he faced her, now chest-deep in the water. She treaded water, keeping a safe distance away. They both knew that since he’d spoken to her before he left that things had somehow changed. The barrier they liked to pretend was there between them—protecting them from crossing that dangerous, seductive line—was gone. Like an ancient wall that had crumbled to ruins, she could see him clearly across the destroyed barrier, mere feet away, within reach.

He’s what you’ve always wanted. And now you can have him. The wicked whisper coiled like a serpent around her heart, blinding her to reason and rationality.

“You promised to obey my orders if I let you come, Little Mac. Orders are supposed to keep you safe. You owe me your submission.”

“I thought I was safe,” she said. “Nothing happened.”

“Kenzie.” His burning eyes held her still. “Just because nothing happened doesn’t mean you’re safe. This man, Vadym, he knows about you now. And he’s one of the worst kind of men. These Mafia types—they don’t have souls. If he gets his hands on you”—Royce closed his eyes briefly—“I will never be able to find you again. That is a fate neither of us could survive.”

This time she didn’t see anger in his eyes, but the bright flash of fear. He’d been afraid for her, not angry. She swam closer, so close that her body stirred the water and currents against him.

“I’m sorry,” she said.

His gaze moved over her, and then he took one slow step , curling an arm around her waist and dragging her into his arms so that her body pressed flush to his. Their faces were almost touching, and the heat of his body against hers filled her with a delicious burning arousal.

“You’d better tell me to stop,” he warned. His voice was silky and seductive, but there was an edge to it that sent her senses spinning and her body humming to life the way she dreamed about in her darkest fantasies.

“Stop what?”

“This.”

He crushed her lips to his in a violent, raw claiming. It was punishing, overpowering, and she moaned helplessly, wondering how he could own her with only a kiss. But then, nothing about Royce had ever been simple. His playful professor side, his brooding tortured side, his hard-edged dominant side, and this man here in the pool who was more animal than anything else—she liked it all, liked every part of him. The complexity of his character shifted like the gems of a kaleidoscope, creating beautiful new mysteries each time they changed.

His tongue traced her lips, and she opened to him. Royce curled an arm around her neck, holding her captive, and she lifted her legs in the water, wrapping them around his waist. The hardness of his arousal rubbed against her, and flashes of white heat rolled through her, making her dizzy.

“Make me stop,” he begged in a raspy whisper. “Make me, Little Mac, before I lose my fucking mind and take you here in this pool.”

“I don’t want you to stop.”

“You should.” He nuzzled her throat, kissing her, licking the drops of water from her skin. “Because I came down here to punish you, to spank your ass until my hand is bright red and you can’t sit for a week, but now…” He gripped her ass, lifting her on his body so she rocked against him. “Now I just want to rip your suit to shreds and bury myself inside you over and over until you pass out with pleasure.”

Kenzie curled her arms around his neck, his desire for her electrifying her entire body. The moment she met Royce Devereaux, she’d known deep down that a part of her would always belong to him. Perhaps tonight he would finally take what was already his.

But he didn’t. Instead he continued to kiss her, drinking of her lips like she was a bottle of fine scotch, savoring each second. Then he lifted his head. The gentleness that had softened the previously stern line of his mouth made her all the more hungry for him, but not just in a carnal way. She wanted to see him, see that expression all the time, as long as it was just for her.

“Little Mac, you’re going to kill me.” With great reluctance, he let her go. She slipped away from him in the water, and for a moment she almost went under because she was too busy drowning in his eyes to remember to tread water.

“Let’s get you upstairs. I’m starving, and you didn’t order any food yet.”

Kenzie was a little too stunned to speak. She climbed out of the pool after him. He offered one of the fluffy white towels from a rack against the wall and collected her goggles from the side of the pool.

“Do you swim to chase your demons away?” Royce asked as they walked to the elevator doors.

She tilted her head. “Demons?”

“The way you were swimming, it was like something was chasing you.”

“Oh.” She flushed. “I just…I can’t stop seeing that night in your house, like awful flashes from a horror movie. I wanted to exhaust myself so I could forget.”

“Did it work?” Royce asked as he dried off with his own towel.

“A little bit,” she admitted, but she couldn’t tell him that kissing him had banished it almost completely. She wasn’t sure what kind of reaction she would get from that. All she knew was that by kissing her professor, she’d crossed the line. A line she’d sworn she would never cross.

When they got back to the hotel room, the smell of food hit Kenzie’s nose, and her stomach rumbled. Hans came out of his room through the connecting doorway and gave Royce a questioning look.

“Everyone have a nice swim?” he asked.

Kenzie smiled at him. “Yeah. Sorry I wasn’t here when you got back.” It was clear he was being protective. Hell, he probably figured Royce had gone down there to paddle her ass, but he hadn’t.

“Good. I ordered dinner. Borscht, kulebiaka, and pelmeni.” He nodded to the small coffee table in front of the massive TV.

Kenzie grabbed a change of clothes and then dashed in the bathroom, getting back into her jeans and sweater. She ran a comb through her wet hair and plaited it into a braid before she emerged from the bathroom. Royce was outside waiting, his own clothes in his arms. Their eyes met as they traded places, and she blushed as she let him pass.

Back in the living room, Hans lifted up a bowl of a red substance. “Borscht. Beetroot soup with a dollop of sour cream and dill.”

He held it out and she took it, lifting it to inhale the scent. She’d heard of borscht before but not the others he’d mentioned. She peered at a plate that looked to be dumplings. “What are those?”

“Pelmeni. Basically meat-stuffed dumplings. Looks like they served it in a tomato sauce.” Hans plucked a pelmeni out with a fork and ate it. “Yep, tomato sauce. Not too spicy.” Then he pointed out a sort of puffy pastry-like food. “That’s kulebiaka. Good stuff, puff pastry wrapped around fish, hard-boiled eggs, rice, onion, and chopped dill.”

Kenzie wrinkled her nose. “You lost me at pastry and fish.”

Hans’s booming laugh was irresistible, and she giggled along with him.

Royce emerged from the bathroom wearing jeans and a black sweater. He pushed up the sleeves, baring his muscled forearms, and he grinned when he saw the food.

“Pelmenis!” The light on such a gorgeous, panty-dropping face was devastatingly attractive. Kenzie was certain if he ever reacted to her with that sexy, charming enthusiasm, she would die on the spot. She and Royce took seats on the couch, Hans in the chair, and they dug into the food.

“How did the gun thing go?” Kenzie asked after a minute.

“The ‘gun thing’ went well.” Hans pointed to black heavy-duty hard plastic cases propped against the wall by the closet. “But if we’re lucky, we won’t need to use them.”

“Did you find anything out about this Vadym guy?” she asked as she dipped her spoon into the borscht.

Hans and Royce exchanged meaningful looks, but neither spoke.

“Seriously, guys? Just tell me. I can handle it.”

Royce set his plate down and leaned back, stretching one arm around the back of the sofa. “Vadym doesn’t just smuggle fossils. He smuggles people too.”

“And by smuggling, you mean…” She did want to say the words, too horrified if they were true.

“Human trafficking,” Hans said.

Kenzie suddenly lost her appetite. “Oh God.” She couldn’t imagine the living hell those people suffered. And then she remembered that Vadym knew about her, knew where she lived—everything. It was just like Royce had said. She really was in danger.

“Kenzie.” Royce spoke her name in a gentle whisper. “Breathe, babe. You’re turning blue.”

Her lips parted, and air rushed into her lungs. “Will he come after me?”

“No,” Royce growled, his brown eyes glowing with fire. “He’ll never touch you.”

Despite the assurance in his voice, she saw a shadow in his eyes, a hint of something he was holding back.

“You’re keeping something from me. What is it?”

“We know where he’ll be tomorrow night. At a club, a BDSM club. Hans and I are going to go there and put a stop to all this.”

“Okay…” Kenzie waited for whatever it was he still wasn’t telling her.

“There is a catch. I need a submissive to enter the club. No unattached Doms allowed.” Royce moved a hand behind her on the couch so his fingertips stroked the back of her neck soothingly. “I need a submissive to get in, and you want to help. Do you want to come with us?”

“What?” Was he asking her to go as his sub? Fear and excitement dueled inside her, and her heart pounded in her ears hard enough that she almost couldn’t hear anyone over the roaring.

“Little Mac, you okay?” Royce was staring at her as though he feared she might collapse.

“I’m fine.” The word escaped breathlessly as she pulled at the end of her braid, embracing the sting of the tug because it helped clear her mind.

“You’ll be safe, I promise. Hans will be there too.”

Sure, the idea of a crazed Russian mobster was scary, but that wasn’t the only thing she was afraid of. She was afraid of becoming Royce’s sub. The intimacy of a BDSM relationship, even if they were just pretending, could be overpowering and overwhelming. Things between her and Royce had changed so much already. Being his sub would cement that change forever. Neither of them would ever be able to deny or forget what would happen at this club.

“I think I should go and clean the guns,” Hans muttered. He set the empty plate down, got up from his chair, and took the two gun cases into the other room. Royce still hadn’t taken his eyes off Kenzie, but he reached for a bottle of vodka and poured her a small shot.

“Drink this.” He held it out and she downed it, wincing at the burn.

“Thanks, I needed that,” she said, still unable to meet his gaze.

“Little Mac, look at me.” He caught her chin to turn her head his way. She stared up at him, seeing those burning brown eyes, the hint of stubble that was like a sexy shadow on his jaw.

“You can do this. It’s just like in class—I give you an order and you obey, no questions, no sass. The only difference is that you’ll be in revealing clothes, probably cuffed, collared, and…”

“And…?” Kenzie had a sense she knew what was coming.

“And I might have to be intimate with you. Probably not full-on sex, but there might be something else required to prove our ‘legitimacy’ if it comes to that.”

Something else? Like what? Her mind filled with an electric and erotic array of images of her on her knees, sucking on his cock, or him pleasing her with his mouth, using his hands on her, stroking, grinding, penetrating. There was an entire world of dark, erotic fantasies contained in those two simple words—something else.

“I wouldn’t ask this of you, Little Mac, but…” His expression became even more sober. “You respond to that life. There’s no point in denying it. I’ve seen it firsthand. You respond to that edge, that raw carnality. I think you could make the most exquisite sub if you were with a Dom you trusted.”

Kenzie saw his eyes track her movements with an almost predatory fixation.

“What… What would I have to do? I’ve never really done anything like…what you do.”

Royce stroked her chin, then his thumb slid up to her mouth, and he brushed the pad over her bottom lip.

“My subs call me sir. They ask no questions, but if you have one, you ask permission to speak, and I may deny or approve that request. I prefer my subs to sit at my feet or on my lap when I’m with other Doms.”

Kenzie couldn’t get the image out of her mind. Her kneeling at his feet, his hands in her hair, stroking her like a pet. It didn’t seem all that degrading. Rather, it made her feel hot.

“What are you thinking about?” he asked softly.

“I…” Suddenly tongue-tied, she felt unable to confess her fantasies.

“You can’t be shy. Not with me. It’s part of the rules, Little Mac. A question is asked, and you must answer.” He moved his hand to the back of her neck, holding her still as he gazed deep into her eyes. Her breath caught as he ran his eyes slowly over her body. “Fuck, I can’t tell you how much I want this. How I want you to call me sir and be at my mercy.” He seemed to be talking more to himself than anyone else.

“Dr. Devereaux…” She suddenly needed to put a barrier between them, even a small one.

“Sir,” he corrected. “You’d better practice now.”

“Sir,” she amended, her heart skittering in her chest.

“You want to start small? Something you can handle?” he asked. She knew her body betrayed her when she nodded. His mouth kicked up in a grin.

“Then for the next few minutes, you submit to me with no resistance, or I deliver punishment like I did at the billiard table. Understand?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good. If I scare you, but you think you can continue, remember to say yellow. Red means no. It’s absolute and final, so you’d better mean it.”

She remembered the rules.

“Got it…sir,” she said.

He chuckled. “You don’t have to say it every time, just when you address me with a question. You will know if you made a mistake.” He let go of her neck and reached for her long braid, tugging gently on it. “Your first command—undo the braid. Thread your fingers through the strands. Do it slow.”

He watched her, his hungry gaze making her body hum as she slipped the hair from the tie in her braid and began to undo the plait. Then she combed her fingers through the wet strands.

“In a D/s relationship, the partners care for each other always. That means you rely on me for food, for clothes, even to bathe if I wish, while the game is played.” He retrieved a bowl of fruit that had come with the meal. He picked up a blueberry and held it to her lips. She knew instinctively what he wanted. She opened her mouth, and he slipped the berry inside. The sweet taste of it exploded on her tongue, and she couldn’t resist sighing. He shifted on the couch as she made that single sound.

“Thank me when I give you food.”

“Thank you, sir,” she whispered, captivated by the intensity of his stare.

“Good,” he praised, his voice silken. “Now straddle my lap and share the sweet taste of the blueberry with me.”

She slid onto the couch, straddling him. Her knees bumped the back of the couch, and her pelvis pressed against his. She couldn’t believe she was on Royce’s lap, taking orders from him, but then, after she’d kissed him in the pool all of this seemed inevitable. She and Royce were like two neutron stars finally colliding after millennia of spinning around one another’s orbits. The explosion, when it finally happened, would either destroy them both or turn everything into silver and gold.

“Share with me,” he said in a low gruff voice, like a wolf close to biting her. “Kill me with your sweetness, Little Mac.”

With a sudden sense of fear that she would lose out on even one minute of kissing him, she lowered her head to his. Her perilous attraction to him only pushed her onward.

These violent delights have violent ends. Isn’t that how Romeo and Juliet goes?

CHAPTER TEN

She kissed him, unleashing everything she’d buried inside her. Everything she was ashamed of. All of the dark desires. The secret needs she’d hidden even from herself. All of it poured out of her and through her, infusing that kiss with the hot wave of her own inhibitions unbinding. For so long she’d held her life in perfect balance, keeping out of trouble and free from complications. But now she craved the danger she’d fed with her recklessness.

Royce was the one man who could upset her fine edge of discipline and send her world tumbling. She didn’t care. Consequences be damned. The burning connection of their mouths consumed her until there was only this man, this glorious kiss.

A soft whisper of pain made her gasp as he fisted a hand in her hair and pulled her head back from his. Their eyes held like a key settling into a lock. Everything inside her went wondrously still. Kenzie clung to that feeling, digging her nails into his shoulders, afraid it would shatter this perfect feeling if he let go of her.

“I used to imagine closing my office door when we worked late,” he said, his voice low and throaty. “I wanted to shove everything off my desk and bend you over it.” His words were ragged, as though he was barely in control. He tugged a little on her hair, punctuating the words bend you over, and her channel quivered in anticipation and arousal.

Kenzie’s body burned as she joined him in that fantasy, spellbound.

“I can feel it all in my head, feel how good it would be to jerk your jeans down and fuck you on my desk. You would come so hard you would scream, and the sound would ricochet off the walls.” The hard lines of his perfect jaw could’ve been cut from stone. She was caught up in the moment, melting from the inside as his words rendered her speechless.

“Every time you looked at me from your desk, it was there in your eyes, that Fuck me Dr. Devereaux look.”

Oh. My. God. He knew. Somehow he’d always known.

Kenzie’s arousal had been building ever since they’d kissed in the hotel pool. But now she was on fire inside. Her thighs clamped down around his hips, and she couldn’t resist rocking against him. He shifted beneath her.

“Don’t test me, babe.” He groaned with frustration. “I’m not good at self-control, not when we’re so far away from home.”

“Why’s that…sir?” she asked quietly, their gazes still locked.

“Because here there’s no one to remind me to be good.” He pressed her closer, his hands shaking as though he was on the verge of losing all control. “I could take you over and over, here where there aren’t students to see us, no faculty watching our every move. It’s just us. So you’d better say red before I lose my mind and break every goddamn promise I ever made to stay away from you.” The edge to his tone warned her he meant every word.

Kenzie couldn’t breathe. He wanted her as much she wanted him. So much that they were both losing their minds.

She was done being good, done pretending she had to deny herself what she wanted. She bit her bottom lip, holding his attention, and then she spoke the words that would send their stars colliding.

“Fuck me, Dr. Devereaux.”

Royce’s eyes widened and then narrowed, his breathing turned harsh, and before she could react he lifted her off the couch. With a squeak, she wrapped her legs around his waist as he carried them over to the bed. He dropped her on the bed and stood there, towering over her. He gripped the bottom of his black sweater, pulled it over his head, and tossed it to the floor. As he unbuttoned his jeans, he paused, breathing hard as he looked at her.

Finally, she was going to get the one thing she thought she could never have. Him. Joy, pure and bright, filled her like an exploding star. Her body hummed with a building desire that was unstoppable now that she’d made up her mind that she wanted to be with him.

“You want to stop? Now is your last chance, Little Mac. It’s all or nothing.”

She lifted her chin, challenging him. “I want it all.”

The slow, wicked grin on his lips made her stomach flutter. He lunged for her, rolling her over onto her stomach. Shocked, she gasped as he pulled her hips up, unbuttoned her jeans, and pulled them down to her knees. She wore a pair of black panties underneath, and he groaned as he gripped them in his fist and yanked. The snap of breaking elastic stung her skin, causing another wave of heat through her core. Her folds grew wet from his rough handling. He gave her ass a hard smack and she hissed, burrowing her head in the bed, swallowing down the hungry moan that almost escaped.

“Ask me,” he growled. “No, beg me.” She looked at him over her shoulder as excitement electrified her senses. He pulled the foil packet of a condom out of his jeans and tore it open with his teeth. She knew what he wanted to hear, and she wanted to say it too.

“Fuck me, Dr. Devereaux, show me how bad I’ve been.”

“Jesus fucking Christ,” he cursed, and jerked his jeans down. She had only an instant to see the thick length of his impressive cock jutting out before he sheathed a condom over it and then surged into her. He was too big, stretching her with the full sensation of his cock inside her. Pleasure pooled in her belly, and she arched her back with a hiss of pleasure. He wasn’t gentle—he was a pounding, merciless god of sex. It felt like he was trying to kill her with overwhelming pleasure as he rammed into her over and over. His fingers dug at her hips, and she knew his hold would leave bruises, but it felt so good she didn’t care.

He’s marking your body. He’s owning you. Just like you always wanted.

She knew she wasn’t going to last another second. When the climax hit, it was like she’d fallen into a pit of firecrackers that were going off all around her. Explosions of pleasure, flashes of blinding light. She whimpered into the mattress as he leaned over her, slowing down his thrusts.

“You like that, babe?”

She nodded weakly.

He kissed the shell of her ear before he straightened and gripped her hips and began to ride her slower, making her feel each burning inch of him. Little aftershocks of pleasure still pulsed inside her channel as she clamped down on his shaft, squeezing tight.

“God, you feel like paradise. Like I died and went to heaven.” His voice was low, almost guttural now.

“Royce, I can’t—”

“Sir,” he snapped, and his hand came down on her ass cheek.

“Sir,” she echoed, blood pounding in her ears.

“Do you have any idea how fucking hot you are, Little Mac? That little ass up in the air, the way you clamp down on my cock—you’re so fucking tight babe, so tight it’s like no man’s ever been inside you before.”

His thrusts began to build in speed again. “I need to hear you scream it, shout it.” His commands were followed by his body ratcheting up like a jackhammer. His hips slammed against her ass over and over, and the words came out of her mouth just like he wanted.

“Fuck me, Dr. Devereaux.” Over and over again, she wasn’t sure how many times she shouted those words. When she came a second time, everything went dark around her.

She came back to life a few seconds later, her mind fuzzy and her body limp. Every muscle was completely drained. And he was still inside her, fucking her hard. She groaned as he shoved deep, his cock filling her again and again, and he bellowed hard enough to make the walls shake. Then she felt him pull out, his harsh breath above her as she closed her eyes, still bent over the bed. Her legs sagged into the side of the mattress, but she had no strength to move.

That strange hot fuzziness seemed to deepen, like she was buried in a dozen thick blankets before a roaring fire.

“Little Mac, you okay?” Royce’s voice was soft and gentle again, and yet she couldn’t find the strength to speak.

“Hold on, babe, I got you.” He pulled her jeans completely off her body, and she rolled over onto her back. He stripped her of her sweater and bra, then pulled her into his arms, carrying her into the bathroom. He set her inside the massive jetted bathtub in the corner. She wrapped her arms around her body as a chill set in.

Royce leaned over the tub and turned on the taps, testing the water. She flinched as the cold water sprinkled her toes, and she tucked her knees up to her chin. He changed the taps, and the hot water crept up the tub’s base toward her.

“Hang on,” Royce said as he kissed her forehead and removed his briefs. She stared at his fully naked body, still lightheaded.

“Plenty of room for us both.” He eased into the tub and then lifted her up and settled her on his lap. She curled into him, pressing her face into his throat, comforted by the dark piney scent that was uniquely his as the bath tub filled. She had no idea why she felt so strange, so muddled, but she could barely think, except to realize she felt safe in Royce’s arms.

“You’re okay, Kenzie,” Royce said, one of his hands holding her back, pressing her close to him.

“Everything feels so…” She couldn’t find the right words. “Cloudy,” she finally said.

“Yeah, I know, babe. I know.” He nuzzled the crown of her hair before he spoke again. “I think I sent you into subspace.”

“What’s that?”

“It’s where a submissive is so overcome with her experiences that she fully lets go. It’s sort of a sensual state of meditation. You go deep into your own head.”

“Is that bad?” Kenzie didn’t like the sound of subspace. She wasn’t accustomed to feeling weak. Being weak meant she was vulnerable, and she never liked that under any circumstances.

“No, it’s a good thing. For you to go into subspace while you’re with me, it’s nirvana to me. It means you trust me. You gave me all of yourself, and that total trust and openness exhausted your body. You’ll be back to normal soon, I promise.” He kissed her forehead, and she looked up at him.

“But the best part about subspace is that when you’re with a good Dom, he will take care of you, spoil you. It’s called aftercare, and this part is all about you, babe.” He reached up to shut the water off, and she noticed the water had come up to her neck, heating her whole body. Royce’s hands moved over her skin, stroking each limb, petting and caressing. It wasn’t sensual exactly—rather it was soothing. The burning sexual tension that had moments before sent them catapulting off the edge of control was still there, but it was softened by a layer of comfort and familiarity between them. Her body belonged to herself once again, and she felt strangely new inside it, like an out-of-body experience in reverse. But as long as he held her, she felt good; she felt safe and grounded in the moment.

“Do you have any regrets?” he asked.

“Regrets? About what we did?” She shook her head. “I should regret everything, but…” But she couldn’t. He’d just given her the most mind-blowing sex of her life, based on her darkest and most intimate fantasies, fantasies she now knew he shared. How could she ever regret that?

“Good. I never want you to regret anything while you’re with me,” he said.

She wouldn’t regret any of this now, but it didn’t stop her from worrying about what would happen later, when they returned to Long Island. They’d have to go back to normal, or at least pretend. She didn’t know how to protect herself or him if this ever came to light. And she definitely didn’t want to think about what the future held or what “together” meant for them. It was all too complicated, and right now complicated was not what she needed.

She shifted on his lap, feeling his thick shaft nudge her bottom. He was aroused again, which was understandable given they were sitting naked in a tub, but he didn’t push himself on her, didn’t make her do anything about his arousal. He was simply content to hold her in his arms and let the hot water soak into their skin.

She couldn’t help it. It was so relaxing that she began to drift off to sleep, clinging to him like her life depended on it.

Because in a way, it did.

“Fuck me, Dr. Devereaux.”

He’d never forget how those words sounded as they escaped her lips. He’d shared his dream, his ultimate fantasy, the one he’d jacked off to in the shower more times than he could count, and she’d given in and surrendered to him and his fantasy.

And it had been a thousand times better than anything his imagination had come up with. She’d managed to drift into subspace during their first time together. He’d never had that happen before with any woman. Not even the trained submissives at the Gilded Cuff were able to manage that.

He stared down at her, relishing how small and delicate she felt in his arms. So beautiful. He’d jumped on her like a rutting beast and hadn’t even taken the time to enjoy exploring her.

We still have time for that. He would make sure of it. He had a thousand other fantasies he wanted to try out on her: tie her up, lick her folds until she cried out in pleasure…

And yet it had taken a fossil-smuggling ring and the Russian mob to get his grad student into his bed.

He held Kenzie for another fifteen minutes, listening to her soft, shallow breaths. She was asleep now. Something fuzzy and indescribable turned over in his chest. A strange sense of contentment began to fill him. He hadn’t felt like this since… He closed his eyes, memories coming back, sharp and clear as the day they’d happened.

The firelight of the small campfire cast shadows against the tent. He sat between Fenn and Emery Lockwood, while Wes Thorne sat at the far end of their group. They laughed, holding sticks with gooey marshmallows over the small fire in front of their tent. There was joy. There was innocence.

This was the last night before his world changed, before his boyhood was ripped away, leaving him wounded inside and his throat raw from silent screams. Holding Kenzie now was like that final night before his childhood ended.

Grief was a funny thing. He’d spent twenty-five years mourning Fenn, thinking the men who’d kidnapped him had killed him when he was eight years old. But Fenn was alive. Fenn was okay. Yet the grief remained.

He had to stop mourning a ghost. Perhaps he was actually mourning the twenty-five years of a friendship he’d never gotten to have? Fenn’s childhood was a loss that Royce was still coming to grips with, but the loss of his parents? That ran far deeper. When he’d lost Fenn, his parents had been his last refuge from the rest of the world. But then he’d lost them too, and he’d realized just how completely alone he was. That kind of grief could kill a man. But Kenzie not only eased the grief, she made it fade almost entirely. When he laughed with her, talked with her, shared his passion for fossils with her, it felt like they were partners in a way he was only just now starting to understand. She was a woman a man built a life with, and as much as he was convinced he wasn’t the marrying kind, she was tempting him far more than he’d ever imagined anyone could.

Royce tightened his arms around her. He tried never to think of the past, especially those years when he’d spiraled close to the edge, trying to lose himself in sex, alcohol, fast cars, and loose women. But now he had everything to lose. Kenzie, their careers, maybe even their lives. Suddenly everything he’d thought didn’t matter now mattered so much it scared the hell out of him.

Was this how Emery, Fenn, and Wes felt when they held their women in their arms? If it was, he would never give them any shit again about it. He might not love Kenzie, but he cared about her a hell of a lot, cared like crazy, and that was enough to make him pause and think.

He couldn’t take her to Vadym’s club, not when it would put her at so much risk. He’d been a fool to think he could take her there and keep her safe while he also tried to take out Vadym, but he hadn’t wanted to leave her alone. He had to protect her at all costs. He could call Dimitri and get another sub for the club tomorrow night; that way Kenzie would stay at the hotel.

Carefully lifting her off him, he pulled the drain in the tub and then carried her out of the bath. He set her down on the floor and wrapped her in a fluffy white towel. She stirred and mumbled something he didn’t quite hear.

“Time to get you into bed.” He lifted her up again, loving how good she felt, how perfect she was. When he laid her down on the bed, she sighed and nuzzled her pillow. As much as he wanted to sleep next to her, skin to skin, he knew if he did he wouldn’t be able to keep his hands off her.

He dug through her suitcase until he found an oversize red flannel shirt and another pair of black panties. He gave her shoulder a gentle shake. She blinked her eyes awake.

“Hey, Little Mac, help me get these on you. Then you can go back to sleep.”

She sat up, a little dazed as she took the panties from him and slipped them on. Then she dropped the towel and pulled the shirt on. He turned his head away, not out of a sense of modesty, but for his own peace of mind. If he saw her breasts and her full hips, he might jump her all over again, and she needed rest. A lot of it. Opening up to him, going into subspace in their first encounter was still unbelievable.

Kenzie crawled between the covers of the massive king-size bed and drifted back to sleep. God, she was so damn trusting. He slipped on a pair pajama pants before he got under the covers and pulled her body toward him. She rolled over, her hair falling onto his chest. She smelled so good, like vanilla and a hint of flowers. No expensive cloying perfume from a bottle for his Little Mac. Just natural perfection.

He folded an arm behind his head and closed his eyes. That sense of peace was still there inside him. Being with Kenzie like this reminded him of his first dig in the Badlands.

He remembered standing amid the tall red-and-yellow rock formations, his boots crunching on cracked clay beds. The wind whistled across the stones, and the fierce sun bathed the world in blood-red and gold shades of color. He’d felt so at peace there. He could still close his eyes and feel the sandstone beneath his palms, smoothed by the wind and rain over thousands of years. The sun’s heat was trapped within the earth, burning his fingers, and the scent of limestone was carried on the breeze that rustled through the tents of his fellow paleontologists.

The thin rock spires in the distance had been like unsteady obelisks in a haunted landscape. The land bore some of the most varied dinosaur fossils the world had ever seen. He remembered the rock wrens burrowing into holes in walls, and how he felt at home there in a way he couldn’t explain. Perhaps it was because he was one of Earth’s most recent creatures on a quest for some of Earth’s most ancient.

Holding Kenzie in his arms now was just like that, an ancient quest for something he wasn’t quite able to put a name on. A strange and wondrous connection was growing between the two of them, and it both scared the hell out of him and fascinated him.

I’m in deep shit.

What if he got too close? What if she died? What if they both fucked this up so bad that it destroyed their lives? He stroked a hand over her silky dark hair and sighed. It was going to be a long damn night.

In time he managed to drift into that place between awake and asleep, the place that held him helpless as he watched dreams play behind his eyelids.

He was on a plane, in a small but luxurious cabin peering out at the night and seeing the city below. The lights glittered like a thousand diamonds scattered across a swath of black velvet. Mist and fog crawled up from the edge of the sea, blurring the twinkle of city lights.

He held his breath, and his heart tightened in his chest as the runway came into view, the blinking signal lights whipping by too fast. The fog turned into a dark wind, coiling around the plane like a snake, choking it. Then the crash of metal and flash of fire engulfed everything in a deafening explosion.

The dream changed, the darkness softening to reveal a heavily wooded glen where emerald and amber points of light played upon the landscape of colors. The woods behind the Lockwood mansion. The lights, like errant will-o’-the-wisps, then became the flashlights of searchers. They shouted the names of two boys in the dark. Two boys who were lost. No, not lost—stolen.

With a sudden sense of terror, Royce gasped and bolted upright. For a second he couldn’t remember where he was or who he was with until Kenzie stirred and spoke his name.

She sat up, combing her fingers through his hair. “Royce?”

He didn’t respond. His heart was racing, and he felt dizzy. The nightmares always clung to him longer than he wished, while any good dreams slipped through his fingers like grains of sand. Royce leaned his head back against the black leather headboard.

“Royce, you’re scaring me.” Kenzie’s use of his first name seemed to ground him. He looked her way, and in the dimly lit room he could see her wide brown eyes were on him.

“Sorry, Little Mac.” He lifted his hand, brushing it through her dark hair. “Bad dreams. Really bad dreams.”

She shifted closer to him, resting her head on his shoulder. “Sometimes it helps to talk about them.”

He chuckled dryly. “You get bad dreams?”

“Of course. Everyone does.”

Not like mine. Mine are nightmares.

She seemed to sense his disbelief and continued. “I get these dreams where I’m running from something or someone, and I can’t move fast enough. It’s like time slows down, but only for me. You’re vulnerable. Powerless. Helpless. You feel like the end is coming, and all you can do is be a spectator to it.” She shivered and burrowed closer into his side and raised her head.

He looked down at her. There was an intimacy to this far greater than sex, and it scared him, but at the same time he didn’t want to pull away.

“I have two dreams,” he finally said. “Though they often follow one after the other. It starts off in a plane, flying over Manhattan. I can see the city lights, and the fog comes off the sea, swallowing everything below the plane. I know what’s coming, but there’s nothing I can do. I watch the runway disappear, and then it all ends in a fiery crash.” His body seemed to shift to panic mode again, his heart racing, but he kept talking.

“Most of the time I don’t wake up. Then I’m trapped in the woods behind the Lockwood mansion. I see searchlights, hear people calling out, but I can’t make a sound. It’s like I feel like I was Emery or Fenn when they were taken.”

Kenzie was quiet a long moment. “You dream about the Lockwood kidnapping?”

Dark emotion seized his throat and threatened to strangle him. He nodded.

“I don’t know much about what happened. I was only three.” One of her hands lay flat on his chest, and he placed his hand over hers, holding her palm to his skin, needing that connection. It seemed to give him the strength to continue.

“They were kidnapped when we were only eight years old. We were just kids. I spent days at the police headquarters talking to child psychologists, social workers, FBI profilers, and none of them could help. My parents were there through it all, though, keeping me sane.” He paused, pain lodged in his throat, and he swallowed past the lump in his throat.

“Three months later, Emery was found, but not Fenn. We didn’t know it at the time, but he was taken by one of his kidnappers to Colorado and raised as his son. Twenty-five fucking years.” He closed his eyes, seeing flashes of his nightmare. The beams of the flashlights swept the dark forest but never spotted them. “It’s like I went into the woods that night with them, and part of me, just like a part of them, never came back.”

Kenzie’s nails dug into his chest. “Royce, that’s awful. I’m so sorry.”

He squeezed her hand. “It is what it is. I have lived with that missing part of myself for so long I don’t know how to feel any other way.” He knew what he was saying probably didn’t make any sense. “And just when I thought I might be past it all, my parents died in a plane crash. I was nineteen.”

“I knew about the crash,” Kenzie admitted, rubbing her cheek against his shoulder. The tightness in his chest that always came whenever he talked about his parents eased a little.

“They were my world.” He whispered the confession, and much to his relief she didn’t laugh.

“I feel like that way about my parents, even my brothers.”

“I forgot about your brothers.” He chuckled.

“Yeah,” she giggled. “And they would so kick your ass for what you did.” She leaned in and sat up a little to kiss his startled lips.

“Babe, I’m sure your brothers are tough, but I can handle them.” He cupped her cheek, and the smile on her mouth wilted at the corners, like flowers in the late fall.

“What is it?” he asked.

“Royce, what we’re doing… It could ruin everything. It could end our careers.”

He didn’t blame her for worrying. He wasn’t afraid of a lot of things, but losing his job at the university was a big one, and her career would be over before it even began.

“What do you want to do?” he asked. Whatever happened from this point on, it had to be her choice.

She bit her lip and gazed into his eyes. “I want this—I want you.” She leaned into him, feathering her lips over his, relishing that she had this time to be with him, to have the right to kiss him whenever she wished without fear.

In that moment, she owned him in a way he hadn’t thought possible. He kissed her back, cupping the back of her head and tasting her lips so sweetly that it brought tears to her eyes. She wanted him again, needed him in a way that was too strong for either of them to resist.

Kenzie reached for the buttons of her flannel nightshirt. “So…” She slowly revealed her body to him. The moonlight pouring in from the windows illuminated her breasts as she unwrapped herself like a Christmas present.

He knew just what he wanted to do. She sat on her knees next to him as she let the nightshirt fall away. He reached out, cupping one of her breasts, rubbing his thumb over one tight nipple. She arched her back, offering herself to him, and he groaned as he reached for her, gripping her by the waist and pulling her on top.

She settled onto his lap, straddling him. Her breasts were now close enough that he buried his face against them. He drew a nipple into his mouth and squeezed gently on her other breast. How could she taste so sweet? He let his hand slide down to her ass, tugging on the black panties. The urge to rip them again was almost overwhelming. Kenzie brought out a savage side in him. He always loved to be a bit rough, sure, but something about her made him feel like an animal, desperate to get at her.

“Wait,” she said, hiking her hips up, giving him the chance to pull her panties down, but while she straddled him, he couldn’t get them off. He grabbed her waist and pushed her gently so she landed on her back. Then he had the chance to slide the panties off her. He tossed them away and stared down at her.

“You’re beautiful,” he rasped, making it more than just praise for her body. The moonlight reflecting in her dark eyes. The way she spoke his name.

“Royce.”

It made him weak-kneed.

“Go slow?” she asked timidly.

“Anything for you, Little Mac.” He’d had her rough and dirty, and now he wanted her just like this, slow, agonizingly tender until it almost killed them both.

He slid back so he could part her knees with his hands. She was pink and wet, her core welcoming him, the patch of dark hair like an arrow pointing him to the most sensitive part of her. He needed to taste her, to feel her tremble and quake against his tongue. He kissed a path from her knee up to her inner thigh, and she wiggled, panting the closer he got. He was so used to tying a woman down to keep her immobile that he’d forgotten the pleasure of feeling a woman struggle to contain her building pleasure. He smiled as he pressed his lips to her clit. The swollen bud peeped out of its hood, and he latched on to it, sucking and swirling his tongue.

She hissed, her hips bucking, but he used his palms on her thighs to keep her legs spread open. He feasted upon her, licking at the sensitive folds, flicking his tongue at the most hidden part of her. He used his fingers with his mouth, bringing her to a panting, gasping orgasm.

She held in her scream, and her legs trembled around his shoulders. She was too weak to do much else but lie there, and that was exactly what he wanted. He slid up her body and freed his cock. He gripped his shaft, rubbing the tip of it over her wet slit. She moaned softly, arching her back. Kenzie was like a virgin sacrifice to a god, and he was so glad he was the one to own her. He took his time, sliding into her inch by precious inch. She reached up and gripped his shoulders as he fully seated himself inside her.

Royce leaned over, caging her with his body. She curled her arms around him, her nails scraping his neck in a way that sent shivers through him and made his cock even harder. When he took a woman, he liked it raw, hard, and dirty, and he rarely ever kissed them. But as he gently thrust into Kenzie, he felt the bone-deep need to kiss her, to feel her breath mixed with his as her body came apart at the same moment his did.

He slanted his mouth over hers. She kissed him back, and something inside him let go. He couldn’t explain it, but the knot in his chest, the one that felt as heavy as lead, seemed to dissolve and finally disappear. He felt that pain and that darkness that had been inside of him since he was eight seem to ease. Kissing Kenzie and taking her body slowly in the darkness of this room made him feel like he’d been saved in a way he couldn’t put into words. It was as if the flashlight beams swinging through the dark forest had finally found him.

His kiss became urgent, but he still rode her slowly, keeping his thrusts gentle, and she responded in kind. Sweet agony flooded through him as he felt her climax. Her little gasp against his lips was so soft, and yet her coming apart seemed to rock though him to the very center of the world. His body seized, and he buried his face against her neck, kissing her as his own release exploded through him. Every part of his world shifted on its axis.

Long afterward, he continued to explore her mouth. It felt as though he’d never kissed a woman before. Her soft lips beneath his were heaven, and the playful dance of her tongue made him forget the dozens of women he’d been with. There was only this moment, only Kenzie for him.

He lifted his head to stare down at her. She was smiling drowsily. She didn’t speak, but then he couldn’t either as the lump in his throat made that impossible. Instead, he carefully lifted her up in his arms and tucked her beneath the sheets, curving his body around hers.

“Good night, Royce,” she murmured against his chest, and her breathing slowly deepened. He held her close, his thoughts fractured as he tried to understand what had just happened to him. But deep down he knew. He’d always known. He was falling in love with her.

I’m so fucked.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Pale morning light roused Kenzie from one of the deepest sleeps she’d ever had. She opened her eyes, blinking slowly as she took in the elegant and lavish room around her.

This isn’t home. This is…

She was bewildered for a long moment, wondering how she’d gotten here, in Russia with her professor and in his bed. Memories from last night hit her, and she winced as she shifted. Her inner legs were sore, and between her thighs hurt too. She bit her lip to hide a smile.

Dr. Devereaux sure knew how to make love, as they had stared into each other’s eyes and he’d gone slow, it had rocked her to her very core. She hadn’t been a virgin before, but that last time was what every girl dreamed her first time would be like.

She sat up in bed, still tender all over, and it felt good. She tucked her knees up to her chin and realized she was smiling. She couldn’t seem to stop. That was when she heard it, the sound of the shower running and the voice of a man singing in deep tones. Normally, a man singing in the shower would have been cringeworthy, but not Royce. His voice called to her like a male siren luring a lady sailor to jump ship.

Kenzie slipped out of bed, wrapping the top sheet around her like a toga, and padded over to the bathroom. Beside the massive hot tub was a large marble shower. Royce had his back to her, the hot water pouring in rivulets over him from his head down to his muscled ass. All she could do was picture digging her nails in that ass when he thrust into her. Just like that, she was wet for him all over again.

She approached the shower, tilting her head to listen to him. He was singing the Metallica song “Nothing Else Matters” in a beautiful baritone. God, he could’ve been a rock star, not just a paleontologist.

“Dr. Devereaux?”

He froze, cutting off his song abruptly. He turned, revealing his cut body, the perfectly ripped muscles and abs too chiseled to be real, yet they were. She had stroked her hand over them last night.

“Little Mac,” he replied, his eyes raking over her.

“Need some company?” She was so nervous asking, she thought she might die. What if he regretted last night? What if he’d had his fun and was done with her? She wasn’t ready for this to end. Even though she knew this would end regardless when they returned to Long Island, she could pretend for a few more days that this wasn’t going to be over.

“If I ever say no when you ask me…” He trailed off, shaking his head with a wry chuckle. He opened the shower door. “Get in here. Leave the sheet on the floor.”

Laughing, she dropped the sheet and stepped inside, closing the shower door behind her. They stood there staring at each other, the water hitting his body before he placed her body in front of his, soaking her with the hot spray. She sighed and leaned back against him, feeling his cock press against her lower back. God, she loved that he was so much taller, like a dark-haired Viking. He reached up and massaged her shoulders.

“Want me to wash your hair?” She glanced at him in surprise. He shrugged. “What can I say? I give good head.” He winked and she giggled, heat flooding her cheeks.

“I thought that was my line? You might have to give me a few pointers,” she shot back.

He suddenly smacked her across the ass, giving a light sting and making her squeak in surprise.

“Sassy,” he muttered, but the gleam of humor in his eyes pleased her. “Maybe you should prove your skills right now?” He rocked his hips, and she knew what he actually meant. Her heart raced madly as she turned to face him. She’d never really gone down on a man before and had been kidding with her comment, but the hungry look in his eyes made her want to give it a try.

“Okay…” She put a hand on his chest and shoved him back so he was pressed against the back of the shower.

Then she knelt down. His erect shaft, so close to her, was intimidating as hell. He was way too big for her mouth, but she could try. She placed one hand on his lower stomach, tracing the V indentation of his pelvis and hip while she reached up and gripped his cock with her other hand. She opened her mouth and took him inside. He groaned loud and low, his hips moving forward, as if he couldn’t stop involuntarily thrusting.

“Fuck, Kenzie… Fuck.” He moaned her name over and over.

She took him in. The slightly salty taste of his cock was different but not unpleasant. She took her time, listening to the sounds he made. She licked, sucked, squeezed with her hand, pumped him, and tried hollowing out her cheeks as she moved her mouth over his shaft. When he gripped her head and began to thrust hard, she couldn’t help but moan at the tip of his cock on the back of her throat. He suddenly cursed, and she tasted him on her tongue.

He let go of her head and she swallowed, licking up every drop of him from her lips before she let him slide from her mouth with a pop. Her legs were so shaking hard from own arousal. That had been the hottest thing she’d ever done.

He lifted her to her feet and kissed her, his mouth moving over her like a ravenous beast. She moaned against his lips, and he smacked her ass again.

“You really are going to fucking kill me, Little Mac,” he growled. They kissed for several minutes, their bodies pressed together until he was hard against her stomach.

“Again?” she teased before nibbling his bottom lip. His eyes almost rolled to the back of his head as he groaned in pleasure.

Before she could react, he lifted her up, pinning her against the side of the shower opposite the door and thrust up into her. He’d gotten hard again fast, and her channel was still sore from last night, yet he took her hard and furious and she loved every sharp, pleasurable second of it. Her breasts pressed to his chest, and she clung to him as he fucked her. Then she came and seconds later he did the same. He leaned against her, holding her up, still impaled on his cock. His forehead pressed to hers and he sighed, his eyes closed.

“You’ve got to slow me down, babe. Or else I’ll just keep fucking you like there’s no tomorrow.”

She laughed. “That’s not a bad thing. I’m just mad this is the kind of sex I’ve been missing out on. I’m making up for lost time.”

“I’ve been missing out too. Being with you—” He paused, his eyes searching hers, and the sudden blossom of vulnerability she found in his eyes undid her. “It’s like nothing else, like no one else.”

Her heart pounded against her ribs. “It’s the same for me,” she whispered back.

Neither of them spoke for a moment. The water sprayed on their backs, steam crawling up all around them. He finally withdrew from her and let her back down to her feet, but he didn’t let go, didn’t put any distance between them.

“Now, I think you said something about washing my hair?” she reminded him, loving that at least for now she could tease him. She could be herself. They weren’t Ms. Martin and Dr. Devereaux—they were Kenzie and Royce. Someday she would look back on these precious moments and hold them close in her heart, no matter what happened after.

“I did, didn’t I? All right. Turn around, babe.” He twirled a finger in the air, and she obeyed, letting the water hit her skin before she dipped her hair beneath the spray. Once her hair was wet, she let him massage her scalp with shampoo. It felt like heaven having his strong hands rub her head. Lord, she would’ve done anything he wanted as long as he kept doing that.

“Better than sex,” she moaned in delight as he finally let her rinse.

His low, rough chuckle made her shiver. “I’ll have to do better next time I’m inside you. Can’t let a little scalp massage show me up.”

Kenzie grinned at him as she reached for the shower gel. She was too short to wash his hair, but she could still wash everything else. She put a dollop of gel in her palm and touched his chest, rubbing him in slow, steady caresses. She took her time, learning every slope, indent, and bulge of his muscled body. He became silent as she worked on cleaning him. She came across a small scar on his left arm, and she traced the ridge of it, raising questioning eyes to him.

“Motorcycle wreck,” he said, watching her with dark, hot eyes.

She found another scar. “And this?”

“This?” He touched the mark on his rib. “Free-climbing a mountain. And this”—he lifted his arm and showed her a jagged scar on his lower torso—“tangled with a smuggler in China. The guy caught me with a knife.”

“Jesus, you have a death wish,” she joked, but he didn’t laugh. “Royce.” She spoke his name soberly, worried she might have upset him.

“You’re not far off, Little Mac. For a long time, I had this need to risk everything.”

She rinsed her hands and pressed herself against him, needing to hold him. He hugged her back, his voice becoming a whisper.

“I needed to feel something, something to pull me out of the grief I felt. For a long time I felt so fucked up, so dark in my head all the time. Doing stupid stuff somehow reminded me I was still here, that I hadn’t lost myself.”

She squeezed him tight, wishing she could banish the ghosts of his past and free him from the chains of his loss. “I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t be,” he said. Her gaze met his, and she saw the real Royce. The young man who’d been forced to grow up far too soon into the man she had—

Kenzie blocked out the dangerous train of thought before it could fully manifest.

“Sometimes a man discovers who he really is when his soul is tested. Trials of fire, you might say. I’ve been tested many times, and it has made me one tough bastard.”

She understood. She remembered Royce pinning down the man who’d dared to hurt her. A gun shoved in the man’s face. The knowledge that he could have shot the man should have terrified her, but it didn’t. He was Royce, and he was her safe harbor, always had been, even before she’d known she would someday need one.

She bit her lip and frowned. “I haven’t been tested, not like you.” Her calm, safe life hadn’t given her anything. She wasn’t tough, and she wasn’t brave. How had she ever been foolish enough to think coming along as some kind of silly sidekick on this adventure was a good idea?

“Babe, I’m glad you had a happy life. Someone deserves it. But this?” He waved around them. “This situation is my fault. I nearly got you killed just because you were in my office when they came looking for me. And we’re not even out of the woods yet. God, I wish none of this ever happened.” He closed his eyes, and the momentary show of weakness was so unlike like him that she shuddered.

“We shouldn’t be here, facing a fucking nightmare,” Royce said. “The last thing I ever wanted to do was to put you in danger.” He brushed a lock of wet hair back from her face and lowered his head to kiss her.

It was the kind of kiss she would never forget, the kind that seemed to shake her to her soul with the force of an earthquake. It was a life-changing kiss, one that was both tender and hungry, one that made her feel safe yet in danger of falling in love.

And that was what scared her like nothing else. She’d never been in love, and she knew that if she fell in love with Royce Devereaux she would never love anyone else. Some first loves are simply that, your first. But Royce? He was a man who would be the love of her life, the one that no other would ever compare to. There was no way she could love anyone else like this.

He’s got my heart in his hands, and he doesn’t even know it. She cleared her throat and mumbled something about needing to shave. They switched places as he washed his hair, and she used her razor to quickly take care of her legs and under her arms, trying not to let him see.

She hadn’t thought any of this through when she’d snuck into the bathroom with just her bedsheet. She finished shaving and turned to see him watching her.

“Nice view.” He nodded at her and at her half-bent position.

Oh God, how mortifying.

“Never be ashamed to show me your ass, Little Mac.” He chuckled and picked up his own razor and rubbed shaving cream over his face. She watched him shave, seeing his strong arms carefully move as he dragged the razor over his skin. Then he buried his face in the hot spray, and they both got one final rinse before Royce cranked the knob to the right, killing the water. He retrieved two towels, giving her one.

Hans’s voice boomed from outside the bathroom door. “You two about ready to go? I want breakfast.”

“Oh my God,” Kenzie hissed. “He knows we—”

“Of course he knows. The man is a bodyguard. His job is to guard our bodies. I’m afraid that means he will know more than you want him to.” Royce rubbed aftershave into his face and grinned before he swatted her ass through her towel. She squeaked and punched him in the arm.

He grabbed his arm, still smiling. “Yikes. Who taught you to hit like that?”

“My brothers. I have two of them, remember?”

“Right.” He was still laughing. “Next time, I’ll spank your ass when you’re tied down. Then you can’t punch me back.”

“As if I’d let you.” She returned his grin.

“Babe, I’m figuring out what makes you burn inside in the best way. In time, I’ll get the chance to do all sorts of things to you. I promise you’ll be thanking me long before I’m through.”

She knew he was right, and damned if she didn’t like the idea of all those things he would do to her.

“Hurry up, Little Mac. We’re gonna meet an old friend of mine.”

CHAPTER TWELVE

Vadym Andreikiv sat in his leather chair in his office, glaring at Jov Tomenko.

“You said they were in Moscow, but you lost track of them at the airport.”

Jov was a burly brute born in Siberia. He was a man of few words, and he kept secrets well, but if he didn’t start talking, then Vadym would replace him—permanently.

“They hired a private car service. Our hacker team checked all the major databases and the taxicabs. Electronic receipts are easy to track these days, but we couldn’t get a lock on their location.”

Vadym pulled a cigar cutter from his desk and stared at Jov as he sliced off the tip of the cigar with a menacing sound.

“Think carefully about your next words, Jov. You don’t want to displease me.”

Jov audibly swallowed.

“I’ll find them. Or…”

“Or?”

“Well, you could lure him to you, couldn’t you? Put the word out where you can be found. Make Devereaux come to us. Then I can deal with him.” Jov clenched his hands together, his knuckles cracking.

Vadym considered the idea. That was certainly an option. Bring Devereaux to him, and then he would have that fucking American under his power, and the man would have to do what he wanted. Normally he’d bribe a man like Devereaux, but he knew enough to know Devereaux wouldn’t take money and he wouldn’t willingly lie about the origins of fossils. His reputation was beyond reproach. It was also what made him perfect for Vadym’s plans.

“Put the word out, as you put it, that I’ll be at the club tonight. He can come and meet my friends.”

Jov grinned darkly. “And what about Dr. Abramov?”

“Tie up the loose ends.”

Jov nodded and left Vadym’s office. Vadym picked up his cell phone and dialed a number.

“Yes?” a gruff voice answered.

“Have the plane ready to fly to Kyakhta tomorrow. We will have guests.”

“Of course.”

He hung up and spun in his chair to stare up at the map of Russia and Mongolia that was pinned to the wall. He would make Dr. Devereaux accompany him to Ulaanbaatar, where his most recent acquisition of a complete velociraptor skeleton was being held securely. If he could get Dr. Devereaux to sign off on the papers and say the fossils came from just outside of Kyakhta, a Russian city on the edge of the Russian-Mongolian border, then he could sell the fossils to an American or European natural history museum for a few million dollars. Devereaux was an expert, one of the world’s best on velociraptors. If any other museum claimed it, he would have been called in to verify the origins of the fossils, which mean Vadym had to have him and no other paleontologist sign off on the documents.

Vadym picked up a long, curved claw from a velociraptor and dragged its lethal tip along his palm, leaving a red mark. For so many years he’d never felt pain, never understood what made others feel anything. He’d scraped his way to power in Russia, to the point where even government officials tread lightly in his presence. They recognized that something was broken in him, something that made him dangerous. He would feed his own mother to stray dogs if he saw an advantage in it.

Devereaux had already robbed him of the sale of a complete nest of oviraptor eggs, which would have brought him millions. One more reason why Royce Devereaux had to be made to come to heel, and made to betray his principles. Vadym could not have someone like Devereaux stopping him from selling his fossils. Fossils were money, and money was power. Power was control. Vadym cared about nothing except the control of his own destiny.

It was harder and messier to trade in humans, and drugs were for fools. Weapons deals had no finesse. Fossils were a much better way to amass wealth. He ruled the sex trade because it amused him to see women and even some men lose their souls, die inside, and still be shells that breathed. That power over people, the ones he sold and the ones who came to him, desperate to buy—they were all under his control. But the sex trade needed funding, bribes for officials and law enforcement to keep quiet. It was costly, and Interpol had been breathing down his neck lately, looking for a way to bust him on charges, but so far he’d managed to hide his tracks and destroy all evidence when necessary. That meant Vadym needed to keep the fossil trade successful in order to afford his little hobby.

A hunger to hurt something rose up in him, and he stood and walked over to a bookshelf full of priceless Western literature first editions. Most were irreplaceable. He’d bought them because he loved to know he could destroy them at his leisure. He pulled one back halfway from its companions. There was a soft click as the shelf separated from the wall. Vadym pulled the bookshelf away from the wall, revealing a padlocked door. He removed a key from his pocket and unlocked it. When he opened it, the light from his office illuminated the dark confined space and the pathetic half-naked figure chained to a spike on the floor.

“Good afternoon, Elena,” he said in English. The figure whimpered as he lifted a long black whip off the wall and flexed it in his hands. Her lovely green eyes were wide with terror. He felt it, that surge of something inside his empty chest. A flutter of joy? Pleasure? It was as close as he could get.

Such a sweet little creature, Elena. An American college student studying abroad in Moscow who had made the mistake of visiting the club with her friends. He’d had her abducted in the bathroom and taken to his private rooms. After he’d taken her, he’d basked in her screams and tears and decided he would keep her until she broke completely. Then he would toss her to his men. How long she would last after that, who was to say? His men were rough brutes, after all.

“Do you wish to play a game, Elena?” He caressed her name and she shuddered, but for a brief instant he saw a flash of fire in her eyes. It was that fire he had to destroy. He twisted the whip around his fists and reached her chain. She screamed, and Vadym laughed.

Yes, he would enjoy breaking this little bitch, and then he could relax. Jov would set the trap for Devereaux, and he would tie up all the loose ends. It was all coming together. His lips twisted in a cruel smile as he raised the whip.

Royce faced Moscow State University’s vast central building located on Sparrow Hills in the southwest part of the city. The building had been designed by Lev Vladimirovich Rudnev and was the tallest of Moscow’s Seven Sisters, the high-rises built by Stalin’s labor force. It was both grim and beautiful at the same time.

“Holy cow.” Kenzie tilted her head back to look up at the center spire that reached toward the cloudless winter sky.

“One of the tallest buildings in the world, aside from the Sears Tower, until 1990,” Hans said as he joined them. Royce and Kenzie both turned to stare at him.

“What?” He shrugged. “You guys didn’t grab a brochure from the hotel lobby before we left?” He waved a small pamphlet.

Royce sighed and rubbed his eyes with his thumb and forefinger. He needed another hit of coffee. “This isn’t a vacation, Hans.”

“You say super-secret mission to stop a Russian mobster, I say vacation. To-ma-to, to-mah-toe.” Kenzie giggled as Hans waggled his eyebrows teasingly.

“Let’s just get inside. We need to find Dr. Abramov.” He led the way. It was close to Christmas break here in Moscow, just like in the States, and the building was mostly deserted. There was a listing of professors, and Royce scanned the symbols, his familiarity with the Cyrillic alphabet strong enough to recognize Lev’s name.

“Tenth floor.” He nodded toward a set of gold elevator doors. “Let’s go.”

The tenth floor contained the offices for anthropology, geology, archaeology, and paleontology. Nearly all of the offices were closed, however, and the hall was dark except for the translucent glass of the windows on the professors’ doors.

Lev’s light was on, and his door was unlocked. Royce didn’t bother knocking. He had known Lev since he was a grad student. They’d gone on groundbreaking digs in China, Mongolia, and the American Badlands. Lev was like an uncle to him—if that uncle had been a skinny old vodka-drinking Russian.

“Lev?” As they entered the office, Royce’s feet trod upon broken glass. “What the—?”

He heard a soft gasp. Kenzie was covering her mouth with one hand and pointing at something behind the desk. He walked around the desk and froze. Lev Abramov was lying on the ground, his eyes open and blinking slowly, blood pooling beneath his lower back. A knife was shoved through the gray sweater he wore. His body drew in rapid breaths.

“Shit,” Hans growled. “Knife’s still in him. Royce, we interrupted the person who did this. He could still be here. You treat the wound, and I’ll clear the halls.” He rushed from the room, but all Royce saw was the blood and the wounds on his friend. The world spun a little, and he had to shake the fog out of his mind and regain control.

“Oh my God!” Kenzie gasped and rushed to Royce’s side, gripping his arm.

“Stay back,” he said as he checked on his friend. It looked bad. “Fuck.” His heart sank as he knelt by Lev. There was too much blood. He knew that if he pulled the knife out the bleeding would only be faster. This wasn’t a wound that could be treated.

“Royce…” The older man hissed out his name. His old friend’s eyes were starting to turn glassy.

“What can I do?” Kenzie knelt by him, her face white as alabaster.

“Nothing, Little Mac, he’s too far gone.”

Lev lifted one hand, gripping Royce’s arm. His brown eyes grew intense, as though what little life he had left was burning up fast. “Royce…”

“Lev, I’m sorry,” Royce whispered.

The older man shook his head. “It is I…who am sorry.” The man looked between Royce and Kenzie.

“Sorry? For what?”

“I betrayed you…to Vadym’s men. They needed to fake fossil documents. They threatened my family.”

“What?” Royce stared down at Lev, stunned.

“The oviraptor nest last year, the one you proved came from Mongolia—it was his. He was angry, and I told him where to find you.” The sorrow and the pain in Lev’s eyes made a lead knot form in Royce’s stomach.

So that was how this bastard had found him. He’d kept his address and his information through the university concealed—even his picture wasn’t available.

“Sorry, old friend.” Lev’s hand on his arm weakened.

“They did this? Vadym’s men?” Royce asked, his voice breaking as he tried not to face the fact that his friend and mentor was bleeding out and there was nothing he could do to save him.

“Yes…wanted to—silence me. He knows you’re here,” Lev warned, but Royce already knew that.

The question was, did Vadym have a way of tracking or predicting his moves? He’d used independent cabs, paid with cash, and booked their rooms with fake identities. Even Kenzie had a fake passport. Hans’s connection on Long Island had been thorough.

Royce stared at the man who’d been like family to him. “Lev…”

“Be brave…dig deep.” The old paleontologist’s eyes closed, and he exhaled one last time.

“Dig deep.” Royce’s chest tightened as he touched Lev’s lifeless hand. He had lost yet another person in his life. He dropped his head, closing his eyes as he tried not to let panic race through him.

“Royce.” Kenzie grabbed his other arm and pulled him up so he was standing. “Royce, I’m so sorry.”

Royce nodded stiffly. The pain was locked inside his chest, like a demon trapped in an iron cage. It rattled and quaked, but the lock held it—for now.

“The police are coming. I called them, but we can’t be seen here.” Hans looked down at the body behind the desk.

Royce nodded. “What’s the story?”

“The story is we have to go. Now. Wipe our prints off anything we touched. Take the stairs back down. We can’t be seen, can’t be interviewed. If Vadym is as powerful as you say he is, we won’t last ten minutes if we end up being taken in by the police.”

“Good point,” Royce said. “Let’s roll.”

Hans waited for Royce and Kenzie to exit and he stayed behind, using a cloth to wipe down the handles of the door before he jogged to catch up with them as they reached the stairs.

“Royce, what was he saying about an oviraptor nest?” Kenzie kept pace with him as they raced down the stairs.

“A year ago I was called in to assess the country of origin for a rare find, a complete fossilized nest of oviraptor eggs that had been recovered after a smuggler raid. The ownership of the nest was in dispute. I happened to be in Mongolia on another dig and was called in to verify the origins. Mongolian authorities were unable to claim the nest, and the Russians firmly believed it was from their country near the border between Russia and Mongolia. When a dispute arises, they bring in an outside source—like me, someone who wouldn’t benefit from the situation—to study the fossil specimen to determine the country of origin. I came in and ran soil samples and other examinations to conclude the nest was from the Bayanzag area of Mongolia.”

Kenzie paused as they reached the landing to the seventh floor.

“Bayanzag?” Her eyes widened. “You mean the Flaming Cliffs? That’s where Roy Chapman Andrews found the first discovery of dinosaurs in the Gobi Desert in the 1920s. It’s illegal to remove fossils from there.”

“Right. And that’s exactly why the Russians need me. If I lie, it will carry a lot of weight. The Mongolians would be too afraid to challenge it, and someone like Vadym can claim it and sell the fossils as Russian finds. He has enough power, I imagine, to cut through any red tape that would stop most smugglers.”

“So, the oviraptor?”

“It seems Vadym was the man behind the oviraptor nest sale. But because of me, the Mongolians were able to claim ownership of the nest. It’s now in Ulaanbaatar, in a protected museum.”

“So Vadym wants payback, right?” Hans suddenly chimed in, catching up to them. “That’s what shitheads like him do. All these mobsters have serious control issues and what they think is pride, and you definitely wounded his. He wouldn’t have forgotten. I bet he’s been hurting to get you back.”

“It sounds like it,” Royce said. He’d put a target on his back, and he hadn’t even known it. Now Kenzie was sharing that target, and it was all his fault.

As they reached the first floor, Hans poked his head out of the stairwell doorway into the corridor. “The police are waiting to catch the elevator. I told them what floor Abramov was on. If we act natural, we might get out without being questioned.” He held up his hand, indicating for Royce and Kenzie to wait. Then he started walking into the hall, hands shoved into his coat pockets. He got past the elevators, the police still not looking his way. So he nodded at them with the barest lift of his head.

“Okay, let’s go. Play along.” Royce curled an arm around Kenzie’s shoulders, pulling her close as they walked down the hall. The police officers glanced their way, their heads covered with furry hats that Royce had always thought was a stereotype rather than a reality, like Mounties wearing red uniforms all the time.

Royce nearly laughed. The entire situation was so damned awful, but he held it together and only glanced at the police officer as they passed. The man nodded in greeting at him as the elevator closed. Royce exhaled in relief as they slipped out into the chilly air, the police left far behind. They joined Hans, who was already farther down the sidewalk. He’d given them space to seem less suspicious, but the farther they got from the building, the more he let them catch up.

“That was fucking close.”

“I shouldn’t have called them,” Hans growled. “I thought the professor might have been able to pull through.”

Royce shook his head. “No, whoever attacked him knew the right spot to strike, even though we interrupted the attack. There was no way to stop the bleeding.”

“We didn’t know that at the time,” Kenzie said. Royce tightened his arm around her. There was no chance he would let her go now. After everything they’d been through together, he didn’t want her to pull away, to hide anything from him. She’d been shot at, chased, and had now witnessed a man bleed to death before her eyes. That wasn’t the apple pie, sweet life she was used to.

And it’s all my fault.

She stared up at him, her doe-like eyes as brown as chocolate and full of horrors a woman like her should never have to see.

“Let’s get out of here, Hans. I need to buy some things for tonight.”

“Things?” Kenzie asked.

“If I’m going to the club tonight, I’m going to need a few toys.”

“I’m still going with you, right?” She came to a stop by the large lake near the university grounds.

“No chance. You’re going to stay in the room. I’m not letting you get within a mile of Vadym.”

Kenzie’s lips thinned, and he saw that rebellious spirit he loved so much flare to life. She wasn’t a brat, and she didn’t fight him just for the sake of fighting, but she fought for what she believed in. It made him fucking hard as hell when he knew a battle with her was coming. Not because he would force her to agree, but because he loved how brave she was. Most TAs didn’t argue with their professors because they felt it put their jobs at risk.

“I came here with you, I showed you I could obey commands. I showed you that I trusted you, and now you need to trust me. I know you think I’ll be safer in the hotel room, but you’re wrong. I’m safer with you and Hans. I agreed to come here knowing all the risks. These guys tried to kill me. I want to see Vadym face-to-face and…”

“Kenzie, you don’t understand. You think we’re like Batman and Robin, but you can’t just tag along on this mission. It’s clear we’re at even more risk than I expected.” Royce wanted to hug her, to pull her in his arms, but he had to keep his distance. He wasn’t going to talk about cold-blooded murder while holding her. “When we go to the club tonight, we’re taking him out. It’s…” Royce struggled for words. “It’s not going to be pretty. I don’t want you to see me do what I have to do.”

Kenzie’s dark-brown lashes fell as she closed her eyes for a brief instant, and then she glared at him. There was a chill to her eyes, a resolve he’d never seen before.

“You said he’s involved in human trafficking. It’s not murder to put down a monster like that. We end him, and we try to save anyone we can. I have to help. I’d never forgive myself if I sat out of this fight.” She drew the collar of her peacoat around her neck and continued to stare him down.

Royce glanced toward Hans. The bodyguard was studying Kenzie with an approving gaze. He shrugged when he noticed Royce looking his way.

“Your call,” Hans said. “She’s right about one thing, though—she might be safer with us than at the hotel. We have no idea how much Vadym knows about us right now.”

Royce stroked his jaw, surprised by Little Mac’s unflinching stare.

“Fine. But you must stay with me every minute. And if we tell you to get out of there, you do it, even if it means leaving us behind. Can you agree to that?”

He saw a flash of hesitation, but then she nodded.

“Good.”

He only prayed that she wouldn’t get hurt. He couldn’t think of anything worse than losing her. His little grad student had wormed her way into his heart, one he’d protected like a fortress, yet there she was, buried deep inside, making him feel vulnerable and exposed.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Kenzie held her breath as she snapped the expensive black bra around her torso. The silky set was given to her by Royce earlier in the day, and they were definitely on the slightly too-tight side, making her feel restless and uncomfortable, even though the fabric was smooth and light against her skin.

As she adjusted the lingerie and looked herself over in the mirror, her thoughts turned from the elastic biting into her ass cheeks toward the things Royce would want to do to her once he saw her in the lingerie. She squeezed her thighs tight and slipped a shimmering knee-length gold sheath dress over the lingerie, then slipped on the black heels and finally a black coat with a fur collar.

She stepped out of the bathroom unnoticed by either Royce or Hans, who were caught up discussing their strategy for the night. Royce wore a black suit and a blue-gray shirt with a steel-gray tie. His wild, wavy dark hair had been tamed back a little, and he was leaning against the wall, arms crossed as he listened to what Hans was saying. He looked intimidating and gorgeous and too wonderful to be real. But he was real, and at least for a short time, he was hers.

Hans had cleaned up nicely as well, but he looked far less comfortable in his suit than Royce given the way he fidgeted and tugged at his collar.

She took another step into the room, and Royce turned, his eyes locking onto her and then sweeping over her dress. Her body responded the way it always did with him. Heat pooled low in her belly, and she fought off a shiver of need.

“So? Do I look okay?” she asked. She personally thought she looked pretty good. The gold dress hugged her curves, and the black heels made her legs look fantastic. She’d been able to get her hair to curl a little, and even her makeup wasn’t too bad.

“You look—” Royce began, then cleared his throat and tried again. “You look good, kid.”

Hans snorted. “He means you look fantastic. Forgive the boy for being tongue-tied around a pretty girl.”

Royce shot the man a glare, and Kenzie couldn’t help but giggle. Hans had a soft side, one that he only seemed to reveal around Royce. He probably wasn’t aware of it, but she saw that look of fatherly approval on his face. From what Kenzie now knew about him, it didn’t surprise her. The loyalty of the people in Royce’s life was immense, and yet he seemed unaware of it at times.

He’s too lost in the pain of the past to see what he has now.

Kenzie couldn’t help but think of her own family. Her parents were so boring, so normal, but in the best possible way. Her brothers, Michael and John, were both attorneys in Manhattan. She had never known real fear or pain until she’d met Royce. But despite the danger, he made her feel alive, and she felt that being with him, even for just a little while, would change her. And she believed she was changing him too.

She closed her eyes, burning the sight of him looking at her like that into her memory. She was so close to falling in love, a feather could have knocked her over the edge. She’d be forever lost in his brown eyes, lost in his drugging kisses, and yet…not lost at all. He made her feel her own strength and sense of self.

She wasn’t just someone’s kid sister, a student with a promising future, or even a sex object to fill some need. From the moment they’d met, he had encouraged her to be the best version of herself. She was proud of her achievements, standing up for her theories and research and charting the course of her own career. That was the kind of man any woman would love.

“Ready to go?” Royce’s deep voice pulled her from her thoughts.

“Ready as I can be.” She laughed, trying to ignore the flutter of nerves inside her.

“It’s going to be okay,” he promised as he brushed a lock of hair behind her ear.

“Right.” She gripped his wrist as he cupped her face, and they looked deep into one another’s eyes.

“Come on, kids, time to go. Stop making googly eyes at each other. Plenty of time for that after we leave Moscow with one dead Mafia dickhead behind us.”

That reminder of reality snapped them out of the spell. They stepped back from each other, and Royce waved for her to follow Hans into the hall. “Let’s go.”

A black SUV was waiting outside for them. Kenzie sat beside Royce in the back seat, while Hans took the seat next to the driver. The day had passed so quickly that Kenzie was shocked to see that night had fallen. It was nearly ten, the time when clubs and bars would be thriving throughout the city. She didn’t see the street where they were when the car finally stopped. A crowd of people stood in the line by the front door.

“Did we get a confirmation from Dimitri that we can get in?” Hans asked Royce.

“Yeah. He just texted me. He’s inside with your girl, Hans. He’s got our names on the list. Vadym isn’t there yet.”

The bodyguard huffed something under his breath that sounded like, “I don’t need a woman.” Kenzie bit her lip to hide a smile. She couldn’t picture the bodyguard indulging in BDSM. He was still very attractive, with a hint of silver in his dark hair and serious dark brown eyes, but he’d never once shown a hint of unprofessionalism around her except when he cracked jokes at Royce’s expense.

Royce helped Kenzie out of the car and paid the driver in cash. She wasn’t used to wearing heels, and the ones Royce had given her made her feel off balance. She just prayed she wouldn’t have to run in them. If everything went as planned, they would deal with Vadym discreetly and leave. Just as they reached the steps leading up to the Black Diamond Bar, Royce pulled Kenzie close and slipped something into her hand.

“What—”

He kissed her hard. “Hide it under your dress,” he growled against her mouth.

Kenzie kissed him back and slid the flat object up her dress, tucking it into the garter holding up her hose on her thighs. The object was slender but cold and heavy. Then Royce released her with a possessive smack on the bottom and led her to the club door, past the line of well-dressed men and women waiting to gain entrance.

“Jesus,” Hans muttered. “Popular place, huh?”

“Guess so.” Royce stepped in front of the doorman with a tablet in his hand.

“Robert Anderson and two guests,” Royce said. It was a fresh alias created just for the club. The man scrolled down the screen and said something to the larger man behind him, who was monitoring the door. Then they both stepped back and let Royce, Kenzie, and Hans go inside.

The hard rock music was so loud it shook the room. The bass seemed to try to change the beat of Kenzie’s heart, and she had to focus on breathing. The darkness of the club shocked her the deeper she went, and she struggled to adjust to it. After a moment she saw lights near a bar and some dimly lit areas. The scents of sex and sweat filled the room, but unlike the Gilded Cuff, the air here was thick with it.

They passed by a young woman being flogged while strapped to a Saint Andrew’s cross. A panicked shiver shot through Kenzie.

“You okay?” Royce leaned down to whisper in her ear.

“Yeah.” She slipped her fingers through his, ready to stay connected to him as they moved more deeply into the club.

It was nothing like the club back on Long Island, which had been elegant, refined, and sensual. Even though people in the Cuff had been getting aroused at the various scene stations where Doms and subs performed agreed-upon scenes, it’d been beautiful and tasteful.

This place felt nothing like the Cuff. It was clear that many of the submissives weren’t here willingly. The pleading eyes, tear-stained faces, the terror and screams coming from the scene stations—here was a hell like nothing Kenzie had ever seen.

“Royce…” She gripped his hand tighter, her heart racing.

“I know, babe. I know.” The look of cold rage on his face told her he felt the same. They had entered Dante’s Inferno. This was not BDSM. People who lived that lifestyle knew that activities between patrons had to be safe, sane, and most importantly, consensual. There was none of that here.

“Anderson?” The tall dark-haired man who called out to them was gorgeous and, given his accent, Russian. He wore his suit the same way Royce did, like a second skin.

“Dimitri.” Royce greeted the man quietly as they stood at an open spot near the bar.

“As promised, a woman for your man.” Dimitri nodded toward the beautiful blonde next to him, who smiled politely at Hans. She wore a slinky black dress and killer heels. She was also older than Royce but younger than Hans, perhaps in her early forties. She winked at the bodyguard. Hans paled and nodded back at her.

The man called Dimitri grinned. “Tatiana, you will keep Mr. Brummer company tonight.”

“Of course.” The Russian beauty took Hans by the arm and led him a small distance away, placing a hand on his chest, speaking quietly.

“Tatiana?” Royce chuckled.

Dimitri grinned and leaned in to whisper in his ear. “She’s actually Interpol. She’ll behave, I promise. But she might make your Boy Scout blush a bit.”

“A bit?” Royce’s laugh deepened.

“So, who is your charming guest?” Dimitri asked, his eyes on Kenzie.

“This is Annabelle Gordon,” he said with a nod. “Annabelle, this is Dimitri Razin.”

Dimitri put her hand to his lips, and she flushed a little. He then raised his head to hers.

“Don’t be afraid, Ms. Martin,” he whispered against her ear. “I assure you, we are all here to keep you safe.” Apparently he knew who she really was. She answered with a small nod. She couldn’t deny that Dimitri was gorgeous. There was an intensity to him and a haunted look in his eyes that stole her breath. For a second her mind blanked of rationality as she imagined Dimitri kissing her…while Royce touched her. Two men, two hungers to match her own… The forbidden fantasy made her shiver, and she banished it quickly.

“Thank you, Mr. Razin.”

“Now, shall we have a drink?” Dimitri offered.

“God, yes,” Kenzie blurted out.

Dimitri smiled as he turned to the waiter and ordered two glasses of scotch and a bottle of water.

Kenzie frowned as she was handed the water bottle.

“Seriously?” she muttered. Right now she needed a real drink.

Royce slipped his arm around her waist. “Got to keep you safe and alert, babe. Nothing but water, not until we’re far away from here. At these kinds of clubs, someone could slip a roofie in your drink.”

“Right.” Royce and Dimitri drank and talked quietly so as to not be overheard, even by her. It gave Kenzie time to survey the room. She noted the exits, the bar, and the various “play areas,” but the more she looked, the more nervous she became. It was clear this club wasn’t about mutual pleasure like the Gilded Cuff back on Long Island. The only people really enjoying themselves were the Doms.

“Little Mac?” Royce whispered in her ear. “You okay?”

“Yep.” Her falsely cheerful reply earned a pinch on her bottom, and she gasped. “Hey!”

Dimitri laughed. “I think your sub needs reminding of her place. It may be a few hours before we need to properly focus. Why don’t we take her up to a private room?” Dimitri offered.

Kenzie stared at the dark, handsome Russian. “We?”

Royce’s head tilted to one side. “Tell me, Little Mac. What do you think of Dimitri?” Royce leaned in closer. “What do you think of him kissing you while I explore you with my mouth and hands?”

The sudden image of being shared between them should have sent her running, but instead her body lit up like a supernova. Two guys at once. It was as if they’d glimpsed her inner thoughts, the fantasy she’d tried to bury only a moment ago. She didn’t want to be in a long-term relationship with two men. But for one night? All of them into it?

Yes, please. The little voice of reason in her head seemed to lose the battle for control with the wild side of her, which was shouting at her to toss her coat off and run to the nearest bed.

Good God. It was crazy, but the way Royce and Dimitri were watching her? They wanted her, and that only made her want it even more. She nodded, just a little.

“I think I should find us a room.” Dimitri walked toward a door with a sign in Russian that Kenzie couldn’t read. She swallowed hard, her skin flushing. She knew they would see her full body blush soon. Her knees turned to jelly, and Royce’s lips curved into a smile. He cupped her chin and tilted her face up to his.

“You okay with two of us, babe? Same rules apply. You can say no to anything you don’t want to do. Red to stop and yellow to slow down and talk it through. Remember, you’re in control.”

She nodded slowly. “You’re okay with me being with both of you? Won’t that turn you off?” It was the one thing her fantasies never had to deal with - the reality that most people didn’t like a three-way because jealousy got in the way.

“I would never share you long-term. If you were mine, Little Mac, truly mine, I’d be the only man in your life and in your bed, except perhaps for the occasional night when you want to test your limits. I don’t have an attraction to men, so if I were to share you, it would always be about you. And I think the two of us will give you something else to focus on before Vadym arrives.”

“It would definitely distract me,” she said hastily, and pulled away from him so she could take a long drink of water.

“Come on.” Royce pulled her past Hans and Tatiana, who were still deep in discussion. Hans was clearly fixated on the beautiful Interpol agent disguised as his submissive. The woman winked at Kenzie and stroked the silver collar she wore as they passed.

“Keep an eye on the door,” said Royce. “If Vadym comes, knock three times.” Hans gave a curt nod.

Kenzie was led into a room at the front of the hall. There was a massive bed with expensive furnishings. The restraints and the wall of toys were like the room Royce had taken her into in the Gilded Cuff, albeit a bit darker and less elegant. Dimitri was already there waiting, his coat off, his shirtsleeves rolled up. He walked along the wall of toys, examining each one. Kenzie halted a few feet inside the door when she saw him pick up a flogger.

“Oh God,” she said. This two-man fantasy was fast becoming a reality—maybe too fast.

“No floggers. Not yet,” Royce said as he closed and locked the door.

When she gulped and stared at him, he chuckled.

“It’s to keep the bad men out, not you in.”

“Right. Of course.” She shrugged out of her coat and Royce took it, hanging it on a hook. Then he removed his own coat and rolled up his shirtsleeves. Both he and Dimitri were watching her, their eyes fixed on her every move.

“Not much training with this one?” Dimitri asked.

Royce shook his head “No training, actually, so be patient with her.”

The Russian nodded, and a gentle but sexy smirk curved his lips.

“We won’t bite, little one. Come here.” Royce pointed to a spot near the bed closest to them. Kenzie walked toward him, her heart pounding and her body throbbing at the thought of what was to come. Royce pulled her into his arms, and the slow, burning kiss he gave her relaxed her instantly. She didn’t even jump when she felt another set of hands, Dimitri’s, massaging her shoulders, soothing away the tension that was coiled tight inside her at the thought of everything that was about to happen tonight.

This was about her pleasure. He was letting her explore a fantasy, and that made her dizzy with the thought of all the possibilities of what was to come. She moaned against his lips and barely noticed as her dress was unzipped from the back. She lowered her hands so the dress could puddle on the floor, then toed out of her high heels.

She gasped when Royce suddenly turned her around. Dimitri cupped her face and lowered his mouth to hers. The kiss burned, his mouth moving expertly, seductively over hers. She heard Royce’s rough whisper in ear.

“How does he taste? Can you imagine him between your thighs? How he would lick you clean, so hard you’d be screaming. But I’d be swallowing those pretty cries with my mouth.”

Kenzie’s whole body reacted. There was no other word for it. One minute she was barely in control. The next it was like a pleasure bomb went off inside her. Her womb clenched as a mini climax shot through her, making her shake violently. She clutched at Dimitri, trying to stay on her feet. His husky laugh against her mouth only turned her on more.

“Let’s play with her, Devereaux,” Dimitri growled.

“Yes,” she gasped hungrily. She wanted only one thing—to be taken and played with by both of them in the dark, forbidden world of this room. Tomorrow she’d feel embarrassed, but not tonight. If we all survive. The fatalistic thought only drove her hunger higher.

Dimitri released her, and Royce scooped her up to lay her down on her back. He hooked her wrists into the cuffs held to the bedpost by a chain. She could move a little, but she couldn’t do more than wiggle a few inches in either direction. If she rolled onto her stomach, the chains would tighten at the center and lock her wrists above her head, making her completely immobile. The thought made her hot as hell.

Royce and Dimitri stood at the foot of the bed, whispering. They glanced her way, dark smiles on both of their faces.

Oh crap.

“Remember your safe words?” Royce asked.

“Yellow to slow down, red to stop,” she said.

“Good. But were going to make it a little more complicated.” Royce held up a small bell. He gave it a good shake, and then he covered it with his hands, shaking it again. The first sound was clear, the second sound muffled.

“Close your fist and any muffled sound we hear we’ll assume you’re fine. If you need us to slow down, open your hand a little and shake it. We will hear the clearer sound. If you need us to stop, throw the bell on the floor. You’ll have a chance to do it if you’re scared. Got it?”

“Yes, but why can’t I use the words?”

“Because he’s going to gag you, little one.” Dimitri handed Royce a strip of black cloth, and Royce walked over to her, wrapping the cloth around her face and tying it behind her head. It wasn’t tight, but she couldn’t speak with the gag filling her mouth.

“You all right, Little Mac?” Royce asked. He gazed into her eyes, searching for fear. She wasn’t afraid, but she was nervous as hell. She answered with a shaky nod.

“Good girl.” He stroked her cheek before he slipped the ball into her left palm. She gave it a test shake, sighing in relief when the bell chimed loudly.

“She’s got the hang of it,” Royce said as he turned back to the wall of toys. Dimitri came over to her, leaning over the bed so he could trail a fingertip down her breasts, toying with the lacy black cups of the bra.

“Who gets the first taste?” Dimitri asked as he brushed the pad of his thumb over her nipple beneath the cloth of her bra.

“I do.” Royce came over to the bed and stood at the foot of it, watching Kenzie. She squirmed under the intensity of his hungry stare.

Dimitri climbed onto the bed beside her and cupped her face, turning her focus toward him as he traced her bottom lip.

“Then I shall feast upon her breasts.” He moved his hand down again, this time with more force, enough to pull the bra down, letting her breasts spring free from their lacy black confinement. Kenzie jerked as he cupped her left breast.

“You have such lovely breasts, such pink nipples,” the Russian growled and squeezed. He didn’t hurt her; he seemed to know how to palm her, cup and knead her to make a low burning heat in her belly start up. He twirled his index finger around her nipple, which pebbled into a hard nub. He pinched it lightly, pulling on it a little.

Kenzie arched her back as a bolt of pleasure shot through her. She cried out, but the sound was muffled, the cloth pressing against her tongue. She threw her head back when she felt Dimitri’s mouth close down on her breast, sucking the nipple hard. His other hand played with her other breast.

Then she felt her hips lifted and her panties pulled off. She tried to relax, knowing it was Royce, but even when she felt his shoulders between her knees she still tensed. The fan of his warm breath over the most sensitive parts of her was both thrilling and scary because she could not see him, not when Dimitri was sucking on her and blocking her view.

Royce’s tongue flicked along her inner thighs, and she squeaked and jerked. Both men chuckled at her reaction but didn’t relent. She gripped the bell tight, careful not to let it accidentally ring out. She whimpered as Royce moved his mouth to her slit. He licked with slow, deep strokes, his tongue playing the sensitive bud of her clit until he finally sucked it into his mouth. Dimitri switched breasts and began sucking on the other one while squeezing and pinching the sensitive peak his mouth had abandoned. The climax that hit her was so intense, it was like she’d jabbed a fork into a socket. Every part of her body became electrified.

“Fuck, babe,” Royce groaned. “I’m not going to last.” He sat up and spoke to Dimitri. “I’m going to take her from behind. You remove the gag and kiss her while I take her.”

Dimitri growled his agreement, and Kenzie was suddenly lifted so she was on her knees facing the headboard. She gripped the top of the headboard. Dimitri knelt beside her and pulled the gag down, covering her mouth in a rough, punishing kiss. She whimpered as Royce moved into her from behind and rammed himself deep inside her. The angle he took seemed to stretch and fill her in the best possible way. She could barely breathe. The intense pleasure was too much, and she only clenched the bell tighter.

“That’s it, babe, show him how well you kiss,” Royce ordered while he pounded into her from behind.

Dimitri kissed her hot and hard, unrelenting, as though he wanted to fuck her entire mouth. One hand slid down her stomach between her thighs, finding her clit and rubbing it. He alternated between rubbing it, flicking it, and pinching it. Between his mouth, his hand, and Royce’s cock slamming her from behind, it was…

The next orgasm hit, and she collapsed against the headboard. Dimitri curled his arm around her stomach, holding her upright until Royce released himself inside her. She could feel his release dripping down her thighs.

It was like every dark fantasy she’d ever had hitting her all at once. He gave her ass a sharp smack, and she could only moan. Dimitri kissed her a long while, helping her come down from the haze. When Dimitri finally pulled away, she could see he was aroused, but he hadn’t moved to touch her.

“Kenzie, babe, you okay?” Royce asked.

“Uh-huh.” She still clutched the jingle bell. There had been no need to throw it, no need to shake it, but now she realized how selfish she’d been. She and Royce had their release, but not Dimitri.

“Should I…?” She looked down at the erection tenting his pants.

Dimitri smiled. “You are a very considerate sub, but I don’t wish to come between you. If you were to have a taste of me, you would forget all about your professor.” He tapped the tip of her nose and climbed off the bed. “I will return for you once Vadym arrives.” Dimitri slipped off the bed, collected his jacket, and with a seductive smile, exited the room. Royce locked it behind him, shaking his head.

“Cocky Russian bastard,” he muttered as he returned to Kenzie on the bed, releasing her wrists.

“Royce…”

“We’re alone. The game is over for now.” He rubbed her wrists, massaging them, but she was fine. The soft fur that lined the cuffs had felt good and hadn’t pinched.

“Royce,” she began again, but stopped as she began to digest what they had just done.

“Yes?”

“That was… I mean…” She couldn’t tell him that he’d given her the best gift ever by letting her explore a two-man fantasy.

“You enjoyed it?” He removed the gag from where it hung loose around her throat.

“It was amazing. It’s like you both knew my darkest fantasy.” She looked down and realized she was naked and her breasts were pushed up by the bra cups still pulled below.

Royce noticed too. “I need to taste you, Little Mac. One more time,” he said. She could never deny this man, especially when she knew it would end in him pleasing her even more. She dropped onto her back and he lay on top of her, his cock sliding back into the wet heat of her channel. He buried his face in her breasts, and when he kissed her, she was shocked at his tenderness.

“You really are bad,” she whispered, and she clawed his shoulders through his white shirt while he slowly made love to her.

“You have no idea, babe. No idea.” He nipped her bottom lip and rocked his hips against her until they both came in a sweet, building climax. They lay together on the large bed, limbs entwined, faces nuzzling as they caught their breath.

“Do you ever wonder if this is a dream?” Kenzie asked. “Like you slept in and didn’t hear the buzz of your alarm, and you’re just lost in this world instead?” She turned to look at him, watching the low light of the room affect his pupils, making his eyes appear all black.

“A dream? Yeah, sometimes. Then I feel your hand in mine and I forget about all the bad shit that’s happened.” He paused, his face growing somber. “And I remember that we can’t do this forever. We have to find a way to go back, once we’re home, or else…”

“Or else we’ll both get burned,” she added for him.

“Yeah.”

“I know. We have both worked too hard to let sex destroy our careers, even great sex.” Even as she said it, she didn’t believe her own words. This thing between them, at least for her, was so much more than great sex.

“Let’s just survive tonight, and then we can figure out what happens before we get home.” He sat up and raked his hand through his hair, then rolled his shirtsleeves down and got off the bed, gathering his clothes as he went to the small bathroom and closed the door.

Kenzie heard the water running, and then she fixed her bra and grabbed her panties. By the time Royce was done, she was dressed. She traded places with him in the bathroom. She cleaned herself up and stared at herself in the mirror.

The woman who looked back at her was different. So different. The dark eyes, wavy brown hair, gold dress, and dark makeup—she’d just had sex with one man while kissing another, and it had been…amazing. The innocent girl from Rochester was gone. She’d grown up in ways she’d never expected. She touched the mirror, watching her fingers meet her mirror image.

“You’re going to be okay,” she said to the woman in the reflection. She just hoped it was true. Tonight was going to be more dangerous than she could truly imagine.

“You ready?” Royce called out. “Dimitri just gave us the signal. Vadym is here.”

She lifted her chin and opened the door to face Royce. She gave him a nod. Her sweet, loving professor was gone, and in his place was a scary, dark-eyed man who was prepared to kill to protect her.

And if all went well, only one life would be taken tonight—and many others saved.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Royce felt the weight of the vial of ricin in his trousers.

It seemed to be burning through his pocket. Soon he would be slipping it into a drink and giving it to Vadym. Never in his life had he imagined he would be a man who would take a life like this. He’d always believed in being a hero, someone who would kill a bad guy in a glorious shootout, not this shady, spy-versus-spy, fucked-up shitstorm he was currently trapped in. Soon this nightmare would be over. He led Kenzie outside of the room and buried all thoughts of what they had just shared deep inside. He couldn’t let his feelings get in the way of what had to be done.

He’d prefer to simply shoot the man in the midst of a fight. That would be fair, sure, but that was too dangerous. Innocents could get hurt in the process. They needed to be cold and calculated because they were putting more than just their own lives at risk.

While he had some qualms about using these means to kill someone, he certainly had none about the target. This man couldn’t be more evil. He was destroying human lives and robbing nations of their history. There was nothing good about a man like this, yet Royce still felt a hesitation to take a human life.

I’m not a killer. It was true, he’d never killed in cold blood before, only in self-defense. But this was self-defense, after a fashion. It was clear the mob boss held a grudge and would not stop hunting Royce until he complied with his wishes. And when Vadym had no more use for him, he’d be disposed of.

He curled an arm around Kenzie and led her to the bar. Dimitri and Hans were already there.

“You okay to do this?” Hans whispered from beside him.

“I don’t know,” he muttered. “I’m not the kind of man who…” Who murders people.

Hans met his gaze, a solemn understanding between them. Then Hans held out his hand, and Royce wordlessly passed him the vial.

Fuck, he hoped this worked. They wouldn’t know if their plan had succeeded for another thirty-six to seventy-two hours while the poison worked its way through Vadym’s system.

“Which one is he?” Royce asked Dimitri.

“The man in the back. The one in the tall gold-and-black chair that looks like a fucking throne.”

Royce finally saw the man who’d caused him so much pain, so much anger. Vadym sat in the chair, a damned throne like Hans said, with a cold smile as he gripped the chain of a collared woman who sat beside him on the floor. The woman’s eyes were glassy with terror. She was definitely not there by choice. He could only pray he could find a way to help her. If Vadym died soon, they might be able to free the woman. The poison would take a few days.

Royce grabbed the arm of a waitress who was carrying drinks toward Vadym that he’d already ordered, and while the waitress was distracted by Royce, Hans swapped out the glass of scotch on the tray for the one he’d dosed with ricin. Then the waitress continued toward Vadym and his men.

Everyone held their breath, waiting to see what would happen. Royce watched the waitress’s progress out of the corner of his eye as she approached Vadym. Vadym took the glass and leaned forward as the waitress spoke to him. Then his gaze flicked to the girl Royce had pointed out. He raised the glass to his lips, and every muscle in Royce coiled tight. He was doing it, killing a man in cold blood, but the man was a monster.

Vadym lowered the glass from his lips untouched and slowly turned his head to Royce and smiled. He held the glass in the air in a salute and then lowered it toward the girl trapped on the floor at his side. Her haunted eyes fixed dully on the drink he offered.

A shout started to work its way through Royce’s throat but not fast enough. Vadym had made them.

“No!” Kenzie’s scream tore through the nightclub, and the girl who had just been forced to take the glass from Vadym dropped it. It hit the stone floor and shattered.

Royce turned to Hans, hoping for a plan B, but everything happened too fast. Men from every corner of the room pulled guns on them. All he could think was to get to Kenzie to protect her.

Hans and the others were just beyond the ring of armed men. Tatiana had a death grip on the bodyguard, whispering something to Hans, but the man didn’t seem to be listening. He was going to break free and charge in. Royce gave a small shake of his head.

Stay there, don’t expose yourself. He prayed Hans would understand. At least if he held back there was a chance the others could do something later.

But Vadym didn’t move from his chair. He waited patiently while his men grabbed Royce by the arms and dragged him to their boss. He struggled, but more for show than actual effect. Then he was shoved in front of Vadym.

“Dr. Devereaux, thank you for the…drink. I thought perhaps it might not sit well, seeing as how you prepared it.”

Royce eyed the glass shards and the young woman who’d almost died. She was looking at him, horror in her eyes. He’d almost gotten her killed.

“Well, Doctor?” Vadym sneered.

“Just returning the favor,” Royce countered. “A present from Dr. Abramov.”

The corner of Vadym’s lip ticked up a little. “I see.” He gave a short nod to the men behind Royce. One of the men who’d dragged Royce kicked him hard in the back, forcing him to his hands and knees.

“Royce?” Kenzie’s cry startled him. He looked up and saw her being dragged into view by one of Vadym’s goons as he spoke to Vadym in Russian.

“Dr. Devereaux, how thoughtful of you to bring another present. My current bitch is starting to displease me, and I could use another, one that has still some fight left in her.” Vadym struck the chained woman, hard yet dismissively. She collapsed to the floor and lay motionless, but Royce saw she was still breathing.

“She isn’t for you,” Royce growled.

“I don’t think you have a say in what happens to her.”

“I think I do,” Royce argued. “If you want me to help you falsify the country of origin on those Mongolian fossils, you will leave Kenzie unharmed and with me. If not, I won’t cooperate.”

Vadym shrugged. “I could torture her until you comply.”

“You could.” Royce sat back on his heels as he stared into the face of pure evil. “But you won’t find anyone of my reputation to give you what you want, and if you harm her I won’t do shit for you. And you won’t have the pleasure of forcing me to lie, the man who robbed you of the oviraptor nest last year. I cost you fifteen million dollars, am I right?”

Royce chuckled, acting carefree, even though he was feeling anything but.

Vadym snarled. “You cost me much more than that, you American pig.”

Royce tsked. “Now, now, Vadym. You don’t want to get all Russian mob stereotype on me, now do you? Especially not in front of witnesses.” He nodded at the crowd looking at them from beyond. Hans, Dimitri, and Tatiana were still there, but so far they had gone unnoticed.

“Witnesses? Please. I own the police,” Vadym boasted.

“But I see at least one person in that crowd is filming you on their smartphone. When this shit goes viral on YouTube, you’ll be screwed,” Royce added. “It’s better to keep me and my woman alive and unharmed.”

Vadym was quiet for a long moment. Then he nodded at someone behind Royce, and pain exploded through his skull. He hit the ground, just inches from the poor woman Vadym had hit, and fell unconscious.

Hans could barely breathe. Hands dug into his arms, keeping him still as Royce and Kenzie were hauled away through the back door of the club.

I can’t let that boy down. His eyes burned and his vision blurred with tears. Am I fucking crying?

“Brummer, everything will be fine. We’ll go after them,” Dimitri promised in a low tone only Hans and Tatiana could hear. The room was still full of armed men who were watching every move around them for signs that Royce and Kenzie had allies.

“He’s right,” said Tatiana, leaning into him by the bar. “If you tried to fight now, Vadym would only kill you. For now, Devereaux is safe and well, and if he’s smart he can protect the girl.”

But all Hans could picture was a tiny child, one who sat quietly beside another boy with bruises and cuts everywhere. Royce had been only eight years old when Emery had been rescued.

Hans hadn’t been able to get the scene out of his head—Emery on one bed, knees tucked up to his chin, eyes wide and gaze distant and Royce sitting there with him, not speaking, offering his presence, the only thing he had to give. Hans had sworn to protect all of them with his life after that, Emery, Wes, and Royce. They were like his sons, and he wouldn’t let anything happen to them.

Terror squeezed his heart until he could feel blood leaking out. I’ve failed. Royce was in the hands of a heartless monster, and Kenzie—God, sweet little Kenzie—she was at the mercy of a brutal human trafficker.

“Hans.” Dimitri’s harsh tone pulled him abruptly out of the spinning pit his mind was falling into. “Finish your drink and we’ll leave. Do you have a tracker on you? One of the Black Widows from Lockwood Industries?”

With a nod, Hans pulled the tracker—a tiny black dot in a clear bag—from his coat pocket. He slipped it out and handed it to Tatiana, and then he swept his gaze toward a guard with a gun as he was walking toward the door that Royce had been carried through.

Tatiana thrust out her chest and sauntered toward a guard, casually bumping into him. Hans watched as she apologized in slurred Russian and slipped her hand into the guard’s pocket, seeming to grab his crotch. The guard lowered his gun, grinning as he copped a feel of her ass. Tatiana allowed it for a few seconds before she slowly withdrew her hand from his pocket, and with a drunken laugh, she slipped free of him and kept walking. She returned to Hans and Dimitri, brushed her hair back, and smiled.

“The tracker is planted on his phone.”

Hans could have kissed the beautiful Russian bombshell, but there’d be time to celebrate once they had Royce and Kenzie safe. Hans pulled out his phone and dialed Emery’s number. He answered on the second ring.

“Hans, how’s Russia?” His happy voice filled Hans with some hope. At least one of his boys was safe. That calmed the raging beast inside him.

“Cold as fuck,” he said with a chuckle. “I need you to run the location on the Black Widow I took from the stock before I left.”

“Sure, hang on. Cody? You hear that?”

Cody Larson’s voice could be heard in the background. “Yeah, I’m on it.”

“How’s Royce doing? And what’s the deal with his TA? Did they ever…?” Emery trailed off, laughing.

“Royce is…” Hans couldn’t tell Emery that he’d lost his childhood friend to an evil motherfucking Russian mobster. “Fine. He’s fine. And yeah, he and Kenzie hooked up. She’s good for him.”

Emery sighed. “About time he settled down. He is the last one, you know. He was way too reckless.”

“Yeah,” Hans agreed, his eyes scanning the club as he saw the armed guard they’d bugged leaving the club out the back door. “Reckless.”

“Found it. Who are we tracking?” Cody’s voice was louder as Emery put them on speaker.

“A guard who works for Vadym. Cody, can you get any intel, legal or otherwise, on Vadym? Favorite haunts, favorite foods, mistresses, addresses of residences and businesses. Give me a whole damn dossier.”

“Sure thing, man. What’s up? You sound stressed.”

Hans closed his eyes and rubbed them with his thumb and forefinger. “I made a mistake. Vadym got the upper hand. I’ve got to handle him.”

“Hans,” Emery cut in. “How bad is it?”

“Bad, but if you can link me to the tracker on my phone and get me that intel, I’ll be fine.”

“You sure?” Emery asked.

“Yeah.” He made a silent vow to get Royce and Kenzie back safe or die trying.

“Your app has the new tracking info. I’ll send everything I can find on Vadym ASAP,” Cody promised.

“Thanks, kid,” Hans said and hung up. Dimitri and Tatiana were still watching him as he opened the tracking app on his phone. The screen filled with the intimidating graphic of a black widow spider crawling across the screen, and then he was prompted for a password. Once he was in, he saw the tracking profile label, “Russian Bastard.” No doubt Cody’s idea. He tapped on the profile, and a map appeared. A red dot was slowly moving away from the club on a series of streets. Hans held up his phone.

“The tracker’s up and running.”

“Good,” Dimitri said. “We watch and wait for them to stop moving, and then we can plan a rescue mission.”

“If we’re lucky, we could bust him for human trafficking.” Tatiana’s eyes were bright. “All I need is evidence of the victims being transported.”

“Don’t worry, we’ll get your proof,” Hans said. But he would much rather put a bullet between Vadym’s eyes for taking Royce and Kenzie. Royce was too softhearted, using ricin. Fuckers like Vadym deserved a bullet, and Hans could be as cold-blooded as he needed to be when it came to killing monsters. Prison wasn’t always enough. Men like Vadym could bribe their way out or control their empire from behind bars and still destroy lives. The only way to protect innocent lives from men like Vadym was by ending him.

I’m coming for you.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Kenzie was shoved into a black van outside the club, her hands bound in front of her. Two of Vadym’s men tossed the poor unconscious woman onto the floor beside her, before they walked around to the front of the van and got in. Through the front windshield, Kenzie could see Royce being dragged to a black SUV parked in front of them.

When they’d knocked Royce out, Kenzie had nearly fainted. Her heart hadn’t stopped pounding and she felt dizzy with terror, but she’d managed to stay in control. This was so much worse than Gary and Monte attacking her at Royce’s office. Compared to this, that had been child’s play.

Vadym had her in his clutches, and he’d made it clear he was going to use her to get what he wanted from Royce and then to hurt her after he disposed of this other poor woman. Kenzie crawled over to the woman and rolled her onto her back. The left side of her face was still red from Vadym’s blow.

She pressed two fingers under the woman’s jaw and felt the steady pulse of a heartbeat. Kenzie sat back, relieved, waiting, feeling the van’s engine start, and then they pulled out into traffic. That’s when she felt it. Something jarring into her hip under her dress. She’d completely forgotten that Royce had slipped her something when they’d first entered the club. She hiked up her dress and removed the object.

It was a slender old-fashioned pocketknife. The initials RD were engraved along with the Devereaux family crest. He’d given her his pocketknife, the one his father had given him when he turned sixteen. He said he never went anywhere without it.

But he gave it to me. Don’t worry, Royce, I’ll get out of this, I promise. Her resolve became like steel, as though her very soul had been forged and hardened into a blade. She knew in that instant that she could kill if it meant she could save Royce. All she needed was the right moment.

The girl beside her moaned. Her eyes fluttered open.

“Wha…What happened?” The girl struggled to sit up. Fortunately, she wasn’t bound at her wrists like Kenzie.

“Hey, you okay?” Kenzie asked.

“I—” The girl shivered. “No.” She leaned back against the other side of the van, her eyes looking off to a faraway place. “I haven’t been okay in a long time.”

“What’s your name? I’m MacKenzie Martin. Everyone just calls me Kenzie.”

The girl sniffed and wiped her tears. “I’m Elena Allen.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Elena. Everything’s going to be okay. I promise.”

Elena laughed bitterly and looked toward the front of the van, where a Plexiglas wall separated them from the drivers.

“You don’t know these people,” Elena said, her voice breaking. “I’ve been tortured, raped, and drugged for two months. Maybe longer. I’m not even sure what month it is. I don’t think I can stand it. Not anymore. I—” Tears poured down her cheeks, and Kenzie was torn between horror and rage. She clenched her fists and carefully showed the girl the knife strapped to her garter.

“What’s that?”

“A little friend.” Kenzie tucked it back under her dress.

“You think a knife will help?” Elena sighed wearily. “These guys have guns. They’re trained. They’re sick. You think I haven’t tried to get out of here? I have tried. Once they even let me think I had made it out of the building, only to find out it had been one of their twisted games. And each time the punishment was worse than the last.”

Elena shifted, trying to pull her short black dress down her legs. Kenzie didn’t miss the jagged scars on her thighs.

Oh God, what did Vadym do to her?

“You were alone, weren’t you?” Kenzie asked.

Elena nodded. “Yeah.”

“Well you aren’t anymore. It isn’t just me. Vadym pissed off my professor, Dr. Devereaux.”

“The guy Vadym was talking to?”

Kenzie nodded.

“I don’t think he’s much help. No offense, but he wasn’t exactly in a position to do anything.”

Kenzie started to smile. “You don’t know Royce. He’s…he’s a badass. Think of him like Indiana Jones. He’s got more tricks up his sleeve. And we have outside help. They all want to bring Vadym down, and I think we will. They’re probably tracking us right now.” Kenzie prayed her words would fill Elena’s heart with hope as well. They were not helpless.

“You really think we’ll get out of this?” Elena asked.

She let her hands pat the pocketknife in its hidden spot. “Yeah, I do.”

The van drove for nearly an hour before it stopped. Kenzie sat up and peered through the Plexiglas window. They were at an airport, one that looked private given the small number of expensive-looking planes and the low level of security.

“Vadym’s private jet,” Elena explained. “I’ve been on it a few times. He likes to drag me along when he travels.” The SUV ahead of them stopped close to a plane. Kenzie saw Royce hauled out the back of the SUV, struggling. He managed to get his hands free and slam one man’s head into the side of the door. He crumpled to the ground. Royce turned to face the other man, who quickly pulled out a gun. Royce froze.

Elena glanced from Royce to Kenzie, and Kenzie shrugged. “At least that’s one less asshole to deal with.”

“Right.” Elena’s lips pursed in a grim line. She was quite beautiful, with blonde hair and soft green eyes. But there was an intelligence and fire there that showed her inner strength. That was what Vadym was trying to kill.

But he won’t get her again, not if I can help it. Royce may not think he needs a Robin to his Batman, but I can prove him wrong.

The two men from the front of the van exited, and Kenzie heard their voices as they came around the back.

“Just go with them, quietly,” Elena said. “If you fight, they punch you—or worse. Trust me.”

“Okay.” Kenzie checked her knife once more, making doubly sure it was secure, and then she braced herself as the door opened and the two brutes waved her and Elena out.

“Go. Get out,” one of them growled in stunted English.

Kenzie scooted along the floor of the van until she could stand, and then she hopped out of the van, Elena right behind her, sticking close.

“Get on plane,” the other man snapped in heavily accented English.

Elena led the way, reaching behind her and taking Kenzie’s bound hands. The connection brought her some comfort, and it seemed to give Elena a bit of courage as they climbed the steps and entered the aircraft. It was the most lavish plane Kenzie had ever seen, with pale-cream leather seats, a bedroom in the back, and a small bar near the middle.

So this was what wealth from smuggling and human trafficking bought? Kenzie swallowed down the bile that rose in her throat.

One of the men shoved her and Elena into the nearest seats, but there was no sign of Royce. She heard sounds of someone being pummeled and the grunts of pain coming from the back of the plane.

“Royce!” Kenzie jerked to her feet, but one of the men slapped her down hard. She saw stars as pain exploded through her face.

“Kenzie!” Elena grabbed her shoulders to steady her.

Kenzie choked back a cry. “I’m okay.”

“Quiet!” the Russian snapped, and both women froze. He left them and walked to the back of the plane, where he opened the door. Kenzie leaned around the edge of the seat, trying to get a look. Royce was being held up by two men, and Vadym was standing in front of him, brass knuckles on his hand as he punched Royce over and over in the ribs and in the stomach, but not his face.

“Royce,” Kenzie whispered to herself.

Royce’s head was held high. He was smiling, but it was a jackal’s smile, one of pain and death. He couldn’t stand a beating like that forever. Kenzie tensed, trying to get out of her seat.

“No!” Elena hissed, dragging her back down. “He won’t be killed. If what you said is true, you’re the one who’s expendable, so you have to keep yourself safe.”

“But—”

“Trust me. I’ve suffered under Vadym for months. He’d kill you without a second thought if you’re more trouble than you’re worth. But if he has a use for Royce, then he’ll hurt him, but he won’t kill him.”

It took every ounce of Kenzie’s self-control not to scream Royce’s name and run to him. She would have fought the devil himself to save him, but Elena was right. She’d only get killed, because she was expendable.

After another two blows, Vadym stepped back and slipped the bloody brass knuckles off his fingers, handing them to one of his men before he left the room. He smiled and wiped a speck of blood off his chin before he approached the women and took a seat across from them.

“It is a long flight. Ten hours to the private airport in Kyakhta. I suggest you find a way to amuse me.” Vadym looked right at Kenzie. She was screwed if she couldn’t find a way to distract him.

“What’s the fossil in Mongolia that you’re trying to transport?”

Vadym’s gaze narrowed. “What do you know of fossils?”

“A lot,” Kenzie said. She could feel Elena in the seat beside her, unmoving, terrified. “You didn’t think I was sleeping with Dr. Devereaux, did you? He’s a professor of paleontology, and I’m his teaching assistant. In five months, I’ll be a professor of paleontology as well.”

Her announcement caught Vadym by surprise. “You? You will be a doctor like him?” He looked back at the room where Royce lay on the floor, two goons hovering over him.

“Yes. I can assist Dr. Devereaux with his inspections of the fossils. There’s more to it than signing a page of authenticity. He’ll need to verify the time period the fossils came from, among other things. I can help him with that.”

Vadym sat back, a smug smile on his face. “You will take Elena’s place after the fossils are sold. I will make good use of you—in many ways.”

Kenzie didn’t rise to the bait. It was obvious that he liked a woman who would fight, and she wouldn’t fight, not yet, not until it was her last option.

Vadym’s phone rang. He rose with a scowl and walked to the other end of the plane to answer, speaking in a low tone. The engines began to whir, and Kenzie kept her gaze focused on the back door.

“You’re paleontologist too?” Elena asked.

“Yeah.”

“That’s good. He’ll keep you alive longer. You’re lucky.” There was a desperation in Elena’s voice that tore Kenzie’s focus away from the back of the plane. She gripped Elena’s hands.

“It’s going to be okay. I promise. We’re going to get through this.”

Elena smiled sadly. “I’m not the first girl he’s had. He’s taken, used, and disposed of dozens after keeping them only a few weeks. I lost hope a long time ago that I would survive this.” Elena laid her head back in her seat and closed her eyes. “You should try to sleep while he’s distracted.”

Kenzie closed her eyes, trying to will herself to sleep. A short time later, she jerked awake as she sensed movement nearby. She saw Royce sliding into the seat across from her, one arm cradled against his chest. He winced.

“Hey, Little Mac,” he groaned before he collapsed into his chair.

She leaned forward a little. “Oh my God, are you okay?”

She looked around the plane and found Vadym at the back with his slender laptop open and the phone still against his ear.

“He just used me as a personal punching bag. But I’ve been through worse.”

“Worse? What could be worse?”

“This isn’t my first rodeo. It’s just my first Russian with brass knuckles.” Royce’s painful chuckle didn’t reassure her.

“You’ve been through this before?” Kenzie was stunned. Royce had never mentioned anything like this.

“I’ve seen and done quite a bit of crazy shit in my day. These aren’t the first fossil smugglers I’ve encountered, either. Usually they sneak up on a dig site and hold you up at gunpoint. Then you tussle a bit and render them harmless and call the authorities.”

“These guys are anything but harmless,” Kenzie muttered.

“You’re right,” Royce agreed more seriously. He reached across the small space between their seats and touched her bound hands. “You okay? They didn’t hurt you, did they?”

“No,” she replied.

He reached up to touch her chin and tilted her head to the side to get a better look. “Your face, it’s red.”

“One of those assholes slapped me, but I’m okay. I promise.”

Royce frowned, a cloud of rage building in his eyes.

“We’ll get through this, I promise. And they will pay for hurting you.”

She nodded. Yeah, they would pay. She’d made a promise to herself never to be a victim. That meant getting payback on the jerk who’d hit her.

“Do you think Hans will be able to find us?” she asked.

Royce nodded. “I trust few things in this world, but one of them is that Hans always pulls through. I’m sure he has a plan to find us.”

Kenzie couldn’t ignore the knot in her stomach. Even assuming that Hans could figure out where they were headed, Vadym had a ten-hour head start.

“Come over here and rest. I need to hold you in my arms.” Royce jerked his head to the seat next to him. Kenzie hesitated, not because she didn’t want to feel his arms around her, but because she didn’t want Elena to feel alone. Royce seemed to pick up on that, looking toward Elena, who was fast asleep. “She’ll be fine. I’ll watch over her too.”

Kenzie slipped into the seat beside him and rested her head on his shoulder. He winced as he put his arm around her shoulders, and she settled into him again. She wondered how much pain he was still in.

“Just sleep, Little Mac.” Royce’s lips pressed into the crown of her hair. For a moment, she pretended everything was okay, that they weren’t facing death.

“Where do you think he’ll take us after Kyakhta?” she asked, closing her eyes.

“My guess is we’ll take a train to Ulaanbaatar from there.”

“The Mongolian capital? Not the Gobi Desert or the Flaming Cliffs?” Royce’s natural scent made her feel safe. If they just kept talking and she didn’t open her eyes, she could lie there and pretend it was a dream, a nightmare she would wake up from.

“If he needs me, he’s already had the fossils stashed somewhere. My guess is he’s got some connections at the museum in Ulaanbaatar. He’s probably got the fossils stored there, and for the right price he can have them conveniently go ‘missing.’ Most Mongolians want to preserve and protect their fossils and keep them in the rightful country, but there are always people who can be bought.”

“But why fossils? There has to be easier ways to make money. Illegally, I mean.”

“Fossils play to his pride. If he steals them from another country and some museum in the West buys them, not knowing they are helping his illegal operations, he enjoys knowing that sense of power and control it gives him. Men like him want nothing less than to be untouchable, and the deeper you work yourself into the legitimate world, the harder it is to weed you out. Take him down, and you risk ruining innocent lives with him. Even if he’s exposed, it would be hard to find anyone willing to prosecute him. Human trafficking is another matter, though. That’s his weak spot.”

Kenzie yawned and burrowed deeper into his chest. She was relaxing, at least enough to sleep, but she didn’t want to hear about human trafficking.

“Tell me about the Flaming Cliffs,” she begged.

He chuckled, and she could feel his cheek pressing down on her head as she rested. “Sure, babe.” He covered her hands with one of his as he began to speak in a low and hypnotic voice.

“Bayanzag means ‘rich in shrubs,’ but its nickname is the Flaming Cliffs, which Roy Chapman Andrews came up with during his expedition in 1922. Picture the land around the cliffs as a classic desert of rocks, red sand, scrub,” Royce said in a reverent whisper. “You don’t know what it’s like. The emptiness is the most beautiful and peaceful thing you’ve ever seen. Every worry, every fear, every thought that clouds your mind just vanishes out there. There’s only beautiful open emptiness.”

Kenzie could picture it, almost like she was there. The quiet winds whistling on the sand, the open cloudless skies. It could drown her in its endless blue depths.

“If—when we get through this, I’ll take you there. I’ll show you how beautiful it is.”

“I would like that.” She sighed, and sleep soon welcomed her, her heart filled with hope. He sees a future with me. A future she wanted but had been so afraid to even dream about. Now she knew how much he really mattered to her. Seeing him get hurt and fearing for both their lives had made everything startlingly clear to her.

I want Royce—I want more than what we had. I want a future with him.

It wouldn’t be easy, but where there was a will, there was a way. And she wasn’t going to let fear take her, not anymore. And that meant she wasn’t going to let Vadym have his way with them. Kenzie opened her palm so she could cradle Royce’s hand between hers, and she gave him a squeeze.

“Hang in there, kid,” he said.

“I will if you will.”

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Royce was watching out the window as the private jet landed on the airstrip outside of Kyakhta. Kenzie and Elena were still close to him. For some reason Vadym had left them alone after he’d given Royce one hell of a beating. Perhaps it was some kind of mind game, allowing him to sit and think about what he had to lose if he didn’t cooperate.

But now that the plane had landed, Vadym would want his fossils. It went against everything Royce believed in to use his professional reputation to lie, but Royce wanted to live. More importantly, he wanted to protect Kenzie and Elena. The best way to do that was to play along with Vadym until a chance to fight presented itself or the cavalry showed up.

Vadym came up to Royce, a cold smile on his lips. “Now, Dr. Devereaux, this way.” He jerked his head toward the plane door, indicating it was time to go.

Royce gritted his teeth but followed Vadym out of the plane. A truck of Russian officials was waiting for them.

“Royce?” Kenzie stuck close to him, worried as she watched Vadym’s men speak to the guards.

“It’s okay. Kyakhta isn’t a city that allows foreigners to visit. I’m guessing Vadym will be bribing the officials to get us cleared. This is one situation where we don’t want government officials to take us into custody. Trust me.”

One of Vadym’s men waved at them, and Royce and Kenzie and Elena were herded toward a pair of black SUVs.

“Where are we going?” Royce asked Vadym.

The Russian climbed in the front passenger seat before he looked back at Royce.

“I think you know. We will take the Trans-Siberian Railway to Ulaanbaatar. The fossils are being held in the city.”

Royce buckled himself in. “The Central Museum of Mongolian Dinosaurs?”

Vadym’s eyes narrowed. “I don’t know what you’re playing at, but I would suggest keeping your questions to a minimum. Remember, I only need you to authenticate the items.”

Elena sat quietly to his left looking out the window, by all appearances tuning everything out. To his right, Kenzie sat still but her eyes were trained on Vadym. A shiver ran through him.

Despite the warning, Royce continued to act the part of being slightly clueless. “I just thought you might have kept them stored elsewhere, a warehouse or bank vault.”

Vadym looked smug, as if he had overestimated Royce’s intelligence. “What safer place is there than a museum? I have a contact there who will help to ensure that the find stays in good shape and will be ready for transport to Moscow.”

Royce studied Vadym carefully, wondering what else he could get away with asking. The man had brutally beaten him on the plane, yet now Vadym seemed more relaxed, likely because his plans were going well.

“Any chance we could stop for food in Kyakhta before we board the train? It’s been nearly twelve hours since we’ve eaten.”

“Dr. Devereaux, you are my guest. As you seem to be willing to cooperate, there is no need to continue with such rough treatment. I’ll have my men stop at Letree Kafé, and you will eat on the train.”

Royce settled back in the seat. Obviously Vadym assumed Royce wanted to stop at a restaurant in the hopes of an opportunity to escape. Kenzie leaned against him, and he kept his focus on her. His chest flooded with a cottony warmth, and he curled an arm around her shoulders.

By the time they arrived at the train, the central-Asian dishes in their to-go boxes they’d picked up between the airport and the train station were empty. Royce was relieved they’d had a chance to eat so he and Kenzie wouldn’t be weak with hunger. Vadym hadn’t allowed Elena to eat anything, and when Kenzie had tried to sneak her some food, one of the men had cuffed Kenzie hard on the temple.

“She doesn’t eat unless I allow it. Isn’t that right, Elena?” Vadym asked as he glanced at her from the front passenger seat.

“Yes.” Elena’s broken and complicit tone only stirred Royce’s rage further, but he had to hide his emotions. He had to keep up the appearance of being cooperative until an opportunity presented itself.

As the SUVs pulled up in front of the railway station, Royce discreetly checked every avenue for escape. He couldn’t see anything useful. For himself, perhaps. It would require a little gymnastics and a lot of luck. But what about Kenzie and Elena?

One of the Russian goons grabbed Elena by the back of the neck and dragged her toward the railway platforms.

“We can’t leave her,” Kenzie whispered as she followed them inside.

“I know,” he sighed.

“You’re fortunate, Dr. Devereaux. I had my men book you and Ms. Martin in a deluxe cabin right next to mine. You will travel in style and comfort.”

“What’s the catch?” Royce asked as he and Kenzie followed Vadym toward the waiting train.

“No catch. As I said, you are my guests. But guests must learn to behave, and you were very rude to me back at the club. You have learned your lesson, I hope, and from here we can start our relationship anew. Cooperate and things will go smoothly—you will eat well, travel well. But if you do not… Well…” Vadym didn’t finish. But one of his men who stood behind him leered and dragged a finger across his neck as though cutting his throat. A couple of the other men chuckled. Vadym shot them a glare.

“Silence.” He looked back to Royce. “The fact is, I may have further use for you, long after this task has ended. I could imagine more such adventures between the two of us. We could have you move to Moscow, set up in a penthouse befitting the lifestyle you are accustomed to. We could even move your job there. I understand there is an opening at Moscow State University.”

Royce said nothing, but inside he seethed. He didn’t know which fate would be worse, being killed after doing what Vadym asked or being kept on a short leash forever.

They boarded the beautiful blue car that belonged to the Golden Eagle, an upscale tourist train that ran along the Siberian railway. The attendant in the train car smiled as he took the tickets from Vadym.

“To the Imperial suites,” he said.

The attendant nodded and led them down the corridor. He stopped and waved at the door next to him. “This cabin.” He looked to Royce. “And the one farther down is yours.”

Royce felt the nudge of a gun against his lower back as he was shoved toward his cabin door. Once he and Kenzie were inside, Vadym stood there waiting, watching them from the doorway, one hand gripping Elena’s arm.

“Have a pleasant evening, Dr. Devereaux. My men will be outside if you require any assistance.” Vadym closed the door. Royce stared at the cabin door window and then pulled down the shade, no doubt to the irritation of the guard watching from the other side.

Kenzie sat back on the queen-size bed, still in shock. He came over and sat down beside her. She leaned into him, and he finally was able to free her bound wrists of the rope. He rubbed at the angry red welts on her skin, carefully massaging her wrists.

“Why don’t you take a shower? These are the best cabins—Vadym was right about that.” He wanted to keep her as calm as possible. The cabin was filled with an oddly muffled silence that cocooned them.

“Royce, I’m scared. I can barely breathe.”

He lifted her chin with his fingers. Fear, stark and vivid, glittered in her eyes.

This is all my fault. If she hadn’t worked late in my office that night, she never would’ve been pulled into any of this.

“Look at me, Little Mac. Put your hand over my heart.” She lifted one hand and touched him. He felt the heat of her palm through his shirt.

“Feel my heart. Focus on the rhythm. You feel it? Now, breathe with me.” Royce drew in a slow breath. Kenzie did too, shuddering at first, but soon she found his rhythm and they breathed in and out slowly together.

“That’s it.”

Her dark lashes dropped down across her cheeks. She was still too pale, but her breathing was normal again.

“You okay?” He brushed the backs of his fingers over her face, and she nodded.

“Yeah, thanks. I felt like I was going to lose it.” She pulled back from him. “I think I will take that shower.”

He watched her close the door and fell back flat on the bed, staring up at the gold-painted ceiling of the train cabin.

Fuck, I wish Hans were here with the cavalry.

Kenzie stripped out of her clothes and stepped into the shower stall. The hot water eased the chill within her, but only a little. She felt numb, like her mind had turned everything off. How was she supposed to survive this?

She couldn’t get Elena’s face out of her mind, how tortured the woman had been. Vadym would kill Elena, and then Kenzie would be his next plaything. Bile rose in her throat. She gagged, doubled over, and spit in the shower, her stomach clenching. She smacked one palm on the shower wall, catching her breath.

I’m not alone. Royce is here. We are in this together. She winced as hot water hit her raw wrists. It was such a small thing to see the welts there when she’d suffered worse earlier, but… Tears welled up in her eyes, and her vision blurred.

I’m not weak—I’m not.

Yet she couldn’t seem to stop crying. She turned the water off and got out of the shower, her legs starting to shake. She found a thick, expensive bathrobe on the counter and slipped it on. Then she leaned forward and wiped the condensation from the mirror. Haunted eyes stared back at her, and a slight bruise marred her cheek from where she’d been hit by one of Vadym’s men.

Tears fell down her face, leaving streaks that shimmered white beneath the florescent lights.

I’ll get through this. I will. I’m smart and levelheaded, and I can keep calm in a crisis, right? That’s what Royce needs. Me levelheaded and calm.

She tightened the bathrobe belt around her waist and stepped back into the main cabin. She found Royce lying flat on his back on the bed. One of his hands rested on his stomach, his fingers tapping a little rhythm. The sight of him looking somewhat relaxed managed to calm her. When the bathroom door clicked shut behind her, he lifted his head, then bolted upright and opened his arms when he saw the look on her face.

“Little Mac,” he said softly. She rushed into his embrace, fresh tears pouring from her eyes.

There was no stopping the sobs that followed. Royce held her throughout, absorbing every shake and tremble. Her heart stilled in her chest, and new trembling took over. This man, this beautiful man was the answer to questions she didn’t even know she wanted to ask. There was no running from the truth, not now, not when the world was collapsing around them. She raised her head, facing him, their bodies caught in a warm embrace.

“Royce, I…I love you.” The words slipped from her lips. She couldn’t take them back. It reminded her of something her mother used to say about dreams: Once you give them a voice, they are out in the world, alive.

She never meant to dream about love, not like this. An all-consuming, overpowering love that was so scary she could barely breathe. But somehow it was there, alive. She could feel that love inside her, like an arrow shooting through her heart.

“You don’t have to say anything. I just needed you to know,” she said, ducking her head. Royce gave a cocky grin, one that made her momentarily forget the horrors that awaited them outside the cabin. For a moment, it was like he was flirting with her back at the university.

“I know you do. I’m irresistible,” he announced with such authority she couldn’t help but giggle.

“You’re an ass, you know that?”

“But clearly a lovable one.”

She shoved him and he fell back on the bed, pulling her down next to him. He curled one arm around her waist, kissing her forehead.

“Did I ever tell you about how I learned to pick locks? Hans and I broke into Wes’s house…”

Kenzie settled more deeply into his arms, worries and fears for the moment banished. So she wasn’t Robin to his Batman or Watson to his Holmes. She was just Kenzie, but she was finally seeing what she should have seen from the beginning. Royce had never needed a sidekick to follow him about. He needed a partner. There were a thousand reasons she loved this man, but right now this was the most important one. They would face trouble together, side by side.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

The city of Ulaanbaatar was nothing like what Kenzie had expected. When Hans and Royce had spoken of mountains, lonely deserts, and yurts, they had been speaking of the countryside of Mongolia. But as the Trans-Siberian train pulled into the city, it left the valley hills with snowy pine trees far behind them. The horsemen who had darted alongside the train tracks like the Mongolian herdsmen of history vanished as the cityscape of Ulaanbaatar took over.

It was a curious mix of ancient temples, crumbling Soviet-era apartment blocks, and newer glass towers, along with derelict suburbs of yurts and brick houses. A mesh of wire, concrete, and metal piping all crashed together. But Kenzie was stunned by the energy and warmth of the people, which was so at odds with the city itself.

“Welcome to UB,” Royce said. “The city’s name means Red Hero.” He coughed. “But honestly, they should call it Black Hero in the winter.” He pointed at the hazy dark clouds that hovered above the city like an omen of doom.

“What is that?” Kenzie asked.

“Noxious smoke. It’s only here in the winter because the families who live in the yurts in the ger district burn coal to fend off the extreme cold. It will hover over the city until March.”

Now that he mentioned it, Kenzie could almost taste the coal in air, the acrid taste lingering on her tongue and in her nose. “Jesus.”

One of Vadym’s men opened their door abruptly. “Out. This way!”

“We’re coming,” Royce snapped, and he took Kenzie’s hand as they followed the men from the train. Outside, several cars were already waiting for them.

“How the hell does Vadym have cars everywhere waiting for us?” Kenzie muttered.

“His Uber bill must be through the roof.”

Kenzie almost laughed, but the knot of nerves in her stomach had returned. The cars drove through the city until they stopped in the parking lot of a massive gray-and-red building with gold designs. Over the front of the building, obscuring the words “Lenin Museum,” its former name, hung a sign that read “Central Museum of Mongolian Dinosaurs,” in English. A huge tyrannosaurus head jutted out of the exposed bricks, as though a dinosaur had come to life and was escaping the museum.

“I would love to have seen that as a kid,” Royce said with a chuckle as they walked beneath the dinosaur and into the museum.

“This way, Dr. Devereaux.” Vadym seemed almost cheerful as he led the way to a set of back doors that took them away from the visitor center.

He’s happy because he’s getting his way, Kenzie thought. He thinks he’s won. Good.

A man rushed to meet them as they entered the lab beyond the offices. “Mr. Andreikiv!” His accent was clearly Mongolian, but his excitement at seeing Vadym meant this had to be his inside man, the one who would help him rob this beautiful country of its birthright.

“Dr. Devereaux, this is Mr. Atlan Dorjsuren.” Atlan held out his hand.

Royce shook Atlan’s hand, though with little enthusiasm.

“Follow me,” Atlan said. “On behalf of the museum, I’d like to offer our sincere regrets regarding the accidental acquisition of that which rightfully belongs to your country. It seems the dig site was on the Russian border, and the specimen was wrongfully extracted and transported here due to an error in the GPS devices. We have the specimen ready for shipment. We need only a few of the documents filled out and authorized.”

Kenzie kept pace with Royce as they followed Atlan into a large warehouse. A large six-foot-by-five-foot box was carefully packed with bones tucked in straw. Each bone had a small tag with a diagram to show its location on the reconstructed skeleton.

“It’s a velociraptor!” Kenzie exclaimed as she approached the box.

“Yes,” Vadym said from behind her, making her jump. “The most complete one ever seen. It will bring in millions, once museums begin a bidding war.” Vadym put a hand on her waist. Kenzie tensed and slid slowly out of Vadym’s reach, moving closer to Royce. Her skin felt like ice where that man had touched her.

“Dr. Devereaux?” Atlan spoke up. “The papers are in my office. This way.”

Royce reached for Kenzie’s hand, but Vadym grabbed her and pulled her away.

“Sign the papers, Dr. Devereaux. When you come back, you can have her.”

“Like hell,” Royce growled, and his grip tightened on Kenzie. Vadym smirked. The men on either side of Vadym pulled aside their coats, exposing their weapons. She couldn’t let Royce get hurt trying to protect her. Without a plan, it was just pointless bravado.

“Go. I’m fine.” Kenzie leaned against him, squeezing his arm to reassure him she would be okay. She tried to ignore the feel of Vadym’s gaze on her, but it made her skin crawl.

“You could be most useful to me,” he finally said. She didn’t respond. “Aren’t you interested in hearing my offer?”

“That depends,” she finally replied. She couldn’t keep running away from him, and she needed to buy more time. “Anything you offer better include Royce’s safety and my own.”

“If you come back to Moscow willingly and help me find fossils, warm my bed, then I won’t kill Devereaux.”

Kenzie froze, every part of her body tense. “You’re planning to kill Royce? What about that talk about moving him to Moscow? I thought you needed him?”

“Useful, yes. Need? No.” Vadym laughed softly, and the sound made her skin crawl. “This was always about control.” He took his time in answering, seeming content to watch her dread increase. “Your lover defied me, robbed me of a huge auction prize. I couldn’t let that stand. I had to make him come to heel.” He let go of her arm and curled his hand into a fist, as though imagining crushing Royce in his palm. “But now that I have you, there’s no more use for him. I should remind you that you will come either way, but willingly means you can spare his life.”

“And what about Elena?”

Vadym’s brow furrowed. “Who?”

“Elena. The girl.”

Vadym acted as if her existence had completely slipped his mind. “What of her? She will not be needed.”

“Would you let her live?”

Realization dawned on his face. “Oh, I see. If she matters so much to you, I’ll let you choose who lives.”

“Both.”

Vadym laughed. “You are in no position to bargain. But you have fire. That’s good. I will give you this one thing, before I take everything else. Both. If you agree to come with me.”

A devil’s bargain. But what choice was there? Royce would find a way to rescue her. She had to believe that.

“Fine. You have my willing participation,” she said softly, looking away from him.

Vadym’s smile turned her blood to ice. He cupped her chin, his fingers digging into her skin as he turned her toward him and slammed his mouth down on hers. She shoved him away as she heard Royce’s shout.

“Get away from her, Vadym! I signed your damn papers.”

Vadym let go of her, and she retreated. He laughed as he turned to Royce. “She has just agreed to come back to Moscow and serve me—in all ways.”

Royce’s face was pale as he looked between them. “Kenzie, what’s he talking about?”

“He said he’ll spare you and Elena if I do. Please, Royce, don’t cross him,” she pleaded with him, hoping he would read her thoughts. It’s just for a short time, until you can save me from him.

“You son of a bitch!” Royce moved fast, slamming his fist into Vadym’s face before his bodyguards could move in. The attack stunned everyone.

“Kenzie, run!” Royce shouted as he tackled Vadym to the ground. Kenzie turned and smacked hard into Jov Tomenko’s body. She hadn’t even known he was in the room. His heavy hand clamped around her arm, squeezing until she cried out. Vadym’s other guards grabbed Royce and dragged him off.

“Take them to the cars.”

“May I kill them?” Jov wrenched his hand down harder on Kenzie’s arm. Her muscles seemed to tear beneath his hands, and she gasped in agony.

“Not here, you fool. Later you can do whatever you like.”

Jov smiled darkly down at Kenzie. “He broke Elena before I had the chance to take over, but you? You still have fire in you. I will have such pleasure breaking you.”

Vadym spat blood as he climbed off the floor. He waved Atlan away when the man tried to help him up. “See that the fossils are shipped tonight.”

“Of course.” Atlan rushed back to his office.

Royce was being held by two of Vadym’s men. His mouth was bleeding from where one of the men had punched him. Jov dragged Kenzie toward the exit, along with Royce. Once they were back in the car, Elena was there waiting for them.

“You okay?” Elena whispered after they were shoved into their seats.

Kenzie nodded.

“Silence!” Jov snarled as he started the SUVs engine. Kenzie grasped Royce’s hands in hers, squeezing it. Whatever happened next, at least they would be together now.

They were driving down a street called Peace Avenue when Jov paused, staring at the lights. He had to take a left turn, when the red light wouldn’t let them go straight. Kenzie stared at the digital billboards above the car, unseeing as she tried not to think about what would happen to them. Then the billboard videos began to cut out, the picture disappearing and reappearing over and over again, like some kind of rapid power outage. That was odd. Royce leaned forward to look, and then his lips began to move and she could hear his faint whisper. “Ready—accident—Cody—ready—accident…”

“Accident?” she whispered back.

The car surged into the intersection, and half a second later, Royce pushed her and Elena back against their seats in case the seat belts failed their jobs. A truck suddenly plowed into them from the left side, sending the car flying. The breath was knocked out of Kenzie’s lungs. She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t scream, couldn’t—

The vehicle rolled, and she, Royce, and Elena were bounced around like rag dolls. Metal screamed, glass shattered, and the blare of horns drilled into her skull. She couldn’t move, couldn’t think past the sweeping numbness inside her.

“Kenzie,” Royce groaned as he struggled to sit up. Elena whimpered and twisted her legs as she tried to sit upright.

“Royce… What happened?” She felt like she was shouting. The ringing in her ears made her feel dizzy and nauseous.

“Morse code. Cody must’ve hacked the billboards somehow.” Royce looked to the front of the car. The driver, Jov, wasn’t moving. The other man in the passenger seat was awake, but blood dripped down his forehead. He was still trying to get his bearings.

“We have to move. Now.” Royce opened the door beside him, half falling into the street. Kenzie followed, taking Elena’s hand as she helped the other woman out of the car.

They found themselves in a world of chaos. Cars were jammed everywhere in the intersection. Smoke billowed up from the truck that had hit them.

“Oh God,” Elena gasped. “Where’s Vadym?”

Kenzie and Royce searched the crowd and saw his car ahead of them, pinned between two smaller cars. The red brake lights were on, and the car was jerking slowly out of its trapped position. Kenzie tugged on Royce’s hand.

“We have to go. Jov will be coming for us.”

“Not yet!” He was staring at the digital billboards, watching the way the images flashed as if pointing in a certain direction. “Embassy! Embassy!” Royce cried in triumph. “Come on! This way!” he shouted, jerking Kenzie along. The three of them sprinted through the wreckage and ran toward the American embassy in the distance.

Gunfire erupted behind them. Royce skidded to a stop behind a car and pulled Kenzie and Elena down as they covered their heads. In the distance, she could see the friendly wave of the American flag and the Marines standing at the gates as they tried to assess the cause of the gunfire.

“We can’t make it!” Elena gasped. “The embassy is too far!”

“We can make it. Kenzie, you still have the knife I gave you?” Royce held out his palm. Kenzie handed him the knife, and he glanced around the taillights of the car.

“It’s Jov. I’m going to lure him to me. You two crawl that way, toward the embassy. Use the cars as cover for long as you can, then run like hell when you’re exposed. Shout that you’re American. The Marines should let you in.” He turned away.

Kenzie gripped his shoulder, dragging him back to face her. “What about you?”

“Trust me. I’ve got nine lives, kid. I’ll be fine.” He leaned in and cupped her cheek. “I fucking love you, Little Mac. Okay? This ain’t no suicide run. I want to live every damn minute of our complicated lives together. So I’ll survive, I promise.”

He kissed her, hard, fast, and all too soon it ended.

“Now go!” he hissed, then crawled behind the taillights of the car. Then he stood up. “Jov, you fucking bastard. I’m over here!” Royce took off, running perpendicular to the route that led to the embassy. Jov raised his AK assault rifle and fired another volley, but he hit only cars.

Elena grabbed her arm. “Kenzie, we have to go!” They started crawling fast behind the cars toward the end of the street that led to the embassy.

Royce drew Jov’s fire away from them, but it didn’t lessen the spike of fear that had a stranglehold on her throat. When the two of them broke the clearing of the cars, they ran and didn’t look back. Everything seemed to slow down around her, the wind whipping her loose hair against her face, her harsh, labored breaths, the almost jellylike feeling to her legs, and the soldiers manning the gates, watching her and Elena with worry.

“We’re American! Help us!” Kenzie screamed as she launched herself at the gate. The Marines rushed to open it, dragging her and Elena behind them.

“What’s going on, ma’am? Who’s firing out there?” a Marine demanded as he raised his rifle.

“It’s Russians. They’re attacking us. One of us is still out there. He’s wearing black pants and a white dress shirt. His name is Dr. Royce Devereaux.”

“Did you say Devereaux?”

“Yes.”

One of the guards got on his radio. “Devereaux’s here, outside the gates. Permission to engage if they reach the gates?”

“Permission granted!” came the reply over the radio. The Marines nearest Kenzie and Elena shouldered their guns and headed through the open fence so they were guarding the entrance to the embassy.

“Get inside, ladies!” one of the last guards shouted before he disappeared through the gates. Several other armed soldiers rushed out to meet them, escorting them toward the safety of the embassy’s interior.

Kenzie held on to Elena, keeping the other girl on her feet as they reached the embassy doors. Medics rushed out to meet them. Kenzie pulled away as the medics took Elena inside. She turned, eyes searching the chaos in the street as several Marines opened the gates again and slipped just outside, waiting. A knot formed in her stomach. They couldn’t save him, not unless he got closer to the gate. They couldn’t risk starting an international incident.

Royce appeared through a gap in the abandoned cars, running, but limping. Blood streaked down his side, but he didn’t stop. Jov was behind him, staggering, rifle still in hand. He fumbled as he changed the magazine, then raised his rifle, taking aim.

“No… No… No, no!” Kenzie sprinted back toward the gates, even though she was powerless to help.

“Weapon down! Now!” the Marines were shouting. Jov ignored them and pointed the rifle at Royce’s back. Only twenty feet separated Royce and American soil. The soldiers couldn’t do anything unless Jov aimed his rifle at them, but with the way Royce was running straight at the American soldiers, Jov would have to fire in their direction.

“Royce, get down!” Kenzie screamed. Royce dove without hesitation, sliding on the embassy lawn like a baseball player diving for home plate as Jov fired. The Marines fired back a second later in a deafening volley of shots.

Jov stumbled and the rifle dropped to the ground, and his body keeled over backward. Kenzie ran, landing next to Royce in the grass, covering his body with hers, hugging him.

“We need to get you inside!” a Marine shouted, and they were lifted up and rushed indoors.

The embassy was in turmoil, people running, speaking on phones, and arguing about what had to be done next. A fresh wave of medics took charge as they led Royce and Kenzie to an infirmary on the second floor. Kenzie was shaking hard, her hands clenching a paper cup of water someone had handed her.

“I’m so sorry!” she gasped and wrapped her hands together, unable to stop the tears. Royce lay on his back beside her, his breathing shallow, and he winced as they pulled his shirt up. The knife wound was deep, and the sight of blood made Kenzie woozy.

“Lie down, honey, you’re turning green.” A female doctor pressed on her shoulder, urging her to lie back. She all but collapsed, and then something sharp pinched her arm.

“Ow! What’s that?”

“Just a little sedative, honey. You’re in shock. Just close your eyes and rest.”

Sedative? The world turned oddly fuzzy around her. Her eyelids became too heavy to hold up.

Royce… She slipped into darkness.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Royce came awake slowly, aware that he was in some sort of hospital, probably still at the embassy in Mongolia given the news station flashing on the TV in the corner of the room. Everything hurt like hell. Tubes were in his nose, and an IV bag hung on a pole nearby. His right hand was taped, keeping the IV needle in.

“Fuck,” he groaned, his head falling back onto the pillow. Then he noticed a shape in a chair beside his hospital bed. Kenzie. She was curled up on the chair, her head pillowed by one arm and a jacket covering her. A man’s jacket.

Not my jacket.

“Thank God,” a deep voice said from the doorway. Hans Brummer stood there, a paper cup of coffee in his hand and a relieved look in his brown eyes.

“Give you a few new gray hairs, did I?” Royce’s voice came out a croak.

Hans raked a hand through his scalp. “More than a few. I’ll go full George Clooney in a month at this rate.”

“How did you find us?”

Hans pulled a chair out and turned it around, not waking Kenzie. He sat on it backward with his arms on the backrest.

“Tatiana put a tracker on one of Vadym’s men. Once we knew you’d boarded the Trans-Siberian Railway, we called Cody and he found your destination was here in Ulaanbaatar. Dimitri and I beat you here by just ten minutes. We couldn’t try anything at the museum, but once you left, Cody said you were heading past the embassy. We knew we had to get you there. I didn’t believe it, but fuck if you didn’t make it.” He chuckled and took a long sip of his coffee.

“Morse code on the billboards. The kid is a damn genius.”

“And the pileup? He turned all the traffic lights green. Risky, but effective. It gave you time to get free. We weren’t sure you’d get away if the driver of the car didn’t wreck, but thank God it did.” Hans turned toward Kenzie’s sleeping form. Royce did the same.

“I…” Royce’s voice broke a little. “I honestly didn’t think we would make it. For the first time in all the crazy shit I’ve done…”

“And that’s a lot of crazy shit,” Hans noted.

“Yeah, but I never had…I’ve never needed to worry about…”

Hans gave a nod. “You had something to lose.”

“Yeah. I had everything to lose. She’s everything to me.” The weight of those words in the past would’ve seemed like a curse, one more thing he needed to run away from. But now he saw what his friends had been saying for months. The love of a good woman was what a man really needed to live. And somehow, by a twist of fate, he’d found his woman when he wasn’t even looking for her.

“This means you’re finally going to settle down?” Hans asked as he sipped his coffee.

“I guess that depends on how you define settling down.” He grinned, but winked. “I’m in love, not dead. I won’t stop traveling, teaching, or going on digs. But my days of recklessness are over. Being with Kenzie is the only real thrill I need.”

“Thank God,” Hans murmured. “Now maybe I can finally retire. You boys are all grown up, with lives of your own—kids will be next.” Relief mixed with a hint of sorrow in Hans’s eyes.

“You won’t leave Long Island, though, will you?” The thought of the man who’d been like a father to him leaving left a void he didn’t really want to think about.

“You don’t want me to leave?” Hans’s lips curved up in a grin.

“Of course not,” Royce replied. “Maybe it’s time you settle down too. Bring that sexy Russian Interpol agent over to visit.”

Hans’s face turned ruddy. He looked anywhere but at Royce, who winked.

“Maybe I’ll do that,” he finally said. “By the way, how the hell did you get knifed? The Marines said that Russian man chasing you had an AK assault rifle.”

Royce grimaced. “I jumped him while he was loading up with weapons from the back of his car. He had a knife ready and got me, but I got a few punches in. Just didn’t know I was bringing fists to a knife fight. When I saw his cache of weapons, I bolted, and that’s when he started firing the rifle.”

“Holy shit,” Hans groaned. “Don’t try to jump a Russian, kid. Didn’t I teach you anything? You just run like hell for cover next time.”

“Let’s hope there isn’t a next time.”

“Agreed,” Hans muttered, his disapproving frown so parental that Royce almost laughed.

“Why don’t you rest? Knife wounds are bitch to heal. She needs you rested.” He nodded to Kenzie.

“Yeah, good point. Did they catch Vadym?”

Hans shook his head. “No, but Cody has some ideas about how to track him down. Dimitri is keen to handle the matter back in Russia. I think Vadym pissed him off bad enough that he’s ready to go against Vadym openly, and he’s not nearly as nice as we are. He promised to let us know the moment Vadym is…taken care of.”

“And Elena?”

Thunderclouds gathered in Hans’s eyes. “Physically, she’s okay, a little banged up. But emotionally? She’ll never be the same. I was there when she gave her statement to the officials here at the embassy. He’d had his claws in her for months. Beaten, starved, raped… She’s just a kid. Only twenty years old, for God’s sake.”

“What’s going to happen to her?” Royce shifted in the bed, wincing as he felt stiches tug at his side, probably from the knife wound from Jov.

“She’s going back to Moscow to get her possessions. Her university where she was studying abroad had her things in storage. Then I think she’s coming home after that. Dimitri said he would make sure she was safe while she was in Moscow. He hasn’t let her out of his sight since he got to the embassy.”

Royce let out a sigh. He hoped Dimitri could handle Vadym. If he succeeded, Royce would owe that man his best bottle of scotch.

“Catch some sleep. The embassy is safe,” Hans promised. “Hell, I don’t even think I could break in here.”

“Thanks.” Royce laid his head back on the pillow and closed his eyes.

It must’ve been hours later when he opened them again because Kenzie was awake and watching him. She had a book in her lap, some romance novel with a couple embracing on the cover. She blushed and tucked the book in her chair.

“Hans found them in the embassy library for me. He must have seen me going crazy, and I needed a distraction. How do you feel?” She scooched her chair closer and carefully curled her fingers around his arm.

“I feel like I was hit by a truck and knifed by an angry Russian.” He turned his hand over and wiggled his fingers in invitation. Kenzie smiled and placed her hand in his. A gentle heat blossomed at the simple contact. How had he been so blind? He’d loved her from the moment he’d spoken to her on the phone, before they’d even seen each other—he just hadn’t realized that until now.

“You still love me?” he asked. He was teasing her, but a part of him feared she would think he was too dangerous, too damaged to settle down with.

She bit her lip, her brown eyes sparkling as she pinched her thumb and forefinger together. “I think I love you a little more than yesterday, and given how much I loved yesterday, I don’t think my heart could love you any more than I already do.” She squeezed his hand.

“That’s a good thing, because we’re going to need all that love to get through the mess we’ll face when we get home.”

“I know,” she sighed. “What are we going to do?”

He tried to sit up, groaned, and lay back on the bed as he stared at her. “You’ll have to file for a transfer to a new professor. People will talk about us, and it could get ugly.”

“I think after everything we’ve been through, gossip is the least of my worries. Funny, it used to scare the hell out of me, but not now. Not after…” She didn’t finish, but he knew she needed a distraction from the darkness of those thoughts.

“We’ll still need to lay low so no one suspects we’re dating. Maybe you can ask for Lionel Bigby as your new professor.”

“No way! He’s ancient!”

“Exactly. You won’t fall in love with him when he makes you work late nights.”

“Possessive much?”

“Very.”

“I am not transferring to Bigby and losing all my research.”

“Okay, But we’ll have to wait until you graduate and your PhD’s in the bag. That means no hot looks in the hall, no working late on the same nights, no public dates. Just secret clandestine meetings.” He waggled his eyebrows and she giggled.

“I’ll be good. Promise.” She flashed him a sexy grin that made him doubt very much he could keep his hands off her. He’d have to, in public. But in private? Oh yeah, he’d be all over his Little Mac.

“Once you’ve gotten your PhD, then you move in with me.”

“Move in?” Her breathless tone made his body harden.

“Yeah. Turns out I’m the marrying kind. You’re it for me, Little Mac.”

Her eyes misted, and he reached up to brush her cheek with the back of his hand as tears started to fall.

“You’ll do it. The right way, right? On one knee, a ring, a call to my dad?” she asked.

“I’ll do whatever you want as long as you know you’re mine and I’m yours.”

Her smile made him feel like he was standing on the edge of the Flaming Cliffs, the bright sun warming his face, as the wind whistled over the rocks. He knew, in the most ancient way a man could know anything, that they belonged together. The sea and the shore. The sun and the earth. What he felt went beyond soul-deep to someplace far stronger, far bigger than his own heart.

“Is that a yes?” he asked, his voice a little rough.

She nodded and leaned in to kiss him. It was an awkward kiss given that his body hurt all over, but it was the best damn kiss a man could ever have because he tasted her love for him in it.

So this was what it felt like to be loved, to love so much it hurt in the best way. A man could get used to this.

EPILOGUE

Six months later

Kenzie held on to Royce’s back as his motorcycle cruised down the private road toward their home—Devereaux House. She peered at the mansion through her helmet visor and sighed. She never got tired of looking at it. The gabled roofs and endless halls full of priceless paintings and lavish bedrooms and the study where Royce worked. It had all become a part of her life in the best possible way. He pulled up in front of the mansion and killed the engine. Kenzie let go of his hips and slid off. The sight of him astride the bike with his helmet, jacket, and jeans was utterly sinful.

He pulled the visor up. “What’s up, babe? You’re looking at me funny.”

“I’m just picturing how much I want you to bend me over the pool table tonight.”

He took off his helmet, leaving his hair playfully tousled, but his expression was hungry and serious.

“Are you asking me to fuck you, Dr. Martin?”

“Oh, most definitely, Dr. Devereaux.”

He grinned. “That’s too bad, Little Mac, because I have every intention of making love instead.”

Kenzie tugged on a lock of her hair and tilted her head, as if considering the offer.

“Well, as long as you make it dirty…”

“Dirty?” He stepped off his bike and began to step toward her with playful menace. She retreated to the door, which opened behind her. Mr. Lansdown stood there waiting.

“Ah, Dr. Devereaux, Dr. Martin,” the butler said.

“Lansdown, we’ll be in the billiard room until dinner. Make sure we aren’t disturbed.”

“Of course.” The butler tried to hide an indulgent smile.

Kenzie squealed as Royce tossed her over on his shoulder. He gave her ass a little smack, and she returned that with one of her own.

“You’re a caveman, you know that?”

“Never said I wasn’t, babe.” He laughed as he carried her to the billiard room and set her down on the edge of the table. She spread her legs as he stepped closer, cupping her face in his hands. For a long moment he simply stared at her, and she was undone by the tenderness in his eyes.

“I love you, Little Mac,” he said, and claimed her lips with his. It was a kiss that burned, a kiss that made her want to get his clothes off. Tear them off if she had to.

“You still—haven’t—asked yet—” she said between feverish kisses.

“Haven’t I?”

She shoved at his shoulders playfully. “No!”

“Well! My bad.” He stole another kiss before he reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a small box.

He slowly lowered down to one knee before her, looking too irresistible.

“I wish I had my mother’s ring to give you, but this will have to do.” He cleared his throat and opened the velvet box. Inside was an elegant princess cut diamond with two small sapphires on either side.

“I chose this back in Mongolia before we came home. I thought it felt right.”

She couldn’t speak. She’d never had a thing for jewels, and she would have worn anything he gave her, but looking at the diamond and sapphires, knowing he’d brought the ring back from Mongolia, when they had almost died…

“MacKenzie Martin, would you do me the—”

Royce grunted as she tackled him to the ground, covering his face with kisses.

“Close enough! Yes, yes, yes!” That was the only word she’d ever want to say to this man, because they were destined for each other. Destined by forces set in motion millennia ago, when dinosaurs still walked the earth.

Their future wasn’t written in the stars; rather, it had been held in the fossils within the bedrock deep inside the earth, waiting to be revealed.

Dimitri Razin studied the crime scene photos showing Vadym lying dead, poisoned in a Moscow restaurant. The ricin had found its way into the bastard’s food with a little help from a cook in Razin’s employ. He should have killed the man a long time ago, but he’d been reluctant to start a turf war that would spill over into his private life. But after watching the hell Royce and Ms. Martin had been through, he owed it to them to deal with the problem.

He pulled up his email on his phone, and through an encrypted link he sent the photos to Royce. That would give the professor a bit of peace now that he was to be a married man and likely soon a father. Dimitri smiled a little, but there was an ache in his chest that he couldn’t seem to fix. After being with Ms. Martin that night at the Black Diamond Bar, he’d glimpsed the way she’d looked at Royce, with so much love and hunger that Dimitri had been jealous. Not because he’d wanted to come between them—he hadn’t. But he’d wanted what Royce had. That intense bond with another person. He’d likely never find it, not with the way he had dark desires pulsing in him. Finding the right woman, the one who would be submissive without fear in the bedroom, was a hard thing.

Movement ahead of him drew his focus away from his phone screen, and he glanced up. The Moscow airport was crowded, but he saw what he’d been watching for—a beautiful woman with blonde hair and green eyes making her way through the rows of seats next to the gate for the flight to Los Angeles.

Elena Allen clutched her purse to her chest like a shield. The clothes she wore were loose-fitting. Her eyes were still so full of fear that it made Dimitri growl. He’d learned all about her in the last few days. A young American college girl studying abroad, she’d been abducted in the Black Diamond Bar and kept for months as a sex slave by Vadym. After her rescue in Ulaanbaatar, she’d returned to Moscow to her university dorm, where her clothes and books had been stored after her disappearance. The Moscow police had checked her belongings and clothes when she first disappeared, but given that the case of her disappearance was still open, they hadn’t allowed her clothing and belongings to go home to her parents. After picking up her things, she’d had her visa processed so she could leave. The US State Department had worked with the Russian government to see her safely and quietly home.

But it wasn’t going to be enough. Dimitri knew she needed someone to watch over her, because the terror she’d suffered and the emotional and physical wounds she’d received wouldn’t heal easily, if ever.

And I will be the one to watch over her. Protect her the way a good Dom should.

He could never claim this beautiful woman because she’d been through too much already, would likely never trust any man again after what had happened. But Dimitri felt compelled to be her silent shadow for as long as it took for her to find her way back to some kind of normalcy.

Elena eased down into a chair close to the gate, and Dimitri watched the way her hair tumbled over her shoulders as she dug around in the contents of her purse and pulled out a book to read.

Her gaze flicked up once, as though sensing she was being watched. Dimitri offered a pleasant smile and then casually glanced down at his phone as though more interested in emails than the passengers around him. She relaxed and resumed her reading. His lips twitched. She had good instincts, this one, but she needn’t worry ever again. She was safe, and he would watch over her as long as it took for her to heal.

You’re strong, malen’kaya roza. Someday soon you will not need me to watch over you.

The thought filled him with a strange sadness. Being her protective shadow had given him a sense of hope and purpose that he hadn’t felt in years. She turned her head at the sound of a gate attendant making an announcement, and something about her face, the way she held it, reminded him of something—or rather, someone. The mystery of that moment drew him in. Who was Elena Allen? In that moment, he vowed that he would find out.

Thank you so much for reading The Darkest Hour! Turn the page to read the first 3 chapters of Dimitri and Elena’s story Dark Desire!

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PROLOGUE

MAINE - TWENTY YEARS AGO

Clutching her pregnant belly, soaked in blood, a young woman stumbled into the emergency room as night fell outside the rural hospital. She could barely breathe as rolling waves of labor pains threw her body into spasms. It felt as though two giant hands were trying to rip her body apart. Everything felt heavy, and she couldn’t move, couldn’t even walk another step.

“Help! Please—help me . . .” She collapsed, her hands braced against the wall as two men in scrubs rushed toward her. Nurses? They had that efficient, pragmatic air about them. Sweat poured off her skin, dampening her bloodstained maternity dress. The instinctive need to push was so overpowering that she whimpered and dug her nails into the arm of the nearest man as he helped her stand.

“Save my baby,” the woman pleaded. “Please . . . don’t let anyone find me . . .” She relaxed in the hold of the strong nurse who was holding her upright. This place was safe—these people would help her.

If she could just hold on, stay alive a little longer, then it wouldn’t matter that she’d hurt two men who’d tried to kill her. For a brief moment, she was safe, safe enough to do what she needed to.

She doubled over, the strength leaving her legs, and she again sagged against the nurse who was supporting her. The man shifted his arm to lift her onto the approaching gurney. Her fingers tangled in the soft blue of his scrubs as he deposited her onto the gurney, and she noticed the blue was now streaked with red from her clothing. He wheeled her out of the lobby and back toward the examination area.

“Ma’am, is this your blood?” one nurse asked as he cut the soaked dress off her body and began to examine her.

She squirmed on the gurney as another contraction hit her. “No. Not mine.”

“What’s your name?”

“Tatiana . . . Anderson.” She collapsed back, momentarily unable to breathe. Only then did she realize her mistake. She never should have said her name, but everything was happening so fast, so painfully, that she couldn’t think straight.

One of the nurses began to push the gurney back out of the exam room, telling her they were taking her to a delivery room.

“What happened, Tatiana?” someone asked her as she closed her eyes.

“They tried to kill me . . . I got away.” How those men had found her, she would never know. She was supposed to be safe, supposed to be protected. This wasn’t Russia—this was the United States. The Red Army shouldn’t be able to touch her here, but somehow they had.

“Who tried to kill you?”

“Can’t say . . . Not safe . . .” She’d already said too much. Her brain wasn’t functioning right. She was tired, frightened, and desperate.

“All right, we’re going to help you deliver the baby,” a woman explained as a doctor came into the room and scrubbed up at a sink.

“Mrs. Anderson?” the doctor asked.

Tatiana nodded. She was so tired. She’d been on the run for weeks, and now the baby was coming. She couldn’t keep running, not from this, and not from the men who wanted her and her child dead. She grabbed the doctor’s sleeve.

“If they come for her, don’t let them take her.”

His brows rose in concern at her white-knuckled grip on his arm. “Who?”

But she couldn’t answer him. She could only scream as another wave of pain hit her. Her child was here.

What felt like an eternity later, Tatiana fell back on the bed and listened with exhausted joy to the cries of her new baby.

“Mrs. Anderson, congratulations. You have a healthy baby girl.” The doctor placed a tiny bundle in her arms.

Tatiana curled her fingers into the blanket under the baby’s chin, pulling the cloth down to better see her child’s face. She was the most beautiful creature she had ever seen. Looking upon her, so new and innocent to this world, it shattered Tatiana’s heart.

“Doctor,” she breathed, “you must take her away. She must be given up for adoption immediately.”

“What? Why?” The doctor and the nurses simply stared at her.

“Please, it isn’t safe. She must be as far away from me as she can be. Take her now. Do not put my name on her wrist. Do you understand?”

“Look, Mrs. Anderson, you really should speak to a counselor first before you make that kind of decision . . .”

“If you do not do it, she will be dead within a week. Do it!” Tatiana declared so forcefully that one of the nurses rushed to take the baby from her.

The child was carried away, and Tatiana let out a bone-weary sigh. That was when her body gave out and the bleeding started. She drifted away, her last thoughts on the future of her child, a child who held one of the world’s greatest secrets within her DNA.

Two miles south of Lake Kardyvach, Russia

Sergei Razin watched his son with pride. The boy held a fencing sword at the ready. At only eight years old, he was already proficient in a dozen weapons, three years ahead in his schooling, and only two years away from entering the ranks of the White Army. With his dark hair and pale, clear blue eyes, the boy looked so much like his beloved mother that it made Sergei’s heart swell with even more love than before.

“Attack!” the fencing master bellowed.

Sergei’s son lunged forward and in a few moves disarmed the fencing master. The adult man’s fencing foil clattered to the ground.

Sergei clapped his hands together and beamed at his son. The fencing instructor turned Sergei’s way.

“He bests me every time, Sergei. I cannot teach him anything new. He passes his fencing course.” The teacher collected his foil, and with an elegant flick of his blade, he saluted Sergei’s son. The boy smiled, but his cheeks were stained with a blush at the praise. He was a good boy, a humble child, but smart and talented, the best son a man could ask for.

“Dimitri, come with me.” Sergei motioned for his boy to follow him. Dimitri set his foil on a stand by the wall of the training room and rushed after his father.

The palace was quiet that afternoon. Most of the servants were busy at their tasks, and the few other people who lived in the palace permanently were currently away on missions. The remote location of the palace meant that they could largely live their lives away from the prying eyes of the Kremlin. That was key. If they were to ever defeat the corrupt men who sat in power in Red Square, the White Army would need to have the best men and women ready.

The Kremlin’s forces focused on breaking down people, especially women, turning them into creatures so damaged that they were empty-shelled puppets that danced to the tune of political leaders in their spy games.

The men and women of the White Army were the opposite. Individual skills were praised and cultivated. Everyone was valued, and everyone had a place. They fought for a Russia that had been murdered long ago in a basement, but they also believed in change for the better and not remaining stagnant in the past. The day the last of the Romanovs had been slain was the day the White Army had gone underground, to wait, to hope, to plan for a truly free Russia.

“Am I doing well, Father?” Dimitri asked.

“Very well. It’s time you meet the other boys. They will be like brothers to you.”

“How many will there be?”

“Three others. Four, including you.”

Dimitri kept pace with Sergei as they entered a long portrait gallery. “Why so few?”

“All of us in the White Army must keep one another safe. These other boys will be your world. The four of you will trust in each other. Do you understand?”

“I think so,” Dimitri replied.

Someday Dimitri would know how dangerous this life could be, but not today. He was still young and innocent. Today it was still a game to him.

Sergei pulled the frame on one of the paintings to reveal a secret passageway. He’d spoken to the parents of the other three boys and sent for them this morning so that they could all meet each other. Sergei and his son walked through the darkness together until they reached another door.

Sergei opened the door, and he and Dimitri stepped into a sunny atrium. It was a sacred room in the palace, and the skylights far above let golden sunlight streak down through the room, illuminating the white marble floor and making the blue-and-red painted walls shimmer. It was a room full of books and cozy armchairs and a table. There were drinks and a few light foods prepared by the palace cook.

Three other boys were there, each around eight years of age, standing by the table, waiting respectfully for Sergei to address them.

“Dimitri, these are the sons of my closest and most trusted friends. Now they will be your friends, your confidants, your brothers in all but blood. This is Leo.” He pointed at a blond-haired boy with light-brown eyes who watched Dimitri with open curiosity. “And this is Maxim.” An intense black-haired, brown-eyed boy nodded in silent greeting. “And this is Nicholas.” The last boy, with dove-gray eyes and light-brown hair, grinned and waved at Dimitri. Nicholas was much like his mother, a charmer who befriended and enchanted all who knew her.

“This is my son, Dimitri,” Sergei said and then stepped back.

It was time to let his son forge his own fate with these boys. They were the future of the White Army. They would rise from the ashes and save Russia one day. They would protect the past and fight for a better world, and Sergei would make sure each boy had the training to survive and thrive.

Dimitri left his father’s side and moved into the room, a little shy at first, but then within moments he and the others were talking excitedly. The bond between the four boys was almost instantaneous, as it was supposed to be.

Sergei held back a smile. He wanted to laugh with joy at the sight, but this was a serious moment, and he did not want Dimitri to mistake his joy for something else. So he kept quiet and watched as the future unfolded.

CHAPTER 1

Can’t breathe . . . can’t . . . need air . . .

Elena Allen bolted upright in the uncomfortable seat in the gate area of the Moscow airport. One hand clutched her chest. Her heart was pounding so hard it felt like someone was beating her ribs from the inside. The fragments of the nightmare were still scattered in her thoughts as she fought to remember where she was. She was in an airport. She wasn’t chained up. She wasn’t in the dark. She caught her breath and glanced around her, instinctively searching for any threat before she finally calmed.

Several passengers nearby watched her with open concern. She managed a shaky smile before she glanced down at her lap where her cell phone rested. She had ten minutes before boarding her flight back to the United States. Then she could start to feel a bone-deep sense of relief at the thought of getting out of Moscow.

Flashes of the dream that had woken her still lurked in her mind. The nightmare of what she had recently endured for two months had burned her so deeply that the scars ran straight through her soul. If she had never gone to that club that night, then she never would have been kidnapped, raped, tortured, and starved by that sadistic rich Russian mobster, Vadym. She never would have endured the dark, evil things that had nearly killed her.

A cold numbness settled over her each time she was swamped by memories of what Vadym had done.

A gate attendant began to speak in Russian, and Elena collected her bag when she realized it was the call for boarding.

As she queued up with the other passengers, she felt a prickling on her scalp. Someone was watching her. She turned her head just enough to glance to her right and then her left, her movements economical, so slight that the people around her wouldn’t notice the fear she felt. She’d had this funny feeling on and off since she’d arrived at the airport, but whenever she looked, she could see no one showing any particular interest in the twenty-year-old American college student at the gate for the Los Angeles flight.

But that didn’t mean someone wasn’t watching her, and the thought of a hidden voyeur edged her toward panic. Maybe Vadym was holding to that promise he’d made, that he would kill her, and he was finally coming after her. She wasn’t the first woman he had captured, and she wouldn’t be the last, but according to him she had survived the longest. He hadn’t lost interest in her because of the fire in her eyes.

“Like emeralds burning me up. You won’t break so easily. I like that about you,” Vadym had growled. She had been chained to the wall in a secret hidden room in his office, suffocating slowly in the dark until he opened the door. That was the horror she’d faced every day. Wishing to die quietly, alone in peace in that dark little chamber, breathing in stale air, and not having to face the violence of the man who had stolen her life. There were so many days that she had longed for death, but it never came.

Now she was free, thanks to a paleontology professor named Royce Devereaux and his graduate student, Kenzie Martin. They had been kidnapped by Vadym and forced to help him smuggle fossils out of Mongolia, but Vadym’s plan had backfired. Royce and Kenzie had saved her life, and the three of them had made it safely to the US embassy in Ulaanbaatar, Mongolia, about a week and a half ago. From there, they’d traveled to the US embassy in Moscow, where the staff had helped to sort out the logistics for her return home to the United States. So much of the days since her escape were blurry.

Once she’d been able to move around without constant pain, the US embassy in Moscow had moved her to one of their apartments while they worked on helping her get the documents necessary to return to the United States. Slowly, she’d begun to feel safe behind the gates of the secured building. And now, she’d started her journey back home by leaving those who had helped her.

Elena stepped onto the plane behind the other passengers and examined her seat number on her boarding pass. She paused in confusion because her seat number led her to business class. The US embassy had said they could only offer her economy, and her parents didn’t have enough money to pay for business class either.

“Miss, can I help you?” one of the flight attendants asked as he came toward her.

“Yes, um . . . My boarding pass says this is my seat.” She gestured to the expensive leather chair that could convert into a small bed.

The flight attendant examined her boarding pass and nodded. “Yes, that is correct. Please go ahead and take your seat.” He started to reach for her backpack to put it above her, but Elena clutched it to her chest. This was a mistake. It had to be. She sank into the seat by the window and waited for someone to come and tell her to leave. This couldn’t be her seat. She stared at the other men and women coming down the aisle. One of these people would have her seat. She just needed to wait for confirmation.

One by one the passengers walked by, but no one claimed her seat. She peered around the back of her headrest, noticing the plane was now completely full except for the seat next to hers. Why was she still in this seat? It made no sense. Airlines didn’t grant surprise upgrades, not for free, and she definitely hadn’t paid for this seat. Even though she was on the plane and should relax now, she couldn’t. Something was wrong—it had to be.

“We have one last passenger coming,” one of the cabin crew said to another as they started closing the overhead bins.

This had to be it, the last passenger on the plane. She blew out a relieved breath. Soon she’d find out where her real seat was, and she’d be all right.

She stared at the door expectantly, waiting for someone to come down the aisle and claim her seat. She mentally rehearsed her apology for taking the person’s seat. It was silly, but in the two months with Vadym she’d gotten used to apologizing for everything and begging for mercy. Now she felt she had to plan every encounter and rehearse every scenario so nothing bad could happen to her again.

Her breath suddenly caught in her throat as a tall, dark-haired man stepped through the hatch and into the cabin. He had a casual elegance to his clothes and movements that screamed old money. He smiled at one of the flight attendants, his lazy grin so charming that the poor woman nearly swooned as she offered to help him find his seat.

So this was the person who owned her seat. His gaze zeroed in on her. He came down the aisle to stop at her row. It was impossible not to notice the casual tightness of his charcoal trousers pulled against his thighs, and his white button-up shirt was what a rich man would wear to travel to a resort. His sleeves were rolled up, exposing the lightly tanned skin of his forearms. This man was an exercise in sexy elegance. Her throat ran dry, and she swallowed. Her heart kicked up a beat as something began to hum in her blood—attraction. She’d never imagined she’d feel attraction to any man ever again after what she’d been through.

Elena stood as the man checked his boarding pass and murmured a polite “Excuse me” before he sat down in the empty seat next to her, blocking her from exiting the row of their pair of seats.

“Excuse me, are you sure this isn’t your seat?” She pointed to her own.

The man faced her, his pure blue eyes so soft but also so intense that they made all the thoughts in her head flutter away.

“This is my seat.” He placed his hand on the armrest. His accent was Russian, but his voice was smooth, rich, like whiskey, not like Vadym’s guttural tones. This man was a true specimen of masculinity, with a jawline sharp enough to cut stone. He had the kind of face that she could see on a GQ magazine spread for Armani suits, Burberry coats, or Breitling watches.

“Oh . . . okay.” Elena collapsed back in the chair beside him, stunned. The hatch to the boarding ramp closed. So this was it. Somehow she had gotten insanely lucky, and for the next twelve and a half hours she was flying back to Los Angeles in business class next to this man. Maybe karma realized she owed her.

“You had better latch your belt,” the man beside her said as he put on his seatbelt.

“What? Oh, right.” She fumbled, shoving her backpack under the seat in front of her. She rushed to buckle herself, but her hands started to tremble and she had trouble getting the buckle to fit.

“Allow me.” The man suddenly leaned over, his muscled forearms right in her face as his hands gently brushed hers out of the way, then he clicked her belt into place. She flinched away at first, then relaxed. His fingers, even only briefly in contact with hers, made her skin tingle in a wonderful way rather than a bad way. She had the sudden urge to stroke her hands down his corded forearms and trace the veins that just barely showed on his tanned skin.

This was insane. Why wasn’t she panicking? A strange man being so close, touching her, should have sent her into a dizzying spiral of PTSD, causing her to pass out. But it hadn’t. Ever since she’d escaped Vadym, she hadn’t been able to let any man touch her. And now . . . ?

Was it because his eyes were kind? It sounded silly, but maybe it was the truth. Lips could lie, but cold, calculating malice couldn’t be hidden in a person’s eyes.

“Thank you.” She turned her face to the window to watch the ground crew load the final suitcases on the plane.

“Of course. My pleasure, kiska,” the man beside her replied.

Kiska? That was a word she didn’t recognize. She had studied two years of Russian, but there was still so much she didn’t know. She opened her backpack and pulled out her small pocket dictionary and searched for the word. When she found it, she shot another glance at the man.

He’d called her kitten? She shivered, yet not out of fear. A couple of years ago, when Elena had turned eighteen, she’d learned that she had a submissive tendency, but only in the bedroom. She hadn’t experimented, at least not officially, in the BDSM lifestyle. She’d had sex a few times with a college boyfriend that first year, and he’d tied her up once or twice, but while she’d enjoyed it, he hadn’t been that interested in the experience. She’d started researching about BDSM and learned that many Doms saw themselves as wolves and their subs as kittens or sweet things they would fiercely protect.

She had gone with a couple of friends to that bar in Moscow that night hoping to watch some BDSM play, to see if it excited her in real life the way it had in her fantasies. That had been her mistake. Even going with a group of friends, she hadn’t been safe. She had been ambushed when leaving the restroom, and for the next two months she had lived at the mercy of a sadist.

Elena closed her eyes as the cabin crew was told to prepare for takeoff. She gripped her armrests tight, her hand brushing against the man’s fingers. She stared at the point where their fingers connected before she flinched and moved her hand away.

“Afraid of flying?” the man asked.

“What?” It took Elena a second to process what he had asked her. “Oh, it’s not that.”

He watched her with those vivid blue eyes. She’d never seen a blue so pure and clear. “Then what?”

“I . . .” Elena bit her bottom lip. She shouldn’t be talking to the stranger, yet something about him made her want to trust him.

“I really need to leave Moscow, and I’m just terrified that something will keep me here,” she said as the plane rumbled down the runway.

A breath released from her lungs as she felt the plane accelerate, and she sagged back in boneless relief. It wasn’t until she felt the plane leave the ground that she realized how tense she had been. Now every muscle in her body ached, and she tried to hold in a flood of emotions. Yet she couldn’t stop the outpouring of fear and relief that overwhelmed her.

“Excuse me!” she gasped and unbuckled herself.

His eyes widened in surprise as she scrambled across his body and into the aisle, but she couldn’t just sit. A flight attendant who had strapped himself in for takeoff waved his arm and told her to stay seated, but she turned away from him and headed toward the business-class bathroom. She couldn’t stay seated any longer. The gnawing anxiety of the past months made her feel sick to her stomach, and she needed a private place to cry.

She yanked open the door, the interior lights snapping on and disorienting her.

“Kiska.”

The sound just behind her had her whirling toward the man from her row, and a scream welled up in her throat as he crowded her. Terrified thoughts raced through her mind, and the pain of her experiences with Vadym battered against her nerves. She brought up her arms to stop him—Did he mean to strangle her? Rape her? Murder her?—but her strength was depleted after being so long abused. She was tired, defeated, and when he gently pushed her into the bathroom and locked the door behind them, she let him do so without a fight. She pitched forward as a sob racked her body.

“Kiska,” he murmured again, and then his arms were around her stiff body, gentle and firm.

The sob turned into real cries as she fell into his embrace, knowing now he wouldn’t hurt her and uncaring as to where his kindness originated. She leaned into his strength where hers was failing. The two months of having to be strong, of not allowing herself to cry or feel anything but terror or numbness and the threat of her imminent death, all washed over her. She was overwhelmed.

The plane hiccupped in its rise, the ding of the seatbelt warning lights sounding out, and she was reminded again that they were in the air, on the way home, far from the sadistic animal who had harmed her. She was safe. Her life was hers again. Even if she knew she’d never feel as alive as she used to.

“Kiska, please, dry your eyes,” the beautiful Russian man begged. “You’re too beautiful to cry.” He pressed his lips to the crown of her hair as if standing in an airplane bathroom with a stranger while she sobbed her eyes out was the most normal thing in the world.

She felt the plane level out and knew they were high up in the sky. Moscow was behind her, and she was never going back. When her body stopped shaking, she became all too aware that she was still in the man’s arms. A very strong and gorgeous man.

I should be afraid. I should be screaming.

Yet she wasn’t. She looked up at his face. Those eyes were still unbearably tender, and his lips were fuller than most men’s. Soft and kissable. But she didn’t want to think about kissing anyone ever again. Even if she wanted a love life, she was certain she would never be able to have sex again. She had scars, both inside and out, and the thought of being with a man again sexually filled her mouth with a metallic taste.

“Please let go of me,” Elena said.

The man instantly obeyed. “Do you feel better?” he asked in a low voice.

She nodded. He studied her a long moment before he seemed to agree she was ready to go back to her seat. “Good, because the cabin crew will be very unhappy. Let me speak with them first.”

Again she nodded, happy to let him deal with the mess she had created. She was too tired to face it herself. He opened the door, and she peeped around his shoulder to see one of the cabin crew glaring at them. The man who had come to her rescue spoke quickly in Russian to the flight attendant, and his glare faded.

“Are you feeling better, miss? Can I get you anything?” the flight attendant asked in English.

“Thank you. Can I just have some water?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

“Of course.” He went to the drink cart, and she and the mystery man returned to their seats. Everyone was staring at her, but she was too tired to care. She was unable to deal with the exhaustion and simply collapsed in her chair and closed her eyes.

“Thank you,” she told the man beside her, who had remained silent. She was glad. He wasn’t a talker, and for that she was relieved. She couldn’t have handled trying to answer any questions he’d asked her just then.

“You’re welcome,” he replied. She drifted off to sleep a few seconds later.

Dimitri Razin held his breath as he watched Elena fall asleep. It was taking every ounce of control he possessed not to let his dominant side out. He knew about Elena’s trauma, about her kidnapping, rape, and torture. He had been one of the people working behind the scenes to free her. And just today, as he watched her from a distance at the airport, he’d received confirmation that the man who’d done this to her, Vadym Andreikiv, was dead, by Dimitri’s own command.

Elena was safe from all but herself now, and that would be the hardest battle. It took a warrior’s heart to conquer pain and trauma such as what she had survived, but it was a battle he would not let her face alone. She didn’t know him, didn’t know he was friends with the professor who had freed her from Vadym, but that was a good thing for now.

She needed to look forward, not back. Learning who he was would only delay her healing. So he would keep his involvement a secret for now.

The flight attendant returned with a bottle of water and saw that Elena was sleeping.

“How is she feeling?” the flight attendant asked in Russian.

“Better, but very tired. I’m sorry we frightened you,” Dimitri said. He knew it probably looked like he and Elena were having sex in the bathroom, so he’d explained that she had a terrible fear of flying and had suffered a panic attack.

“Let me know if either of you need anything.”

“Thank you.” Dimitri turned his gaze back to Elena. He’d pulled a few strings to get her seat changed to business class and had made sure his seat was next to hers. His foresight had been prudent. She had already needed him, and he had been there.

He curled his fingers on the lever of his seat as he remembered how soft and silky her hair had felt beneath his hand. She was beautiful inside and out. Her honey-blonde hair glowed in the soft overhead lights, and her pure green eyes had fascinated him. She was fierce and brave. Now it was his duty to protect her from harm. He had grown bored in Moscow. Fighting corruption and greed had become less and less inspiring as time had passed. Saving Elena had given him a new purpose in life.

Dimitri grasped the gold signet ring on his pinky finger and twisted the thick band, an old habit he had while thinking. On the ring’s surface was the emblem of a feathered bird rising from a flame. A phoenix. Inside the band was inscribed “Virtute et valare luceo non uro,” which was Latin for “By virtue and valor I shine, not burn.”

It was the motto of the White Army, a private army of men and women who still believed in protecting the memory of the dynasty of the Romanovs in Russia but also in the power of a Russia that allowed freedom and truly democratic ideas to reign. They had spent the last century fighting against the Communists and the Soviets, as well as the corruption that had thrived and now fed upon its carcass.

To live in the White Army was to live with danger. The government sought to wipe them out, but Dimitri and his closest friends were talented at playing the game of seeming corrupt when in reality they were far from it. It kept them off the Kremlin’s radar.

Dimitri set the water bottle in the cupholder between his and Elena’s seats and retrieved his tablet from his briefcase. The other passengers were either asleep or watching movies or reading. He’d chosen the back row of business class so he would have a large dividing wall between him and the first row of economy class. That way no one could see his tablet screen.

He turned on his computer and logged in with his fingerprint before he accessed the file he wanted and then scrolled down until he found Elena Allen’s dossier. His friend Leo was the technical genius in their small cell, and he had dug up all there was to know about Elena, right down to her blood type. She was twenty years old and a junior at Pepperdine University. She had skipped a year of college by having good exam scores and taking college classes while in high school. She was a double major in anthropology and finance. Her favorite foods were pizza, lobster rolls, clam bisque soup, chocolate ice cream, and Diet Coke. She loved silly rom-coms and romance novels. She was a dreamer, but also a doer. She had been adopted at birth, taken in by an older couple in Maine who’d always wanted children.

Leo had acquired pictures of Elena’s past from God knows where. There were pictures of a tiny blonde girl in a grass-stained soccer uniform grinning at the camera. There were pictures of her face bent close to birthday cakes ablaze with candles, graduation pictures, and even one of Elena standing in front of a car at sixteen as she proudly held up her driver’s license. From the outside it looked like she’d had a perfect, coddled life. But Dimitri could read between the lines, she’d pushed herself at school, worked jobs during high school and college, earned a scholarship and worked hard. She was strong.

Dimitri couldn’t help but smile at Elena’s adorable face in the pictures. She was so vibrant, so full of life. And that roaring fire that defined her had very nearly been extinguished by Vadym. Dimitri was not going to let that happen. He felt as though he were holding that flame in his palms now, shielding it until it could return to that unstoppable inferno that only grew stronger in the wind, not weaker.

He turned off the tablet and slid it back into his briefcase before he turned off the light above him. Then he retrieved the blankets from under their seats and pressed the button to recline Elena’s seat back into a bed. She didn’t even stir as the seat moved. He tucked a pillow beneath her head, wrapped one of the fleece blankets around her, and then finally closed his own eyes.

These next few months were going to be the hardest. He had to find a way into Elena’s life and begin the process of helping her heal. Maxim and Nicholas, his two other friends in his group, thought Elena couldn’t be healed, but Leo believed it was possible. Dimitri held on to that hope with all his might.

As he slipped into a land of dreams, images from his past plagued him, ones of empty palaces and ghosts who stirred up secrets in the shadows and dust. He kept seeing a face, one in a portrait that had once hung in an imperial palace a hundred years ago and had been smuggled away, the child in that painting now long forgotten . . .

CHAPTER 2

Elena slept all through the night and into the morning, nearly nine of the twelve hours between Moscow and Los Angeles. When she finally woke, she found herself tucked beneath blankets she didn’t remember putting over herself. She sat up and hit the button to turn her bed back into a chair. The man next to her was sipping a cup of coffee and reading a newspaper. It looked like the Wall Street Journal.

A man who read a physical paper was kind of hot. Okay, really hot. And combine that with all the other things about him . . . she couldn’t stop looking at him. She was feeling true, deep attraction to this stranger. Just as quickly as the thought hit her brain, she banished it.

“Did you sleep well?” the man asked, still perusing his paper.

“Uh . . . Yeah. Really well, actually. I don’t think I’ve felt safe since—I mean, slept that well in months.”

He sipped his coffee again and then handed her a bottle of water. “Drink this. You need to rehydrate. Then you can order breakfast.” He passed her a slender menu, and she drank half the bottle of water before she looked at her options. By the time she was ready, the man beside her had summoned the flight attendant so she could order.

“I’ll take two eggs over easy, whole wheat toast, and bacon. Thank you so much.” Elena passed the menu to Dimitri, who handed it to the flight attendant. He took her order on a small electronic pad and left. Elena peeped at her seatmate, feeling suddenly shy.

“Thank you again for last night, for keeping me from . . .” She stopped just before she said “falling apart” out loud.

“You’re welcome.”

“I’m Elena Allen,” she offered.

He held out a hand to her. “Dimitri Razin.”

Elena hesitated a second before putting her hand in his. “Do you have experience with a lot of crying women?” She tried to laugh, but the sound came out rough. She hadn’t felt humor, let alone joy, in months. It was one more thing Vadym had ripped away from her.

“A pleasure to meet you.” Dimitri clasped her hand in his. “And I do not have a lot of experience with crying women, but I am quite capable of dealing with it.” His grip was firm but not crushing, and his hand was warm, just like his body had been when he’d held her in his arms. A sudden feeling of despair came over her as she realized that she would never see this man again after the flight. Some part of her felt connected to him.

“So are you traveling to Los Angeles on business?” she asked when her food arrived. She dug into her eggs and toast, feeling hungry for the first time in a long while, and it made her weirdly relaxed and conversational. It must have been because she had slept and had a good cry. People always made fun of crying, but last night, sobbing until she had exhausted herself had made her feel lighter, as though some of Vadym’s evil had bled out of her through the tears. She wasn’t whole, not by a long shot, but she felt better.

“Not exactly business. There are some interests I need to oversee and protect.”

She found herself lost in Dimitri’s blue eyes. An ocean existed in that gaze, pulling her down beneath the surface, yet she wasn’t drowning.

“And you, kiska? What are you going to do in Los Angeles?”

“I was going to college at Pepperdine, but my school has given me a semester off.” A few days before she left Moscow she’d gotten the news that she’d been granted a pause in her classes to recover from what had happened. Moscow had given her class credit for the completed work and she could finish up her Russian language credits at Pepperdine.

“What will you do with your free time?” Dimitri seemed genuinely interested.

“Probably lie on the beach, see a few museums.” She wanted to do normal things, fun things. She wanted to be a person again. As much as she loved school, she really did need time to regroup. Everything felt overwhelming now, and she was afraid trying to focus on classes would be a bad idea. Vadym had kept her locked up, shamed like an animal in that dark, enclosed space. Every minute of the day, she’d faced the possibility of death and torture. It wasn’t easy to simply revert back to the old Elena who might frolic about in a park or lie on a beach and sunbathe. That Elena no longer existed.

“The beach, that sounds lovely.” Dimitri smiled. “Perhaps I will see you there?”

From any other man it would have sounded like a pickup line, but with him it sounded hopeful, and that tenderness in his eyes seemed to cradle her body with invisible hands.

God, what was wrong with her? She was fixated on this man and how safe he made her feel, like some baby chick who had peeped out of her shell and latched onto the first creature she saw.

“Yeah, if you’re ever near Malibu, maybe I’ll see you.” She laughed it off, trying to shake the sudden bout of nervous excitement at the thought of running into him on a beach.

“Passengers, please prepare for landing,” one of the cabin crew announced.

Elena put up her tray table and kept silent as the plane began to descend. Her hand touched the edge of Dimitri’s palm on the armrest. His skin was soft, and something seemed to jump from his skin to hers. She couldn’t help but imagine what it would be like if he really touched her, put those hands on her body . . .

What was she thinking? She didn’t want that. She didn’t want to be touched ever again. Her stomach flipped as she felt his gaze on her. He didn’t say anything, however, and after a moment, he turned his focus to stowing his briefcase below his seat.

All too soon, they were disembarking. She and Dimitri stayed close as they left the plane and headed for customs. Their paths diverged at the point where US citizens were led in one direction, while non–US citizens went the other. The thought of suddenly never seeing this man again sent a flash of panic through her.

“Dimitri,” she called out as he started to walk away.

He paused and looked over his shoulder. His square jaw and high cheekbones made him look like a movie star from an old black-and-white film. He had a timeless appeal that left her near speechless every time she looked right at him.

“Thank you,” she said again, but her heart wanted to say so much more than that. A storm of emotions flashed across his features before that tranquility returned.

“I am always happy to help you, kiska.” He turned and walked away.

Elena carried her backpack and got in the line for US citizens. When she got up to the front of her line, a female customs officer waved her forward, and she presented her passport. The officer scanned it and frowned.

“You were in Russia for several months. Is that correct?”

“Yes. I went there for a study abroad semester, but . . .”

The officer waited for her to continue. Lord, she was going to tell this woman what had happened. If only she’d just kept her answer limited to school and hadn’t said ‘but’.

“I am . . . was kidnapped at a bar and held captive for two months.”

The officer’s lips parted, and her eyes widened. “Oh my God, I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Elena reassured the other woman. “I’m free now, and I’m here.”

“That you are. Welcome home.” The custom’s officer handed her back her passport, and she was waved through.

Elena cringed as she realized that she would have to explain her situation like this again and again. It was unavoidable. And everyone was going to react just like that, and she was going to hate it. At this point, Elena considered just living on the beach and avoiding everyone like a hermit.

After she picked up her luggage, she called for a taxi to take her to where she would stay for the next few months. She’d lost her spot in the Pepperdine dorms a long time ago, but Royce Devereaux, the professor who had helped save her, apparently owned a Malibu beach house. He’d insisted that she stay there for the rest of the semester until housing opened back up at the university. She called her parents while she sat in traffic. She’d spoken to them nearly a hundred times since she’d reached the embassy in Ulaanbaatar, but this was, in a way, the most important call she would make because now she was on US soil.

“Honey!” Her mother’s relieved voice came through the line. “Did you get through customs okay?”

“Hey, Mom. Yeah, I got through okay.”

“So now you’re safe in LA, right?” Her mother’s tone turned sharp with worry. “Your father and I should be there in a few days. We wanted to come right away, but all the flights were booked up.”

“I’ll be fine until you get here. I’m almost at Dr. Devereaux’s house. I’m just stuck in traffic.”

“Good. Your father and I can’t wait to see you. He’ll be sad he missed you. He’s just run to the store for a few things.”

“I’ll send him a text when I get to the house,” she promised. Elena couldn’t imagine how terrified her parents must have been when she’d gone missing. They’d tried to act all calm, but when she’d first seen them on the computer at the embassy in Ulaanbaatar, her mother had burst into tears.

“You know, I really like that man, Dr. Devereaux.”

“Me too,” Elena admitted. She’d had to tell her parents all the details of what had happened to her—how could she not?—and she’d told them about Royce and his grad student assistant, Kenzie, and how they had saved her. Royce and Kenzie had flown back to the States earlier and had made the trip to Maine to personally introduce themselves to her parents and tell them that Elena was alive and well.

For the most part.

“You know, he said you can transfer to his university on Long Island anytime.”

“I know. I’ve been thinking about it.” But the truth was, right now she just needed to find herself again. She couldn’t make another big life change until she felt more secure.

“Call me when you get there. Text me Dr. Deveraux’s address so your father and I will have it for when we come.”

“I will,” Elena promised, and hung up.

The driver stopped at the gatehouse and helped Elena with her suitcase, then drove off. Elena approached the gate and checked her email for the gate code. She pressed the five-digit code on the keypad, and the white wall of the gate slid open silently.

Elena’s jaw hit the ground as she saw the house in front of her. She had expected a cozy beach house, but what she was looking at was no quaint cottage. It was a mansion. Something her Malibu Barbie would have had when Elena was a child. The front of the house looked like an Italian villa, and there was a lush garden between her and the front door. Beyond it was an endless expanse of blue water.

Elena rolled her suitcase down the stone walkway to the front door. The same code unlocked that door as well. She stepped into the house, and her heart leapt with quiet joy. It was even more beautiful inside, with modern décor that was light and airy, yet the furniture looked comfortable and lived in. She could stay in a place like this and just feel safe and calm forever. It was paradise. She closed the front door behind her and left her suitcase by the spiral staircase that led up to the second floor.

“Oh, wow . . .” Ahead of her was a huge living room with a large leather sectional sofa and a massive eighty-five-inch TV. Beyond that was a kitchen that was bigger than her dorm room at Pepperdine. Elena kept walking until she reached the outdoor deck, and then she froze.

She wasn’t alone. A man stood at the balcony’s edge, hands braced on the railing, his face hidden from her as he stared at the sea. He wore khaki shorts, a pair of athletic shoes, and a loose black T-shirt that clung to his broad shoulders as the breeze plastered it against his skin.

That wasn’t Royce . . .

Fear spiked within her. She stumbled back and tripped over the rug and fell to the ground with a crash. Her head glanced off the island counter, and she cried out in pain.

The man on the porch turned to face her, and Elena flinched, her eyes closing as she waited for whatever awful thing would come next. His footfalls were quick as he rushed toward her.

“Please, please, don’t hurt me,” she begged, and held her hands and arms above her face to shield herself.

“Kiska?” a familiar, rich deep voice said to her.

Slowly, she forced her eyes open and lowered her hands from her face.

Dimitri Razin, the man who’d been so kind, so helpful on the flight from Moscow, was crouching over her inside Royce Devereaux’s Malibu house.

“Dimitri?” she gasped. “Wh—what are you doing here?” It couldn’t be a coincidence he was here. This had to be a trap. He was one of Vadym’s men, come to take her back.

“My old friend owns this house. He heard I was to be staying in Los Angeles for a few months, and he told me I could stay here rather than at a hotel. What are you doing here?” he aske as she got to her feet.

She looked at him, uncertain. She made sure she kept her distance from him, enough room to run if he made any sudden moves, but she tried to look as if she were calmer now. “Uh . . . the same thing. I lost my dorm at Pepperdine, and since I’m not taking classes, a friend offered to let me stay here for the semester.”

“Ah . . .” Understanding lit Dimitri’s eyes. “You are a friend of Royce Devereaux?”

Elena nodded. “You as well?” Why hadn’t Royce warned her that he was going to let some random stranger—a Russian, no less—stay here while she was here? As soon as she had a moment alone, she was going to call him and demand answers.

“We’ve known each other a long time. He is a good man.”

“On that we agree.” She started to sit up and groaned as pain swamped her. She reached up to touch her head, and blood came away on her fingertips.

“Here, let me.”

He tried to reach for her, and she flinched back. Then the reality of what she’d done swamped her, and she forced herself to relax as he again gently reached for her, this time lifting her up. He gripped her by her waist and set her on top of the kitchen island. She started to slide off, to get far away from him, until she understood exactly why he was here.

“Stay, kiska, I won’t hurt you,” he said. The order was gentle but firm and absolute. The old Elena would have shivered in delight and excitement, but right now her body and mind were at war over how to react.

Dimitri returned with a first aid kit and set it on the counter by her hip. He opened the case and dug through the contents, removing an antiseptic cloth, a tube of antibacterial cream, and a small Band-Aid.

Elena stared at him as he ripped open the packet containing the antiseptic cloth. Then he cupped her chin with one hand and tilted her head to the side. Their faces were close enough that she noticed a hint of stubble on his jaw, creating an enticing shadow. God, he was a beautiful man, masculine in all the right ways—even his smell, which was natural and woodsy. Vadym had always worn too much expensive cologne that made her gag.

Dimitri dabbed at her forehead. “It does not appear deep.”

Pain flared at the spot, but she didn’t react. If she had learned anything while being held captive, it was never to show you were in pain, especially to those who thrived on it.

Dimitri rubbed the antibacterial cream on the small cut and then placed the Band-Aid on it.

“You are very strong.” He set a hand on her shoulder, squeezing gently.

“No, I’m not,” she muttered as he walked away to throw the bloodied cloth in the trash. He had no idea what she’d been through and how very weak she’d felt for the last two months. The old Elena had been strong, but who she was now? She felt as delicate as spun glass.

“So, kiska . . . it seems we are both staying here. Is that all right with you?”

“You’re asking me?” She was surprised. “I . . .” She paused to think it over. Could she relax with him here under the same roof? He kept his distance, not crowding her, and it gave her a chance to think with a clear head. “If Royce invited you, I wouldn’t want to be rude or anything by asking you to leave.”

“No, kiska. I can only stay if you are comfortable. Forget about Royce. What do you feel about me staying?”

She was quiet a long moment. Her first instinct was to say no, but she was tired of being afraid, tired of letting that fear control her life. It didn’t mean she needed to go skydiving tomorrow, but she needed and wanted to start taking steps toward being her old self again if she was to eventually get past her trauma. That meant she could agree to him staying here. It wasn’t like they would be sharing a bed or anything. Just housemates.

“I’m okay with it,” she replied with more confidence.

The tension inside her suddenly ebbed away, like the tide of the ocean pulling it farther out to sea.

“Very well. I’ll stay. Do you wish to choose which bedroom you prefer to sleep in? He has several. I am fine with any of them, so you choose where you want to sleep, and I will take one of the other rooms.”

“Really? Okay, thanks.” She slid off the counter and wobbled a bit. He caught her around the waist, steadying her with his muscled body. Elena leaned into him a little longer than was prudent, but he exuded such warmth and safety that she was drawn to him like a moth fluttering toward his flame.

“This way.” He released her, and she followed him on steadier legs as they climbed the stairs. There were four bedrooms in the house, two of which faced the sea. One of them had a bed that directly faced the ocean. The blue walls and the gray carpeted floors worked well with the private balcony, which offered her a place to stay alone when she needed it. “Can I have this one?”

“It’s yours. I will retrieve your suitcase.”

“Oh—you don’t—need to—” She spun around, but he was already gone. She slid the clear glass balcony door open and walked over to the lounge chair that faced the water and lay down on it. The dark-blue waves crashed upon the shore in a white froth. Lines of dark-green-and-black seaweed wavered and rippled on the surface. It hypnotized Elena, and before she could help it, she was slipping into sleep. It was a deep, dreamless, restorative sleep without nightmares.

It was well into the early evening when she woke. Without the sun burning overhead, the cold sea air had chilled her, but a warm blanket was wrapped around her body. Dimitri must have done that. She blinked and stared at the sky. The sun was a red ball dipping halfway below the horizon. She’d slept most of the day away. Elena climbed off the chair and walked into the bedroom. Her suitcase rested on the luggage rack, and a handwritten note was propped on top of it.

Elena,

Please shower if you wish and come down when you’re ready.

I will have dinner for you.

Dimitri

She placed the note on the bed and dug through her suitcase until she found her toiletry kit. There was a massive bathroom connected to her bedroom. After she tested the door, she locked herself in and stripped out of her clothes.

She made the mistake of glancing over her shoulder at her back in the mirror. A pattern of knotted flesh formed dozens of crisscrossed scars on her back.

This would be with her forever, Vadym’s mark of ownership. No matter how much she healed, it would always be there to remind her that she had once been broken. Elena’s lips trembled, and she bit her bottom lip as she turned away from the sight in the mirror. No. Vadym couldn’t find her here. She was safe in America. She had to move forward.

She stepped into the large glass shower and sighed at the sight of the ocean through the chest-high window. So often when she had been in that dark chamber in Vadym’s office she’d wanted to be anywhere else, even in the middle of the ocean with no chance of seeing land ever again.

Elena placed her palms against the shower wall and let the hot water cascade down her body. This was land. She was safe. No more endless darkness, no more suffocation, starvation, no more drowning in her own head.

It was a long while later when she turned the water off and left the shower. She toweled dry her hair and braided it over one shoulder before she changed into jeans and a light sweater. It was wonderfully warm in California, even in the winter. After the wintry climate of Moscow, she could almost wear shorts, but she had packed only winter outfits for her time in Russia. Her parents had cleaned out her dorm at Pepperdine after she’d gone missing, and all of her summer clothes were now back in Maine. She would have to go shopping, but first, she had to figure out if she could live with a stranger under the same roof.

She found Dimitri in the kitchen, setting plates and silverware on an informal, small dining table that overlooked the patio and the sea. The lightly tanned golden skin on his forearms showed a hint of veins in the defined muscles. Many men didn’t look good in shorts, but Dimitri’s sculpted calves with just a light dusting of hair were well suited for them. Everything about him was athletic, a honed physical perfection that no woman could easily ignore.

“Did you have a good shower, kiska?” he asked. Heavenly smells wafted toward her from the stove and the oven.

“Yes. Why do you keep calling me kiska? It means kitten, doesn’t it?”

His full lips curved into a soft smile that only enhanced the natural seduction of his features. “Yes. It is a common endearment in Russia. Does it offend you?”

She hadn’t expected that question. “No, but you don’t know me enough to have an endearment for me.”

“I know that something has happened to you, something that has left you hurt and afraid. I admit, I am overly protective by nature. Your pain . . .” He paused as though choosing his words carefully. “It calls to me. I want to protect you, as I did on the plane.”

“I . . .” Elena didn’t know what to say at first. “I don’t need protection.”

Again that soft smile confused and frustrated her. “You don’t need anyone, kiska. You’re strong, so very strong. But I’m here if you ever want me.” He nodded at one of the chairs at the table he’d set for dinner.

Elena didn’t move at first. Why did this stranger think he could come into her life and just tell her all this? What she needed was to be left alone. She finally sat, and he returned to the kitchen and prepared two plates, setting one down in front of her.

She stared at the meat, potatoes, and carrots. “Pot roast?”

“You are too thin,” was his only reply before he sat down across from her.

She couldn’t argue with that. Her clothes were almost hanging off her. She had lost so much weight when Vadym had begun starving her. She’d gone down three sizes, and it hadn’t been healthy. Starvation could rob a person of their hair, their healthy immune system, and their muscle. Fat was the last thing to go. During her captivity, she’d been weak, barely able to walk some days, which only gave Vadym an excuse to beat her more.

She’d been free from her prison for more than a week now, and she’d realized that putting weight back on wasn’t going to be easy because she’d lost her appetite as well. It would take time to reach her healthy weight again. Now, though, her stomach felt like an empty pit, and smelling the pot roast caused her stomach to grumble.

“Please, eat,” Dimitri encouraged.

She dug in, finishing all that he had put on her plate.

“Would you like some more?” He stood and took her plate before she could argue and filled it with a second serving.

When she was halfway through that, he finally spoke. “On the plane, you said you were terrified that we wouldn’t leave Moscow. Why was that?”

She froze, her fork halfway to her mouth. She’d forgotten she’d said that. “Uh . . . I was there to study at Moscow State University for a semester and really didn’t want to stay.”

He took a sip of water, and his eyes fixed on her. It wasn’t a threatening look, but there was something more to it than just curiosity. He knew something terrible had happened to her, not that she had any idea how he could know.

Her hand trembled as she reached for her glass of water. “I’m sorry, but I just don’t want to talk about it, okay?”

He nodded. “I understand, kiska. But sometimes when you put words to your pain, it can help you overcome it. We are always more afraid of what we do not speak of than what we face directly.” He stood and carried his plate into the kitchen to wash it.

She expected him to come back to the table and pressure her with more questions. He didn’t. And that made her feel lonelier than she ever had in her life.

CHAPTER 3

Dimitri paused just inside his bedchamber, his eyes fixated on the sea just a short way away from the house. He needed to clear his head, get some air, so he changed into a swimsuit. Elena’s pain was strong enough that it threatened to strangle him. As long as she bottled it up, she would never be free of its weight. In the end, it would drown her. Frustration made his hands twitch. This wasn’t something he could fight with his hands. It was something he had to confront with gentleness. It was the opposite of everything he was used to doing. He wanted to slay her dragons, kill the man who’d hurt her, but Vadym was already dead, and now she needed gentleness and support from him.

He tucked his cell phone into his board shorts before coming back downstairs. He saw Elena in the kitchen clearing away her dishes. As much as he wanted to pamper her, these normal tasks would help her settle back into a sense of normalcy. Dimitri had already opened the back door when he heard the soft patter of bare feet behind him.

“Um . . . are you going somewhere?” she asked shyly.

He glanced over his shoulder. “I’m going down to the beach. You are welcome to come. There is a path down the back steps, and there’s a towel rack down there.” He pointed to a shelf that held plush pale-blue beach towels. He left her alone again, hating every second of it, but she should only come to him when she wanted him. Forcing his presence on her was not going to establish trust between them. He was not here to force her to do anything. He simply wanted to help in whatever way she needed.

The sand of the beach was warm despite it being winter. He always marveled at how lovely the weather was here year-round. He’d visited LA a dozen times in the last five years, and each time he had enjoyed it. He gazed at the horizon. The sky above was a deep gold, but the light on dark water turned almost purple with golden flashes on the surface.

“That’s beautiful,” Elena said.

If Dimitri hadn’t been trained not to flinch at unexpected sounds, he would have just then. He’d been so lost staring at the sunset that he had not heard her come down.

“It is,” he agreed.

“People always say sunsets and sunrises are too cliché to enjoy, you know? But they really are the most beautiful things in the world.” Her voice was soft, wistful, and it tugged at his heart.

How many nights had she lain in captivity wondering when she would see another sunrise or sunset? In that moment, Dimitri wished Vadym was alive just so he could kill him all over again. His biggest regret was that he hadn’t been able to do the deed himself.

His friends had seen to it while he’d been watching over Elena. They had poisoned him while he ate at a restaurant, then they’d broken into his home and office. Leo had used Vadym’s computer to trace every woman he had ever taken, hurt, and killed. Interpol had received the information anonymously, and the families of those other young women had been notified. Elena had been the last woman Vadym had gotten his hands on. She was the only one who had survived.

His hands curled into fists as the last rays of light began to fade. It was the best way to tamp down the fury that rose whenever he thought of Vadym and others like him.

A hand touched his bare back. “Are you okay?” He tensed, then forced himself to relax, his hands unclenching.

“Yes. It’s been a trying day,” he murmured.

“Tell me about it. By the way, how did you beat me here after we got off the plane? I saw the line for non–US citizens. You should have been there for hours.”

She was observant as well as intelligent. He smiled a little, relaxing. “I have a special passport that allows me to go into most countries in an expedited manner. It is a perk of my business.” He retrieved his towel and rolled it out.

She joined him on the sand with her own towel. “And what business is that, exactly?” At first her body was balled up tight, her knees tucked up close to her chin, but as the silence settled between them she relaxed and stretched out.

“It varies. I have real estate interests, tech company interests, and other things.”

“So how does that get you a special passport?”

He couldn’t help but grin. She didn’t relent. This was the real Elena, the one not afraid to seek answers.

“I may have some contacts in various governments.” He glanced at her, and she was studying him intently.

One brow rose. “You’re still not answering my question.”

“Tell me what happened to you in Moscow, and I will answer your question.”

She rolled her eyes. “Touché.” She smiled a little, a sweet fire burning in her green eyes.

Dimitri took that as a small victory. He was digging the old Elena out of the dark abyss she had been tossed into.

“So . . . will you be going to work every day while you’re here or something?” She asked this casually, but he detected a dozen fears beneath that single simple query.

“Or something,” he replied, then chuckled at her responding frown.

“My parents may come to visit.”

He knew for a fact that they were coming out in a few days, but for some reason she didn’t want to scare him off. She also didn’t seem sure she wanted him near her. It was confusing to see someone want something and be afraid of it at the same time.

“I can stay somewhere else, if you wish, when they arrive,” he said, keeping his tone gentle.

“It’s not that, it’s just . . . there might be some questions that could be awkward.”

He lay back on the sand, propping himself up on his elbows. “Questions?”

“Yeah. They might get the wrong idea if they see you here. I mean . . . it’s not like we’re together.”

“We are two people staying at the house of a mutual friend at the same time.” He said it so normally that he could practically feel her relaxing again.

“Right. Of course.” She lay back on her towel, and he did the same. The night sky darkened, a few bright stars flickering above.

“Kiska,” he whispered.

She didn’t respond. He looked over and found her asleep again, curled up on her side, blonde hair spilling across the towel into the sand. He hated to wake her, but she needed to rest in her bed where it was safe.

He gently brushed her hair back from her face and tucked it behind her ear. “Kiska, wake up.”

She stirred a little.

“Kiska, wake up,” he commanded more firmly.

Elena rolled onto her back and yawned. “God, how long did I sleep?”

“Not long, but it will be cold out here soon. You should go inside and sleep.”

She sat up and ran her hands through her hair before she picked up her towel, and he followed suit. They were both silent as he let her into the house first, then locked the door to the patio behind him. They should be safe here, but he’d been trained never to take a chance with an unlocked door.

“See you tomorrow?” she asked from the top of the stairs.

He looked up at her from the bottom. “I’ll be here,” he promised.

He waited until he heard the door click before he pulled his phone out and dialed a private secure line.

“Dimitri, I was worried you might have fallen into the ocean,” Nicholas teased.

“Yeah, how are the beaches?” Leo cut in dryly.

“The three of us are freezing our asses off, and here he is suntanning,” Maxim grumbled.

It was good to hear their voices again.

“I haven’t fallen into the ocean. The beaches are nice; no, and I’m sorry you’re freezing, Maxim,” he answered them with a chuckle.

“Maybe she needs three more bodyguards,” Nicholas volunteered.

“Yeah, I’d like in on that assignment. I’ve been pulling more of her records. Do you know she’s got ancient Russian DNA?” Leo asked.

Dimitri walked to the living room and sat down on the sectional. “What? That wasn’t in the dossier you sent.”

“Well, I just hacked into her ancestry account an hour ago. Do you think you could get me a DNA sample? I’d like to run one in our databases. I can’t pull certain info off the basic records they run on these civilian DNA sites.”

“What, like blood?”

“Or saliva. It’s a lot better than a hair sample,” Leo said.

“I swear you get hard when you talk about that science shit,” Maxim grumbled in the background.

“I have blood. I’ll have it overnighted to you.” Dimitri headed into the guest bathroom and retrieved the bloody cloth from earlier when he’d cleaned the cut on Elena’s head. He put the cloth into a clear sandwich bag and tucked it into his briefcase.

“Can you tell me anything about her profile?” he asked Leo.

“Well, she has some interesting matches. You know there’s a lot of DNA that our government has removed from all public databases except for ours, and they don’t know we have it. She has a few common ancestors that make me wonder . . .”

“Wonder what?” Dimitri asked, the hair on the back of his neck rising.

“I can’t say for sure. Just get me that DNA and I think I can get answers.”

“How is she doing?” Maxim asked. Of their quartet, Maxim was the most serious. Nicholas was a charming player, and Leo was their technical genius. Maxim had been the one to poison Vadym and send Dimitri proof of his death.

“She is badly hurt, but not broken. Her fire is still there, just very weak.” Dimitri would never have been able to talk to anyone else about Elena and the way he’d felt that first time he’d seen her. It had been difficult enough to explain to Royce Devereaux that he had this unexplainable need to be near her, to protect and heal her. But these three men understood.

“When she’s ready to hear who you really are, you must show her that he is dead,” Maxim said.

Vadym had taken one of Maxim’s sisters. They never found her body, didn’t even know if she was alive or dead, and the trauma had broken his family apart. Killing Vadym had been Maxim’s right, and he had succeeded where so many others had failed.

“I will, but I’m still a stranger to her. She doesn’t know I was there at the embassy in Ulaanbaatar the day she was rescued. I need to keep it that way, at least for now. She doesn’t need any reminders of what happened, not until she’s ready to talk about it.”

“How are you going to go about this?” Nicholas asked. “I mean, I’m no psychologist, but you need to be careful with her . . .”

“I’m not sure. I will have to let her guide me as to what she wants and needs.”

“Call us if you need us,” Maxim said. “Seriously, I want to be on a beach right now.”

Dimitri hung up and stared out the window at the front gardens for a long while before going to bed. He stripped out of his clothes and changed into a light pair of cotton pajama bottoms and lay back in the king-size bed. Next door was the room Elena had chosen. He gazed at the ceiling. His eyes had just started to close when he heard a strangled scream. Dimitri was on his feet in an instant, rushing into her room.

Elena was on the floor, her sheets tangled around her body as she writhed and screamed. He knelt and tried to free her, but her fist hit his jaw with an unexpectedly strong blow.

“Fuck,” he muttered as he blocked the second punch while she thrashed beneath him. “Elena!” He barked out her name, and her movements stilled. He had a firm grip around one of her wrists, and he could feel the frantic beat of her pulse beneath his fingertips.

“Please don’t hurt me. I’ll do anything,” she whimpered. Her eyes were clamped shut, and she had angled her body away from his as much as possible.

“Elena,” he said gently. “You were dreaming. It’s over now. Open your eyes.”

She gave a childlike shake of her head, and he realized that she was still locked in whatever nightmare she’d been having.

“Kiska,” he said even more softly as he released her wrists. She curled herself into a tight ball inside the tangled blankets on the floor. Her entire body was shaking. He stroked her hair back from her face. “Did you fall out of the bed?”

“No—no. I can’t sleep on beds. Too soft. I . . .” She almost said something more, but before she could, she seemed to wake enough to realize that she was talking and stopped.

Dimitri understood. Vadym would have kept her in a cell on a hard floor with perhaps only a dirty blanket to cover herself. He wouldn’t have let her use a bed. This was not uncommon with soldiers who returned from war. They were used to hard bunks in military barracks, and when they reentered the civilian world, plush California king mattresses were simply too much. Well, this was stopping tonight. He was not letting her spend one more minute on the floor.

He wrapped his arms around her blanketed body and lifted her up. Then he set her down on her bed again, but he didn’t leave. He pulled the light comforter over his body as he lay down beside her, and then he pulled her into his arms. She was still shaking, but he absorbed her trembling within his own body and held her until she finally stilled.

“Kiska, you will sleep in a bed from now on, do you understand?” he whispered in her ear. She wasn’t asleep, her pulse was still too rapid, but she didn’t argue with him. “And I will hold you like this until whatever haunts your dreams fades away.”

Again she did not argue, but slowly, inch by inch, her body loosened. After what felt like an eternity, her breath slowed and the beat of her heart steadied.

Dimitri lay awake for several long hours. Holding her in his arms like this had awakened something inside him. He’d always been a protective dominant, but how he felt about Elena went beyond lust and desire. It was something deeper, something in her blood that called to his.

When he’d been at the US embassy in Ulaanbaatar, helping Royce and Kenzie get medical care, he’d seen this wisp of a blonde beauty carried to another medical exam room. She had been in shock, her green eyes glazed over with terror and exhaustion.

He had gone unseen, fading into the crowd and shadows as chaos filled the embassy hallways. Later, he’d visited Kenzie while Royce was sleeping off his wounds and heavily sedated. Dimitri had met Kenzie for coffee at the embassy, and they both sat silently for a long moment.

“Kenzie, who is the girl?”

Kenzie’s brown eyes rose warily to his. “Girl?”

“The blonde one who came in with you.”

“That’s Elena Allen.” Kenzie let out a bone-deep sigh and rubbed her closed eyes with her thumb and forefinger. “Vadym abducted her from the very bar you, Royce, and I went to. Held her captive for at least a couple of months.” She met his gaze. “She was raped, tortured, and starved.”

“Vadym did this to her?” Dimitri clarified.

Kenzie nodded.

“Then he is a dead man,” Dimitri promised.

Kenzie’s eyes turned hard. “That’s one promise you had better keep. The world doesn’t need a man like that in it. He’s evil. Even poison is too good for him.”

Dimitri had reached across the table and closed his fingers around Kenzie’s. “He will be erased. I vow it.” Shortly after that conversation, Kenzie, Royce, and Elena had all been transferred to the US embassy in Moscow to make preparations for their return to the States.

Kenzie had no idea how deeply he’d meant that vow. As a member of the White Army, a descendant of those who had once guarded the Romanovs, he lived by his honor, and he would not fail in his promise.

He had been haunted by Elena’s face every moment since. As soon as he had heard that the US embassy in Moscow was ready to return Elena to the States, he had called Royce and set his plan in motion. He would be her shadow, help her heal and move on from the darkness of her past. He was needed back in Russia, but now that he had Elena in his arms, he wasn’t about to let her go, even if that meant turning his back on his life’s work.

As much as he missed his father, he was relieved his father was dead; otherwise, they would have disagreed about this. He would have ordered Dimitri to return to his duties, but Dimitri would have refused. His place in the world was now tied to wherever Elena was.

He was her man until the end, whatever end that may be.

If you want to know to what happens next get the book HERE!

OTHER TITLES BY LAUREN SMITH

Historical

The League of Rogues Series

Wicked Designs

His Wicked Seduction

Her Wicked Proposal

Wicked Rivals

Her Wicked Longing

His Wicked Embrace

The Earl of Pembroke

His Wicked Secret

The Wicked Earls Club

The Earl of Pembroke

The Seduction Series

The Duelist’s Seduction

The Rakehell’s Seduction

The Rogue’s Seduction

The Gentleman’s Seduction

The Sins and Scandals Series

An Earl By Any Other Name

A Gentleman Never Surrenders

A Scottish Lord for Christmas

Standalone Stories

Tempted by A Rogue

Bewitching the Earl

Contemporary

Ever After Series

Legally Charming

The Surrender Series

The Gilded Cuff

The Gilded Cage

The Gilded Chain

The Darkest Hour

Her British Stepbrother

Forbidden: Her British Stepbrother

Seduction: Her British Stepbrother

Climax: Her British Stepbrother

Forever Be Mine (Coming soon)

Paranormal

Brothers of Ash and Fire

Grigori

Mikhail

Rurik

The Lost Barinov Dragon (coming soon)

Dark Seductions Series

The Shadows of Stormclyffe Hall

The Love Bites Series

The Bite of Winter

Brotherhood of the Blood Moon Series

Blood Moon on the Rise (coming soon)

Sci-Fi Romance

Cyborg Genesis Series

Across the Stars (coming soon)

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

USA TODAY Bestselling Author Lauren Smith is an Oklahoma attorney by day, who pens adventurous and edgy romance stories by the light of her smart phone flashlight app. She knew she was destined to be a romance writer when she attempted to re-write the entire Titanic movie just to save Jack from drowning. Connecting with readers by writing emotionally moving, realistic and sexy romances no matter what time period is her passion. She’s won multiple awards in several romance subgenres including: New England Reader’s Choice Awards, Greater Detroit BookSeller’s Best Awards, and a Semi-Finalist award for the Mary Wollstonecraft Shelley Award.

To connect with Lauren, visit her at:

www.laurensmithbooks.com

lauren@Laurensmithbooks.com

PERFECT PITCH

FOUND IN OBLIVION BOOK 5

CARI QUINN & TARYN ELLIOTT

eBook are not transferable.

They cannot be sold, shared or given away as it is an infringement on the copyright of this work.

This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales or organizations is entirely coincidental.

Perfect Pitch

© 2017 Cari Quinn & Taryn Elliott

Rainbow Rage Publishing

Cover by LateNite Designs

Photograph by Adobe Stock

All Rights Are Reserved.

No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

First ebook edition: September 2017

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ISBN: 978-1-940346-45-8

PERFECT PITCH

A lead singer, a professor, and another lead singer walk into a bedroom...

Molly McIntire loves her career as the lead singer of the band Warning Sign. Who she does not love?

The cocky, seductive lead singer of The Grunge, rockstar Luc Moreau, who through a series of misfortunate events ends up singing with her.

In her band. On her stage. Together.

It's like getting naked, with a microphone between them. So is there any surprise they’re tempted to hate screw each other afterward?

But someone sees them with their tempers running hot. And open-minded Professor Ethan Haywood wants them both, in every dirty, decadent way. For a night or so much more.

Except he’s not the only one who’s watching them—and the band. Their every move is being monitored, and when the lights go out, not everyone will still be standing.

Suddenly it’s not just about falling into bed for Molly, Luc, and Ethan, but falling in love when everything they know and love is in danger.

Author’s note: This book contains mènage scenes, and while the men are always focused on the woman, they also focus on each other. With and without their clothes on.

Author’s note part deux: While the romantic relationship ends in a full HEA, there are ongoing events that will not be fully explained or resolved until the next book, Raw Rhythm.

A lead singer, a professor, and another lead singer walk into a bedroom...

Molly McIntire loves her career as the lead singer of the band Warning Sign. Who she does not love?

The cocky, seductive lead singer of The Grunge, rockstar Luc Moreau, who through a series of misfortunate events ends up singing with her.

In her band. On her stage. Together.

It's like getting naked, with a microphone between them. So is there any surprise they’re tempted to hate screw each other afterward?

But someone sees them with their tempers running hot. And open-minded Professor Ethan Haywood wants them both, in every dirty, decadent way. For a night or so much more.

Except he’s not the only one who’s watching them—and the band. Their every move is being monitored, and when the lights go out, not everyone will still be standing.

Suddenly it’s not just about falling into bed for Molly, Luc, and Ethan, but falling in love when everything they know and love is in danger.

Author’s note: This book contains mènage scenes, and while the men are always focused on the woman, they also focus on each other. With and without their clothes on.

Author’s note part deux: While the romantic relationship ends in a full HEA, there are ongoing events that will not be fully explained or resolved until the next book, Raw Rhythm.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

FYI: Sometimes we make up fictional places that end up having the same names as actual places. These are our fictional interpretations only. Please grant us leeway if our creative vision isn't true to reality.

Music is life.

To those who create it, we salute you.

This shit is hard!

CHAPTER ONE

“Small wedding, my ass.”

“You said a bad word, Aunt Molly.”

Molly McIntire winced. “I sure did, munchkin. Sorry about that. Remind me to drop a dollar in the jar back at the hotel room.” She crouched down next to her niece, Briana Duffy, and brushed a curl out of her face. Bri was still little enough to want to cuddle into her.

She looped an arm around her niece and gave her nephew a big smile. “How’s it going, Pickle?”

“No one calls me that anymore.” He tugged his suspenders strap back up onto his shoulder.

“Mama does,” Bri said matter-of-factly.

“Is that so?” Molly peered over at Bri then back to Dylan. “I’m no longer special enough?”

He gave a long suffering sigh as only five-year-olds could. “I guess. But not around the other kids. Pickles aren’t cool.”

“Can’t have that, now can we?” She scooped up Bri and sat on the small chair. Her damn arches were killing her. She was used to being barefoot or in ballerina flats. Most of the time because she towered over the women in her band, and heels would edge her out on the guys too. But she was in full wedding gear and that included freaking stilts. Denver Casey—well, now Waters—had seemed like she was more of a cool and funky wedding girl. The bride got to wear Chucks. Epically unfair.

And yet, no…the bridesmaids ended up in red dresses with matching shoes to offset the classy Vera Wang dress Denver had ended up buying at a trunk sale.

And yes, Molly had definitely advocated for the Vera wedding gown. Nothing else had been half as perfect. It had screamed Denver. Molly had noticed it while wandering around the little alcoves filled with designer dresses. She might have even fantasized about a princess one in the lightest of blush pinks for half a second.

But then she’d been ushered into the far off section of the one-offs sale. Denver had been so sure the entire outing was going to be a waste of time. The fact that Denver, Elle, and Lauren Bryant—West’s girlfriend—had invited her to go dress shopping with them had been a surprise.

That she’d had fun, a miracle.

It wasn’t like she wanted to jam everyone up and be el numero uno bitch of the band, but someone had to keep everyone on track. Their band, Warning Sign, could be a maddening puppy pile of crazy when no one was cracking the whip. It just seemed easier to be the bad guy and keep them focused on the end result.

To be the best band in the damn universe.

She wasn’t being unreasonable. In fact, she was exactly what the band needed one hundred percent of the time. Okay, possibly ninety-eight if a person wanted to get technical.

But even with the endless touring they’d been doing, and the whispers she heard behind her back, they were becoming the band she’d always dreamed about. They were so damn close.

Now the girls were actually starting to expect her to participate in the crazy schemes Lauren and the others came up with on the bus. Juliet had dumped five pairs of shoes into her lap four weeks ago and made Molly choose which one to wear.

Well, fuck.

So she was technically the dumbass who had come up with the shoe problem. Molly couldn’t blame Juliet as she’d thought.

On top of it all, she couldn’t even kick the stupid shoes off. They were laced up her calf to show off her curves. Again, her fault. She’d been lured by the sexy factor to match the dresses. So her throbbing foot was due to her own stupidity.

She wasn’t entirely sure she wanted to examine that any longer. Being a slave to fashion had never been her thing. But this wedding was the first time she’d felt actually included and she’d wanted to make sure everyone was…well, happy.

And gloriously photogenic, because this little wedding had gone viral in a very big way.

“You have very sparkly shoes.”

She looked down at the death traps then turned her ankle so one of the straps sparkled thanks to the twinkle lights glowing in a canopy above them. “I do. Do you like them?”

Her niece nodded furiously. “I wish I could wear them.”

She knew kids were growing up fast, but she’d be damned if her cute little niece would ever be wearing something this sexy. Not just because she wanted to protect her from the big bad world, but she was fairly sure her brother-in-law, Gray Duffy of Oblivion fame, would lock Bri in a tower in Iceland before that would happen.

Just a feeling.

She tucked Bri onto her lap and unwound a ribbon from her dark hair. “How about we do this?” She tapped Bri’s foot. “Hold out your foot like me.”

Bri immediately flung out her leg and pointed her toe on the black patent leather Mary Jane shoes. Molly threaded the red ribbon around the strap then crisscrossed it up her chubby little calves and tied a bow at her knee. “See? Just like mine.”

Only not as painful.

Bri squealed and clapped. She tore her other ribbon out of her braid. “Other one.”

Molly laughed and repeated the pattern.

“Let me down.” Bri wiggled in her lap and clattered to the floor. She bent at the waist to look at her feet then stood and beamed at Molly. “So cool.”

Jazz Duffy came careening around the corner with two plates full of kid-sized pastries. “Hey guys.” She stopped when she got five feet from Bri. “What’s up, hot mama?”

Bri twirled. “Aren’t they fabrilous, Mama?”

“Fabulous,” Jazz and Molly corrected.

“That’s what I said.” Bri folded her arms for a hot second, then swung them back down and twirled again. “Aunt Molly did it. So cool. I match her.”

“You so do.” Jazz set the two plates on the shorter table for the kids. “That was very nice of her.”

Molly stood and shook out her skirts until they settled around her knees. She resisted the urge to groan. Oh, what one did for super hot legs and fashion. Somehow she managed not to wobble.

Jazz set one plate in front of Dylan and one identical plate where Briana was sitting. “Say thank you for watching us, Aunt Molly.”

Bri climbed back into her chair, shoes forgotten in favor of chocolate-covered strawberries and cake.

“Thank you,” Bri and Dylan parroted back.

Molly grinned as her sister straightened and stuck her thumb in her mouth to get the chocolate off. “You didn’t have to rush back.”

“I know, but you should be out there having fun. Not at the kids’ table with me.”

Molly’s gaze drifted out to the dance floor where Ryan and Denver were swaying in a slow dance as if no one else was around. He’d lost his suit jacket and dress shirt in favor of a Kiss T-shirt. They both had matching Converse sneakers—his a ruby red sparkle to her silver. Just to be Ryan, he’d left the red suspenders on with the T-shirt.

They were adorable as hell. And they made her ache, in the tiny recesses of her brain that she successfully ignored most of the time. Work was a lot more fulfilling than having a man screwing everything up.

Because that was what they did. At least all the men she’d ever been involved with. Or the ones her mother had brought around when she was younger.

The rumble of a male voice behind her made her glance back at the happy circle of humans she called family. Gray’s long legs were bent unnaturally with his knees reaching his chest, but he had a huge smile on his face as Bri babbled about something. Dylan was jumping beside his dad, trying to get his attention.

Instead of ignoring him, Gray wound an arm around his son and settled him against his side as he listened to Bri first. The pang hit a little harder. Molly had never been hugged tighter as a child. She was more likely to get a swat from her mother or grabbed by one of the dozens of “uncles” who’d flitted in and out of her life.

She was glad Jazz had escaped. No, not even escaped. That was what her mama had said. Every day she’d reminded Molly that her sister hadn’t wanted to stick around. The truth? Her mother had turned her away.

So much lost time.

So many lost moments.

But Molly was stronger for it. She’d made herself stronger. She hadn’t really had a choice. But the best artists were made from deep, dark pits of shit. And she’d certainly climbed out of one.

She flipped a curl over her shoulder and didn’t look back at the happy little family Jazz had created. That wasn’t her life. It was her sister’s life. Hers was right there in the crazy crush of people in the center of the tent.

Lauren and Jules were jumping up and down to an ancient song from Kris Kross. Mal, their grouchy drummer, had disappeared. Shocking. Actually, the shocking part had been the fact that he’d shown up. Malachi Shawcross didn’t play well with others. Too bad his crappy disposition made him even more desirable to the masses.

Elle, one of their guitarists, was mid-flirt with a guy that probably had “jock” tattooed above his dick. Molly wasn’t sure why Elle picked the biggest loser in the room nearly every time, but there it was.

At least this time Molly wouldn’t hear her quietly crying on the bus after the bag of dicks broke her heart. They had some time before the next tour started. Denver and Ryan would get some honeymoon action while she…what?

Wrote?

Maybe she could convince Jules and Elle to head into the studio. They were both amazing with lyrics. And between them there was an endless supply of instruments at their disposal. Juliet was a savant. She could play anything she picked up.

Molly grinned as she cut through the people who shook their ass as the song changed from “Jump” to the more contemporary “Kissing Strangers”.

Lauren tried to drag West out onto the floor, but he shook his head with a placating kiss and went back to the table of guys seated in front of an array of beers for tasting.

Blech. Beer.

Lauren twirled in her red dress, her sparkly shoes gone. Little red flats with equal bits of shiny had replaced them. Dammit, Molly should have gone for the backup flats. While the girls had been on shopping trip number fourteen, she’d been traveling to Nowhere, New York to duet with Lindsey York from Brooklyn Dawn.

A spot had opened up on the Christmas album Logan King did every year. Luc Moreau was the original artist, but he’d ended up in rehab.

His loss, her gain.

So while the girls were Tweeting and Instagramming their way through a sample sale in July, she’d been singing “Blue Christmas” with a kickass chick. A kickass chick who owned the stage these days.

Molly didn’t want to be the next Lindsey York. She wanted to be the one people emulated. But until then, she’d been excited to be included in the very short A-list of singers.

And while her arches were screaming now, the shitty trip to Winchester Falls to do the song had been worth it. But man, at least one of the girls could have texted her for her shoe size.

Then again, she was so damn tall. Finding her size at a sample sale was luck wrapped in a prayer, dipped in unicorn dust. So, Molly would grin and bear it.

She wanted to dance. She needed to dance. To feel like a part of the group for a damn second.

Lauren started jumping up and down as the song changed over and her very tall, very delicious best friend strutted his way onto the dance floor.

Professor Ethan Haywood in all his six-foot-two blisteringly perfect muscled form. A flashback from the summer flushed her skin and tightened her nipples. Inconvenient reactions be damned, the man had a doctorate in the art of kissing. That much she couldn’t block out. The way his large hands had cupped her ass and pulled her into him, the crisp cotton of his dress shirt, the impressive bulge he was packing—all of that she’d managed to stuff down.

The kissing thing?

Fuck.

She’d always been a sucker for a man who took the time to seduce with his mouth. Too bad he’d ruined it by speaking after it. If only he’d kept kissing her, she might have had some release finally. Didn’t he realize how hard it was for her to find a guy who turned her crank?

But nope, that cocky asshole had ruined it.

Said cocky asshole looked over Lauren’s head and zeroed in on Molly with all the directness she wished she could forget. He started dancing with the ridiculous Lauren, the blinding white of his teeth flashing as he dared Molly to come over and join in.

No words were needed.

And everything inside of her said to spin around and head out of the tent and back to the hotel. No way in sweet hell was she going to wade into that minefield.

But then he lifted one eyebrow and his wide smile turned into a smirk.

A stupid smirk that also made things clench inside of her that had no business being awake and…clenchy, dammit.

She shook her hair back and sashayed her way into the crowd of people. Red dresses twirled around her like teacups in an old fair ride, but she only saw one person. A man who’d made her feel something for the first time in a damn long time.

The same man who could piss her off more quickly than anyone she knew.

He swung Lauren out and back, then flipped her over his arm as the song slid into a ska and swing hybrid. With this crew of musicians, one never knew what would make it on the playlist.

Lauren squealed and swung through partners on the floor—Juliet, Elle, and finally, Ryan and Denver in a crazy trio of insanity. Everyone else was sweating and breathless, but Molly had eyes for no one but Ethan.

His crisp white shirt was a bit wilted with the heat being generated in the tent. He was tan and his gray eyes were sparkling with some joke for which she never seemed to have the punchline. But it was the scent of him that made her mouth water.

Pure ocean. A freshness she wanted to breathe into her lungs until she was full. Her life revolved around far too many manly smells on the bus. Not the fun ones either. Men were pigs and to combat the extreme smells Elle was always burning some candle.

Headache city for Molly.

With him? No headache. No, instead there were all sorts of different aches.

The moment she entered his sphere, the song changed. Someone had a definite sense of humor. And because of the truly shitty remake of Dirty Dancing, they’d been listening to the old soundtrack and watching the original movie around the clock.

Everyone laughed and started miming the scene from the movie. The famous log scene where Johnny and Baby were learning to balance. Molly immediately turned out her heel and moved toward Ethan.

He fell into step without a damn blink.

The push and pull of the old song, and the old steps lent an intimacy she didn’t want to examine. She couldn’t stop the smile as everyone sang “Hey Baby” and the dance floor flooded with people.

Ethan slid a hand along her hip and around her back.

His smile widened as their legs brushed and thighs bumped with the beat of the fun song. His thumb followed the dip in her spine up the backless dress. His gray eyes heated and suddenly, he swung her around and dipped her back. Without thinking, she brought her knee up along his hip and gripped him. Her muscles quivered and her breath hitched. He lowered his mouth to the deep vee of her dress and looked up at her before bringing her back up so that her breasts grazed against his chest.

So damn firm everywhere. It really wasn’t right on a number of levels.

“Hello again. Been awhile, Stretch.”

She wrinkled her nose. “I hate that name.”

“I know you do.” He drew her hand between them and curled his long fingers around hers. His chest was warm and her skin was already dewy from the crush of bodies around them, but he only tightened his grip when she tried to draw back into her dance space.

She was already self-conscious about not being cute and dainty like the rest of the women around her. They were tiny and pocket-sized with all their feminine wiles. She was too tall, and had to try too hard not to lumber around like a freak.

She’d learned how to make her height work for her, but she’d never been easy in her skin. Ethan actually made her feel small. When he held her, she didn’t feel like she was going to break him.

The music slowed and couples paired off. West actually dragged Lauren off this time. The acoustic tones of Tesla floated through the cooling night air. The bright torches dimmed and the twinkle lights of the tent glowed overhead like stars.

Ethan peered up at the canopy of lights. “Not nearly as impressive as outside.” He drew her closer and they swayed to the old song. “I could use some air. How about you?”

She glanced around. The laughter and wild party atmosphere had settled some with the music change. So many of her people were paired off. She didn’t want to think about the loneliness tonight. She didn’t want to think, period.

She knew it would only take a signal from her and Ethan would be receptive.

Too receptive.

The man was the definition of a player. And yet, wouldn’t he be perfect for what she needed tonight?

The last time they’d almost hooked up, she’d run because she’d been recognized. Well, that was part of why she’d run anyway. She had spent so much time making sure people knew just how serious she was about music and her career. She didn’t allow herself to be tabloid fodder like most musicians.

She didn’t have a new man every other month. Hell, she hadn’t had a man in too many months to count. So many that it could be termed in years at this point.

But tonight was just friends.

Just family.

Just a pocket of time that could be a snapshot she put in a drawer.

If anyone could understand what she needed, it would be Professor One and Done.

She smiled. “Air sounds like a great idea.”

CHAPTER TWO

Ethan Haywood hadn’t been sure he wanted to come to a wedding for his best friend’s band member. It was bad enough he’d had to watch Lauren and West make googly-eyes at each other all damn night, but to hang out with a bunch of crazy rockstars seemed excessive even for him.

He liked them well enough. Lauren had dragged him to enough concerts that he had more than a passing knowledge of their music. Their camaraderie had been good for his best friend. She needed a tribe. She’d been hungry for acceptance since they were children and this group embraced the eclectic whims of the band members.

They’d even been welcoming to him. He just didn’t have a hell of a lot in common with them.

His specialty was creative writing and folklore. He was buried in dusty tomes and struggling not to kill his students four days out of five. There were a few bright spots in his schedule that kept him sane. One of them had always been Lauren’s crazy schemes to round out her curriculum. He’d been hooked on her particular brand of crazy since they were kids. So hooked, he’d fancied himself besotted.

He should have known there was nothing but friendship between them when he found it far too easy to be distracted with the endless supply of men and women on and off campus. The only time Lauren had shown any interest in him as a man had been when he’d stumbled in after a long night of anonymous sex. Most of her interest had been academic. Puzzling her way through the labyrinth of his sexuality had been her laser focus. She tried not to be obvious about it, and sometimes she was downright naive, but it had amused him to answer her off-the-wall questions.

Until she’d brought West into the picture. Then things had been a little sticky between them. And not in the fun way.

He’d watched her fall fast and hard for the only man who could out-weird her. They were fucking perfect together.

And now he was in that odd third wheel fuzzy place.

Until the night he’d met Lauren’s new family at the fair. Until Molly McIntire. Bohemian beautiful with her wild blond curls and eclectic jewelry. She was statuesque and vibrant with a raw talent that gut-punched him.

But that night at the fair, when she’d looked up at him with those lake-blue eyes and surprisingly shy smile, he’d been done for.

Any vestiges of romantic vibes with Lauren Bryant had scattered thanks to the dusty fairgrounds and a star-strewn moment with Molly.

And here they were, with another deep dark sky as their backdrop. This time, he’d make sure he didn’t take his phone out and ruin the goddamn moment. He’d spent a fun weekend with an engineering professor a few weeks prior to the fair and John had thought he was clever marking his details on Ethan’s phone with a very annoying, very loud ringtone for both texting and phone calls and by labeling his information as “Hot Fuck”.

Normally, it wouldn’t matter if a contact had a ringtone because Ethan kept his phone on silent, but he’d turned it on that night to make sure he didn’t miss Lauren’s phone call.

And the snowball effect had bypassed unfortunate and cascaded into a shitfest that cost him the girl.

The ringer had attracted an ungodly amount of attention and the hot and heavy makeout session had come to a screeching halt when the camera phones had come out en masse.

Molly had turned skittish, then she’d seen the name on his screen and the moment had been lost. He still remembered the taste of her cherry lip gloss and the accusing glare she’d thrown him before disappearing into the crowd.

That had been two months ago.

Right now, the bohemian girl was gone. In her stead was a siren in a red dress with more sparkle than material. It skimmed her full breasts and cinched in at her waist before flowing around her lush hips and ass. She had layers of gold and sparkle at her neck that teased his eyes down between the valley of her mouth-watering breasts.

But it was the shoes that had done him in. Three inches of heel put them nearly eye-to-eye. It was a rarity in his life. He usually tended to drift toward more petite women. He didn’t have a body preference otherwise. He enjoyed ones who were more lush, yoga freaks, and all manner in between, but rarely did he date anyone as tall as Molly. And fuck, did she have the lush thing down. It was the statuesque part that had him on full engage.

“I wasn’t sure you’d speak to me again.”

She peered through the wild curls framing her face and shoulders. The torches surrounding the tents and fountains cast her in shadows and gold highlights. Her eyes glittered before she faced forward again. “I almost didn’t.”

“So why did I get a second chance?” he asked.

“Not sure you have.”

“Oh, I have.” He was so sure of it, his balls ached. Considering the state he’d been in for the last few weeks, it wasn’t exactly a welcome change. Classes had started up again and he was pent-up. Between the stress of a new school year and the fact he couldn’t get her off his mind, he was a damn mess.

Starting this with her wasn’t a good idea.

She veered off the main path to a more secluded one. A large fountain burbled and solar lights kissed her skin. She threw a glance over her shoulder. A secret smile lit her features before she disappeared around the bend.

His cock was more than willing to follow. So much so that his legs started moving double time before his brain kicked in. She was bad news. He’d seen a familiar light in her eyes that night at the fair and look how that had turned out.

He’d had blue balls for a week.

For fuck’s sake, he’d dreamed of her for the entire week after the fair. Waking up to find his own fist clenched around his cock and an unsatisfying stream of cum on his belly.

All because of a fleeting touch and a kiss hot enough to melt iron.

She was literally the path to destruction. And again, the divining rod that was his dick right then definitely hadn’t gotten the memo. It just wanted one thing. And all of it was waiting in the heaven between her endless tanned legs.

He groaned inwardly as he followed the winding path around the grounds of the hotel. They were on the outskirts of the city. The sea roared below the cliffs at the edge of the property.

She stood in front of a stone bench, her skirts billowing around her on the breeze. There were no torches this far away from the party. Just the cool light from a three-quarter moon and a blanket of stars.

If he were a fanciful man—and he could be at times—he’d say she was like the bronze statue on the shore of Ireland. A woman waiting for her man to come home from the sea. Knowing the mistress would take him again and again.

But then she turned away from the water and her skirts fluttered on the wind. There was no fanciful longing there. No, she wasn’t one to stand and wait. She was all fierce warrior with the light of battle shining deep within her.

He wasn’t entirely sure what she wanted with him, only knew he’d be willing to be whatever she needed tonight.

Tonight, he could promise her the moon, as long as she understood it was a fleeting promise gone with the sun.

He crossed to her, standing an arm’s length away from her. “I’m not really worthy of a second chance.”

“No. You’re right, you aren’t.”

The dig was sharp, but he grinned. He liked that she had claws. That acid burned the tip of her tongue and her words could bite. She was real and unapologetic and the fire that burned inside her was so goddamn alluring.

He’d watched her on stage a number of times. Effortless sex trapped behind a glass wall.

She poured everything into her songs, into the voice she wielded like a sword in the midst of battle. But she only shared so much. Only allowed the crowd to see a piece of her, so they longed for more.

She’d walked away from him once. Her disapproval and her derisive sneer had lived in his head for weeks, but not before he’d tasted her. Not before the soft swell of her hips had tattooed a brand on his palms.

He wanted behind the glass again.

He reached out. A long curl wrapped around his wrist, luring him closer. “Then why are we here?”

She tipped her head to give him more access. He sifted through the dancing curls and gripped the softer hair at the nape of her neck. He knew her eyes were a wild blue, but right now, the darkness swallowed the color and left a glittering black from the moon.

It only added to her otherworldliness.

And fuck, he was already wrapped up in her. Just ten minutes in her space and the lure was absolute.

Would the attraction vanish the minute he had her?

It had happened to him on a number of occasions. The chase was the ultimate high, but then he was done.

Time would tell if she was different. He was already afraid she could be.

He tightened his grip and she tipped her head back. The long line of her throat was pale and perfect. Something glittery kissed her collarbone and shoulders. If she was anything like the other girls in the wedding party, they’d been splashed with some pearly powder.

He leaned down and trailed the tip of his tongue up the column of her neck. “Cherries?”

She let out a little moan. “Lauren’s idea. Got it during one of her many trips to the sex shop with West.”

His gut clenched.

Once upon a time, he would have been wounded by that statement. He’d wanted Lauren—at least he’d thought he wanted her. Now he knew it was more like she was a comfortable pair of jeans. The kind a man never wanted to part with because they felt familiar and fit in all the right spots.

But he’d never been the kind of man to want comfortable. Not really. He was just tired of fucking around with women and men who didn’t pull at him for anything other than a quick release.

He twisted her hair tighter and a low moan slipped out of that golden throat. “What are we doing here, Molly? And will I find this cherry powder on other places on this perfect body?”

She trailed her fingers along the collar of his white dress shirt before she lowered her hand to her own shoulder. She tugged at the little strap holding up the triangles of material. Her fingers trembled slightly, but then one creamy breast was bared to the moonlight. “Why don’t you test it out?”

His cock hardened painfully and he quickly ducked to take her tight little nipple into his mouth. The artificially sweet cherry flavor exploded on his tongue as he swirled around the taut point.

Suddenly, he didn’t want to taste anything on her skin but her. It seemed like a sacrilege.

He tugged until her back arched again and he sucked more of her flesh into his mouth. She squeaked then her fingers were buried in his hair, holding him tight to her skin.

He let her nipple go with a little pop. “Is this what you need?” He lifted his head and met her starlit gaze. Endlessly dark with pinpoints of light. Either they would guide him or he’d get lost.

He wasn’t quite sure which one he was more attracted to right now.

She dragged in a ragged breath. “Why the hell do we need to talk about it?”

“Because I’m not letting you go again. Not like before. You run and I will chase you this time.”

She flinched. “I’m not yours to run after, Professor.”

“Ethan.” His voice was low and he knew it sounded on the raw side of dangerous. But this wasn’t some twisted fantasy fuck.

If she was doing this, it was with him. Not the dirty professor role people liked to slot him in. That was all well and good when there were other games on the table. He was more than willing to fuck through that fantasy for a man or woman of his choosing.

But it was of his choosing.

This wasn’t that kind of night.

She wasn’t that kind of fuck.

He didn’t want that from her.

He’d believed he could be whatever she needed, but evidently he had a hard no for one specific thing.

He didn’t want her hot for teacher.

“Ethan.” Her voice was harsh with anger and a little bit of bravado.

“So tell me what you want, Molly.”

“You.”

“Me, or a fuck?”

“I want you to fuck me. I need you to fuck me. I need you to make me feel something.” The last few words were as rough as sandpaper and barely more than a whisper.

He eased down her other strap until there was nothing but moonlight and the glittering gold necklaces she always wore.

The dusky pink of her nipples barely stood out against her pale skin. Her breasts were heavy enough that they swayed with his rough touch. He groaned and released her hair so he could fill both hands with her.

She tipped her head back and swayed a little. There was little more than a stone bench and the edge of the grassy knoll before the cliff’s edge.

The wind ripped off the water and tossed her hair around her shoulders. The ends teased his cheeks as he drew her nipple harder, deeper. As he tugged the other and gauged what she needed.

Did she like it harsh and forceful, or did she like a gentler touch?

He tugged until the tip was distended against his tongue. The low groan that grew out of her belly told him he was right.

She wanted to taste the edges. The hard ones that were as sharp as shale and just as fragile.

A wrong move and they’d tumble.

He sat on the stone bench and pulled her astride him. He jerked at her skirts until there was nothing but endless leg and the scrap of lace underneath. One pull and seams stretched.

“What are you— Are you crazy?” she gasped. “Those are La Perla.”

He found the weakness in the lace and yanked until it tore. “I’ll buy you a dozen more. I just need that slick pussy against my fingers.”

She leaned back. “Then ask.”

“I don’t want to ask.” Her face was fierce again, the feral cat who lived inside her on full display. And he wanted all of her gloved over his dick. “You don’t want me to either.”

The leftover lace and elastic snapped across her hips. He started with the chiffon and silk of her dress, but he wanted skin. He dug down into the filmy material and groaned when her ass filled his hands.

He lifted her enough that those glorious tits bounced against his face. He dragged his scruffy face over her cleavage and the little cross at the end of her last chain tickled across his lip.

He tugged it slightly as he looked up at her.

Kneeling on the bench, she loomed over him, shifting to give him access to the heat at the center of her thighs. The little chip of a diamond she wore in her nose tonight winked in the shadows, and then it was just her eyes.

They were boring deep into him.

Watching as if she needed to figure out exactly what they were.

He didn’t want her thinking.

Thinking wasn’t for tonight.

Tomorrow.

The next night.

The next week when his dick reminded him what he’d had tonight—then he could think.

Then he could stew.

Then she could fucking think about it and maybe remember what it felt like to have his dick filling her up.

Because she arched like a woman who needed a good fuck.

She’d rarely been attached to a man who wasn’t in her band. And there was never a hint of romance between her and any of the men surrounding her.

As if she did it on purpose.

And that made him want her soaking his cock even more.

That she chose him.

He wouldn’t allow her to regret it.

His fingers slid over the curve of her ass and her soaking cunt was right there. He dropped her chain from his mouth with a groan. “Sweet Jesus, so fucking wet for me.”

She lowered her hips to grind against his dress pants. “I am wet for you. I told you I needed this.”

“Needed me?”

She lowered her mouth to his. “I need this.”

“Me.” He said it on a growl. Probably too much of one, to be honest, but this wasn’t going to be a nameless fuck even if she wanted it to be.

He dragged his day’s worth of beard over her water-soft breast. “Make no mistake, Molly. It’s me who makes you wet. It’s me who will get you off so many times tonight you’re going to lose count.”

“Is that right?”

He slid his hand forward until his two middle fingers slipped inside of her. She closed her eyes and her head tipped back.

She was fiery satin.

Slick and perfect, she sucked his fingers deeper and clenched around him. Fuck, she was going to feel so damn good.

He pulled out of her and she growled.

He laughed. “I said you were going to come, don’t worry.”

The pads of his fingers sluiced through her swollen pussy to find her clit. He widened her with the palm of his hand and made a merciless path of destruction around her clit.

He ground hard against her ass, his entire hand slick with her arousal. Sea spray misted over her hips and back as the wind whipped her hair around his face.

She wound her arms around his neck and ground against him. Her hips rocked and she bit her lower lip as he found the first combination to her lock.

Her soft purr wasn’t enough.

She shuddered over him, her hips rotating against his rhythm. Instead of throwing them out of sync, it only heightened her release.

Because there was no doubt she had split apart for him. She just did it quietly.

That wasn’t good enough to suit him. He dug under her skirts from the front and replaced the pads of his fingers with a thick knuckle from his other hand. He rubbed fast and hard, his mouth full of her breast. Her chains swung in front of his face as she crowded him.

She pulled him closer.

His fucking forearm was seizing, but he didn’t stop. He held on as she broke again. As her purr became a groan.

Her legs shook and her knees vised around his hips as she tried to push up and away from his touch.

“No.” He nipped her shoulder and her neck, then back to her breast. “No. You take all of it.”

“Too much.”

“Not enough. No pansy-ass orgasms like the last boy to touch you probably gave you.”

Her eyes widened.

It was a guess, but a correct one. Fumbling boys who cared about their pleasure more than hers. Men in their twenties couldn’t be counted on for much, but being a selfish prick in bed was usually a certainty. Hell, he’d been one himself once upon a time.

But then he’d learned that giving was where the power was. And he liked power.

He pushed her back on her feet. Her heels wobbled on the stone pathway that led to the edge of the property.

Good. He liked keeping her off-balance. Unsteady and hungry, just as she made him.

He threw a look over his shoulder to make sure they were still alone before he slipped off the bench to kneel in front of her. “Hold on to me, love.”

Then he dove under her skirts.

CHAPTER THREE

Molly yelped and held on to his shoulder. It was enough to give Ethan the upper hand. Her taste was wild cherries and salt. The hint of the ocean and woman lured him deeper until he fused his tongue inside her slit.

He didn’t ever want to stop tasting her.

He drank her down and drove two fingers inside of her to open her up.

He wanted more.

Needed more.

Longed to take her taste and make it his own. To switch up her chemistry until there was never a doubt he was supposed to be there.

He fumbled at the buckle of his belt and jerked his zipper down with his other hand to give himself some relief. He’d been so focused on her that he groaned against her cunt when his dick got room to shift and expand.

It wanted inside of her.

And he was desperate to make that happen.

Her thighs trembled and her fingers fisted into his hair. Her breathy little groans were gearing up.

As if it was one of the long notes she held on stage, she was opening up for him in every way.

He jerked her dress down until it pooled in front of him. He swiped his thumb through the swollen satin of her and stared up at her. “So fucking beautiful.”

She was a siren.

Her hair snapped around her face. The tide was coming in and the air and sea were vying for the beach’s attention.

Just like this woman.

The stage and her career were everything to her. He knew that, could read it on every determined look she gave to the camera, but right now she was his.

And he was going to remind her that the stage wasn’t the only thing she needed.

She didn’t try to cover up. She just stood there and let him drink her in. And when she lifted her leg to drape it over his shoulder, he grinned up at her.

Fuck, yes.

He watched her as he ate at her. As he swallowed all she offered. He licked her until his lips were chapped, and her essence ran down his chin to drip onto his chest.

He watched as she went over again. With her head flung back and her chest heaving, she was a sight to behold. She swept her hands over her belly and up to cup her breasts before finally lifting to her hair. Her heel dug into his back and she swayed, but he held on to her ass and tugged her closer.

Offered her everything.

And when her groan turned into a throaty moan ending in his name, he finally swung her leg off his shoulder and stood, lifting her into his arms.

He crashed back down onto the stone bench with her straddling his thighs before he wrapped his hand around his cock. Christ, it throbbed under his palm.

“Condom,” she said on a ragged breath.

“Condom.” He nodded and flipped out his wallet.

She tore through it and pushed his hands away from her with shaking fingers. “No. My turn.”

He laughed. “Yes, ma’am.”

She took him in hand, her grip sure and not the least bit fumbling.

“Done this before?”

“I’m no virgin.” Her chin went up.

“Thank fuck.”

Her mouth went slack for a moment before it firmed and she laughed. She ripped open the condom and rolled it over him with a sureness that made him hiss.

She shifted him against her slick pussy and he groaned at the heat of her. He wanted that burn, prepared for the scars. Because there was no doubt she would scar him.

And still he chased it. Chased her.

He lifted his hips as she settled down and they hummed together as she took all of him. When she winced slightly, he stopped.

“Okay?”

“Between the orgasms and the fact it’s been a hot minute since I’ve done this…yeah. One sec.”

He held his breath and resisted the urge to drive into her again and again. To ease the ache he’d been living with for months now.

No one could sate it.

He wasn’t a monk—hell, he’d tried to fuck her out of his system—but she was the only one who could ease the craving.

She moved over him.

Her hips were as fluid as the ocean behind her. The siren was back and she was going to leave him strewn and bloody over the rocks.

But just as those sailors did, he was going to answer her call.

He tipped his hips so she slid forward and her pelvis ground into his. His name was a prayer on her lips.

The sweet murmur built like a crescendo to a song. Then the moan turned into a plea. “More.” Her eyes were slits, and out of focus. She circled her hips and whimpered.

He covered her mouth, then drove up until the entire length of him was buried inside her. God, he wanted to stay there—right then, he wanted nothing more than to live inside her perfect warmth—but he’d wanted her for far too long. His cock, his brain, his fucking spine ached to get some sort of relief.

Just as swiftly, he retreated. When her mouth opened and a moan escaped, he knew that control she guarded at all costs was going to be his.

Every part of her was.

The slap of their skin and her wild sounds were his navigation. He swallowed her screams and chained his arms around her back as he fucked her with the furious need that had been locked inside him for what felt like centuries.

He buried his face in her soft breasts as he chased the chaos and surrendered to her. His own cry was hoarse and desperate, but he didn’t have an ounce of control left.

Calamity.

They were a disaster in the making, but Jesus, his brain was empty for the first time in months.

She was panting and shaking over him. He dragged her closer even as she tried to wiggle free.

He rested his cheek against her chest for a moment and took stock. Her heart roared under his ear, and her skin was slick with sweat and sea spray.

His own suit was wilted, thanks to the heavy air and the mind-bending fuck.

“Where do you think you’re going?”

She stiffened. “I need to get dressed. One of us is naked here, Professor.”

“Ethan.”

She jerked back. “You can say your name as sharply as you like, but I’m only stating fact.”

“No, you’re distancing.”

“What are you, a shrink?” She slipped away and this time he let her.

It was too much. He understood the need to scrabble back and protect. His skin had been practically flayed off from the crazy that had overtaken them.

But he’d needed it just as badly as she did. Okay, he was pretty sure no one needed it more than the woman in front of him. Sexually, she was so far past repressed, she had created a whole new definition.

Especially since she obviously wasn’t a stranger to sex. But holy Zeus, she’d been tight. Enough that she’d scrambled his damn brain for the first five seconds after she sank down around him.

He removed the condom, then tucked it into his pocket square and shoved it into his pants pocket. She stepped into her dress and shimmied it up her hips. The remaining scrap of lace dropped to the stone path.

Well, fuck. He’d shredded her panties pretty throughly.

She bent to retrieve it but he beat her to it.

“Can I have that?”

“No, you may not.”

She tilted her head. “Correcting me like that and you don’t want me to call you Professor?” She held out her hand. “Give them to me. I don’t want you doing something pervy with them.”

He held them behind his back, out of her reach. “What, like wrapping them around my dick tomorrow night when I think about this again?”

She swallowed. Her huge eyes widened and her pulse fluttered at the side of her neck. She liked that idea.

“Or would you rather I video chat with you while I do it?”

She sucked in a breath. “No.”

He crowded in on her. “Why not? ”

“Because this is a one and done thing, Prof—Ethan.” She lifted her chin. “You scratched an itch.”

“Honey, we’re not nearly scratched. You barely left a heel mark on my back.”

It was too dark for him to see if she was blushing or not, but based on how her gaze drifted everywhere but his face, he could infer.

“I appreciate that we could steal away for a little bit, but that’s all this is. Too much champagne, too hot, too…just too much coupling in there.” She shrugged. “Itch.”

“First of all, you’re stone cold sober. So am I. And second of all, you’ve been brave as hell since I met you. Don’t hide behind niceties now.”

She fisted her hands at her sides. “Then I guess the itch still stands. I knew you could provide.”

The slap was designed to hurt, but he’d never been ashamed of sex. Never would be. He slid his arm around her lower back and dragged her into him. “I’ll provide whenever you need me to.”

She stiffened. “Not necessary.”

“If I reached under this skirt, I’d find you wet.”

“Leftovers from before.”

He leaned in and brushed her nose with his. “That tiny pearl-sized clit is tight as hell right now.” He flicked his tongue over the divot in her upper lip. “I’ve tasted it, and I’m going to do so again.” When she tried to open her mouth, he held up a finger between them. “Don’t waste your breath.”

“This might work with the coeds, but not me.”

“I don’t need to use moves on you. I’m just speaking truth. We’re good together. We fit. There’s no need to cut things off.”

“You’re a distraction. I don’t do distractions.”

That one sliced a bit, but he could practically taste the deflection. Right now, it was better to let her go. He could be patient when the right incentive was involved.

She was nothing but incentive as far as he was concerned.

He stepped back. Immediately, he wanted to reach out for her, but he didn’t.

She whirled and her skirts flared out as she darted back onto the path toward the lights of the party.

To her band and her friends.

To safety.

CHAPTER FOUR

“Night Moves” blared from the three cell phones sitting in front of them.

“Oh, crap. Hold up!” Juliet popped out of her chair and swung her bass into the guitar stand.

Molly collapsed back into the beanbag chair she’d commandeered in The Beatles studio at Ripper Records. She crossed her arms over her notebook and wiggled her butt until her legs were stretched out on the avocado-green carpet.

Elle was perched in a ridiculous egg-shaped chair, her long legs folded in one of her yoga poses. Skin-tight black leggings with yellow submarines were layered under cutoff white shorts. She wore a trio of tanks in the same colors. Her Gibson was cradled in her lap as she quietly strummed a song only she seemed to know.

She played it all the damn time too.

It was soothing, so Molly didn’t mind it much. She understood the low hum of a song that never quite left a body alone.

“Hey, Den. Let me put you on speaker.” Juliet tapped on her screen then set the phone on the battered coffee table between them.

Elle leaned forward. “Hey, girl. You finally came up for air?”

“It’s only been a few days.” Denver laughed. A muffled male voice sounded in the background, then a door shut. “Okay, sorry. Had to send the hubs on an errand.” A very un-Denver-like giggle came through the phone. “Man, I never thought I’d like that word, but I do.”

“Aww, you guys are adorable.” Elle looked down at her guitar. Her lower lip plumped out in a pout.

Envy. One thing Molly would never understand. Men were a lot more damn trouble then they were worth. “More condoms?” Molly asked.

Denver snorted. “Girl, we have that covered. I require sustenance.”

Jules groaned. “Oh, man… Me too.” She slid her hand over her flat middle. “Not that I need pizza, but I really want it. Tristan is on a health kick. If he pushes some form of kale at me one more time this week, I’m gonna kill him.”

Denver’s giggle crackled through the line. “Pizza is exactly what I requested.”

“Yass. We so need to order.” Jules poked Molly with her sparkly sandal. “You have that app, right?”

Molly batted her foot away. “Yeah, but so do you. Not to mention you’re the one with nineteen different combinations of orders on there.”

“I’m on the phone.” But her eyes shifted away.

Molly twirled her trusty blue Bic pen. “Tristan deleted your apps.”

“No.” Jules huffed out a breath. “Well, yes, but I said he could.”

“Dick-whipped.”

A smile flashed, and Juliet’s dark eyes glittered. “Double dick-whipped, but who’s counting?”

Molly snorted. “Dude, one is too much. Why would you want two? Talk about work.”

“Oh, honey. You don’t even know.”

Elle and Denver both burst out laughing.

Jules cleared her throat. A rare flush of red climbed her throat. “Anyway, are you guys having fun?”

Denver chattered on about Hawaii, but Molly’s attention kept straying to the lyrics in her notebook. She didn’t understand the whole happy couplehood thing.

Ethan’s face filtered into her mind. His decadent tongue and holy-crap-amazing fingers followed quickly behind. She understood sex. It was healthy and she’d been a helluva lot clearer after the wedding reception interlude.

And if she’d slept like a damn baby for the next three days afterward, it was just a reminder that she’d been neglecting herself for too long. Not that she needed a man.

She glanced down at her lyrics notebook.

Midnight man, who are you

Through the star-shine, I see you

Mystery man, are you a trick of the night

Or a dream come true

Disgusted, she flipped the page to a fresh one. Okay, maybe a good orgasm was more of a necessity than she’d like to admit, but that didn’t mean she needed the bullshit that came with the penis.

She worked long hours and traveled constantly. How many times had the moody tales of woe from her band members brought the bus morale down? All of them were getting paired up. And those who weren’t, wanted to be.

Well, at least Elle did. Malachi was more than content to bang random chicks when the mood suited him. And it did, often.

Another thing she didn’t miss about the bus. Maybe if they could get a decent single out there again, they wouldn’t have to be stacked up like coffins in that tin can.

Perhaps they could get one like Brooklyn Dawn. She’d only watched the behind the scenes tour of their bus thirteen times. Okay, maybe twenty, max. Lindsey York didn’t have stinky boys belching through her living space.

She was living the dream.

“So, you have one more week on the sandy beaches of Maui?” Elle asked.

Molly blinked into the conversation again.

“Yep.” Denver sounded blissed out. “Ry won’t even let me drive into town. I’m looking forward to coming home, but not quite yet. I like having him to myself.”

“Lauren likes having the apartment to herself too.” Jules rolled her eyes. “I’ve interrupted them twice. So gross.”

“I seem to remember someone diving behind the couch when I came over this morning,” Molly said. No need to keep that in her brain. She’d seen far more than necessary.

It wasn’t as if Jules hadn’t known she was coming. Molly had texted her once from the parking lot, and again in the elevator. And she so didn’t want to know why Jules had been wearing a chef’s hat.

Just too much information to handle, thanks.

Denver cackled out a laugh. “Man, I miss you guys. Everyone is so sweet and biddable here. ‘What can I get you, Mrs. Waters? Don’t get up, we’ll bring it to you.’ Ugh.”

“Sounds like heaven to me.” Molly stretched and stared at her chipped red nail polish. “I could use some of that right now.”

“Then this island is for you. But obviously it’s not all bad. I am missing hamburgers though. Its not really their thing on this resort.”

“I bet Mrs. Waters could get away with asking for anything.” Elle strummed her guitar, ending each note with a slap. Then she crooned out the opening bars for “More than Words” and Denver groaned.

“You are masochistic.”

Molly belted out the opening bars of the song.

“I’m going!” Denver shouted. “You guys suck.”

Molly and Elle dissolved into giggles as the phone went dead. Instead of stopping, Jules picked up her acoustic and started the song again.

The three of them harmonized through the song as if they’d rehearsed it a million times. It might’ve been one of Denver’s least favorite songs on the planet, but it was a good one for Molly’s voice. It felt weird not to have a male voice accompanying them.

She was the main voice of the band, but the entire band harmonized with her—well, except Mal. He was the exception in many things.

The song slowly wound around from Extreme’s lyrics and chords to a bastardized version that showcased Elle’s insane finger work.

Jules hopped up and grabbed a twelve-string guitar from the line of instruments they’d brought with them. The song was low and seductive. They’d been working on the lyrics for most of the day.

Molly closed her eyes and let the notes soak into her. It had been a bitch of a song to get out of her. They’d fought over lyrics for the last three hours. The bridge shifted and a few new words shook loose.

Juliet stopped and grabbed the laptop off the counter behind her head. With a few deft strokes, she logged into the recording program.

They didn’t bother with microphones. All that mattered was getting the music down in its rawest version. Jules twirled her finger and Elle started over from the top.

Molly struggled out of her chair. She needed to move. She paced the room as the lyrics built. She spun around when the melody slowed down. It needed speed.

She faced Elle, who seemed to take her cue. Jules did as well and they both strummed faster, building the song from a slow ballad to one with a powerful bridge.

Molly grabbed her notebook and scribbled down the lyrics as the girls dueled through a series of chords that thundered through the spacious studio.

When they were finished, Molly collapsed on the floor and stretched her arms out along the ever fluid circles of the sixties’ inspired rug. Her breath was coming in pants as if she’d run across the stage for half a set.

“Where did that come from?” Jules set her guitar in the stand and paced. “I feel like I need a cigarette.”

Elle laughed. “Or a really good fuck.”

“Yes.” Jules reached for her phone on the coffee table.

Molly tipped up her head. “What are you doing?”

“Texting a booty call.”

Molly’s head clunked back down on the rug. “Seriously?”

“Dude, you may have the habits of a nun, but I do not.”

Molly rolled to a seated position. She settled her skirt around her and looped her arms around her legs. “I’m no nun.”

Elle strummed the chords to “Girl Can’t Help It” from Journey. “She sure isn’t. Not after what I saw with you and the kinky professor.”

“Kinky?”

Elle flattened her palm over the strings to halt the song. “Lauren has told me many a tale about the fair professor.”

Molly held up her hand. “Don’t want to know. It was just…a one time deal.” She didn’t want to think about him with another woman. Jealousy had eaten at her that night at the fair.

She didn’t want a repeat performance. It was done, she’d enjoyed herself, and now she was getting on with her life.

Jules held up Molly’s phone. “Oh? Is that why there’s a text waiting for you from Professor Frisky?”

“Frisky? What are you, ninety?” Molly leaned forward for her phone, but Jules held it up out of the way. “Give me my damn phone, Jules.”

“‘Thinking of that hot mouth and starlight,’” Jules said, reading from Molly’s screen. “‘Care to see what we can do with a bed?’”

“It doesn’t say that.” Molly rolled onto her knees.

“You sure?”

Molly could feel the flush flaming up her damn neck, but she wouldn’t give Jules the satisfaction of looking away. She had nothing to hide. One and done, that was all they’d been. And Ethan wouldn’t be crass enough to text that anyway.

Probably.

Jules curled her body around Molly’s phone as she scooted out of reach. “Text before that. ‘Thinking about your mouth on me.’”

Molly reached around Jules and tried to snag her phone. Her longer arms gave her the upper hand, but Jules was as slippery as a damn seal. She skipped away and climbed on the couch, holding the phone aloft.

“Or this one. Even better. ‘I still have your panties.’”

“Crap,” Molly muttered.

“You did hook up with him.” Elle clapped. “Was he good? He fills out a damn shirt, that’s for sure.”

And his pants.

Ugh, she couldn’t think about him right now. It was bad enough that she’d woken up with his name on her tongue twice this week. Mid muscle-clenching memory. And not any muscles that needed working out, for fuck’s sake.

Jules grinned down at Molly. “He’s certainly worth a second look and I’m very satisfied with my situation.”

“We know,” Molly said with a sneer. “You tell us often.”

Jules laughed. “There’s a distinct emerald flavor to your tone. Maybe you need another session with Professor Kinky.”

“That’s a stupid nickname. Besides, I’m sorry to say it was just a regular hookup. Nothing special.”

“Oh, yeah? Then why are you blushing like a virgin in a locker room?”

“There are no virgins in this room.”

Jules grinned. “That’s true, but hello, you have had that bit of primetime between your thighs and didn’t share the details. I feel that you need to at least give us a few factoids.”

Molly reached for her phone, but the couch gave the little shrimp just enough height to keep it out of her reach. “Fact one—none of your business. Fact two—oh, I’m definitely not discussing it.”

Juliet’s shoulders sagged and the phone fell to her side. “That’s no fun.”

Molly plucked her phone out of Juliet’s hand. “Thank you.” She glanced down and sure enough, there were four messages waiting for her.

It would have been much easier for her to forget about the whole endeavor if he’d been average. The problem was he’d been extraordinary in every damn way.

That was what had gotten her into trouble in the first place. He made all sorts of things pound and flutter inside her.

“I need all the details of whatever is going on in your blond head there, woman.”

“It’s nothing.” Molly shoved her phone into the way too small pocket of her cutoffs.

Elle blew raspberries. “You’re no fun. Do you know the last time I got decently laid?”

Molly sighed. “About the last time I had been?”

“If you mean years, then yes.”

Molly rolled her eyes. “I know for a fact you just had sex two weeks ago.”

“I said decently. All these guys lately just slam it in like I’m some glory hole in the fucking wall.”

Molly felt the blush rising again. Professor Ethan had done a helluva lot of that too, but that had been after his ridiculously talented tongue had sent her down the path of least resistance.

Fucked.

She was so fucked.

Her phone buzzed again in her pants and she took it out with a growl. She flicked the mute button, but not before she saw the text.

Ethan: I can still taste you, rockstar.

She swiped her phone to life and replied to him.

Molly: Dirty texting. Is that what you’ve stooped to, Professor? Or is this just a booty call?

The bubbles showing a return text came up immediately.

Ethan: Ahh, I missed those claws. I still have a few nail marks in my shoulders to remember you by.

Molly: Hope the memory fades for you.

Ethan: I don’t. I want a repeat performance.

Molly: So this is a booty call.

Ethan: The sun is up. Guess we’d call it a nooner instead?

She couldn’t stop the laugh in spite of herself. Maybe that was why she replied to him. Weakness.

A good day in the damn studio had been a long time coming. At least that was what she could tell herself as a reason for continuing this conversation. She deserved a little celebratory naked time.

After today, she shouldn’t instigate any future interaction. She had an album to write. Work to do. A career to keep on the correct trajectory.

Anything and everything that wouldn’t include a man. Especially a teacher, for God’s sake.

She hadn’t finished school. She hadn’t even bothered with a GED. What did she need a high school diploma for? Every job she’d ever had prior to joining Warning Sign had been something paid under the table or waitressing. She read what she needed to know or was interested in and left it at that.

It wasn’t as if Ethan made her feel stupid, but there was an inherent smart guy vibe to him that put her on the defense. What on earth would he want with her?

Sex.

What all men wanted.

It was as simple and easy as that.

Why couldn’t she just treat it as such?

Molly: Would my nooner include lunch?

Ethan: I know a few places.

Molly: Not in the back seat of your car, Professor.

Ethan: The name is Ethan.

Molly rolled her eyes, but she smiled as she typed.

Molly: I like calling you Professor in my head.

Ethan: I don’t want to be your teacher.

Molly: Oh, now don’t give me that Police song earworm.

Ethan: You’re not that much younger than me, Molly.

Molly: I have a plaid skirt somewhere in the back of my closet. One of my old boyfriends used to like it.

Ethan: I don’t give two shits about who came before me. I just want to bury my face under the swirly long skirts you wear now. I’ll be lucky if I don’t rip the fucking seams.

Her hand shook a little. Memories of the night along the cliffs came back with far too many details. So many that she nearly shoved her phone back into her bag.

Good mood or not, Ethan Haywood was a lot to handle. She had a record to write and record. No part of that left time for someone as intense as the professor.

Too bad her thighs didn’t agree since they were currently tingling from the memory of his scruffy face between them.

Sweet Jesus.

Molly: Do you know where Ripper Records is?

Ethan: I’ll be there in two hours.

She tapped her cell against her lower lip. There was no way this was going to end well. Especially since she was fairly sure she wouldn’t be able to hold out against the professor.

“Ugh. I gotta go, girls.” Elle jumped up from her little cave of a chair. “I promised Nicky I’d take a turn with the terrors this afternoon so he could play rockstar.”

Molly dropped onto the couch. “But we were just getting going.”

“I know, I’m sorry. We got some really good stuff too. I think we should work on your midnight man song tomorrow.”

Molly tipped her head back. “Definitely not.”

“Everybody loves a mystery. Faceless orgasms are a bonus.”

Juliet snorted. “Especially when both duck under the covers and make you guess who gave the orgasm.”

Elle’s face flamed. “I’m not sure I’d be good at guessing.”

Jules waggled her eyebrows. “It’s my favorite game. Especially when I guess wrong on purpose to make the other one work harder.”

Molly lifted her head. “Challenge accepted game?”

“Damn right.”

Molly snorted and pushed herself up off the couch. She grabbed her purse and looped it over her head cross-body. “Well, I’m going to go find Lila. Make sure we can book some real studio time.”

Jules gathered up her notebook and pens. “Sounds like a plan. Definitely want to hear Michael shred that song with you, Elle.”

“Definitely.” Elle waved and slung her boho bag over her shoulder and was gone.

Jules tucked her hair behind her ear. “Want to grab lunch after Lila?”

“Nah. I have a thing.”

“With the midnight rider?”

Molly rolled her eyes. “No.”

Maybe. Crap, probably.

God, she was not being smart about this.

Jules held the door open. “Don’t overthink it, girl. Sometimes it’s best to just let things happen. Fighting it only makes things complicated.”

“So says the girl who has two men in her bed.”

Jules flipped her silky dark hair over her shoulder. “Complicated doesn’t cover it, but I wouldn’t change a thing.”

“Even when it interferes with work?”

“Work will always be there.”

“I definitely do not agree with that one.”

They could be gone in a blink. The music industry was fickle as hell. And with every level they scaled, there were three other bands doing way better than they were.

Molly wanted to be the best.

She spotted Lila Crandall’s perfect blond chignon down the hall, headed for the conference rooms. “There she is. I’m gonna jet.”

Jules paused. “Want me to come with?”

Molly’s chest tightened. It was rare for the people in her band to actually want to be with her for extended periods of time. Still, she shook her head. “I’m good.”

“Okay, same time tomorrow?”

“Sounds good.”

Molly headed after Lila, but cursed when she looked down at her feet. Not exactly professional to meet with the head of Ripper Records’ management team with bare feet.

She rushed back into the studio and shoved her feet in her ballet flats then headed back down the hall.

Lila was already gone.

“Crap.”

Molly didn’t exactly want to knock on doors on her way into the hive of the Ripper Records. The place was a maze of small and large studios, meeting rooms, and executive offices. The odd juxtaposition of silence and hushed voices depending on whether she went left or right was disconcerting.

The low hum of male voices from one of the bigger conference rooms teased her into slowing, but she forced herself to keep on walking. Sparks flittered over her the back of her neck.

New artist being signed?

Old one in a meeting?

Someone else Warning Sign had to compete against?

Among the murmurs, she recognized Dexter Munroe’s voice as one of them. He was slick and too polished for her liking. People had a problem with Lila’s cool, collected way of doing things, but not Molly. No, she appreciated the way Lila kept things on an even keel.

Her band needed it.

The door on the far side of the hive was ajar and the rumble of a male voice with a particular inflection pricked her ears. Sardonic, sly, insolent.

She knew that voice. It made her eye twitch some nights.

The conversation grew clearer as she neared the door.

“I’m getting tired of these meetings, Malachi.”

“Not as tired as I am for showing up to this, Stepmommy.”

“You’re perfectly happy with the group. Why are you pulling out ultimatums again?”

“I’m getting itchy. I miss the shop. I wasn’t made to sit behind a kit while a bunch of young puppies roll around the stage. The chicks preen both on stage and off.”

“You’re barely older than them.”

“You know I’m ages older in experience.”

The telltale spike of Molly’s heart rate warned her to back away. Curiosity and annoyance raged inside her.

Ever since she’d joined the band, she had been able to handle her temper by walking away anytime things got dicey. Mal had always been the one to push most of her buttons.

He was an asshole’s asshole. King ass. Hell, he was the emperor of assholes.

Walking away was crucial.

“One of these days I’m going to stab West’s human hamster wheel he loves so much just to see what the crowd would do to him.”

Molly’s eyebrows rose. That had to be the longest string of words she’d ever heard out of their drummer. And evidently everyone was on his shit list. If he hated them so much, then why did he stay in the freaking band?

And why did Lila want him so bad?

He was just a drummer.

“Your shop is drowning in debt. Not to mention our other agreement still stands. You can’t afford to leave Warning Sign.”

“I don’t need your fucking money. You know that was never enough to keep me here.” The crash of one of the rolling executive chairs made Molly jump.

Walk away.

Turn around.

But her feet were stuck to the navy and cream herringbone carpet.

“Oh, is that right? Didn’t stop you from taking the hundred and fifty thousand dollar advance I offered to get you to sign.”

Molly’s ears rang and red crept into the edges of her vision, making everything around her go hazy and dark.

What the hell?

She certainly hadn’t gotten a signing bonus when they’d created the band around her. Oh, parts of it had been existence before she’d come on the scene. Michael, West, and Ryan had been a unit since college, but their garage band hadn’t been much of anything until she came on board. That wasn’t a dig. Nor was it a shot at how valuable Jules and Elle were to them as a whole. It was just hard to get a band going without a lead singer.

She shoved open the door to the conference room. “Are you fucking serious?”

Lila was bent over the desk, her palms flat on the mahogany wood. Mal was across the room, his arms crossed and his giant shoulders heaving.

He’d recently buzzed his head which only added to the dangerous look currently aimed at Lila. Tattoos and cotton stretched to the limit ended in black cargos and motorcycle boots.

Molly’s hands fisted. “What the hell is going on in here?”

“Uh oh, singer Barbie is here.” Mal’s eyebrow rose. “Looks like the cat’s out of the bag.”

“What cat? Tell me I didn’t hear that right.”

“This is a private meeting, Miss McIntire.”

“Evidently this should be a band meeting, Mrs. Crandall,” Molly said. Acid and anger bubbled in her gut.

“This is none of your business.”

“Oh, really? It sure sounds like it should be. You were the one that promised me a band to go with my voice when I sang that day for you. The day I saved your fucking ass when Simon melted down.”

Lila straightened and crossed her arms. Her chin took on that regal, haughty air that Molly envied and hated all at the same time. “And I gave you a band. I made you the lead of one of the most successful and up and coming bands at Ripper Records.”

“You told me it was going to be the most successful.”

“I never make those kinds of speeches.” Lila’s chilly voice lit the air. “You know that.”

Molly threw her arm out. “But he’s the most important piece now? He doesn’t even freaking speak! He sure as shit doesn’t sing.”

“If you didn’t have the beat, you’d drown, Barbie.”

“I can sing a cappella around any song out there and you know it. Drummers are a dime a dozen. Ripper has a stable of them to work studio sessions.”

Mal dropped his arms to his sides and he zeroed in on Lila. “See, she knows the deal. Maybe it’s time you remember it too.” He turned and walked out the door.

Lila strode after him. “This conversation wasn’t finished.”

“You don’t need me, remember? Drummers are a dime a dozen.” Mal’s voice carried as his long stride ate up the hallway.

Lila fisted her hands and whirled to face Molly. “That was uncalled for. You have no idea the details or the context of what you walked in on.”

“Oh, but I do. What’s that word? When you give your family unfair advantages?” She snapped her fingers. “Nepotism at its finest? Everything about this is bullshit. I work my ass off for this band. No one else puts more into it than I do. And I walk in and hear this?”

“Contracts are a personal matter. Your contract is personal. Would you want everyone to know the details of your agreement with Ripper Records?”

“I don’t have any details. I have a band you decided upon, a band you put together. What, does Ryan get a bigger piece of the pie because he can play nineteen instruments?” Molly stepped forward. “Or does Elle get special dispensation because she’s your sister-in-law? More nepotism? More family business?”

She towered over Lila, even in her heels. She’d never used her height to her advantage before, but right now everything was spinning out of control.

Everything she’d worked for was blurring and fading. She was nothing more than a hired gun in a band that Lila had decided would work. Chess pieces Lila thought she could move around like a god.

Not her.

She was better than that.

“I’d step back, Miss McIntire. Unless you believe the sole reason you had a shot at this is because of your sister.”

Molly shrank back, panic and anger pushing at her skin like a designer drug. The back of her neck went itchy and flushed hot as sweat popped between her breasts. “No special treatment, just work.”

Lila arched a brow. “Interesting how you believe you earned your spot, but no one else has. Must be you’ve forgotten all the times you begged and pleaded with me to give you a chance. I didn’t until you proved you had a right to be on that stage.”

“You just said it yourself. This band is mine.” Molly’s voice wavered, but she lifted her chin.

“No, it’s not. You’re part of the whole. Same as Malachi. Same as everyone else. Donovan and I are the ones who say who stays and who goes. Any one of you is replaceable. Even you.”

“That’s just talk.”

“So you think.” Molly swallowed as Lila moved closer, getting right up in her space. “Do you know how many singers come to LA every day with a dollar and a dream? How many won’t worry about what the next guy is getting if they’re happy with their own situation?” Lila’s crystal blue eyes were icy. “Remember that the next time you speak to me like I’m some lackey.”

Molly stared after Lila as she walked away, the frosty blue of her top glinting like ice and the click of her icepick heels reverberating through the high end carpeting. Expensive perfume trailed in her wake.

Lila’s classy, cool sophistication reminded her again that she never really belonged in this world. But she’d be damned if anyone pushed her out. She’d clawed her way up and she wasn’t going anywhere, dammit.

And she also wasn’t staying behind. Never again.

Molly followed Lila across the wide space to the door down the hall. The voices she’d heard before searching out Lila barely dented the rage living inside her. She didn’t know who she’d be interrupting. And at this moment, didn’t—couldn’t—care.

Molly’s long legs ate up the space and she caught the door just as Lila tried to close it.

“Molly.” Lila’s voice was sharp with censure.

A tiny piece of self-preservation tried to scream out a warning, but she was too far gone. Her rational mind was buried under the rage.

“We’re going with another singer.” Dex Munroe’s cultured, deep voice filled the room.

Molly blinked. Another singer? She looked from Lila to Dex and then to the man at the table with the blank face. He’d been sitting insolently in his chair, but now sat up straighter.

Luc Moreau, lead singer of The Grunge.

Or at least he used to be.

Molly’s skin prickled again. He was a giant of a man. It was rare for a man to make her feel small, but he did.

“Are you fucking shitting me?” Luc rose, his chair skidding back to the bank of windows. He glanced at Molly, but didn’t pause in his tirade. He stalked over to Dex. “You can’t replace me.”

“Looks like it’s a day for realizations.” Molly laughed. “Maybe I should sing for The Grunge. Maybe they’d appreciate the voice that I have to offer.”

“Molly.” Lila’s sharp voice didn’t stop her.

Molly flipped her hair over her shoulder. She turned to Dex. His eyes were so dark they bordered on onyx. The calculating gleam made her want to step back, but she’d already started on this path. She would prove to every single person in this freaking room that she was worth more than Lila’s dismissal. She wouldn’t—couldn’t—be ignored. “I can sing the hell out of any song you give me. Let me show you.”

“Miss McIntire.” Lila’s voice rose.

Molly held up a hand to Lila. “You said only you had the power, right? Let me show you just how important I am. The Grunge might just appreciate me unlike my own band. I’m sorry. Not my band. The band I’m singing for at the moment.”

Dex crossed his arms. “Deal.”

“What?” Lila’s mouth dropped open. “Dex, what are you doing?”

“The lady wants to sing for me. I’m inclined to let her.”

Luc crossed the room and gripped the chair next to Molly. “Over my dead fucking body.”

CHAPTER FIVE

He’d seen the blond before.

She wasn’t the kind of woman a man could forget, even if he was so inclined. And if you listened to the rumors, Luc Moreau wasn’t inclined to ever overlook a lady.

Or not a lady. He wasn’t particular, even if the public didn’t know that part.

Secrets of the rich and rockstarred.

He had a few of them, though they weren’t what the masses suspected. That was partially why he’d agreed to this meeting with Dex. He’d stupidly believed they had a partnership. A common goal to make the band more famous, which was kinda the fucking point, right?

Instead he’d come into this conference room, taken a seat at this goddamned table, and been blindsided.

Sorry, dude, you’re the problem. Tried to fix it by making up all kinds of shit to up your status in the media, but no can do. You’re out. Sayonara.

If that wasn’t enough, then the two blonds had flown into the room. Lila, who probably could have out-frosted an icicle, and Molly, who would’ve made a torch pale in comparison. Complete opposites, but both pissed as hell.

Only difference? One was currently making his life more difficult, and the other didn’t have a chance at putting out her fire. Not unless she used a very large bucket.

“You’re on slippery ground, Miss McIntire. Your contract precludes you from taking on any other lead singer gigs for as long as you’re signed to Ripper Records.”

Shit just got wet.

“What if the band also belongs to Ripper? Isn’t that just keeping it all in the family?” Molly extended a hand to Dex. “Mr. Munroe, I’m not sure if we’ve been formally introduced. I’m Molly McInt—”

“Miss McIntire, your reputation precedes you.” Dex gripped her hand and pumped as if he’d never been so happy to shake someone’s hand in his life. “Were you serious about what you said?”

“Deadly. If I’m not wanted where I am currently—or if I’m replaceable—then maybe I should consider other options.” Molly slid a look toward Luc and away. “Especially if an unexpected position has opened up.”

“If it were up to me, the only position you’d be in would be bent over this table.” Gasps sounded around the room, but Luc was staring too hard at Molly’s steely expression to figure out where they had originated. Didn’t matter.

His goal had been to knock Little Miss Perfect off her stride, and his insulting innuendo had done just that.

But she didn’t slap him or call him names or even raise an eyebrow. Just looked through him as if he wasn’t even there. “I can audition anytime you’d like, Mr. Munroe.”

She had balls, Luc had to give her that. Not only to march into a meeting with a couple of record company reps and act like she owned the place, but to stand in front of the lead singer of a band and try to angle for his job.

He should be pissed. Hell, he was pissed, but not entirely at her. She’d been arguing with Lila about something, and he had a feeling she was all up in his band’s business to get back at her manager. That didn’t solve his problems though. Just compounded them.

“Call me Dex.”

Molly nodded and smiled. “Dex.”

“You’re under contract, Molly.”

“Maybe you should’ve thought of that before you made it so brutally clear that I was just a body behind a microphone. Maybe Mr. Munroe—Dex—sees things differently.”

Before Dex could speak, Lila leaned in and braced a hand on the conference table. “I don’t care what he sees, you’re mine according to that dotted line. You can’t just band hop.”

“I’m not band hopping. My contract says I’m signed to Ripper Records and I can’t front another band during the length of my contract. Pretty sure it didn’t specify what band I was fronting though.” Molly gave Lila a sunny smile. “Loophole, there. And I’m just a high school dropout. Imagine if I’d gone to a fancy college like all of you?”

“Not me,” Luc said under his breath, and for the first time, she gave him a full glance. It nearly stole his fucking breath.

Her eyes were so blue. Like a blowtorch set on high, when the gas starts to burn. That impossible color right in the center that just blasted through and left everything in embers. Charred and broken.

“Well, that isn’t a surprise.” The haughty edge to her voice took him from on the verge to a full-blown erection. Something that wasn’t nearly as easy to accomplish as the press believed.

They’d cultivated his manwhore image until some days, Luc wasn’t sure if he knew who the guy was in the mirror anymore. Maybe he just was that rockstar dude who banged any chick who moved and partied all night long in between shows. Living it up from city to city while his band circled the drain and couldn’t get any goddamn airplay, no matter what media stunt he pulled.

Now their newest stunt would be ditching the lead singer. And this one wasn’t a stunt he’d help orchestrate.

“Don’t need an education to sing, Bluebird.” He hadn’t expected to call her that. She wasn’t bird-like at all. Maybe a plant—a Venus Flytrap perhaps. But bird? Delicate and sweet and small, not hardly. She wasn’t that much shorter than him, for fuck’s sake. He rarely could say that about a woman.

It shouldn’t have made her even hotter, but it did. As did the fact that when she turned and went toe to toe with him, her mouth was a lot closer than it should’ve been since he hadn’t been below six feet tall since junior high.

“I’m not a bird. Don’t slap a tag on me to make me manageable. Have you heard me call you Thor yet? I could. You’d get off on it, because being big and manly is your claim to fame. Not so sure about your voice. Weird, isn’t it, that I know all about how you use your dick and absolutely nothing about your talent?” She propped her fist under her chin and pretended to think. “Wonder why that is?”

“Children, this isn’t the time or place,” Lila said.

They both ignored her.

“You don’t know shit about me. Whatever you think you’ve heard is meaningless. So are your value judgments.”

“Yeah? Then how come I still have a job and you’re being invited to leave yours?”

Luc stepped back and held up his hands. “You know what? Let’s do that audition you were so hot for. Right fucking now. Right fucking here.” It was more than a little gratifying to see her go pale. “Which of my band’s songs do you know, since you’re such an expert?”

Almost immediately, color rushed back into her cheeks. “I can learn whatever I need to. I just need an hour to prepare.”

He barked out a laugh. “Right, now you need an hour. Let me guess. Want to go sniff a line so you have enough adrenaline to brazen your way through? If so, don’t look for privacy on my account.” He gestured at the conference table. “Lay your party favors out right here and go for it.”

“Enough,” Lila snapped. “I’ve seen plenty of pissing matches in my day, but this is definitely one of the most ridiculous. You’re both lead singers. You both have jobs to do—”

“Perhaps you missed a step, Lila,” Dex said in his buttercream voice. The one that made all of Luc’s muscles coil as if he needed to prepare for battle.

Because he did.

Losing his role—his band—would be a form of death. He couldn’t deal with it, and the kids back home who waited for his frigging paycheck to survive definitely couldn’t deal with it. Katie’s job as a hotel housekeeper helped, but what he made provided for the bulk of their expenses.

This simply could not happen.

“No, you missed a step,” Luc said, fighting to keep his voice even. “I’m not walking away from my band.”

“Son, I’m sorry, but that’s not your call to make.”

“Son?” Rage fuzzed his thoughts until only one distinct one came clear. “I’m not your son. Not anyone’s son anymore, since my fucking father is dead and I don’t intend on having anyone else apply for the role.”

Molly set her jaw. “I’m prepared to audition. I don’t take drugs. I don’t need them. I don’t need anything or anyone.” For a moment, her voice vibrated like a held note. “I asked for an hour to prepare so I could learn the material. The Grunge’s songs aren’t on my playlist, so I need some time to be comfortable with what I’m going to sing. But if you think that means I’m going off to take something, I’m happy to stay right here and rehearse in front of you. All of you,” she said, encompassing the two record execs as well.

“That won’t be necessary,” Lila said smoothly. “Neither will an audition. Dex and I just need a few minutes to speak privately.”

“Actually, no, we don’t. If Molly would like to audition, I’m inclined to let her. Quite frankly, I’m in awe of her talent.”

Luc held out his arms. “And what the fuck about me?”

“Fuck. How coincidental, since that’s your favorite word.”

He didn’t look at Molly. Couldn’t. Waiting for Dex to reply took all his energy.

In the end, Dex wasn’t the one who answered him. It was Lila.

“If you’re both hellbent on this foolishness, then I say we do it all the way. They can both sing.” Lila crossed her arms and smiled, as slowly as the predator she could be. “Together.”

CHAPTER SIX

Molly narrowed her eyes. “Together? I don’t need his help.”

“Those are the terms.” Lila turned on her heel. “You have an hour to learn the songs. I’ll get the band here.” She paused at the door as if she was going to say something else, then continued out without another word.

Molly fisted her hands. The hulking former lead singer of The Grunge just stood next to her. He went from hot to cool in a freaking second. She glanced up at him. His face was impassive—almost bored. “Do those muscles come with talent? Or are they just to distract the women?”

He lifted one brow and crossed his arms. “Like what you see, Bluebird?”

“Stop calling me that.”

“Shouldn’t have said that.” His voice held a childish singsong quality. “Now I won’t call you anything else.”

“My name is Molly.”

“With the pretty bluebird eyes.”

“Molly, the professional singer,” she said through gritted teeth.

“Who’s so quick to jump out of her very fine gig.” He made a tsk sound. “Doesn’t seem very professional, now does it?”

“At least my band doesn’t want me to leave.”

His jaw flexed and suddenly his height didn’t seem like such a novelty. He didn’t fist his hands. Didn’t do anything.

Just seemed to pulse next to her.

She swallowed and whirled away from him to cross the room. She opened her music app on her phone and fished out a pair of earbuds from her pocket. She always had them on her to block out the world when it got too much.

And that was happening much more often lately.

Everything seemed noisy and loud and pulled at her in ways she didn’t like. She missed the road, missed the stage. There was a huge difference between sucking in the crowd’s energy and creating it on her own in the studio.

Thoughts of the studio compounded the guilt that had sneaked in after her spectacular entrance into the meeting with Lila and Mal. They’d had such a good day today, and then she’d ended the afternoon by looking for a new gig.

Because of Lila. And Mal.

She was no one’s Barbie. Nor was she just a pretty voice that could be replaced by a dozen others. She’d already played the role of arm candy and the cute little kid her mom used to lure in men who should’ve known better. Oh, they’d never touched her with their hands, but their eyes were a different story.

Those days were over. Now she knew her worth, and others were going to know it too. Including Lila.

Especially Lila.

The anger revved inside her chest again. She needed that anger, needed to feed off of it to get through this.

She peeked at Luc. He was leaning against the wall staring at her. Not a damn blink either. Just a solid stare. She clicked play on her music app and slammed her eyes shut.

The song blasted into her ears.

The Grunge’s most well known song seemed like a good place to start. Luc’s voice was deep and powerful. She’d never really listened to them. They weren’t a bad band, she just didn’t count them on the same plane as Warning Sign.

Derivative.

Lacking something unidentifiable.

Her job was to study the market and current popular music. The dips and blips that wouldn’t amount to anything, and the other bands who were changing the face of the industry.

The Grunge was solid, just not…special.

She listened to the song and read the lyrics three times, then moved on to the next and the next. The clock ticked away as she absorbed and adjusted them in her mind.

One of her talents was the ease in which she understood a song. The lyrics were their own piece of the puzzle. And when they clashed with the melody, as they did with two of The Grunge’s lesser singles, she frowned and itched to change them.

She tapped on the table and ached for her notebook, but it was back with her bag. And who the hell knew where that was right now. She’d been in such a blind rage, she could have left it in the middle of the hall for all she knew.

The edges of panic crept into her chest and she zoned out on the music filling her head.

Her song notebook.

She dragged the buds out of her ears, stood, and looked around blindly. The rattle of familiar paper had her twisting and crossing the room with a growl before she could even form a complete thought. The ultimate betrayal.

No musician touched another’s songbook.

It just wasn’t done.

She reached for it and Luc held it high over his head.

“‘Midnight Man’. Interesting, Bluebird. One night stand make your heart go flutter?”

Rage and embarrassment were a fireball in her gut. “That’s private. You had no right to read that.”

“Must not have been that important if you left it lying around.”

“I wasn’t thinking.”

“Well, if it’s so precious then you shouldn’t have dropped it on the ground. I didn’t even have to go into your bag. It fell right out. It was begging to be opened.”

At least she’d brought her bag into the room without realizing it. That was a plus. But her songs…

Christ.

“No, it wasn’t. If you were a real musician, you would know not to touch it.”

He stood up straighter. “A real musician? The lyrics I was reading sounded more like a Taylor Swift special.”

Don’t fall for his bait. Don’t. “She’s very talented.”

“Yeah, but this sounds more like when she was fifteen.”

“How would you know?”

“I like Tay Tay.” He blocked her and turned to give her his shoulder.

“You’re impossible.” Rage bubbled up and out before she could rein it in again. She grabbed a hank of his hair and dragged him down to her level. “Give. Me. The. Notebook.”

His icy green eyes blazed. “If you wanted to get me down to your mouth, all you had to do is ask, Bluebird.”

He lowered his arm enough that she managed to snatch her notebook out of his hand. She drove the hardbound spine into his gut, making sure to use the corner to inflict maximum damage. Too bad his abs were so tight it was like pushing into a wall. He didn’t even grunt.

She pulled his hair harder, and finally, he backed up.

“Fuck.”

Grabbing her bag, she slammed out of the room.

His thick, wavy hair had been like silky heat wrapping and twining around her fingers. Dammit. Why did she have to notice that?

She flew out into the main room of the hive and ducked down the hall and to the practice room she used all the time. Lila would find her there.

It took her the better part of twenty minutes to calm down enough to absorb any of the damn music she was trying to learn. She ramped up the songs through the speakers in the soundproofed room.

The beat snaked around her brain. A bit harder than her band—the band. Fuck. Maybe it wasn’t even hers anymore.

What the hell had she done?

She couldn’t think about that right now. She had to focus on the here and now.

She skimmed the lyrics online and followed along. She watched three or four snips of YouTube videos and kept getting distracted by Luc on stage.

He prowled.

The cord of the microphone wrapped around his wrist and snaked around and behind him as he stalked the stage. His long stride was feline instead of lumbering. He was intense in a way her band wasn’t.

Not that it was a bad thing.

Warning Sign was better as a whole. Melodic and hard at the same time. The Grunge crept into a Stone Sour and Skillet type of territory that her band—that Warning Sign didn’t have. Mostly because her vocals didn’t lend themselves to the truly dark parts of a song.

Maybe they needed to.

The notes vibrated in her chest and she finally opened her mouth to sing with him. She worked around Luc’s voice and added her powerhouse vocals to his deeper growl.

When she couldn’t follow his range, she kicked one of the cube hassocks across the room and tossed her phone onto the couch across from her.

She rewound the song and started again.

She sang with him three times before she finally moved on to another.

“Your hour’s up, Miss McIntire. Actually, I gave you an extra twenty minutes.”

Molly twirled around as Lila’s voice reverberated through the sound room. Lila’s eyes were cool and her eyes sharp behind the glass that separated the control box from the studio.

“We’re meeting in the orchestra room.”

Molly nodded and Lila left her alone once more.

She gathered her bag and phone, shoving her feet in the shoes she hadn’t even realized she’d kicked off.

She lifted her chin as she opened the door and walked down the hall. Of course Lila would pick the biggest room in the joint. Ripper used it for the epic recordings that required fitting a lot of musicians together. The drums had echoed in the space until a few techs moved soundproofing walls closer to the kit to temper the percussion.

The ceiling soared and the lights were bright enough to make her stomach jitter.

It felt like her first audition all over again.

The drummer for The Grunge, Nolan Perry, was wiry where Mal was beefy. He had a Tommy Lee-style with twirling sticks and an ultra-thinness that captivated her as much as it amused her. Especially with the eighties’ triangle pattern on the wrinkled button-down shirt he wore with eye-searing red shorts.

The guitarist, Ripley Ward, stood off to the side, his arms crossed. His eyes were hidden behind mirrored aviators, and the rest of his face was stony. He certainly didn’t hide his pissed-off vibe.

And lastly, a man with long jet black hair held his bass as if it was an extension of himself. She shook his name free in her brain. Jared Vaughn. She was used to Jules in that slot. She often slung her bass to the side so her hands could move as she talked.

Molly shook her head.

This was a different band and she needed to treat it as such. Not to weigh the differences. She needed to absorb them and use them to her advantage.

She scanned the room for Luc.

How the hell was she supposed to share the damn stage with him? She didn’t share the stage with anyone. It was her domain, her haven.

Now she had to co-exist with this behemoth of a man?

She set aside her purse, then flipped off her shoes and her shrug sweater. She rolled up one of her bangles to her upper arm and left the rest to jangle and dance around her wrist.

She shed her anger, her hurt, and her weakness and shrouded herself in the siren’s role she tapped into for the stage. She rolled her neck and shook her hair back, and then she stalked across the scuffed floor. A room full of men save for her and Lila.

And there was no help from Lila. Not today.

Maybe not ever.

Fuck.

Down.

Down.

Push it down.

“This girl? What the fuck are we doing here, Dex?” Rip’s voice was harsh and unwelcoming. “You’re wasting our time on a Taylor Swift wannabe?”

“Taylor wishes she had my range.” Molly met Ripley’s gaze and stood toe-to-toe with him. “I’m here to try out. I hear you don’t like your singer.” She lowered her eyelashes and tilted her head. Rip’s nostrils flared. Molly couldn’t see behind his shades, but she knew men.

From a young age, she’d known the power of her body. Too young. For a time she’d used it almost exclusively, but now she had a new superpower. It was her voice and her talent. She didn’t need to barter anymore.

It was time everyone in the damn room knew it.

“Why don’t we start with ‘Justice’?”

Ripley’s fingers flexed on his guitar frets. “You don’t have the chops for that one, sweetheart.”

“Play the fucking song and we’ll see, sweetheart.”

Ripley barked out a laugh. “All right. You want to go all in. We’re fucking here, aren’t we? We go all in.”

“Would be nice to see you actually dive into a song and not phone it in. Maybe then you’ll deserve my voice.”

A slow clap started behind her. Molly’s spine racked tight like a perfect diamond of nine-ball on a pool table. Luc.

“Our little Bluebird thinks she can sing ‘Justice’? That’s rich.” His voice was lazy and full of sex. The bass in it made all the atoms in her body fizzle and shudder.

Why this man?

Why did he have to hit the play button on her libido? Two men in the space of a month? It didn’t seem right. She’d ignored that side of her for ages. Now she had to actively work to push it down.

Fuck that.

She stepped back from Ripley and tossed a glance over her shoulder. “Watch me.”

The drumbeat pounded through the room. She narrowed her gaze on the drummer. Nolan waggled his eyebrows as he slammed on the skins and started the raw rhythm of the song. The bassist followed suit and she waited for her entrance.

The music was harsh and melodic at the same time. She opened her mouth on the opening lines and the smoky purr of her voice rose over the din. She made it through the entire first verse before Ripley started playing.

She paced the length of the area rug that made a pseudo-stage out of the back of the room. She ached for a microphone for her hand. Even though she didn’t need one in this space, the mic stand was her tool.

She rarely used an instrument other than her own body and liked it that way.

She wavered a little on the chorus, but when Ripley wailed on his guitar to fight her voice, she upped the ante and brought out her best feature—her range.

She leaned back and pulled out the notes from the deepest part of her soul before heading into the last verse.

He interfered.

Deep and dark like chocolate and coffee made the most decadent baby in the history of man. His voice curled around the words and tried to overpower her vocals. She spun on her heel and crossed the room to him.

They dueled through the last of the verse and the chorus.

She chased his lyrics and echoed with her own. She tried to outdo him with a step into the highest register of her range. Straining for every damn fraction of a note.

He didn’t back down.

He walked around her like a cat circled a mouse. All fluid grace and predatory power in his eyes and the breadth of his shoulders. She didn’t lose eye contact with him. She couldn’t give him an inch.

There was only this song.

This moment to shine.

When the song ended, he cocked his head. “‘Believe’,” he said in a silky purr that belied the fire in his gaze.

She swallowed. A ballad.

His voice went raspy and low as he opened the song with the loss and pain molding his words. She stepped up to him as the bridge flowed into the chorus.

She didn’t know the song as well. She’d only listened to it twice, but she followed his lead for an instant before pulling back.

No.

She didn’t want to cooperate with him.

She wanted to own the song.

The stage.

She pulled the lyrics into her range and pushed him to follow her. He fisted his hands and crowded closer, both physically and with his voice. Shoving himself into every molecule of space. When the guitar parts came through and there was no room for lyrics, she dragged in huge lungfuls of breath to power through the epic end.

The drums carried.

The bass thrummed.

The guitar wailed.

But it was Luc who met her measure for measure as the song boosted up another level and left the chords behind. She held the last note and had to close her eyes against the harmony of their voices.

Together as one.

She didn’t want to own that.

Didn’t want to admit there was any magic.

She was drowning in it, but she pushed it away and barked out another title. One that made Ripley groan in frustration. Slow and bluesy. It was her favorite of the band’s. She loved the simplicity.

She stared at Luc as the opening verse spoke of a street at daybreak. The lonely figure reminisced about the heart he’d broken, the loss of a friend, a lover, a piece of himself he couldn’t live without.

Recriminations and hurt as they both compounded the pain with pride and insecurities.

Luc stepped forward until they were chest to chest. Her own heaved in reaction to his heat and overwhelming size. She didn’t feel small—ever. She outweighed the women in her band, and came close to equaling a few of the guys. Her voice did the rest.

But not here.

The guitars fell away and the drums went silent, but she and Luc didn’t stop.

They sang the song without accompaniment, their voices blending in a way that made her skin prickle and her eyes grow hot.

When the last note escaped her lips, she finally staggered back a step. She immediately crossed her arms over her chest and shook her hair forward.

The silence was short-lived.

“This is why we don’t want him.”

Luc backed away from her. “What?”

Rip’s voice strengthened. “It’s not about us as a band. It’s about him. And now you bring this chick into it? We’re not a fucking backup band.”

Molly frowned. “We sounded awesome. Are you on drugs?”

“You can sing the hell out of a song, Blondie. No denying that. But you don’t know how to be in a band. You just know the spotlight. And you’re a whore for it, just like Luc.”

She opened her mouth to reply. To refute. Anything but to swallow that comment, but Lila took that moment to step forward.

“That’s enough. This stunt is over.”

“What stunt?” Molly demanded.

“You one-upped each other through two-thirds of this performance. If I wanted to watch an episode of American Idol, I’d have stayed home with my twins. Mr. Ward is correct. Neither of you were here for the band. There was only ego.”

“Untrue.” Molly slashed her hand through the air. It was either that or punch a wall, and she didn’t do shit like that. “That was fucking fantastic.”

Ripley swung his axe behind his back. “That was Mariah Carey and Chester Bennington trying to outdo one another.”

Molly’s jaw dropped. “Excuse me?”

Luc was silent. He bowed his head and his wild mane of honey and brown hair shrouded his face.

“We don’t need you—either of you. I didn’t create the band for this.” Rip’s voice was firm. He’d obviously made up his mind before Molly had even walked into the room.

Luc didn’t lift his head. Didn’t meet Jared or Ripley’s gaze. He didn’t even look up from the damn floor. “And how do you feel, Jar?”

Molly’s throat tightened at Luc’s defeated tone. Despite all his ego and his deep, powerful voice, he wasn’t posturing any longer. His pain was palpable.

Suddenly, she wanted to be anywhere but there.

The entire afternoon had been a mistake from the moment she’d listened at the door, but there was no way to go back. No way to undo any of this.

“It hasn’t been about us for a fucking long time, Mo.”

Luc flinched at the nickname.

There was familiarity and pain in Jared’s voice. A finality that made Molly want to run out of the room and pretend none of this had happened.

She wanted to erase every step that had brought her to this point. Rewind to when she was still having fun in the studio with Jules and Elle and the name Luc Moreau meant less than nothing to her.

But she couldn’t.

“No?” Luc’s voice was rough.

No? Molly frowned, but at the click of drumsticks on the top of the snare drum, she realized he meant the drummer. No was a hell of a nickname, especially when Jared had called Luc by a name that rhymed.

“I hate this.” Nolan got up from his kit and stalked out the door, bouncing the doorknob against the wall in his haste to leave.

“Shit.” Jared set his bass in a stand behind him and jogged after Nolan.

Ripley growled out, “Fuck. I didn’t want it to go this way.”

Luc didn’t say anything. The floor practically vibrated between the two men. Finally, Rip sighed and followed his bandmates out the door.

Suddenly chilled, Molly pulled on her shrug and slipped her feet back into her shoes. Then she slung her purse over her head cross-body. It sucked as far as armor went, but she’d make do.

“Outside with me now, Dex.” Lila’s voice was arctic. “You two, stay here. I’ll deal with you in a moment.”

“I—”

“Not a word, Miss McIntire. Not unless you’d like to walk out of this room right now and leave behind the ashes of your career.”

Molly blew out a breath. There was a time for balling-up and a time to cool your freaking jets. “No, ma’am.”

Well, that had just gone to spectacular hell.

CHAPTER SEVEN

Luc pushed his hands through his hair and turned his back on Molly. Her unexpected silence and submission was making him more angry by the second.

She wasn’t supposed to back down now. Her fire had pushed him through those songs with a passion he hadn’t felt in—

God, too long.

Forever.

It hadn’t been just about outdoing her—although, yes, he’d had some ego-tripping going on. But she was incredible. Not just her voice, but the clear joy she took from her instrument.

In a way, from herself. He wanted a part of that. Wanted to harness it, taste it, share in it until he didn’t remember what it was like to feel like an imposter in his own skin.

Now she was quiet, and all the thoughts that had finally left him were invading his head again. The ones that told him he wasn’t good enough to take care of his family. He had one job, one goal, and he’d fucking failed. Spectacularly.

“I’m not going to stand around here and wait for the ax to fall,” he said into the space, hating that the room now felt empty. Her impressive voice was gone, and with it, her power and heat. Now there was just the cold finality of his band rejecting him as Dex had.

“They won’t fire you.”

Her certainty might have warmed him, if he wasn’t sure it was her way of dismissing his concerns. Dismissing him.

“You don’t know shit about this situation.”

“Maybe not, but I have ears. I heard what you sound like. So did they.”

“And?”

“Only a complete moron would fire you.”

Something tickled in his chest. “I’m damaged goods.”

“How do you figure?”

“I’m a liability. The social experiment gone wrong. Doesn’t matter if it wasn’t my idea. I’m the one whose head is on the chopping block.”

Great. He was saying too goddamn much.

Hadn’t that gotten him into this mess? He’d always confided in Dex. Thought he could trust him. So when Dex had come up with some pretty crazy plans to get the band more exposure, Luc had agreed. Dex was the expert. He was just the poor kid from Abilene who was trying to make good and help his orphaned sisters and brother.

He expected some glib response. Not for her to ask softly, “Why?”

“What we tried to do didn’t work, and Dex needs a scapegoat. That’s me. So I might as well just walk out of here and keep going. If I don’t hear the words, they won’t be true. I won’t have to face them.”

So he did just that. He crossed the stage they’d created from rugs and amplifiers and past the cart of chairs piled against the wall. All he could focus on was the exit. That red light above the door represented freedom.

What he didn’t hear couldn’t become his reality.

The door shut heavily behind him, and for a second, he hung his head and just breathed. There was a finality to the door closing too, just as there had been in his bandmates’ voices.

He was done. Finished. Maybe not just with this band, but his days as a singer, period.

Perhaps even his days in this town. If he wasn’t a star—even a half-assed one—what would he become then? He’d be back to being just the poor kid with dead parents from a dusty trailer who didn’t have a hope in hell of ever getting out.

Maybe it would be easier if he stopped fighting it. He could get a ticket home, tell Katie his gig just hadn’t worked out. He still had a couple checks due him and residuals for who knows how long. It wasn’t as if he couldn’t get a regular job. Work construction or some shit. Make ends meet. Figure out how to turn enough money for a single guy into enough to feed a family of four.

It was all about getting by.

The door opened and clanged shut. Luc slid a glance sideways, just far enough to take in pretty feet with turquoise nails decorated with daisies. Cheap flip flops didn’t match the shiny silver rings that adorned half her toes or the delicate chain that circled one ankle. Her feet weren’t tiny, but the delicate jewelry made her seem more fragile.

He sucked in a breath that was full of cherries. Whether it was from her lip gloss or her shampoo or maybe just something she slicked on her skin, he didn’t know.

Wanted to though.

Far too much.

“You shouldn’t be out here.”

“Don’t tell me where I should be. Last I checked I’m a grown-ass woman.”

“Hell yeah, you are.” He let his sidelong glance travel higher. “They don’t build them like you back in Abilene.”

She snorted. “Somehow I doubt that. I have all the usual parts and pieces. And you don’t need to use lines on me. Guarantee I’ve heard them all. Probably laughed at most of them.”

He shifted his hip into the brick side of the building and shifted toward her slightly. Not pushing. Not yet. “So who’s ‘Midnight Man’?”

She rolled her eyes. “That again?”

“I’m curious. Writing a song about someone takes it up a level, don’t you think? For example, if I wrote about you, I’d say your eyes were the softest blue, like that bluebird I called you. Behind them, there’s a core of steel. You’re only weak when you allow it, and you don’t allow it much.”

Her chin firmed. “My life didn’t leave room for weakness. Or lines from pretty men who’ve used them on half of LA. Maybe two-thirds.”

Just like that, the reason he was hiding out in this alleyway slammed home once again.

He was a whore.

Worse than just being a whore, he was a cheap one, who let his reputation be used and smeared for what ultimately amounted to nothing.

Now he was out in the cold.

“If I told you that everything wasn’t what it seemed in that arena, would you believe me?”

She angled her head, studying him too closely. Those bedroom eyes shouldn’t have taken on that flinty seriousness so easily, but they did.

Like him, she’d seen far too much. He knew it with a certainty that ate at his bones.

“I might,” she said quietly.

Her honesty wrecked him. She’d offered him a slice of hope. Maybe he still had a chance to be more than he was right at that moment.

“Back to ’Midnight Man’.”

“God, you’re relentless.” But the hint of a smile teased the corners of her mouth.

“Just wondering about my competition.”

Her smile fled, as did the light in her eyes. “That isn’t going to happen.”

“Says who?” He moved in closer. “You followed me out here, and it wasn’t to get my email address so we could become pen pals. You’re going to say you felt sorry for me. That my vulnerability tugged at your heart.” He lowered his head and let his breath puff against her hair, curling sweetly in the night breeze. “Truth is, you know what happens between people like us in alleys, and you want it. Just like I do.”

“Wrong answer. I don’t have a heart. And your vulnerability means about as much to me as your dick.” She started to step away and he reached out for her, snagging her wrist and dragging her right back. Her breath escaped as her body crushed into his, lining them up from chest to stomach. Lower. So much lower.

God, she fit him. So fucking right.

But he barely had time to acknowledge that realization before footsteps thudded on the asphalt behind them. So close. Not heels, so it wasn’t Lila. Dex must’ve circled around from the parking lot—

Molly’s pupils went wide, engulfing the last shred of blue as she glanced over Luc’s shoulder.

So not Dex. Okay then.

“You’re going to want to let go of her. Now.”

Luc cocked a brow at Molly. “The voice isn’t bad. Let’s see if the rest matches.” Still lightly grasping her wrist, he tossed a glance over his shoulder.

Suit. Long dark coat. Wavy, dark hair. Jaw of steel.

“Seems like the rest of him is okay too. Worthy opponent, it seems.” Affixing a smile on his face, Luc released her and pivoted to extend a hand to the other man. “Luc Moreau. And you might be?”

Molly’s boyfriend examined Luc’s hand with the same appreciation he might for a bug. He did not accept it. “Tell me why I’m supposed to care, and I might offer my name in return.”

Luc smiled. “I was about to try to fuck your girlfriend up against this wall. If you hadn’t shown up, she might have let me.”

Sharp fists nailed him in the back—and ow, they fucking hurt—but he didn’t let his smile fall.

To his surprise, the other guy didn’t growl. Just lifted that penetrating gaze to his face.

“Is that so? Is that the team you’re suiting up for today?”

Molly’s fists stilled. Just like Luc’s heart.

“Not sure what you’re talking about, but hey, if you don’t want to shake, no problem.” Luc dropped his hand, barely resisting the desire to rub his suddenly damp palm on his jeans.

This guy—whomever the fuck he was—didn’t know squat. Especially about him.

Molly stepped out from behind Luc and moved off to the side. “I can’t leave yet,” she said to her guy after a long moment. “I have to get back inside. It’s a band thing.”

“I heard. Well, bits and pieces. I walked around looking for you for a while, then gave up and went by the orchestra room. Door wasn’t shut all the way. I heard what amounted to auditory fucking on stage.” Rather than appearing offended by that, he smiled. “Nice to see sometimes it carries off the stage as well.”

Molly didn’t so much as blink. “It’s work.”

“Sure, right now it is. But why stop there?”

Luc wasn’t sure who sucked in a louder breath—him or Molly. No, it was him. Because this guy had just intimated that Luc played for both teams, and now he was saying…

What the hell was he saying, exactly?

“What’s your deal, dude? Do you like to watch or something? Not my preference. Pretty sure your girl is disgusted too.”

Luc didn’t know that actually, but it was a logical guess judging from her current state of stunned silence.

“She’s not my girl. Not from lack of trying, but she’s hard to pin down. Likes to be free.”

Luc slid her a glance out of the corner of his eye. “Like a bird?”

She flipped him off.

“That’s good to hear that she’s not yours,” Luc added. “Gotta say, I was mildly concerned.”

“I’m right here. And from where I’m standing, neither one of you seems worthy of taking home.”

“She does have a point. We’re not exactly doing a stellar job at proving our case.” The nameless other man stepped closer to Molly, curving his hand around her jaw in a way that was part lover’s caress and part artist sculpting his finest creation. “Let’s go somewhere.”

Her mouth flattened. “You gotta be kidding me. After that display? I don’t think so. Besides, I just told you, I have a band thing. I can’t get away yet.”

“So we’ll wait. As long as necessary.” He shot a glance at Luc. “Won’t we?”

CHAPTER EIGHT

“What makes you think I want you to wait?” Molly asked, using the question as a stall tactic while her mind whirled.

Was Ethan suggesting what she thought he was suggesting? She’d been prepared for him to get all pissy and start demonstrating ownership of her—which he had started to do, a little—and instead he’d banked a hard left and decided to get weird.

Seriously weird.

Jules wouldn’t think so. She lived in a permanent threesome, for God’s sake. She was blissfully happy too, and more power to her. But if one man was trouble, wouldn’t two men be overkill?

Especially these two men. Bossy and demanding and sexy as hell.

Think about that after all the orgasms.

“That’s up to you.” Ethan rubbed his thumb over her chin and her nipples responded on cue. Slowly, he dropped his gaze to them, touching her with merely a glance. “This is all up to you.”

“All what?” She nudged his hand away from her face. Not because she didn’t like it there, but because when he was touching her, she couldn’t think. And she desperately needed to if she wanted to keep some semblance of a hold on this situation. “I think you need to be clear about what you’re proposing, so there’s no miscommunication.”

“As you wish.” Ethan spared Luc a brief glance then returned his attention to her. “I’d say it’s fairly obvious he wants to fuck you, and you probably want to fuck him. I definitely want to fuck you, and well, judging from prior occurrences…” He trailed off and unwanted heat blossomed in her cheeks.

“You didn’t finish that,” she said once her lungs filled with oxygen again.

“You want to fuck me,” he said quietly, just for her ears only.

She did. God help her, she did.

“Not what I meant,” she returned, just as softly. “I’m not really good with subtext, so it’d be easier if you just spelled it out.”

Ethan nodded. “I’m open to whatever happens.” He glanced again at Luc, the look lingering a shade longer. “In whatever way.”

She swallowed, processing what he’d said. What it meant.

And started to laugh.

Ethan’s lifted eyebrows were the last thing she saw before she bent at the waist, her hair falling forward as she rode out the wave of amusement.

Practically hysteria. Because holy fuck.

Luc moved toward her and she held up a hand, rising to her full height and backing up. “Sorry. Bad timing. It’s just my bandmate, she’s in one of these threesome things, and she’s forever hoping that her guys would—and well, they won’t—and she would just die if she heard this.”

The guys weren’t laughing.

She cleared her throat and wiped away her tears of mirth. “No one ever said I was appropriate.”

Still no response. So she’d most likely just bungled her first—only?—threesome.

Now that was something to write in her diary.

Not her songbook though. Luc would probably find it and gloat that she was thinking about missed opportunities.

She wasn’t. She had other things to handle right now other than two probably large dicks. One she already knew was pretty damn impressive. The other she couldn’t imagine would be anything but ginormous if Luc was at all proportionate.

Judging from what she’d seen going on in his tight jeans, that seemed to be a yes.

So far, not doing so hot on that not dwelling thing.

“You don’t react like any other woman,” Luc said, and that made her laughter start again.

Something else she didn’t do often enough, besides have spontaneous sex? Laugh.

“She’s definitely unique,” Ethan agreed. “And she’s amazing in bed.”

Molly sobered in a flash.

“Not that we were in a bed, were we? Stone bench near the ocean,” Ethan continued conversationally. “Every time she took me inside her, her hair blew back like she was summoning magic.”

That fanciful side of Ethan always surprised her. Drew her. She might get turned on by his blunt speech, but what really made her turn hot and trembly was when his voice went low and deep and he spoke of her as if she was so much more than she was.

More than a woman fighting for her slice of the pie in an industry almost determined she get crumbs.

She sucked in a breath. “I need to go talk to Lila.” She shifted toward Luc. “Are you coming back in?”

His gaze shifted off in the distance, and she wasn’t sure if he was thinking about possible threesomes—and all that might entail—or losing his job.

His music, at least this incarnation of it.

“What the hell is in there for me?” he asked roughly, his voice as gritty as sandpaper. Juxtaposed against the soft lushness of Ethan’s, the contrast was even more stunning.

Even more arousing.

With these two men, she could truly have whatever she wanted for a night. No limits. No boundaries.

Best of all? No morning-after.

She wasn’t Jules, and these guys weren’t Randy and Tristan. She’d heard their story a thousand times. How Randy had been in love with Juliet before he’d ever laid a hand on her. Tristan was his best friend, and he and Jules had danced around each other for a while until Tris realized Randy wanted in too. All the way in.

Somehow they’d made a go of it, all three of them, and Jules was so happy she was practically incandescent. But Ethan wasn’t in love with Molly, and Luc sure as hell wasn’t. They just wanted to fuck her—and maybe each other.

She didn’t know how she felt about that. About any of it. But she also didn’t want to be stuck on the sidelines of her life forever, wondering what she’d missed out on.

Hell, if the experience was absolutely terrible, she’d just Taylor Swift the hell out of it and get a gold album for her trouble.

No bad there.

“I don’t know what’s waiting in there for you—or for me, for that matter,” Molly said, forging on even when Luc turned his back. “Who knows what Lila and Dex decided during their little powwow? We could both be out of a job.”

Luc grunted. “Yeah, right. They’d never drop their golden ticket. They’re probably fighting over you.”

“Seems to be an ongoing theme.” Ethan dipped his hands in his trouser pockets when Luc tossed him a hard glance over his shoulder. “Difference is, we’re already learning to share. Maybe they will too.”

“I never said I was sharing shit with you, Midnight Man. You’re the one making a hell of a lot of assumptions.”

Molly shut her eyes. She was probably going to do some kind of praying mantis type deal when it came to Moreau. Just fuck the hell out of him and kill him the second it was over.

Well, maybe she’d fuck him twice first. No reason to be hasty.

“So don’t. You can go home alone. See if I care.”

“You both may be going home alone. As may I. But right now, I have to deal with work. If you’re not coming in, fine. You do you.” Molly walked to the door and grabbed the handle. “Me? I’m taking care of business.”

She turned the handle, ready to make a dramatic exit. Except the damn door did not open. Not that time or the next time she tried it.

And her phone was now buzzing in her purse.

Thank God she’d brought it, because that was Lila’s ringtone. She was probably officially screwed, minus the Os.

Ignoring the likely smirks behind her, she tugged out her cell. “Sorry, I had to get some air. My throat was seizing up. Not enough vocal exercises before the audition. You know how it is.”

“No, I don’t, and don’t bother trying to snow me. Where is Moreau?”

“How would I know?”

“Seems awfully suspicious you two burn up the mic and disappear at the same time. But I know you’d never go there in a million years. He’s not your type.”

Occasionally, Lila straddled the line between management and a friend, but that was part of Ripper Records’ “we’re family” spiel. Add in the fact that Lila was married to a guy who had once slept with Molly’s sister, Jazz, shortly after Jazz had joined Oblivion and hello, incestuous. Never mind that Lila routinely hung out with the other members of Oblivion as if they were all her buddies rather than just a band she managed. Then there was her formerly being Michael and Mal’s stepmother.

Just a few dozen knotty areas.

Lines were definitely crossed, though not as often as they would be with just about anyone else. Lila did a mighty good job of tiptoeing across them, but sometimes she slipped.

“At least you’re smart enough not to set fire to your life on two fronts,” Lila added.

And sometimes she jumped.

“Not sure that my type is up for discussion,” Molly said coolly, gripping her phone in one hand and the useless door handle in the other.

“You’re Jazz’s sister.”

“I am, and you stressed tonight how that makes no difference whatsoever. So make up your mind. Is this just about favoritism or is my talent what’s keeping me on the stage?”

“Right now, nothing is keeping you on the stage. You probed into personal business between me and another band member then flounced my authority and came very close to breaking your contract by even auditioning for The Grunge. Then I expressly told you to wait for Dex and me to return and where are you?”

“I needed a minute. You chose to discuss our fates out of our earshot, so maybe we decided to do the same thing.”

“Thought you didn’t know where Luc was,” Lila said.

Molly frowned. Lila’s smugness tweaked something inside her, and simultaneously suppressed every instinct that told her to stay on the straight and narrow.

Warning Sign—and Ripper Records—needed her too. She wasn’t the type to quibble over an extra dollar, but what was going on with Mal screamed of so much more. As did Lila’s attitude. There was retreating and then there was rolling over and playing dead.

Luc was a prime example of why looking out for number one was so important. He didn’t want to get tossed out of his band, and his feelings clearly meant nothing.

Despite their lovey-dovey spiel, Ripper was a business like any other, and if Molly didn’t play hardball, she’d be the one left out in the cold if they decided she was no longer needed. Drawing her line in the sand was exactly how she’d gotten the job in Warning Sign to begin with. Lila had known how many offers were coming her way and had bargained to win her favor.

Maybe it was time for Lila to be back in that position again, contract or no contract. Molly had no intention of violating a binding legal agreement. She just wanted to remind the powers-that-be that she wasn’t forgettable. Or someone who could be replaced by a dozen others.

Besides, she was tired of playing it safe. Men could fuck freely and still have a career. Why couldn’t she live a little? One night of fun and then tomorrow, back to reality.

Back to remembering why she’d put her wild child side on lockdown.

“You’re needed back in the conference room. Now. As is Moreau,” Lila said into the silence.

Molly let go of the door handle she’d been gripping all this time and glanced over her shoulder at Luc. His shoulders were rigid and he was staring far off into the distance, his jaw set.

He wasn’t in the mood to bend either.

“Sorry, that’s not an option right now. It’s better if we speak at another time. How about tomorrow?”

“How about you stop playing games and get your ass in here before you don’t have a job to come back to?”

“So fire me. Then you’ll have two lead singers to replace. Might want to think twice before you do that though.” Molly clicked off and shoved her phone back in her purse. Then she removed her bangle bracelets, shoving them in her bag as well.

There were all kinds of ways to prepare for war—sexual and otherwise.

She plastered a smile on her face and turned to face the men. “Your place or mine?”

CHAPTER NINE

Ethan stared at Molly. She must chug ice water to manage to stay so calm and in control when he knew better than anyone exactly how hot she could run. He’d seen her performing with Luc, all the uncontrolled passion she barely kept leashed on vivid display.

Yet here she was all business. The collected career woman. Every bit the person in charge of her destiny in a way he could already tell Moreau was not.

“Who are you to speak for me?” Luc crossed his arms. “I know she was saying for us to get back in there, and you just decided we aren’t going?”

“Do you want to go get fired?” Molly stepped away from the door and swung out her arm. “Silly me, I thought you might not be in a huge hurry for that to happen. If so, be my guest.”

Luc tipped back his head. “Both of you are on some ordering around trip.”

“Are we now? Don’t see you leaving.” Ethan pulled out his phone to check the time. “It’s past eight. I’m starving.”

“Me too.” Molly brushed her windblown hair away from her face. “I’m up for dinner.”

“You just said you were up for anything, if I’m not mistaken.” Luc’s challenging glance only made Molly lift a brow.

“Are you saying you’re not? If so—”

“Yeah, yeah, I can show myself the door. Heard a variation on that line from you already, Bluebird.” Luc glanced at Ethan, and everything below Ethan’s waist tightened. He wasn’t hard yet, merely interested. Intrigued. “What’s your name, Midnight Man?”

“I think I need to find out more about this Midnight Man business.” Ethan angled his head and extended his hand to Luc. “Ethan Haywood.”

Luc hesitated to shake just long enough that Molly decided to chime in. “Professor Haywood,” she added.

“That explains the threads.” Luc gestured to Ethan’s attire before gripping his hand with enough force to make an oak tree give way.

Luckily, Ethan hadn’t been skimping on his Wheaties—or his hours at the gym.

Just as swiftly, Luc released him and stepped back. His muscles were coiled in a way that brought to mind a panther…or a man on the edge. “So we gonna do this or not?”

“Eating dinner?” Ethan adjusted his tie. “Soon, I hope.”

Molly smirked and walked between them, a definite sway in her step as she aimed for the Ripper Records parking lot at one end of the alley. The other end led to the street. “I’m famished, so whatever’s on the menu, I hope we get to eating it soon—”

The car came out of nowhere, a slash in the darkness with its lights off. Ethan didn’t have time to think. He shoved Molly out of the way, barely aware that her other arm had already been yanked by Luc. The car streaked by them and down the alley with a rattle of exhaust pipes before taking a hard right onto the street at the other end.

“Hey asshole,” Luc shouted after the already vanishing car. “Speed kills.”

“What the hell was that?” Molly pulled herself free of both men. “Cars aren’t supposed to come through this way.”

“No shit, Sherlock.” Luc straightened, reaching for her again. “Are you okay? We crashed into the wall pretty hard.”

“Let me see.” Ethan swept his hands over her, holding on when she slapped at him and huffed out a breath.

“I’m fine. Seriously. Don’t fuss over me. It was just an idiot driver who didn’t know where he was.”

“Why’d he have his lights off?” Luc asked, echoing the question in Ethan’s head. The one he didn’t want to form before he had a possible explanation.

“Older model, right? Not automatic. I don’t know. Idiot,” she repeated, shoving a hand through her hair.

Ethan didn’t know if Luc had noticed her hand was shaking, but he sure as hell had. That call had been too close for all of them. Random driver or not.

“Nothing hurts?” he asked Molly. “You’re sure?”

“No concussion, Daddy.”

“Hmm, that has interesting possibilities for later.” To make her smile, he took her hand and brought it to his mouth, giving her knuckles a quick kiss. “Let’s get out of here before Idiot comes back.”

She nodded much too quickly. “Yes, let’s.”

Luc flanked her other side as they crossed the parking lot. “I still don’t like it. Who comes through this way? There’s security guards at the main entrance to the lot for a reason. The security here is one of the reasons I feel safe leaving my Ducati. Mostly safe,” he added, his mouth tightening.

“Yeah, well, there should be security at the other end of the alley too.”

“Barely anyone knows that alley exists. That exit is hardly ever used.”

“Hardly ever still counts. You and Luc just used it,” Ethan reminded her. “I’d say that driver knew it existed, therefore there should be gates at the other end at the bare minimum. Who’s to say who might come through here on any given day to try to get close to the talent?”

Luc snorted. “Most of the talent has no problem making themselves available to the masses. Not like we hide ourselves away in ivory towers. There’s too much shit available on TikTok and Instagram for that. Anyone wants to find us, they can without that much trouble.”

“So why not give them a bronze pass, right?”

Luc tucked his thumbs in his belt loops. “I didn’t say that. Just that you can spend your life hiding, and it doesn’t keep you any safer. If your number’s up, it’s up.”

“I’ve never had a threesome before, but I’m pretty sure this isn’t the usual start,” Molly said drily, coming to a halt. “I left my bag inside. The one with my notebook.” She and Luc exchanged a glance that Ethan couldn’t read.

“Another bag?” Ethan touched the strap of the purse slung over her chest.

“Yeah. My work one. This is just the essentials.”

“Makeup, hair curlers, rubbers for impromptu fatalistic threesomes.”

She didn’t spare Luc a glance. “I have to go back inside.”

“No, you don’t.” Ethan rested his hands on her shoulders. “I’ll go get your bag for you. Since apparently it’s as easy as pie to stroll through this place, might as well take advantage.”

“Yeah, because you look like such a threat. Those wingtips definitely fit the groupie profile.”

It was Ethan’s turn to ignore Luc. “Wait here?”

“Are you sure? I’d really appreciate it.” She gave him a brief rundown of where to find her belongings, then let him get two steps away before she called out, “And don’t open it. It’s private.”

“Super private, Midnight Man.” Luc flashed an A-ok sign and Ethan had to smile. Clearly, he’d have to pry more information out of them as far as that name was concerned. He had some interesting methods of interrogation.

He couldn’t wait.

“Here.” He pulled out his keys and tossed them to Luc. “Black Continental, spot L-1. I’ll be back in a few.”

“Oh, sure, the manly man gets the keys.” He heard Molly’s eyeroll in her voice. “Why am I doing this again?”

“Orgasms by the dozen?”

“That remains to be seen.” She gave a huff of breath and walked off with Luc across the parking lot, her golden hair shining like a beacon in the dark.

To prove a point to himself, he waited until they were out of view and went back to the alley. He pried out his wallet and removed a credit card and a paper clip he kept on hand for doing this very thing at school. This little trick didn’t work on every lock, especially the more modern ones. But in this case, it took less than two minutes before he was walking briskly up the hallway, heading past studios and orchestra rooms, along with a few of the conference variety. He took the route Molly had suggested, noting the few people still left in the building at this time of the evening.

If he was questioned, he had a sterling excuse—Lauren. She was his pass, and an even better one than Molly since she would never deny they were close. But that didn’t seem to be an issue here. His door trick had proven exactly how lax security was in this place, especially on the heels of the speeding car in the alley.

This kind of open access was dangerous. An accident waiting to happen. That he could be strolling through the halls after hours without being questioned was more evidence that Ripper Records was asking for trouble.

When they found it, he hoped like hell Molly wasn’t caught in the crossfire.

Or Luc.

A few minutes later, he’d collected Molly’s bag and was crossing the parking lot to his car. Except his car wasn’t in the space.

Speaking of lax security, he was the asshole who’d just given a guy he’d just met and a woman he’d slept with once the keys to his vehicle, so what the fuck did he know?

Obviously nothing.

The sound of tires smoothly rolling over the asphalt behind him made him turn. His gaze connected with Luc behind the wheel first. The guy was huge, filling up the driver’s seat in a way that caused Ethan’s spine to straighten. Luc’s big hands curled over the wheel and a cocky smile lit his face.

A dare. He was already daring Ethan, and he didn’t know the stakes.

Then Ethan’s gaze shifted to Molly sitting beside him. Her hair all wild and tumbling over her shoulders. Tiny sweater in place over her thin tank and gorgeous tits.

Fuck, he didn’t know what he was doing, but he couldn’t wait to get started.

He walked around to the driver’s side and Luc got out, rising up beside him slowly. Unfurling like a cat until he reached his full height, a couple inches more than Ethan’s. Everyone knew how important a couple inches could be.

“Gonna drive, Prof?”

“It’s my car.”

“And here I thought sharing was the theme of the evening.” Luc leaned an arm on the roof, causing all the muscles under his tight T-shirt to bunch and stretch. “Though maybe I have that wrong. Maybe you like being in control.”

“I like both.” He tipped his head. “I would wager you do as well.”

“Me three,” Molly chimed from inside, and Ethan had to smile.

She would never be the silent partner. Never abdicate her power to choose. Molly was one hundred percent all in, or she wouldn’t be involved.

“Damn,” Luc said under his breath, his lips curving.

For a second, they shared a smile. Then Luc moved past him, his body brushing Ethan’s in a way that he wasn’t entirely sure was accidental.

His cock’s reaction definitely wasn’t. Fuck.

Luc opened the back door and slid inside before shutting it with a soft snick. Ethan exhaled and climbed into the driver’s seat, passing Molly her bag without a word.

“Thank you. You didn’t open it?”

Only the thread of trepidation in her voice kept him from making a smart remark. “No.”

He steered out of the lot and toward his apartment a few miles away.

They hadn’t agreed on where to go. Hadn’t agreed on anything. So he would take them to neutral ground and they could see if this was really going to happen or if he’d be left with some hot spank material for the rest of the night.

He pulled into the parking lot of Frankie’s Up All Night diner and glanced at Molly. “I know it’s probably not what you’re accustomed to,” he threw a glance in the rearview at Luc, “either of you, but they serve breakfast all day. I’m in the mood for French toast.”

“French toast and fucking. Pass the syrup.”

Ethan smothered a smile. “All in due time.”

“I could go for some home fries.” Molly rubbed her stomach. “I used to eat them every day at this little place near my mama’s—” She broke off, her face illuminated by a passing streetlight before he continued driving across the lot and she fell into darkness once again. “What are you going to get, Luc?”

If Luc heard the forced cheer in her tone, he gave no indication. “Probably one of everything. Possibly two. Wonder if they serve beer here.”

“Now he wants to get loaded. This threesome is sounding better and better. Maybe I should cut my losses and go for home fries and bacon. At least they’re a sure thing.”

Ethan slipped his hand over her knee, sliding upward along her thigh and under her loose skirt. His fingers brushed the edge of her panties and she swallowed a gasp. “I’m as sure as bacon.”

“Now that’s gotta be the sexiest thing I’ve ever heard.”

The second the car rolled to a stop, Luc climbed out of the backseat and strolled inside the diner.

“Not sure he’s into this.” Molly stared after Luc, her throat working. “I didn’t know you were into this either.”

“Specify this.”

“Threesomes.” She wet her lips with the tip of her tongue. “Guys. Unless I’m reading you all wrong.”

“You aren’t.” Regretfully, he drew his hand out from under her skirt and tucked her hair behind her ear. “I’m open-minded. Is that a problem for you?”

She hesitated for a second before shaking her head. “No. I just… I’ve never done this before. I’m not like Jules.”

He only knew Jules peripherally because of time he’d spent with the band. Her committed threesome relationship, however, was common knowledge.

“This isn’t like Jules.”

“No. This is just having fun. I need more fun in my life.” She wet her lips again, offering him another glimpse of her tongue. Pink, wet. Hopelessly inviting. “I’m cool with it.” She turned her head, meeting his gaze head-on. “All of it.”

“We’ll see what happens.”

“Do you think he’s not into it? The guy-on-guy thing? You must have thought he might be, or you wouldn’t have…” She sighed. “God, this is awkward. I’d rather just fuck than talk about it.”

He had to grin. “Me too. But it’s necessary. With him as well. I’m not sure how he feels. I just met him.”

“But you want him. You think he might want you.”

He could’ve made a joke or simply not answered. She deserved more than that. So did he.

“Yes. I picked up on something with him. We’ll see if it pans out.”

“He’s probably used to everyone lusting after him on sight. Good thing he’s so pretty or else he’d never get laid since he’s such a goddamn prick sometimes.”

“I have a feeling his prick helps him get laid too. Just a guess.”

She grinned at him and for a second, it felt as much like they were co-conspirators as lovers. Friends in a way he’d never expected.

“We’ll see what happens there too,” she said, making him laugh.

He squeezed her hand. “Let’s eat.”

CHAPTER TEN

They got a table way in back of the diner and ordered. While they waited for their food, the topics stayed pleasant. Surface. Nothing too complicated, especially considering what would come for dessert.

Then Luc decided he’d had enough of keeping the boat on the shore. Time to test the depth of the water.

He stabbed his fork into his omelet. “So how long have you two been together?”

Molly slanted Ethan a glance. “We aren’t.”

“Okay, how long have you been having sex then?”

Ethan cut into his French toast, creating neat little triangles he’d lightly doused with syrup. “Last weekend for the sex. Over the summer since I’ve wanted her. Probably last spring actually.”

Molly picked up her cheeseburger with both hands. She’d gone for a burger with her home fries.

Luc had to appreciate a woman who didn’t keep strictly to salads, especially before sex with a new guy. Then again, he appreciated everything he’d learned about Molly so far. Including the fact that she didn’t back down from anyone or any situation.

She was fearless.

“Liar. You barely noticed me last spring.” She nibbled a pickle round sliding out from under the bun. “You were all about Lauren.”

“Lauren?”

Molly bit into her burger and made a sound of enjoyment that had the men exchanging glances. If that was even a fraction of how hot she sounded while she was coming, damn.

“So good.” She set down the sandwich and wiped her chin with her napkin. “Lauren is Ethan’s best friend. He used to be in love with her, but she fell for West. Keyboardist in my band.”

“I know who West is,” Luc said, going back for more of his omelet.

The food was surprisingly good. The veggies nice and fresh. Katie would approve.

“It wasn’t like that,” Ethan said quietly. “I never told her how I felt. Most of the time I tried to deny it myself.”

Luc polished off the rest of his omelet in a few bites. “Self-denial is never good.”

Molly chuckled. “You seem like a guy who doesn’t deny himself much.”

Though that was far from the truth, Luc shrugged. “Why should I?” He stretched an arm along the back of the booth.

They were like a united front on the opposite side. He hadn’t missed them talking and laughing in the car after he’d gotten out either.

But that wasn’t his concern. He wasn’t looking to make new best friends. Molly was hot as fuck and daring and sexy. And Ethan was…

Intriguing. And the fact he couldn’t quite go any further than that even in his own head proved he was a hypocrite when it came to the self-denial thing.

From day one, his image had been crafted as a ladies’ man. The clichéd stereotypical love ‘em and leave ‘em type. Only women. Sure, he could’ve tested the boundaries of that, but he’d been caught up in trying to make Dex happy, in pushing his band’s agenda, in making enough money that his family would never have to worry again about finances. The fact that a part of him had been forced underground—and a mostly unexplored part to boot—didn’t rate highly.

He loved women. Loved fucking them.

But Ethan was another possibility altogether. Luc just didn’t have the faintest clue what to do about it.

Besides, he was probably going to wake up without a job. So what did his image matter now? He could do what the hell he wanted.

And who.

Assuming he had the balls.

“You’re right about that,” Molly agreed, dredging another escaped pickle through a puddle of ketchup. “I have for too long. Time for me to have some fun. My bandmates sure do.”

“It’s my parents’ philosophy for sure.” Ethan picked up his mug of black coffee. “My mother and father gave me the birds and bees talk when I was eight.”

“Holy shit.” Luc leaned forward. “Did you freak?”

“No. Our household was always very open.” Ethan jerked a shoulder. “If you’ve ever seen Meet The Fockers, my mom is the living prototype for Barbra Streisand’s character. She’s been known to give me tantric sex tips. Ones I have not taken, I might add.”

Molly snorted out a laugh. “Oh, God, seriously? I can’t imagine a parent saying that. Then again, mine told me I could use my tits to get anywhere I wanted in life. So same difference, kinda?” She was too busy digging into her burger again to notice Ethan’s sharp glance at Luc.

Luc shifted to stare at the large laminated menu on the wall. Already this was getting too serious.

He didn’t want that. She wasn’t supposed to be someone he wanted to get to know. Neither was Ethan. He didn’t mind enough details to make this not a completely anonymous fuck, but the snacking and sharing bit? Not his deal. He definitely didn’t want to imagine Molly as a beautiful little girl, confused and hurt by a thoughtless mother.

Just as he was pretty sure neither of them wanted to hear about how he and his younger sister had ended up as basically parents when they were practically kids themselves. Oh, their aunt had technically been the parent. She looked good on paper. But when it came to truly giving a shit about the younger kids, that had been up to him and Katie.

Now Katie was handling things alone, and he was providing a good part of the household income. Or he had been.

Next stop—construction site.

“If your mother truly said that to you, then she was a fool and a horrible parent and wrong to boot.” Ethan brushed back her hair and she cut him a surprised glance. “She obviously never heard you sing.”

Carefully, she set down her burger and wiped her hands. “Jazz was the musical one in the family. I kind of just fell into playing guitar and singing. So no, she never really gave me any credence in that arena. And why should she? She had other stuff on her mind.”

“Jazz. She’s your sister?” Luc shook his head slowly. “How did I forget that? She’s a fucking knockout.”

Hurt scrolled across her face and was gone in an instant. Still, the moment was long enough for him to want to carve out his tongue. “She’s also fucking married.”

“Yeah, she is. I’m friends with her husband.” Luc scratched his jaw. “Sort of anyway. We did some songs together, back in the day. He sat in with the band, gave us some material. Talented guy. They have a kid, right?”

“Try two.” Molly reached for her iced water and Luc leaned across the table, snagging her wrist as her gaze shot to his. “Watch it, buddy.”

“You have to know you’re gorgeous too,” he said in an undertone. “You both are.”

“I’ve always been the too.” She shook her wrist free with a thin smile. “Younger sibling’s curse, especially when your older sister is amazing. Everyone loves Jazz. I do too.”

“You’re just jealous of her.”

“I’m not.” Molly slung back half her water. “Why would I be? I’m happy with my life. I’m just glad she’s in it now. I didn’t have her around for a long time.”

Luc could tell Ethan was just dying to ask why not, but he shocked Luc by reaching for his wallet instead. Maybe Luc wasn’t the only one who didn’t want to take this whole thing—whatever the hell it was—in another direction.

Just fucking was all he’d signed up for. Even that was far from wise. Then again, it wasn’t like this opportunity would come around again. Pretty little Bluebird would get his job in his band, and once that happened, he wouldn’t go near her with a flamethrower, no matter how attractive she was. As for Ethan, he didn’t exactly hang out with the professorial type as a rule, and Ethan was Molly’s catch anyway.

Luc fished out the check the waitress had dropped off along with their meals. “Threeway split?” His grin was lascivious.

“I’ve got it.” Ethan plucked it out of his hand. “I invited, I’ll pay.”

“He’s just worried we’ll both be in the unemployment line come tomorrow,” Molly said with a breezy laugh that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Thanks.”

“No, I’m not. You’re both far too talented to be let go.” Ethan pulled out a platinum whatever card and pushed it and the check to the edge of the table. “Did it ever occur to you that maybe they have something else in mind? Something neither of you has considered yet?”

Molly grabbed her purse and paused while sliding out of the booth. “Interesting theory, but it’s much more likely it will just be business as usual.”

“Your business as usual, you mean. You’ll get to stay with your band. I’ll be exiled from mine and they’ll probably search for a new singer.”

“So certain they don’t want me in your testosterone bin, hmm?” Her voice dripped sweetness. “Maybe you’ll be out and I’ll be in.”

“Oh, I’ll be in someplace soon enough, Bluebird. Don’t you worry about that.”

“I’m going to the bathroom,” she said airily, sliding out and winding around the booths until she disappeared down the hall in the back.

Luc watched her go in the mirrors that seemed to be everywhere in the place. Probably to give the feeling of more space.

It wasn’t working on him. He was feeling more hemmed in by the minute.

“You think she’s going to be The Grunge’s new lead singer.”

Luc crossed his arms. “I say one thing, Prof, and you tell me I mean something else. Sounds very collegiate.”

“I told her not to call me Professor because I didn’t want the distance between us. You need it though. You’ve got a forcefield that no one can permeate about ten feet deep around you.”

“Look, if I wanted a shrink, I’d pay for one and skip the analysis from a guy who offered to fuck me.”

“Did I offer to fuck you? I think I’d remember saying that.” Ethan smiled, slow and sure. “But if that’s what you heard…”

Luc locked his jaw and stared hard at the mirror facing the back hallway, practically willing Molly to return. Not because he had issues with this dude—though he did, mainly that he was too fucking smug and too nosy. But this conversation wasn’t pissing him off nearly as much as it made him want to wipe that knowing smirk off Ethan’s face in ways he would never forget.

“We need to make sure she’s all in. For real. She doesn’t shy away from a challenge, but I don’t want her to regret this in the morning.”

Luc said nothing. He couldn’t argue with that point. He might not want to think of Molly as anyone but an adversary at work and a gorgeous chick he wanted to screw, but he wasn’t interested in being someone’s recrimination later on.

Their waitress stopped by their table to grab the check and ask how their meal was. As soon as she left to swipe Ethan’s card, Molly returned, her cherry lip gloss in place and her hair flowing over her shoulders in loose blond waves.

Luc’s dick tightened painfully. Christ. She reminded him of a college coed. Young, fresh. Untainted.

But he didn’t say that. Nor did he make some dirty innuendo intended to knock her off-guard.

“Make sure you really want this,” he said, voice low. “Because once we walk out of here, it’s on.”

She didn’t hesitate to reply. “We both know after tomorrow we’ll probably never want to see each other again, never mind get naked.” She shrugged. “So if we want to burn out some of this…aggression between us, tonight’s the night.” She unzipped her purse and he glimpsed red silk before she pulled it out and tossed it across the table to land beside him on the seat.

Her goddamn panties.

“That answer your question?” she asked sweetly.

“She hassled me about taking her panties,” Ethan said before Luc could speak. “Guess she’s decided she can trust us.”

“Nah. I don’t trust anyone, but I can fake it when need be.” She flashed Ethan a slow smile. “But if you’re feeling left out, you can take my bra this time so you have a matching set. Consider it your gift with purchase.”

Ethan tipped back his head and laughed.

Luc fisted her panties. So tiny and damp. He brought them up to his face, turning his head so he could take a nice long sniff while she watched. While they both did.

“I did that too,” Ethan said.

Ignoring him, he wrapped the panel of silk around his middle finger and flicked his tongue over the obvious wet spot, barely burying his groan. “You’re ready to play.”

“I am.” She angled her chin. “Are you, Moreau?”

The waitress returned and Ethan signed off on the check. He pushed aside the slip and the pen and put his credit card back in his wallet before indicating Molly should slide out of the booth. “My place?” he asked Luc as he followed suit. “I’m a couple blocks from here.”

Luc shrugged. “Whatever.” He slid out and leaned forward to grab a hank of Molly’s golden hair. “That work for you, Bluebird?”

“Sure.” She offered him a wink over her shoulder. “I’m up for anything.”

At the doorway, Ethan moved ahead to push open the door and Luc stepped behind her to tug her hips back against his groin. His hard dick pressed into the giving swells of her ass and she whimpered. “We’ll just see about that.”

Ethan led the way to his Continental, and he slipped inside the driver’s side. Luc yanked open the back door and pushed Molly in, closing the door behind them. He flipped up the center console, though it was still way tighter in the back than he wished. But he would make do.

The second Ethan pulled out of the spot, he pounced.

His mouth came down on hers hard, and he gripped her upper thigh to haul her closer. She gave back as good as she got, thrusting her tongue into his mouth, grabbing a handful of his hair. Her long-ass legs wrapped around his waist and he bent over her on the seat, getting her on her back even if it was more than a little awkward considering the space and the fact that Ethan was taking the corners at approximately seventy miles an hour.

“Goddammit,” he muttered from the front, tilting the rearview mirror all the way down. “You better let me see exactly what you’re doing back there.” He waited a beat. “Or you can tell me.”

“Right now?” Luc slid his hand under her skirt and between her damp thighs, groaning as his fingertips brushed her swollen slit. “I’m touching the hottest, wettest pussy in the freaking universe.”

She fisted her hands in his hair and instead of bringing him to her mouth, pushed him down. All the way down until he was shoving her skirt out of the way to get to the heart of her, to taste what he’d sampled at the table in the diner. Now he’d get to sip from the source.

He stroked his tongue over her, holding her thighs wide open. She was already quivering, her body like the strings of a guitar. Tight and waiting to be plucked.

Streetlights flashed over her face before plunging them into darkness again. The car rocked from side to side as he fought to make enough room to thoroughly eat her out. The sweet smell of her…

Jesus, he was gonna be dead before they made it to Ethan’s.

“Now he’s licking me,” she whispered, the words barely audible.

Luc rubbed his thumb over her tight clit and she bowed up, scrabbling the leather with her nails. Ethan squealed the brakes as he shot into another parking lot, this one covered.

“How? What’s he doing?” Ethan slammed on the brakes as he took a corner, sending the car into a fishtail that didn’t stop Luc from sucking on her swollen flesh.

Goddamn, she was burning up. Her soaked pussy sucked at his tongue as he speared it inside her, thrusting in and out as he cupped her ass and lifted her off the seat. One of her legs wound around his body and the other bounced beneath him, her ragged breaths all he could hear other than the occasional screech of the tires as Ethan searched for a spot.

Up a level. And another. The climb was endless. Beneath him, Molly writhed wildly, her hips incapable of staying still. The taut muscles of her ass flexed in his hands as he squeezed and flicked and sucked.

“Tongue,” she panted, banging her head against the window as she fumbled above her for the oh shit handle. She was sort of half laid out and half propped against the door, and her tits bounced with every jerk of the vehicle. Diamond-hard nipples poked obscenely through her tank and he couldn’t keep from touching. He balanced as much of her generous ass as he could in his palm and grasped her breast with the other hand, thumbing her nipple roughly while he circled her clit over and over with his mouth. “He’s sucking on my pussy. I’m gonna come.”

“Not yet.” Luc turned his head and scraped his teeth over the inside of her thigh, tasting her need there too. He wanted to drown in her.

Shifting her upward on the seat so she was sitting up more—and so Ethan could get a better look with the rearview—he licked his fingers and thrust one inside her. She cried out.

“Pull down your shirt,” he demanded, punctuating each word with the movement of his finger. Then a second finger. Her body clasped him, her swollen flesh greedy. “Show us your pretty tits.”

She fumbled with her tank, pulling it down beneath her bra. She shoved the cups down too and then her breasts sprung free, those rosy tips way too much of a distraction. Still finger-fucking her, he leaned up to capture one between his teeth, smiling around her nipple as Ethan growled in the front seat.

He’d effectively blocked his view. Oops.

The car careened into a space, but Luc wasn’t through. He twisted his fingers inside her, adding another layer of friction and drew her nipple deeper into his mouth. Almost carelessly, he rubbed his calloused thumb over her clit.

And she went off.

Her body shook under his, her chest rising and falling as she struggled to haul in air. Her contractions around him made him curse and rub her clit that much harder, desperate to make them continue.

He just never expected the back door to open and for Ethan to shove him out of the way.

His target wasn’t her pussy or her exposed tits. No, he went for her mouth, kissing her in a way that left her reaching up for him weakly, her nails streaking along his scalp as Luc kept up the pressure between her legs.

“Can’t. Oh, God, not again. We’re outside—”

Ethan lowered his mouth to her other breast, tugging on her nipple again and again with noisy little wet pops of flesh. He reached down between her legs, his broad thumb brushing her clit while Luc kept his fingers pumping in and out. Luc moved down again, swearing at the creak in his knees and the worse one in his neck. Didn’t matter. He licked her over and over, his tongue sliding over her slick skin and Ethan’s knuckles. The other man made a sound between a grunt and a groan, but Luc didn’t stop.

Molly coming again before they got inside was his only goal, and he didn’t have any problem playing dirty to reach his objective.

Ethan moved his hand, lifting it to her lips. She sucked on his thumb, tasting herself openly. Luc swore and undid the button of his jeans, sure he was gonna lose consciousness if he didn’t get some room around his damn dick.

Two fingers became three inside her, and not just to make her come. He had to stretch her to get ready for his cock.

Soon. So fucking soon.

“Shh, baby,” Ethan murmured as she gripped the seat and rose up, crying out. He kissed her gently, cupping her cheek while Luc finished her off.

He sealed his lips around her throbbing clit and sucked. Hard.

Her hips jerked off the seat, again and again, and she poured her cries into Ethan’s desperate kisses. The nails she’d dragged over the leather instead wrought their misery into Luc’s flesh, dragging down his skin until the pain zigzagged like a current straight up his cock.

She pushed his head away, her moans nearly incoherent. Luc leaned back and wiped his mouth, taking his time so both she and Ethan could watch.

She was still shaking.

“I’m so not built for this,” she whispered, and Luc started to laugh.

“Damn straight you are. I already started getting that sweet cunt ready for me.” He stroked himself through his jeans, more than a little pleased at her barely audible gasp.

Yeah, she’d be gasping, all right. And she’d take every inch.

“You’re built for every bit of this.” Ethan tugged up her bra and her tank, adjusting them carefully around the constricting strap of her purse. The movement allowed Luc to see the thick tree trunk highlighted in Ethan’s slacks.

“Built for us,” Ethan added.

Luc swallowed as Ethan’s gaze lingered on him for an extra moment while he fluffed out Molly’s skirt.

She would need to be ready for a lot tonight.

And so would Luc.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

“C’mon, step out. That’s it.”

Normally, Molly would’ve brushed Ethan’s help off. But she was so shaky after those back-to-back orgasms that all she could do was nod weakly and grip his arm as if she were a feeble senior citizen.

Luc stayed close to her other side, offering his own silent form of support. When she wobbled, he shored her up with his giant hand at her elbow, and she didn’t think she was imagining that his fingers were still wet.

God, she’d had absolutely no control back there. She didn’t know if it was the stressful day or how revved up she’d gotten while singing with Luc, but she’d never been quite that excited before.

It wasn’t just about Luc’s obvious talents either. Knowing Ethan was in the front seat, listening and watching every move…

His presence had made everything so much better. Maybe Jules had the right idea, at least when it came to sex.

Two was definitely better than one.

Well, let’s just say this night would be going down as an epic one, no matter what the morning-after looked like. And she’d greet tomorrow’s aftermath at the record company—no matter how it turned out—in much better spirits than if she was all pent-up.

Ethan had them take the service elevator up to his third floor apartment. The second they stepped into the elevator, he passed her purse to Luc, who made her laugh by looping it over his head crossbody style to get it out of the way. He helped her out of her shrug, though she wasn’t entirely sure what his endgame there was—especially when he tossed it up toward the tiny red eye in the corner. The fabric caught on the hook near the camera and then his mouth was on her neck and his hand under her top, reaching up to cup her achy breasts.

“Handy having a prof around,” Luc muttered, doing his part for the cause by reaching around her back to undo her bra. Ethan shifted away for an instant and Luc pulled off both her bra and her tank, dropping her shirt on the rail that wrapped around the car.

She shivered as he passed the scrap of lace to Ethan, who shoved it in his jacket pocket like a badge of honor. Standing half naked in front of two fully dressed, extremely intent men made her skin prickle and her nipples hard. “You know, there’s that Flashdance trick.”

“Through the sleeve? Yeah, can’t see these though if the shirt’s not off. Fucking beautiful.” Luc finally took off her purse, setting it on the floor. He lowered his mouth to one of her breasts while Ethan stayed occupied with the other, his lips skating down her neck to the sensitive area near her collarbone. She shivered again as they both reached under her skirt at the same time, somehow exchanging cues she wasn’t privy to. In tandem, they slid their large, warm hands up her sticky inner thighs, stopping so that the sides of their fingers pressed against her pussy.

She gasped and shut her eyes as the lights became too bright to bear. They still danced behind her closed lids as an already familiar thumb smoothed along her swollen lower lips, and the other reached down, farther and farther, finally skimming that tight spot between her cheeks that was so forbidden.

And felt so goddamn good.

“The car isn’t moving,” she whispered, arching up to her toes, unsure if she should move forward or back. Warm lips sucked on her nipple, while another pair did the same to her neck. Stubble rubbed her there, just as Luc’s stubble had rubbed between her legs and was now brushing against her sore breasts.

“Wet back here too,” Ethan murmured into her ear, slipping his finger that much deeper into her ass. She moaned. “Luc made a beautiful mess of you. Probably got my backseat all wet too.” His teeth closed around her earlobe. “Or did he lick you here too?”

“Not yet, but I’m fucking going to.” Luc knelt before her, lifting her skirt. “Christ, your pussy’s such a pretty red for us. It’s like Christmas.”

She gasped out a laugh, amazed that she could. Sex wasn’t funny. It was serious business, and she was a serious career woman at all times who rarely allowed herself to think of anything but work.

That was how she was now. The wild girl she’d once been was locked safely away.

Or it had been before Ethan had found the combination to set her free, and Luc had completed her transformation.

She wasn’t just wild and wanton anymore. She was a calculating career woman too. But that other forgotten side needed desperately to be acknowledged.

With these two men if with no one else. Tonight if at no other time.

There was a freedom in living just for the moment, without a thought for the repercussions. One she hadn’t enjoyed for far too long.

Glancing between the two men who surrounded her, making her feel more wanted than she had in…well, forever, she could tell they were just as wrapped up in this moment. Just as determined to see it through without worrying about what might come after.

Because there was no after. There was only this.

Luc dragged his tongue over her, using his fingers to gather more of her wetness. She whimpered, gripping the rail at her back. Ethan dragged her skirt out of the way so he could see every movement. Slowly, Luc climbed higher, flicking her clit and her lower belly a few times before he straightened and cupped both her breasts in his big hands, bending his head to give them some attention. Then he slipped behind her, pulling her against him and framing her pussy with two fingers as if he was giving Ethan a target to aim for.

Wordlessly, Ethan kneeled before her, kissing her softly between her legs in a way that was exactly the opposite of Luc’s rough ministrations. As if he knew she was too sensitive for that now, he kept the pace tender, his lips rousing her patiently while her hips rocked of their own volition.

Behind her, Luc reached down to grip her ass in his other hand, and she soon realized his intent. His damp finger circled where Ethan had touched before they’d switched positions and he set his chin on her shoulder. “You up for this too, Bluebird?”

She let out a shuddering breath. “It’s been a long time. And never with two. Never with…” She stared down at Ethan, his hands holding her open as he worshipped her. “Never anything like this.”

“Is that a no or a yes?”

“A conditional maybe.” She sucked in air and glanced over her shoulder. “I haven’t seen what you’re working with yet, now have I?”

“You just had to ask.” He gave her ass a teasing smack and stepped to the side, undoing his zipper and lowering it halfway. It was enough for her to see how he tented the black boxer briefs, and she swallowed, tossing a quick glance at Ethan.

He was watching as well, even as he sipped from her pussy.

“So conditional maybe still stands,” she said shakily.

Ethan chuckled and rose, slipping his hand through her hair to cup the back of her head. He kissed her gently, letting her taste herself before he went deeper. Tilting her head so he could get more, he devoured her mouth with none of the carefulness he’d just shown her sensitive flesh, drawing her tongue into his mouth with hard, insistent pulls.

Panting, he eased back and dropped his forehead to hers. “Shouldn’t have started this here. Can’t fucking walk.”

“Want me to carry you?” Luc asked, arching a brow.

With his size, Molly wasn’t sure he was kidding. Not that she was certain how he could walk with that hard-on from hell either.

Molly giggled even if Ethan didn’t. “We can make it.” She leaned forward to lick Ethan’s bottom lip. “I’ll help you.” She slid a glance at Luc. “We’ll help each other.”

Ethan backed up and hit some button on the panel. The car rose creakily. She turned, intending to pull her tank back on, but Ethan was already there to do the honors. He tugged it over her head before motioning for their super huge companion to get down her shrug from over the camera lens.

He didn’t even have to stretch. Goddamn, he was huge. And that was saying something since Ethan had some height himself.

And girth. And length.

God, her conditional maybe was about to be a yes, if she lived through it. Both of those big cocks inside her, at the same time…

She’d clearly lost her sanity. Or found it.

Luc helped her back into her shrug and Ethan grabbed her purse, looping it over her arm. She smiled. They were taking care of her.

She hadn’t expected it, but it was sweet. She wasn’t in any hurry to go back to their griping and posturing.

Hers either. This just felt…nice. And hot.

So freaking hot.

The doors opened on Ethan’s floor and he walked ahead of them to a door at the end of the hall. He unlocked the door and they followed him inside, the silence between them heavier than it had been even when they’d left the diner.

Now they knew what this could be.

Once inside, Ethan turned on a light in the galley-style kitchen. “This way.”

They trailed him down a long hallway. Luc’s hand on her hip steered her, a comforting weight. At the bedroom at the other end of the hall, they came to a halt. Again, Ethan didn’t turn on any lights. He didn’t need to. Moonlight poured in through the floor-to-ceiling windows, illuminating a huge lake-size bed and an interesting curved bench at the end. Almost sleigh-style. Her breath caught as Luc yanked her skirt down her legs. With that eerie synchronicity, Ethan set aside her purse and tugged off her shrug and tank.

Luc crowded her from behind, reaching around her to rub her pussy. He wasted no time in going between her cheeks again, slipping his lubed finger inside. She gasped and linked her arm around his neck, unintentionally stretching upward.

Ethan stared at her, his chest visibly rising and falling in the moonlight. He took off his long, dark coat before removing his jacket and tie. Each piece he set aside on the chair nearest the window, his movements methodical. The room was as neat as a pin. Every item in its place.

She and Luc were going to mess up his whole frigging world.

He undid his shirt, revealing his ripped abs without fanfare. He shed the shirt quickly, then followed suit with his shoes, belt, and pants. Though she’d seen him undress at least partially before, everything was all new.

One thing wasn’t—the quiver low in her belly when he peeled off his boxers, allowing his thick, hard cock to spring against his abs. She dug her nails into the back of Luc’s neck and absorbed how he stiffened, his rock-hard dick jutting more insistently against her backside.

Unintentionally driving his exploring finger that much deeper.

She gasped, rising up even higher, but she didn’t breathe when Ethan opened and closed a drawer in the nightstand. He came closer, in no hurry, the item he’d retrieved already between his teeth. He ripped open the packet and unrolled the condom over his stiff cock before neatly placing the wrapper on the TV stand. That would’ve made her smile if every part of her wasn’t tuned to watching him approach, his erection pointing straight at her.

He gripped her thigh and lifted it, placing her foot on the bench. And then he lined up his cock with her pussy, wasting no time in driving upward in one long thrust.

She cried out, her grip on Luc’s neck turning feral. His finger only plunged deeper, and he quickly found a rhythm with Ethan. Every time he’d enter, Luc would retreat. Until it seemed like all they were doing was entering, her already battered body caught between two opposing forces.

Her nipples dragged against Ethan’s chest and he grabbed hold of her waist, powering into her again and again. Her body’s noises were obscene. Her arousal ran down her thighs, and she couldn’t be embarrassed. She’d never imagined anything this decadent and lewd.

Obviously her fantasies were sorely lacking, because…damn.

“Need some lube,” Luc muttered.

“Nightstand drawer,” Ethan said, his voice barely restrained. “More…condoms there too.”

Luc tried to move back but she gripped him tighter, making him chuckle. Didn’t he get that she’d fall if he moved? It was only his solidness behind her that gave her the strength to keep standing. She’d already come twice tonight, and was so close again.

“Be right back,” he said against her ear.

The instant he let her go, Ethan was there, pulling her against him more firmly so he could drive into her again and again. She clutched his shoulders and fused her mouth to his, barely capable of remaining on one leg. The position was incredible, his depth making her feel so goddamn full, but her knees were shaking so hard that all she could do was try to hold on.

She dipped her head to his shoulder as he dug his fingers into her ass and through slitted eyes, she saw Luc reach behind himself to haul his shirt over his head. He had to yank his long blond hair free, and it hung down his back, glistening in the moonlight. A slight shift of his body and his abs came into view. And his huge dick as he peeled off his jeans and boxer-briefs and kicked off his boots.

Holy shit.

“He’s getting naked, isn’t he?” Ethan panted in her ear. “Your tight little cunt is squeezing me so good.”

She whimpered, unable to say more as Luc withdrew a condom and rolled it on. Just watching him made her contract around Ethan, and he chuckled, reaching down to caress her breast.

“Keep doing that. Keep watching him while he gets ready for you.”

She couldn’t look away. Couldn’t stop riding Ethan, her nails slicing half-moons into him as she arched up on the balls of her feet—even the one on the bench—and moved into his strokes. He grabbed hold of her ass and hoisted her higher on his dick, taking more of her weight, and she moaned, her lids lowering until she could barely see Luc coming closer. Huge and threatening in the near-dark with his length jutting in front of him.

He walked around them and she could tell he was straddling the bench. Ethan drew her backward, gently nudging her down until she straddled the bench too. With that wordless communication thing he and Luc already had going, he helped her shimmy back toward Luc, who picked her up and deposited her on his lap—and his cock—without hesitation.

The sound she made was barely human.

Ethan placed one knee on the bench and brushed her tangled hair out of her face, his gaze focused between her legs. She glanced down too, the low light enough for her to see her rosy red flesh spreading to take Luc inside. He hadn’t moved yet, and thank God for that. Even with her multiple Os and Ethan warming her up, she needed a minute.

Maybe five.

Ethan reached down to rub her clit and she sought his mouth, kissing him with a hunger she’d never known before. Just that heavy pulse inside her was enough to make her crazy. When he started to move…

She was going to be a dead woman.

Ethan moved back as Luc spread her legs and gently nudged her down on her belly on the padded bench. Even the slight flex of his cock inside her was enough to make her bite her lip. Ethan stroked her hair, brushing it out of the way, moving it away from her cheeks. Then he pulled off the condom, disposing of it in a tissue. She gazed up at him as he rubbed the damp head of his length over her mouth. At the same time, Luc braced a hand on her lower back, the weight of his palm enough to skim her nipples over the satiny fabric.

“Good?” he asked in a guttural voice she barely recognized.

“Yes. So good.” She opened her mouth for Ethan, and as if it was a dance they’d performed many times, he slid inside. All the way in.

Luc drew back, his swollen length dragging over her sensitive flesh. He drove in again, so deep she choked on Ethan’s cock. Both men slowed for a second, but only that. Ethan knotted his fingers in her messy hair and tipped back her head, pulling back and sinking in again with a groan just as Luc did the same. His hand stayed on her lower back, holding her down every time she tried to buck against him. She grew impatient, jerking away and then backward, sliding as far onto his shaft as she could, gasps bursting from her around the thick shaft in her throat.

“Wanna ride me, baby doll? Is that what you want?”

Without warning, Luc slipped his big arm beneath her and tugged her up on his lap again. He lifted her up and down on his huge thighs, his massive erection stuffed deep. Her head dropped back, her already abused lips parting on a whimper.

God, he was throbbing. She swore she could feel every vein rubbing against her inner walls.

Ethan stroked his damp, aroused length from root to tip as he came closer. He shocked the hell out of her by climbing up on the damn bench and pressing the ruddy head of his dick against her lips.

“Not done yet, love,” he breathed, and she nodded.

Not even close.

She took him in eagerly, reaching around him to grab his ass cheeks. Using them for support as she sucked him in and out. In and out while he panted and Luc groaned into her hair, still rocking her up and down on his cock.

The curl of desire inside her started way down low, the pressure building slowly, impossibly. She fought it as long as she could, focusing on the hard flesh in her mouth, the equally hard flesh in her pussy. Squeezing them both in time as she gave them back just as good as she was getting. She soaked Ethan with her mouth, making a mess, using the liquid to lubricate her short, swift movements at the base of his erection. She braced her feet on the floor, for once appreciating every inch of her height. It allowed her to rise up, making Luc growl and grip her waist to slam her back down.

“Not getting away so soon.” He bit her shoulder and her teeth reflexively scraped Ethan. She would’ve murmured an apology, but he’d dropped back his head with a sound of pure arousal. Combined with the steady trickle of pre-cum in her throat, she knew he wasn’t going to last much longer.

Neither was she.

Reading her mind, Luc reached around her to circle her clit with two fingers. He licked the side of her neck, his stubble leaving a scalding path. His long hair fell forward to tickle her nipples and she moaned around Ethan, absolutely swamped with sensation. She’d never been so surrounded before. So utterly full.

“Enough.” Ethan fisted a handful of her hair and moved her back. She stared up at him, wanting him to finish on her tongue. He’d been so close. But he shook his head minutely and climbed down, circling the bed again to return to the nightstand. The sound of a box being opened made her shut her eyes, since Luc hadn’t paused in his lifting and lowering her on his erection, his low grunts echoing in her ear.

“Think he wants a ride too, Bluebird,” Luc panted, and she reached up behind her to cover his mouth, making him chuckle as he nipped her palm.

Still never ceasing his thrusts. She didn’t think anything could make him stop.

He took hold of her legs, switching her position until he held them tightly together slightly suspended over the bench. Her bottom pressed into his lap and she swallowed a moan at the friction of the new position. Sweet hell, he moved her as if she was as light as a posable doll. Twisting and turning her to whatever position he desired.

Then he took it up another notch, rising to his feet without pulling out of her or dropping her. She cried out, caught between an orgasm and a heart attack. What was he doing? He bounced her up and down on his cock, somehow shifting so that her long legs were draped over his muscular arms.

Ethan returned to them slowly, watching every bit of the action between her thighs. From the reflection in the glass, he could see everything. Luc’s big shaft separating her reddened folds, splitting them lewdly, sliding out before disappearing again. Each time he retreated, he was wetter than the last. The sounds of them moving together…

So fucking dirty. So hot.

“Coming,” she gasped, and it wasn’t so much to warn him as to try to center herself in the middle of so much. Her pussy spasmed and she moaned, frantically scratching Luc’s upper arms in an effort to hold on.

“Goddamn, yes. Soak me. You hear that?” He slammed into her again and again and she couldn’t do anything but cry out and take it, her body twisting again and again on itself. Victor and enemy both. She couldn’t catch her breath, couldn’t blink the sweat from her eyes so she could see.

All she could do was feel.

In the midst of that, he moved. She tried to maintain her hold on him but she needn’t have bothered. His grip on her was rock-solid.

He turned toward the bed and finally, finally withdrew from her aching pussy. Not to give her a respite, and she didn’t want one anyway. As soon as she was empty, her walls clenched air, desperate again to be filled.

She needed more. Like a junkie. An addict.

God, more.

“Take a breath,” he advised, and then she tumbled to the bed with his heavy, hard body following suit. The glorious weight of him pressed her down, holding her in place. She flailed, momentarily frightened. Then he smacked her ass, one quick pop, and she fell still.

It was okay. She was okay. More than.

She buried her face in cool, fresh pillows that smelled of salty water. The ocean. Ethan. The contrast with the rich pine scent of the man on top of her was startling. And smelling them both combined on her skin…

“Up with you,” Luc said in her ear, shifting onto his back and rolling her on top of him. She blew her wild hair out of her face, grateful to be able to get some air in her lungs—and then he moved. As if they’d done this for years instead of minutes, he tugged her upward and parted her damp thighs, bringing his knees up so she had a place to rest while he pressed inside.

So damn deep.

She reached behind her for purchase, needing the support of Luc’s legs for those first few renewed thrusts. After a moment, he lowered them and she fell forward. Another kind of dance. Another kind of known movement. It shouldn’t be this easy.

Of course three orgasms in, she wasn’t feeling any pain. But when Ethan shifted onto the bed behind her, she suspected that was going to change.

Not yet though. Now was for Ethan caressing her back and breasts as she rode Luc, his mouth warm and soft on her neck. His stubble rough and exciting. He pinched her nipples and she squeezed Luc, making him curse.

“Hot fucking girl,” he said, and she’d never felt more delighted with herself.

With them.

“Beautiful woman,” Ethan corrected, and she smiled at him over her shoulder, tightening around Luc again and again while Ethan showed his appreciation for her body. With every touch, he proved how much he wanted her. The skim of his hand down her side, the squeeze of his palm around her breast.

The flick of his fingers over her clit while she rode Luc, and then the all too quick, super hot slide of his hand over Luc’s shaft as it burrowed into her again and again.

They both groaned.

“Lick me,” she whispered to Ethan, throwing him a glance over her shoulder. She didn’t stop bouncing on Luc. Now she was the one caught in motion, driven to continue.

To make both of these sexy as hell men come. In her. All over her.

Ethan didn’t balk. Nor did he ask her to elaborate. He understood quite well what she meant, and how.

He rolled on to his stomach, casting a quick glance at Luc before smoothing a kiss over her thigh. He traced the ink on her ribs, ribbons of music notes tangled with roses and thorns. He kissed her there too, traveling upward to clasp the tip of her breast between his teeth. His palm coasted down her belly, almost to her landing strip but not quite. Hovering there while she grazed her nails down Luc’s drum-tight abs and took him in over and over, the motion instinctual now. Even the slight burn from his size no longer registered. He filled her just right.

Luc made a noise in his throat when Ethan lowered his head to lick the top of her mound, but he sure as hell didn’t stop. If anything, he fucked her harder. Powering into her so far that her thighs shook and her nails left welts. She bit her lip to smother her scream. Then Ethan slipped a finger between her lower lips, exposing her pulsing clit. Eyes on hers, he licked her, turning his head so his cheek brushed Luc’s dick.

Luc growled and she whimpered, so close again that she didn’t have any shame left. She wound her fingers into Ethan’s dark curls and dragged him into the heart of her—the heart of them, and he responded.

Oh, God, did he respond.

His tongue arrowed farther down, brushing over Luc as he withdrew. Sweeping over them both as Luc grasped her hips and filled her again, his strokes fast and frenetic. Ethan’s erotic kisses were the counterpoint to their brutal fucking. Warm, slow, wet.

So wet, and she’d thought she couldn’t get any more so. But Ethan was helping nicely.

She scraped her nails over Ethan’s scalp, turning his head away from her oversensitized clit for just an instant. And watched as his tongue covered Luc’s shaft, bathing him in all the wetness from his carnal kisses. Dripping it over him.

So fucking dirty and hot.

She sucked in a breath and tipped back her head, her last shred of control slipping. She’d never seen anything half as sexy as Ethan tongue fucking them both. And if he actually took Luc in his mouth like she’d taken Ethan…

“God, coming again,” she breathed, unable to summon more of her voice. Her entire being was focused on the sharp tugs in her belly, on the endless ripples in her core.

She couldn’t stop coming. Couldn’t find the strength to drag Ethan’s eager mouth away from her pussy.

From Luc’s greedy cock.

The orgasm spun out until her vision wavered and her hearing dimmed. Ethan moved away and she knew Luc said something, but she wasn’t able to process it.

Must rest now. Must collapse. Call 9-1-1.

She slumped on Luc’s chest, her body soaked with sweat and still quaking.

But Ethan wasn’t through.

“You up for a little more?” Luc asked against the top of her head, and all she could wonder was how he and Ethan hadn’t come yet.

She’d come enough for them both twice over.

Still, she found the energy to nod. Weakly. And whimper as Ethan rubbed fingers cool with lube over the pucker between her cheeks before gently thrusting one inside.

Dear Lord, this was really happening. She was going to take two men inside her.

Two big men who still hadn’t come and it had been what felt like hours.

Lifetimes.

She rolled her hips, making Luc grunt. She wanted their dicks inside her. Both of them. If being filled felt this amazing with one, imagining them both buried in her was almost too much.

“Are you sure?” Ethan questioned quietly, and she fumbled along the mattress for his hand. He reached forward and squeezed her fingers, an inexorable link.

“I’m sure.” She exhaled. “So sure, even if I can’t walk tomorrow.”

Luc’s laughter rumbled through her chest. “You won’t be the only one. Holy marathon fuck.”

Her lips curved and she brushed a kiss over his throat, then higher over his stubble. Eyes still closed and hand still held by Ethan, she covered Luc’s mouth with hers.

Luc’s chest rumbled again but he wasn’t laughing now. His cock was growing even thicker inside her, and she didn’t know if that was from her sleepy, sated kiss or Ethan’s finger slowly inching deeper into her ass. Maybe both.

Ethan finally released her hand and cupped her ass, nudging her lubed hole with the tip of his erection. “I’ll go as slow as I can.”

She turned away from Luc’s mouth, surprisingly moved when he kissed her cheek. Not to seduce, but to comfort. “I can handle it.”

“Hell yeah, you can.” Luc reached up to comb her crazy hair away from her face, his gaze colliding with hers. “You can take anything we dish out and give it right back.”

His praise warmed her enough that she didn’t brace. When Ethan slid inside her, he went deep on the first pass. Slow, but complete. This was no half-measure. She’d said she could take them—that she wanted to—so they were giving all of themselves in return.

She breathed deep, focusing on staying relaxed. On enjoying the feeling of being absolutely stuffed. God, so good. The pain was negligible. Just a little sting.

Then Ethan pulled out and she whimpered, biting down on Luc’s jaw.

“Easy,” he muttered to Ethan, who rubbed her spine in apology.

“Sorry. It does what it wants sometimes.”

She had to laugh, though it mostly came out as a wheeze.

“Let’s try that again,” Ethan said, squirting more lube along the crack of her ass. Saturating her and his cock.

This time, when he pushed forward, pain didn’t have a chance to take root. There was too much goddamn pleasure.

The drag of his thick flesh over all those nerve endings…

God, she was shaking like an addict. So much that Luc’s big arms came up to cradle her, and he covered her head with his palm, nudging it tenderly to his chest while he fucked her. Slow and easy, barely stroking into her at all. Allowing her to get used to Ethan’s length as well.

The rightness of the moment blurred tears into her eyes, and she didn’t know why. Too many orgasms? Too much sex?

Just too much of them, period?

Then Ethan was withdrawing and entering her again, yanking her backward so that she was almost squatting over Luc. Luc leaned up, framing her cheek in his hand as he pumped upward into her, his lips parting as her body made those obscenely carnal, wet, filthy sounds she loved so much.

As the scent of their lovemaking filled the air.

“Hey,” Luc said softly, and she blinked, horrified he might’ve seen the sheen in her eyes. She couldn’t explain it, and she damn well didn’t want to talk about it.

Ever.

“Fuck me harder.” When her voice came out thin and thready, she cleared her throat and tried again. “Fuck me harder, dammit.” She bucked her ass back toward Ethan and both men groaned. “Deeper, harder, faster. I’m not fragile.”

“No, you damn well aren’t.” Ethan snaked his arm around her waist and he ground the heel of his hand against her clit, nearly sending her over again. “You feel so fucking amazing.”

Her eyes blinked open as Luc rose up, plastering his chest to hers while he stroked into her, his movements synced perfectly with Ethan. Invade, retreat. How could they all match up so naturally?

This was only the first time.

The last time.

She swallowed hard, rocking harder, gripping them with her inner muscles. She wrapped Luc’s long hair around her hand and clasped Ethan’s tensed forearm with the other, moving with them in a way that defied thought. It was instinctual. Rhythmic.

A kind of music she’d never heard before but already could sing every freaking note.

“Lean back a little,” Ethan said, and when she did, he was there. Wrapping around her from behind just as Luc covered her front. Both of them rocking into her and away, kissing and touching every part of her they could reach.

She shifted her head to the side, giving them the chance if they wanted to take it. Ethan’s head wasn’t far from Luc’s, and if they both just shifted a fraction…

But Luc dug his fingers into her waist, his features etched with strain. And Ethan groaned and buried his face in her hair, picking up his speed as Luc subtly changed the angle, hitting whole new spots inside her when she’d been sure there was no uncharted territory left.

“Gonna come,” Luc groaned, and she nodded frantically, working him with her pussy, jerking up and down on him so that her tits bounced in his face. He turned his head and sucked on her breast, his teeth leaving marks she knew she would cherish.

Frigging battle scars. She’d earned them.

Luc shut his eyes tight, lines popping out on his forehead. Dammit, she couldn’t quite get him there. So close.

She almost missed Ethan’s hand moving down from her clit to squeeze the base of Luc’s dick. She almost warned him—hey, now’s not the time for prolonging—but evidently he knew his kind’s equipment better than she did because Luc’s green eyes popped open and he shouted as his dick started to pump.

“Fuck, yeah. Yeah. Take it. Every bit.” He fisted her hair and brought her mouth to his, kissing her so roughly that his teeth cut her lip. But she didn’t care. He was finally coming—so hard—and Ethan was right behind him, thrusting into her ass as he brushed careless, hungry kisses over her shoulder and whispered words of praise.

Over and over again, one word.

“Beautiful.”

She reached back to touch Ethan, rubbing his hip. Tightening again and again, fighting her own impending orgasm to finally give him his.

“Ladies first,” he whispered, and she choked out a laugh as her body betrayed her wishes. She moaned against Luc’s mouth, dropping her forehead to his as her battered system went wild one more time.

The final time.

Ethan’s shout followed right after, the echo of it a syrupy beat in her blood as he drained himself into the condom.

As one, they sagged to the mattress. A sweaty, sleepy mess.

She was thoroughly sandwiched by men.

“Hot turkey,” she mumbled, and they all laughed, though she didn’t know if they understood what she meant. It didn’t matter.

Fatigue chased the joy inside her. She could stay just like this forever.

Filled.

Satiated.

Surrounded.

Eventually, they shifted her out of the way so they could take care of the condoms. But they came back and curled around her as if they intended to guard her in her sleep, one in front, one in back.

“Jules is on to something,” she said, the words ending in a yawn.

“Rest,” Ethan said against her ear, and she nodded, gripping a handful of Luc’s silky long hair. Her other hand was on Ethan’s hip.

Touching both of them felt right, as did closing her eyes and letting the darkness take her.

CHAPTER TWELVE

The low drone of the alarm made Ethan groan and throw an arm over his head. No. It simply could not be morning yet. His body was in full-on rebellion. He ached in places he couldn’t even identify, and a vague headache was brewing in his temples.

So much for morning after glow.

Yet his run wouldn’t wait. Plus, he had two people to make breakfast for—

He turned his head and opened one eye. Long blond hair cascaded over his pillows, but it was wavy, not stick straight.

Make that one. Only Molly remained.

Ethan swallowed hard, relieved that she’d stayed. He’d half expected to wake up alone. But she was still here.

Still sound asleep and softly snoring, which made him grin and want to wake her up, just so he could see those drowsy blue eyes slowly take in the day. She was still gloriously naked, and one pale breast peeked over the sheet draped over her body. It was surprising neither of them had awakened when Luc had split, but they’d been exhausted.

As Luc should’ve been.

Ethan frowned and dragged a hand over his face. Luc must’ve called for an Uber or something. Knowing it would be a fruitless exercise, Ethan glanced at the nightstand. No note. Shocker.

Luc had crept out like a damn thief.

Ethan glanced at Molly again and sucked in a breath. Luc taking off on him was one thing, but he didn’t appreciate him doing it to Molly too. She wasn’t the type to fret and overanalyze, which was a good thing. Still, the whole ditching them routine took a great night and slotted it into something sordid.

Or it would have if Ethan was that easily dissuaded. Or slotted. Molly had learned the error of that with him, and Luc would as well.

One night had seemed like a good idea before. Now? It had barely ripped the lid off what they could be.

At least as far as Ethan was concerned. He doubted the two rockstars he’d hooked up with would easily join him on the path to more orgasms. Fucking amazing orgasms.

So he’d just have to work them around to seeing his point of view. He’d managed it with Molly, and she was a tough nut to crack. He’d do the same with Luc.

One way or another.

Ethan swung his legs over the side of the bed carefully, not wanting to wake her. She needed her rest, and he needed a run. His muscles were tensed and knotted and he craved the morning air pumping in and out of his lungs. His head was too full and nothing would clear it like his morning routine.

Hopefully, Molly would still be there when he got back. But if she wasn’t, he would deal. He’d run before too. In time, all paths circled back to what was meant. That was one of the reasons he so loved mythology. Fate wasn’t just a word reserved for pop songs in his world.

He headed into the bathroom and splashed some water on his face after taking care of business. Then he grabbed a pair of shorts and a T-shirt and dressed as swiftly as possible. His prescribed route took about forty-five minutes most mornings, but he’d cut it in half today. The last thing he wanted was for her to wake alone.

Maybe that was Luc Moreau’s MO, but it would never be his.

He crossed to the pad of paper on the nightstand, kept there for his late night scribblings. Sometimes he’d get an idea for workshop exercises, or for the books he was required to write every year as a faculty member. The topics were usually so dry that only his most devoted students purchased copies, but he enjoyed the research and theory nonetheless.

Shaking his head at himself, he wrote a quick note and tore off the page, leaving it on the pillow beside her.

It would have to do.

He headed out of his apartment and said hello to his fellow early risers and dog walkers as he did every morning. He’d taken this exact path thousands of times. Down the hall to the elevator, press for the lobby. Exchange pleasantries with the security guard, Thelma, about the weather and the stock market and the latest news. Then he’d check the stocks on his phone before he began his run, because she always alerted him to the latest trend in the market.

More saying hello to his neighbors, flirting with some and laughing with others. Then he hit the pavement, jogging until he could flat out run as if the hounds of hell were chasing him. It probably wasn’t the best way to exercise. He didn’t care. He ran for his head as much as his heart, and sometimes the only way to exorcise the voices inside him was to run them to ground.

That morning, he couldn’t run fast enough. The burn in his muscles and stitch in his breathing wasn’t enough to vanquish the static in his mind. But over all of it came one thought louder than the rest.

He’d fucked up.

What had happened last night had spiraled into something he’d never expected. He didn’t know what to classify it as yet, nor did he want to waste time trying. All he knew was that one night wasn’t enough. Not for him. Not for Molly.

And not for Luc, even if he wouldn’t admit it.

Depending on what happened today at Ripper Records, Molly and Luc might never want to be in a room together again. Ethan had no desire to be a go-between or a mediator. So they were all fucked, because they’d fucked and it had been incredible.

As he rounded the block for home, his cell buzzed at his hip. He dragged it out and smiled at Lauren’s text.

Lauren: Hey you. Can’t remember your sched. Early class today?

Ethan replied quickly.

Ethan: Nope, light morning. What’s up?

Lauren: Nada. West had to scoot out for some big meeting at Ripper. Defcon 20 alert or something.

Normally, her eyeroll emoji would’ve made him laugh, but not when Molly was upstairs sound asleep and likely missing any calls to the studio.

Calls that Luc had probably gotten and reported for.

Ethan wiped sweat off his neck and typed fast.

Ethan: What’s up? Do you know what’s going on?

Lauren: No, just that Lila used a lot of shouty caps in her text with West, and he used a lot of shouty caps back. We were, um, engaged when she whistled for all her puppies to report.

Now he did laugh, because he could hear Lauren’s snarky voice in his head. But behind the laughter, he was already plotting what kind of breakfast he could shove in Molly’s hand so she didn’t walk into a meeting without fuel. His programmed coffee was already waiting, so she’d have that if she liked the stuff. He’d have to shove a banana and a muffin in her hand to go.

So much for making her breakfast and enjoying a semi-leisurely morning before she ran off and pretended she didn’t know him.

Ethan: Okay, thanks. Listen, if you hear anything, can you give me a heads-up? It’s important.

Lauren: Sure, but why?

Ethan tipped back his head and shut his eyes against the sun. It shouldn’t be weird for him to talk about sleeping with one of West’s bandmates. He and Lauren weren’t a thing, would never be a thing. He was over her.

It was still weird.

Ethan: Molly’s here, and she’s still asleep. I don’t want her to get in trouble. If I could give her a warning about what she’s walking into, it would help.

Though, realistically, what she was walking into was likely of her own making. At the diner, before their food had arrived, she’d briefly filled Ethan in on what had happened. Extremely briefly. She’d left out lots of details, but Ethan had been able to surmise that what had gone down with her and Luc in their little sing-off had largely been instigated by Molly. She hadn’t intended for the day to go that way, of course, but actions often had unintended consequences.

Case in point, that he was drenched in sweat and hurriedly texting his best friend for info when he should’ve been in a cold shower.

Lauren’s reply came slower than he expected.

Lauren: Huh. Really?

Since he couldn’t interpret that, he tried again.

Ethan: Yeah. Not the first night either. Problem?

Her response was much faster this time.

Lauren: Not for me. Just that she doesn’t sleep with anyone. She’s, like, fortress pussy. You must have mad skills. But don’t tell me about them. Please.

He grinned and shot back another text.

Ethan: It’s not a thing. For her anyway. I’m not sure what it is for me. But there’s more to it.

He exhaled and wondered how much he could not tell her without lying and without setting off her indefatigable possible gossip alarm.

Ethan: Can’t talk about it yet, but if it becomes something, I will. Okay?

Lauren: Sure. I never press.

He snorted out a laugh.

Ethan: Sure, honey.

Lauren: West just texted. Everyone’s there but Molly and Mal, and Mal is on the way. You might want to wake her up stat.

Ethan was already on the move. He weaved around the residents in his building’s lobby and aimed straight for the elevator. Once he reached his floor, he rushed down the hall and unlocked his door, stepping inside to the sound of the shower.

He shut his eyes and sucked in a quick hit of oxygen.

Molly in his shower.

Molly naked.

Molly wet. All over.

If it had been any other morning, he would’ve joined her. Hell, he would’ve found ways to keep her there for a while.

But this wasn’t any other morning. And he didn’t want her at any more of a disadvantage than she already was.

Another text came through and he lifted his phone.

Lauren: You know a guy named Luc Moreau? West said he’s at the Warning Sign meeting. Can’t figure it out.

Ethan frowned. It made sense Lila would want to talk to both of them, but if Luc was getting fired from his band, why would he be sitting in on what promised to be a challenging meeting for Warning Sign, to say the least?

Ethan: I know Luc. Some stuff went down yesterday. Tell West to keep an open mind. Maybe he can, I don’t know, help his bandmates go easy on Molly? There’s more to the story.

More than Ethan himself knew, but he was good at reading people. Molly loved her band. She wouldn’t have done something as rash as auditioning for another unless she had good reason—or someone had seriously jumped on her nerves. Maybe both. That didn’t mean he wanted her to have to face the fire from her band for her impulsive decision alone. They’d have to be pissed that it seemed like she’d chosen to defect.

He swore and shoved his damp hair out of his eyes. Fuck, he didn’t want her going in there to deal with all of them without someone having her back.

Luc sure as fuck wouldn’t. Ethan was willing to bet the only back Luc would be watching out for today was his own.

Even if that ended up somehow putting a target on hers.

Lauren: What are you even talking about? What story? How do you know the band skinny when West doesn’t?

Ethan: I was in the right place. Look, give me West’s number.

If he was officially overstepping his bounds, might as well go all the way. Didn’t make much sense for her to never speak to him again if he didn’t give her a damn good reason.

He was a giver.

Lauren: You want West’s number? So you can go to bat for Molly?

Ethan pinched the bridge of his nose between two fingers. His best friend seemed frivolous, but she could be a locked vault when she wanted to be.

And of course she wanted to be when Molly was shutting off the water down the hall and he had zero time.

Ethan: Yes. Just give it to me, Lo. It’s important.

As soon as the number came through, he thanked her and told her he’d talk to her later. Then he texted West.

Ethan: Hey man, Ethan here. No time to explain, but try to give Molly a break today, okay? There’s going to be shit flying in all directions, but if you could smooth the way with the other band members, that’d be great.

West replied right away.

West: Ethan? Lo’s Ethan?

Ethan rolled his eyes.

Ethan: Yes. Just hear Molly out. There’s more to it.

He stopped typing as bubbles filled the screen.

West: Lo’s texting me too. She said you’re with Molly? Naked with Molly? Damn, son. She’s impenetrable.

Ethan: Yes, fortress pussy, so I’ve heard. Not important right now. I’m asking you to give her a chance to explain. Maybe to help your bandmates not jump on her right away.

“Ethan?” Molly called down the hall. “Is that you?”

“It’s me.” Ethan tossed aside his phone without waiting for West’s response. He’d asked. He wasn’t going to keep repeating the same request, especially when he didn’t have a clue if West was tuned in enough to pay attention beyond Ethan’s invasion skills.

He skirted the counter and stepped into the hall just as Molly was walking toward him, one of his towels slung askance around her still-wet body while she dried her long ropes of hair with another. The cotton she’d wrapped around herself slipped precariously, revealing more of her full breast, and he swallowed hard.

His dick didn’t care about band meetings. Too bad his bigger head couldn’t be so easily swayed.

“Everyone’s at Ripper,” he said without preamble. “Including Luc.”

Her eyes flashed in the dim light, conveying her thoughts on that fact without words. “I missed Lila’s first text. Got the second, third, and fourth, though. How do you know he’s at the meeting? Lauren,” she said, answering her own question before he could. Then she frowned. “Why would Luc be at a Warning Sign meeting? We never have label-wide ones. Rarely anyway.”

Ethan shrugged. “I don’t know. But I rushed up here to get you out the door. You’re already at a disadvantage if he’s there before you.”

“Of course he’s there before me. That was probably part of his plan all along.” Her sad little smile tore at Ethan’s chest. “I’m not the first chick to be distracted by a pretty boy.” In a blink, her expression hardened. “But it won’t happen again.” She swiveled around to head back into the master bedroom.

Ethan followed, feeling like six kinds of a chump. He wasn’t stupid. He knew full well she’d probably aimed that “pretty boy” comment at him as well. Luc sure as hell hadn’t been her only distraction from work last night.

But the probable difference between him and Luc this morning was that he wasn’t trying to nudge her out of the way. He was trying to help push her to the front.

Her rightful spot.

“You don’t know what Lila has in mind,” he said as he entered the bedroom, rather than the million other things he could have gone with. Variations of “don’t lump me in with Luc” and “give this time to play out” and “you can’t seriously think last night was a one-time thing” led the pack.

Molly pitched her hair towel on the bed and started rooting through his drawers like a woman possessed. “Just one tank,” she muttered. “A dark one, preferably. That’s all I need.”

He stepped up beside her and closed the underwear drawer she was shoving both hands through. She was obviously too frantic to see clearly. He pulled out a pair of boxer briefs, then opened the third drawer from the top and tugged out a navy T-shirt. While she sputtered, he unwound the towel from around her body and tossed it on the mattress to join the other. He yanked the T-shirt over her head and stepped back. “A little big on you.”

She snorted and yanked up the drooping shoulder, but not before he glimpsed the red scrape from stubble and a hickey that had bloomed over her skin. He moved closer and edged the cotton down again to trace the marks with his fingertips.

“How many more of these are there on you?” His voice was dark and deep. Thick with the lust he couldn’t have turned off if the whole goddamn world had been on fire.

This woman was in his blood, and hell if he had a clue how to get her out.

“Don’t have time for this.” She pushed his hand out of the way and snatched the boxer briefs he still clutched. “I should ask for my bra back, but you know what? Fuck it. I’m tired of playing nice. If I want to leave my tits out, then I’m damn well going to. I’m a woman, and I’m sick of making myself manageable so they can handle me.”

He grazed his thumb over her full lower lip. “No one can handle you. It’s like trying to harness the wind.”

She stared up at him, her chin wobbling. “He’s going to take my fucking job. I don’t even know how, but I can just feel it. And you know what the worst part is? I gave it to him. Just handed it over on a shiny silver platter by challenging Lila and leaving with him.” She let out a bitter laugh. “I felt bad for him and I followed him outside, and all of this came from that. I never feel bad anymore. I don’t. I can’t.”

“But you did for him. Don’t you wonder why?”

“Because I’m an idiot.”

“Caring doesn’t make you an idiot. Luc walking out of here as if he can pretend last night didn’t happen does.” Ethan smoothed her wet hair back from her shoulder. “Don’t rush to judgment. See what happens.”

She stared over his shoulder, her chin no longer anything but set. “He’s with my band. Something’s up. Lila isn’t stupid, and she’d never make decisions with anything but a cool head. But he’s talented. If she thinks she can teach me a lesson and find a way to make some more green, I’ll be out the door faster than you can say accidental threesome.”

Ethan didn’t expect to laugh. “It wasn’t accidental so much as unexpected.”

“It was a mistake.” She pursed her lips and met his gaze squarely. “Not us. Seems like we can fuck and it’s not some big drama. But bringing him into it—”

“You’re saying that after the guy made you come half the night.”

“There’s more to life than coming. I’ve been handling that task for myself quite nicely for the past several years. And if I can’t trust him, his dick is worthless to me.”

“It was only supposed to be one night. So it doesn’t really matter now, does it? But a lack of repeats doesn’t make it a mistake.”

She grabbed the boxer briefs and stepped into them before yanking on her skirt. Then she did some complicated knot thingy at the side of the T-shirt, somehow making it into a fashion statement instead of a wardrobe don’t.

While he watched, more than a little fascinated, she dug through her purse and shoved her bangle bracelets on her wrist. A quick swipe with her lip gloss and some kind of powder—without benefit of a mirror—and she turned to him, fairy-dusted and glowing.

The fairy-dust part was an exaggeration. The glowing wasn’t. She had that light back in her eyes again, the light of battle.

He almost felt sorry for Luc. Almost.

“You’re going to best him.”

“I’m going to hang onto what’s mine, and I’m going to make sure they know I’m worth it. That they understand no one in my band is worth more than me. Maybe not less, but definitely not more.”

Nodding, he picked up her shrug. “Damn straight.”

He helped her put it on and she looped her purse over her head and arm crossbody style, as she usually wore it. Then he gestured to the hall. “I have fresh coffee. I’ll put it in a to go cup and you can take a muffin and a banana for the road. To eat after if not before,” he added when she started to argue.

“I don’t need you to take care of me. We’re not about that.”

“No. But I take care of my friends. I’d like to hope we’re at least that.”

She pursed her lips and hesitated, finally nodding. “If I’m being bitchy to you—”

“You’re a badass. Badasses don’t have time to play pet the kitten.” He rested his chin on her hair for a moment before he gave her a light shove down the hall. “Though I would never mind petting yours.”

Her light laughter surprised him, as did her agreement to let him drive her to Ripper. Her car was there, after all, and it was more expedient. She didn’t have time to wait for an Uber, not with rush hour traffic to contend with as well.

The ride to the record company went surprisingly fast. He didn’t comment on the fact that she’d dragged the bag that contained her precious song notebook into her lap and after shoving the breakfast he’d given her inside, had begun worrying the strap as if she couldn’t stay still.

Didn’t comment on anything, since he didn’t want to distract her from her pre-game mental routine. He wasn’t an artist, but his love of mythology allowed him to understand the side of her nature that needed to create. But there was more to her almost desperate need to succeed. More to Luc’s.

They were probably more alike than they would ever know.

He fiddled with the stations, changing from NPR to classical until he settled on Beethoven. She didn’t look away from her preoccupation out the window.

Employing a short cut or two got him to Ripper even quicker than he’d hoped. She thanked him and would’ve hopped out with nothing more if he hadn’t placed a hand on the back of her neck and brought her close for a kiss. Not a kiss meant to seduce. This one was solely to offer support and to demonstrate his pride in her. She was amazing, and he had all the faith in the world she would correct whatever stumbles she’d made the day before.

There was absolutely no doubt Molly McIntire would rise again like the phoenix she was.

Her lips clung to his for a moment, then two. She drew back and released an uneven breath, her bag strap clutched in her hand. He’d almost forgotten the to go cup of coffee she hadn’t touched, but he pushed it into her other hand. “Pretend it’s the blood of your enemies,” he advised.

She smiled and took a small sip before slipping out of the car. “You make a hell of a cup.”

Before he could reply, she shut the door, rounded the hood, and walked inside, head held high.

He gripped the wheel and found his gaze traveling toward the alley where this whole business had begun last night. It was quiet now, as if no one had ever used it. No squabbling singers, no intrigued professor. No speeding car that could’ve flattened all three of them.

Just silence.

Rolling his shoulders to loosen the stiffness, he pulled out of the lot and left Molly and Luc to the rest of their lives.

Whether he’d be part of them in any capacity remained to be seen.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Molly made a beeline for the bathroom. She didn’t have to go, and she was pretty sure her light makeup hadn’t melted off in the few minutes it had taken to get from Ethan’s to Ripper.

What she needed was a few minutes to get her head on straight. Okay, more like two, since she was already late and she couldn’t afford to be any later.

She locked herself in the one-stall bathroom and tugged out her phone. It was early yet, but her sister rose at the crack of dawn with her toddlers.

Jazz picked up on the second ring. “Mol?”

Her sister knew full well if Molly was calling out of the blue, something was up. Because she didn’t. Things were the best they’d ever been between them—well, since they’d been little girls anyway—but they still weren’t the kind of sisters who called each other randomly to share that day’s events or gossip or even just to make impromptu coffee dates. Living together at Oblivion’s band house for a while after Molly had come to town had helped solidify their bond. It just had loosened a little when she’d moved into her own place and started fronting Warning Sign. Oblivion and Warning Sign were rarely in the same sphere, and Jazz was a mom. She didn’t have a ton of spare time, and neither did Molly.

So they’d kind of drifted, except for big band events like Denver and Ryan’s wedding and holidays and the occasional picnic.

And it was probably mostly Molly’s fault. Just like this whole situation was with her band.

With Luc.

“Mine,” she whispered, her throat thick, clutching the phone in a hand that had gone damp. “I didn’t know who else to call.”

“Molly, what’s wrong?” Jazz’s voice was sharp, and Molly couldn’t say she blamed her.

Molly hadn’t called her older sister “Mine” since the old days when they’d lived with their mama in a rundown apartment. Molly had struggled to say Jasmine, so she’d started calling her Mine.

Molly had spent days crying for Mine after Jazz left. But her sister had never come home. Their mother had fabricated stories that Jazz had taken off of her own free will, and Molly had been young enough to believe them.

Everyone left, sooner or later. Including her mother.

Including the succession of deadbeat losers Molly had slept with after her mother had bailed on her. Anything so she didn’t have to go to bed in an empty apartment.

But she’d gotten used to being alone. It was so much safer. Because if you let people in, if you trusted them, you had only yourself to blame when shit went sideways.

Much better to never trust anyone.

“Molly? Are you still there?” Jazz demanded. “What’s going on?”

Molly shut her eyes. “I fucked up yesterday, and now I don’t know if Lila’s going to kick me out of the band.”

She waited for Jazz to berate her for messing up her gig. Their mother sure would have. She’d berated Molly for much less. Wearing too short skirts, putting ribbons in her hair. According to her mom, she would do anything to get the boys’ attention.

Stupid slut.

“She wouldn’t dare,” Jazz said instead, and her vehemence made the tears Molly hadn’t realized had made the trip from her throat to her eyes dry up in a flash. “You’re the best damn singer they could ever hope to have. Best damn rock singer ever, including Chrissie Hynds and Ann Wilson and hell, even Janis.”

Molly sniffled out a laugh, rubbing the back of her hand under her nose. “You’re a little biased.”

“No, I’m not. I have ears. I can hear. And so can Lila. She’s not stupid. There’s no way in hell she’d let you go.”

“Even if I tried to throw my weight around?”

“If you did that, I’d bet you had good reason.”

Jazz’s simple and quiet faith in her had Molly sagging against the bathroom wall. All of a sudden, she wasn’t sure her watery knees would be able to keep her upright. “Mal makes more money than I do.”

Again, she waited for her sister to question her judgment. Again, she was taken aback, in the best way possible.

“Then damn straight, you should pitch a fuss. It’s not about money. It’s about respect. I never told you what almost broke up Oblivion, did I?”

Molly sucked in a breath, relieved the tears seemed to be mostly under control. Sobbing her eyes out was the last thing she wanted to do before facing Lila. “Which time?”

Jazz laughed. “Touché. You’re not wrong. But this was shortly after Gray and I joined the band. Nick and Simon were encouraged by their shady as fuck manager to sign a contract where they got a bigger cut than the rest of us. Including Deak, who was also a founding member. It nearly tore the band apart, and Nick and Simon didn’t really get why at first.”

“Do they now?”

“They’re men. Who knows.”

Molly laughed weakly. “Truth.”

“Personally, I’m of the school where everyone in the band deserves an equal cut. It takes all cogs in a wheel for it to turn. Anything else is playing dirty pool.” Molly could practically hear the frown in her sister’s voice. “That’s not like Lila though.”

“Mal’s her former stepson. Maybe it was the family bonus.”

“Right, but she didn’t give it to Michael or Elle? Seems doubtful. Or do you think she did?”

It was Molly’s turn to frown. “I don’t know. I assumed Mal was making more than the rest of us, but maybe I’m the only one she thought she could get dirt cheap. How am I supposed to know? I can’t trust any of it.”

“Can’t trust her, you mean.”

Molly traced her nail over a groove in the sink. “It’s not about the money. It’s that I’ve spent my entire life feeling less than. This was the first time I didn’t. Like I could actually contribute and be valued, you know?” She sighed. “Of course you know. We had the same useless mother.”

“Yes, but I got away from her when I was twelve. After that, I was lucky enough to find a family who loved me, even if it was brief. To find Gray, and he helped me believe in myself. You’ve always only had yourself.”

Nodding silently, Molly shut her eyes and rested her forehead against the tiled wall. “That’s not all,” she said quietly.

“Wow, eventful day. And night?” Jazz ventured.

“Yeah. I don’t have time to be talking about this. I’m already late. But my head’s so full of stuff and I need to get some of it out so I can concentrate on work.”

“Who is he?”

“Worse. So much worse.”

“Who is she?”

Molly smiled. That was her sister. Completely understanding and accepting. “Worse than that.”

“Who are they?”

“You don’t miss a trick, do you?”

“I’ve had a few tricks in my day myself, you know.”

Molly let out a low groan. “Don’t tell me the threesome story again.”

“Again? I never told it to you the first time. How do you know about that anyway?”

“National Tattler. It was pretty juicy. Intra-band drama. Sordid nights. Two hot men fighting over you.”

“There was no fighting over me. In fact, male number one told male number two I was all his after we all had sex. So…make of that what you will.”

“Ouch. I appreciate the usage of male one and two, but I know who they are. So does Elle. We all know.”

“Pfft. Whatever. Mine is old news. Who are yours?”

Molly gripped her phone between her ear and her shoulder and fiddled with her bangles. “One’s a professor. Not a new thing. Well, yes, new, but not as new as the other. But we’ve been flirting around each other for a while.”

“A nerd. I approve.” Jazz gasped. “Wait, Lauren’s nerd? No way. Professor Hottie?”

Molly had to grin. “Yes. He looks even better naked.”

“Ooh, girl, I’m going to need details after I get this one fed and off my hip. Hang on, Bri.” After a small commotion in the background, Jazz was back. “Okay, tell me.”

“I can’t. Meeting. Time to face the music. But I will later. Promise.”

“Come over for dinner then. But wait, you have to tell me about the second spoke before you go see Dragon Lady. Notice my usage of spoke instead of other words. This is what having children does to you. Little ears.”

Molly sputtered out a laugh. “You call her Dragon Lady too? It’s everywhere.”

“Nah, she’s my friend. I don’t call her that. Just the idiots in my band do, minus Gray, Deak, and Margo. And one of the idiots married her, so he obviously doesn’t mean it. But she is one, in the best way. She doesn’t take shit.”

“No.” Molly lifted her chin. “Neither do I.”

“Damn straight. Now give an old married lady a little excitement in her day. Who’s the other guy?”

Molly glanced around, though it was a little ridiculous since it was a one-person stall and she was alone. “You ever heard of The Grunge?”

As soon as she asked the question, she thunked her head against the wall. Luc had said he was friendly with Gray, which meant he probably knew Jazz at least in passing.

“Yes, Gray used to work with them. Lead singer is a damn redwood of a man—no. No way. Damn. Both at once?” She lowered her voice. “At once at once?”

Molly laughed again. God, it was a relief to laugh, even if the guillotine waited for her down the hall. “Yeah. It, ah, wasn’t my first time. Threesome, yes,” she said hurriedly. “I mean—”

“Got it. Don’t draw me a picture, because I can’t decide if I’m jealous or should be lecturing you because you’re my baby sister. Though gotta give you points for fine taste. And possibly superhuman capabilities, on the redwood side.” She cleared her throat. “Moving on. So they’re giving you trouble?”

“Not exactly.”

“The sex sucked?”

“God, no. It was…I don’t have words. It’s not supposed to be that good.”

“Says who?”

“Says my vagina on ice. Sex isn’t supposed to be my priority. My job is.”

“Can’t you have both?”

“Not when the redwood I banged is in competition with me.”

“Um, say what?”

Briefly, Molly outlined what had happened yesterday. She finished just as another text came in from Lila.

It contained three dots. She could’ve yelled “we’re waiting for you” and it wouldn’t have been more effective.

“You have to go,” Jazz said.

“Yeah.” Molly blew out a breath. “I might have lots of time though, if I get fired. So dinner should be a go.”

“Stand your ground. Remember your talent, because I guarantee Lila does, no matter how much she blusters. Be fierce, the way you always are.” Jazz paused. “If that doesn’t work, remind her you have a scrappy older sister who won’t hesitate to help bury her body, even if she is half a foot taller than me.”

Molly grinned. “Thanks. I needed this. I…I’ve missed you.”

“Ditto. We’re going to fix that, understand me? We’ll have a sleepover tonight. I’ll send the kids off with Gray for a few hours and we’ll eat bad food and gossip.” She cleared her throat. “And maybe discuss redwood penis sizes. For science.”

“For science. I love you, Mine.” The words burned a little coming out, but the sting eased as Jazz exhaled a shaky breath of her own.

“I love you too. Kick ass.”

Molly clicked off and tucked her phone into her purse before grabbing the bag with her songbook off the sink. She tucked Ethan’s thermos of coffee into the bag and rushed out of the bathroom, following the maze of hallways until she was outside the conference room to which she’d been summoned. The deathly silence inside didn’t exactly make her eager to hurry inside.

Normally, everyone joked around before the meeting got started. Not today.

Today was different in so many ways.

She opened the door and stepped inside, taking an extra moment to close it behind her. She didn’t let go of the knob and turn around until Luc’s voice boomed out.

“Molly, so happy you could join us this fine morning.”

Luc’s choice to use her full name cut deep, and she hated it. Because she’d known the score. She’d understood full well last night that they would have sex and this morning they would be strangers again.

That was the plan, and she wasn’t a sentimental chick who couldn’t hang with the men. She wasn’t.

But that had been before last night. And she hated him for being able to treat her as if she was no one to him. Less than no one. Just another woman in his way.

Hell, she didn’t even like the nickname Bluebird anyway.

Be fierce.

Molly sucked in air and spun to face the room, throwing back her shoulders. “Morning, kids.” She walked around the table to one of the only two open seats. Her choices put her near Luc and Lila.

Lovely.

She took the seat beside Lila, leaving a chair empty at the head of the table.

“So she finally deigns to show,” Mal said lazily from the other end. “What’s up, Blondie? Manicure appointment run long?”

Molly glanced at Mal with every bit of the malice she was feeling toward Luc. It was enough for him to lift his brows.

Fucker. He was the one who’d caused all of this in the first place. Mr. Moneybags who somehow deserved to be paid more than she was.

Maybe more than all of them. How would she ever know? Once they heard that she’d auditioned for another band, none of them would confide in her ever again.

She couldn’t even blame them.

“Nice of you to join us, Molly.” Lila’s voice was pure honey. “Ryan obviously wasn’t able to be here, but he’ll be back by the next meeting and we’ll keep him apprised of everything that takes place.”

“I was unavoidably detained,” Molly said, ignoring Luc’s loud throat clearing. “I never meant to be so late, but there were extenuating circumstances.”

“Extenuating like what I saw this morning on Good Morning, LA?” Jules gazed hard at Molly.

“Saw what?” Michael leaned forward. “Since when do you watch that tripe anyway?”

“There was this interesting little piece about a surprising new duet from the lead singers of two bands no one knew were collaborating.” Jules crossed her arms. “Funny, neither did we.”

“Jules,” West said.

She shot him a sharp look. “What? Do you know about this?”

“Know about what?” Elle rubbed her forehead and braced her elbow on the table. “Sorry, I’m not following. You saw a clip on a news show? About Molly and—”

“That clip was leaked. It was never supposed to reach the media,” Lila interjected smoothly while Molly gaped at her. At all of them.

What the hell was going on? Who had leaked their audition clip?

And why?

Molly stared at Luc, who was staring right back at her. If she expected him to wear his guilt on his face, he was sadly failing.

He looked every bit as perplexed and annoyed as she felt.

“Clip of what?” Michael asked, swiveling his head between Lila and Jules. “A duet, you said. Of Molly singing with him?” he questioned, inclining his head toward Luc.

“Warmer, warmer,” Mal said in a bored tone. “Can we get on with this? I have an enema scheduled.”

“First, let me explain why I called this meeting in the first place,” Lila said, breezing over Mal’s comments as if they didn’t exist. “I wanted to wait for Donovan, but he had a meeting he couldn’t reschedule this morning. So he’ll most likely be joining us at Monday’s meeting, but you can all rest assured that he is completely onboard with our plan to handle this turn of events.”

“Another meeting?” Elle asked. “We haven’t had these many meetings since we were putting together the band.”

“One of you is intuitive, at least.” Lila smiled thinly. “Warning Sign is undergoing a personnel shift.”

At Lila’s side, Molly went cold. Her spine turned to ice, and she couldn’t breathe through the shards coating her throat. “You can’t do this. You can’t.”

Lila didn’t spare her a glance. “In this case, an addition rather than a deduction.” She tipped her head toward Luc. “Warning Sign, for those of you who don’t know, this is Luc Moreau, formerly of The Grunge.”

Luc jolted, and for an instant, that same empathy that had surged in her chest yesterday when Luc had been shoved out of his band lurched to the fore. Then Lila’s earlier words registered.

Molly jerked to her feet and slapped her hands on the table. “You can’t. I’m not standing for this.”

Luc rose on the other side of the table and loomed over her. “Don’t think anyone asked you to. It’s not your fucking band any more than The Grunge was mine.”

She didn’t think. Didn’t breathe. Just reared back and slapped him, the sound echoing through the room like a slamming door.

No one else spoke.

“You’re not going to speak to me like that. Understand me?” She fisted her stinging hand. “You don’t have the goddamn right.”

Luc glared at her out of eyes that had gone dull. Her handprint bloomed on his cheek, virulent and painful. He never touched it.

Slowly, he dropped his big frame into his seat.

“Sit down, Molly,” Lila said, her voice surprisingly gentle. “Hear me out.”

Molly sat, because her legs would no longer support her. All she knew was her world was changing in ways she’d never guessed, had never wanted.

She’d been happy, for fuck’s sake. Finally, she’d been happy.

And you ruined it. You deserve every bit of this. You know full well. Ask for more and get nothing.

“A chain of events yesterday led to Molly reacting out of anger toward me due to a contract dispute. Is that how you would characterize it, Molly?”

Molly started to argue, but then she heard the peace offering in Lila’s question. If Molly agreed she’d acted out of anger, that meant she hadn’t intended to hurt the band by leaving. She’d made a spur-of-the-moment decision.

A stupid one.

“Yes,” she said softly. “That’s correct.”

“Which led to her having some words with Mr. Moreau, who was undergoing his own issues with management. Thankfully not with me,” Lila added with a thin smile. “His manager used to be Mr. Munroe.”

“Used to be?” Luc echoed.

“Yes. Now you’re mine.” Lila made the sign of the cross. “God help me.”

Molly nearly laughed. She didn’t know if it was from hysteria or stress or some kind of weird relief that Lila didn’t hate her and want her dead. Or maybe she’d finally snapped, since there was no way Luc being Lila’s now meant good news for her. Nor was the band getting an “addition” what she wanted to hear either.

“What if I don’t want to be yours?” Luc tucked his fists under his arms. “Do I get a say in anything?”

“Yes. You get a say in if you’re willing to sign a contract extension on a probationary basis. If you choose to, you’re mine for that time period. If you don’t—which is your right—Ripper Records wishes you well.” Lila folded her hands over her iPad. “You can take the weekend to decide,” she added as Luc stared stonily at the table. “But then you either sign and we proceed with the plan or you’re out. No more time to deliberate.”

“Li, what the fuck is going on?” Michael demanded. “We’re all in the dark here. Leaks and additions and this guy, who we barely even know—I mean, c’mon. Clue us in already.”

“Yes. Sorry. There are a number of issues competing for attention this morning.” Lila’s smile was as cold as winter. “As I was saying, yesterday Molly and Moreau had words. That led to them singing a few songs for Dex Munroe and me. The contents of some of those recordings somehow made it onto a morning news show this a.m., as well as countless YouTube uploads. In short, it’s already going viral.”

Molly buried her face in her hands. She’d signed her own death warrant within the band. He was going to usurp her lead singer role. Just waltz in and take over.

And she’d caused every bit of this.

“It went viral because it was amazing. For two people who’d never worked together before, Moreau and Molly have amazing chemistry. Donovan and I aren’t in the habit of ignoring gifts that have been dropped in our laps, even if we don’t particularly like the method.” Lila paused. “We feel adding Luc to Warning Sign—on a probationary basis—to share lead singing duties with Molly is exactly what the band needs to reach the next level. We know this is a shock and unexpected news, but we hope all of you agree in time.”

“So Molly just randomly decided to sing with this guy?” Jules asked, shaking off West’s placating hand on her arm. “They got in an argument then broke out in song like West Side Story? Sorry, but I’m finding that a little hard to swallow.”

Molly dropped her hands from her face and looked up to find Lila watching her, waiting. She wasn’t alone. Everyone else was staring at her too, except Luc who hadn’t lifted his gaze from the table.

If he was overjoyed, he sure as hell was doing a good job of hiding it.

“I overheard a conversation that I wasn’t meant to be privy to,” Molly said, facing Jules squarely before looking at each of her bandmates in turn. Even Mal.

Especially Mal.

“Because of it, I reacted in a way I regret. I broke into a private meeting between Luc and Dex, and upon hearing The Grunge would soon be looking for a new lead singer, I offered my services.”

“You wanted to leave us?” Elle’s quiet question broke her, just ripped her right in two. “I thought you were happy here. I thought we were finally a unit.”

“I was happy. I am happy. I just fucked up, okay? It happens.”

“There are things you don’t understand,” Mal said, and Molly wasn’t sure if he was talking to her or Elle. Maybe both of them.

“It wasn’t about me leaving this band. I didn’t want to do that. Are you kidding me? This is my dream.” Molly balled up her hand and pressed it into the center of her forehead, but it didn’t begin to touch the ache building there. “I made a mistake,” she whispered.

“Glad to hear you admit it, Bluebird.”

“Nicknames already?” Mal raised a brow. “Seems like you two know each other a bit more than any of us realized.”

Molly’s head snapped up and she glared at Luc. “How dare you weigh in as if you didn’t make out the best of any of us? I saved your ass. If I hadn’t walked in there and unintentionally thrown you a rope, you’d be fucking swinging right now.”

“You didn’t only throw him a rope,” Lila interjected before Luc could speak. “You threw your whole band one. Warning Sign hasn’t been progressing as much visibility-wise as we’d hoped. Today’s viral clip is giving the band the kind of press you can’t buy.”

“Giving them press, you mean.” Jules pushed a hand through her hair. “And sorry if I’m being a spoilsport to your great marketing plan, but Molly, Elle, and I had a great time in the studio yesterday right before she got pissed and went off to try to join another band. How are we supposed to trust her now?” Her eyes narrowed. “If a better opportunity comes along, how are we supposed to believe you’re with us and not with your own paycheck?”

The words stung, as they were meant to. Especially the paycheck part, since it had been money that had set all of this off. Not really—her pride had mattered far more—but that was how it would seem to the rest of her bandmates.

“I don’t want to leave Warning Sign,” Molly whispered. “I fought so hard to get here. Why would I want to go?”

“What if you get a solo gig? What then? Isn’t that every lead singer’s dream? And you know, you do you. We don’t expect you to hold yourself back for us, but we have to be ready so we aren’t blindsided again like we were today.” Jules glanced at the rest of her band in turn, and one by one, they nodded. Even West, who seemed reluctant to agree for some reason.

But he did. They all did other than Mal, who didn’t react at all.

“She didn’t want to front my band,” Luc put in. “Don’t fool yourselves. What Bluebird did was a power play, pure and simple. She didn’t know any of The Grunge’s songs, and she couldn’t have picked any of my bandmates out of a lineup. I was just in the wrong place at the right time, and she used me and my band as a way to squeeze more green out of Lila.” Luc jerked a shoulder. “Just didn’t work is all. But she didn’t want to leave. I’d stake my life on it.”

“You’re defending her? According to you, she tried to take your job right as you were losing it. How can you stand to even look at her?” Elle’s voice was hollow with shock.

The same shock wound through Molly, as she heard exactly what she’d done in black and white. No explanations, no extra motivation to give her a break.

She’d tried to take the man’s job when he was at his lowest point. He was a stranger to her, but what difference did that make? There were basic things such as human decency.

So much for having empathy for him. If she’d truly had any, she would’ve shut her goddamn mouth and backed out of that room yesterday before she’d set the wheels in motion to change all of their lives. Including her band’s, and they hadn’t had a say either.

No one had, except her.

“I’m sorry,” she murmured, looking at each of her bandmates one by one. Then she let her gaze rest on Luc, even though it fucking hurt, and not just because she’d fucked him over then he’d done the same right back.

Because it wasn’t just about the music anymore. Not after last night.

It couldn’t be.

His Adam’s apple bobbed and then he nodded and stood. “What time Monday?” he asked, not looking at anyone.

“Nine a.m., sharp.”

Luc nodded again and walked to the door, but Lila’s voice stopped Luc before he could leave.

“As of right now, Warning Sign is in a media blackout. Whatever you decide, Luc, you aren’t to speak to the media. That goes for all of you. No Twitter, no Facebook, no Instagram or TikTok. Definitely no reporters. As we figure out where the band goes from here, we want no outsiders privy to the decisions we’re making.” She paused. “We don’t know who leaked those tapes yesterday, and we’re spinning it to Warning Sign’s benefit. But rest assured, we will find out where the leak came from. And if there are any others, the punishment will be swift.”

“You think it was one of us?” Mal asked, shaking his head. “Why the fuck would we bother leaking those two in a sing-off? Christ, next you’ll think we’re spying on people in the shower.”

“I don’t know why the recordings were leaked. I don’t care. We’re using it to our benefit. But make no mistake, my generosity will be short-lived if it happens again. Donovan’s will be even shorter.” Lila smiled. “Have a good weekend, Warning Sign.”

“Wait.”

Everyone stilled at Michael’s voice. Even Lila. Especially Lila, because everyone knew Michael was like a son to her. Lila adored him and if he asked her for anything, she would give it if it was humanly possible.

“No offense to you, man,” Michael said to Luc, who still lingered in the doorway. “I’m sure you’re a good guy, at least it seemed it from how you helped out Ry with that fucker Marco and his goons at the award show. And your voice is amazing.”

“But,” Luc said. “Get to the but.”

“But we have our band now,” Michael said softly. “We were gelling, I thought, and we were working well together. I mean, the stage is already fucking crowded as is. I don’t want to make trouble, and I definitely don’t want to cut you out of a gig, but what if it just doesn’t work? What if it’s just not a fit?”

“Luc hasn’t agreed to join, first of all, so this conversation is a bit presumptuous. But assuming he does agree, then we’ll make this work.”

“So you say,” West mumbled.

“Keep in mind, when I met the original incarnation of Warning Sign, Michael, it was you, Ryan, and West in a rundown garage. You didn’t know Jules or Elle or Molly. You didn’t know your brother would be available. This band was put together in an unconventional way, but the foundation is secure.”

“I guess I don’t get why we have to change.” Michael shrugged. “This isn’t a diss against Luc. Even if he and Molly sound great together, who’s to say adding him will work for the rest of us? Ry’s not even here. This is his band too, and he doesn’t even get a say.”

“Everyone has a say, including Ryan. Ultimately, Donovan and I are the ones who make the decisions. You all trusted us with your career. Now you have to stand back and allow us to do what we do best.”

Jules crossed her arms. “Even if we disagree?”

“Even if you think you disagree at this moment.” Lila shifted to include Molly. “I never expected yesterday’s events to happen, but they did. What came out of it was something worthy of a second and third look. Dex opted to take The Grunge in a different direction, as his right. My right is to do the absolute best thing I can see for Warning Sign, and that’s to bring Luc Moreau into it.” Lila stood and picked up her iPad. “Now the ball rests in his court. We’ll talk more on Monday. Have a good weekend.”

Lila walked to the door and Luc held it open for her before leveling one last glance on Molly. Then he followed Lila out.

Molly waited for everyone to rise and file out without a word. But for a long moment, no one moved.

Until Elle picked up her bag and got to her feet, and the words trapped in Molly’s throat—recriminations, apologies, pleas—turned to dust. She was too late. She’d had her chance and Elle was leaving. Soon, so would the rest.

Instead Elle walked around the table to wrap Molly in a fierce hug, and all Molly could do was hang on.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, her eyes so blurry with tears she couldn’t see. “I didn’t mean to do this, I swear.”

“We love you.” Elle rubbed her back and eased back to crouch at her side. “If you think this is enough to make us hate you, well, sorry, Charlie. Try harder next time.”

Molly choked out a laugh, hating the tears she couldn’t stop. She wasn’t a crier. Now here she was, laying herself bare when she needed to be strong.

“Ah, fuck it.” Jules slammed back from the table and came around Molly’s other side to wrap her arms around her from behind. “I’m still pissed at you, but I don’t hate you.”

“Thank you. Nothing like this will ever happen again, I promise.”

“Yeah, because the very hot wolf is already in our den,” Elle said drily.

“Hot is subjective.” Mal lumbered to his feet. “He didn’t do a thing for me.”

Molly had to laugh. He was such an asshole.

He also didn’t offer any pithy comments or flowery epithets before sauntering out of the room. She didn’t expect anything else.

To Mal, silence was the biggest gift he could give.

As for the money thing, she still didn’t like it. But she didn’t know the whole story behind why he was making more. Maybe she never would.

Right now, it simply couldn’t compete with being back with her band.

Wrapped in the safety of her friends’ arms, she risked looking at Michael and West. West pushed his chair back slowly and moved up to her end of the table, holding out his fist toward hers for a bump.

“One for all and all for one or some shit, right?”

Swallowing hard, she bumped his fist and smiled as he gripped hers in his lethally strong grip.

One left, other than Ryan.

Michael let out a windy sigh. “I trust Lila. She knows what she’s about. I also trust you, and I’m taking you at your word.”

Molly nodded. “You have it. Never again. I’m not going anywhere.”

“Okay.” Michael rose and joined West opposite her, reaching forward to take her hand and lace their fingers together. “Then this is in the past. Right, everybody?”

Elle was the first to agree. With every “yes,” Molly’s heart raced faster and faster until she couldn’t catch her breath.

They were giving her another chance. Thank God.

Impossibly moved, Molly bowed her head and let the tears flow. “Thank you.”

Elle whisked Molly’s tears away and sniffled back some of her own. “Enough of that. Let’s go get some breakfast.” She glanced over Molly’s head at Jules. “You in?”

“I dreamed about pancakes last night, so hell yeah, I’m in. A thick stack of them, with butter and whipped cream and strawberries.”

Jules’s orgasmic sigh made Molly laugh through her tears. “Damn, girl.”

“Can’t help it that I’m starving, can I?”

“Me too,” Molly agreed as Elle and Jules moved back and headed for the door behind Michael and West.

She frowned down at the bag that held her songbook and Ethan’s hastily prepared breakfast for her. She hadn’t touched the banana or muffin or even taken more than a sip of his heavenly coffee.

“Just a second,” she told the others. “I’ll be right there.”

“Okay, we’ll be in the parking lot,” Jules said. “Don’t take too long. My pancakes are waiting.”

Once they’d gone, Molly tugged out the thermos and unscrewed the top. She took a long drink, then another, until her jangled nerves started to settle.

Truly incredible coffee.

She put the half empty thermos away and pulled out her phone, quickly texting Ethan.

Molly: Thank you.

Before he could ask what she meant, she turned off her phone and went to join her band.

Her band. Still. Always.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Luc slammed through the doors and out into the sunshine.

Fuck.

Fuck.

Fuck.

What the hell was he supposed to do now? He knew the guys from Warning Sign well enough to say hi to them at a party. And for fuck’s sake, he'd helped Ryan chase down his girl during some craziness at an awards show a few months ago.

But that was a lot different than getting shoehorned into a band that obviously wasn’t excited about him being tacked onto their roster. Especially when he had to jump in on a brand new album that wasn’t even written yet.

At least that part wasn’t terrible.

He didn’t have to just learn their new songs. Maybe he could actually write with them.

His long stride took him across the parking lot before anyone else could come out. Instead of helping his anger, the heat, asphalt, and the vast emptiness of the parking lot only ramped up his temper.

No, fuck that. The entire situation was bullshit.

Luc speared his fingers through his hair and growled as he slung his leg over his Ducati Monster. There was so much noise in his head he couldn’t think over any of it.

His band didn’t want him.

His brothers—at least he’d thought they were—had decided he was too much trouble to bother with. That sliced the deepest. It had been them against the world until Dex Munroe had entered the picture.

All he wanted was to do what he loved and provide for his family. It was a simple plan. He still felt like a film of slime covered his reputation for pulling the stunts he had, but it had been for a good cause.

At least he’d believed so at the time.

Dex’s manipulation of the public’s perception of him, painting him as a playboy rockstar, hadn’t helped their lagging ticket sales. It had just caused more harm in the end.

Guilt gnawed at his gut and his chest.

The way Rip had looked at him yesterday. The disappointment living in No’s usually bright and happy face. Then finally, Jared’s near indifference.

Fuck.

He lifted his helmet when his phone blared out of his pocket.

He had all numbers on silent except for his sister. He wanted to make sure he always caught her calls just in case.

Doubt and rage sat on his goddamn chest like an anvil.

He almost flicked it to voicemail for the first time ever, but finally answered on the last ring. “Hey, sis.”

“Oh, good. I thought I missed you. I know you can’t always answer in the studio.”

The studio might not be a problem in his life any longer.

“I just walked out actually.” Not totally a lie. He just might not be walking back inside one anytime soon.

“Do you have somewhere to be?”

My head in a bottle of Jack? Nearest pool hall? The longest back road I can find?

“I always have time for you.”

She paused as the telltale click of her nail on her phone case came through the line. A sure sign she was getting thinky. “Are you okay? You sound…not you.”

He ground his molars together. He didn’t really want to discuss it, let alone have his sister pick apart every angle and crevice of his particular shitstorm. “Yeah, just in the middle of the parking lot. You know how people stare because I’m so hot.”

“Hmm. Deflecting.”

“Don’t analyze me, Katie Bug.”

“I hate when you call me that.”

He forced lightness into his voice. “Then quit being a bug.”

“I’m sorry. I hate calling you—”

“Come on, Kate. I didn’t mean it that way.” Guilt was his very best friend today evidently. “What’s up?”

She blew out a breath. “Kira is getting antsy to start college courses. She’s bored with school. And it’s cool because she’s gotten some scholarships for the college stuff, but…”

His shoulder blades itched. Already, he was mentally calculating what he had in the bank, and what would be coming at the end of the month. The numbers sucked, but he wasn’t destitute.

Mostly.

“Spit it out, Katie.”

“It’s not for me. I hate asking, but with all the other stuff going on, and—”

“You guys are family. And I know you don’t ask for anything.” That was the problem. Kate was forever pushing aside what she needed to take care of their sister and brother. She wasn’t their mother. Hell, he wasn’t their father and they all reminded him of that fact whenever he did get to see them. But he’d been taking care of them since his parents had died fourteen years ago.

It was just what he did.

No questions, no qualms, no heated arguments.

He took care of his family.

“Kira needs a car. I found a good, trustworthy car, older model.”

“What? An older model could break down. No. I’ll get her a decent car that will cover her through school.”

“Don’t go crazy, Lucas.”

His shoulders scrunched up at his full name. No one used it but Katie. Hell, no one even knew it. They guessed, but he never answered yes or no on the questions about his stage name and he’d made sure to keep his family as hidden as possible.

As hard as he worked, it was difficult to live in Los Angeles and support a family in Texas. Especially when no roommate would take him. The parties, the drunken idiot moments, the women—he’d been poison for a good long time. At least in the public eye.

Most of the time he was nursing a drink that was eighty percent Coke and twenty Jack Daniels. And for a guy that ran two hundred and seventy pounds, it was going to take a helluva lot more than watered down drinks to put him over the edge.

But he’d sold off his cars last month to pay off Kira’s braces and beef up her college fund since she was racing to finish high school as quickly as possible. He was down to his bike. He tightened his grip on the handles. He loved it, but if he had to, he’d sell it too.

But he could handle a car payment for a decent Toyota to keep his little sister safe.

One more thing to add to the list today.

One more worry to stuff inside his brain.

At least he’d never fucked up his credit through all the other bullshit that ruled his life.

“You and Kira go pick one out at the Toyota dealership tomorrow and we’ll get the paperwork written up.”

“No. You—”

He didn’t have it in him to go another five rounds with her. She wouldn’t have called if she had any other alternative. Getting gone was way more important right now. “Katie, I gotta go. My manager is in my face.”

Lies.

She sighed. “I hate this.”

“I know. It can’t be helped. I gotta go, all right?”

Before he did something stupid like explain to her that he may not have a job come sunrise. The beast living inside his chest was a moment away from escaping.

Band.

Family.

Life.

Mistakes.

So many mistakes. He didn’t even want to think about the one he made last night. With her blessedly perfect body wrapped around him, fisting him through so many orgasms he couldn’t count them all. Or the man who helped.

The slick slide of Ethan’s tongue along the shaft of his cock last night as her sweet, swollen pussy gripped him like she would never let go.

His cock throbbed against his thigh. Confusion and lust mixed with every want he never knew he had.

He didn’t wait for his sister to stop talking before he ended the call and buried his phone in the deepest pocket of his motorcycle jacket and started his bike. He flicked the kickstand back, barely cinching his helmet on before taking off out of the parking lot.

The roar of the motor vibrated through his thighs and up his chest.

Traffic was backed up for days. He took a side street and bumped up the sidewalk to get over another lane into one of the back alleys. A cop car started rolling out, but he took three more alleys and accelerated for the underpass into the seedier section of town.

His shoulders and arms were quivering with his grip on his handlebars. He lowered his head and headed toward the desert. The open road was the only thing that could quiet this level of crazy in his head. The hills, desert and endless baking sun had always been his solace.

Roads with no names, windburn, the endless dirt coating his jeans and boots—all of it usually centered him.

Except today.

It wasn’t working. He’d blown past Mt. San Antonio and up through Hesperia. Now he was in some dusty gas station in Victorville in the middle of no-damn-where. He checked his phone as refilled his tank. No messages from anyone he cared to reply to.

An alert text from his buddy flashed as he was flicking away the rest.

His sister.

Some dick agent who wouldn’t leave him alone.

Dex.

A text from an unknown number almost broke him, but he ignored it.

Fuck them all.

But Flynn Sheppard was one of the few people he never tired of. He opened the text. Shep was playing at one of the venues just off the beaten path in Vegas. Close to the action, but the spot offered a little more freedom from the casinos.

The restless energy pulsing inside of him quieted a little. A show would take his mind off of the mess of his life. Especially his buddy’s show. There would be nothing but loud music and songs that made sense.

He climbed onto his bike and fishtailed a bit as he dropped a boot to steer him thanks to the dusty side streets. Signs for the highway loomed in the distance.

He put music on and spent the next few hours with an angry Frank Turner blaring at him. When the lights from the strip climbed up around him, “Get Better” tried to combat the humming life of Vegas. The strip was winning, so he flicked off Frank mid-lyric.

The first parking structure that had a damn spot open was a good few blocks away, but he needed the walk. His ass was still vibrating, for fuck’s sake.

And that immediately brought thoughts of Ethan into his head.

Dammit.

He fisted his hands around his handles before easing his bike into a spot in the motorcycle area.

He didn’t want to think about Ethan or Molly or the damn band right now. He stowed his jacket in the small compartment in his bike, then shook the dust out of his hair. Even with the helmet it was every-damn-where.

The thick clomp of his motorcycle boots sounded loud to his own ears as he walked out to the lights and sounds of the strip. This venue was small but mighty. Especially for the type of people that followed Flynn in droves.

No matter how far he fell, how messed up they both got—and fuck, had they made a slew of mistakes over the last few years—Flynn’s fans forever followed.

They loved him blindly.

How the hell would it feel to have that kind of adoration?

Warning Sign has that.

The voice was low and whispery, but he squashed it immediately.

He didn’t want to think about that tonight. He didn’t want to think about anything.

Murmurs started around him, pulling him out of his thoughts. He generally brought them on by his sheer size. Being head and sometimes shoulders taller than most people would do that, but it felt like more.

The skin between his shoulder blades tingled as he picked up the pace.

He turned a corner and the lit up ferris wheel came into view towering over the creamy walls and brick faceouts that made up the quad. Eateries were packed with the overflow from the club and the telltale marquee of the club glowed like a beacon.

More voices and phones went up.

Fuck.

He picked up the pace and headed for the glass front doors. Red and white lights from the old signs bounced off the glass before darkness and the purple glow of the club swallowed the sounds of pedestrian traffic. Swells of guitars, bass, fiddle, and thundering drums calmed him.

The crowd was rowdy tonight and Flynn was his usual self. His tattooed hand draped over the microphone as he closed his eyes and sang his songs without fanfare. No stalking the stage, no flipping the mic stand, no scarves—nada.

His music and what he wanted to play. Period.

Oh, to be that guy.

Luc dreamed of that kind of power—or to have that sort of fuck you badass personality. It was debatable which he craved more.

But Flynn Sheppard gave no fucks as a general rule. His band was made up of misfits and friends who were available, or local bands depending on the day.

Depending on the mood.

Tonight, he recognized the drummer and guitarist as two of Shep’s usual compatriots, but the rest were unknowns—at least to Luc.

Flynn’s whiskey-rough voice purred out of the speakers as his hit song, “Gone”, lifted to the rafters. The venue was bowl-shaped with super high ceilings that gave a different kind of sound. Echoes and reverb for days which suited his buddy’s sound. Luc breathed in the smoke and the heat of too many bodies packed into a space. The pulse of excitement sunk into his skin and knitted into his bones.

He’d missed this.

Missed the pure joy of music without the artifice or the endless posturing.

He missed loving music.

It had been a damn long time since he’d actually enjoyed the stage. The green-eyed dragon was roaring in his chest as he stepped up to the ticket booth. He slid enough to cover general admission into the slot and accepted the ripped ticket from the bored-looking agent.

The eyes of the fans were focused on the stage…mostly.

Some were on their phones and the selfies that seemed to be more important than the music to some people. But he was used to it. The crowds he’d seen from Flynn’s perspective had been filled with women too worried about how they looked on their social media of choice than what song was being sung.

For once, no one gave two shits about him, and he couldn’t say he minded it. He hugged the back wall, his size making it easy to see the entire show without a problem. Half a dozen songs floated by before he knew it. Flynn was in rare form tonight, taking requests from the crowd.

His friend started his most well-known singalong song, “That Easy”. He jumped down into the crowd and slapped hands, sang with fans, and made his way to the back of the curved room toward the small dais just over Luc’s shoulder.

Flynn caught sight of him and gave him a huge, surprised grin. He pushed forward, enveloping him in a welcoming hug. “What the hell are you doing here, you big bastard?”

Luc hugged him back, lifting him off the floor. “Was in town,” he shouted into his ear. He put him down and Flynn turned to the crowd.

“You know who this is?”

Luc rested his elbow on Flynn’s shoulder and stole his hat. He leaned down enough for the mic to pick up his voice. “I don’t think they know who I am, man.” The crowd screeched and hollered. Luc knew his role. He staggered back a step. “I stand corrected.”

“You know you have to play. You walked in here.”

“Nah, man. I’m a fan. I’m watching, not working.”

“You walk into my house, you work.” Flynn spun to the crowd. “Right?” They all screamed back in the affirmative. Then Flynn stole back his hat. “Now get up on that stage, gigantor.”

Luc raked his fingers through his hair, then down through his rapidly growing scruff. “You sure about that?”

Flynn climbed the stairs to the mini stage. “People, will you tell this idiot we want him to play?” He held his hand out to help Luc up.

“Only if we get to play some jukebox songs, Shep.”

“Now you’re talkin’.”

Luc locked his hand on Flynn’s forearm and climbed onto the small stage. A tech snaked through the crowd with a white acoustic guitar for him and the teal beast of a Les Paul for his friend. Luc looked down at the acoustic that looked too small for him, then held it out. “Nah, man.”

Flynn gave him a side-eye. “Not just anyone gets to play Grace. You gotta prove yourself.”

Luc flicked the strap open and over his shoulder. A magic tech materialized behind him and strapped him in. The guitar sat way too high on his chest, but Luc played it up for the crowd and strummed the opening to “Night Moves” by Seger. He pointed toward Flynn. His buddy's unusually thin frame made Luc feel even bigger and taller than he generally did. That was saying a lot, since Luc knew he was pretty damn huge.

Then Luc nodded to a pretty dark-haired girl in the crowd as he played out the song. Even if he wished she was a lush blond who was invading his head more than he’d like.

By the chorus, the crowd was singing with them. He and Flynn harmonized through the next verse. And he’d mostly stuffed thoughts of Molly to the back of his mind.

Flynn’s rough voice slowed and the band on stage seemed to know to hold back. A pin drop could have been heard across the floor as the crowd was hypnotized by Shep.

Luc slowly strummed the end of the song and Flynn’s voice grew stronger, louder, rougher. They both laughed through the end when Flynn gave him a look and finally handed over his prized guitar.

Luc lifted the guitar like a trophy before exaggeratedly adjusting the strap. The wide body of the instrument felt right and true. He might just have to steal his buddy’s guitar when he wasn’t looking. That or Luc would have to actually buy one himself.

Then again, he might not need a guitar for much.

Fuck.

No. Not tonight. He was just going to play for the joy of it, goddammit.

Luc picked out the opening notes of “Body Like a Back Road” and the crowd hooted and sang it back to them.

He and Flynn played back to back, both of them digging deep into notes that weren’t in the original song. They made it their own.

“I need that bottle of Jack,” Flynn called to the main stage.

Flynn's co-lead guitarist, Joey Bahama, tossed the bottle into the crowd.

Luc’s eyes widened, but he tipped his head back with a belly laugh when a guy in the middle of the crowd held it high above his head.

“Yes!” Flynn laughed and made gimme fingers. “This way.”

The bottle was passed back hand to hand until a girl with huge red hair stole it from a cowboy at the back of the crowd and held it up with her other arm in a typical winning touchdown sign.

Flynn bent down with a charming grin. “Well, I guess you get to come on up here, darlin’.”

She climbed the stairs and Flynn dragged her in close, took the bottle, then a swig, then kissed her soundly. The woman hooked her arm around Flynn’s neck and held on for dear life.

Luc looked out at the sea of people with raised eyebrows. He leaned into the microphone. “You need help there, Shep?”

Flynn drew back and gave him a dimpled grin. “I’m all right.”

“Yeah, you are.”

Flynn grinned at the redhead and winked. “All right, darlin’. We got a show to play.”

A tech came out of nowhere—as per usual—and led the girl off the small stage. Flynn handed him the bottle of whiskey.

Luc looked down at it for a moment. One of the reasons he and Shep knew each other so well was a rehab center. Neither one of them should be touching this bottle. But then again, they both had used the Bentley Center as a hideaway more than a treatment center. Not that anyone else knew that but them.

Tonight, he just didn’t have it in him to care. He shrugged then took a good long swig.

“Well, all right.” Flynn slapped him on the back. “How about we take this to the main stage?”

“I’m game.” And he was. Especially with a little more liquid courage.

They fought their way to the front and climbed onto the wide stage with rugs scattered across the worn black floor. Luc surrendered Grace to Flynn and swapped it out for a hefty Gibson acoustic that fit his size a little better.

He laughed when Montana Gentry slapped his sticks over his head before slamming out the iconic opening to “Whipping Post.”

Flynn nodded to him and Luc went up to the mic. They’d played this song a dozen times during the years. It was one of the twenty songs they fell back on when Luc sat in on a show. He stole a nip from the bottle and adjusted the mic stand up to his substantial height. His voice was lower, deeper, more raw than he ever allowed in a rock show.

The country rock flavor Flynn brought to the stage allowed Luc to shrug on another persona. Music cleansed and it healed when he let it.

He hadn’t allowed it to for a good long time.

All the fears riding him, exploding inside of him, and drowning him came to the surface as he growled his way through the verses. He swung the acoustic around his back and curled his fingers around the mic, bending down as he dug deep for every blessed note.

There was nothing but the pure moment.

He pulled the crowd into the song and he lengthened the end of it until three thousand people screamed for more. His chest swelled as he dragged in oxygen so he could fully meet the challenge of the demanding vocals.

Suddenly, the tone of the crowd changed.

Luc frowned and looked over his shoulder to see Flynn flying to the edge of the stage. Luc dropped the mic stand and lunged for him, catching the back of Flynn’s T-shirt before he could jump into the melee. As he grew closer, the rage was obviously warranted.

A girl in the front was getting battered by the surge of people growing in excitement from the song and the drunken shenanigans of the late hour. A guy beside her was obviously oblivious to her small stature or simply didn’t give a fuck.

Luc was pretty sure it was the latter.

When said asshole elbowed her in the head so he could fit pump the air, it was on.

“Oh, fuck.” Luc couldn’t keep hold of Flynn any longer. “Get back.” Luc tried to get the crowd to listen. His voice boomed through the speakers, but it was already too late.

The crowd had gone from party, to chaos, to mob in a split second.

Flynn pushed the fan back and the drunk idiot got in his face. Then the two guys that flanked the asshole fan decided to join in. Flynn took a fist to the face and another blow to the gut by asshole number two.

“Shit.” Luc vaulted over the amp and used his long reach to swing down after his friend. The stage wasn’t terribly high, but it was more than enough height to do damage to people if things went south.

“Fuck,” Luc growled as Flynn cranked back his arm and plowed his fist into the son of a bitch’s face.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Luc always subscribed to the Patrick Swayze line from Roadhouse, “Be nice…until it’s time to not be nice.” That time had passed and then some.

Glass shattered over his shoulder—impressive since he was six-feet-four in his stocking feet. A boot, complete with hard as fuck cowboy heel, glanced off his thigh. He fought not to go down even as the pain radiated up his leg and numbed his knee almost immediately.

Luc looked down at the little shit in front of him. He was weaving with a broken bottle in his hand.

“Think you’re hot shit.”

Luc raised his eyebrow at the asshole. “Let’s not do this.”

The guy tipped his chin up, and then up again. He squinted at Luc. “I can take you.”

If the jackass hit his knee once more like the last time, maybe. Instead of waiting to find out, Luc went for a quick jab.

The guy hit the floor.

“Well, fuck.” He really hadn’t hit him that hard. Luc couldn’t let him get trampled in the chaos, but at least he was incapacitated. He hauled up the guy’s dead weight from the floor, his shoulders and arms straining. Luc rolled him onto the stage and nodded to one of the guys in the band scurrying to the front of the stage to help.

No time to get his bearings, or get back up on the stage. He turned to the next guy coming his way. He palmed his head and kept the soft-in-the-middle blond dude from being able to reach him.

Another hit came from behind—this one a kidney shot that sang up his spine. The quick flash of pain made him reckless. His elbow swung back in reaction and the crunch of bone amped up his adrenaline. He pushed the guy away, landing a downward blow so the blond dude fell back into the crowd.

The guy was swallowed up and pushed deeper into the crowd by the next round of people fighting. It was as if no one needed an excuse. The release valve had erupted and fights broke out in huge groups.

A guy pushed back on a girl that had tried to jump on his shoulders and she came careening into Luc. He didn’t even think. He simply lifted her and tossed her on the stage. He hoped to hell that Joey was still up there.

Evidently not.

The woman jumped back down on his shoulders and held on like a howler monkey. She screeched and his ears rang with it. Suddenly, she was off him and he turned back to see two women tearing at her hair.

“Fuck me,” he said and moved out of the way.

He stopped for a moment.

Women fighting would forever be hot, but another asshole came at him, this one almost as tall as Luc. He managed to duck at the fist coming for his face, but the guy was adept at fighting.

He went for his midsection and the air went right out of him. The next shot amped him up. He kept his anger in check for a reason. But it was bubbling so close to the surface that it was hard to remember why he was holding back.

Luc ducked left, then right and landed a punishing fist to the guy’s face. The other dude overcompensated and somehow got caught in the vortex of fights springing up around him.

Unable to find his bearings, Luc just lashed out and used the momentum to cut through the people. He caught sight of Flynn toward the middle of the crowd. His friend’s fists were flying at whomever came at him. The woman he’d jumped down to help was behind him, shadowing him as she darted furtive glances into the crowd.

Luc’s gaze drifted to the back of the room where security was trying to get through. The crowd was beyond controllable at that point. Hell, even women were getting in on the action.

Luc pushed his way to Flynn, but it was as if each man he passed wanted a piece of him just out of spite. By the time he got to Flynn, his knuckles were as bloody as his face.

“Shep. We gotta–”

“Get her outta here,” Flynn interrupted. He threw a quick look over his shoulder. “Jesus, man. What the hell have you been doing?”

“Same as you.”

“I didn’t let as many land as you did, buddy.” Flynn’s laugh was a little too gleeful.

Luc wiped his bleeding mouth with the back of his hand. “I stopped having fun a dozen guys ago.”

Flynn’s eyebrows waggled. He wasn’t even looking at the guy in front of him and landed a punch. The guy staggered back into the crowd. “Where’s security?”

Luc nodded over Flynn’s shoulder. “Trapped back there.”

Flynn dodged a fist and crushed the guy’s knee with his heel. The guy yowled and the unlucky dude’s friends must have heard because suddenly another four burly guys who looked like they could be extras on Ring of Honor came at them both.

Flynn lifted the woman and set her on Luc’s back. “Take her to the stage, man.”

“I can’t leave—”

“Get her out of here.” Flynn’s voice thundered even with the insanity around them.

Luc huffed out a breath and hooked his arm behind him to secure her. “Hang on, sweetheart. Things are going to get rough.”

The distant, piercing bleat of sirens made a few people scatter. Enough that Luc was able to mow through and around people to help her to the side stairs near the stage. He blew a shrill whistle between his fingers and Montana spun around and hustled toward him.

“Get her backstage.”

Montana nodded. It was refreshing to not have to explain everything. To actually have someone listen to him without needing a laundry list of reasons why.

Guilt stabbed at him for a moment. Jared and Rip had been entitled to answers for all the bullshit Dex had come up with to try and create buzz for The Grunge.

Too bad he’d never been allowed to really give them any.

Nope, he just got to take the blame.

He took that anger back to Flynn. Bruising and growling his way through to the older man until they were back to back. Flynn whooped out a laugh and made a gimme sign at a guy Luc was fairly sure had been singing along to one of Shep’s songs not half an hour before.

But none of that mattered.

The next face, the next fist, the next body was all that mattered as they slowly moved to the back of the concert venue to the soundboard.

Red and blue lights cut across the smoky room. The houselights had been put up to full as security tried to quell the insanity. Finally, Luc delivered a cross-body blow to a punk with hair almost as long as his own. Too bad the dude looked like he hadn’t washed it in about a month.

The guy went down like a stone.

Flynn slapped his shoulder and Luc immediately turned with his fist up.

“Hey. It’s done.” Flynn nodded to the cops. “Cavalry.”

Luc lifted the bottom of his shirt and wiped the sweat and blood away the best he could. “I wasn’t really looking for a bar brawl when I came in here, man.”

Shep rested his forearm on Luc’s shoulder and bowed his head. “It was damn fun though, right?”

Luc laughed and shrugged. “It didn’t suck. At least not until tomorrow.”

“Truth.” Flynn rolled his shoulder and stretched out his arm. “I’m getting too old for this shit.”

“You started it.”

Flynn tipped his head back and let out a roar of laughter. “That I did.” He winced when a cop used a bullhorn to demand for the fighting to cease.

Luc shoved his hair out of his face and turned to two of the officers heading their way. “Are we glad to see you.”

“Is that right?” the uniformed man asked.

“Yes, sir. Things got a little crazy.”

The officers looked from Flynn to Luc. “Gentleman, please turn around and put your arms behind your back.”

“What? We were just—” Luc’s breath went out in a whoosh as the cop suddenly turned him and shoved him into the painted particle board in front of the soundboard.

“You have the right to remain silent.”

“Are you kidding me?” Luc twisted and grunted when a wide hand slammed into the middle of his back and his face was pressed into the walled-in booth.

Flynn grunted as the other cop pushed him next to Luc and the Miranda rights started again. Flynn growled. “Easy, man.” Flynn flipped to the other cheek and glanced at Luc, completely ignoring the cop rattling off why they were being arrested. “Nice to see ya, man.”

“I wish I could say the same.” Luc sighed. “My ass is grass.”

“Aww, c’mon. The label’s gotta be used used to this kind of shit by now.”

Luc laughed. If only Flynn knew.

He let out an inelegant grunt as the cop turned him around and grabbed his arm, leading him toward the door of the club. A half dozen cop cars were parked haphazardly out in the quad.

He’d known it was going to be bad, but they were officially screwed. There was usually only foot traffic out in the quad. Fountains burbling, the iconic ferris wheel spinning lazily as a backdrop. The eateries were doing a brisk business as hundreds of people gathered.

Oh, and a damn van was waiting outside for multiple offenders to be hauled off to jail.

“Go big or go home, man.” Flynn was grinning like a lunatic as the cameras came forward.

Luc dropped his chin to his chest and shook his head until his hair fell forward. There was no hiding from this mess, but he didn’t have to grin into the cameras like Shep.

“Fuck me sideways,” Luc mumbled.

The reporters descended. The camera phones went up. There were as many lights in front of them as there was in the damn show. This time, they weren’t holding their lighters up for their cover songs.

Nope, this time they just wanted their soundbite for any number of social media platforms.

Immortalized as a fuck-up again.

Awesome.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Ethan pushed away the mediocre paper from one of his favorite students. Usually, the insightful freshman was a breath of fresh air when it came to pulling apart an ancient text. Mythology 101 was one of his few joys.

He was selective with the students. They had to actually go out for one of the eleven spots in the class.

Either Shannon’s paper was surprisingly poor or his mood sucked.

He drilled his fingers into his hair. Mood was winning. His concentration had been shot since Molly left.

Hell, since the night before. Shocker.

The distractible giant and the lush nymph had blown his world to smithereens.

He was fucked.

Well, not yet. So far he’d been the only one doing any of the fucking.

Ethan climbed out of the oversized leather chair he’d jammed into the corner of his library nook. The shelves were overflowing with books. He’d gone so far as to start stacking some books on top of the shelved ones to keep collections somewhat in the same section.

Eventually he was just going to have to make the second bedroom into a full library. But he liked the openness of his apartment too much. Especially the huge window beside his reading nook.

He dragged his fingertips over the leather volumes, some with spines barely broken in, some older than his father. Even his collection of myths and legends couldn’t satisfy him tonight.

His skin felt too tight and his brain wouldn’t shut off.

Especially since they both had gone radio silent. He wasn’t shocked about Luc. In fact, he would have been shocked if Luc had contacted him.

Molly’s lone text thanking him had been his only communication with her.

He flicked on the television on his way to the kitchen. The last of the news was on—more depressing things, of course, but at least the background noise filled up the empty apartment. Even if it did include posturing by the politician or stooge of the hour.

Normally he liked silence. He often kept his affairs out of his apartment because he appreciated his place of solace after a full day of students and pompous idiots at staff meetings.

Last night had not been part of any of his plans. And like all grand adventures he’d read about in his lifetime, the unexpected ones often changed your world.

Now he had two someones blowing apart his quiet little life.

His gut twisted for a whole different reason. Food. He’d been grading papers for hours trying not to check his phone every blessed half hour for a text.

Leftover pasta and a glass of wine would go a long way toward improving the night. Especially if he finished the damn bottle. Maybe he’d sleep dreamlessly, and not reach for someone.

Right now, he couldn’t be sure if it would be either or both of them.

Fuck.

He slid the glass dish into the microwave and uncorked a bottle of cabernet, aerating the wine as he reheated his dinner and paced into his living room.

He’d missed the end of the news. He lifted the remote to turn off the entertainment show that followed, but his hand fell to his side when a very familiar bearded face filled the screen.

The film was grainy and the shouts were muffled, but there was no denying Luc Moreau’s wide shoulders and long mane.

“As you can see, it was bedlam at Flynn Sheppard’s show tonight in Las Vegas. What started out as a standard concert quickly erupted into chaos, thanks to a late addition to the show—Luc Moreau of The Grunge fame, although the singer is more well-known for his off-stage persona.”

The screen flipped again to show Luc tossing an unconscious man up on the stage like a discarded rag doll. Ethan’s mouth dropped open when Luc turned with a menacing scowl and shoved his ham-sized fist into a fan’s face.

“Moreau’s sheer size makes the scene even more astounding. He cuts a swath through the crowd, leaving terror in his wake. We have video coming in showing fistfights and broken bones received as a result of the brawl. As soon as more details come in, we’ll be sure to report them. As of now, the police have taken over the situation and dozens have been arrested, including Moreau and Sheppard.”

“Jesus, Luc.” Ethan drilled his fingers through his hair then gripped his already tense shoulders.

“This news comes on the heels of leaked footage of Moreau rehearsing with Molly McIntire of Warning Sign. We wonder if tonight’s arrest will have leave Moreau with a job at all. In other news, Kim Kardashian…”

Ethan’s phone buzzed.

This is bad. I don’t know if I should text you, but…

It’s fine. Can you take a phone call?

Yes.

Ethan pressed on Molly’s icon picture—her looking over her shoulder at him. Hints of annoyance and come and get me whirled in her huge blue eyes. He didn’t have time to think about that. Not right now.

He didn’t give her time to talk when the line connected. “Where are you? Are you there with him?”

Take the accusation out of your tone, son.

“What? No. Of course I’m not. And if I was, he sure as hell wouldn’t have been arrested. Idiot. I can’t believe him.”

“Where are you?”

“My sister’s.”

Relief unknotted a few of the twists in his gut. “Okay. That’s good. Everything okay?”

“Don’t worry about me. What I’m freaking out about is on my feed. I’m pissed as hell, and I’m ready to throttle him. He knows better. What the hell was he thinking?”

“Okay, wait a minute. I need to catch up.”

“Murder? Maybe murder.” She was still muttering to herself and he was trying to get up to speed. Ethan heard the heat and the anger in her tone, but he also heard fear.

“The meeting went as well as could be expected, at least for me. But Luc left… and I don’t know. I thought he was going to think about the offer, not do this.”

“Offer?” Ethan was beyond confused.

She blew out a breath. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have bothered you with this. I just didn’t…”

“Have anyone else to call?” He wasn’t sure if that made him feel better or worse.

“No. Everything is okay with the band. Mostly. But we’re figuring stuff out when it comes to Luc. And we’re supposed to be doing it quietly. ” She huffed out a breath. “This? Not quiet. I gotta go.”

“Molly, wait.” The line went silent. He held his phone away from his ear to make sure she hadn’t hung up. “Are you there?”

“What?”

He released a long breath. “I’m worried about him too. I saw the footage.”

“You did? My feed blew up, but I didn’t realize entertainment gossip would be your jam, Professor.”

He ignored the professor dig. She was on edge, even if he wanted to snap at her, it wouldn’t do any good. Not in her current state. “It was on one of those entertainment shows after the news.” The sound of air rushing made him frown. Was she in a car?

“Prime time. Of course it went on there. Lila is going to have a litter of puppies.”

“How much trouble are we talking here?”

She sighed. “There was a lot of damage done from what I can gather, but it wasn’t his show. I’d imagine Flynn Sheppard would be on the chopping block for this one. But the vids I saw… Yeah, I don’t know what’s going to happen.”

The videos on the program were pretty damning, and he couldn’t imagine the rest floating around out there would be any better. In fact, from the one he’d seen of Luc tossing the guy on the stage—yeah, not good.

“Do you know where they took him?”

“I know nothing.”

“All right. I’ll figure it out.”

“Figure what out?” Her voice came out more like a squeak than the sultry timbre he was used to.

“To go help him.”

“Why?” She exhaled. “I mean, he’s not your problem. He was just a dude last night to you.”

“Yeah, well, you two may want to discount last night, but I don’t.”

“I…”

He could hear…hell, he could feel the uncertainty inside of her. In fact, it should have been living inside his chest, but he was tired of slotting people into the fuckboy and fuckgirl slots. Whether either of them wanted to own up to their extraordinary chemistry last night was their problem.

He’d learned long ago to follow his instincts. Loneliness might’ve been a factor in his reasoning, but it seemed like more. It sure as fuck felt like more. He’d been on the planet a bit longer than they had, but not by much.

Enough to know a good thing when he found it. And someone had to put themselves out there in this triad.

Jesus. Triad.

Never in his life had he believed that could happen for him. Threesome sex, yes—he'd had a few experiences.

Emotions tagging along with it? Yeah, that was the new part.

The part he wanted to chase.

Because it had been a damn long time since he’d felt anything strongly enough to make him sit up and take notice.

If he got kicked in the teeth for it, then so be it.

“I’m going after him.”

She was quiet.

Not shocking.

But he couldn’t worry about her right then. One crazy blond was enough.

“I’ll check in when I hear something.” He hung up before he could analyze it any further.

He scanned his phone for details, hoping he’d get some clue on the police department. Was it a state matter? Or local?

He didn’t even know how Las Vegas worked in that regard.

Sheriff?

His cock tightened at the idea of cuffs for a second. Huge, hard, oversized Luc with his arms behind his back.

“You are a sick fuck,” he said aloud as he scanned a few videos.

He switched to his Apple TV in his room as he swapped out sweats for jeans and a Henley. It was going to be a damn long drive out to Vegas and he wanted to be comfortable.

Disgusted with the gossip, and the speculative reports and no true facts, he clicked the television off. He grabbed his wallet, glasses, keys, and phone.

When he got into the hallway, he realized he hadn’t put his food or wine away, but he didn’t stop. It was more important to get on the road while the roads were less busy. If his window was right, he could get out there in about four hours.

Three and a half if he pushed it.

He took the elevator to the garage and climbed into his Lincoln. The growl of his engine settled him a little. The luxury car had been a stupid expense, but one he enjoyed. If he had to be trapped on the roads of Los Angeles, at least he didn’t have to be cramped in a tin can like some of his colleagues.

No, he’d made good investments, and his niche knowledge set had netted him a few lucrative freelance jobs over the years. Hollywood’s obsession with mythology had been his gain.

He rolled out of the parking garage into the semi-quiet side streets. His apartment building was close to the freeway, but far enough not to be pure insanity. Quickly, he programmed his in-dash GPS for the quickest trip.

There was far too much time to think in the car, and he couldn’t be bothered with NPR or music right now. Instead, he lost himself in a podcast about various forms of lore throughout the ages. Lucky for him, there were many podcasts to catch up on.

More than enough that he had to remind himself to stop and check on details of Luc’s arrest before he got too close to Vegas. It was a vast place, and he didn’t want to be running around the city like a tourist.

He stopped for gas and checked his cell.

A single text from Molly.

An address.

Didn’t give a shit about Luc, his ass.

Ethan smiled at the phone. He made a pitstop to empty his bladder before buying a large coffee to go.

With a destination in mind, he felt much more secure that he wasn’t just chasing his tail.

An hour later, he rolled up to the Clark County Detention Center. Whether Sheppard or Luc were important or not, they ended up in the standard holding cell evidently.

Re-routing to the detention center put some time on his clock. It was now five in the morning and no amount of coffee could help him. Especially when he walked through the doors of the jail and it was bigger than some campuses he’d been on.

After a few false starts, misinformation, and a less than helpful check-in person, he was seething. He was sweaty and the inhuman smells in the room seemed to have dug down deep into his sinus cavity. All of that to learn he had to wait until 7:30AM to even talk to someone.

At least he’d managed to verify Luc was there.

He was currently in some holding cell waiting for bail.

Ethan checked his phone. No messages. Then again, he was in a damn cinderblock and metal box. Didn’t exactly have a great signal in the best of circumstances.

He walked outside to post a notice to his student forum and gave them a reading assignment to cover his absence. A free week off was never bad for most of the students. It blew his syllabus to shit, but he usually put in a cushion for emergencies in the semester.

He returned to the detention center, mostly convinced it was safer than the sidewalk out front at 5:18 in the morning. He paced, walked the halls, and stared at the clock.

An older man with pure white hair and a very deep tan kept staring at him. Ethan wasn’t sure if he was alarmed or slightly flattered. That flattered even entered his brain told him just how tired he was.

He shoved another two dollars into the coffee machine at the end of the hall and choked down the swill. Anything to keep him awake for another blessed hour.

When the window opened, a half dozen people rose from the plastic chairs in the waiting area. Ethan beat all of them.

The man behind the glass took his sweet ass time opening up as well. Fucker. Power-tripping bastard. Anger brimmed over and he was tempted to rage at the window, but he knew how this kind of bureaucracy worked. School was very much the same.

“Good morning.”

The bored man with pallid skin that probably hadn’t seen sun for more than half an hour a day stared back at him. His blue eyes were nearly as colorless. The incongruous head of thick dark hair made him just that much creepier.

“Inmate number,” the man said in a droning voice.

“Right. I don’t know. I’m inquiring about Luc Moreau’s bail.”

“Spell the last name,” he said tonelessly.

Ethan did as the man asked. Christ, he’d been naked with the man, and he wasn’t wholly certain Luc Moreau was his real name. When the man behind the glass nodded, Ethan relaxed a little.

Finally some answers.

“Are you a friend or family member?”

Ethan blinked. “Friend.” Possibly. Jesus, what the hell was he doing?

The man rattled off a number for the bail and Ethan felt his breath actually stall out. “Excuse me?”

The man said the astronomical number again and Ethan took a shaky breath. The man must have been used to his reaction because he shoved a pamphlet under the glass. “Bail bonds are acceptable forms of payment.” He slid across another piece of paper. “This is the information they would need.”

The number was definitely more than he was expecting.

“Cash, charge, or cashier’s check.”

“Right. I’ll check into the bond.”

The man nodded. “Next.”

Ethan stumbled back a step and turned away. He pushed up his glasses, resisting the urge to pinch the bridge of his nose.

The white-haired man who had been eyeing him for the last hour stood and came over to him. “Excuse me, son.”

Wary, Ethan straightened his shoulders. “Yes, sir.”

“I’m waiting here for my friend as well. I think we might be in the same situation.”

Ethan’s eyebrow went up. “Is that right?”

“I heard you say Luc Moreau. I’m Flynn Sheppard’s manager, Charlie Boscoe.”

Relief released the tension knitting his shoulder blades together. “Oh. Well, yes. Then you would be in my situation.”

“I know a good bail bondsman down the street. Just let me get Flynn’s information.”

“Done this before?”

“A time or two.”

Ethan tipped his head back with a laugh. Christ, he hoped this guy was worth it.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Luc pulled his foot up against his body to stretch out the tendons of his legs and flex his knee. He was still sore as hell from the fight and spending the night with his ass on a concrete slab for a bench didn’t help.

A few men had come and gone throughout the night, but now they were alone save for a drunk snoring in the opposite corner. A line of drool soaked his shirt at an alarming rate. Flynn, the fucker, was stretched out on the L-shape of their corner bench, eyes closed, arms crossed over his chest.

“Stop starin’ at me, man.”

Luc huffed out a breath. “How can you sleep?”

“Better than pacing and grumbling like you’ve been doing,” Flynn murmured. “It’s almost time for us to get at least an idea of what we’re dealing with.”

Luc looked down at his naked wrist. They’d taken everything from him when they’d been arrested. “How the hell do you know what time it is?”

“Body clock. And the clock over there across from us.”

Luc couldn’t help the half laugh. “You’re an asshole.”

Flynn waggled his eyebrows without opening his eyes. “Considering we’re still here after what? Eight hours? I figure my bank account’s going to get a workout. Van’s letting us stew for sure.”

“Who the hell is Van?”

The older man stretched his arms over his head and finally rolled to a sitting position. The wide wingspan of his bare arms showed off a multitude of tattoos and lean muscles. His ink was mostly music related from the staff and music notes on his hand winding up to the grinning skeleton with a whiskey bottle and a microphone that made up his forearm.

He raked his fingers through his dark hair. “Donovan Lewis.”

Luc’s foot slid back down and he spun to sit up as well. “I’m sorry?”

Flynn shrugged. “I didn’t tell you about this?” He scratched the back of his head where his hair stuck up. “We’ve talked for hours some nights.”

“I believe I’d remember you talking about my boss—well, for all intents and purposes, my boss.” Maybe not for much longer. He still wasn’t entirely sure about that.

Depended on if he said yes to Lila.

As if he could say anything else.

“Well, I do have stories for days.” Flynn grinned. “This one goes way back. Me and Van used to play together back in the stone ages.”

“You’re not that old.” Luc linked his fingers together and rested his elbows on his thighs as he leaned forward.

“Old enough. Especially compared to you idiots.” Flynn yawned. “Not a terribly exciting story. Van only played with us for a year or so before he up and split.” His eyes shuttered a bit and the open teasing slid behind a careful mask.

Luc thought of it as Flynn’s interview face. The one place his buddy never slipped up. He might make it look like he had, but Luc knew better. Shep was a bastard, but he was a wily one.

“So, wait, let me get this straight. Donovan Lewis used to play in a band?”

“Yeah, man. He’s a killer guitarist. I’ve been around a lot of musicians in my day and damn if he can’t make a guitar cry. Not sing—no, sir—cry.” Flynn made a pained face as if locked in a memory. “The saddest songs I’ve ever heard. Even a song you didn’t think could go sideways like that. Jesus. It was something.”

“Wait. Donovan played country?”

Shep laughed. “No, we were more rock with a penchant for those long, Rush-style guitar solos.”

“And he just stopped?”

Shep shrugged. “His story to tell there, but the band didn’t stay together much longer after he split. I was still green and my voice was a hot mess due to way too many nights full of tequila and cigarettes. So we hung it up pretty quick after that. I floated around for a bit in Ireland and France before coming back home. Playing pubs will put some hair on your chest. That is a ruthless crowd.”

“I hear that.” Luc leaned back on the cement wall. Texas was just as harsh. Of course it was covered in a thin veneer of civility thanks to the layers of manners bred into the bone. Some nights he missed those old joints.

He might be going back to them if the clusterfuck of his life kept going on this trajectory. Shitstorm on top of a hellfire hurricane, that was his life right now. And the shit was splattering damn near everywhere.

He hadn’t even used his phone call. He had no one to call.

His best friends had just tossed him on his ass.

His sister would literally die when she heard about it. If she hadn’t already. “Fuck.”

Shep grinned. “More stewing. You are going to turn all that pretty boy hair gray if you keep thinkin’ on stuff so hard.”

“So says the man right next to me in lockup.”

“Not the first, won’t be the last.” Flynn stood up and stretched, then scratched his stomach. “I’m fucking starvin’ though. As soon as we get the hell out of here, I’m getting a strip steak.”

“I’m glad you’ll be getting out. My account says no.”

“Eh, we’ll get you out of here, Tex, don’t you worry.”

Luc rolled his eyes. “You’re not bailing me out.”

“We’ll just call it a loan. No big deal.”

Luc wouldn’t be anyone’s charity case, not even Flynn’s. They’d been friends for a few years now, but there was a difference between shooting the shit in a forced proximity rehab center, and putting up thousands of dollars.

Even if Flynn could afford it a hundred times over. He had the money. There was no denying that. Flynn Sheppard had been one of the biggest acts in country music for a dozen years. Even with the shitty contracts coming out of Nashville, he’d managed to do all right.

The problem with Flynn was that he’d been flying under the radar for too many years. He had a core fan base, but he wasn’t growing anymore. And in this business, if he wasn’t growing, he was dying on the vine.

His label had cut him loose after fifteen years.

All the money in the world couldn’t create buzz and interest. Luc knew that well enough. Even with Ripper Records money, The Grunge couldn’t move the needle in radio play and concert ticket sales.

Luc twisted his long hair up with the rubber band they’d allowed him to keep. He was going nuts. He needed a shower and a bed for twelve hours, but all he was going to get was more of this cement slab.

“You’re sprung, Sheppard.”

“Yes,” Flynn hissed out the word and stood. “Charlie pulls through again.”

Luc lowered his chin to his chest and kneaded the tight muscles in his shoulder. He was going to go crazy in here for another…what? Eight hours until arraignment if he was lucky. Only if he was lucky. It was Friday. Who knew if they took early weekends around here. It was Vegas.

“Moreau, you too.”

“What?” Luc stood. “How?”

The guard gave him a dour look. “Follow me, gentlemen.”

Flynn hopped in place and twisted his neck then shook out his arms. “Steak. So much steak in my future. With the biggest Bloody Mary I can buy.” He rubbed his hands. “Celery and tons of veggies in it. Salty and so good. My mouth’s watering.”

Luc’s stomach churned. The idea of food was nauseating. If his sister had bailed him out, he was going to hurl.

He followed Flynn out the door. Another two guards came up to flank him.

His size made people nervous on a good day. Cops? Yeah, that was no good at all. He was lucky they didn’t have him in cuffs again. Then again, the standard issue cuffs hadn’t fit his wrists. Maybe they were out of zip ties this morning.

“Charlie!” Flynn strode down the gray and blue hallway to the man waiting at the end. Snow white hair was styled impeccably over a face that may or may not have had a touch of Botox recently. Flynn’s manager seemed too old to be that line free. The man was wearing a wheat-colored suit with a golf shirt under it instead of a dress shirt.

“You never make things easy, Shep.” Charlie stepped forward, but stopped when the guard held up a hand.

“Wait until the prisoners are processed, please.”

Flynn scratched his head again where his hair stuck up in a cowlick. “Rules are rules,” he said with a wry smile.

Another man came forward. He was focused on paperwork in his hands and he wore dark rimmed glasses, but Luc knew that face. And he certainly knew the strong shoulders that filled the hallway. “Ethan?”

Ethan looked up and gave him that slightly crooked toothpaste commercial smile. “You look like crap, Moreau.”

Luc frowned. “What the hell are you doing here?” The question was sharper than he intended, but this was completely fucked up.

Shep glanced over his shoulder then to the tall, dark-haired man at the mouth of the hallway. “Huh,” he said with a bite of his lip. “I’ll be damned.”

Luc’s cheeks heated. Was it that goddamn obvious? Christ. He didn’t know what to do with the twisting anger and shock. He hadn’t asked for anyone to come bail him out. If anyone had come, it should have been Lila.

Not this guy.

He was dressed down, for once skipping the teacher garb. Well, save for the glasses that should have detracted from his looks instead of enhancing them. He had on well-worn jeans and a Henley that made Luc’s chest feel too tight.

Especially since Luc knew a perfect smattering of dark chest hair was under that shirt and shoulders that made his mouth water.

Fuck.

Ethan swallowed and his Adam’s apple bounced. “Want to get out of here?” He waggled a crinkled envelope. “All you gotta do is sign some paperwork.”

Luc’s eyebrows snapped down. “How much do I owe you?”

“We can discuss payment later.”

Just what kind of payment?

The slick oil of distaste curled around excitement. Fuck. He hadn’t even had time to put his emotions in order after the insanity of the band meeting let alone the morning after business of a threesome.

A threesome that hadn’t been entirely focused on the stunning blond they’d started with.

He ground together his molars and Ethan sighed. “Payment has already been made, Luc. Let’s not make this a thing, all right?”

How could it not be a thing? He hadn’t known this man a week ago and the night before last he’d had his mouth about three inches from Luc’s cock. And said cock was already stiffening up at the thought.

Wait, was this some sort of weird obsessive deal? He hadn’t had to handle anything like that with a guy before. Legions of women got twisted for the most random things, it only made sense a dude could as well.

“If you say anything else with those eyebrows, we’re going to get them an agent.” Ethan looked relaxed, except for the death grip he had on the envelope.

Luc relaxed his own hands, which were fisted at his sides. The idea of going back into that gray box was enough to push him down the hall to another uncertain future.

The guards were also getting fidgety behind him. He definitely didn’t need any other trouble. As it was, his offer to join Warning Sign might be rescinded after all that had happened.

The band’s media blackout had been fucked sideways and without lube.

Luc nodded mutely and followed everyone down the hall to a Plexiglass-shielded counter. He replied to the myriad questions with the shortest answers possible.

Yes, he understood he was going to have to go to court, no, he wasn’t a flight risk, yes, he understood the charges.

Oh, he definitely understood how incredibly stupid he was.

No doubt about that one.

Ethan stayed to the side, his fingers clasping his wrist to keep his hands in front of him as more inmates were brought through. These seemed to be wearing actual prison garb. There was a new buzz in the room. More mistakes, more consequences, all of them reminding Luc of just how much a man could fuck up.

By the time he’d gotten his date for his arraignment—three months from now—he was near the end of his rope. Finally, he was signing his name to the paperwork and agreeing to return to Vegas.

Just great.

Flynn was quietly talking to his manager as his paperwork was finalized. It seemed that there were a few more charges tacked onto his list.

For once, Luc was happy to be in second place.

Flynn signed his name with a flourish. “How about that steak?”

“I think I’m good,” Luc answered.

“Come on, Vegas has the best breakfasts in the state.”

Luc glanced at Ethan. He gave a half-shrug, but Luc was fairly sure the man was beyond done in. His gray eyes were bloodshot and bruised from lack of sleep and there was a tightness to his lips that Luc hadn’t seen before.

“No, we’re going to head back home. It’s been a fucking long night.”

“I hear that.” Flynn held out his arm and they clasped forearms before Flynn dragged him in for a one-armed hug. He slapped Luc’s back. “Let’s not do this again, huh?”

Luc couldn’t help the half laugh. No matter what, Shep always seemed to drag one out of him. “How about we just go for a beer next time?”

“Add a whiskey chaser, and you got yourself a deal.”

“Sounds good.”

“Take care, kid.” Flynn glanced over at Ethan. “Treat my friend right, you hear?”

Ethan’s eyebrow rose. “Yes, sir.” There was no embarrassment on his face from the obvious meaning behind Flynn’s statement.

The fact that Luc’s shoulders itched and his fingers clenched meant he needed to move this shit along. He wasn’t embarrassed, but he wasn’t ready for all of that.

At all.

When Flynn and Charlie left, he looked at Ethan for the first time. Really looked. Guilt and anger simmered under Luc’s skin. He didn’t want to owe anyone on a good day, let alone a near stranger. “You shouldn’t be here.”

Ethan inclined his head then pushed up his glasses. “That’s a fair assessment, but I am here. And I’d really like to take you home.”

Luc swallowed. He didn’t have a home. He hadn’t really had one for a damn long time. And he hated that his heart tripped at the thought of the word in conjunction with this man.

Ethan held out his arm. “After you.”

Luc nodded stiffly and straightened his shoulders. He was dirty and probably smelled like the dregs of society, but he lifted his chin and walked out the damn door.

The sun seared his eyes and he wished he had his—

Ethan held out a pair of aviators. “Don’t give me that weird look. They were in your personal effects.”

“Oh.”

Ethan passed over Luc’s wallet, watch, keys, and pitched the empty envelope in the garbage at the bottom of the steps. “The car is down this way.”

Quickly, Luc made arrangements with a buddy to have his bike driven back home. It would cost him in both money and favors, but he would make do.

One way or another, he always did.

He stuffed his wallet in his pocket and strapped on his watch as he walked down the oddly pristine sidewalk. Flowers and a fountain tried to make the setting less depressing, but there was very little a landscaper could do to lessen the harsh lines of the government building. Glass and cement made up the dour structure, with the huge lettering way above their heads leaving little doubt of just where they were.

Luc looked around, suddenly hunching his shoulders at how on display he was.

It would be just his luck to have paparazzi waiting for him. Hell, even a person on the street could sell a photo taken with their iPhone these days. But for once, it seemed as if no one noticed him.

Having someone match his stride for once was a relief. They were able to eat up the blocks between the detention center and the parking garage at a decent clip. Ethan’s big beast of a Lincoln shone under a light.

Ethan walked up to the door and opened it.

“No key?” Luc asked.

Ethan glanced back at him. “Nah. Car knows it’s me.”

“Not just a grandpa car.”

“V8 turbo engine, dickhead. Fucking grandpa car,” he muttered as he opened the door.

Luc shoved his hands in his pockets. “Not sure you want a felon driving your car, but I can drive if you’re beat.”

“I let you drive the other night.”

“For like three seconds in the parking lot at Ripper. I was basically a valet while you went inside.”

Ethan continued as if Luc had never spoken. “Do I look that bad?”

Luc shrugged. “If you say you’re not tired…”

“Oh, I’m beat. My days of all-nighters are long past.” Ethan held open the door. “Be my guest.” He rounded the car and went to the other side.

Luc lowered himself into the car, surprised again by how roomy it was. He hadn’t spent much time in the driver’s seat the other night. Then again, he and Molly had done a lot of damage in that backseat.

Ethan gave him a long stare.

Evidently, Luc wasn’t the only one who remembered.

Luc adjusted seats and windows and punched the ignition button. He was so used to his bike it felt weird to be trapped in a car. But hey, if he had to be in one, this was pretty fucking swank.

Ethan tucked his glasses into the console, reclined the seat a little, then crossed his arms as he settled into the luxury leather. “Try not to get a ticket.”

The grin that was creeping over Luc’s face faded. “I wouldn’t—” He blew out a breath at Ethan’s wide smile. “How many did you get?”

Ethan’s eyebrow went up as he opened one eye. He closed his eye again, his smile deepening, but he didn’t reply.

Luc backed out of the spot and drove out of the garage as he followed the directions on the dash for home.

Heading to a home that wasn’t his was weird and he was tired of thinking. “Will the radio bother you?”

Ethan’s light snore was his answer. They weren’t even officially on the road, and the dude was out.

Guilt sat on Luc’s chest again. Ethan had driven out to get him—a near stranger. He really didn’t know what to think about that.

So he wasn’t going to think at all. Much better to fill his head with music.

It had always saved him. Tonight wouldn’t be any different.

He flicked on the radio and when Ethan didn’t stir, he scanned the channels. He settled on a classic rock channel to pass the hours.

When the signs for Los Angeles started reading in the double digits, Luc started singing along to the songs to stay awake. When “Still of the Night” from Whitesnake came on, he couldn’t stop the yowls as he tried to chase Coverdale’s ridiculous pipes.

“I’ll give you nine-point-eight and an A+ for effort.”

“You’re finally awake, Professor?”

Ethan stretched his arms above his head and straightened his seat. “Heated seats and a little massage action and you’d have been out for…” He looked at the dash. “Oh, shit. Three hours.” He put his glasses back on. “You should have woke me. Or was that serenade supposed to be my wake-up call?”

Luc smirked. “I’ve been singing for hours.”

“Huh.” Ethan angled himself slightly toward Luc. “Usually, I can’t sleep unless there’s silence.”

“You were exhausted.” Luc cleared his throat. “I didn’t mean to sound ungrateful before. I just…” He flexed his hands on the steering wheel. “I’ve never had anyone go out of their way for me.”

Ethan reached out and squeezed his shoulder. “It was nothing.”

Luc involuntarily stiffened and Ethan drew back his hand. Luc looked away from the road and smiled at Ethan to try to temper the rebuff.

Because it wasn’t one. Not really.

“I’m not looking for anything more than you want to give, Luc. Just know that. And if you aren’t into me, then that’s fine too. I’m a big boy.”

Luc swallowed. “I’m not an innocent, Professor.”

“All right.” Ethan’s voice was even and non-judgmental. “Good to know.”

“This thing between us, the three of us—it’s not the best timing. My life is a shitstorm. A tidal wave of shit, to be honest.”

“Delightful visual.”

Luc laughed. “I just mean I don’t know where the hell my head’s at.”

“Well, if it wants to be in my lap, or in Molly’s, I’m good with either. I’m good with both.”

Luc’s dick stirred. Truthfully, he wasn’t sure which one was getting him going more. And that was a helluva thing.

He’d been in the music scene for a damn long time and he’d experimented here and there. Parties, alcohol, so much alcohol some nights. Mistakes had been made, and there had been more than a few mornings he wasn’t sure what exactly had happened.

But nothing like this.

Nothing like Ethan.

“Want me to take over driving?”

“Nah, I’m fine.”

Ethan nodded. “Being a passenger is a novelty. I’m kinda diggin’ it.”

Luc laughed and when Ethan turned up the music on a Def Leppard song, he decided things might be all right for the rest of the ride.

The highway shifted from narrow desert roads to multiple lanes. His shoulders stiffened with each mile.

Ethan turned down the music. “Don’t like city driving?”

“Not sure I want to go home.” He said it before he could think about it. Before he could measure out his words. And it felt right. Even if he didn’t know what the hell else was going on, he wasn’t sure he wanted to be alone.

Not today, and definitely not tonight.

“Then don’t.” Ethan tapped on the dash and hit a starred address.

“Your place?”

“Molly’s.”

Luc’s eyebrow shot up. “You know her address?”

Ethan nodded. “My best friend is with one of her bandmates.”

“Shouldn’t we… I don’t know. Call her?”

Ethan grinned. “What’s the fun in that?”

Luc smiled. “I like how you think.”

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Where the hell were Luc and Ethan? Why hadn’t one of those jerks called her?

Because one’s in jail and the other is trying to get him out. You, on the other hand, just got back from shopping. So who’s the jerk?

Molly sighed and fiddled with her iPhone, plugging it into the bedside speakers.

Whenever she couldn’t make sense of things, she dug through her iTunes, found a song that matched her mood, and gave it everything she had.

Today she was feeling some Lita Ford and Ozzy Osbourne.

She let the music sink into her chest, waiting as the melody swelled and it was her turn to enter the song. Then she opened up her throat and her heart and her lungs, letting the lyrics pull her along.

When she was singing, there was no hurt or pain. No thoughts or emotions she didn’t know how to handle. She was more than herself, more than the little girl who’d started to sing so she could be special.

So maybe someone would pay attention to her for something other than her shiny curls or her blue eyes. So maybe she would finally matter.

She sang along with Lita and Ozzy, letting herself cry out her frustration through another singer’s words. It was so much easier sometimes than trying to find her own. When the track ended, and she was breathless and damp with sweat despite the AC, she hit replay.

Again and again until she wasn’t just pretending to be Lita, she might as well have been her. Ozzy could’ve been at her side, the perfect foil for her dark, desperate torment.

Love, torment, weren’t they basically the same?

A shiver went through her as the song ended again and Molly bent at the waist, going through a quick series of breathing exercises. She’d pushed herself to the end of her range and beyond.

Her neighbors were probably loving her impromptu concert. Or they might have been, if most of them hadn’t been at work since it was daytime.

She’d just gotten home from her sleepover at Jazz’s a couple of hours ago. They’d dropped the kids off at school, then they’d gone to breakfast and done a little shopping. Molly had purchased a teddy she had no intention of needing. It made no sense. Why did she need sexy red lingerie made out of lace and satin and very little else?

An equally important question—why had she bought a short plaid skirt with kick pleats and a tight white blouse and sheer red bra to go with it? It wasn’t as if that whole schoolgirl thing she’d jokingly mentioned to Ethan their first night together was actually going to happen. And she already had the schoolgirl skirt, as she’d said. But this one was shorter. Almost obscene if she bent over. Couple that with no panties, or the pair of red crotchless ones she’d bought on a whim to go with the bra…

Clearly, she was losing her mind. Having a spur-of-the-moment threesome had given her delusions of actually having an ongoing sex life. A rather adventurous one, considering the threesome part and the roleplaying.

She wet her lips, remembering Luc’s quick smack on her ass the other night in bed. No one had ever slapped her ass before, not since childhood. This had been a whole different thing. Just thinking about it was making her wet.

Which was bad. She didn’t want to have sex with Luc and Ethan again. Though she’d come to understand her part in what had happened with Luc and how she definitely couldn’t blame him when she’d shoehorned in on his job, there were other things to think about. He’d only wanted one night, and he’d followed up on that by skipping out on her and Ethan the next morning without a word.

Because he thought you were going to take his job. Do you really blame him?

No, she didn’t. Nor did she fully blame him for ripping up that stage at Flynn Sheppard’s concert. That was how it had seemed anyway. She didn’t know the full story yet, and the news shows couldn’t be trusted.

She glanced at her silent phone, set on the nightstand beside her neatly made King bed with its pale purple duvet with tiny blue flowers.

Bluebird.

He hadn’t called her to bail him out of jail. Of course not. Ethan hadn’t called her either after going off after him. She’d expected Ethan to call at least. But he’d been as radio silent as Luc.

Though she would never admit it to anyone—even her songbook slash diary—she’d been up all night worrying about them both.

Luc was an asshole, but he didn’t deserve jail. Especially because she’d unintentionally made everything worse. No wonder he’d gone off the deep end. Losing his band and being thrown into a new one, all within the span of twenty-four hours.

Crazy.

With a day and a half’s distance, she was beginning to come to terms with the idea of sharing singing duties with him. Now and then. Not on every song. She definitely wasn’t ready to skip down the hills with joy, but if she had to do it, she’d do it. Maybe he’d even learn to take the backseat at times, since technically Warning Sign was her band.

Regardless, she’d opened this can of worms. Now she had to deal with what crawled out.

The truth was, leak or not, they had sounded incredible together. She wasn’t one to laud herself, choosing instead to look for flaws and where to improve, but something about how their voices had melded had made them together so much stronger than as individuals. Their strengths had propelled each other to greater heights. Weaknesses had been minimized. Maybe it was just the drama of that situation and couldn’t be replicated again, but God, if it could, Molly understood why Lila had made the choice she had.

There was magic there. Unrefined, rough, still needing work. But magic nonetheless.

If they could figure out how to work with each other—and the rest of the band.

Assuming Luc made it out of jail.

She glanced at her phone. She could call Ethan. Not Luc, of course, because she didn’t know his number. But if she called Ethan, he wouldn’t shut her down. She just couldn’t find the nerve.

Maybe they were doing just fine without her.

Bah. That was probably jealousy talking.

Besides, who needed men to be sexy? She could wear teddies and dress up like a naughty schoolgirl to please herself. She’d even gotten the knee socks, which had caused Jazz to give her some heavy side-eye.

Molly frowned. She should put on her teddy for herself and dance around her room the same way she used to as a teenager. If singing hadn’t worn her out, dancing like a lunatic surely would.

Anything so she didn’t have to think about what Luc and Ethan were up to.

She stretched, doing a few more exercises to limber up, these of the physical variety rather than breathing and throat. Almost casually, she wandered to her dresser. She opened the top drawer and trailed her fingers over the silky red lace teddy within, then swapped her outfit for the tiny bit of nothing.

There was nothing wrong with dancing in lingerie to eighties’ classics in the privacy of her own bedroom. In fact, hadn’t there been a number of fine music videos with this exact theme?

And one of a bunch of lingerie-clad women dancing in a teacher’s classroom, but she wasn’t going there right now.

Lita and Ozzy were still playing, so she let herself go. She pretended she was on stage, except she vamped it up in a way she usually didn’t. Typically, she tried to keep her sexuality on the downlow, lest she be known for only that. Here, alone, she let it free in tandem with her voice, stretching for the highest notes while she pushed her body in ways she normally didn’t. She wasn’t a dancer, and she didn’t even exercise more than the bare minimum to keep herself toned. But this wasn’t for anyone else but herself.

The slide of the lace over her nipples brought them to tight peaks, and the cinched waist reminded her of her form with every bend and twist. Her hair fell in her face as she rolled across her bed, not caring about the tidy sheets and covers. She ripped at them, gyrating in whatever way the music moved her, arching her back and spreading her legs until her core pulsed from the memory of Ethan filling her mouth while Luc filled her pussy. With every breath, she could smell them, their unique colognes and that earthier, dirtier scent that came with sex. They’d never been in her room, but it didn’t matter. They’d been inside her, and in her own way, she’d been inside them.

When the song ended, she wasn’t ready to be finished. So she went through it again, singing her heart out, pushing her hands through her tangled hair until it wasn’t enough. Her entire body was aching. She needed…

God, she just needed, and she was more than capable of giving herself what she required.

The heel of her hand slipped between her thighs and she rubbed, hard. The sensation made her gasp and she rolled onto her knees, riveted by the sight of herself in the wide mirror over the dresser that faced the bed.

Still watching herself, she peeled down the straps of her teddy, continuing on until the tops of her flushed breasts were on full display and her nipples were almost bared. She licked her lips and dragged her hand down between her legs again, shamelessly using the material to tease herself until it was damp.

All the while, she watched her face. Watched her body. Accepting both in a way she never really had since…

Never. She’d never accepted herself as a sexual creature since she’d locked that side of her nature away, believing she couldn’t acknowledge her needs and have a career too. One side always won out, and she wasn’t going to end up as some man’s discards.

What about two men’s?

Even as the thought registered, her buzzer rang. She nearly ignored it. God knows, she wasn’t in any shape to see someone. But then she wondered if it could be them. If somehow she’d summoned them.

Deliberately, she didn’t turn off the music. Nor did she turn it down. She left her bedding in shambles, and didn’t do a damn thing to fix her appearance. Her sweat-smeared mascara and bare mouth and sweaty skin were just part of the package.

She was so tired of hiding.

She padded barefoot to the intercom system, checking the monitor. Ethan and Luc waited downstairs, both of them looking anywhere but at each other. They were standing close though.

Close enough that she had all manner of dirty thoughts, and there was no room for jealousy. Not now.

“About time you showed up,” she said, buzzing them upstairs.

When the soft knock echoed at the door a few minutes later, she opened it up and tilted her head. They looked worse for wear, but still so delicious.

From the way the two pairs of eyes riveted on her glazed over, she had to assume they were having similar thoughts.

“He got you out of jail, obviously. But what were the charges?” she asked Luc, but he was already looking past her.

“Later,” Luc muttered.

“What happened after the show?” she tried again, but neither of them seemed interested in that line of discussion.

“Did we interrupt something?” Ethan asked, his tone cool and cultured.

“Fuck interrupting. Who do you have here?” Luc pushed his way inside, his broad forearm skating across her breast and making her nipple tighten painfully. If he noticed, he said nothing as he stalked through her large, airy place, the space seeming to shrink in proportion to his bulk. He marched through the living room and straight into her bedroom as if she’d drawn him a road map, then let out a growl that seemed more fitting for a back alley than her plush glass fortress of an apartment.

“What the hell is this?” Luc swept an arm out, pointing at her messy bed she was sure. “Is some fucker hiding in your closet?”

He didn’t wait for her to answer, just charged into her bedroom and opened and slammed doors.

Ethan glanced at her, as if gauging her reaction. His expression said he expected her to flip her lid and start screaming to match Luc.

Instead she threw back her head and laughed.

“Do you think this is funny?” Luc charged back out and crossed the room to them, his heavy boots thudding like the pounding of her clit as he approached. “I don’t know who you’ve been fucking, but he’s not us.” He gripped her arms and drew her up on her toes, getting right in her face.

Ethan stepped forward, but minutely, she shook her head.

“Want to know who I’ve been fucking?” she asked softly.

Luc’s eyes narrowed even as Ethan reached out to grip the back of her neck. She arched into his touch, her body coming even more to life with their hands on her.

She needed this. Just this. Them touching her, their emotions clashing and colliding with hers.

Fucking beautiful, discordant music.

“Who?” Ethan asked against her ear, ruffling her damp hair with his warm breath.

“Myself.”

As if she’d said something shocking, Luc let her go. She dropped to the balls of her feet and turned toward Ethan, since his hold had only intensified. “I sang and I danced and when I got too hot, I ran my hands over my breasts and between my legs. And I watched myself in the mirror, teasing myself until this got all wet.” Lip caught between her teeth, she showed them the twisted, damp fabric between her legs, not allowing the prickle of nerves along her spine to take root.

Not again. Not when they were staring at her so intently, so ravenously, their faces already tense with need.

Not just one man. Somehow she’d found two, and they both wanted her, just as they wanted each other.

And that was okay too. More than okay.

Ethan cupped the back of her head, his fingers spreading into her tangled hair. He brought her mouth close to his, but he didn’t kiss her. “Did you make yourself come?”

“No.” She let out a shuddering breath and reached for his other hand, pressing it against the heart of her. Just the pressure of his palm made her back bow, unintentionally thrusting out her breasts.

She wasn’t at all surprised—or disappointed—when Luc hooked his fingers in the strap of her teddy and yanked it down, allowing her breast to pop free. He latched onto it like a man dying of hunger, and she was his only sustenance.

Ethan kneeled between her legs and peeled the material away, baring her pussy to his tongue. He didn’t hesitate, giving her a long stroke that nearly buckled her knees. She locked a hand in his hair and the other in Luc’s, not the least bit worried about being gentle. If she pulled, if she drew blood, they’d like it.

Hell, they’d love it. Just as she would.

“Bedroom,” she gasped as Ethan parted her swollen slit and used his tongue to scoop out every bit of wetness. It arrowed over her clit and she dragged her nails over Luc’s scalp, relishing his hiss. “Now.”

She wasn’t supposed to be doing this again. Not with them. It had been a one-time thing.

And she didn’t care.

Did not care.

“Bluebird has spoken.” Luc hauled her head back by her hair to speak against her mouth. “Are we to just do your bidding then?”

Inside, she thrilled at his usage of her nickname. She shouldn’t like that either.

Shouldn’ts didn’t exist anymore in her vocabulary.

Ethan ignored them both, locking his hand around her thigh as he slid his mouth higher, over the lace and satin of her teddy until he was tugging down the cup of her other breast. He sucked on it openly, his gaze hot on her face while Luc bent to do the same to her other one, both of their heads tipped close. Light, dark. United in their mutual task.

As if by some unspoken agreement, they both reached for her pussy again. Hands greedy, barely fitting between her thighs. Luc’s big blunt fingers opened her up while Ethan toyed with her clit, and she couldn’t even draw in enough air to warn them.

Her body simply detonated on their fingers, soaking them.

“Jesus.” Luc buried his face in her hair before lifting his hand to her mouth. He didn’t have her suck on his fingers this time, just painted her wetness over her lips. “Next time you don’t get to start the party without us.”

“Next time?” The question was out before she could stop it, but Ethan was already rising and tugging her against him, kissing her hard enough to remove the thought from her head.

She tasted herself on him and it only made her rise up on her toes for more. She drew his lower lip between her teeth while he trapped her nipple between two fingers. The pinch was enough to make her cry out, and he did it again as he turned his head.

Her lips tingled as Ethan tightened his grip on her breast at the same time as he reached for Luc. She wasn’t prepared for it. Didn’t have time to be. Neither was Luc, judging from the way his pupils flared wide and a groan left him just before their mouths collided.

And then they were kissing, and Christ, she squeezed her pussy around air just watching their heads slant together. It was so raw and rough. Nothing like the gentle way Ethan kissed her. It was all tongues and clashing teeth and greedy hands.

Their greedy hands were still on her too. Pulling at her clothes, tugging her closer so she was folded against their sides even as they ravaged each other. But she was always a part of them, even as she stared, fascinated.

Now she understood why Jules had wanted to see this. It was so, so hot to watch two men she craved so completely also crave each other.

She wanted more. Wanted to see them naked and moving together while she watched. While she told them what to do.

While she helped.

“Bedroom,” she commanded, biting the tendon on the side of Luc’s neck. He grunted and smacked her ass before turning his head to kiss her, quick and hot.

Tasting both Luc and Ethan in Luc’s kiss made her moan, especially when Ethan circled behind her and filled his hands with her breasts. “Think she wants to get fucked?” he questioned against her hair.

Luc nodded. “Think she needs both of us again.”

She slid her hands up Luc’s chest and fisted his shirt. “I need you two to keep doing what you just did too.”

“Hmm, demands.” Luc reached down to palm her ass, and she didn’t miss how close the move put the back of his hand to Ethan’s cock.

Intentionally, she ground back against Ethan, making both men groan.

Luc’s green eyes fired with amusement. “You’re a naughty girl.”

“Mmm-hmm.” She licked her lips and lifted an arm around Ethan’s neck while he nuzzled her jaw. “Question is, why don’t I have a cock in my mouth?” She bit her lower lip and gazed at Luc again. “And why don’t you?”

“Christ. She’s going to kill us.” Ethan hoisted her up in his arms, just boosted her right off the floor and carted her in the other room. She laughed, trying in vain to hold an arm over her breasts to keep the jiggling to a minimum.

Then she caught sight of the way Ethan was watching them bounce in every mirror and window they passed—and there were a lot of them in her apartment—and she let her arm drop.

Confidence, remember? She had it. Somewhere.

Ethan stepped into her bedroom and she glanced back to catch his reaction upon seeing the bed. His jaw locked. “You did that by yourself?”

“I was singing and dancing and…” She let her lashes drop. “Other things.”

Luc made a noise in his throat and came around in front of her to grab her legs. Together, the men tossed her on the unmade bed and set upon her, almost like a duo of wolves. She wouldn’t have been surprised to hear snarls mixed in with the groans.

And she loved every second.

“Ozzy and Lita,” Luc said between the kisses he pressed between her breasts as Ethan tugged off her teddy. “You were singing this?”

It was probably because she was half tipped off the bed, with her head almost leaning off the edge. Blood rush and all. But she lifted her voice with Lita’s again, not the least bit self-conscious of the tonal difference in that position. Because they were watching her with unabashed approval, and not just for her body.

They were both riveted to her face. Her voice.

Her.

She extended her arms to them, kissing Ethan with every ounce of the passion she’d poured into the vocals. The song rose and built again and she could feel it swelling inside her, the music beating in her chest, pulsating in her nipples and in her clit. Luc rolled her so she was facing Ethan and she hooked her leg around his waist, grinding her bared pussy against his suit pants without shame.

Hoping she got them all wet.

From behind her, Luc’s chest rumbled with the echoes of Ozzy, and she shut her eyes, almost dizzy from the sensations of their hands and their kisses and the music, all rising until she couldn’t breathe.

She was so close to coming again, and they’d barely touched her.

“Undo his pants,” Luc said in her ear, and she nodded, her hands unsteady as she hurried to comply. She had trouble with his belt and Luc helped her, pulling it out of the loops and tossing it aside—until Ethan reared up and snatched it back. Before she could read his intentions, he was wrapping it around her wrists, snug enough for her to feel the bite of leather but not so snug to cut off circulation.

“Don’t worry, Bluebird, I’ve got this.” The amusement rife in Luc’s voice as he tugged down Ethan’s zipper made her huff a breath to get her hair out of her face so she could stick her tongue out at him.

She didn’t get a chance to, because Luc was already scooping Ethan’s stupidly hard cock out of his boxers, his grip on Ethan strong and sure.

Ethan had his eyes tightly closed, but she couldn’t look away. Damn, that was hot.

“You plan on looking all night, or you gonna do some work for your keep?” Luc fisted a handful of her hair and pushed her down.

Without her hands to brace the descent, she gasped and fell forward on Ethan’s thighs. He locked his hands on his stomach at the brush of her nipples over his leg as she tried to get her mouth around the swollen tip of his cock—but then Luc was there, one hand on the back of her head and the other feeding her Ethan’s shaft.

She sucked on it eagerly, curling her fingers into her palms at Ethan’s raw exhale. Luc moved his hand up and down in time with the pulls of her mouth, and she took him deeper and deeper, inching farther down his length so that her lips bumped against Luc’s grip, getting both his hand and Ethan all wet.

“Sweet Zeus,” Ethan mumbled, opening his eyes and unlocking his death grip on his hands to brush her hair back so he could see every dirty thing she was doing. That they were doing. Luc’s gentle pressure on the back of her head never gave her a break, and soon her cheeks and throat started to hurt. Damn these men with their endless staying power.

Then Luc released Ethan’s dick to reach beneath it for his soft, heavy balls. “These too, Bluebird,” Luc grated out, already nudging her down.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck.” Ethan’s whisper blew hot over her hair as she lowered her head to comply, snaking her tongue around every crevice of warm, pulsing flesh. Her shoulders and neck were killing her from the angle, and she was getting a stitch in her side from how she was twisted to reach Ethan’s groin.

But when Luc let go of Ethan’s sac and instead shifted until he could finger her, she cried out, literally a few flicks away from an orgasm.

“Goddamn, she loves sucking cock.” The pressure on the back of her head disappeared and suddenly, Luc was behind her, between her legs, shoving them wide so that she pitched forward on Ethan, still sloppily licking and sucking every bit of his skin she could reach.

Ethan didn’t reply. He was too focused on her face as he carefully smoothed back her damp hair, every bit of his attention on her as she pleasured him.

She tried not to lose the rhythm, to get too caught up in her own rising climax. She did love sucking cock. Loved sucking their cocks, though she hadn’t had a chance at Luc’s yet. Soon. Very soon. She licked the steady trickle of pre-cum slipping down Ethan’s shaft, better than her own personal ice cream cone, and used her nipples to add little extra bits of sensation when she could. But God, Luc was eating her like he was fucking ravenous, and she was clenching so hard with nothing but his slick, slippery tongue to fill her.

She couldn’t hold on.

Couldn’t.

Couldn’t.

“Fuck yeah,” Ethan groaned as she engulfed him again, half mad from the pleasure knifing through her lower belly. “Need to come on your tits.”

She was already nodding, working him as hard as she could despite the dizziness from the oncoming freight train. It was so close, and then it was there, mowing her down with its intensity so that all she could do was moan around Ethan’s cock. As he started to spurt, she managed to draw back as spots swam in her vision from lack of oxygen, and he spent himself on fucking everything.

His stomach, his thighs, her breasts. Just covering them both.

And Luc was still on her like a maniac, using his lips and fingers both. She sounded so wet, so wet, and he still wasn’t through.

Ethan rose on one elbow and leaned up, tenderly gripping her hair to bring her closer. She slid up his body, sticky in every possible way, flailing more than a little at the loss of her hands. Luc nudged her forward and she shut her eyes at the rip of a condom behind her, unsure what he was going to do but already certain it was going to hurt so good.

“All right?” Ethan murmured, kissing her tenderly in spite of the fact that she was a trembling, sweaty mess. Her lips tasted like him and he couldn’t seem to get enough, licking at her tongue as he gripped her hips and spread her legs until she was straddling him.

His spent cock was trapped between their bellies, and fuck if it wasn’t already starting to get hard again.

She made a sound to that effect, and Ethan smiled through his kisses. “You should see yourself, and you’d understand.”

“Goddamn beautiful,” Luc said from behind her, coasting a hand up her back to tangle in her hair. “Seems like my cock aims right for this.” He pushed her back down and lifted her hips, getting the angle just right, and rubbed the head of his erection along her slit.

She moaned into Ethan’s mouth, almost delirious. Finally, she’d be filled for real.

Ethan reached behind her and undid the belt from her wrists, tossing it on the floor a moment before Luc pulled back and drove home, sending her forward on Ethan’s chest. He buried his hands in her hair and covered her mouth, kissing her deeply as she cried out. Then holding her, keeping her steady for Luc’s endless, driving thrusts. His pace was brutal, and she didn’t have reserves left to try to hold on. Between Luc’s strokes, her taut nipples dragging over Ethan’s chest, and his cock quickly coming to life between them, she was already a goner.

This orgasm wasn’t like the others, more like floating away at sea rather than being submerged. It started slow, spinning out from her core in ripples that didn’t seem to have an end. Sagged against Ethan, she pressed her face into his throat, breathing in the salty sea air scent of him, sure she was finished. Had to be finished.

Ethan didn’t seem to think so, and neither did Luc, if his punishing assault on her battered flesh was any indication. It should’ve been too much. She’d never craved rough sex before this, before them. But when Ethan slipped a hand between their damp bodies, his fingers on a certain path to her clit, she arched, giving him the perfect opportunity to bite her nipple.

The pain-pleasure sang through her, and she shot over the brink again as Luc roared out his own peak, his big body coming down on her and crushing her between him and Ethan as she shuddered.

She shut her eyes, crawling up Ethan so she could bury her face in his hair. She curled one arm around him and reached behind her with the other, weakly fisting Luc’s crazy mane.

Words tumbled from her head, and the still playing Lita and Ozzy helped fill the silence other than her chaotic heartbeat, stampeding in her head. Ethan’s echoed under hers, steady and relentless. If she shifted just right, she was almost sure she could feel Luc’s beating in his chest as well, but that might just have been the imminent death caused from being crushed by a giant beast of a man.

Yet she didn’t ask for him to move before she lost consciousness. No, she did not.

Instead, she mumbled, “I never used to be multi-orgasmic.”

The guys laughed. Eventually, she joined them, giggling helplessly before finally elbowing Luc to get off her. He rolled to his side and quickly disposed of the condom before she shifted on top of him, lying full out on her back on his massive body.

He was some kind of pillow.

Smiling slyly, she glanced sidelong at a very mussed up Professor Haywood, and his now fully erect cock. “Think we need a shower.”

CHAPTER NINETEEN

There were many ways to get fucked, and to fuck. Luc was pretty sure they were on a path to figure out most of them.

It was Sunday morning, which meant he and Ethan had been at Molly’s for heading on two days. Boy Scout Haywood had actually left for a couple hours yesterday to do some “essential” grading and to water his plants. In the meantime, he and Molly had watched TV like normal people who weren’t fucking as much as humanly possible. Getting naked without Ethan there hadn’t even been an option. Hell, Luc hadn’t even felt right about tucking her breast back in when her slouchy nightshirt had dipped too far.

But he’d done it, because he would never be accused of being a Boy Scout. He definitely didn’t have any houseplants.

She hadn’t asked them to go the hell home already, and neither of them had mentioned it other than Ethan’s brief Saturday afternoon escape.

They were some fucking horny bastards.

Along with that, their media blackout decree from Lila meant that right now, no one was talking to the media about what was next for Warning Sign. The leak was still news, but already fading. What was big yesterday was gone by the next day.

And he still hadn’t officially said yes to joining, though he knew he was going to. His choices resided between slim and none. If Lila even still wanted him to join. She hadn’t called him about his Sheppard show incident yet, and he was sure she knew because she knew everything.

She’d probably spring it on him tomorrow at the big Ripper meeting.

Oh, yeah, want to join, do you? Get ready to toe the line, asshole.

Said one-hundred percent more snootily.

“Whatever you’re cooking in there smells fabulous,” Molly called, snuggling against Luc’s side. Her heavy eyelids were barely high enough for him to see any blue.

She was a damn champ. What the three of them had done in that bed…

Yeah, they’d broken some laws, and were on their way to breaking more, Luc was sure. The corner of his mouth tipped up.

If Molly ever recovered.

Ethan had on some cooking show and didn’t respond.

“Busy with Julia Child,” Luc told Molly, smiling at her giggle.

He didn’t have a clue about contemporary cooks. He only remembered the name Julia Child because when he was a kid, his mom had watched old shows while she cooked sometimes. It had been a damn long time since he’d had someone make food for him he hadn’t paid for.

Molly shifted and laid her head on his bare stomach, rubbing a hand over her face. “You ever gonna tell me about the show?”

In a vain effort to ignore his morning wood, he folded his arms behind his head and studied the spray of honey-blond hair spread over his chest as if it belonged there. She was so comfortable with her body and with his. And Ethan’s. Every now and then, she’d stiffen up and go somewhere else in her head, but he was relentless about making her come, just as Ethan was.

Somehow that she was so strong made them determined to find ways to make her even stronger in their arms.

Because she was never stronger than she was after she came. Those gorgeous eyes would open and focus on his, and every time, he felt like a king that he could bring her pleasure. Even for a moment.

Even if tomorrow it would all likely end and they’d retreat behind the walls that separated them at work.

“Shep’s an old buddy of mine.” Luc tipped back his head and wondered if she’d be cool with putting a mirror on the ceiling. She seemed to have them everywhere else in the damn place, along with more windows than he could count.

If someone was watching them, they would’ve gotten an eyeful that weekend.

“Okay,” Molly said, clearly waiting for more.

“We met in rehab.”

Molly arched a brow. “You mean for your sex addiction?”

He started to dispute it. He wasn’t a monk, and his recent activities had proved it. But the sex addiction thing had been more fable than fact, and more spin than reality.

Though maybe that was part of why she’d decided to take a whirl on his carousel to begin with. Experienced meant he probably knew what he was doing, and Ethan had alluded to Molly taking a sexual break before he’d hooked up with her. If he ruined the mystique, she’d lose interest.

So? You know this can’t go anywhere anyway.

Just because he’d fucked her all weekend and given Ethan a few hand jobs—that as of yet, had not been returned, though he wasn’t bitter—and made out with him didn’t make them a thing. They were blowing off steam.

A lot of it.

“That’s what I was in there for, yes. I enjoy some Jack too from time to time.”

“Enjoying something doesn’t make it an addiction.” She propped her elbow on his abs and leaned up, completely at ease with her nudity.

He wasn’t at ease with her nudity, as his swiftly rising dick could attest to. Any minute, the damn thing was going to wave hello behind her.

“No. But Shep was in there for alcohol, not pussy.”

“For real?” She traced her nail around Luc’s nipple and he nearly hissed. “Or more media games?”

He snagged her wrist. “What do you mean by that?”

“I mean, record companies spin things for their own purposes. You told me there was more to your past than it seemed in the alley. Were you lying?”

Her directness pulled out the truth. He couldn’t have lied to those earnest eyes if he wanted to, and he didn’t. “No.”

“So let me see if I can spin this. The Grunge isn’t making much noise, so it’s on the lead singer to grab attention any way he can. Whether it’s legal or illegal. Some guys—or chicks—go for the picking fights route. With you, they took your obvious attributes and used them. Easy enough to paint you as a man who can’t quite stop loving the ladies, even if he takes it too far.” She angled her head. “Too bad they missed the XY chromosome part of the equation.”

“No one knows about that,” he said sharply. Too sharply.

Her brows pinched together. “Ethan did.”

“Not from some press about me. I don’t know how he knew, really. Guess there’s some chemical I give off that’s only identifiable to bi guys. I don’t know.” He laughed humorlessly. “It’s never really been an issue before.”

“You’ve never done anything with guys before?”

“I have. A while ago.” God, his ears and the back of his neck were heating up. Lame. “It wasn’t part of my image, you know?”

“Being yourself wasn’t part of your image.” She clambered off him and kneeled at his side, crossing her arms over her breasts in an X. “So let me guess, when Dex’s spin went off the rails, and didn’t do the band a bit of good, that’s when he decided you were a liability.”

Luc locked his jaw. “You heard Lila. Probationary in your little group too. It’s not like Dex is alone in thinking I’m trouble.”

“And to prove it, you went and got yourself locked up for being disorderly.”

“That’s not what happened.”

“Then?”

He told her about how it all gone down, keeping the story short and to the point. She listened silently, her face free of judgment.

“So you have some shitty luck.”

He didn’t expect to laugh. Then again, he hadn’t expected any of this.

Especially her and Ethan.

“Begins to seem that way, doesn’t it?”

“Yeah, it does. I mean, there are no accidents. Stuff happens because it’s supposed to. So says the Tao of Molly.”

He cocked a brow. “So I’m supposed to be co-lead with you in Warning Sign?”

“That remains to be seen. It’s early days, Kemosabe.”

“Yeah, I knew you weren’t nearly as Zen about sharing your microphone with me as you are pretending to be.”

“I’m not pretending anything. I clawed my ass out of the goddamn gutter to get where I am.”

“Oh, yeah, with a sister who’s the drummer in Oblivion and a brother-in-law who’s co-lead guitar in the same band, along with one of the hottest songwriters in the game right now. Rough living there.”

“I didn’t grow up with my sister.”

Luc exhaled. “Sorry. You gave me the space to speak.”

“It’s not crazy to assume that sisters would grow up together. It just didn’t work that way for Jazz and me.” She shrugged, tightening that X over her breasts until it seemed as if she was closing in on herself. “I did get advantages though. I always knew that, but the fight I had with Lila the other day slammed it home. But lots of people do. It isn’t the key you’re given, it’s how you use it. I’ve used mine to the best of my ability.”

“And I haven’t?”

“You tell me.”

He twitched the sheet over his still not sleeping dick. Annoyed with her or not, his cock was entirely indiscriminate. “I never claimed to be a saint, but I did what I thought was best.”

“So you course correct. And you stop feeling sorry for yourself, because if there’s anything unattractive, it’s a guy who is big enough to play center on a basketball team pouting like a little bitch.” She rolled off the bed and stopped to pull some clothes out of her closet on her way to the en suite bathroom. “I need a shower. Call me when breakfast is ready.”

He got a second to admire her firm, sexy ass with its assortment of scruff burns and interesting bruises before the door shut.

Without questioning the impulse, he sat on the side of the bed and tugged his cell out of his discarded jeans. He pushed the speed dial for his sister before his brain fully engaged.

“Lucas?” Her voice was sleepy and he turned his phone to check the time. Early yet, so it would be earlier in Texas. Fuck. “Everything okay?”

“Yes, everything’s fine. I just wanted you to know you don’t have to worry. I’m going to fix this.”

She yawned and he heard the signs of her puttering around in the trailer where his siblings lived. They didn’t want to move. He’d tried to get them out, but that rusted-out doublewide was the closest thing to normalcy and a family homestead that they’d ever had.

They clung to their home base, when he’d run as fast as his legs could carry him. Always searching for better.

Never quite finding it.

“Fix what? Sorry, I haven’t had my coffee yet, so I’m a little blurry.”

“Did you work late?”

“Yeah, new manager fired the night guy at the store. So I picked up an extra 10-3.”

Luc frowned. “You know I don’t like you working overnights at that place. A gas station in the middle of the night is fucking dangerous. Especially in that part of town.”

“You worry too much.” She laughed at him, as she always did.

Still, the pang between his shoulder blades remained. He should be there, helping out his family. He was too goddamn far away to do enough good. Money wasn’t all they needed.

Katie needed not to be working two jobs just to try make ends meet. Not when he’d been given everything on a silver platter and he’d screwed it up time and time again.

Molly was right. He’d been pouting like a little bitch, and that shit was finished.

“No, I’ve been worrying too much and not taking care of business like I’m supposed to. But I’ve got my shit handled now. I have a new gig coming up. Think it’s going to be exactly what we all have been hoping for.” He rubbed at the ache behind his breastbone. “Get those papers to me we talked about, and I’ll sign them so Kira can get what she needs.”

“What new gig? What about your band? Are you sure everything is all right?”

“It will be,” he promised, and the truth of that sank into his bones. He wasn’t going to screw up another opportunity, even if it was one he’d never asked for or wanted.

This was his life now, and he wasn’t going to simply go through the motions. He was going to fucking slay people with his talent, not what he could do with his dick. Half of that had been rumors anyway.

At least a quarter of it.

Kate sighed. “I can tell you aren’t going to tell me anything. As long as you promise me you’re okay.”

“I promise. I love you, Katie Bug. Tell the kids I love them and will call in a couple of days.” He clicked off and dropped his phone beside his hip, then buried his head in his hands.

“Katie Bug? Kids?” Ethan’s voice couldn’t have been cooler if he’d been dipped in ice.

Luc shifted toward him, shoving his phone under a pillow like a dirty secret. “How much did you hear?”

“Enough.” Ethan crossed his arms over his chest, and that one of his hands contained a spatula didn’t diminish the power of his stance. “If you have a girlfriend and kids, this ends now.”

The ridiculousness of Ethan’s statement made him bark out a laugh. And then he shut his eyes. “You would assume that.”

“What else do you expect me to think? You’re practically whispering on the phone, telling someone and the kids that you love them.”

Luc sat against the headboard of Molly’s bed. “Katie is my younger sister. She’s with our other two siblings in Abilene. She’s their legal guardian, since they’re still in high school.” His voice sounded wooden, almost robotic, but it couldn’t be helped. At least he was able to get the words out. “Our parents died years ago, and our aunt who was their guardian died not long after Katie turned eighteen. She petitioned the court to get custody of them.”

Ethan started to speak, but Luc held up a hand. “Look, man, I don’t want sympathy. Unnecessary. Just stating the facts.”

“I wasn’t going to give you sympathy. I was going to ask if you’re ready to eat.” While Luc frowned, Ethan nodded toward the closed bathroom door. “Has she been in there awhile?”

“Just a few minutes. Figuring on the usual female beauty routine, she’ll probably be another hour.”

Ethan’s lips ghosted into a smile. “She’s not the usual female in any way.”

“No, she isn’t.” Luc dragged a hand down his face. “So this probably couldn’t be any more awkward, but I just told you my life history, so what the fuck.”

Ethan lifted a brow and waited.

“Not sure what your plans are for the rest of the day, but just so you know… I don’t have a problem with anything that’s gone down here this weekend.” He rubbed the heel of his hand over his thick scruff. Two days without shaving and he was on his way to qualifying as a stand-in for the latest Sons of Anarchy ripoff. “Anything,” he added lamely, since Ethan was just still sort of smiling.

Ethan with his clean jaw and his neatly tamed curly hair and his shirt tucked into trousers that weren’t the least bit wrinkled. The man came prepared.

Unlike Luc, who just came.

“Good to know. I didn’t notice you having an issue with anything.”

“I don’t mean just with her. Christ.” Spit it out, dumbass. “I’m up for fucking with you too. If you weren’t aware. Not that the hand jobs and shit haven’t been appreciated but—”

“But rather than send a card of thanks, you’d rather I fuck you up the ass.”

Luc swallowed. “Not sure we clarified who’d be fucking who, pal.”

“I always top my first time with a lover.”

“Well, la de da.”

Ethan’s lips twitched. “Just my preference. If you have another, I’m sure we can negotiate something amenable to both of us.”

“Why are we even talking about this?” Luc rubbed his chest and was almost positive it was warm again and probably flushed, though he didn’t check.

This freaking man.

“Pretty sure you brought it up.”

“Yeah, well, you’re the one who kept everything safe this weekend. I fucking helped her suck your cock. Didn’t think that meant I’d have to spell it all out for you.”

“You held my cock for her. You did not suck it. But if you want to rectify that…”

Luc shouldn’t have found that funny. It wasn’t. This whole situation was vaguely ridiculous. But instead of giving him the finger, he crooked them, inviting Ethan closer. “Come on then.”

Ethan glanced at the spatula in his hand as if he’d momentarily forgotten its purpose. Rather than set it down, he gripped it tighter and came around to Luc’s side of the messy bed, not making a move to undo his pants.

Every ball was in Luc’s court, including the ones between Ethan’s legs if he had his way.

Impossibly annoyed and unsure why, Luc threw his legs over the side of the bed and undid the button and zipper on Ethan’s pants. His mind skipped to Molly, and Ethan’s must have too, because his gaze drifted to the closed bathroom door. The water was no longer running.

“Think she’s listening?” Ethan mouthed, and Luc smirked.

Knowing Molly, she was doing exactly that. Probably had one eye up to the keyhole too, if her doorknob still had such a thing.

Luc yanked down Ethan’s pants and boxers in a smooth move. He wasn’t surprised to find Ethan half hard already. “Let’s give her a show then.”

Ethan might’ve replied, if Luc hadn’t picked that moment to grip his cock and swallow the head.

“Fucking hell.” Ethan didn’t temper his reaction, and Luc didn’t slow his onslaught. He took him deep in one pass, fisting his hand around the rapidly stiffening length he couldn’t quite fit inside. He’d get there. It had been a damn long time since he’d gone down on a guy, but some talents were in the blood.

Doing it right took time and patience. Two qualities he did not have.

So he went for his own preferred tricks—his personal, intimate knowledge of the male body.

He drew Ethan in and out until the guy’s dick was soaked and so hard that his veins mapped him like a damn roadmap. Luc traced one with the tip of his tongue while he reached beneath to squeeze Ethan’s balls, testing what he liked based on the guy’s stuttering breaths.

Ethan groaned, long and low. Enjoyed a little pain then. Okay. Luc could handle that.

Luc upped the intensity on both his squeezing and his sucking, hollowing his cheeks as he focused on earning every drop of pre-cum on his tongue. This wouldn’t be a prolonged event. He was determined to blow Ethan’s goddamn head off.

Both of them.

Luc released Ethan’s sac and pulled Ethan’s cock out of his mouth long enough to suck on his own fingers. Slowly. Deliberately. Then he reached around Ethan’s body, zeroing in on the tight crease between his cheeks that gave with some pressure. “Not sure if our Bluebird has lube,” Luc said, with more than a little disappointment in his voice.

“She might not.” Ethan sounded as if he couldn’t catch his breath. Judging from the thick cock bobbing against Luc’s cheek, he understood why. The guy was torqued. “But I do.”

“Damn teachers. I fucking love all of you. Come prepared with your rulers and your dick grease.”

The professor’s laughter turned into a much darker, more tormented sound as Luc pushed his finger deeper at the same time as he sucked on the swollen mushroom head of Ethan’s dick. He didn’t waste time on building him up again, because Luc knew damn well Ethan was ready to go.

And he was ready to swallow every dirty drop.

He pressed that secret spot inside of Ethan and the other man grunted out a warning as he gripped a handful of Luc’s hair, forcing him down on his dick. He nearly choked and the sensation of tightness in his scalp made his own cock jerk against his belly. Christ. At this rate, he was going to cream all over himself while the good professor drained himself in his throat.

He wanted that. So goddamn much.

His finger rubbed and he bobbed his head, taking as much as he could while Ethan cursed and wound Luc’s hair around his fist, again and again. Pulling on his skin over and over as the throbbing in Ethan’s shaft seemed to infiltrate Luc’s body as well. Their heartbeats were as one, too loud in the small space. Ethan’s salty taste was all over his lips, dripping down his throat. So close, and goddamn, he was thirsty.

It had been too long since he’d tasted cum. And he’d never tasted this man’s, so it was like a brand new experience.

Everything was so damn new.

“Lucas,” Ethan groaned, and the word was a warning. The usage of his full name stopped Luc for an instant. Just long enough for the bathroom door to open and steam to come rolling out.

It wasn’t all from the shower either.

Ethan stilled in his mouth, but he definitely didn’t go soft. If anything, his length subtly swelled, pushing Luc’s boundaries to the point that it was either make Ethan come or possibly risk death from oxygen deprivation.

But then Molly sashayed around the bed, and from the corner of his eye, he understood. And his own cock lengthened until spots encroached on his vision.

Holy shit.

“Well, look at this. Such beautiful cocks. So hard, all for me.” Molly stroked the dangling shirttails of her tied-off white blouse. Her full tits were barely contained by the red lacy bra she wore beneath the white shirt, and her midriff with its collection of interesting sex marks from the weekend was on full display. As were her mile-long legs, revealed by her short-as-fuck plaid schoolgirl skirt.

Luc shot a look up at Ethan, but the good professor was riveted on Molly. No wonder. If he’d ever seen a fantasy tailor-made for a dude, this was it.

But he could play a mighty good student himself, if the need arose. And oh, fuck, was it rising right now.

“Don’t stop on my account,” Molly purred, trailing a fingertip over her still damp cleavage. She’d barely even dried off that luscious body after her shower. “I didn’t want to miss the big finish.”

CHAPTER TWENTY

Ethan searched for his anger when it came to Molly’s chosen attire. He’d told her on the first night they were together that he didn’t want his job to be anyone’s fantasy fodder, and he wasn’t looking to recreate any half-baked eighties’ songs either.

But when his cock was in Luc’s mouth, and he was approximately three seconds away from spilling himself—not to mention that Molly was so sexy he couldn’t see straight—it was hard to be annoyed with much.

“I know, I know,” Molly said in a bored tone, her wandering fingers heading down to toy with the erect tip of her breast. The move was intentional, he would’ve bet his right nut.

Had it not been currently in very happy use.

“‘You know, you know’ what,” Ethan said, finally able to haul in some air when Luc reluctantly released Ethan’s cock from between his lips.

“I hear your arguments already. ‘I told you, Mol, I’m not your professorial wet dream.’ ‘I told you that you’re not too young for me, and I’m not going to get you off by fulfilling one of your longest fantasies.’”

Slowly, Luc wiped the back of his hand over his well-used mouth. “You told her that?” His voice was seductively scratchy, and even that made Ethan have to fist his dick in a vain attempt to settle down.

“No. I didn’t know it was a long-term fantasy.”

“Well, long-term in the sense it’s been there since you mentioned not allowing me to entertain it.” Her siren’s smile flashed before she nodded pointedly at his erection. “Aren’t you going to let him finish with that? Looks mighty painful.”

“I’m not the only one in pain right now.” Ethan stroked his cock, not that it needed any help. “If I’m being assigned the teacher role here too, looks like I’m calling the shots.”

“For now,” Molly said under her breath as he gave her a stern look. “I mean, what did we do wrong, Professor?”

It was just a game. Just fun. She might search for distance with them, but she’d soon enough discover this would only bring them closer.

Ethan wasn’t going to clue her in though. Some things were meant to be shown, not explained.

He moved swiftly, wrapping a hand around her high ponytail and using it to propel her forward until she was bent over the end of the bed, shoulders pressed into the mattress.

“Hey there,” Luc said, and Ethan had to suppress a smile.

The guy who professed not to care was a big fucking liar.

“What did you do wrong today, Miss McIntire?” Ethan braced his knee on the back of her thigh when she wriggled. “Are you going to tell the class?”

For a moment, she didn’t respond and Ethan wondered if he’d taken things too far. Then her voice came out small and low.

“I was a bad girl. I listened at the door while you were…in a conference.”

He nearly laughed. God, she was something.

Rather than laugh, he slid his hand up beneath her kicky little pleated skirt. It barely covered her ass. Beneath the scant material she wore tiny red lace panties that slung between her cheeks, an impossible tease.

He wanted to fuck her there again. Fuck her everywhere.

“Professor, what are you doing?” she asked breathlessly as he cupped the perfect swell of her ass. His cock hardened at her innocent tone, just as she’d intended.

“I think it’s time I teach you a lesson about spying, little girl.” He swung his gaze to Luc, who couldn’t seem to catch his breath. “Teach both of you a lesson.”

“It wasn’t his fault,” she said quickly, adding the pleading note to her tone as if she’d been born for this very role. “He didn’t know I was going to spy.”

“Of course he did. I think he even wanted you to. He likes encouraging bad little girls.” Ethan stepped back and nodded at Luc. “Spank her.”

Luc cocked a brow. For a second, Ethan was sure he would say no. Then he leaned forward, his heavy cock brushing the bed, and raised her skirt even higher, leaving her behind fully on display. He lifted his hand and brought it down hard, first on one cheek then the other.

When red handprints blossomed on her fair skin, Luc hissed out a breath. “More?”

Ethan didn’t know who he was asking, but from the way Molly was shifting around, he was pretty certain she wanted much more.

“Five more. Count them off, Molly.” When she didn’t reply, he walked around the bed to tip up her chin so her face was even with his cock. Her big blue eyes were so needy, it took everything he had not to nudge himself between her plump lips. “Say ‘yes, Sir.’”

“Yes, Sir,” she whispered, that girlish note still in her tone. Slowly, she licked her lips and reached for his dick. “May I?”

“No. Not until you’ve earned it.” He pushed his thumb in her mouth and nodded at Luc, who exhaled and did as requested, peppering her firm ass with smacks.

Molly bit down on Ethan’s thumb, a scream lodging in her throat with every one, but she still counted around her whimpers.

At number five, Ethan slipped his thumb out and glanced at Luc. “Take off her panties.”

He was waiting for Luc to balk at his orders, since the other man had few submissive bones in his body. But he complied, drawing the brief material down her long legs and hooking them on the footboard.

“Spread her legs. Nice and wide. Tell me if she’s wet.”

Whimpering, Molly lowered her face to her arm as Luc shoved her legs apart and peeled open her folds, making a primal noise in his throat. “Fucking soaked.”

“Want that ass?” he asked as casually as he might order a coffee. “While I take yours?”

Luc flashed him a look, heavy and dark, and Molly reared up. “Uh-uh. I’m not missing watching that.”

“Then you’re going to prove to me you’re a good little cocksucker.”

The challenge on her face was priceless. “Haven’t I already?”

“Not to me.” Ethan cupped her head and turned it enough so she could look over her shoulder at Luc. “Him.”

Her throat rippled. “I’ll be a good girl, Sir.”

Luc laughed, easing back to stroke his cock. The thick length curved up against his stomach and the head was almost plum. Pre-cum trickled over the side, spilling even as they watched.

“How about an even exchange?” he suggested, arching a brow at Ethan. “If the Sir would allow it.”

“Even…exchange?”

“Yes. Your head between my legs. My head between yours.”

“And his head all the way up your ass.” She blinked as both men laughed, shaking herself out of a stupor. “I meant other head. Jesus.”

Ethan gripped her ponytail, tugging lightly. “His cock is waiting.”

She started to twist across the bed, until Ethan stopped her with a hand on her back. “Take off your blouse first.”

Rising up on her knees, she shrugged out of it and tossed it on the footboard. “Bra and skirt too, Sir?”

Christ, that light, lilting tone was going to kill him.

“No. Leave them on for now.”

Luc leaned up and grabbed her wrist, easing off the band around it as she yelped. Then he undid her ponytail, quickly making it into to two. “To complete the Britney Spears look,” he said with an apologetic grin while she sputtered at him.

She struck out, her fist bouncing off his abs. Ethan came up behind her, pushing two fingers deep into her pussy without warning.

The sound she made was carnal.

“You like being spanked. Fucking dirty girl.” He wetted his thumb with her arousal then slipped it in her ass. With his other hand, he pushed her down on Luc’s cock. “Get to work.”

“Y-yes, Sir.” That hesitant stutter made Ethan’s cock jerk against the back of her thigh. She backed up against him, clearly wanting him to fuck her.

God knows he wanted to. But he was saving this one for Luc, after she got him good and ready.

She lowered her head and Luc reared up as she took him in hand and sucked on the head, almost tentatively. Ethan couldn’t tell if Luc’s size was really intimidating her, she was into her role, or if she was tormenting Luc.

Either way, Ethan didn’t mind instructing her.

“Deeper,” he told her. “Take as much of him as you can.”

She shook her head, and from the playful look in her eyes, Ethan was almost sure she was fucking with them. And then he realized.

She wanted to get spanked again.

He pulled his fingers out of her pussy, and she made a frustrated sound. But he left his thumb in her ass, going just a little deeper. He needed his goddamn lube, but the case was the bathroom.

“Deeper,” he said again, and this time, Luc wasn’t waiting for her response.

He grabbed hold of his hastily made ponytails and tugged her down, drawing a moan from her that wasn’t the least bit fake. She took fully half of him in that pass, and Luc groaned in relief.

As a reward, Ethan wiggled his thumb inside her ass, increasing the pressure. And he lifted his hand and smacked her lightly where Luc had, triggering another of her moans while she clenched around his thumb.

Moisture was gathering on her thighs. In no time, she’d be getting her sheets wet.

And he needed a goddamn taste.

While she was consumed with Luc—who was using her ponytails to move her up and down on his cock—Ethan kneeled behind her and spread her thighs. He wished the bed was bigger, because he wanted her to sit on his face.

In fact…

“Position change,” he ordered, rising just as quickly.

They didn’t seem to hear him, so he took that opportunity to go to the bathroom and grab his travel case off the counter. The steam from Molly’s shower still clung to the walls.

He wasn’t at all surprised she liked them hot.

After he washed his hands and undressed, hanging up his clothes neatly on the hook behind the door, he came back into the bedroom with his necessary implements. Only to find Molly and Luc had paused and were staring at him, as if they were waiting for instruction.

His balls tightened like goddamn knots.

Maybe Molly wasn’t the only one who deserved a reward. They both did, since Ethan knew full well it wasn’t easy for either of them to give up control—while roleplaying or not.

In his case, he’d learned being on the bottom was just fine, as long as he got his turn on top.

Rather than speak, Ethan tossed the lube and condoms he’d retrieved on the nearby nightstand, and then he nudged aside Luc’s legs and laid down in the spot he had the last two nights. Luc on the opposite side, with Molly nestled between them. Like she was fucking meant to be there.

It hadn’t been long since he’d gotten together with Molly, and even less long since they’d started with Luc. What was meant to be a one-time thing shouldn’t have felt this natural this fast.

This right.

Ethan tugged on Molly’s ankle, pulling her toward him. She started to straddle him, but he shook his head. “Up here,” he said, patting the pillows on either side of his head.

Molly flushed. Actually flushed as if she hadn’t done all manner of things with them already.

“I’m not sure, Sir,” she mumbled, and he wasn’t certain she was still just in her role.

“I am sure.” Ethan adjusted his cock, giving it a quick stroke as he looked past her at Luc. “Set her on my mouth.”

Luc didn’t hesitate. He hooked his hands under her arms and plucked her right up as if she were weightless, moving across the bed on his knees and setting her down with her knee on either side of Ethan’s head. She nearly clocked Ethan in the eye in the process, but after a moment, they were situated.

She gripped the headboard and stared down at him, her long honey ponytails dripping down over her breasts. The bra was cut so low that the position left her nipples peeking over the tops, and they were so hard that he knew she’d saturate his tongue in no time.

“Give me your pussy,” he commanded.

Inhaling, she bit her lip and shifted until she was closer. Still not close enough. He could smell her excitement, and he wanted the accompanying flavor inside him.

“Ah, fuck this. We ain’t got all day.” With that, Luc pressed down on her shoulders, grinding her pussy into Ethan’s mouth.

It was a contest which of them groaned louder. Jesus, she was a molten river against his lips. He couldn’t devour her fast enough.

Ethan wet his fingers and pressed one into the tight pucker between her cheeks at the same time he fucked her with his tongue. She arched and closed her thighs, her body already straining. He pushed his finger a little deeper in tandem with his licking, picking up the speed on both when Luc undid her bra and freed her swollen tits. They bounced with her movements and Luc filled his hands with them, squeezing, rubbing, whispering something in her ear Ethan couldn’t hear but knew had to be perfectly filthy.

She rocked against Ethan’s mouth, using it shamelessly for her own pleasure. And when Luc stood up on the bed and held out his hugely aroused cock, she twisted her neck and sucked like a damn pro, hollowing her cheeks and making noises that only turned Ethan on more. From this angle, he couldn’t see everything, but he didn’t need to.

They were like a damn porno track set on high, and he was already so close to coming. From the sounds of things, so were his lovers.

Time to switch positions again.

Though it pained him, he drew his mouth away from Molly’s pussy. He gave her taut little clit one last lick, well aware that if he gave her another, she’d go over.

Soon, but not yet.

He moved his head back. “Lucas.”

Luc’s eyes snapped open, and his jaw locked. “You need something, Professor?” He kept his hand steady on the back of Molly’s head, and she never lessened the pace. Somehow she’d even managed to take more of him into her throat.

She definitely deserved a break.

“You want to break my streak?” Ethan asked, low, barely able to form the words. His cock was bobbing helplessly against his belly, spreading evidence of his arousal. If he didn’t make his lovers come quickly, he would be leaping over the finish line first.

Luc drew her head up and nudged her back, turning her chin toward Ethan. “What streak we talking about, Professor?” he asked, rubbing his finger over her lower lip.

Ethan opted not to explain. He reached for the lube and tossed it to Luc. “All you, brother.”

Luc caught it and Molly let out a long sigh. “I hate when you two talk without words. It’s weird and it’s not fair.”

Despite the ache in his groin, Ethan chuckled and patted the pillows beside him. “Sit right here.”

When she didn’t move, he stroked her ass, soothing the smacks they’d given her. Later, he’d use some lotion on them, make sure the sting that remained wasn’t too much.

Right now? He didn’t want her comfortable at all.

She swallowed visibly before moving into the position he requested. She plopped on the pillow, letting out a little gasp.

“Ass is sore?” Luc asked, still not moving.

Biting her lip, she nodded. “You have big hands. Both of you. But I liked it,” she added hastily. “It’s not at all like when I was a kid.”

Ethan filed that away for later, though her eyes shuttered almost immediately.

When Ethan shifted between her legs, she undid the little snap on the side and opened her skirt before widening her stance even more for him. Slowly, sweetly, he explored the heart of her with his tongue as she shuddered.

Luc aimed for the other end of the bed. Ethan couldn’t see what Luc was doing, but he trusted the other guy could figure it out. Whether or not he’d done this before, some things were fairly self-explanatory.

“We ain’t got all day,” Molly said, and Ethan had no choice but to laugh.

Damn, this woman slayed him.

“Fuckin’ smart ass.” Luc roughly pried Ethan’s legs apart, making room for himself between them. The tear of a wrapper and sound of a bottle opening made Ethan’s laughter turn into a smile against Molly’s pussy, and she sifted her fingers through his hair, watching him while he gave her his all.

Curiosity resided in her gaze, mixed with the haze of a nearing orgasm. He didn’t want her asking questions. He wanted her to feel.

To get lost with them.

Luc’s hand on his ass startled him. The guy had fucking paws. Huge. As was the dick that was currently resting against his other cheek, a subtle taunt. The press of Luc’s lubed fingers into his ass felt as invasive as expected, and he groaned against Molly, only to have her cup his head in her hands and subtly draw him closer.

He got her message.

Tickling her clit with his nose, he lapped at her and used his fingers. She arched and moaned, her breasts swaying. Her blond hair played peekaboo with her nipples as Ethan watched her, needing to see every nuance of her reactions while his own body tightened and readied.

Luc’s fingers were like fucking heaven.

By the time Luc swapped them for the blunt head of his cock, Ethan had built Molly up to the point that she was quivering. She wrapped her leg around Ethan’s back, holding him in place while Luc lined himself up, then slowly, so slowly fed himself in.

Ethan’s long, low groan exploded against her flesh, and she cried out as his fingers twisted inside her, finding that spot and exploiting it for all he was worth.

“All right?” Luc demanded.

“Yes. God, yes,” Molly replied, and somehow Ethan found the breath to choke out a laugh.

Good to know she was enjoying the show too.

“All right?” Luc asked again.

“Yes. Better than.”

Luc growled behind him, and the sensation of being opened up, pore by pore, was nearly drowned by the pleasure. Pain tried to compete with it and was swamped. Denied.

Nothing but pleasure could exist between them. All three of them, moving as one.

Luc gripped his ass and drove him harder, soon exchanging his easy, almost halting pace for a punishing one. If he had any qualms about how to do this, he definitely wasn’t revealing them.

Ethan bucked his hips, seeking the friction of his insanely hard dick against the bed. Not enough. Not even close. Frustrated, he turned his face against Molly’s inner thigh and she stroked his damp hair and his temple. Soothing him.

Then she delivered the kill shot by wetting her own fingers—though they so didn’t need to be—and rubbing her clit, throwing her head back as her thighs began to quake.

At the last second, Ethan lowered his head to lick her clit too to help her get there. Luc groaned, driving Ethan up the bed, slamming into him again and again as he lengthened inside him.

God, Ethan didn’t want to come yet, but there was no stopping the train. No more waiting. He reached down and gripped his cock, working it hard where it was trapped between him and the mattress.

“Come with me,” Ethan breathed against Molly’s pussy. “Come with us.”

Nodding frantically, she circled and circled, stilling just as Luc groaned out his own warning behind him.

“Dammit, coming.”

Those words were all the permission Ethan needed.

He jerked his hand over his erection, shuttling up and down as his system locked up. His heartbeat throbbed in his ears and he couldn’t hear anything else except their broken moans. The butterfly pulse of Molly’s clit against his lips and Luc’s dick throbbing as it emptied into the condom were his whole fucking world.

When he snapped back into consciousness, his head was pillowed on Molly’s belly.

He didn’t have the energy to twist his neck to see if Luc was still alive. The delicious pressure was gone from his ass, but there was no giant beside them.

It took a few minutes, but eventually, he summoned the strength to turn his head to search for Luc. And found him lying length-wise across the bottom of the bed, his still condom-covered dick pointing halfway up like a dog with one floppy ear.

A laugh burst out of him and Ethan pressed his face against Molly’s skin, inhaling her cherry scent as if it were life.

Because it was. Better than oxygen. Better than anything.

“Think the professor’s gone mad?” Luc asked, sounding damn near close to delirious.

“Think we all have, a little.” Molly traced Ethan’s curls, swirling her finger around the shell of his ear.

Ethan lifted his head and kissed the tip of her breast. “Regrets?” He hated having to ask the question, that in this space he could be that vulnerable.

But sweat always cooled. Pleasure always faded, no matter how intense.

There was always that moment after when the doubts were given free rein. Even for him, and he had fewer than many.

“No. None.” She sighed, smiling dreamily. “That was hot. I wasn’t sure if it would be. If I’d be jealous.”

“Jealous I wasn’t pounding your ass?” From the sounds of things, Luc slapped his thigh. Or his groin. “Anytime you want to climb on, feel free.”

She gave a mock shudder. “I’m good right now, thanks.”

Ethan had to chuckle. He was well-built, and he’d had numerous lovers tell him so. It wasn’t merely self-delusion. But Luc was next level. The guy was built like a goddamn semi-truck.

And he really wanted to pull his hair while he fucked him. Next time.

There would be a next time.

There had to be.

“I’m gonna say yes tomorrow,” Luc into the silence. He didn’t elaborate.

No one needed him to.

Molly’s hand never faltered on Ethan’s hair. He liked her caresses more than he could say. It had been a long time since he’d had a lover touch him like that after sex, as if she simply liked having her hands on him. That it was this complicated, often closed down woman doing the touching just made it that much more amazing.

“I like being spanked,” Molly said a few minutes later.

Ethan lifted his head. “Has this turned into the confession circle? Because I have a few dishes to pass as well.”

Molly jerked a shoulder, smiling faintly. “Just wanted it out there, so there’s no confusion. I mean, not all the time. Not hardcore spanking either. I’d like to be able to sit tomorrow without an ice pack, and you both took me to my limits there today. But it’s different as an adult.”

“Damn straight it’s different being spanked for pleasure as part of sex than as punishment as a child,” Luc said.

Molly didn’t respond.

“You got spanked as a kid?” Luc pressed.

Ethan shut his eyes.

She rubbed her thumb over Ethan’s temple, harder than before. But she didn’t retreat. “Lots of kids do. Plenty of parents consider it a natural part of child-rearing.”

“And plenty don’t. So yours were in the other camp?”

Leave it to Luc to be as delicate as a gunshot.

“My mother. My father didn’t lay a hand on me for the years he was with us.”

Ethan’s shoulders relaxed. Maybe this wouldn’t be awful. It was possible—though unlikely—that what Molly had said at the diner the other day about her mother along with the vibes he’d gotten when she referenced her family were just isolated incidents. That perhaps her mother was troubled, but still an okay person in some regard.

“He laid his hands on her though. Enough that I started sharpening branches into weapons I’d hide under my mattress in case I ever needed to defend her.” She let out a broken laugh. “Then he left, and she was safe.”

“Were you?” Ethan questioned, hating that he had to ask.

“She got angry a lot.” Molly’s thumb stilled. “It was easy for her to repeat bad patterns.”

Ethan swallowed over the thickness in his throat, searching for something to say. Anything to take away the hurt in her voice. In her bruised eyes.

“Bullshit,” Luc exploded. “Fucking bullshit. You don’t treat kids like that. Ever. There’s no excuse. Bad situation or not. You own your shit, and you damn sure don’t make them pay for your mistakes.”

Ethan waited for her to slap back at Luc, even if deep down she agreed. That was their process. But she only nodded, her thumb on the move against Ethan’s skin once again.

“You heard what I told him? About my situation,” Luc said.

She nodded, not the least bit sheepish. “I took a super fast shower then left the water on when I heard Ethan come in. At that point, I may have pressed my ear to the door, until it got too annoying to try to hear you guys over the water. Damn low voices.” At Ethan’s incredulous look, she shrugged. “I’m no dummy. Be mad if you want.”

“He might be, but hell, I’m not. We’re cut from the same cloth, Bluebird.” Luc finally dragged himself up the bed and disposed of the condom in a nearby trashcan. Then he leaned in close to kiss the top of Molly’s breast before shifting his head to kiss Ethan’s shoulder, almost offhandedly. “We knew you were listening at the end, so we went whole hog.”

“Yeah, I suspected as much.”

Ethan rolled on his back and tugged her down until she was sandwiched between them again, the way she should be. “Breakfast has to be cold by now.”

“I’ll still eat it.” She pressed a hand to her stomach. “Fucking works up an appetite.”

“Didn’t get fucked yet this go-round,” Luc reminded her, flicking the back of her hand.

She linked her arms around their necks and drew them both in close. “Blueberry pancakes then more naked time?”

The hope in the question made Ethan laugh against her neck. “I’ll start over.”

She popped up between them and smacked each of their asses. “Since you didn’t rip my favorite new outfit,” she reached back to snag her skirt off the pillow, “I will too.”

Luc groaned. “Christ, you’re putting that back on? How are we supposed to concentrate on food?”

She slipped out of bed and finished pulling on her bra, panties, blouse, and skirt, taking her sweet ass time. “I won’t have any problem.”

With a wiggle of her fingers, she sashayed to the doorway and disappeared down the hall.

Ethan glanced at Luc. “What do you think our chances are of her not killing us by dinnertime?”

Luc dropped his head back on the pillows. “Slim to fucking…just full stop there. So much fucking.”

“Chop, chop, boys. I’m hungry,” Molly called.

Ethan grinned and rolled out of bed. “Can’t keep Mistress Molly waiting.”

“Wait.”

Ethan glanced back. “Yes?”

“I said I’m saying yes tomorrow.” Luc sat up and shoved his tangled hair out of his face. “It’s gonna get messy.”

Ethan arched a brow. “It isn’t now?”

“Yeah, you have a point. Just saying. I know you and her had a thing.”

“We did. Now the three of us have a thing.” Ethan rubbed his sweaty chest and wished for a shower, but his impatient stomach—and Molly’s—couldn’t be delayed. “A thing I’m enjoying very much.”

“Yeah, it’s good. Just…tomorrow.”

“One day at a time.”

Luc nodded and climbed out of bed. “Wasn’t supposed to be more than one.”

“Nope.” Ethan smiled on his way into the bathroom to grab his clothes. “Funny how that works.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

Luc took the off ramp to the center of Los Angeles where the mirrored sprawling building that housed Donovan Lewis Enterprises speared out of the sky. The monolithic office building that rose from the back, tucked away in some architect’s wet dream of innovation, was the billionaire’s main headquarters. At least one of them.

Luc had read somewhere that Lewis also had another location in New York City.

But Luc’s focus was the wide, one story hive of studios set back from the street with a small alleyway for equipment deliveries. A private parking lot just for the musicians and production staff kept Ripper Records separate from tycoon Donovan’s empire.

Ahh, his new probationary home.

His life, a series of fuck-ups and almost misses followed by almost glory. Most of it right here in this building.

Luc throttled down on his Ducati as he pulled in after the big beast of a GTO. The roar of the beefy engine made his pulse quicken. Nothing like a classic car to drag him out of his shitty thoughts.

He’d been happy to find the Ducati waiting for him at his place—thanks, buddy—after he’d finally dragged himself away from his enthusiastic lovers.

Dragged was definitely the word.

The GTO’s windows were deeply tinted, but he wasn’t terribly surprised to see Malachi step out of the black on black Pontiac.

The gunmetal flecks in the nearly matte color made him drool.

Car envy was a thing—and he had it. There was a reason he’d had a handful of cars over the years, but this? No, this was custom.

Luc pulled off his helmet and strapped it to his bike. “Sweet ride.”

“I’m not really into your kinda blond sitting shotgun, Pretty Boy.”

Luc shoved his hands into his hair to get it out of his face. He’d been called worse, but by a lot bigger assholes than Mal. “I wouldn’t be sitting shotgun.”

Mal crossed his arms. “No one drives Angie but me.”

Luc laughed. “Angie?”

Mal swiped his hand down the back of the car, then immediately pulled down his thermal sleeve under his jacket and buffed out some invisible finger print. “She’s a badass, she gets a badass name.”

“Can’t argue with that.” Luc followed Mal’s gaze to the trio of women outside the studio. A blond, a brunette—Julie? No, Juliet—and Molly were laughing about something. Luc was still getting everyone’s names down.

Elle, also a blond like Molly, was trying to steal a chip from Juliet’s bag, and she twisted away to keep it for herself. Laughter carried across the space and Luc noticed the tic of Mal’s jaw.

Hmm.

More band drama landmines to worry about. Wonderful.

Then again, Luc had his own to worry about. Not that there was any drama between him and Molly as of late. They’d been all about naked games with Ethan for nearly a week now.

And that had been all well and good. And Christ, he’d needed the stress relief of sex without thinking, but it had been more important to clear his head before the first studio day. He’d slept like crap and didn’t want to examine just how much he’d missed Molly and Ethan last night.

Molly looked over her shoulder and he felt her eyes on him. She was wearing one of her floaty skirts that made his palms itch to hike it up to see what color her panties were. He swallowed a groan. Or no panties as was her habit around the apartment.

He was suddenly very glad he’d worn his favorite stretched out Henley today. Evidently, he’d need to pull it down to hide a damn boner at odd times of the day. Wonderful.

His girl’s wild honey and wheat-colored hair was in a tangle of braids and curls today. She’d done some sort of braid around the crown of her head—probably to make it easy for her to wear studio headphones.

Typically, Luc tied the top of his hair back into a regular braid when he was recording. Not a pretty one like Molly’s. Hers was the kind that reminded him of the mermaids and nymphs he saw in some of Ethan’s books.

After he’d done a Viking-style photo shoot for some extra cash, he’d liked how it kept it out of his face more than the man-bun that had been the craze for awhile. He knew the hair thing was part of the rockstar deal. And he was vain enough to know it helped for a multitude of things in his life.

It was just a pain in the ass sometimes.

Some days he wished he could buzz it off like Mal did.

“Do you have any clue what today is going to be like?”

“With these people? Bitching, moaning, too many instruments for the room, and probably a ban on alcohol.” Mal stretched his arms and yawned. “I should have gotten more coffee.”

“So, bringing in a keg is a no?” Luc asked.

Mal grinned. “Depends. You a stout guy or a porter?” He snarled. “Or IPA for your figure?”

“Give me barrel aged anything and I’m good.”

“I’ll allow you to buy me a beer sometime.”

“Good to know.” Luc took the moleskin notebook out of the small compartment behind his fuel tank. He shoved it into his back pocket before following Mal across the parking lot to Ripper’s entrance.

His hands were a little wet, which pissed him off.

He wasn’t trying out.

Okay, maybe trying out a little—no. Mostly proving himself in all ways. Fuck. And how was he supposed to line up with Molly’s pipes? She had the kind of range that made most women, men, and banshees weep.

Even just singing around the apartment, she had a simple talent that couldn’t be manufactured.

He fit with The Grunge. His vocals were raw and full of grit.

The memory of the two of them in their impromptu audition came back to him in a wave. Egos had gone on the attack and he’d been ready to fuck her against the nearest wall. Now that he’d literally fucked her in almost every position maybe that wouldn’t be between them anymore.

A white Toyota came careening through the parking lot and pulled up beside the girls. “Hey, hotties!” Came a female voice. “I’m here to drop off my man before I head out to caff up.”

West climbed out of the passenger side. “You don’t need any more caffeine. Please try not to get a ticket today. One more and you’re going to have to take the class with all those pimply-faced sixteen-year-olds again.” He shut the door and came around the front of the hatchback. “Have a good day, babe.” West leaned down inside the driver’s window and laid a kiss on the woman’s full red lips.

Lauren.

Ethan’s best friend.

His brain couldn’t keep up with all the people who had been added to his life.

But this one was important.

Only if he wanted to make this thing important. Luc tried to push that thought to the back of his mind. He couldn’t deal with romantic shit. Not today anyway. Today he had to be on his A-game.

Lauren peered up at him. “So, new guy—you think you can hang with these guys?”

Luc nodded. “Pretty sure.”

Her blood-red lips spread to show shark white teeth. “You have some reservations. You’re a smart man. You might just make it out alive on your first day at school.” She twisted her fingers with West’s and dragged him back down for another kiss. “Be good.” Then she shot out of the parking lot.

West winced. “We need to make enough money so I can hire her a driver. I’m pretty sure she’s going to maim someone one of these days.”

“As long as she doesn’t kill anyone.” Juliet crunched on a Cheez Doodle.

“Please God,” West muttered.

“Where’s Ry?” Juliet licked the tips of her orange fingers. West tried to steal a Doodle and she snapped her teeth at him. “Watch it.”

West snatched his hand away. “All right. Jeez.”

“Mine.”

“Evidently.”

Elle slid her arm around Molly. “Yeah, you’ll have to excuse Jules. Tristan doesn’t allow snack food in the house lately.”

“Still?” West gave Juliet a sad smile. “That sucks.”

“I know. It’s not my fault he wants super-abs. I like his regular abs.” She crunched on another one.

“They are rather dreamy,” Elle said with a sigh.

“A real man works it off by fucking anyway. Figure it shouldn’t be a problem in your house, J.”

Jules punched Mal in the arm. “Pig.”

Mal looked down at her then grinned. “Oink.”

She rolled her eyes, but she hid a smile behind the bag as she pushed Mal toward the door. “Time to work, children.”

West glanced at Luc and nodded, then caught up to Juliet, Elle, and Mal. Luc caught Molly’s hand before she went inside behind her bandmates. She spun back to look at him. Her face was a little tight.

He wasn’t used to that anymore and his hand fell away. “Problem?”

She lifted her chin to meet his gaze. He was taller than her, and he knew she didn’t like that. In fact, there was a bit of the Molly he’d met a few weeks ago in her deep blue eyes. “Not yet.”

He slid his fingers up her forearm to the soft skin of her inner elbow.

“Not in the studio.” She pulled back.

He slid his hand around her waist and dragged her into him. “Handy we’re not in the studio.” He lowered his mouth to hers. Neither of them closed their eyes to fall into the kiss. For them, kissing and sex was often a little more aggressive. He liked that he didn’t have to worry about breaking her.

In fact, he liked trying to break her more than anyone else in his life. He wasn’t quite sure what that said about him, but the push and pull between them was more exciting and intriguing than any other relationship he’d ever had.

He locked his jaw as he repeated the word in his head. He didn’t want to think about anything resembling a relationship right now. The future was as blurry as the chalkboard for Ethan without his contacts or ridiculously hot glasses.

But he knew one thing.

He wasn’t going to let her shut him out. Not now.

He fused their mouths and fisted his fingers into her hair to drag her head back to take more. To brand her here under the sunshine outside the place that would either make or break him.

But out here, they were something else.

Out here, away from Ripper’s influence and power, it was just them.

She made a little noise under his punishing kiss before she went up on her toes and gave it back to him. His cock instantly hardened and his breath stalled when her tongue swiped over his to take control of the kiss.

He even allowed it because damn if his Bluebird wasn’t the hottest thing on the planet.

Okay, one of.

This week had been filled with many new things. And a twinge surfaced under the rapidly raging heat between them.

It wasn’t just them. There was someone missing. And that meant a vital piece wasn’t in place between them.

He wasn’t sure what to do with those emotions so he broke away and dragged her face into his neck. He rubbed his chin against her temple. “I get it, Bluebird. This stuff going on between us and the thing with Ethan doesn’t belong in the studio.” He pulled back. “But I’ll be damned if you try t0 deny what’s going on between us any other time.”

Her eyes were huge and edged with a fragility he wanted to protect, but then her face cleared and her usual stainless steel spine reasserted itself. Like a switch had been flipped, that backbone infused every part of her. Now there was a shrewd businesswoman looking back at him. “When we’re not in the studio, you can touch me.” She toyed with one of the curls that were forever knotting along the nape of his neck. “And I can do the same.” Her fingertip traced the twining lock to his chest, around his nipple, and then down his abs.

His chin lifted and his jaw tightened as his cock took uncomfortable notice.

She nipped his bearded chin before she palmed the front of his jeans. “Not so nice to get riled up before work, is it?”

His hand slid lower to cup her ass, his long fingers tucking her skirt between her thighs so he could cup her pussy from behind. “Nope.”

The cool businesslike Molly wavered and her lips parted.

He slid his fingers away from her heat. “Ready to work?”

She released him and stepped back, twirling to go through the doors ahead of him. She sailed by the front desk to the long hallway that brought them to the hive of Ripper Records.

Luc gave the woman at the front desk a genial grin before following Molly’s distractible hips down the hallway. It was unusually quiet. No meetings going on, no other studios lit up with artists.

Perhaps Lila’s media blackout extended to when they were working in the studio as well.

He finally heard voices as they got to the Orchestra Studio. The huge space was a little intimidating, to be honest. Seats were arranged in a semi-circle and there were instruments galore, including a drum kit set up with a U-shaped sound dampener. The missing Michael and Ryan were already in the studio.

Michael had a laptop open near a series of microphones that hung from the ceiling. Ripper never skimped on equipment that was for sure. Ryan was sitting on a tapestry rug with an ancient Casio keyboard on his lap. He was cackling about the old midi tones in the sampler files.

The room quieted as Luc walked in.

Molly went over to sit with Jules and Elle on a battered couch that had probably seen a multitude of asses over the years. Elle hooked her leg over Molly’s thighs as she reclined against the arm and swung her foot.

Pretty much everyone was staring at him.

This was going to be fun.

Ryan put the keyboard down and stood. He crossed to Luc. “Welcome to the studio, man. My bandmates get cranky, but they’re usually all right.” He held out his hand. “I’m just glad I got a chance to thank you again for your help with Den.”

Luc shook his hand. “Anyone would have done the same.”

Ryan gave him a crooked smile. “I don’t really think so, but we’ll leave it at that.” He nodded to the group. “I missed all the fun thanks to some honeymoon time in Hawaii with the new missus, but I’m pretty excited about this.”

“Only because you like chaos.” West twisted a chair and straddled it. “This is a weird situation.”

Luc scrubbed his palms down his jeans. “You’re telling me.”

West gripped the top of the chair. “Thought we’d sit down and jam for a bit. See how things go.”

Luc nodded. “Sounds good.” His gaze tracked to Molly, but then immediately bounced around the room to each of the other faces. “I didn’t bring my guitar.”

Ryan picked out notes on the old keyboard. “So, you play? I don’t see you play much on stage.”

He shrugged. “Rip…” His old friend’s disappointed face swam into his memory. He cleared his throat. “My old guitarist liked to do his thing. I was okay with just ripping up the vocals.”

“Well, we have more than enough guitars in the room.” Michael gestured to the corner where a dozen guitars were turned out in a case. “We haven’t really started writing the new album yet. We’ve talked a little though. Lots of time on the road and all.”

Luc cracked his knuckles. “I hear that. Why don’t you guys do what you usually do and I’ll just feel my way?”

West rose and dropped into a cross-legged position on the floor next to Ryan. A plethora of percussion instruments surrounded them both.

Mal picked up a Cajon box drum from across the room and settled in the seat Ryan had vacated. The box seemed small next to the shitkickers Mal wore, but his easy familiarity with the box told Luc it wasn’t the first time he’d jammed with it.

Elle squeezed Molly’s arm and rose to select her guitar. Jules did the same and finally Molly pushed an old velvet high-backed chair near the microphones. Juliet and Elle started strumming and Michael joined, taking over on lead guitar. At first the acoustic guitars didn’t have any real melody. Tuning and stretching their fingers gave way to the haunting strings of “Hotel California”. The Eagles had a huge catalog, but nothing quite resonated with everyone on the damn planet like this one.

Molly’s husky voice gave the song a different tone, but one that couldn’t be denied. The band harmonized effortlessly, leaving Luc feeling even more like an outsider.

Why on earth would he ever mesh with them?

Better question, how would he?

As the song ended, Elle swapped out her acoustic for an electric and the muted tones of “Don’t Speak” flooded the room. Acoustic guitars, Spanish guitars, and the various bits of percussion that Ryan and West had at their fingertips made for an impressive version.

When Michael changed up the tempo to a song by Lit, the room gave a collective groan and started throwing stuff at him.

Mal stole his guitar and started picking out some notes. Recognition hit Luc low. The rest of them didn’t seem to know it. Elle followed Mal in the easy, natural way she seemed to have when it came to playing.

Ryan picked up a rain stick and a maraca to fill in for the fact that no one else seemed to know it.

Mal growled. “You guys are so—”

Luc opened his mouth and the lyrics to “What If I Do?” tumbled out. Mal pointed at him and then kept playing. Luc closed his eyes. The song was a little slower than he generally sang, but he found Mal easy to follow.

By the end of the song Luc opened his eyes. They were all staring.

Molly had tugged her foot up to curl into the chair, her wild hair pulled over her shoulder to fall like a waterfall over one shoulder.

Elle started the gritty opening chords to “Everlong,” and Molly started singing. Luc wouldn’t have thought Molly’s voice could pull off a Dave Grohl sort of style, but he was wrong. She pointed at him for the chorus and he opened up his lungs and settled into the baritone growl that was part of his sound.

Suddenly, the jam session went into overdrive. Luc tucked his hands behind his back and his fingertips ached from pressing into the wall.

He and Molly ended up in a strange sort of name-that-tune where they called out songs and tried to one up each other.

Anything he threw at her, she pretty much picked up.

Finally, Jules stood up. “Okay, I don’t know what that was, but it was half awesome and half cock fight. Think we need to take five to figure out if that was a good thing or bad.”

Luc collapsed on the chair at the edge of the circle.

He’d been singing from the far side of the room. Even when he’d wanted to move into the circle, it didn’t feel quite right yet. And yet damn, could they play, even including songs he’d never have thought to add.

Molly stood and followed Jules out without a word. Elle tucked her guitar back into the case and sprinted out after them.

Luc speared his fingers into his hair. “Fuck.” He couldn’t read Molly. There’d been a light of challenge in her eyes, and then the room had fallen away.

Mal stayed where he was. He sprawled in his chair and stacked his feet up on the percussion box. “So, the pretty boy can sing. Shocked me when Molly could. She’s a bossy shit. Just figured she was all talk.”

Luc drummed his fingers on his thigh as his leg bounced. His answer would follow him. He tried to tamp down the heat and frustration churning in his gut. He didn’t want to be here. Didn’t want to push his way into an established band.

It was one thing to replace someone, quite another to get added to a band just because.

“She does like to talk,” he said carefully.

“You haven’t heard her get bossy yet, Pretty Boy.”

Luc cracked his knuckles. “Seems this is a democracy, not a dictatorship.”

Ryan snorted. “Tell her that.”

Luc took a breath. “I listened to your stuff last night. I’ve heard songs before, but I really listened and pulled them apart.”

Michael crossed his arms. “Is that right?”

Luc shrugged. “Mostly to see if I could have a place. This isn’t easy for me either. My choice was this or no job.”

“Being devil’s advocate…” Mal’s eyebrow rose. “Shocker, I know. But throwing it out there. Why don’t you just walk away and start over? You've got the singing chops. I’m sure you could make a new band. Hell, could probably go solo if you wanted to. I don’t know if you write or just play parrot.”

My family is counting on me.

Yeah, that didn’t need to come up. Not with relative strangers. His bankroll problems were his own. And what about his deals with Dex? Did he dare pony up about that bullshit?

Fuck.

Luc folded his arms. “I—”

“He wants fame. His band couldn’t cut it so he thinks he can come in here and manufacture it. Too bad his band decided to cut and run.”

Luc turned at Molly’s voice in the doorway. He ground his molars. “Seems they want to go in another direction.”

“One far away from you.”

He stood and faced her. “Problem, Bluebird?”

“Yes. I’m the lead singer of this band. You are not.”

He tucked his thumb into his belt loop. “I’m no backup singer, darlin’.”

The drawl hit home and she made a little stomp on one of the crosshatching rugs that littered the floor to dampen echoes with the huge room. “I’m not going to be either.”

“Well, there’s the sharing of songs on stage of course,” Michael began, but Molly held up her hand.

“Do we look like Donny and Marie?”

Luc definitely didn’t treat her like a sister. At all. And he didn’t see her as a sister, that was for fucking sure. Emphasis on the fucking. “There’s plenty of duets that are far more impressive than the two of them.”

“We just have to write them,” Elle said from behind Molly.

Well, that was easier said than done.

Three hours later there was a stack of tins from a taco truck Elle and Jules had chased down and dragged back to Ripper HQ. Well, dragged probably wasn’t exactly the right term.

More like lured with smiles and boobs, but he wasn’t going to say that out loud.

Since he’d horked down a half dozen soft tacos, he wasn’t going to bitch.

Pencils, coffee cups, water bottles, shredded paper, and a stack of notebooks lay discarded in the middle of the scarred round table they’d hauled in. Elle was laying half under the table with her guitar and headphones as she played something only she could hear.

Michael was in the hallway checking in with his family.

Molly was pacing with her notebook, humming to herself. Ryan, Jules, and West were furiously scribbling out something.

He and Mal? They were playing table hockey, Mal was winning. Luc was too distracted by Molly’s damn hips.

She’d barely talked to him in the last five hours.

The paper goalie in the tight triangle shape hit him in the forehead.

“Goal, asshat.”

Luc flipped him off before pushing back his chair. “All right, I gotta do something. Someone pick a goddamn song and we’re singing it.”

“And who made you boss?” Molly looked up from her notebook.

“We’re either wrapping it for the day,” he gave her a long look, “or we get something moving. I’m going stir crazy.”

“He’s right.” Jules popped up from the bean bag chair she’d commandeered from another studio. “That’s how we usually figure out songs. Not staring at each other. Just because we now have another person here, doesn’t make it any different.”

Molly slapped her notebook closed and clutched it against her hip. “Fine. What song?”

Elle’s hand shot up from under the desk with a folded manila folder. “This one.”

Molly snatched the folder and read it. “Huh.”

Elle peeked from under the table. “Huh good, or huh bad?”

“Good.” She picked up her phone and took a picture then handed it to Mal.

Mal flipped it over to Luc. “I don’t care about lyrics. You two songbirds do your thing and I’ll figure out what needs to be done.” He stood up. “In fact, I can get the hell out of—”

Molly shoved him back down. “We work as a band. At least until it’s time to record.”

“And now you’re the boss?”

“You want it to be like last album? All different puzzles put together?”

Mal slumped against his chair

Luc’s eyebrow shot up.

Molly shrugged. “Mal and Jules had to tear apart the songs we had to make them work rhythm-wise.”

“That sounds fun.”

Mal snorted. “About as fun as an—”

“Enema,” they all said in unison.

Mal lifted a shoulder. “I’d prefer not to do that again.”

“Then we do this as a team,” Molly said.

Luc lifted the folder and read the lyrics once, then twice. On the third pass, he pulled out his phone. And for the first time, his own Moleskin notebook.

I can lie

Or I can confess

I can heed the warnings

Or live with the consequences

The headlines deliver spotlight

The truth covers a twisted dark

I want the light

I trust the dark

Headlines promise them all

Phones came out and buzzed as the lyrics made the rounds to everyone. Michael came in and held up his phone. “Who wrote this?”

Elle chewed on her lip. “Me.”

Michael crossed to her and hugged her tight. “Fuck yeah. Guess I better call Chloe. It’s going to be a few more hours yet.”

Luc tucked the lyrics into his small book. They stuck out, but he didn’t want to let them go. With the first read, he knew it was something. After the fourth, he knew it was supposed to be part of him.

All of them had fought the headlines and the truth. All of them had some past to fuck with them. It only felt like he was alone in that.

He saw truths in Elle’s eyes and he saw the spark of pride pushing them out.

Maybe they all would when all was said and done.

They followed each other into the recording area like excited puppies. Luc still wasn’t quite sure where he fit, but he was willing to see where it went.

Luc watched as they picked out chords and followed Elle’s lead. Her confidence blossomed and her shoulders straightened as she played. When Michael layered on another piece of the song, the room started to buzz.

Molly and Elle started going through the lyrics together.

Molly’s eyebrows knitted and Elle kept playing the song again and again. Her voice got stronger each time she sang it and new pieces came in with each run through.

Mal got behind his kit and the beat pulled things together even more.

West added piano and Ryan dragged in an upright bass from another room.

Luc finally stepped into the circle. Instead of coming face to face with Molly at the microphone, he came up behind her. She stiffened, but his deeper voice harmonized as if they’d been singing together forever.

The quick zing from the audition returned.

There it was.

Luc’s muscles quivered and he held his notes, learning how to make his voice complement hers instead of dominate. Jules stopped playing, then West and Elle. Molly’s ass swayed against him lightly as their voices strengthened and became the only sound in the room.

His voice deepened as his cock tightened.

He fisted his hands and jammed them into his pockets to stop from touching her. Her cherry scent mixed with something else.

Ethan’s ocean.

His voice went into even more of a growl. Had she been with him last night or this morning without him?

His chest heaved and his breath moved the stray curls she hadn’t bound up in the last few hours. She turned at the end of the song, her chest rising and falling just as fast.

“Holy crap. We’re so gonna sell tickets.”

Elle’s voice broke the hot look between them.

Molly blinked and turned to her. “What?”

“Whatever this is. Hi. Hello. That’s new. Did you mean to maybe tell us something?”

Molly pushed Luc back and pushed her hair out of her face. “What? You’re ridiculous.”

“Am I?” Elle hooked her arm through Juliet’s. “Think I am?”

“No. I think there’s some fucking going on. Or there’s gonna be. Huh.” She looked between the people in the room. “We’ve not had that problem before.”

Mal snapped his drum sticks on the snare. “Well, considering the majority of you need a cigarette from that display, I’d say the orgasm has been had and it’s time for the evening to come to a close.”

“Just because that’s how you work the night, Mal?” Molly asked.

Mal stuffed his phone in his pocket. “You got it, Blondie.” He headed for the door. “Text me when we’re doing round two. I’ll be sure to bum a few cigarettes.”

“Asshole,” Molly called out.

Mal held his middle finger high as he sailed out the door. He was the catalyst for the rest of the band to start dispersing. Phones came out and there was a low hum of excitement between them.

Luc could feel it even under the seething temper he was trying to rein in. For fuck’s sake, he didn’t know where it had come from. Molly McIntire didn’t owe him shit. And still he couldn’t get the questions out of his head.

Had she been with Ethan without him?

He knew they had a past, it wasn’t like he could tell them not to.

And still, the idea of it made his blood boil. Not the good kind either. The heat that he’d been feeding off of for the last week had been the kind that ignited and fueled. This?

Rage was pushing him across the room. Elle and Jules were packing up and tossing out containers. He should be helping, instead he made a beeline for Molly. “Bluebird,” he began.

“Not here.” She was angrily stuffing papers into her leather journal. Bits of articles, ripped pages, doodles in various colors, all of them were crammed together with lyrics and staff papers with chords scribbled on them.

Michael stopped at the table. “I’m going to see if we can book the room tomorrow. Sound good to you?”

Molly nodded. “Fine. Sounds good.”

Michael reached out and touched her hand. “You sure?”

She looked up and gave him a tight smile. “Yes. If we can find some of this magic again, then we’ll be doing well, right?”

Luc could see the color in her cheeks. It was too high, and the light in her eyes was a touch too close to wild. Maybe she was feeling it too. Maybe if he jerked her rainbow skirt up and shoved his hand between her thighs, she’d be wet for him.

Him and not Ethan?

Fuck.

Michael nodded. “Now, I’ve got two kids and a wife to tuck in. Too bad I missed chicken fingers night.” He rolled his eyes. “Taco truck was way better.”

“Yeah, it was,” Luc said in agreement.

“Awesome work in there. I didn’t know you two actually sounded like that. Maybe Li isn’t completely off-base. Not shocking. She rarely is.”

Luc shoved his hair back. “That remains to be seen.”

Molly paused in stacking and capping pens before jamming them into an oversized coffee mug with the words “Word Juice” on it.

“You need a ride, girl?” Jules asked. She and Elle paused at the door, a bag of garbage in Elle’s hand.

Luc looked down at her. “You don’t have your car?”

“Ethan dropped me.”

His teeth gnashed together. “I got her.”

“You sure?” Jules asked.

Molly waved them off. “Yeah. I’ll be fine. If he pisses me off, I’ll just call for a car.” She jammed her notebook in her bag and slung it over her shoulder. “Honestly.”

Elle elbowed Jules and they giggled before leaving.

“What did I tell you about doing that shit in here?”

Luc snagged her arm, but she shook him off. “Dammit, Bluebird.”

“Don’t 'Bluebird' me right now. Jesus, I can’t believe you.”

“Ethan brought you today? Were you with him last night?”

She whirled on him. “And if I was? What business is it of yours? You left last night, didn’t you? 'Needed some space' I believe was what you said.”

“No. I needed to do homework. I wanted to get my fucking head on straight before I walked into a room full of near strangers and was expected to be fucking brilliant.”

“We don’t need brilliant. This wasn’t going to be easy today.”

“No? Is that why you were trying to outdo me at every turn?”

“Oh, like you weren't?”

“I was just following your lead.” He stepped forward until their chests touched.

“Good, get used to it.” She tried to turn away and do one of her flounces. Oh, that was a hell no.

He grabbed her hip and hauled her in. “No way is this ever going to be about me following you around. I’m not going to be one of those men, Bluebird. Ever.”

Her chest heaved as if they’d been running for miles.

Or fucking for hours.

He knew that look.

Knew that smell coming off of her. The heated scent of her deepened the cherry sweetness of her and made it more like flambéed fruit soaked in alcohol. And he was hella addicted to her flame.

Her body.

Her fucking voice.

The sighs and the moans were just as addicting as her singing voice. It burrowed inside him and didn’t let go.

“I don’t like you with him without me.”

“Then you shouldn’t have left,” she whispered.

His hold gentled. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine.” She swallowed and tried to back it up a step.

“No, it’s not. I just…” He growled. “You smell like him. And I usually like that as long as it’s me on you too.”

“We just slept.” She pressed her hand to his chest. “We watched some boring documentary about Greece and passed out.”

His heart stopped galloping and he cupped her face. “I didn’t like the thought.”

“But it’s okay for you to kiss me without him?”

He stared at her mouth. “I don’t know. I wish I knew how not to touch you. This would be a helluva lot easier.”

“Is that what you want?” Her eyes stayed focused on his mouth.

“If I wanted easy, I would have been back in Texas by now.”

Finally, her gaze met his. “Then maybe we should talk it over with Ethan tonight. At my place?”

“Maybe we should.”

He held out his hand. For a moment, she stared at it. He could see the indecision in her bluebird eyes.

Being second choice—or worse—was nothing new for him. But this would hurt far more than it had in the past.

She and Ethan were far more to him in every way.

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

Maybe it wasn’t anything more than Molly being the Queen Bee she was born to be.

They were in the studio and he knew she wanted to keep things professional. But he really needed her to reach out for him. So much that he had started to back up when she suddenly snagged his hand, lacing their fingers easily. She turned toward the door and sailed out with him in tow.

Figured.

So very Molly.

He allowed her to think she was leading him around. Hell, she’d definitely done a bit of the leading the weekend before. The light of lust in her eyes had been enough to ramp up the entire night.

But right now, he just wanted to get on his damn bike and get some space from the studio. It was too overwhelming.

He didn’t want to think anymore.

He just wanted to be with the two people who made this shitty situation bearable. When they got outside, no one was around. At least not from the band. A black car bounced out of the alleyway and curbed it as it peeled out.

Molly frowned. “You don’t think that was paparazzi, do you?”

He came up behind her, sliding his hand along her hip. “I didn’t see the flash of a telephoto lens, but then again, people don’t seem to need crazy equipment anymore.”

She made a humming sound, but it turned into a little squeak when she saw his bike. “I do love riding bitch with you, Moreau.” She pulled the back of her skirt between her legs and tucked it into the front.

He grinned at her. “You little genius.”

She shrugged. “A little different than when I used to ride a bicycle, but I’m pretty sure you don’t want my ass on display for all the people on the road.”

“You would be correct.” He climbed on and groaned as she snugged herself up to his back. He handed her his helmet.

She pulled a face and peered inside at the padding. “It’s too big.”

“That’s what she said.”

“Har-har.”

He laughed. “It’ll do until we get you something.”

She sighed and brushed her hair out of her face. “What about you? All that blond hair won’t protect you.”

He inclined his head. “What? An excuse to stop at the bike shop around the corner, you say? I don’t have a problem with that.”

She rolled her eyes and pulled it over her myriad of little braids and wild curls. “Good. I can get a pink one.”

He twisted and slapped down the visor. “Sure. Pink.”

She flipped it back up and stuck out her tongue.

He started the engine and gunned it so she had to hold onto him tighter. He roared out a freeing laugh as he chirped the back tire. She clutched him tighter and her answering laugh pulled at something deep inside of him. Nothing he wanted to justify or examine, goddammit.

As he pulled up to the small bike shop he frequented, he wondered how fast his friend could do a bluebird on a helmet for him.

And a few minutes later, after walking around and oohing and ahhing about all the different kinds of headgear there was, true to her word, she bought a pink one.

While she was examining every item in the place, he left a special order for the bluebird on a dark helmet with a damn pink swish. Pink? On his bike? Christ. But he did it anyway. Because when she smiled like that, he couldn’t stop trying to get her to do it again.

He had it set to deliver to Molly’s place.

The fact that he knew her address so well now was a little concerning, but not enough for him to stop the order.

As they walked out he looked down at her. “Did you check in with the professor?”

She fussed with her chin strap to get her helmet to sit right. “Why don’t you text him?”

Because then it would be making plans. And then making plans lead to questions and expectations. He swore softly and pulled out his phone. He sent off a quick text for Ethan to meet them at Molly’s house.

She peered around his shoulder. “How come we never go to your place?”

“Because my shitbox would not be suitable for your superior ass.”

“Thanks. I think.” She gripped his shoulder. “Come on, it can’t be that bad.”

He thought about his sad little apartment with the king-sized bed jammed in the corner of one room. The lone black couch and large television bolted to the wall. He had a few other things, but not much.

He never stayed long enough to care. In truth, he never cared enough to put in the time.

“Use that handy little pizza app you have and order us a few pies. I worked up an appetite and need the carbs for when I spread you out on your bed.”

Her hand slid down his back to curl around his waist. “That’s a very nice visual, but doesn’t answer the question.”

He sighed. “It’s depressing, all right?”

“Not just a fuck pad?”

His laugh was harsh. “Honestly, I’ve never really taken anyone there. I was always on the road, then when I wasn’t there I was off with…” His band. He usually crashed at Rip or No’s place if he wasn’t at one of Dex’s assigned parties.

“Some girl. Some guy?” she asked hopefully.

He glanced over his shoulder. “You’re pretty curious.”

She shrugged. “I don’t know much about you, Luc. No one does.”

“Do you like talking about your shitty past?”

Her blue eyes shuttered. “Not especially.”

“Me neither.” He softened his voice. “I like spending time with you, Bluebird. It’s as easy as that. Even if you have more mirrors in your apartment than a funhouse.” He switched on the engine to drown out her excuses.

He knew exactly why her apartment looked like it did. It was what was expected when a person thought of L.A. and a rocker chick from an up and coming band. No more, no less.

They generally stayed at Molly’s or Ethan’s depending on the night.

Luc had to admit Ethan’s place was more comfortable. The stone and leather aesthetic made him feel like he wasn’t going to break everything in sight.

Molly’s was so…white. He was afraid he was going to spill something on her huge white leather couch. White leather no less—it just seemed insane. Yet two oversized dudes with her curvaceous, perfect self wrapped around them, had spent quite a few nights lounging on her feminine things as they watched movies in the hours before dawn. In fact, he was pretty sure he left a drool spot on her pink frilly accent pillow Monday night.

But he had to admit he felt more at home at her place than his.

It worked.

Good enough for him.

“Hold on, Bluebird.”

She slid forward until her luscious breasts were plastered to his back. Fuck. Looked like he was going to find out how difficult it was to drive with a dick as hard as the chrome on this beast.

He pulled out into traffic and as with things that had to do with him and Molly, they synched up in the weirdest ways. She leaned into the turns as if she’d been riding with him for years, not just for the second time.

The first was just a run to the corner store for condoms and snacks.

The delivery service that included condoms, chocolate, and ice cold milk could probably make millions in this town.

Well, the condoms anyway. The rest of this fucking town didn’t eat real food.

Actually…

He signaled for the next drugstore he saw and pulled up to the door. “You or me, princess?”

She flipped up her visor. “Huh?”

“Wrapper run, baby.”

She laughed and took off her helmet. “We did go through that box pretty quick, huh?”

“Little bit.”

She swung her leg off and gave him a sassy smile. She flipped up his visor and twisted her face and head so her lips could reach his. So dorky and adorable and damn if she didn’t make him laugh. Then he bit her bottom lip and smacked her ass. She yelped, before turning to run inside.

He left the engine running, but suddenly, his shoulder blades itched. He took a look around, waiting to find someone staring at him. He didn’t find anyone, but he was very happy to see her return quickly with a small bag.

She waved it and smiled. “Chocolate and…” She frowned. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. Just getting a weird vibe.”

“You sure that’s it?” She looked around, then rubbed her arms. “Reporters?”

“Maybe.” He took the bag and peeked. “Dark chocolate kind of night?”

She climbed on. “Yeah. Thought you might want to lick it off my nipples.”

“Well, that’s an affirmative.” He dropped the bag into the small compartment between his legs, then shrugged off the paranoia and gripped her thigh, pulling her in closer. “If we weren’t in broad daylight I’d do it right now, Bluebird.”

She shook her hair back and put her helmet on. “I might let you. You know, if there wasn’t all these cameras in the parking lot.”

He growled and slid his thumb between her thighs. There was far too much material, but he knew where to stroke. Even if it wasn’t her pretty pink slit, but was just enough to give a little friction.

She made a little gasp and he smiled as he released her and gunned the engine.

Ten minutes later they were pulling into the garage of her building. Ethan was waiting as they eased into her assigned spot for visitors. He had a pizza box sitting on the hood of the car as he leaned against the side panel.

Luc pulled off his helmet. “Just one?”

Ethan straightened. “I already ate.”

Molly hopped off and strapped her shiny pink helmet to the back of his bike. “You know you’re going to work up an appetite.”

Luc pulled out the bag. “Evidently, we have dark chocolate for dessert.”

Ethan grinned and his dimple flashed. “Well then, I definitely want to save my carbs.”

Molly slid her nails along Luc’s ribs then moved to Ethan and leaned up on her toes to brush a hello kiss along Ethan’s jaw.

Ethan hooked his arm around her waist. “What else is in the bag?”

She gave him a cheeky smile. “You’ll see.”

“The bag’s too small to fit even one of your outfits in there.” He glanced at her rucked up skirt. “New look?”

She looked down and laughed, untucking the hem. “Sorry. Didn’t know I was riding on a bike today.” The colorful print swung at her hips and fell to her ankles.

“And yet you have a helmet?”

She shrugged. “Cute, right?”

He narrowed his eyes.

Luc came up behind her and reached around her to drag Ethan’s mouth to his. “I just wanted to keep her safe, man. We stopped for one on the way home.”

Ethan released Luc’s mouth. Ethan’s nostrils flared for a moment before he nodded. “Agreed.”

Molly’s hands were splayed over Ethan’s chest as she looked up between them. “I’m just going to be squashed between you two for the duration, huh?”

Luc’s gaze drifted to Molly. “You like it there, Bluebird.”

“Yeah.” She reached back to palm Luc between his legs. “I can’t complain.”

He groaned and hooked his finger through Ethan’s belt loop so they were all snuggled together. Molly dropped her hand away from his dick and moved it up to his hip to tug him closer.

The only time she was ever cuddly was post orgasm, so it was…nice. Luc wasn’t sure what to feel about that. He’d never looked for comfort from a woman. Or a man for that matter.

Sex, release, laughter—mostly sex.

His entire life had been one show after another. Always on for one reason or another.

The fact that he didn’t need to perform for them was a novelty. One he wasn’t sure he wanted to give up.

Maybe ever.

He pressed a kiss to Molly’s temple and stared into Ethan’s eyes.

“I don’t know how long this is going to last. I don’t know where this is going, or if it even will go anywhere, but while we’re doing this, it’s us. And only us.”

Molly nodded. “Just us. No one else.”

Something lit in Ethan’s eyes. Something Luc was afraid to name. Hell, he was afraid to chase it. Because there had never been anything good in his life besides his sisters and brother. And even they had been on the fringes.

He’d always been the breadwinner. Always working to give them more. Give himself more. So much that he didn’t actually get to spend time with them much.

He didn’t realize just how alone he’d been until now.

“Let’s get inside. I’m hungry.”

Molly grinned up at him. “Oh, really?”

He gave her a wink. “For pizza for once, Bluebird. I’ll have you for dessert.”

“We’ll have her for dessert,” Ethan echoed.

She held up her bag. “Yeah, you will.” She wiggled out from between them and darted for the elevator. “Now come on, I’m starving.”

She disappeared into the car, her arm out and waving. “Helllooo.”

Luc dropped his hand from Ethan’s pants. “You good with that?”

He seemed to search Luc’s face.

Luc was terrified what he saw would be found lacking, but Ethan simply smiled and knotted his fingers in Luc’s hair.

Then Ethan backed away and picked up the pizza, lifting it over his head. He started singing something in…Italian? His rich baritone voice shocked the shit out of Luc.

He shook his head and followed them onto the elevator. Inside Molly’s eyes were huge as she laughed and clapped. They just never knew what would come out of that professor brain of Ethan’s.

They got up to her place and scarfed down the pizza. Ethan may have eaten before, but it didn’t stop him from eating two slices while he and Molly polished off the rest.

Kitchen duties were a weird ballet between them all. Mostly because Ethan believed in using plates. Why, Luc didn’t know. Then again, his life subsisted of food trucks and take out.

Molly enjoyed sitting on the counter and talking as Ethan did dishes or cooked. Today, there wasn’t much in the way of dishes. Her face was relaxed, her body loose. Much different than her body language in the studio.

On guard.

Always looking to others for…affirmation? No. That wasn’t quite right. She didn’t need gladhanding and pats on the head. She just wanted to be part of something.

Something he was beginning to understand for the first time in a damn long time.

He flopped onto the couch and clicked on the television.

“No, we are not watching SportsCenter for hours tonight,” Molly called from the kitchen.

“I just want to check—”

“The scores,” she finished for him with a groan. “That’s what you always say. Then I have to flash my tits for you to pay attention.”

He twisted and lifted his shoulders so he could see into the huge glass and granite kitchen. “I’m always down for you flashing your tits, girl.”

“Ass.”

He laughed and flicked channels. SportsCenter had a commercial so he flipped to the news. It took all of five minutes for him to be depressed enough to go back to ESPN.

“Flip that back.”

“I hate that stupid entertainment show.”

“I know you do.” Molly came in and sat on his chest.

“Hey.” She reached for the remote and he held it up. “No way.”

“My place, my remote.”

“Well, then.” He jammed the small remote down his jeans. “Go and get it.”

One eyebrow lifted and she swiped her hand down his chest then up into his hair pooled around his shoulders. She lowered her mouth to his. “You really want to play that game with me?”

He smiled against her mouth. “I really do.”

“Enough, children. I’ll win that game.” Ethan’s voice rang out from the kitchen.

“Uh oh. He’s got his professor voice on.”

Luc lifted his other hand to her ass. “If I pulled your skirt up, would I find you wet?”

“I don’t know, would you?” She nipped at his lower lip. Her hand went down his chest to his belly.

He groaned as she teased the hairs just above his belt before her fingers quickly dipped in and snatched the remote.

She rolled off him and raised both her arms. “You’re so easy, Moreau.”

He groaned. “You suck.”

“Maybe later.” She threw a wink over her shoulder and changed the channel.

The super slick blond who was the face of one of the largest entertainment shows in the US filled the screen. Her comically large blue eyes widened.

“Looks like things might not be all wine and roses with everyone’s new favorite band on the scene, Warning Sign. We received some exclusive footage of Molly McIntire and possible new addition Luc Moreau in the middle of a heated debate. Sounds like there’s a lot of drama going on in that camp. What’s going on, guys? Inquiring minds want to know.” She smiled her shark-toothed smile. “Stay tuned for more and the exclusive video footage we have from the studio.”

“What the fuck?” Molly whirled to Luc. “What video?”

“I don’t know, Bluebird.” He sat up and dug out his phone that was currently buzzing along his hip.

For fuck’s sake, they’d only just started in the studio. Even Mal had texted him to ask what was going on. As if Luc had any idea.

The important question was, who the hell had access to them?

No one in the band would dare go against Lila’s directives. And more so, who the hell would really care?

Slow damn news day? The Kanyes and Taylors on vacation or something?

Molly rushed back to the countertop island where she’d tossed her phone during dinner. Ethan snagged her hand and dragged her back to him. She struggled a little, her anger growing in direct correlation to the wildness of her hair bouncing over her shoulders. “Ethan,” she said impatiently.

He cupped her face. “Are you all right?”

Luc’s skin prickled at how she tensed and tried to push away from him at first. Then she circled her fingers around his wrist and touched her forehead to Ethan’s when he bent to her. She nodded then slipped away from him and back to the television.

Her fingers were flying over her screen as she texted madly. Her spine was ramrod straight and the teasing glint was gone. Instead, there was a strange sort of hardness to her eyes. More like the Molly he’d met.

God, just a few short days ago really.

His whole life had changed in a few short days. And damn if it didn’t look like it was going to do so again.

“Here we have footage of an impassioned Molly McIntire from Warning Sign. And we’ve reported already that Luc Moreau from The Grunge may have jumped ship. Looks like that might be true after all. The only problem we can see so far is can they really get along long enough to get an album done?”

The video was from the studio when she and Luc were singing at each other instead of with. It looked like an overdramatic sing-off, for God’s sake. Jesus, was that really what they’d looked like?

There was heat there.

But there was a mild hint of distaste in the songs instead of the passion he’d thought they’d been showing off. But there was no denying they’d been cocky. Even if the sound was spotty and muffled in the video, it was obvious they weren’t having a good time. Dammit.

“But then again, according to this footage, maybe their nighttime is passionate in a different way?”

Then there was video of them in front of his bike. He and Molly were definitely either post kiss, or just about to.

Luc growled. “That fucking black car we saw.”

Rage blew up in Molly’s eyes. “Are you fucking kidding me?” She paced the room as grainy photos were blown up on the screen.

His phone rang, Lila’s name clear as day on his screen. Luc’s gut tightened. He answered. “Yeah?”

Lila’s voice was matter of fact and brisk. “Tell me you didn’t do this.”

His jaw tightened as Molly came over to him.

“From your silence, I’m guessing you’re either angry or looking for a way to lie. I have to ask this, Luc. I want the answer to be no, but if it isn’t, I need to know so I can fix this.”

“No.” His voice was ice.

“I didn’t think you’d be so arrogant or stupid as to follow a Dex playbook.”

Luc’s fingers tightened around his phone. “You would be correct.”

“Good." Lila’s tone was slightly milder, though not by much. "There’s an emergency meeting tomorrow to figure this out. Inform Miss McIntire.”

“I…”

“Save it. You two weren’t exactly being careful.”

His chin went up. “I wasn’t aware we had to be.”

“What you do off hours is your business. I’m definitely not one to be able to speak against that, Mr. Moreau. But when you’re in that studio, you’re working.”

“Understood.”

“Good. I’ll see you at eight sharp.”

Luc winced. Fuck. The word of the day.

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

“Why the hell do we have to be here at this ungodly hour? Strategy meetings only happen at the asscrack of dawn? And in bazillionaire HQ?” Malachi stretched out his legs, thumping his boots on the large conference table. “Did we manage to peel the lovebirds apart?” He peered around his boots at Molly with an exaggerated wink.

Molly sneered at him, but he just grinned back at her.

Asshole.

It was a weird day. A meeting she understood. The fact that it was in the executive offices instead of one of the conference rooms at Ripper?

Yeah, one more addition to the downright odd files.

Then there were the two men in dark suits she’d seen in the hall, and now one standing sentinel in the room with them.

She glanced at the guy in a regulation Men in Black suit staring straight ahead. The uneasiness was getting stronger instead of abating.

Jules was sitting in one of the executive leather chairs that surrounded the Knights of the Roundtable-style table. The huge seat dwarfed her.

The chair actually fit Molly perfectly for once. She usually didn’t know where to put her mile-long legs, but this was made for a… Well, as sexist as it sounded, a man.

The whole room screamed man actually. And she’d been around enough of them lately to be able to definitively say that. Between her band and whatever it was she and Luc and Ethan were doing…

She had men coming out her—

Hmm. Probably not good to go there right now. Especially with half the reasoning for the meeting coming from her side of the camp. The worst thing to come out of the media leak had been her connection to Luc. At least for her.

Lila probably wouldn’t agree, but Molly had made it her mission to not be wrapped up in love drama when it came to her damn career. Now she was all over the ‘zines and vlogs with Luc’s hand on her ass as she twisted herself to kiss him.

Not only fucking the singer.

A nerd too.

The awesome was epic.

Oh, what they didn’t know? There was a third.

If she could do a head-desk right now, she would. To keep herself from going into a mental spiral, she looked around.

Ryan swung back and forth in his chair, his fingers restlessly drumming on the gigantic mahogany table.

Michael was swiping through something on his phone. By the dopey smile on his face, Molly figured it was baby pictures. Out of all of them, Michael was definitely the most chill when it came to this fiasco. Life at home was all even and perfect, so a little band drama was probably way down on his trouble scale.

She, however, was consumed with the band drama, and not only because it was partially self-caused.

Shit kept happening, and little of it was good. Was the band cursed, or just her? So many damn leaks.

Molly tapped her thumb against her notebook and pulled out her pen tucked into the side of the pages. A fat elastic held the whole thing together. She’d added so many pages and notes to the usual lyrics she was scribbling.

Her brain couldn’t keep up with the crazy going on in her head. Mostly because of the other giant in the room.

The one across from her, arms folded, back against the wall of glass that encased the space. He was as far away from the group as possible, and as closed off as she’d ever seen him.

It had started last night and had only gotten worse.

After Lila’s phone call.

Asshat was about as communicative as a pet rock. If the rock was shaved off of Mt San Antonio.

And here she thought she was learning how to read him, at least partially. The ridiculous blue of his eyes as he came—yeah, she knew that part. The way his eyes went dark just before he let finally himself go.

She swallowed and crossed her arms over her chest to hide the proof of her thought process. Her bandmates were already giving her looks, so no need to advertise.

There had been no fucking last night.

Not even the desperate kind they fell into when stress was at an all-time high. Nope. There’d been only silence in her big bed. Ethan tucked behind her, holding her close and Luc turned away from them both. He’d hugged the edge of the mattress as much as humanly possible.

In fact, she was surprised he’d stayed at all.

And he’d been gone from her bed before dawn had a chance to peek through the curtains. But he hadn’t left. So she supposed that was something.

When his gaze crashed into hers for a second, her breath stalled.

The beard he was growing in should have made him look like a damn woodsman. Instead, it just heightened his appeal. It took away the pretty boy look he’d used all his career and left him more…real. Unvarnished.

The door opened and West slid inside with an apologetic wince. “Sorry I’m late.”

Mal laced his fingers behind his head. “Too busy banging the crazy one?”

“Fuck off.”

“All right, let’s not go down that rabbit hole.” Jules crossed her legs in the huge chair and pulled herself closer to the table.

“And now you’re the even-tempered one?” Mal snorted. “What have we become?”

Elle paced the back of the room, popping her knuckles as she gnawed on her lower lip. “We’re a damn circus.”

Molly’s eyebrows shot up. Not like Elle to actually tell it like it was. She was usually the one who tried to look at the bright side of things. That probably wasn’t a good omen.

The door opened again. Lila walked in with Donovan Lewis behind her and another dark-haired man bringing up the rear. Donovan was his usual suited self. This time, a dove gray one that made his blue eyes look unapproachable and icy.

Had he and Lila conferred to wear complementary suits?

Hers was gunmetal gray with a little red belt and candy red shoes. That was Li, ever the kickass chick in clothes and temperament.

Luc’s demeanor went even more chilly.

Hmm.

Molly drummed on her journal a little louder. So much so that Jules and Ryan gave her looks. She made herself stop. No need to show just how nervy she was. Talk about telegraphing.

And now another stranger in the room. Jesus.

Even without a word, the newcomer drew attention. From every one of them, including Malachi. Kate Upton could have entered the room and Mal would’ve given her a bland look. Ten minutes later, he would’ve convinced her to leave with him, but he’d start out bored. That was Mal’s standard MO.

But this guy? No. There was no ignoring him.

Sharp features, scary eyes. A scar down his cheek. Faint, but there.

In this town, when someone didn’t get a scar taken care of by one of the multitude of doctors on every corner, there was something else at play.

The guy wore unrelieved black from shirt, to jacket, to battered pants. Not jeans—something different. And his dusty black boots were almost otherworldly. Even his hair was jet black, save for a few threads of silver in the wild.

Not American.

She wasn’t sure why it popped in her head, but she would’ve bet on it.

Something nagged at her, but she didn’t know what. She’d never seen him before. She would’ve remembered his face. They had gotten dragged to a lot of parties and run into a ton of people she couldn’t name over the last year, but he wasn’t one to forget.

“Thank you so much for coming in. This is going to be a short meeting.” Lila held her iPad against her chest before placing it on the table. A large manila envelope was stacked on top. She glanced at Donovan and he smiled coolly at the group.

“Thank you, Lila. I’d planned on calling you in for a very particular purpose. One that I’m very excited about.” Donovan gestured to the man standing inside the door.

Molly couldn’t remember Donovan being excited about anything in her life. Quietly pleased, yes. Sometimes he even cracked a smile. But excited?

Yeah, no. That was new.

“But now we have two fires to put out, so I asked Lila to move up the timetable. I was hoping to let you have a little more time in the studio first. As you know, part of Molly’s impromptu audition with The Grunge has gone viral.”

Molly slid down in her chair. Guilt still ate at her there.

“My company has always been conscious of security. In fact, we’ve been working with Roth Security for a long time to be an innovator. We’ve never needed it when it came to the Ripper Records family. It seems we underestimated the need, and for that, I’m sorry.” His jaw flexed and his shrewd blue eyes went flat. “There’s reason to believe certain sections of the company here have been compromised.”

“What does that mean?” Jules asked.

Donovan tapped his fingers together. “We’ve found evidence of listening devices.”

“Bugs?” Luc questioned. “You fucking kidding me? Why?”

Donovan continued without addressing Luc’s question. “Because of what has happened, we’ve gone to great lengths to improve security here at Ripper Records.” Donovan’s well-modulated voice never wavered, but Molly heard the steel under his words.

Lila opened the envelope and pulled out laminated badges and placed one in front of each of them as she circled the table.

“These are to stay on you at all times.” Donovan walked to the window and stood beside Luc. “There’s a geo tracker in the card, as well as the lanyard or key chain—whichever you prefer to use. Now, I don’t think I need to make the same speeches as an HR rep, but just to be clear. Don’t lose these.” He arrowed his gaze at Mal. “This isn’t a game, and there is no ‘fuck you’ involved by not carrying this. You don’t have your identification, you don’t get inside. Period.”

Molly glanced up at Lila as she slid the card in front of her. As usual, Lila’s face revealed nothing, but Molly could tell something big was up. Far beyond just music leaks.

The plastic card had her picture on it as well as a weird hologram looking logo stamped over her face.

“The reason why I’m increasing security is obvious, but as an added incentive to your cooperation, we also will be officially starting proceedings on the new album.”

Ryan looked up at that. “We only have a few songs.”

“And most of them will be scrapped,” the man against the wall said. His voice was thick with Ireland and surprisingly gravelly. “I’ve listened to your demos. They’re shit.”

Molly opened her mouth to rip into him, but Ryan beat her to it.

“Who the fuck are you?”

Donovan held up a hand. “Enough, Mr. Waters. Before any of you chime in, there’s a method to my madness.”

“Doubtful.” Mal stretched out his legs and leaned back until the chair creaked under his bulk.

Lila slapped his boots and gave him her ice queen look until he set them down on the floor. He didn’t change his insolent posture though. Simply crossed his ankles and laced his fingers over his belly.

“Ladies and gentlemen, meet Alex Nash. Your new producer.”

The whispers became a full on hum in the room. Molly frowned. Was that name supposed to mean something to her?

She glanced at Luc and saw his his green eyes widen and his jaw actually drop open.

“Forgive the non-music geeks in the room,” Molly said. “Who is Alex Nash?”

“Just imagine Rick Rubin and Timbaland had a love child then God gave him a super helping of special sauce, Bluebird.”

Her eyebrows shot up. While the behind the scenes part of music had never been her forte, she knew those names and the bands who had come from them. With the chart-toppers, and legendary songs to go with it.

“Look, I don’t much care what you think of me.” His voice was lyrical and hard at the same time. “I heard the clips that came out of the original audition. That’s what I signed up for. Not your stupid battle of the bands. You have magic in your voices, then add in the musicianship that I know is in there…” He trailed off and shrugged. “That’s what I’m here for. If you’re not interested in it—or if you can’t take your egos out of the mix—then I’ll be on my way back to my lovely and quiet house in the hills.”

Molly pushed back her chair and stood. “So this is the way you think to woo us?”

“Darlin’, I don’t need to woo you. I don’t need to be a part of any of this. I saw something.” Nash moved closer to her, tipping his head slightly. “An infinitesimal spark. Maybe, just maybe, I can make it a flame. If so, you’ll burn the charts down, but more importantly, you’ll find your way. Because you’ve lost it. Severely.” He nodded at Donovan. “Call me if they grow up, hey?”

And the guy simply sailed out of the room. Didn’t look around, didn’t talk to them. Didn’t even finesse them at all.

Molly shook her head before she looked around at the others. “Are you serious right now? That jackass is who you want to do our album?”

Donovan nodded. “Absolutely. You’re young, Miss McIntire. You don’t know what a gift this is. And if Alexander Nash comes into my office and says he wants to work with one of the bands on my roster, I listen. Do some homework before you shoot off your mouth.”

Molly blinked.

Donovan had never been so plain-speaking with her—or anyone—before. At least not in her memory.

Luc’s jaw locked. “Don’t talk to her like that.”

“You’re a smart man. You know what this can do for your career. The problem is, there are two lead singers in the crowd. Add in the multitude of artists in this particular band and there’s a lot going on. Nash knows how to clean it up, how to streamline it, and he knows how to dirty it up. And that’s what Warning Sign needs. All of you can play, but you haven’t quite found that cohesiveness to make you great. It’s only a step or two away.” Donovan dipped his hand in his pocket. “The question is, do you have the courage to go for it?”

She didn’t realize she’d leaned backward against Luc until the familiar heat of his wide chest soaked into her bones.

Donovan looked around the room. “Lila will cover the rest of our plan of attack. You’re going to work harder than you ever have before. Be ready for that before you say yes.”

Again, another man walked away from them and out the big, mahogany door.

“The guy has Irish balls the size of the fucking Blarney Stone.” Mal smiled wide. “I like him.”

Molly rolled her eyes. “You would.”

“Is he really as impressive as they say?” Elle asked.

Lila gripped the top of a chair and pulled it out. “He worked on Logan King’s second album.”

Molly crossed her arms. “So?”

Lila lifted a golden brow. “The one that went multi-platinum and he won an AMA for?”

Her chest tightened. “Anyone can get lucky.”

“Well, his roster of artists gets very lucky then.” Lila glanced down at her portfolio. “He has four Grammys, two AMAs, half a dozen Spectrum, and thirteen Billboard awards to his credit.” Her wide cornflower blue eyes met Molly’s. “You still want to ask who the hell he is?”

Molly swallowed and pulled out her chair. “I’ll be sure to research him.”

“And that’s your right. I even encourage you to listen to the artists he’s worked with. I’d also like to let you know that Mr. Nash hasn’t worked with an artist in over five years. Selective doesn’t cover it.”

Luc sat in the chair beside Molly. “So, what’s the plan? Obviously, there is one or you wouldn’t have sat down.”

“You would be correct.” Lila opened her iPad and flicked something off her screen. Everyone’s phone buzzed and one rang. She tilted her head and Jules pulled out her phone with an apologetic wince. “Now this is your tentative itinerary.”

Luc unlocked his phone, looked down, then at Lila. “You’re joking.”

“No. Warning Sign is on complete media blackout. No social media, no selfies, no quippy Tweets. In fact, I’ll be archiving all of Warning Sign’s Instagram photos after this meeting is over.” She leaned forward. “I’m working with Sabrina Price behind the scenes to rehab your reputation from the ground up.”

Luc’s cheeks reddened and Molly couldn’t stop herself from reaching under the table to pat his bouncing thigh. He stiffened under her touch, but then his hand came down to trap hers against his jeans.

Mal finally sat up.

Molly frowned, but she returned her attention to Lila. “We don’t have a reputation.” Luc’s grip tightened and she wanted to saw off her stupid tongue.

“You have plenty of issues. From the awards shows, the various troubles in and around the band, and our new addition—”

“Which you instigated,” Mal interrupted.

Lila pressed her lips together. “Let’s not get into the nitty gritty of all the history, shall we?”

Mal’s jaw firmed and again, Molly wondered if there had been more to everything involving Malachi Shawcross from the very start. From the meeting she’d interrupted, to the way Mal was added to the band, and right on down the line. He’d originally been a temporary fill-in and had stayed on, but he’d done so with a derisive, put upon air to him.

How many secrets and lies could one band have?

Maybe they did need a clean-up after all.

“And finally, while Sabrina and I are working on the marketing end, you’ll be in the studio with Nash. We’re working toward an aggressive marketing tactic to make sure you get an album out before the end of the year. Hopefully way before.”

That started the murmurs again.

“We haven’t even written together yet. Hell, we’re still in the ‘does Luc work’ yet phase, for God’s sake.” Michael stood and paced.

“I understand that. As Donovan said, this will be the most intensive month of your lives.”

“Month?” Juliet’s mouth dropped open and her phone clattered to the table.

“Yes, if you’ve read your itinerary, you would know we’re looking for a November first release.”

“Are you insane?”

“This market requires a bold move. If you want to move to the next level, we feel that—”

“I know more than anyone that publicity stunts don’t work.” Luc’s voice was soft, but firm.

“Yes, but this wouldn’t be trading on falsehoods. In fact, it would require a level of honesty that might make a lot of you very uncomfortable. When Mr. Nash enters into an artistic endeavor it is often with…” Lila’s words trailed off. “A machete instead of a scalpel. While I don’t always agree with his methods, the results are undeniable.”

“And you don’t think we can do this without him?” Molly asked.

She was afraid of the answer, but she needed to ask the question.

“I believe you could definitely work on an album at your own pace and would probably do quite well. Not only do you work well as a collaborative unit, the dynamic of duets can be an effective one.”

“But?” Elle asked.

“But I believe this could be just what you need to move to the upper echelon of musicians. Look, I know you can be amazing. You already are. But even you must know there’s a little something more here with the addition of Luc.” She glanced around the table as if waiting for agreement.

Molly could taste it. She craved the idea of becoming great. Not even just for herself, but to be a part of something legendary.

“What if we work with Nash and can’t pull off what you’re looking for?”

“Can’t isn’t part of this equation, Miss McIntire.”

“No pressure.”

Lila stood. “I’m afraid life—and this business—doesn’t work like that. I’ll leave you to talk amongst yourselves.” She gathered her belongings and stood. “Don’t forget about the new security cards. Be happy it’s just cards. Donovan had a meeting with a Mr. Silver at Silver Security. He had a very extensive pitch about microchipping.”

Mal stood this time. “Fuck that. No one is chipping me like some fucking dog.”

“Security is an increasing worry, as evidenced by what Donovan shared.”

“What the hell would we need to be chipped for? It’s not like we have state secrets.”

Lila said nothing.

God, it was even worse to get few details. What the hell would require that kind of worry on Donovan’s part?

Molly rubbed her arm. “Well, what do you guys think?” It was on the tip of her tongue to do the hard sell. The idea of the band becoming as famous as some of the biggest artists out there was overwhelming.

But at the same time, it wasn’t just her. She glanced at Luc. That was scary as hell.

Ryan dropped his phone on the table. “While you guys were arguing, I went to look at Nash’s Wikipedia page. I’m not sure we could say no and not be assholes.”

“Do we really have anything to lose?” Elle leaned against the window and looked out on Donovan’s kingdom. Molly pushed out of her chair and crossed the room to stand by her.

The rest of the band followed suit, all of them looking down on the recording studio that had become their home, a battleground, and a haven at different times in their lives.

Maybe now it would be their salvation too.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

The insistent beep of a phone alarm broke into the semi-darkness. Ethan crossed to his bedroom, slipped inside, and tried to head Molly off before she woke.

He’s drawn his blackout curtains hoping they would stay down for a little longer.

Sure enough, Molly groaned and reached for her phone, slapping it into silence. At least she cuddled back into a pillow. Her eyes were puffy with lack of sleep. She and Luc had rolled in after four in the morning.

Luc had fallen like a damn redwood, pinning Ethan to the bed without the fun part. Molly had crawled in on his other side.

They’d fallen asleep so quickly it was if their shared power cable had been unplugged.

He and Luc usually liked to spoon around Molly, so it had been a weird way to sleep.

Ethan didn’t really want to examine how quickly he’d drifted off when they had returned to him. How he’d tossed and turned until they’d come ho…

Ethan blew out a breath.

Until they’d come home to him.

Christ, he sounded like a sap even in his own brain.

Ethan sat on the edge of the bed. He’d been up for hours doing schoolwork and prepping for a test. The first quarterly papers had hit his inbox like an avalanche and his eyes were nearly as bloodshot as his lovers’.

“I’m moving. Just another minute,” she said in a scratchy voice.

He smoothed her tangle of hair back from her face. “You’re exhausted.”

Molly rolled onto her back, slipping back into slumber. One breast was exposed, the lovely pink nipple already half-puckered for him. He resisted the urge to lean down. Only because of the bruises under her eyes.

Luc wasn’t much better. He was sprawled across Ethan’s bed, his face smashed into the pillow, one huge foot hanging off the edge. His tanned shoulders took up much of the bed on his own.

Impressive shoulders that made Ethan ache to crawl back on top of them and slide down his deliciously smooth skin until he could taste the salty skin just above the firm curve of his ass.

Even a king-sized bed was a difficult fit for the three of them. The fact that two of them were over six feet and one just a few inches shy made for a lot of…closeness. Not that he minded it.

He swallowed a groan. He was in withdrawal. It was the only explanation for the half-mast status of his dick when the people who had become the most important part of his life obviously needed rest.

What they didn’t need? A horny bastard lusting after them when they could barely peel their eyes open.

Once upon a time, he’d made sure no one entered his sanctum. Ethan liked to keep his love life and his home separate. When it came to the two singers, he’d experienced a lot of firsts.

But it had been a little over a week since Nash had taken hold of Warning Sign and locked them down in the studio. Some nights they didn’t even come home. It was lowering to know he was tied to these two so effortlessly already.

They FaceTimed him with silly stories, or sometimes a new track they were particularly proud of. But they were always together while he…well, he was alone.

It sucked.

He knew it was only temporary and yet…

Well, it really wasn’t. If he moved on with them, tried to make this work beyond the obvious pleasure that vibrated between them, there was going to be even more time alone. Their tour schedule would be just as grueling.

His life wasn’t like Lauren’s. He couldn’t up and join the circus with them.

Did he even want to?

He sighed and lowered his forehead to her shoulder to drag in a deep cherry breath of her. Except her cherries had faded and the wild musk of Luc’s scent stuck to her.

They’d all agreed to their trio status, but none of them seemed capable of keeping their hands to themselves. How many times had Molly watched he and Luc in a furious lock? Passion and roughness was as much a part of their loving as the gentle moments in between. And yes, they always came together as a unit in the end, but there were definite moments of one-on-one.

How many had there been in the studio without him?

Could he even mind when he’d had moments of the same?

Molly’s fingers slid into his hair. “Come back to bed, Professor.”

“I’ve got to work, love.”

Her wide mouth slipped into a sleep-drenched smile. “I like when you call me that. I never liked nicknames and love names until you two.”

He lifted his head and she was so close. Right there. “You need your sleep.”

“I need you.” Her huge blue eyes shone in the slivers of sunlight. “We need you.” Her voice sounded like she’d smoked a pack of cigarettes and drank a pint of whiskey with it.

He covered her mouth, moaning into it when her tongue brushed his lower lip for more. The deeper connection of a quiet kiss without the clashing teeth and desperate grunts between gasps. They were often so explosive it was hard to keep up.

She slipped her fingers up into his hair, twining through the thick curls that wouldn’t be contained no matter how short he kept his hair. Her mouth skipped over his stubbled jaw to his ear, and she tugged on the lobe before snuggling her face into his neck. “Mmm, you smell like a fresh shower. I probably do not.” She wrinkled her nose and pulled back.

Ethan sat up then trailed the back of his knuckles over her shoulder and down the slope to her breast. He traced the tip, watching as she fought to stay conscious. Even as much as she seemed to want him, there was pure exhaustion living in every heavy limb.

“Call off today.”

A sad smile kicked up the corner of her mouth. “I wish.”

“Your voice is shredded. Even the devil has to know he can’t ruin the main instrument of the band.”

Her eyebrows knit. “Is it really that bad?” She draped her arm over her face, covering her eyes with the inside of her elbow. “Ugh. I’m not sure even Nash’s magic tea could help me today.”

“Magic tea?” Ethan linked their fingers and drew her arm away so he could see her pretty face. If he couldn’t blaze his lips across her skin, at least he could look at her.

“Irish.” She sat up with a groan. “I swear, the shit he has in his battered rucksack is pure witchery.” She emphasized rucksack in a bastardized accent that made Ethan smile.

He trailed his hand down her back as she curled into his side. She kicked Luc’s still sleeping form. “Get up.”

Luc’s already baritone voice was just a rumbled, “No.”

“Luc and Nash had it out last night. Why we didn’t come home until late.” She yawned hugely. “You know it’s bad when you pass clubs actually turning off their lights and locking up.”

“It doesn’t do anyone any good if you’re both so tired you can’t function. Take the afternoon off at least.”

Luc rolled over and he opened one wolf-green eye. “You wouldn’t be asking us to play hooky, would you, Professor?”

Ethan huffed out a laugh. “Maybe we all need it.”

“Don’t you have some crazy test to prep for?” Molly yawned and rubbed her cheek against Ethan’s chest.

Touched that she remembered anything about his life when they were wrapped up so deeply in the studio, he smiled. “I do. But fuck it. Besides, I picked up a little something last night after work. I was hoping to show it off.”

He’d been nervous with the buy. It had been a damn long time since he’d been on a motorcycle. And if things didn’t work out with them, it would be a hefty reminder, but he’d plunked down the money with barely more than a thought.

Luc reached out and coasted a fingertip over Molly’s nipple before dropping his hand on Ethan’s knee. “Oh, really. Does Bluebird wear it or me?” His eyebrow arched. “Or do you?”

Ethan gave a half-laugh. “More like ride it.”

“I like the sound of that better and better.” Luc rolled onto his back, the sheet tenting deliciously.

“Don’t bring that out to play or our hooky day will be spent in bed.” Ethan swallowed a groan and hoped there wasn’t drool on his chin. Between Molly’s soft breast pillowed against his side and Luc’s cock waving, his plans would be ruined.

Sort of.

Spending the day in bed wasn’t a bad plan, just not the one he had for the day. In fact, he didn’t even really have a true plan. Maybe that was the very best kind. Except he didn’t want to be in the house.

He wanted to be out with them. And that was dangerous and possibly stupid.

Keeping their media blackout in mind, Luc and Molly stayed at her place or Ethan’s and the studio—and that was pretty much it.

By all accounts, it was working like a charm.

The damn vultures were circling, trying to get a piece of them at all times. There was a black car forever following them, likely in search of photos. Ethan had tackled Luc a time or two to stop him from going after the driver.

Medium-build and bald, he wasn’t exactly a match for Ethan’s favorite Viking, but Luc didn’t need the trouble. Not with his court date looming in the next few months. It had been pushed back until after Christmas, but it was still there. Thankfully, his friend, Flynn Sheppard, was on top of the proceedings. His lawyer was hatching something.

As long as it kept Luc out of trouble, Ethan was all for it.

He pressed a kiss to Molly’s temple. “Take a shower, get dressed. I’ll make coffee.”

“Bless you.” Molly leaned over and snagged her phone.

Ethan plucked it out of her hand. “One text. Tell them you’re taking the afternoon off and you’ll be in after dinner.”

She frowned. “What time is it?”

Ethan looked down at her phone. “Noon.”

“What? Oh my God, Nash is going to kill me.” Molly took her phone and scrolled with a wince. “I didn’t even hear my first alarm.”

“I turned it off.”

Molly tucked a wild curl behind her ear. “Excuse me?”

“Look, I get it. You’re very serious about this album, but I saw the state you were in last night and the last three that you’ve actually managed to be here at all.”

Molly looked down at her phone, nibbling on her lower lip. “I know, we’ve been too busy to be here and I’m sorry. It’s only a few more weeks. Anyone can do that, right?”

Luc scratched his belly. “If the lyrics would just cooperate, we’d be golden. Nothing is good enough for this guy.” He sat up and swung his legs off the other side of the bed.

The wide expanse of his shoulders and tapered waist made Ethan’s cock swell. Dammit, he couldn’t take care of them today if he kept getting waylaid by lust. When the sheet fell away and he noticed Luc hadn’t even bothered with clothes before crawling into bed, Ethan’s willpower wavered.

Dammit, he was a sight to behold. Nearly six and a half feet of tanned, smooth muscle. Tight muscle on top of it. Evidently, he’d been making use of the facilities at Ripper between takes. Knowing Luc, and Ethan was beginning to, he was working off his mad more than pumping up to bulk up.

It was just a lovely added bonus.

Sweet Jesus.

Molly’s hand slid into Ethan’s lap. “You sure you want to leave the apartment today?” She nipped at his chin. “You look mighty interested in other things.” Her long fingers curled around his shaft and squeezed.

Ethan groaned. What he really wanted to do was roll into that twisted pile of sheets and sweat out the frustrations he was feeling, but he knew they needed more than that. Even if they didn’t.

He tipped his head down and caught her mouth in a scorching kiss, even as he pulled her hand away from his dick. Hardest thing he’d done in a damn long time, but it was necessary.

Though it was getting fuzzier on the necessity with every swipe of her tongue.

With Herculean effort, he tore his mouth away and stood. “Ten minutes.”

Molly collapsed back on the bed. “You suck.”

He glanced down at her long, golden legs and distracting curves. “I just might later.”

She lifted her hand to go for his crotch and Ethan backed up. He had no strength to hold out if she kept up with that action. Her arm dropped. “No fun.”

“If you get out of this bed, you might find some fun after all.”

Luc stood in the doorway to the bathroom, his cock at half-mast. “You sure you don’t want in on the shower?”

“Then it would definitely not be a ten minute shower.” Ethan forced himself to turn around and leave both of them behind. He headed to the mudroom in his place—at least what he’d created as one. He changed out of his slacks for a pair of jeans and a T-shirt. He’d left his bike jacket in his car. He’d gotten it out of storage when he picked up the bike.

Christ, he hadn’t ridden in years, but driving home all the instincts had returned as if they’d never left. When he showed up on campus, the hum of response had been electric. Coed hot for teacher moments had been fun and fine in his twenties, but now that he’d tipped over into thirty, it felt a little too…sad.

The two of them were moving around, morning—afternoon—rituals in full effect as they figured out the bathroom. The two of them with their shampoo commercial hair required grooming habits he did not share.

Then again, Luc had taken to ignoring his razor save for some upkeep on his neck. More Viking fantasies downloaded into his poor overloaded spank bank.

When the dueling hair dryers and laughter started, Ethan finally relaxed.

Normalcy.

It was difficult to watch them turn into zombies from their ridiculous hours.

“So, what are we doing?”

Luc’s voice pulled Ethan out of his headspace. He looked up and wished he hadn’t. That wasn’t exactly what he’d thought about when he’d demanded they leave the apartment. Luc was just wearing a pair of jeans with that wide brown belt that gave him more than a few moments every time he wore it.

His lover wasn’t exactly the flashy rockstar. No, he was quieter, earthier. Ancient jeans hugged his massive thighs and insanely bitable ass. His chest was still damp, thanks to the half-dried hair dripping on his skin. Luc dragged his hand down his beard to put his ginger-tinged brownish blond hair into some semblance of order.

“Keep looking at me like that and we won’t make it out of the door.”

Ethan swallowed and stuffed his hands into his pockets to ease the tightness. “It’s been awhile.”

Luc sauntered over to him, bare feet soundless on the hardwood floor. “Exactly.” He crowded in on Ethan, his large hands palming the back of Ethan’s head. “If we’re going to skip school, we should make it worth it.”

Ethan didn’t have time to dodge, deflect, or laugh off the assault. Luc’s minty tongue invaded and reminded Ethan exactly what he’d been missing. Ethan gripped his hip and hauled him against his body until they were chest to chest, his T-shirt getting wet from Luc’s thick hair.

He was rather partial to Luc’s thick everything.

Clash of wills and a desperation Ethan had been attempting to avoid flared hot and strong between them. Luc’s other hand snaked into the back of his jeans, palming Ethan’s ass. He pulled away enough to groan against Ethan’s mouth. “I like you in jeans. Especially this fuckable ass.”

“Is that so?” Ethan tried to play it cool, but his dick was so damn hard, and the need to come had his damn eyeballs floating and his balls crying.

“Considering my mouth hasn’t been around that cock, or Molly’s sweet pussy…” Luc nipped at Ethan’s jawline. “What have you been doing with yourself?” He grazed his mouth along Ethan’s ear. “Have you been taking yourself in hand in the shower like I have?” Luc’s hand slipped deeper until he could tease the rim of his asshole.

“Jesus.”

“Calling out for Zeus, Jesus, God, or even my name is just fine. As long as I get to drink down that salty perfection sometime today.” Luc pulled his hand back out and slapped Ethan on the ass. “So, what’s the plan, Stan?” he asked as he snagged a T-shirt out of the laundry basket before heading into the kitchen.

Sweet fuck. How the hell was he supposed to come up with a coherent sentence after that?

Molly came out of his bedroom, a pair of white shorts on and a loose black shirt that teased her belly button and cinched around her neck leaving her shoulders bare. Gold flashed from her nose ring, ears, and long fingers. Even her ankle and toes were flashing with the warm metal.

Obviously, they had decided it was torture Ethan day. It was working beautifully.

She stopped in the middle of the living room as she gathered her wild curls on top of her head with one of the elastics that were all over his apartment. “Did I interrupt something?”

“No, why?”

“Just wondering why you’re packing a light saber, dude.”

Ethan blew out a breath. “Is it your turn to try to turn my plans to dust? Because I’m only a man and I haven’t had sex in a week. I’m weak.”

Molly grinned as she pulled a stick of cherry Chapstick out of her pocket and slicked it over her full lips. “I didn’t intend on it, but challenge accepted.”

Ethan held up his hands in front of him. “Oh, no. Nope.”

Molly waggled her eyebrows at Luc. “What did you do to him? And why didn’t I get to watch?”

“Nothing, Bluebird. Just a little teasing.” He lifted a glass of milk and downed it like a starving man.

“Speaking of watching.”

Molly’s eyes flashed. “You know it is my very favorite thing.”

Ethan groaned. “This isn’t nearly as exciting.”

“Aww, too bad. So what do you want to do?” She scrunched up her nose. “Not a documentary.”

He laughed. “No, but possibly just as boring.”

“Not pushing the needle in your favor, man.” Luc came around the island to meet them near the door.

Ethan decided the better part of valor was to get them out the door. Maybe he shouldn’t ask them at all.

“What?” Molly tugged on his belt loop. “Come on. Spit it out.”

“I’ve got this thing.” He scratched the back of his head. “I’m sort of up for an award at the college.”

“Really? Like the teacher Grammy’s or something?”

He laughed. “Not quite that prestigious, but yes, it’s pretty important in academic circles. Excellence in Education.”

“Holy cow. And you want us to come?”

Ethan nodded. “Yes.” His voice cracked a little before he cleared it. “Yes. I know you might be busy but—”

“We’re in.” She glanced over her shoulder at Luc.

He nodded. “We’ll definitely be there.”

“That’s so cool.” Molly stuffed her feet into her favorite sandals.

Ethan opened the closet. “Unless you’re looking for burned soles, you might want to put on a pair of your boots.”

She sighed. “Not sure walking around the city is a good idea today.”

“Nope. No city action.” Ethan pulled out her cowboy boots.

“Oh?” She hopped as she tugged on her boot. Luc slid his hand around her hip to steady her as if he’d done it for the last ten years. She gave him an easy smile of thanks, and then she stomped her heel down. “Some desert action today?”

Ethan pulled out his phone and opened the app he’d downloaded last week. One of Luc’s favorite things was a roaming food truck with TexMex food. The beast could eat a side of cow, so the trucks were filling and didn’t break the bank. But today they were having a very special party. An anniversary of some sort, and they were going out in the middle of nowhere.

He tossed his phone into the air behind him, knowing Luc would catch it.

“Hey now. If you wanted me to look at dirty pictures, all you had to do was send it to my phone.”

Ethan laughed as he opened the door. “Look at the screen, rockstar.”

“Oh, no shit.” Luc’s voice boomed with happiness and laughter. “I was going to make you guys go to this, but then hell happened.”

Molly elbowed Luc then hauled him out the door.

Ethan locked up and plucked his phone out of Luc’s hand. “I was going to take you guys out here, but then your schedule wasn’t conducive to it. But hey, sounds like the perfect way to take an afternoon off.”

“I begged off for a few hours and for once, Nash agreed. Kinda takes a little of the fun out of it when you get permission.”

Luc hooked his arm around her neck and hauled her in close. “Aww, Bluebird, it can still end in a little illegal activity if you want it to.”

She drilled her finger into his side. “You are in enough hot water, Sir.”

He tipped his head back as they got down to the door for the stairs. “Nag, nag.”

“Excuse me for worrying about you.”

“What’s to worry about? I’ll get a slap on the wrists and then I’ll have to build some homes for Habitat or something. No big. I’ve done it before.”

She frowned. “I didn’t know that.”

Luc shrugged. “I didn’t want them to publicize it.”

Ethan gave him a sharp look. “I’d think that would be the perfect thing to help balance your reputation.”

“Not why I did it,” Luc said, his eyebrows lowered in a glower.

Molly held the door open and crossed her arms. “Dex wouldn’t let you.”

“No. That’s not it.” But Luc wouldn’t look at her.

“Yeah, it is. Dex is an idiot. Don’t they know women swoon for that sort of thing? Not to mention I’d be interested in seeing you in a toolbelt with not much else.”

Luc slid his big hand along her hip and crowded her into the door until her arms dropped to let him close. “Can be arranged. I have one.”

“No, you don’t.”

Luc laughed and stepped back, heading down the stairs. “I actually do. I used to do construction between gigs when I was playing for peanuts in Houston.”

Molly looked at Ethan. “That seems wrong on a number of levels.”

Ethan had to agree. “Assless chaps too?”

Luc laughed. “Not into that scene.” He looked up to the flight they were on versus his. “Tell you what, I’ll let you make a few new holes in my ripped jeans. Will that make it better?”

Molly chased after him. “Are they like 80’s jeans? You know, Joe Elliott style? I always liked them.”

“You’re too young to know what Joe Elliott looked like in those damn jeans, Mol.” Ethan laughed.

“So are you.”

“I used to watch the music video channel at night. All those old videos were very distracting when I was in college.” Ethan crowded her down the stairs. “Now get moving instead of lusting after other rockstars.”

Molly flashed a grin over her shoulder. “Jealous?”

“Always.” Ethan dragged her back against his zipper. “And these little white shorts are not helping matters.” He slid his long fingers along the front until he teased inside her thigh. “All one has to do is move them aside a little and they’ll find…” His voice trailed off when he didn’t find anything under the edge of the shorts. “Tell me you’re not going commando.”

She lifted an arm to brush the hair along the back of his ear. “No. Thongs count as underwear, right?” She laughed as she rushed down the stairs to the parking garage.

Ethan groaned. It was going to be a damn long day.

They were both heading for Ethan’s parking spot and stopped dead.

“That’s not your car,” Luc said.

“Nope.” Ethan rounded the Harley Softail with black and cobalt blue variations. “I had one of these when I was in college. Not such a nice Harley, but I had one.”

Luc’s Adam’s apple bounced. “You ride.”

His tone seemed a little dull. Ethan jammed his hands in his pockets. “Is that a problem—” Luc dragged him in for a hot, wild kiss then pulled back just as quickly. “Guess not.”

Luc walked around the bike, his wide, long-fingered hand reverently stroking the bike. “She’s gorgeous.”

“Not quite the same power as your Ducati, but she’s got a good growl.”

Molly looked between them. “Should I leave you two alone?”

Ethan slid his arm around the back of her and snugged her up against his side. “I even have a little extra seat for your fine behind, miss.”

She grinned up at him. “So I get to ride bitch with you too?”

“She loves saying that,” Luc muttered.

“I do.”

“Well then, lead on. I’ll follow you two.” Luc moved down a few spots to his bike and unstrapped Molly’s helmet. “That is, if you are ready to transport our precious cargo.”

Molly rolled her eyes. “Lawd, the posturing today.” She ran over to Luc and grabbed her bluebird helmet. “I have every faith that Ethan can handle me.”

Luc slid his fingers into the back pocket of her shorts and squeezed as he dragged her against him. He lowered his mouth and nipped her lower lip. “I know he can, but I’ll miss your superior tits burning into my back.”

Molly opened her thighs enough to straddle his knee. “Handily, you’ll get to drive me to the studio later.”

Ethan moved behind Molly to fit his cock against the cleft of her ass. The two of them always made him hard, but the easy tone of the day was meant for touches and banter. So much so that he wanted to be a part of it.

Had to be.

Even if it made it more than difficult to not drag them back upstairs, or into a dark corner, and remind himself what they tasted like.

Molly rested her head against Ethan’s chest and peered up at him. “You are the only two men I’ve ever been with that made me feel small.”

Ethan dropped a kiss on the long line of her nape as he watched Luc.

Luc’s arm threaded under Molly’s to snake under Ethan’s T-shirt. He raked his fingers through the hair above his buckle and Ethan groaned. He took it out on Molly with a graze of teeth along her neck until he got to the ties there.

Molly shivered.

Ethan’s fingers traced little circles along her belly until he felt the swell of her unencumbered breast. He shouldn’t be surprised with the cut of her shirt, but he knew there was hoodoo when it came to women’s undergarments.

He cupped her breast, the quick bead of her nipple stabbing his palm as the back of his hand ran into Luc’s hard chest. His dick lengthened and hardened until Molly ground back against him restlessly. “I want to fuck you so damn bad,” Ethan said against her ear. His gaze collided with Luc’s. “Both of you.”

Luc groaned. “Food truck can wait.”

Ethan hissed out a breath. It could, but he wanted them to go out and be something more than just three desperate bodies in the night. Or in the early hazy fingers of morning. They were something more than that at this point. He knew it, but still wanted to actually get out into the sunshine with these two people.

His two people.

He grazed his thumb along Molly’s nipple one last time, tweaking Luc’s as well before slipping away from both of them. “Tonight. No matter what time the studio session runs.”

Molly’s breath came in quiet puffs. “Yes.”

Luc simply nodded and shifted his jeans. “Let’s get on the road.” He walked to his bike with his head down and his shoulders tight.

Ethan was tempted to follow him and drag him back up, but Molly laced her fingers with his.

“We’ve missed you, Ethan. Even if Luc sucks at saying the words.”

He brushed a kiss along her temple. “Me too, love.”

She plunked her helmet on—the one Luc had commissioned for her. The bluebird mid flight with music notes couldn’t have been more perfect. As perfect as the ring burning a hole in his pocket. He slid the tip of his thumb into the band. Not much more than that would fit over his wide thumb, but it would be perfect for her.

He’d matched it to one of the half dozen rings she had in her little tree on her dresser. If she only knew the significance of a tree full of gold and silver. But his girl wasn’t exactly up on myths and legends, especially ones of the Tolkien persuasion. But the meaning fit.

Because she’d certainly been the light in his crazy world.

It seemed both of them felt the need to brand her in some way. The ring had been in a little music box at the back of a musty store he’d been browsing through. They always seemed to have the best old books.

In a little velvet bag, jammed in the corner of the Celtic box.

She tipped her head up. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

He flipped her visor up. “So, I got this thing.”

“This thing?” She slipped her finger under the hem of his T-shirt. “Why, yes you do.”

“Hey now.” He caught her hand and tucked the ring into her palm.

She looked down, but couldn’t see over the plastic of her face screen. She tugged it off and set it on the seat of his bike. Her knot listed to the left and a few curls slipped free. “What is this?” She looked up at him. “Oh my God, it’s gorgeous.”

She quickly transferred one of her rings onto her other hand and slid it onto her thumb. The small wolf’s head was decidedly feminine. “I know you, Ethan Haywood. There’s meaning here.”

He laughed. “The light and dark, the courage, the competitiveness…name it and you both fit the wolf.” He took her hand and traced the Celtic step knot that made up the band. “And the knots mean progression. Couldn’t have been more you if I’d had it created. I found it in this little shop outside the city.”

“And you thought of me? Even with all those crazy books you love?”

“It’s hard not to think of you.”

She cupped his cheeks and dragged him down to her. “I love that you think of me. I love when you do thoughtful things.” She pressed her forehead to his. “I’m not used to it.”

“Maybe someday you won’t question it.”

“I can get behind being spoiled.”

He lifted her helmet and put it back on her head. “I bet you can.” He climbed onto the bike, the scent of leather soaking into his brain. She threw her leg over and pressed into his back. “Take me for a ride, Professor.”

He gunned the engine, following Luc out and down to the street level. The GPS in the food truck app pointed him in the direction of San Jacinto. The tiny speck of nothing they were being sent to was about ninety minutes away and thankfully away from traffic.

As they got onto more desolate roads, Ethan’s tensions lessened and the arid climate blew out the cobwebs in his head. Molly gripped him with her thighs and her arms slowly fell away the farther from Los Angeles they got.

She opened her arms behind him and leaned back on the little seat he’d had installed. The carefree laugh and long notes of lyrics he couldn’t quite catch pushed him along faster. Luc came up beside him on the straightaway and laughed at Molly’s antics.

She stretched out her fingertips and touched Luc’s before he fell back in line. The dotted yellow lines blurred and the sun poured down on them, but there had never been a more perfect afternoon for Ethan.

He was almost disappointed when the makeshift cantina came into view. There were a few hundred people wandering around. The bright, sweet scent of barbecue salted the air. A smoker was working overtime and a live band played on a hastily erected stage just beyond a food truck that looked more like a city bus.

It was massive with mirrored windows and painted in bright Mexican colors. Part of the bus had been cut-out of the center to make a place for orders. Another cut-out at the end served as a delivery window.

The crowd was chill and the music was…groovy. No other word for it. It had a low beat and a Spanish guitar flavor with a gorgeous Latina singer with a sultry voice that rivaled Molly’s.

He was biased of course, but he felt more than knew Molly was watching the woman and aching for the stage. The longing was palpable. She belonged to the stage and the music more than anyone he’d seen.

Luc shifted down and eased around the side of the cement pillars made out of what looked like planting boxes. A large sign for the name of the truck flapped in the hot breeze. They both flipped down their kickstands and stretched. Luc pulled off his helmet and gave an exaggerated deep breath. “Smells like home.”

Molly hopped off and gave Ethan a quick one-armed squeeze before she strapped her helmet to Luc’s bike. She took Luc by the hand and then reached for Ethan and pulled them deeper into the little shopping area. Tables had been set up and colorful prints, jewelry, and artwork celebrated the heritage of the food.

He and Luc gave an indulgent laugh as she flitted from one table to another. She spun around with a huge pair of sunglasses on and a colorful scarf.

“Not a bad idea, Bluebird. You’re a little too recognizable.”

“Me? I’m not the six-foot-four gigantor.”

She dug into her shorts pocket—shockingly, she somehow had a small change purse and her phone stuffed in there. She bought a crazy printed sarong, a belt with fringe, scarf, and sunglasses. “When in Rome,” she said and tied the belt and sarong over her white shorts. Her endless tanned legs were even more alluring when they only flashed slightly when she walked.

Ethan elbowed Luc as his jaw flexed. “What?”

“Everyone’s staring at her.”

“She’s a gorgeous woman.”

“I don’t like it.”

“Why not? Aren’t you proud that she’s yours? Ours?”

Luc gave him some side-eye. “Is she? Can she belong to anyone? Do you see all that life and freedom locked in there?”

“I do.” Ethan glanced over to her where she spun and threw them a huge smile, her blond curls trailing down the middle of her back now, with her scarf tied over the top of it. She moved to a jewelry table and bought huge hoop earrings with chandelier like dangles. With her new and improved outfit, she looked like a native.

A group of women gravitated to her and tried to get her to buy other makeup and lotions. She politely declined, but not before they were able to turn her California surfer girl perfection into sultry smudged eyes and bronzed cheeks.

Ethan’s cock stiffened and he moved closer to Luc as they both followed her. She moved through the bazaar-like set up and teased them as she sashayed around filmy materials and large, brightly painted canvases.

Luc growled by his side and chased her to the back area where a dance floor had been fashioned out of the uneven ground with large blankets and rugs. She tugged off her boots and her inherent ethereal beauty went to another level.

No matter what clothing she wore, or what disguise she tried to pull off, there was no denying Molly. At her core, the she was the ultimate in natural sexuality.

The song became slow and sultry and she twisted and moved, her hips rolling in effortless enticement. She turned to them both and crooked her finger.

“Does she really think that’s going to work?” Luc asked.

Ethan didn’t even bother to pretend it didn’t. He followed her siren call one more time and slipped his arms around her, his hips instinctively following hers. She raised her arms to his shoulders, her fingers finding the wild curls that couldn’t be tamed after being stuffed under a helmet.

No words were really necessary. She turned in his arms, slipping her arms up behind her until they looped around his neck. Her perfect ass slid across the front of his jeans, an endless tease. She moved her shoulders against his chest, her short nails dragging against his neck.

Ethan lowered his mouth to her neck. Cherries and clean warmth radiated from her skin. She reached her arm out to Luc and he lifted his chin. Ethan followed the track of her focus and her gaze until they were both the lure.

Luc’s nostrils flared and his chest seemed to expand.

Fuck.

He was gorgeous and so reticent to belong to them. It was one thing he wanted more than anything. He understood this was new for him.

Hell, it was new for all of them.

When Luc walked toward them in that slow Texas gait, Ethan hardened even more. Molly groaned in front of him.

The dance floor wasn’t flooded with people but there was a fair amount, and all of them were focused on their own partner.

No one cared who Molly and Luc were here.

No one probably knew.

Even with his large body and mane of blond hair, there were plenty of men like Luc in California. Maybe not quite as huge, but there were some.

But he was Ethan’s. And that was all that mattered.

Luc merged with them on the dance floor. He had a natural rhythm that they enjoyed in the bedroom. For a large man, he was surprisingly gentle at times. And then others, the opposite was true.

Today there was gentleness and grace—and in his spring-green eyes, there was something else.

Something that made Ethan’s chest ache.

Luc lowered his mouth to Molly’s and they moved as one with Luc’s long arms holding them close. When he pulled away from Molly’s mouth, he found Ethan’s in a long, slow kiss.

One that was full of passion, but not full of force.

Luc was often a force of nature in their sphere. As if he had to blow through them like a storm to be accepted.

But here and now, there was little more than soft groans and laughter as they danced for what felt like hours.

When they stopped dancing, they ate, sharing infinite laughter.

A perfect day that almost wasn’t.

As the desert swallowed the sun, they finally got back on their bikes and set off for home.

This time, Molly was on the back of Luc’s bike and Ethan was alone again. For once, it wasn’t a painful pang because he knew they’d be back with him soon.

But not soon enough.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

The hour of reckoning had arrived.

They were rapidly closing in on a month together, and tonight would be the first true public test with people they knew.

Ethan wasn’t nervous. Not at all. Minus the constant phone checking to see if Luc and Molly were really going to come to the awards presentation as they’d indicated.

Since staring at his cell wasn’t getting him anywhere, he got ready for the night. Showering, changing into his suit. No tux for him.

All the while, he kept an eye on his phone.

When Luc’s text tone finally sounded, Ethan startled.

So pathetic. He was worse than a teenager hoping for an invitation to the prom.

Ethan straightened his bow tie before picking up his cell. Luc’s text amused the hell out of him.

Luc: Just wanted you to know I haven’t set foot in a school since… Christ, I don’t know when. Probably when I was macking on a cheerleader who was 3 years younger & built.

Ethan: It’s not at school. The Palm Canyon Club is a country club. Did you lose the address?

Luc: No, I didn’t lose shit. I’m just saying. School thing. School related. Not my scene.

Ethan’s amusement faded slightly. He knew inviting them to the award presentation might be awkward for them for a couple of reasons, but he wanted them there. They were his people. That simple. Even without labeling what they had, if he was celebrating, he wanted to celebrate with them.

Ethan: If you’d rather skip it, we can celebrate later.

Luc: Second thoughts about bringing your music type lovers to your fancy shindig, Professor?

Ethan: No. Second thoughts about subjecting you to something you’re clearly not comfortable with.

When Luc didn’t reply, Ethan tried again.

Ethan: I want you there. I thought you both knew that.

Luc’s reply was swift.

Luc: We’re already on the way. Or we will be when Princess Molly finishes curling her hair.

Ethan grinned as another text came through from Molly, not two minutes later.

Molly: I wasn’t curling my hair, it naturally has a perfect wave, tyvm. I was doing my eyes. Going for a classy eye rather than smoky.

Ethan: Your eyes are perfect too. Don’t trouble yourself.

Luc: Sure, you have to be all gallant and sweet to her, so she acts like I’m a Neanderthal with no appreciation for her finer attributes. Which I def have. Especially her ass. This dress she has on…

Molly: He’s reading over my shoulder. Snoopy fuck.

Luc: Who read over whose shoulder 1st? Whatever.

Ethan laughed out loud, but he couldn’t help the twinge that they’d left together from the studio, which meant they could get ready together too. Not that it made much difference, of course. He was a big boy, and he wasn’t the sort that needed to be with his lovers twenty-four hours a day.

Truthfully, he shouldn’t miss them as much as he did when they were working long hours. He had a full life.

They’d just made it so much fuller, and yes, he was human, so occasionally he couldn’t help feeling jealous at the long hours they spent sequestered with their band. Even in the middle of a crowd, they were already a kind of unit. They’d had a rhythm from early on—the rhythm that had made Lila bring Luc into Warning Sign. A person would have to be blind not to see it.

Yet they didn’t.

He was just ridiculously grateful they were coming tonight. Even if he had to burst their bubble a little.

Well, burst it even more, since they clearly weren’t excited at the prospect of a school-related function. He hadn’t even told them they had to dress up. Though it was semi-formal, Ethan had wanted them to feel comfortable. To hell with any of the prigs he worked with who might give them a healthy dose of side-eye.

But clothes were the least of their current issues, as was school.

Ethan: I have some other guests coming too. They were late saying yes. I hope that won’t be a problem.

Luc: U got another set of lovers stashed somewhere? If so, gotta commend u, brother. U have stamina. Which I already knew…

Ethan smiled. Back at you, Lucas.

Ethan: One set takes all my attention, so no. Lauren and West will be there too, of course, but I figured I didn’t need to mention them.

Luc: Nah, West was already saying something about it to Mol today. I think she was feeling her out to see if she was invited.

Ethan swallowed. Yeah. His fault for not asking sooner what his lovers were okay with people knowing. Now it was going to be a thing.

Ethan: I didn’t know if you’d want Lauren to know about all of us. So I just deflected when she asked. She’s my best friend. Lifelong practically.

Luc: Is that ur way of saying she can keep a secret? Is that how we’re playing this?

Ethan: I don’t want to play it, period. If it were up to me, I’d tell everyone you both are mine.

Hell, hadn’t that been what the ring he’d given Molly been all about? True, it had been a spur of the moment impulse, and he hadn’t spelled it all out. They weren’t about words, not yet. Perhaps they might never be. But the jewelry was something tangible to keep with her. Just like the helmet Luc had purchased for her.

A memento so she never forgot that she was part of something bigger than herself—if she wanted to be.

All three of them were.

Luc: Yours huh? Does that make you ours 2?

Ethan rotated his neck against the sudden stiffness there. It was easier with them together, so they could read each other’s phones. Though they could have just done a group text, but they were always one beat off the path.

Ahh, Zeus, it was all so awkward, but sweeping the truth under the rug served no one.

Ethan: If you’ll have me.

Luc: Think we already have. Many times.

A moment passed.

Luc: And we intend to have u much more.

Ethan smiled, the tension easing in his neck and shoulders. At least a little. Because there was one more hard subject.

Ethan: My parents are coming. Hope that won’t be weird for you both?

Shockingly, he received no reply. After five minutes passed, he resumed getting ready. He’d have to leave soon, and if they needed time to process meeting the parents, he’d give it to them.

But not much time, because it wasn’t a big deal. Truly. Even if he could only imagine the conversation they were having right now. Probably punctuated with lots of growls from Luc and hair flips—and possibly thrown mascara wands—from Molly.

His lips twitched. Damn temperamental artists. He loved them so.

Liked.

A lot.

He was almost certain he’d meant liked, or perhaps loved euphemistically. The same way he loved high thread count sheets and a perfectly done medium-well steak.

Strong affection didn’t indicate lifetime commitment.

Except sometimes it did. He’d just never seen his own life pointed in that direction. The only person he’d ever committed to was Lauren, and that was a much different scenario even if he’d once fancied that it could turn into more. But she’d found her person, and Ethan was beginning to think his person was, in fact, two.

That perhaps that was why he’d never been happy or content with another. He needed this man, and this woman. There could be no substitutes.

Another text came through—finally a group one—and Ethan picked up his phone.

Molly: Luc is throwing up in the bushes, but we’re cool with it.

Ethan laughed.

Luc: I’m not throwing up. She’s a fecking liar. She just stabbed herself with her eyebrow pencil.

Molly’s response was a middle finger emoji.

Ethan: My parents will be delighted with you two.

Molly: Sarcasm?

Ethan: No, sterling truth. You haven’t met them yet. Just wait.

Molly: On second thought, maybe my stomach is a little rumbly…

Ethan chuckled. Yeah, he could fall in love with them. Far too easily.

If he hadn’t already.

Ethan: I’ll see you there. Are you certain you have the address? I can send you my preferred map if you’d like.

Luc: Preferred map? Is this dude for real?

Ethan: I warned u about hooking up with a nerd. This is what happens.

Molly’s reply was a shrug emoji.

Then a moment later, she sent another.

Molly: Nerds are good in bed.

Ethan: So are rockstars.

Luc: Damn straight. It’s all the Coverdale hair for pulling.

Ethan: About that…

Molly: Later, boys. We’re going to be late. Our boyfriend has a big thing tonight and we don’t want to miss the fireworks. Cya soon, Professor. *wink* Sir.

The memory of Molly in her schoolgirl skirt swam through Ethan’s head and left him reeling. Just what he needed before an evening with faculty and staff.

The boner from hell.

Ethan: See you soon. Thank you for coming.

He resumed his last minute preparations for the evening, then just as he was on the way out the door, Luc texted again.

Luc: Feel free to thank us handsomely later.

An instant later, another came through.

Luc: Proud of you, dude.

Molly: Very. Nerds rock.

Ethan laughed and opened up another text window to Lauren. It was time.

Ethan: So I have news. Will tell you tonight.

He gave her a moment to reply before grabbing his car keys and heading down the hall to the elevator. Maybe tonight wouldn’t be weird or awkward after all. Maybe they could transcend any of the bullshit through luck and sheer will.

Lauren texted as he pulled onto the freeway. The text scrolled across his in-dash screen.

Lauren: Are you pregnant?

He laughed. His best friend would help him get through too. Her form of entertainment always did.

Using text to speech, he responded.

Ethan: No. Nor have I impregnated anyone, to the best of knowledge.

Lauren: Oooh, a typo. Missing word there. Text to speech time, huh, Mr. Perfect?

Ethan: Driving, smart ass. Are you on the way?

Lauren: West is steering our ship. A bit recklessly, but yes. We brought Jules. That cool?

Ethan frowned. It was cool with him. More than. Hopefully, his lovers would agree.

It would be a trial by fire—for all of them.

Ethan: Sure thing. Thanks for coming.

Lauren: Wouldn’t miss it. You know I love crab cakes. West gave me food poisoning the one time he tried to make them. Can’t cook for shit.

Ethan laughed, able to hear West’s protests to the contrary in his head. It was so much like the rapport between him and Molly and Luc. How often had he wished to have someone like that he could banter with on that easy, natural level? He had Lauren, but it was different.

Somehow he’d been granted his wish, and it was better than he’d ever dreamed.

Ethan: I’m in a mènage a trois.

Lauren didn’t miss a beat.

Lauren: Like right now this second? Holy crap. Driving and threeway fucking at once? Impressive.

Ethan chuckled, shaking his head.

Ethan: Sorry, not quite that talented.

Lauren: Are we talking playboy bunny action? Two buxom blonds maybe? Or both brunette? Shit, I think I’m getting aroused. Let me check.

Ethan laughed again. She was completely insane.

Then her playful questions sunk in. She hadn’t mentioned Molly, though she’d known Molly had slept with him. She probably knew Molly had slept with him at the wedding too. Bands were famously gossip-ridden.

Because the whole world thinks she and Luc are a couple. You saw the footage near Luc’s bike, that almost kiss. So did everyone else. Lauren probably assumes you and Molly were a momentary dalliance.

Worst of all, it made sense. Why would Molly continue seeing someone as pedestrian as a college instructor when she had a notorious rockstar who looked like a goddamn underwear model right beside her, day in and day out?

He nearly avoided the subject altogether and said he’d see her at dinner. Perhaps what she viewed with her own eyes would be best.

But he owed Lauren honesty, even if he’d waited awhile to give it to her.

Ethan: I’m with Luc and Molly.

Lauren: Oh, tell them I said hi. West too. And Jules.

A pause.

Lauren: Wait. Hold up. With with? Not just in the company of?

Normally, he would’ve laughed, but saying the words aloud was more emotional than he’d expected. He wasn’t a man to make promises he didn’t intend to follow through on. And saying they were with him—that he was with them—was a sort of promise in his mind, even if they weren’t in his presence to hear it.

He knew, and there would be no do-overs.

Ethan: With with. No one really knows. You’re the first we’ve told.

Lauren: I wouldn’t tell, but West and Jules are with me.

Ethan: I would never expect you to keep it from West. But we’re coming out tonight.

Lauren: You were already out. But Luc…did not suspect there. He’s all over Molly.

Ethan: He is in private too. We both are.

Lauren: You’re just all over each other too. Hot.

Ethan grinned and signaled to get off the freeway. He’d never been one hundred percent sure if Lauren knew his proclivities. They’d never discussed it. He had never hidden his lovers, but it hadn’t worked out that she was at his place the times he’d brought a man over to spend the night. He’d never feared her reaction. At worst, he’d known she would be curious and would have a million questions.

Questions she’d already peppered Jules with, but Jules’s men weren’t bisexual. Much to her unending disappointment, according to Molly.

Another text from Lauren came through.

Lauren: Do your parents know?

Ethan: Not yet, but they will soon enough.

Lauren: Are you happy?

Such a simple question, with an answer that could be complicated if he let it. But he wasn’t going to.

Ethan: Happiest I’ve ever been.

Lauren: Good. I’m glad. I want you to have what I have. You deserve that.

Ethan couldn’t resist teasing her a little.

Ethan: I do have what you have, at least an interesting variation. Right down to the same equipment.

Lauren: Yeah, with an added Molly. She’s hot too. You scored. Did they show you what took place today yet?

Ethan read and reread Lauren’s message a few times, dividing his attention between the screen and the road.

What had happened today? And why hadn’t they told him yet?

Probably didn’t want to take the focus off his big night. But dammit, if something big was happening for them, he didn’t want to be the last to know.

He shouldn’t be.

Lauren: If they haven’t yet, I’m sure they will. Wait until you see. West showed me a little and I nearly peed myself. They have such chemistry. It’s crazy.

Swallowing hard, Ethan nodded though Lauren couldn’t see him. He knew very well the kind of chemistry they had. He bore witness to it every single time they were together.

Ethan took a left to pull into the entrance for the country club where the dinner was being held.

Ethan: I’m here. See you guys inside.

Lauren: Can’t wait. I won’t tell West and Jules. Want to see their faces. Oh! Another threesome. Jules won’t be so special anymore.

Another text came through as Ethan parked and got out of his car. He didn’t read it, because a couple of his colleagues had spotted him and they all chatted easily as they walked up the sloping path to the banquet hall.

His mistake was glancing at his phone as he held open the door for a fellow teacher. He couldn’t hold back his laughter.

Lauren: Don’t suppose you guys would be willing to answer some questions for my orgasm book, would you? I’ll use fake names if you want. How’s Deep Throat 1, Deep Throat 2, and Deep Throat 3?

He didn’t have a chance to respond, because he was immediately swarmed by friends and colleagues who wanted to congratulate him.

He spent the next forty-five minutes shaking hands and making small talk and discussing best teaching practices and upcoming changes to the English curriculum. Normally, he enjoyed all of that.

This time, he kept one eye on the door. He was waiting for some particular people to show up, and from the way they were timing things, he had a feeling they’d all present themselves at once, probably as dinner was about to be served.

After a quick stop to ensure Jules would have a meal as well, he returned to the banquet hall.

Still nothing. His guests were all MIA.

He’d just taken a seat at the table reserved for his party—with an extra last minute place setting for Jules—when Lauren, West and Jules sailed in with Ethan’s parents hot on their heels. His mother stood out, dressed as she was in a jewel-toned frock that was made out of approximately fifteen yards of fabric and trailed behind her.

Ethan had to smile. He’d tried to warn Luc and Molly, but he would bet they would be surprised nonetheless. His mother was memorable.

“Baby boy!” she called from the doorway, causing half the people around her to look back in scholarly shock.

That was his mama, and he loved her dearly.

Ethan waved to them, and they weaved around tables, making a beeline for him.

Lauren charged up to him first, throwing herself at him as if they hadn’t seen each other in a century rather than a few weeks. “I didn’t tell them,” she whispered in his ear as he hugged her back. “Congratulations, you big lugnut!”

Ethan laughed. “Thank you.”

“She’s all about the flattery,” West said with a wide grin, sticking out a hand. “Congrats, man.”

Ethan shook his hand, then he pulled him into a hug. He did the same with Jules, accepting her congratulations as well.

His mother opened her arms wide and said again, “Baby boy!”

Behind him, Ethan heard Lauren snort. She knew very well how his mother was.

“Hi Mom,” Ethan said, hugging her. “Dad,” Ethan added, nodding at his father behind his mom. He was dressed a bit more traditionally, if one considered a beer T-shirt under a sports coat paired with jeans as semi-formal dress.

Exactly why Ethan hadn’t worried what Luc might wear. It was hard to best his father.

“Son, you do us proud every day.” Ethan stepped back and his father wrapped him in a bear hug.

“Thank you. So glad you could come.”

“Wouldn’t miss it. Heard they had crab cakes at this clambake.” He laughed at his own joke and wrapped his arm around Ethan’s mother, hustling her to their seats. Probably in hopes of being served first.

Jules stepped in close. “I’m not like my parents either,” she said in an undertone.

Ethan grinned. “They’re incredible people. It’s kind of fun seeing people try to line us up in their minds.”

“No, he’s not adopted,” Lauren chimed in. “I already asked. Like fifteen times.”

“Adopted?” Ethan’s mom overheard them and let out a bawdy laugh. “Are you kidding me? Ethan’s father and I spent six months in solid practice to get that boy. And look how perfectly he turned out!”

Ethan patted his mom’s shoulder and gestured to the spots for his friends. “Jules, I took the liberty of ordering you the chicken française like I’m having. Hope that’s okay.”

“Oh, good, there’s food, thank you. I was worried I’d be too late to get on the list. But Lo kept talking about these crab cakes—”

“I’ll give you a crab cake.” West pulled out chairs for both women. “Maybe it’ll stop you from crying for food every three minutes.”

“Hardly.” Jules sniffed and dropped into her chair. “More like every five.”

“Nope, he was right. It was three.” Lauren sat and beamed at Ethan’s mom across from her. “So, how’s your sex life?”

His mother clapped. “Can I be in your book?”

“Sure. I’m doing a chapter on intercourse and the seasoned woman.”

“Like a turkey breast?” West wondered while Jules giggled behind her hand.

Ethan was about to take his seat when a flash of red out of the corner of his eye caught his attention. He turned his head to see Luc and Molly walking in.

The rest of the world ceased to exist.

She wore some kind of slinky red dress with a top that showcased her gorgeous breasts and cinched in her waist. The material fell in a long column to the floor, clinging to her endless curves. Beside her, Luc wore black jeans, a black jacket, and a black shirt. He’d tied his long hair back, but the gold couldn’t be contained. Pieces spilled out in front, much as they did from Molly’s updo.

Christ, they’d ridden on Luc’s bike in those getups. Ethan couldn’t figure out how Molly had hiked up her dress enough to climb astride it, because the fabric was impossibly snug in all the best ways.

Sweet mercy, they were incredible. And they were his.

Their gazes swept the room and zeroed in on him without delay. Like a united front, they walked toward him, their faces utterly devoid of emotion. For a second, his tongue untied, but only because he was wondering if their second thoughts had solidified into hell, no, we aren’t staying.

By the time they’d weaved around the clusters of talking people and bustling waitstaff to reach him, Ethan was almost sure they’d come only to end things.

Then Luc gripped Ethan’s jaw in both hands and laid his mouth on his, adding a swift, sly bit of tongue before he edged back. “Congratulations, man.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

Holy shit.

Ethan was still trying to find his voice when Molly glided up to him and slipped her fingers into his hair, drawing his mouth down to hers for a quick, intense kiss. “Congratulations, Ethan,” she said, smiling up at him as she slipped away.

Ethan said nothing. He barely breathed.

“Um, what did I just see?” Jules asked from the table, her voice carrying just enough to shake Ethan out of his stupor.

“I don’t know, but I saw it too. Um, Lo, don’t suppose you know anything about this?” West asked.

Lauren laughed delightedly. “Isn’t it awesome? What a dashing set of triplets they make. Hmm, what do you say when pair isn’t appropriate? Threesome sounds borderline bedroom. Hey Jules, what would you call it?”

“Sorry, I’ve lost the power of my brain cells right now.”

Jules wasn’t the only one. Luc was staring past Ethan at the table, evidently not having checked it out first to see who exactly had already arrived. Either that or he was on the verge of a cardiac event.

“Why hello there,” Mrs. Haywood said, rising to grip Luc’s arm. “Aren’t you a big one?”

Molly covered her mouth with her hand, either to laugh, cry or quietly scream.

Ethan exhaled, certain that more than a few of his colleagues had noticed Luc’s enthusiastic greeting. Which was just fine. He wasn’t into secrets, and he wasn’t ashamed of any of this. Especially them. They were the most unique, complicated, gorgeous creatures he’d ever imagined. The Greeks couldn’t have created any that were finer.

Besotted fool.

Ethan rested a hand on his mother’s back for a moment before stepping between Luc and Molly and lacing his fingers with both of theirs. “Mom, Dad, everyone, this is Luc Moreau and Molly McIntire. We’re seeing each other.”

“Oh hell yes. I’d be seeing you too.” His mother rose on her tiptoes to pinch Luc’s cheek. “You are a very handsome man, Luc. It’s a pleasure to meet you. Are you in love with my son?”

Luc promptly turned seventeen shades of chartreuse.

On Ethan’s other side, Molly leaned forward and waved. “Hi. I’m here too. Nice to meet you, Mrs. Haywood and Mr. Haywood.”

“Hello, dear. I was just about to make my way down to you.” Mrs. Haywood’s hand dropped to Luc’s side, and for one terrifying second, Ethan was afraid she’d pinched his ass.

Luckily, she moved on without comment to envelop Molly in a vigorous hug. “You’re so beautiful too. Where did he find you two? I know this is California, but really, wow.” She eased back and fanned herself while again sneaking a glance at Luc. “I’m impressed, son. Very impressed.”

“Good job, son,” his dad echoed, giving Ethan a thumbs up.

“They’re in West’s and Jules’s band,” Lauren called from the table. “People think they’re fairly attractive too.”

West slung an arm around Lauren’s shoulders and kissed her forehead. “Who you calling ‘fairly attractive’?”

Since Luc still hadn’t recovered, and Molly still seemed a little miffed that she hadn’t gotten the same fawning treatment as Luc, Ethan took a deep breath and gestured as the emcee moved to the stage to begin the show. “Please, everyone take a seat.”

Ethan’s parents returned to their seats, and Ethan indicated to Luc and Molly where they should sit. When Luc didn’t move, Molly shook her head and tugged on his sleeve, yanking him toward the table.

Ethan debated if he had time to make it to the door before anyone noticed his escape, then he gave in and dropped into his own seat.

So much for Luc and Molly not showing up. They’d made the most epic appearance in probably…well, ever at one of these normally staid events.

Thankfully, once the program got under way, there were enough speakers and excellence awards presented that it was hard to focus on who might be eyeballing who at the table. Molly rubbed his thigh when his award was announced, and everyone at the table hooted and hollered as he rose to accept it as if they were at a Warning Sign concert—which garnered more than a few askance glances from the other faculty members—but overall, the rest of the evening passed without incident.

Until he was saying goodbye to his parents and overheard Jules say to Molly behind him, “You hussy! I thought you were banging them separately, not together!” Then there was the slap of hands.

Ethan shifted his mother away before she could run over to join them.

“I like your young lady and your young man,” she said to him, clutching his hand in both of hers.

“Because they’re exceptionally beautiful people?”

“Well, a mother always thinks of grandchildren. It’s a biological imperative.”

When Ethan started to cough, his father pounded on his back. “Don’t kill the boy when he’s just won the Super Bowl.” His dad gave him a sly grin and slugged him in the biceps. “Bet you’re gonna enjoy those touchdowns tonight, huh?”

Ethan took a second to throw up a prayer of thanks that Molly and Luc were occupied with their band members. He wished he was as well at that particular juncture. Even Lauren’s probing sex questions had to be better than this.

Though she had demanded an explanation of the exact boundaries of the “perineum” area on a man during dinner, so perhaps not.

Once Jules, West, and Lauren had thoroughly grilled Molly on her so-called hussy tendencies, they came over to say goodbye. His parents went over to speak to Molly and Luc, and though Ethan wanted to monitor the conversation—and possibly tape their mouths closed—he couldn’t do so because Lauren was squealing about all the triple dates he and his lovers could go on now with Randy, Tristan, and Jules. Which might have excited him if he wasn’t fearing being single by the end of the evening.

Eventually, however, he’d said goodbye to his family and friends, leaving only a few colleagues he needed to speak to. He held up a finger toward Luc and Molly, who were lingering near the doorway as if they might bolt if given the opportunity.

He made it through a few conversations without issue, but the last not so much. Naturally, the man in question was the chair of the English department. Kyle Jeffers was typically a fair man, if somewhat on the brutish side.

Tonight he took it to a new level.

“I’m assuming that large man who kissed you was a family member.”

Ethan balled his free hand in his pocket and resisted using his award to rearrange the other man’s organs. Maybe he was asking an innocent question.

“Actually, no. We’re in a relationship with the young woman who was with him.”

Kyle lowered his glasses and squinted. “Haywood, have you lost your mind? Do you think this is some kind of hippie hangout? First, inappropriate kissing in public, then your entire table cheered as if they were at a Lakers game. I’m not sure if you remember what field you’re in.” He cast a glance at Luc and Molly behind Ethan. “And what field you aren’t.”

“Hey, mind your manners, pal,” Luc said, stepping forward. Molly clutched at Luc’s arm, and Ethan thought for a second she was restraining him until she stepped in front.

“You don’t have any right to speak to him that way. We didn’t do anything wrong. We were just excited for Ethan, and so were our friends.”

Kyle ignored them as if they’d never spoken.

Something tugged in Ethan’s chest, swift and hard. “I know quite well what field I’m in, and I do an exemplary job, I’d say, as evidenced by this.” He held up his award. “Have a good evening, Kyle.”

He turned and reached up to fist a handful of Luc’s messy ponytail, using it to pull Luc’s mouth to his. Even when proving a point, the kiss was hotter than it had any right to be—probably because they were both pissed. He moved on to Molly and did the same with her, cupping her cheek in his hand and savoring the hint of cherry on her lips before drawing away to take her hand. Shoving his award under one arm, he reached for Luc with the other, then proceeded to tug them both out the door into the crisp, cool night.

No one spoke until they reached Luc’s bike. The parking lot had rapidly emptied out, and only a few scattered vehicles remained. Luc’s bike stuck out like a damn gleaming beacon in the darkness, as eye-catching as its owner.

Ethan searched for something to say. A way to break the obvious tension. Before he had a chance to speak, Luc tugged his hand away. He shoved it through his hair, yanking out the tie that had held it back as if that tiny piece of material irritated him. “So, ah, we’re gonna go.”

Ethan registered Luc’s words with pain, if not shock. He’d suspected this would happen. It didn’t matter if he wasn’t worried about who saw them or had an opinion about them. All it would take was one rude comment or dirty look and they’d both vanish.

Molly squeezed Ethan’s hand, lingering just long enough that he thought maybe, just maybe, she wasn’t as eager to leave as Luc. Then she released him and stepped back too. She didn’t go to Luc. “It’s probably better,” she said softly.

Ethan started to nod, to shrug it off and walk back to his car. He made it three steps before he realized what exactly he was throwing away.

What he was letting them throw away.

“You know what?” Ethan turned to face them, clutching his award so he didn’t pitch the goddamn thing like a child having a tantrum. “No. It is not better. At least not for me.”

Molly stared down at her fancy red high heels. “Ethan—”

“Tonight you’ve called me that. Before it was Professor or occasionally Sir if that was the game we were playing. But rarely my name.” Ethan moved toward her and gripped her chin, jerking her head up to his. In the darkness lit only by a few sodium lights and a sliver of moon, her eyes glittered. “Now you want to just walk away as if this never mattered. As if I don’t.” He turned his head to encompass Luc in his statement, but Luc didn’t meet his gaze. “And you want me to pretend the same.”

“We came here to support you, not cause you grief.”

“Did I seem like I was upset tonight? Did you think I intended to go home with you and hate fuck the rage out of my system? News bulletin for you. The only rage I have right now is at the two of you for being cowards.”

Luc’s head came up. “I’m not a fucking coward. I walked in there and I kissed you right in front of everyone. Who do you think I did that for?”

“Yes, you did. Two hours ago, I believed that display was for me. Now I’m not sure. Maybe it was your chosen way to get me to push you out the door if anyone had an opinion.”

“It’s more than an opinion when that guy is part of the English department.” Molly’s voice was as thin and sharp as glass. “We don’t want you to get in trouble on account of us. Can’t you understand that?”

“I understand your concern. I appreciate it. But if it means you’re going to show it by trashing something that means as much to me right now as my job, then no. No, I don’t understand, and I’m not going to act as if I do.”

Luc’s chest heaved and he stabbed his fingers into his eyes. “They think we’re fucking freaks,” he muttered. “Don’t you get that?”

“No one said that, and even if they had, so what? You get up on a stage and sing music to reach people, to make them feel something. Now you want to hide away so no one gets offended by you living your life?” Ethan shook his head, lowering his award to his side. All of a sudden, the stupid thing was far too heavy. “That’s all we’re doing. Living our lives.”

Silence hung between them for so long that he released a long breath. “You know what? Maybe I’m the fool here. I’m willing to fight for us, but maybe the us in my head is fiction.” He smiled bitterly. “English professor, remember? Believes in dreams and made-up happily ever afters.”

Molly reached out for him as he started to walk away. “Wait.”

He glanced back at her, his throat nearly too tight to speak. “Give me a reason.”

She pressed herself against him and slid her arms around his neck, burying her face in his chest. Softly, so softly, she kissed him right above where his heart was beating, hard and fast. “I’m still here.” She turned her head and gazed at Luc, who still stood apart from them. As separate and isolated as a statue encased in ice. “Are you?” she asked, and Ethan knew she wasn’t talking to him.

Luc tossed something into the darkness, probably the tie from his hair, and Ethan nearly chided him for littering.

Not the time, Haywood.

“Fuck, yeah, I’m still here.” Luc’s voice was a rumble in the dark. “If I wasn’t, I would’ve been on that bike and gone when I took that bathroom break an hour ago.”

Relief weakened Ethan’s limbs. “The one that lasted half an hour?”

Luc jerked a shoulder. “Not my fault if that gravy tasted off.”

No one laughed.

Ethan looped his arms around Molly and stared hard at Luc. “I’d like you both to come home with me. Or we can go to Molly’s. It doesn’t matter. I just want to be with you.”

Luc’s jaw worked. “It’s really that simple for you. Just you want to be with us, so to hell with the rest of the world.”

“Yes,” Ethan said quietly. “Just that simple.”

Molly huffed out a laugh before kissing Ethan’s Adam’s apple. “Here I thought Luc was hung like a horse. Your balls are twice the size of his.” She leaned back, still holding on to Ethan’s neck. “They’re even bigger than mine, and as my sister says, I wear them up top.” She inclined her chin at her cleavage and even Luc had to chuckle.

“I guess I’m the asshole here.” Luc tipped back his head and gazed at the sky. “I have family back home who won’t get this. It’s not just about me.”

“Family who won’t understand you being in a loving relationship.” It wasn’t until Molly braced in his arms that Ethan realized the word he’d used.

But he didn’t take it back. How could he, when it was how he felt?

He wouldn’t be made into a liar, even by people he loved.

“They’re traditional people.” Luc whipped off his sports coat and hung it over his arm. “There’s kids involved. Teenagers. We all know how hard it is being in high school to begin with. Now I’m going to make them read in the press how their brother is in a fucking threesome?”

“You made them read how their brother was in rehab for sex addiction how many times? But that was okay. If they were even mindful of your press to begin with.”

“That was different.”

“Why?”

“Because I was supposed to fucking clean up if we pulled it off, all right? Dex promised me if the public was paying attention to us, we’d rake in the goddamn money. It didn’t happen, and I was left holding the bag. If Molly hadn’t burst into our meeting, do you know where I’d be right now? Back home in Abilene, working construction so those kids and my sister get a break. Every fucking thing I’ve done since I’ve been in this town has been for them.” He pinned them both with his stare. “Except this. And except singing with you,” he added almost in a whisper to Molly. “That’s for me, even if it was only supposed to be for them too.”

Ethan and Molly exchanged a look. They’d both taken a step toward Luc when he moved forward and wrapped his arms around both of them, his grip like iron.

“It matters to me too. I just don’t want to hurt them anymore than I already have.”

Molly rubbed Luc’s chest, silently soothing. “I can’t believe we’re having this conversation in a damn country club parking lot.”

“Yeah, well, the good Prof here was thinking I didn’t give a crap because I don’t give poetic speeches like he does. That’s not how I work.”

“Your poetry is your voice. And your heart.”

When Luc snorted, Ethan tipped his forehead against Luc’s and tugged Molly closer against his side. “I don’t need to know every detail about your pasts. Your histories are part of what makes you who you are now. Every day I’m with you, I learn more. I’m in no rush to get to the end of the song. And as far as I’m concerned, the music began when we got together.”

He expected one or both of them to make a joke. To laugh him off.

They didn’t.

“I didn’t want this either. Not even close. I’d sworn off men for years. Sex was something I didn’t have time for. Now I have all this, and my brain is screaming at me to run. Just run, before I’m in too deep.” She shut her eyes. “Too fucking late.”

Luc’s throat worked and he tipped back his head again, dragging in a deep breath. “So, where am I driving?”

Molly opened her eyes and glanced at Ethan. “Let’s go back to where we began.”

“I’m not having sex in the alley next to Ripper Records.”

Ethan chuckled. “Why not? Don’t want to try your chances with that speeding car again?”

“Oh, sure. Let’s give that asshole another chance to kill us. No thanks.” Molly frowned as her cell beeped and she tugged it out from the little bag hooked over the crook of her elbow. “It’s Elle.”

“What does she want?”

“Her car broke down. She’s stuck on the side of the road sorta near here. Her cell’s dying too, almost out of juice. She called Jules and she said to contact us because we might still be here. They’re already back home and it would take them longer to get back here.”

“Not surprised considering what Elle drives.” Luc shook his head. “I can’t fit her on my bike.”

Ethan was already on the move toward his car. “She’s on the side of the road alone at this time of night? Christ, get her approximate location and tell her to look for my car. We’ll be right there.”

“Guess we’re going with the Prof,” Molly said, texting as she followed Ethan to his car.

“What about my bike? I can’t just leave it in an attended lot all night.”

Ethan leaned into his Lincoln and snatched the country club ID tag off his dashboard and handed it over his shoulder to Luc. “Slap that on your bike and it should save it from towing at least until morning.”

“Gee, thanks.” But he took the tag and headed back to his bike.

Molly hopped into the passenger side, and a moment later, Luc returned and slid into the backseat.

There would be no vehicular sex this evening.

“What happened?” Ethan asked as he reversed out of his space. “Flat tire? Transmission issues?”

“Old piece of shit.”

Molly ignored Luc. “I’m asking. Hang on.”

“Ask her after you get an address. I don’t want her on the side of the road any longer than she has to be.”

“Here’s her GPS address.” Molly read it to him and he cursed as he drove out of the lot. He punched the gas.

Elle was truly in the middle of damn nowhere.

A couple of minutes passed in silence as Ethan whipped around curves and corners.

Luc let out a frustrated breath. “What the hell was she doing out this way? She doesn’t live on this side of town.”

“She stopped by Ripper, then went to some new guitar shop. On the way home, her car just failed.”

“Brakes? Engine? What?” Luc asked.

“Everything. Computer went dark. Couldn’t brake. Couldn’t steer. Jesus. How scary. She could’ve been hurt.”

“Or worse.” Luc shook his head. “Told her she should trade in that heap.”

“Nothing’s ever happened like this before.” Molly set her phone in her lap and gazed out the window at the passing scenery. “She tried to push it to the side of the road, but she had to leave it. The hazards wouldn’t work, so she left flares.” She’d no sooner said the words that she leaned forward and pointed. “There. See it? Right there.”

“Jesus, she barely got it off to the side,” Luc muttered, leaping out of the car as soon as Ethan slowed beside her vehicle.

“Hello, we have to get Elle. What are you doing?” Molly jumped out even as she asked the question.

Ethan shook his head and pulled up ahead of Elle’s car. He hadn’t intended to stop, but as usual, his lovers hadn’t asked for his opinion. So while they did whatever the hell they were doing out there, he called in their location to his car towing service. He assumed Elle would’ve done the same, but no one had showed yet. Maybe she didn’t have a membership. Seemed crazy with such an old car, but he didn’t understand why she’d drive something that ancient anyway.

He was on hold when Luc came around to pound on his window. Scowling, he lowered it and pointed at his cell. “On the phone.”

“Yeah, well, there’s no getting it started. It’s dead as a doornail. But there’s more.” He held up a nail. “Both back tires had nails in them. Looked like a slow leak, but it’s definitely accelerating.”

Ethan frowned. “Both?”

“Yeah. Weird as fuck.”

“Ask Mol to ask Elle if she called for a tow.”

Luc relayed the message, then glanced back at Ethan. “Called in, but they said there was a big accident that’s holding them up.”

Ethan swore and ended his call. “All right, well, my place probably couldn’t get here any faster. Not like anyone will try to boost it. C’mon, let’s go find Elle.”

Molly climbed back in the car and just sat there without putting on her seatbelt as Luc returned to the backseat. “What’s wrong?” Ethan asked.

“She’s freaking out. We have to find her.”

Ethan put the car in gear. “Seatbelt.”

Molly complied, but she moved slowly, almost haltingly. Before he could ask, she spoke again. “Why would both her back tires have nails? I could see one, I guess, but both?”

“If she drove over some debris, maybe,” Luc offered from the backseat.

“I asked her. She said no. She didn’t even realize the tires were running flat. Just yesterday, she added air.” Molly gripped her phone in both hands. “She had no brakes,” she said, repeating herself from earlier. “No ability to steer. What would do that?”

“Transmission failure causes some crazy shit. Could be that, or any number of things.”

“But for the computer to go too at the same time? It was as if the car just shut down with no warning.” Molly shivered. “I’ve never even heard of something like that happening.”

“Has she had it serviced recently?” Ethan asked.

“I asked that too. She had it inspected last month. No issues.”

“A month is a long time. Who knows what could’ve occurred since then? And techs miss shit.”

Molly didn’t reply to Luc, just stared out the window, searching in the darkness for some glimpse of Elle.

“What are you thinking?” Ethan asked quietly.

She shrugged. “I don’t know. Just something feels…wrong. She was at Ripper, and Donovan’s been so paranoid about security since the leaks. Ryan was acting weird about it the other day too, and he said something that made me wonder more about Denver’s past. I think there was more to what went down at the Event Center last summer.”

“You mean at the awards show?” Luc asked. “With that dude Ryan and I took down?”

“Yeah.” Molly rubbed her palm over the thigh of her dress. “I don’t think it was some isolated incident, though everything was kind of swept under the rug. We were on a need to know basis, and Donovan didn’t think we should be privy to much. Denver’s been pretty tight-lipped too. Wait.” Molly squinted out the window, then shook her head. “No. That’s not her. Where is she?”

Another text came through. “Christ, she said a guy in a suit stopped to offer a ride. Seems nice. She’s too sweet for her own good. I swear, that girl would get in bed with a serial killer.”

“Tell her not to go with him.” Ethan punched the gas again, illegally swerving around a slow-moving sedan. “We’re almost there. Have her describe where she is, as much as she can see.”

Molly’s fingers flew over her phone, and a minute later, she relayed the details Elle had given her.

It took another ten minutes, but Molly finally spotted a woman in a pink hoodie walking along the side of the road. “There. There she is.”

Jesus. Thank God.

Ethan honked and signaled over to the side, putting the car in Park as Elle jogged over to the vehicle. She hopped into the back with Luc, and let out a long, relieved breath. “Whew, I’m so glad you were able to find me. I was getting seriously creeped out.”

“Me too,” Molly said from the front seat, twisting halfway around to face Elle. “Are you okay? That weirdo left without hassling you?”

“Oh, he wasn’t weird. He was actually really nice. Cute too. Dark hair, dark eyes. I have a weakness for—“ Elle broke off and stared at Luc. “Why are you here?”

“Maybe my ride broke down too.”

Elle snorted. “Not hardly. No, really. You went to Ethan’s shindig too? By the way, congrats. Jules mentioned it on the phone.”

“Thanks.”

Elle shifted back to Luc. “So what’s the deal?”

Luc waited a beat. Then another. “I’m fucking both of them. Problem?”

“Both of—” Elle fell silent. “Oh. Okay. Yeah, I’ll just shut up now.” Then she leaned forward and gripped Molly’s shoulder. “Dang, girl. Go you.”

Molly reached back and squeezed Elle’s hand. ”We were really worried about you. How scary.”

“Yeah, it was.” Elle released Molly’s shoulder and sat back in her seat. “I couldn’t do anything. Car just failed with no warning. Man, the feeling of losing my brakes…” Ethan glanced in the rearview mirror as she trailed off and gripped her elbows, curling into herself. “I never want to go through that again. Ever.”

“Get a new car,” Luc advised. “And be careful what you drive through.”

“I didn’t drive through anything unusual,” she insisted. “I would’ve known. I’m a safe driver, I swear.”

“Safe driver or not, your car is an antique, and not in the good way.”

Elle sighed. “Yeah, I might get a new car. It’s probably time, though I swear, she’s never given me a problem before this. At least Nicky would stop harping on me.” She popped forward in her seat again. “Don’t tell Jazz what happened, okay? Please? She’s thick as thieves with my brother and if he hears about this, he’ll be on me twenty-four/seven about replacing her.”

“Her?” Ethan asked, amused, shifting to dissipate the tension in his shoulders. He was just glad they’d found Elle, safe and in one piece. “Your vehicle is female?”

“Sure. Her name is Esmerelda. I call her Esme.”

“Women,” Luc muttered.

They dropped Elle off at her apartment twenty minutes later, after Molly made her promise to call if she needed a ride or any other help with her car. Watching the girls hug outside the car made Ethan smile.

He was happy Molly was reaching out more and more. She needed girlfriends too.

Once Molly slipped back into the car, he headed to his place. They parked in one of the last spots in the garage, then trooped into the service elevator with absolutely none of the dirty playfulness they’d shared on their first ride up to his apartment, nearly a month ago now. But Molly leaned against Ethan, and Luc leaned against her, fingers casually tangled, and somehow that was even better.

In the quiet moments, Ethan found all the proof he needed that they were so much more than sex. And that proof was growing daily.

They filed into his apartment and went to his bedroom without turning on lights or speaking. It was agreed upon that they needed this connection, needed to reaffirm all they were after tonight’s near destruction.

So fragile. So easily broken. Like a spiderweb. All those little links, spun tight until a careless hand swept them away.

Undressing each other didn’t require talking either. By now, it was second nature. All the little casual touches that meant so much more.

Rolling into bed with them on either side of him was natural too. Usually Molly was in between, but sometimes it was like this. And sometimes Luc rolled her beneath him, covering her with his big body, slipping into her so silkily that pain didn’t exist between them anymore. He fit her now, as if he’d been made for her. When Ethan slid into Luc from behind, it was easy too, any flashes of discomfort so minor as to not be mentionable—at least as far as Ethan could tell. He couldn’t read them like books yet, and maybe he never would be able to. Perhaps they would remain fascinating enigmas to him, prisms that showed new flickers of light on different days.

He was ready for the journey either way.

When the sweat had cooled, they twisted together in the dark. Sleep was elusive, and Ethan wasn’t sure why. Overall, the night had been a success. They’d had their first real challenge—beyond even making it this far to begin with—and they had prevailed. Elle had dealt with some shitty luck, but she was okay.

Yet still something niggled.

He started to roll out of bed, but soft hands brushed his back. Molly was closest, and she touched him so gently. Then Luc’s rougher palm followed. No words.

There weren’t any.

His chest was too tight, and outside the window the darkness was shrouded. Fingers of moonlight crept across the glass and he fumbled for their hands, clasping them with more force than was necessary. They weren’t leaving him.

Tomorrow wasn’t here yet.

“We never showed you the clip,” Molly said from behind him.

Ethan jerked, her voice dragging him back from whatever murk he’d been lost to. She shimmied past him to grab her phone off the nightstand, then kneeling at his side, moved her thumb across the screen and brought them to life.

Her and Luc, singing to each other while the band played behind them against a desert backdrop. Clearly, it wasn’t a real desert, and the wind machines were blowing the sand around almost as much as the golden manes of the lead singers. But it didn’t matter. The magic they wove as they sung about the headlines that had brought them together transfixed Ethan. Their voices lifting, their bodies rubbing close as they playfully battled then somehow acceded ground to each other, giving each other space to be.

To soar.

“We did the video for the new single premiering the night of our secret show in the desert. This is the reason we’ve been so crazy in the studio. Getting ready. There’s a lot on the line.” She exhaled shakily. “You don’t like it.”

Predictably, Luc said nothing.

“You’re right. I don’t like it.” Ethan shifted to face them. “I fucking love it,” he said, watching as Molly’s face transformed. He glanced at Luc, who wasn’t quite meeting his gaze. “You’re magical together.”

“Really? You really think so?” Molly rubbed her throat. “It took a few takes, more than a few. This isn’t the final cut, but Lila seemed pleased—”

“We gave everything we had. Left it all on the floor for everyone to pick apart and dissect. Just because they will doesn’t mean we didn’t do our fucking best.” Luc’s quiet certainty cut through her momentary hesitation.

She nodded. “Yes. You’re right. We did. And our best was—”

Ethan cupped her face in his hands. “Spectacular. You’re spectacular.” He kissed her softly, then did the same to Luc, holding close an extra minute when a tremor went through Luc’s body.

No one was immune to insecurities. Not even them.

Not even him.

“Lauren said earlier that you guys had something to show me. I was jealous then, wondering what I’d missed. It’s easy to feel left out. Separate. I’m not on that stage. Not in your pockets all day long. Professors of Mythology don’t hold quite the same mystique as rockstars, and I can’t help feeling out of my depth at times.” He focused on that tiny screen once more, his thumb coasting over the still image of Luc and Molly’s faces as they crooned into their shared microphone. “But it’s a choice, isn’t it? All of this is a choice. You’re choosing to be with me, to fight for me, just as I am for you.” Swallowing deeply, he passed the phone back to Molly. “And I’m choosing to be proud and happy for you.” He smiled. “Maybe I’ll even get to say I knew you when after you hit the stratosphere. Together. Always together.”

Molly’s eyes sparkled before she accepted the phone and curled herself around Ethan. “You’ll be with us,” she whispered fiercely. “Every step.”

Ethan hugged her back and looked at Luc. Wordlessly, he edged forward and hugged them both too, tipping his head against Ethan’s and Molly’s.

“Every step,” Luc murmured.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

Molly twisted the ring Ethan had given her around her thumb until the metal was so warm she worried it would start to bend. The Celtic weave was intricate and thoughtful. She was sure it had some deeper meaning.

Even beyond the mythology stuff he told her. All the stuff he did usually had two meanings.

The thoughtful and the weird and old. She mostly liked the weird and old stuff, but it was always the thoughtful that knocked her sideways. And today, she needed the thoughtful and maybe some of the weird super powers that it was supposed to have.

Protection.

Creativity.

She traced her forefinger nail around the deep green stones that made up the eyes of the wolf.

Her wolf.

Their wolf.

She was on the new and improved tour bus that Donovan had given them. A lot was riding on the new album. Six huge televisions were set up on the one wall making a huge grid pattern. The countdown clock in one corner matched the one on their Instagram and Facebook feeds.

T-minus thirty minutes for the show.

The simple hashtag for the album in a typewriter font had been plastered everywhere. Lila and Sabrina had created a monster marketing plan. Molly had literally never seen the likes of it outside of the Taylor Swifts and Beyoncés of the world.

In fact, she couldn’t remember a single group to get so much press without losing a freaking member. It was insane.

Jules came bounding into the bus, her sugar skull facepaint matching her flower crown of deep purple flowers. It made her dark eyes look even more exotic. This first secret show was playing on the Halloween and Day of the Dead theme as they straddled the concert at the midnight mark.

Jules stopped dead in her tracks. “Oh, man. That turquoise? Girl. Your face is beyond awesome.”

“You’re not so bad yourself.”

Juliet dropped onto the couch beside her. Her black and purple corset shoved her girls up to her damn neck. Not that Molly could talk. She wasn’t even aware she could create this much cleavage.

“I just sneaked out to the stage area. There are literally thousands of people out there. I don’t even know how they found it. I was physically brought here on a bus, and I’d still never be able to find this place again.”

Molly laughed. “I sneaked over to see some of the art installations with Luc and Ethan.”

“Sure you did. Installations. In your butt maybe.”

Her face heated. Not her butt, but Luc had nailed Ethan really well behind a weird stack of televisions. And this time, she’d been in the front of the train. She wasn’t sure she’d ever forget the sensation of being taken from behind knowing each thrust from Ethan had started with Luc.

Electric didn’t even cover it.

Thankfully, her black tights covered the sandburn marks on her knees. None of them had been especially gentle today. Stress from the studio days and the rush to get everything made in time, not to mention learning the damn songs, had ramped up the passion between them.

When Ethan showed up for rehearsals and watched her and Luc stalk around the stage as they figured out how to use the space together—well, things had rapidly gone from lit up and excited to a conflagration.

And had ended in a fast and furious clutch in the museum of weird on the fringes of their impromptu stage setup.

Insanity. Her life was officially insanity.

And in just about nineteen minutes, it was going to reach a whole new level of weird.

Ryan and West climbed onto the bus in their makeup. “I wasn’t so sure about the whole sugar skull thing, but damn.” West pumped his fist. “I look fucking hot.”

“Yeah, you do,” Jules said with a little head boogie.

Ryan wore a burgundy shirt with a black vest and black pants. His face was straight black and white paint with gray shading to make his already square features even more enhanced. West wore the same outfit in a royal blue and his facepaint make his hawk-like features even sharper.

It was impressive.

Mal and Michael came on the bus. Mal was in absolute unrelieved black save for the severe white of his face and his blacked-out eyes.

He was terrifying.

Michael was softer in a pinstripe white shirt with similar paint to Ryan and West.

“This is insane. I couldn’t even hear myself outside.” Michael’s fingers were tapping out a rhythm on his thigh only known to him.

“It’s kickass. They have a bonfire out there on the opposite sides of the stage. They’re really playing up the Day of the Dead angle.” West crossed his foot over his knee as he sat ramrod straight.

The costumes were comfortable enough to play in, but they didn’t leave a lot of room for their usual antics on the stage.

In fact, everything about tonight was going to be insane.

The next night was in New York City with the new stage set up that Randy had designed. The stage was so massive they had to have it shipped ahead days in advance.

Elle ran up the stairs of the bus and exploded in the room. “Seriously, you guys have to come see this.” She pushed back her pink flower crown which matched her fuchsia and white facepaint.

They all filed off the bus. Where the hell was Luc? They had like ten minutes left before…

“Holy crap.”

Huge columns of fire were projected on a white stretched canvas along the front of their stage. Instead of the LED screens being used for their official stage set up, this was a little more low tech.

Spooky as the Day of the Dead marches often were.

The crowd was full of people in costumes. Halloween was in full effect in the desert tonight. In the center of the flames were random words from their song “Headlines” as well as a mashup of words from the two opening songs they were using to kick off the night.

“You look fucking beautiful, Bluebird.”

Luc’s voice behind her pulled her out of her trance. She turned to him with a smile, but it quickly fell away. “Holy sweet Jesus.”

He was in full Los Muertos gear, only it had a distinctly Texas vibe. He wore charcoal jeans with a vest like the rest of the guys, only his was over a gray shirt and a jet black leather hat.

His long blond hair rippled around his shoulders and his angular jaw was softened only by his beard. The rest of him was chiseled out of makeup to make him look nearly as menacing as Mal.

She was glad she was wearing a corset with a lot of damn boning to keep it stiff, otherwise her nipples would be busting through the freaking fabric.

She’d never been so turned on in her life.

Fuck.

Ethan was going to lose it when he saw Luc on stage.

Dear God, she wasn’t sure he’d make it to the stage. She was pretty sure she was going to rip open his jeans and suck him off right there.

Not good.

She’d had three brain-melting orgasms not four hours ago and she was ready to go again? Lord, would it ever be any different for her? For them? Because if Luc’s gaze was anything to go by, then he was feeling the same.

“You ready to do this?” Luc asked in a low voice.

She nodded. Strangely, she felt really ready all of a sudden. She twisted her fingers with his and followed the rest of the band to the stage.

It was huge and black. All the instruments they were using tonight were also black. Hello, theme.

They climbed the stairs to the stage, hidden by the huge panels. It gave them a few minutes to find their places.

Molly went to her mic stand with lacy black scarves tied to it instead of her typical gemstone-colored sheer ones. Weird ribbons were interspersed as well.

She looked over her shoulder. Ryan held a pair of huge shakers in his hands. He was twirling them like a damn circus act.

The lights flashed over the stage, but they weren’t regular white or colored. They were black and the instruments came to life with vinyl decals.

Molly and Luc laughed. Holy fuck, was it going to be a good night.

The band started the creepy, powerful opening to “Gimme Shelter” from the Stones. She’d been rehearsing the damn song for days. Her hips immediately started moving in a moody, psychedelic way that matched the song.

The words to their first single, “Headline” flashed on the white canvas in front of them in huge hashtags.

You don't know us

You don't know me

You don't know we

Just what you want to see

The lyrics had been among the roughest for them to write. But they’d all poured out the frustrations of life on the road, the troubles that had plagued the band, and the relationships they’d found and lost along the way.

Molly unhooked the tambourine hanging on her mic as the song intro looped and went long. The lyrics for “Headlines” faded and suddenly, straps came loose and the canvas came down like a snap.

She jumped and the crowd gasped.

She shot a shocked look at Luc, but he just gave a small shrug and went into rocker mode. Every time he did it, he surprised her all over again. His entire demeanor changed. A chill seemed to drop over him, and a lion replaced her man.

A fucking sexy ass lion.

He prowled the stage as the lyrics exploded out of the speakers. Their crowd was younger, but the song had power. And in the current political climate, it seemed ever more important.

She added her smoky raspy voice to it as she pulled out the Merry Clayton-style lyrics. She flew around the stage, lingering in the front to tease and taunt the fans. A camera crane trailed after her and the almost otherworldly eye of the lens seemed to follow her gaze.

Screaming fans full of excitement and shock fed the frenzy.

She aimed a look at Luc at the opposite end of the stage as the middle of the song neared where they would sing at each other in battle mode. They’d fought about how it would go for so long. Each time they rehearsed, their interaction at that point was more like a heavyweight fight than a cohesive act.

Here and now while the stage was theirs, the mob of fans fed their mutual lead singer lust. Add in the eerie desert night and the camaraderie of their incredible band, and it all came together.

And because Luc was so fucking tall, she could wear ridiculous heels to amp up her already sexy outfit. Just a little fun bonus to drive him insane.

She gave him a little Tina Turner shake as she came forward and the lyrics shot out of her throat like bullets.

Love and hate, acceptance, unrest—they embodied the full range of emotions today.

Face to face, she and Luc poured out all of the excitement and lust that lived between them. The crowd ate up every bit.

Then the lights went out. Luc’s chest was heaving against hers and they tangled fingers again.

“Fuck yeah, Bluebird.” His voice was faint, but she heard it. And she smiled brilliantly because of it.

The heavy percussion from Mal’s drums slammed into the star-strewn night as Luc turned to face the crowd, his baritone rumbling out into the crowd with the lyrics to “Paint It Black.”

Purple lights slowly rose just before the music exploded and twirling whites were mixed in. She took the next verse and Luc lifted a guitar himself as the layers of guitars from their band powered out into the canyon. All the while, the drums were epic and haunting.

She glanced over her shoulder to see Ryan in front of a huge tom drum. It added another spooky tone to the night.

The crowd went wild and the band fed off their energy, soaking it up and returning it to the fans tenfold.

Everyone was so tight and there were smiles all around. None of the earlier misgivings remained. There was just friendship and music and love.

As the pyrotechnics at the edges of the stage speared into the air at the end of the song, Molly knew it was going to be all right. The last nerves shook off like soot on the charred remains of the old Warning Sign.

The opening chords to “Headlines” played seamlessly from the end of “Paint It Black” and the haunting acoustic tones of Elle’s guitar floated into the sky like embers.

Michael’s gritty electric guitar echoed every note.

The drums slowly built and Juliet’s bass was a heartbeat.

Ryan and West played back to back at a pair of keyboards.

There’d never been anything more perfect.

The spotlight hit Luc first. His deep, seductive voice left no doubt in her mind that bring him into the band had been exactly the right move.

You don't know us

You don't know me

You don't know we

Just what you want to see

The pink and purple lights slowly centered on her, the cool counterpoint to Luc’s overwhelming heat. Her voice climbed into the ethereal notes she wasn’t able to reach for often due to the band’s typical sound. And here and now with Luc as the grit, she could shine with the starlight.

I can lie

Or I can confess

I can heed the warnings

Or live with the consequences

The song exploded from there. They sang about the steps that had led them to this moment. The lyrics popped from the projector behind them, flashing on the huge old billboard in front of the stage. They’d whitewashed it and added torn bits of headlines.

Over the shreds of their past was all the new they were becoming.

So much new.

She’d grown used to the twist of fear living in her chest for what she might lose. Now it felt like salvation to sing about hope in the dark.

The playlist moved like a freight train. New songs blended with the old, and Luc’s voice became the dark offsetting her light. A new magic embraced the band and a new sound formed.

Not even the studio had been able to define them.

As much work as they’d put in with Nash and the endless hours, it was all worth it on the stage.

She stalked over to Luc and leaned against his chest as they sang the one ballad they’d written. “Let’s Get Lost” echoed yet more pieces of them. They’d needed to lose their way to find the true path to one another.

Side by side, they looked down into the crowd and found Ethan in the frenzy of bodies. Luc’s voice rumbled along her back and the duet became so much more because they sang the song to him.

To their heart that hadn’t been there a few short weeks ago.

So many changes in a month.

Four weeks to go from a desolate desert to a love as strong as the desert cacti that dotted the land. A few prickers for protection, but able to live and sustain in a life that wasn’t kind. The universe had thrown wind, cold, and heat at it—at them—but still they survived.

They thrived.

As the show ended and the lights went down to screams in the crowd, she laughed and hugged Luc without thought to who might be watching. He lowered his mouth to hers and instead of pulling back like she normally would, she lifted her face to his.

Thunderous applause drifted away as she lost herself in the moment. Then her band pitched her forward a step and they broke apart. Piling together like a football tackle, the band became one, and the lights went bright with the spotlights at the back of the crowd.

Arms up and linked, they all bowed in a line.

Their video that had premiered earlier played overhead as the crowd clapped and cheered.

She caught a shadow in the back near the trucks. The glowing cherry end of a cigarette caught her eye before she was jostled and dragged in for a jumping hug by Jules and Elle. She melted into the embraces from her band and the adrenaline rush of an incredible show.

Tonight was the best night of her life—so far.

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

Luc walked the huge stage. The wide ring of screens had been erected during the week. This was the maiden voyage of their new set-up.

Randy’s baby.

Randy glanced over his shoulder as his girl, Juliet, stood at his side, rubbing his back. They’d been whispering and laughing most of the day. Another triad.

All his life, Luc had never had even a whiff of poly relationships in his sphere. Sure, there were parties, and there had definitely been things that had been on the fringes of orgies. Part and parcel of life in the music industry.

Especially in the places Dex had put him in.

Still, there was a film of black oil he’d yet to scrub off from the stunts he’d pulled in his past. Stunts that were supposed to be beneficial to his career. Things he should have said no to. But he’d chased that fame dragon with a single-minded purpose.

Even beyond his family and security, he’d longed to be something.

How could he have known that the something he was to become was this?

Not even the co-lead of Warning Sign. No, the thing he’d been chasing was to finally belong. Now he had it with the band and with Ethan and Molly.

He searched in between the scurrying black-clad roadies and the similarly clad security to find his torch in the night.

She was the one who’d given this to him.

If anyone had told him a month ago, he’d be here, he would’ve laughed in their face. The band she’d held on to with two shaking fists had finally been freely given.

Working together in the studio had taught them to share the mic, but her hidden heart had been the lock for the rest. And she’d trusted him with the key.

He couldn’t remember the last time anyone had trusted him with anything.

He still mourned the way his old band had left him in the dust. That they hadn’t seen what Warning Sign had in the end. Now he had a new family.

A big one.

Malachi had climbed up into his rolling cage of a drum kit. The risers and the hydraulics would make his larger than life drumming even bigger.

The stage was dotted with LED lights and panels that lifted and settled into the steel depending on the song. The lights were in an arch and every color known to man. It was Randy’s wet dream.

When he’d come to them with the plans, it had ignited the last bit of excitement they’d needed to finish the album. And once they shared the first half with the world, they’d be ready for the last.

The second leg would be another handful of new songs. They’d find what worked live and what didn’t for the next four months, and then they would assess for the future.

Alex Nash was the genius he was purported to be. His style was as confounding as it was stimulating. He’d dragged the best out of them. Nash had pulled out layers Luc had never dreamed possible between him and Molly and the rest of the band.

Now they were here on the opposite coast a mere twelve hours after their show last night. The desert had done a bit of damage to his vocals at the end, and he’d been nursing tea like a damn princess.

He’d never had to really take care of his voice before, but he’d also never sung with anyone like Molly. Her range was something to behold. She made him fight for every song. To be the best and to follow her lead into the dark to find the light at the other side.

The low murmur of anger broke into his thoughts.

“What do you mean not here?” West asked at a near shout.

Luc crossed the stage to West and Michael. “What’s going on?”

Michael blew out a breath. “I don’t know, man. Den and Ryan are trapped in California. They were supposed to go out early this morning, but their flight had mechanical issues, then they tried to get them on another and that fell through. We don’t even have time to get Donovan’s jet to them.”

“Fuck. First big show?”

“I know.” Michael swiped his hand down his face. “Now we have to figure out the stage. Luckily, Ry is usually a floater, but with the new screens, we are way more stationary than we’ve ever been.”

“Yeah.” Luc popped his knuckles.

Jules came over. “What’s going on?”

“Ry and Den are trapped.” Michael huffed out a breath. “Let’s get backstage and figure out what we’re going to do so we don’t have to say it eighteen times.”

Luc whistled and Mal and Elle turned. He waved them over. “Where’s Mol?”

“Wardrobe. They’re sewing her into some ridiculously hot outfit.” Jules waggled her brows. “You and Ethan are going to shit a puppy.”

“Normal shitting day for this one.” West laughed.

Luc inclined his head. “Depends on the taco truck.”

“Oh, God. Gross.” Jules covered her stomach. “Don’t say taco.”

“Aren’t you the one who has been eating everything in sight?” Michael slung his arm around Juliet.

“I know. But the scent of tacos has been no bueno lately.”

Luc’s eyebrow rose, but before he could ask anything else, Mal and Elle came over with questioning faces.

“Quick band meeting.” Michael nodded to the back.

Mal groaned. “What else do we need to know about? It was bad enough we were dressed like the Day of the Deadstreet Boys last night.”

“That was just for Halloween.” Elle elbowed him. “Not like we’re going to ask you to wear anything other than your black leather.”

Mal glanced down at her. “You wouldn’t look so bad in a little leather. I’ve got a pair of cuffs you might like.”

Elle sneered at him. “You’re disgusting.”

“Don’t knock it,” Mal said with a rumbling laugh.

They moved backstage to the wardrobe area. Trunks for the girls were open and mixed in with instruments and a pile of denim for the guys. Molly was standing on a box. Instead of one of her wildly colored skirts, she was wearing a black one with panels of red and purple that peeked with every twitch of her hips.

Luc took a breath. Christ, he was a dead man.

Especially since the top was backless and straps in the front lifted and tucked her in tight. Tiny, glittering braids peeked out from her fire-bright curls, much like the hidden panels of the skirt.

“Jesus.”

Molly glanced over her shoulder with a wide smile. “You like?”

Luc wanted to pluck her off the dais and put her in a damn box. Everyone was going to be lusting after her.

“What’s this?” Elle asked.

Molly turned. “Oh, they sent over some of the footage from last night. We got some awesome shots of the crowd with that crane camera.”

“Oh, the one you were going to box with last night, Bluebird?”

She smirked at Luc. “Yes, well, it was over my shoulder every blasted second. But in the end, the footage looked like a bird’s eye view from me. Pretty damn cool. And lots of awesome costumes.”

Elle sat down. “Is there a way to rewind this? Where’s it playing from?”

The wardrobe girl, Gina, stepped back from Molly. “You’re good. I think I got all the pins out. And if I didn’t, you’ll tell me.”

Molly hopped down. “Come on, G. You know I love you.” She wrapped her arms around the pint-sized woman.

“Yeah, yeah. Get out of here. Break a leg,” she said as she disappeared into the craziness of the hall.

Molly grabbed for her phone, but Luc slipped his hand around her back and dragged her closer. He lowered his mouth to her ear. “You look fuckable,” he whispered. “Are there any panties under this masterpiece?”

She brushed her knuckles over his zipper. “Maybe you’ll find out.”

Jules was smiling at them as Luc let Molly go. “What?”

“You’re so cute.”

“Shut up,” Molly said. “Don’t be smug.”

“Oh, no. You’re the smug one. I’ve been trying to get my guys interested in boy touching for ages. You’ve already get that.”

Luc felt the flush climb his neck.

“Aww, look at that. He’s so cute.” Jules grinned up at him.

“It’s not cute when he gets a hold of Ethan. More like I have to race to catch up,” Molly said it so offhandedly that Luc didn’t know what to say.

They didn’t hide what they were about or anything, but did she have to give so many details?

“Mol?”

“Right. Sorry, Elle. Yeah, I was casting it off my phone.” She handed it to Elle.

Elle scrubbed the footage back a few minutes and peered at the television. She frowned. “I’m probably just being crazy, but I saw something weird.”

“In the crowd?” Michael asked.

“Yeah. But go ahead and tell everyone why we’re back here.”

Michael sighed. “Ryan and Denver are trapped in a connecting flight. They aren’t going to make the show.”

“What?” Molly looked up at Luc.

He smoothed a hand down her back. “I know. Sucks.”

“Hardcore. It’s our first show. It’s not going to be the same without Ryan.”

“Yeah, West won’t be able to go diving into the crowd this time.”

“Shut up, Mal.”

He shrugged.

Michael held up his hand. “All right. Enough. So, we have to shift spaces on the stage to fill in. Elle, we’re going to stick you over there in his spot and space us out a little more. Now that we have that crazy screen behind us, we need to expand a bit.”

Elle held up her hand with a wave. “Sounds cool.”

“What the hell are you looking for?” Jules asked Elle.

“I can’t find his face again, but I swear I saw someone I knew.” Elle blew out an aggravated breath.

“So, not too big of a change, but damn, that just sucks. It’s not going to be the same without him.” Michael shoved his hands through his hair. “All right. I just want to run through ‘Headlines’ one more time on stage to make sure they have the timing right for the lyrics behind us.”

They all nodded and Luc held Molly before she could move off with the rest of them. “Hey.”

She rested her hand on his belt. “What’s up?”

He cleared his throat.

She frowned. “Did you drink that tea I gave you?”

“Yes, dear.”

She plowed her fist into his gut. “Not funny.”

He laughed. “A little funny.”

She rolled her eyes. “What?”

“Before it gets crazy, I just wanted you to know…” He swallowed. This sharing shit was new and he wasn’t great at it. Ethan had all the poetry. For a man who sang as much as Luc did, he sucked at the words. “This is—and you and Ethan are—the best thing that has ever happened to me. I kinda don’t know what to do with both of them at the same time.”

“Hey.” She curled her fingers around his hand. “I know it’s scary. It is for me too. But this is so real and so big. And God…” She trailed off.

“Yeah. I get it.” He cleared his throat again. “Anyway. I just wanted to say something. You know, before it gets nuts.”

She went up on her tiptoes. “Yeah. I know what you mean. And I feel the same.” She brushed a sweet kiss across his lips before she pulled back. “Now let’s get this freaking show on the road.”

He nodded and followed her out onto the stage. They’d blocked out “Headlines” because of the intense lyrics addition to the stage show for that song. As the shows went on, they’d probably play a bit more with the setlist, but for right now, everything was set in stone.

The next hour was hectic. It was an outdoor arena and the eastern side of the US was definitely getting dark early. It was pitch black well before they were scheduled to go on stage. The inside of the amphitheater had filled and the hum of excitement was palpable.

Ethan was sitting with Lauren so he and Molly didn’t have to feel bad about the fact that they were too busy to breathe, let alone go visit with them. Or have them come backstage.

Not to mention that the security guys had been on edge for the last hour.

Roth Security T-shirts were usually seen by the dozen, but there was definitely a smaller number. And the men were far more intense. A woman in a blond ponytail was shouting orders and Lila had a worried look on her face.

He wasn’t sure if it was because of the opening show, or something else.

When Donovan came backstage, Luc’s gut dropped into his damn boots.

“Hello, everyone. It’s unfortunate that Mr. Waters couldn’t be with us tonight. I tried everything I could—even a private plane—but the airline gods were definitely uncooperative today. But air travel is getting more and more difficult these days. One of the reasons I went with two large tour buses for your new tour. Hopefully, that will alleviate some stress. Have an amazing show.” He nodded and stepped back.

Lila smoothed a hand over her perfect tail of pale hair. “You guys are going to be amazing. You all worked so hard. Now go out there and have fun tonight.”

The band got into a circle with West holding a phone up and Ryan’s face on the screen.

“We miss you, Ry.” They all spoke as one.

“You guys kick ass!” Ryan said.

“We will.” Elle slung her arm around Juliet’s neck. “God, this is so crazy, huh?”

Luc held his fist into the middle. Mal slapped his on top first, then everyone followed suit. “Here’s to the best show of our lives.”

Everyone gave similar responses and they all broke apart to get to their places. He and Molly were at the base of the stairs under Mal’s drum kit. His thundering beat started the night with their big hit, “Cascade”.

They ran out just as the lights went up.

The spear of fire from their desert show had been added in LED form and traveled along the huge circle behind them. Sparklers exploded from the top of the arch.

The crowd screamed in response. Luc ran to one end of the stage and Molly moved to the other. They broke out the verses and volleyed them at each other as they shifted toward the middle at the climax of the song and sang together. Not a battle tonight so much as a symphony.

Their voices raised to the sky in triumph as the instruments behind and around them swelled.

Synced as one.

The show was utter perfection. So many of the songs had been retooled, but the heart stayed the same.

There were some that Molly sang alone, and a few he did as well. But then the lights went down and the huge screen behind them acted like a massive spotlight. It roamed the crowd with the lyrics of “Headlines” spinning and turning in the insane graphics designed by Randy.

Luc and Molly rushed to the front of the stage as the song started. But instead of the rehearsed light show, a creak of metal groaned out of the near dark. Screams filled the night as a chunk of the stage arch swung down. Sparks sprayed everywhere.

Luc didn’t think.

He reacted, pure and simple. He grabbed Molly and covered her, pushing her to the floor.

When she screamed, all he could do was shout her name.

Molly stared in horror as the huge steel arch careened down toward the stage. It swung like a wrecking ball taking out lights and amplifiers, speakers, before crashing into Mal’s cage.

Her eyes tracked him in horror.

“Get off me! Luc!”

“No, Bluebird.”

Luc held her tighter as sparks sprayed around them. The lights crashed around like Tinker Toys breaking apart, steel scattering.

Mal rolled through the sparks and went for…no.

“Oh, God. Elle!”

“I’m so sorry, baby.” Luc held her down and she struggled.

Another beam nearly crashed into Mal’s shoulder. He paused and she could taste the uncertainty from where she was.

Screams ripped out of the crowd and chaos thundered around them. The crunch of a guitar and Juliet’s crouched form drew her attention to the right. A security guy squirreled across the stage and snatched her out of the way of a falling amp.

Juliet’s arm flung out. “Randy. No, get Randy!”

Where was he? He’d been on the side of the stage, hadn’t he? Molly’s gaze swung back to where Jules was pointing and saw a hand. “No, no, no.” She struggled and finally, Luc had to let go.

“Molly!”

She sprinted across the stage, her eyes blurry. “No.”

Mal had Elle curled against his side, pain etched across his strong face. Blood poured from her arm. Mal winced and blood tracked from his temple.

Elle tried to crawl to Molly and Mal let her go, and then he was suddenly in action. The veins in his neck bulged as he dead-lifted a piece of screen up.

A hand moved.

Someone was under there? Who?

“God, no,” Luc said from behind her. He hauled both women back and curled his massive arms around them. Elle stared sightlessly forward as Molly rocked her.

Juliet screamed, over and over.

West and Michael dashed over to help Mal. Even with all three of them, it was nearly impossible to get the curve of metal off of the man facedown on the stage.

Randy.

Molly stroked Elle’s hair. Blood slicked down her arm, and the angle was all wrong.

So much wrong.

Sirens and fire alarms pierced the night. All the seats that had been full only moments ago were torn, upended, and empty.

A spray of sparks snaked around Mal’s drum cage, showering the men working frantically to free their friend. When they finally pulled the screen free, Molly had to turn her face away as her tears turned into wracking sobs.

“No. God, no.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

The fucking world was ending.

Ethan had been told to go to the hospital. To drive there and wait for news. He’d be given special access to the band, but he could not, absolutely could not, get anywhere near them right now. The wall of security and police presence and sheer hysteria of the crowd kept him from any chance of getting close even if he’d wanted to.

Even if he was tempted to rip through the maze of bodies until he found Molly and Luc. Every cell inside him demanded he find them and drag them out of the crush of screaming people. So many people.

So much insanity.

Blood. He’d seen blood. He didn’t know whose. Didn’t know how much or if it was mortal.

He’d gotten the briefest glimpse on the stage before he was basically thrown out the doors into the night. There was a warm breeze and just a slice of moon, basically the perfect evening.

Inside, nothing but screams.

Lauren was at his side, staring out the passenger window. For the first time in recent memory, she was utterly silent.

She didn’t have words either. There weren’t any. But she wasn’t crying. She’d scarcely moved since she climbed into his rental car like a zombie.

None of this felt real.

His limbs weren’t working right. He’d walked to the car, finding it without much trouble although he’d barely been able to remember what the rental looked like or where he had parked. Some remote part of him had taken over, and he’d climbed in with Lauren on the other side.

For a second, they’d clasped hands over the console before he reversed and drove into the logjam outside the venue. A million cars, all trying to exit at once. Trucks, buses.

Their new tour bus. There was no space. Luc was too big.

He needed more room.

Ethan’s gaze filmed over and he blinked at the silver bus in front of him. It wasn’t the band’s. The band wasn’t on the road now. They were all trapped back there in the center of that catastrophe. At least Molly and Luc were together. He’d never been more thankful for that in his life.

They weren’t alone. And neither was he, even if it felt very much like he was at this moment.

The hospital.

He was going to the hospital to find out who was hurt.

And who had survived.

The reality of that slammed into him and he fumbled for Lauren’s hand again, bringing it up to his mouth as he navigated the eerily silent streets. They shouldn’t be. But once they’d gotten past the gridlock near the venue, the cars had simply vanished as if they didn’t exist.

They’d been dropped into a shadow world where the lights were too bright and the roads were ribbons that led to disaster. Every one he took was bringing him closer to understanding what had happened.

For once, he didn’t want to understand. He’d sought to become a teacher for that reason, and here and now, he didn’t want to know. Didn’t want to comprehend how such an amazing night could have gone so wrong.

“Ethan,” Lauren whispered, and he understood too well. She didn’t need to say more.

What could you say when your entire world was shattering right before your eyes?

But he searched for something to give her anyway. Her fingers were shaking in his, a fine tremor that echoed in his bones. They were barely holding it together.

Together in that car while their hearts were back there, trapped in madness.

“Their security was so tight.”

Lauren didn’t speak. She might not have heard him. Or else she couldn’t respond.

“They were being so careful.”

By now, he didn’t expect Lauren to comment. He wasn’t talking for her so much as trying to line things up in his head. As much as he didn’t want to process what had occurred, putting together the puzzle pieces gave him something else to think about. Anything was better than focusing on the emotions ready to swamp him if he gave in just the slightest bit.

“So many people had a hand in making sure that set was just as it should be. They weren’t cutting corners.”

“Christ, I know, Ethan. I was there too. I don’t know what happened, okay? But this isn’t the time for you to analyze it all and take it apart. They could be dead, do you get that?” She looked at him, her eyes so dark in the low light that they looked like hollow indents in her skull. “Someone could be dead.”

“Do you think I don’t know that? I was there too. I saw—” He fisted the wheel until he was surprised it didn’t snap from the pressure.

“I know.” Lauren undid her seatbelt and moved as close to him as the console would allow, awkwardly resting her head on his shoulder. “I know. I’m sorry.”

“It’s all I have,” he managed, staring straight ahead. “I can’t do anything else.”

“I know. I know.” She rubbed her face against his sleeve. “I’m glad you’re here.”

He unlocked a hand from the wheel and reached up to cover hers on his leg. “Ditto.”

They didn’t speak the rest of the way.

As they got out, Ethan spotted the black jacket Luc had forgotten in his apartment the last time they were all there together. Ethan had brought it with him on the trip east for some inexplicable reason. It wasn’t as if Luc would need the jacket in New York. But Ethan had wanted the silky, familiar material with him.

Just as he did right now.

He picked it up and Luc’s scent wafted over him, that mysterious hint of the forest, so earthy and rich. Ethan’s knees weakened and would’ve failed him altogether if Lauren hadn’t been at his side to hold him up.

Like shambling drunks, they walked together toward the hospital.

Into the madness.

The place was crazy. At first, he figured it was just a busy night, but he rapidly realized that a good part of the insanity was due to the catastrophic concert, as it was dubbed on the news.

It was playing on every TV in the joint, and there were many. Every time they passed one, they heard snatches of the story again.

The euphoric show, the big news about Warning Sign’s blazing hot lead singers. The triumph of them rising from the rumors and gossip earlier in the summer to come back harder. Stronger. Whole.

Then the screams as fans tried to escape in a blind panic, not knowing if the destruction on stage was from a mechanical malfunction or something more sinister. An intentional act.

Ethan hurried Lauren past every screen they encountered—both on the wall and in people’s hands—but they weren’t fast enough to miss one woman’s scream, played while the news reporter droned on as if it was any other day.

They spoke to countless people, trying to figure out if the band had been brought in yet or where to go. Finally, they were directed to a semi-private waiting room with worn sectionals and more TVs, one in each corner.

“Turn them off,” Ethan told the nurse at his side.

“Sir, if others come in—”

“Turn off the fucking TVs, do you understand me?” He gripped Lauren’s hand tightly so he didn’t grab the nurse’s shoulders and shake her until she understood. It wasn’t her fault but it didn’t matter.

The TVs had to go off.

She nodded and hurried to comply, shooting him a look over her shoulder once the screens went blessedly blank.

Then he and Lauren sat together at one end of the sectional, so close that her thigh was pressed against his. Holding hands as if their lives depended on it.

And they waited in the preternatural silence, with the rest of the bustling hospital outside the doors as far away as another continent.

Another world.

When the doors finally opened and Molly and Luc rushed through with West and Michael, Ethan and Lauren stared. Not processing. Not understanding.

Then Ethan saw the blood on Molly’s top and he shot to his feet, rushing to her to run his hands over her body to reassure himself she was whole. Alive.

Safe.

Dear God, she was safe. They both were.

“Not mine,” she whispered, her face crumpling. “It’s not mine.”

He wrapped her in the tightest hug of his life, holding on as she grabbed hold of him and started to sob into his neck. Blindly, Ethan reached out for Luc, dragging him against him too, pulling them both toward the nearest couch.

They sank down together, but there weren’t words. Just tears. So many tears.

Across the way, Lauren was huddled between West and Michael, and they were all holding on to each other while Michael spoke on the phone. Michael’s wife, Chloe, hadn’t been able to make it because she was home with their sick little kids, and Molly had mentioned how bummed Michael was that she couldn’t be there. Now he was talking softly on the phone, his speech broken by deep huffs of breath and quick rubs of his eyes.

They were all red-eyed and shell-shocked. And the band wasn’t all there.

When Molly turned toward Luc, Ethan rose to walk to the other couch. He touched West and Michael’s shoulders, and they nodded. Lauren looked up at him from the circle of West’s unbreakable hold.

He almost asked about the others. But he couldn’t. Couldn’t.

So, he picked up Luc’s jacket he’d set aside and returned to the people he loved, wrapping it around Molly’s shoulders. He couldn’t bear to see her covered in blood.

Luc glanced up in thanks.

For awhile, the room was silent except for the occasional muffled sob. Then Molly sat up straighter and reached up to take off her small gold hoop earrings. Saying nothing, she pressed one into Ethan’s hand, then Luc’s.

Closing her fingers around their fists, she whispered, “There. Now you have something I’ve given you too. It’s all I have right now.”

Ethan swallowed over the dust in his throat and opened his hand. The tiny gold hoop looked so much like a ring.

A promise.

“I love you,” he whispered, unable to stop the wetness that spilled onto his cheeks. He fisted his hand and looked at both of them, from one to the other. Their dazed eyes, messed up clothes, wild hair. The brokenness that was inside them now that he couldn’t fix.

But he could love them through it, with everything he was.

“I love you both so much. When I thought I’d lost you…”

“Us too.” Luc leaned forward to grip a handful of Ethan’s hair, breathing the words Ethan hadn’t even expected. “I love you too. Both of you. I want this. Goddammit, I want it so much.” His Adam’s apple bobbed. “As soon as this is over, I’m gonna tell my little sister. I’ll make sure she understands.”

Molly nodded, eyes wet, and she took Ethan’s hand again. In her other, she still gripped Luc’s. “I love you, Ethan. My Midnight Man who started all of this. And yes, someday I’ll tell you all about that song.” She smiled faintly through her tears as her gaze touched them both. “I love you too, Luc. Even if you try to out-sing me.”

Tenderly, Luc stroked her cheek with his thumb. “Not possible, Bluebird.”

Still holding onto each other, they looked up as Lila came into the room. For the first time since Ethan had laid eyes on her, she looked rattled to the core.

“Elle is in the ICU—” He whip-like voice broke.

Michael edged forward on his seat. “And my brother?”

Lila reached out to lace her fingers with Michael’s. “Mal’s okay. Bruised and banged up, but okay.” She swallowed audibly. “He’s still with Elle.”

Ethan frowned. Why would Mal be with Elle?

Ethan glanced at Luc, but Luc minutely shook his head. Ethan didn’t know if that meant Elle was bad off or he simply had no clue.

God, the toll of this night was unspeakable. And it was rising every minute.

Molly detangled herself from Luc and Ethan and hurried over to Lila, hugging her hard. They whispered to each other and Lila cupped Molly’s head in her hand, holding it to her shoulder as they cried.

Then the doors slid open again and Jules and Tristan came through, holding hands and leaning against each other. Looking like the last two survivors of a war.

“Randy?” Lila murmured, and Jules shook her head, her face closing in on itself as she cupped her free hand protectively over her stomach.

Tristan wrapped his arms around her, pulling her into his chest and burying his face in her hair.

Frantically, Ethan glanced at Molly, who broke away from Lila to run to Jules and Tristan. She wound her arms around them as sobs broke the silence.

Ethan reached out for Luc, who gripped his hand wordlessly. Forming an unshakable link.

Silently, West, Lauren, Michael, and Lila circled around Jules and Tristan, forming a protective circle. Heads bowed, everyone crying.

Fucking everyone.

They managed to get Jules and Tristan to the opposite couch and all crowded around them, sitting as close as humanly possible. United in a way that Ethan had never before witnessed.

Ethan glanced at Luc and hands still gripped, they went over to join the others, sticking close. Just being there as Jules quietly wept against Tristan’s chest as if her heart had been torn from her body.

The doors opened again. They all looked up as Mal lumbered through them. He stopped just inside, his clothes as askew as the others, his eyes glassy in a way Ethan couldn’t have comprehended before tonight.

Mal was the one who didn’t care.

Who didn’t feel.

With one look at Jules, his big shoulders started to shake.

Michael unfolded himself from around Jules and went to his brother, dragging him into a hard hug. They spoke quietly before coming to join the rest of them. There was no room left on the couch, so they huddled around it, gripping hands with the people closest to them.

Yet they weren’t all there. Ryan and Denver hadn’t arrived yet. Elle was in the ICU.

And Randy…

Ethan shut his eyes, tipping his head against Luc’s as he grasped for Molly’s hand.

The next time the doors opened, no one lifted their head.

As if no one wanted to know.

As if they all already did.

“I’m sorry. We did all we could. There was simply too much damage—”

Ethan heard the doctor’s voice as he spoke to Jules and Tristan, but he couldn’t line up what was being said. He barely knew Randy. But the woman he loved did, and she was sobbing into his shoulder as she reached wildly for Luc, dragging him in.

“No.” Jules’s voice rang out, louder than the muffled sobs. “Do you hear me? No. This wasn’t supposed to happen. For God’s sake, he was right there. Right fucking there. Whole and strong and so vital. He doesn’t deserve this.” She leaped to her feet and pounded against Mal’s chest. “You saved her. Why couldn’t you have saved him too?”

“I’m sorry.” Mal bowed his head. “I’m so sorry.”

She shoved him back and ran out of the room, her sobs bouncing off the walls until Ethan’s head was full of them. Tristan followed her, his face a mask of unspeakable pain.

Molly lifted her head, piercing Ethan’s heart with the ache in her eyes. In her voice. “I think she’s pregnant. She didn’t tell us, but there was something…” Molly rubbed her face until it was smeared with makeup and tears. “How are we ever going to get past this? How?”

Luc folded her in his arms, stroking her back while she cried. Luc glanced at Ethan, and Ethan pressed his damp eyes against Molly’s hair.

There was only one way for them to make it through this. The same way they’d made it through everything else so far.

Every step, together.

We know that was a lot. Like a lot, a lot…but we’re going to work hard to bring this band back together. Turn the page to see how the healing begins.

Next up Mal & Elle’s story!

Mal has been hiding a big secret. When Elle is almost killed, he can’t hide it anymore—especially when it seems as if the person who nearly took her out is determined to finish the job.

One-click RAW RHYTHM now!

READING ORDER

BEDDED BLISS

TRIPLE TROUBLE

DIRTY DUET

LOST LYRIC

PERFECT PITCH

RAW RHYTHM

FINDING FOREVER

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RAW RHYTHM

Prologue

“Daddy, help!”

“No, help me.”

Nick Crandall glanced down at the two blonds clutching the legs of his jeans, one on each side. He set down the knife he was using to chop a tomato for salad for dinner—though he hated fucking tomatoes, but beta-somesuch in them was good for the girls—and hoisted up both of his twins until they were one to a hip. “You gonna help me make tomorrow’s lunch?”

They’d all foraged for themselves for dinner tonight, since their mother, Lila, was at the big Warning Sign show in New York City. Some big event to showcase the new EP and new co-lead singer. Last night, Nick had attended the secret show that coincided with the single dropping. “Headlines” sure as hell fit what was going on in that band. New lead singers to go with the old lead singers, band drama, all kinds of leaks. What the hell, man?

And he’d thought Oblivion had their share of troubles. At least they only had one lead singer.

One Simon was enough for every-damn-one.

But Nick was a good brother, so he’d made sure to attend last night’s secret show to support his sister, Ricki—or Elle, as she preferred to be called now. It was a big night for her, and tonight promised to be even bigger. He’d wished he could be there in New York to see her kill it as she’d killed it last night—damn, his sister was no joke on a guitar, and he didn’t say that lightly—but with Lila traveling with the band as their Ripper Records rep, someone needed to be home with the girls. They always tried to make sure one of them was home with the twins at bare minimum. Neither he nor Lila intended to have their kids raised by nannies.

Even if they were little hellions most of the time.

After a long moment of thought, Charlie nodded vigorously, her peanut butter smeared cheeks spreading in a smile. She’d been into the sandwich cookies again. “Matos.” She pointed at the discarded husk of what used to be a tomato. Maybe. Now it was just a pulpy-looking mass. He sucked at cutting the stupid things.

“Yes, tomatoes,” Nick said, repeating the correct word slowly as Lila had taught him to do. He glanced at his other daughter, currently shoving three fingers in her mouth. “Tomatoes?” he asked her, but she only shook her head, her big honey-brown eyes wide.

Eyes so like his own they were spooky.

“Avery, say matos,” Charlie commanded her sister.

Avery sucked on her fingers, the non-verbal equivalent of telling her twin to fuck off.

Nick had to grin. So much for kids not having distinct personalities until a certain age. His two had distinguished themselves while they were still in the womb, according to Lila.

And he couldn’t stop thinking about her, and it was getting ridiculous. She was gone for one night.

One stupid night, and she’d been gone for plenty before. Tonight, she was even with his sister. He always felt better when Lila was traveling for Warning Sign shows for some reason. They were the next best thing to her coming with them for Oblivion shows.

So much of their family and extended family was in Warning Sign. Not only his sister, but Lila’s two former stepsons, Malachi and Michael. Jules was Margo’s sister, and since Margo was Lila’s best friend, another connection there. Not to mention the Simon angle, considering Margo was married to that giant dickhead Simon.

Simon, who hadn’t returned his calls for three days. Off modeling again. Fucker.

Then there was Molly, who was Jazz’s sister, and Randy, who was part of the lighting crew and was Harper’s younger brother. So many connections.

So many people to watch out for Lila. Who loved her.

Nick frowned and juggled his girls on his hips. Whoa, where had that come from? He wasn’t some Nervous Nellie with his wife when she traveled. It was part of her job. This trip was even shorter than most.

Yet he couldn’t shake the cold fingers of dread wrapping around the back of his neck and squeezing. So much so that he had to set down the twins in case he dropped them.

His fucking arms were shaking. The nerves inside dancing like they were lined with electricity.

“Daddy?” Charlie asked, patting his leg as high as she could reach.

“Go watch TV,” he managed. “Take care of your sister. I’ll be in soon.”

Charlie normally argued. About everything. She was only two-and-a-half after all. Just a baby.

But for once, she grabbed hold of her sister’s free hand and dragged her with her down the hall to the living room, already issuing more orders.

“Paw Patrol. Not Care Bears.”

Avery mumbled around her fingers.

If Nick knew his girls, the TV would be on Care Bears in no time. Eventually, Avery would start sobbing and Charlie would give in and change it.

Softie.

Nick picked up another tomato and the knife, firming his hold on it when his fingers spasmed. What the hell was going on? Was he sick?

Again, his thoughts circled around to Lila. Lila at the show. His throat tightened, closing until he couldn’t breathe. His vision narrowed, tunneling until he couldn’t see the tomato he’d massacred.

Not Lila. It was Ricki.

Dear God, it was his sister.

They had this twin thing that kicked in sometimes. When their father died, Nick had known the instant it happened because Ricki had been at their dad’s side. When she was in pain, Nick knew.

He fucking knew, and it was as if his own guts were being shredded from the pain.

Doubled over, he struggled to remain standing. The knife bounced out of his hand, hitting the floor with a metallic slap. He gripped the edge of the counter, using it to support his weight as he fumbled his phone out of his pocket. He pressed the speed dial for Donovan, Lila’s boss and the owner of Ripper Records.

He didn’t wait for Donovan to speak.

“The show,” Nick forced out. “My sister. Something’s happened at the show.”

Chapter One

She was so still. Like a statue or a doll. Her sunshine hair crusted with blood, her sleeve torn. He’d ripped the material to see the extent of the wound that was causing all the blood.

So much freaking blood, some of it on him. It wasn’t his. At least he didn’t think so. Didn’t matter right now. He was on his feet and moving. Still breathing.

Still alive.

Mal didn’t even know what had happened for sure. There had been so much noise and confusion. The screams, the rending metal. Then the sparks as the beam overhead came down…

He hadn’t thought. Hadn’t processed. There had been no time for choice. She was in the path of that fucking beam.

Except she wasn’t alone.

So he had made a choice, but not consciously. It wasn’t a matter of picking her but being incapable of even registering anyone else when she was in danger. From the first goddamned time he laid eyes on her, that had been his reality. Nothing had changed.

Especially not his single-minded focus on Richelle Crandall.

Ricki.

Elle.

Now she was so quiet, so unnaturally still, her lips motionless, her eyes closed. No color in her cheeks.

Almost as if she was dead.

He watched her be wheeled away to the waiting ambulance and pushed aside the restraining arms that tried to keep him back. “She’s my aunt,” he said without thinking. “I have to go with her.”

The EMT who’d just tried to force him back stopped long enough to raise an eyebrow. “That young girl is your aunt? Oh really.”

Mal never wavered. “Yes.”

The saddest thing was it wasn’t exactly untrue. They weren’t related in the strictest sense, but Lila had been his stepmother for years and Lila was Ricki’s sister-in-law. So what if she was a couple years younger than him? If one stretched the boundaries of their fucked-up family relationship, it was sterling truth.

And made his ridiculous obsession with her even more insane. Not that she would ever know.

“I’m going,” Mal said.

The EMT hesitated. He clearly didn’t believe him, but Mal would’ve been willing to lay out his messy as hell family tree for this dude if it allowed him to go with her in that ambulance. She couldn’t be alone. Not now.

“All right, fine. Whatever.” The guy moved back and Mal jumped in back of the ambulance with Ricki. The others were…fuck, he didn’t know where the others were. If the others needed an ambulance or worse. He hadn’t had time to check on everyone. His brother was okay. That was all he had time to see before Ricki had consumed his attention.

As freaking usual. At least this time it was for a reason other than simply existing.

He crouched down beside her in the back and gripped her hand. For this moment, only one EMT was focused on her, the others occupied with the chaos inside. She wasn’t critical. Even without knowing the extent of her injuries, he knew that much. Her wound might be worse than it seemed, but she wasn’t going to die. Her heartbeat under his fingers had been steady and strong, her breathing even.

She was a fighter, and he’d been there in time. Not fast enough to prevent her from being injured entirely, but it hadn’t been a fatal blow.

“You’re probably not going to remember this,” he said, speaking close to her ear. He knew the bustling EMT could probably hear him, and he hated that. These words weren’t for anyone but her. Would never even be hers while she was conscious. But now, in this space where she wasn’t fully with him, he could speak freely. It wouldn’t matter later.

Just as it hadn’t before.

“But you’re not getting a free pass to sleep. You’re going to be fine. You have to be. Too many people need you.”

I need you.

He didn’t say the last bit aloud. At least he hoped he didn’t. Who even knew anymore?

He shut his eyes to block out the curious stare from the EMT as she worked to check Ricki’s vitals. He hoped like hell she wasn’t a fan. There were professional agreements not to disclose information gleaned in situations like this, but he trusted no one. From his past, he couldn’t. Not even those tasked to help.

Anyone could be bought and paid for. Even him.

“You don’t have to worry. You’re going to be okay. You’ll get through this just fine.” He rubbed his thumb over her knuckles. She wore a lot of rings. Cheap ones with gaudy stones and silver that probably rubbed off.

No one would guess she had money now, a lot of it. She lived as if she was still struggling to get by. She drove a shitbox car, probably lived in a rundown apartment. No one could get her to upgrade her standard of living. The girls tried now and then, making jokes and chiding her to buy a new car in particular after it broke down without warning on the side of the road. She defended her crappy piece of shit and laughed them off. She was fine.

Just as she was fine with the asshole men who paraded in and out of her life. Staying just long enough to mooch off her and break her heart. It was too goddamned fragile. Too easily wounded.

She was still bleeding, staining the makeshift bandage the EMT had applied.

He swallowed. Fuck. He couldn’t do this. She was screwed if he was the guy who was meant to be by her side.

And he wasn’t. He was just a temporary stand-in because there was no one else. The others all had someone in their lives. Someone to love, and who loved them. His brother’s wife was home in California, but still, Michael would be with his true brother—West, his best friend. Sharing DNA with Mal had just been an accident of birth.

Ricki wasn’t the same as he was. People loved her. She was so open and honest and caring that she attracted friends easily. And men. They fucking swarmed around her, all wanting to stand in her light for as long as she’d gift them with her glow.

He was the exact opposite. He was darkness and humor at others’ expense and isolation. By choice. All by choice.

She was looking for love anywhere she could find it. He didn’t know how to love anymore. But right now, he was the one with her. And that was by choice too.

“You’re going to wake up and you’re going to feel guilty. But don’t. Don’t.” His voice rasped out of his chest, rough and deep. Jagged at the edges.

He was amazed words still existed inside him after what he’d seen. There was a black hole in his gut, in his heart, just waiting to suck down everything that had happened tonight and churn it up as another reason to be bitter. To hate and mistrust.

Until then, he was too raw, and her hand was trembling in his, and he wasn’t strong enough to keep her out.

“It was me. I only saw you. Maybe if I’d moved faster, if I’d been a little closer to him too…” He trailed off and squeezed his eyes shut at the image of Randy moving forward, his gaze on the lights when the beam was coming down, swinging wildly, manically, its targets so clear.

Mal had gone for Ricki. She hadn’t seen the beam. But if he’d shifted just a little to the left, perhaps he could’ve brought them both out of the way. An extra second or two, a moment where he wasn’t transfixed by Ricki and keeping her safe—

“It was me,” he repeated, gripping her hand tighter. “I told you to run before. Tonight I was the one who ran.”

Straight to her. Incapable of seeing anyone else, though he was the only hope Randy had.

Mal let out an unsteady laugh. Fuck, he wasn’t meant to be a hero. Hadn’t he proven that tonight? It was his fault someone’s life was ruined.

His fault he’d made a choice no matter how many times he told himself he hadn’t.

She was his choice. Always. She was the reason he was even on that stage. Lila believed it was because of her and the strings she’d pulled. But the truest answer was the woman stretched out in front of him, bleeding and still.

So still. The exact opposite to all the madness just outside the ambulance. Vehicles coming and going, sirens blaring, tires shrieking. Wailing. Not crying. Sobbing.

He didn’t want to hear any of it. Couldn’t.

Ricki’s lips parted and for a second, he thought she was waking, but no. That halfhearted moan was from pain. He was harming her even now, squeezing her delicate flesh until she bruised.

Forcing himself to lessen his grip, he exhaled a ragged breath and lifted her pale hand to his cheek. She was so cold. “She needs a blanket or something,” he barked to the EMT, not looking to see if the order was followed. Because her lashes were fluttering, and her lips were forming something he couldn’t make out.

Then the words escaped on a huff of breath, and he was sure she was dreaming.

“Nightmare,” she whispered, and he knew she didn’t just mean tonight. Though it was. It so fucking was. “Nightmare,” she repeated, and he shut his eyes, knowing what would come next.

“Beautiful nightmare.”

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Bedded Bliss

Triple Trouble

Dirty Duet

Lost Lyric

Perfect Pitch

Raw Rhythm

Finding Forever

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OBLIVION WORLD

HOW IT ALL BEGAN…

In 2013, we never guessed when we co-wrote Seduced that our band of brothers — and sister! — in Oblivion would wrap around our hearts like the chords of an old acoustic guitar. They blossomed into a world of friendships, love, and music…and here we are, all these years later.

We’ve put together a character chart as well as reading orders to help you follow along. They are also listed on our website and are printable.

AN ALPHABETICAL LIST OF ALL THE CHARACTERS

OBLIVION WORLD CHARACTER CHART

IF YOU DON’T MIND SPOILERS…

ROCKSTARS BY SERIES READING ORDER

A NO-SPOILER LIST OF ALL OUR ROCKSTARS

OBLIVION WORLD READING ORDER (NO SPOILERS)

SOMETIMES OUR WORLDS COLLIDE…

BABIES, SMALL TOWNS AND ROCKERS READING ORDER (NO SPOILERS)

ROCKSTARS & THE UNDERWORLD READING ORDER (NO SPOILERS)

QUINN AND ELLIOTT

Rockers Reading Order

Lost in Oblivion

Winchester Falls

Found in Oblivion

Hammered

Rock Revenge

Brooklyn Dawn

Tapped Out

Love Required

Boys of Fall

CRESCENT COVE

Crescent Cove Series

CRESCENT COVE STANDALONES & SHORTS

CEO Daddy

Mistletoe Baby

OTHER SERIES

Happy Acres

Kensington Square

Afternoon Delight

Deuces Wild

Wilder Rock

STANDALONES

Bad Kitty

Filthy Scrooge

Holiday Sparks

Jingle Ball

Saving Kylie

Unwrapped

WEBSITES

quinnandelliott.com

tarynquinn.com

NEWSLETTERS & GROUPS

Quinn & Elliott

Rockers

Taryn Quinn

Word Wenches Reader Group

EMAILS

taryncari@quinnandelliott.com

cariquinnuthor@gmail.com

tq@tarynquinn.com

FACEBOOK

Cari Quinn

Taryn Elliott

Taryn Quinn

Quinn & Elliott

INSTAGRAM

Cari Quinn

Taryn Elliott

Taryn Quinn

TWITTER

Cari Quinn

Quinn & Elliott

Taryn Quinn

BOOKBUB

Cari Quinn

Taryn Elliott

Taryn Quinn

GOODREADS

Cari Quinn

Taryn Elliott

Taryn Quinn

ABOUT THE AUTHORS

USA Today bestselling author Cari Quinn grew up wanting to be a singer more than anything else. When she realized she probably wouldn’t be hired as the opening act for the Foo Fighters, she stopped singing and started writing. Now she happily writes about rock stars, MMA fighters, suited heroes, bodyguards and everything in between. And she blasts her music as loud as the neighbors can stand, because hey, she’ll always be a rock star in her own head.

She's also the other half of the Rocker Reads duo, Cari Quinn & Taryn Elliott. And one half of Taryn Quinn, author of sexy contemporary romance and romantic comedy.

Visit Cari at quinnandelliott.com to sign up for her newsletter and visit the Word Wenches on Facebook, her fun, sexy reader group with Taryn Elliott!

USA Today Bestselling author Taryn Elliott has made it her mission in life to get as many rockstar stories out of her head and onto the page as possible. Sometimes a hot suited dude makes an appearance, and maybe a bodyguard expert or six. She comes from upstate NY and falls in love with every hero as she writes him. As a bonus there’s always an eclectic soundtrack to match.

She's also the other half of the Rocker Reads duo, Cari Quinn & Taryn Elliott. And one half of Taryn Quinn, author of ultra sexy contemporary romance.

She loves to hear from her readers and is on most social media platforms. You can find all her links at quinnandelliott.com or email her at taryn(at)tarynelliott.com.

They decided to combine forces and found that hey...this writing deal is even more awesome when you collaborate with your best friend.

And so the Oblivion World was born.

Want to know more?

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taryncari@quinnandelliott.com

EXTRA CREDIT

DARCY ROSE

EXTRA CREDIT

A STUDENT/TEACHER ROMANCE

All I needed was a passing grade. I never expected to sleep with my Professor for it.

When Ava told me she couldn’t fail my class or she would lose her student aide I made her a deal that would benefit both of us.

One night of off the wall hot sex in return for an A in my class. Neither of us expected it to be more than one time, until it happened again, and again, and pretty soon we were blurring the lines between student and teacher.

If anyone found out I’d lose everything, but maybe Ava was worth losing everything for.

***This is a STANDALONE novella with a HEA. This story contains dark contents that might be triggering to some.***

1

AVA

All I wanted was a passing grade. Was that really too much to ask?

The question bounced around inside my brain. If Professor Caldwell had not been so gorgeous, I would’ve already told him to get bent. Especially after he told me I would need extra credit if I had any chance of passing his class.

“Ava…” Carrie, my best friend, whisper-yelled two seats over from me. She was half the reason I was failing this class; that and Caldwell was a major distraction.

“Shhh.” I ignored her, keeping my eyes on the board in front of me but mostly on Caldwell. He was a gorgeous specimen of a man, one that made my body clench in all the right spots. He should’ve been on the cover of magazines instead of standing in front of a classroom of junior college students.

“Ava Marie! Do not ignore me for Mr. Sex-On-A-Stick.”

I smirked, unable to hold back the smile that she forced onto my face. I licked my lips, my eyes drifting over his toned body. What would he look like underneath those dress pants and button-down shirt? Veins protruded from his arms, where he rolled the sleeves of his shirt up. Fuck. I needed to get laid. I shouldn’t be imagining myself licking my professor’s forearm.

“Ava. Did you see that?” Carrie questioned, her voice getting louder as I continued to ignore her.

More students got annoyed and had looks of displeasure on their faces.

Great, she was going to get us kicked out of class again. I shook my head, gritting my teeth. I was going to have to tell her it was time to buckle down, that I literally couldn’t afford to fuck around anymore. Yeah, college was supposed to be fun, but you were also supposed to be learning and growing up.

“Carrie. Ava. Is there something that you would like to tell all of us since you both can’t seem to keep your mouths shut today?” Caldwell’s eyes pierced mine. It took everything in me not to lick my lips in anticipation.

“No, Professor Caldwell,” I muttered under my breath, dropping my eyes to the notebook in front of me. I didn’t like it when he looked at me with disappointment, and I knew he would lecture me shortly when I forced myself to ask him about extra credit for the class.

“Good,” he sneered, going back to writing on the board.

As soon as I lifted my eyes, they zoomed to his ass. What was wrong with me? I was attracted to my professor, who was probably married and had kids. I was a bitch, but even I didn’t cross those kinds of lines.

The ten-minutes that were left of class seemed to drag on.

“I hope everyone has a wonderful weekend,” Professor Caldwell announced, giving the cue that class was finally being let out.

I sighed, the air in the room growing hotter as butterflies erupted in my stomach. This conversation would determine my entire future.

Students scurried from the classroom, and as I stood from my seat, Carrie did too. I could feel her nervous stare on me. Why was she the one acting all nervous? She didn’t have to plead with a man that practically hated her. All for a decent grade.

“Miss Nickles, I’m going to need to have a word in private with Miss Marie.” My eyes caught on Caldwell’s, the heat in them causing goose bumps to erupt across my arms.

Suddenly, my mind was drifting away from that grade I needed so badly and to the devilishly handsome man in front of me. Would he kiss me back if I kissed him? Would he fuck me if I begged and pleaded with him?

I shook my head, pulling myself from the imaginary land I just floated off to. My ears caught on his deep voice. “Ava, if you’re here to show me the assignment I gave you for extra credit, then you better get to talking. I have other things that I should be doing.”

I blinked, swallowing past the lump in my throat as I descended the auditorium steps. Each step I took vibrated through me as I kept my eyes trained on the floor, far too nervous to look him straight in the eyes.

I stopped a few feet from his desk. “I…” I swallowed again. “Yes, about that. I was totally going to do that, but with all the other work assignments going on, I just haven’t been able to do it.” I hated feeling inferior to the opposite sex, and this man made me feel that way. He looked down on me. Even if he was sexy as fuck while doing it, I still hated it and wanted to slap the smirk right off his face.

He tapped his fingers against his desk as he leaned on it. Long fingers, with a large palm, a palm I imagined landing on my ass repeatedly as he slid deep into my pussy.

Caldwell inhaled a deep breath, and as I lifted my eyes to his green ones, I could see some type of internal struggle taking place.

“All I hear is a bunch of excuses. I gave you a chance, Ava. You didn’t take it, and that’s on you.” His pink tongue darted out, slipping over his bottom lip.

“I know, I messed up, okay! But please, don’t let me fail this class.”

“While I would love to help you, Ava, I just can’t.” His words caused my heart to sink into my stomach.

Without thinking, I separated the distance between us, my hands landing on the desk, praying they would keep my body upright.

“Professor Caldwell, I swear to you I’ll try harder. I cannot fail this class.” My voice was panicky. What the hell would I do if I couldn’t get this figured out? If my parents found out about my failing grade, I would be screwed.

An amused expression developed on his face, which only seemed to worry me more. Was he not taking this seriously?

“I will do whatever you want. Whatever. You. Want. But I need to pass this class.” I was on the verge of tears. I couldn’t return home, not without a degree, not when my family expected me to be this straight-A student, not when I was barely holding it together as it was.

“Sweet, Ava…” The words he spoke were almost inaudible. He leaned into my face, and our lips were so close that if I moved even an inch, I would kiss him.

“I gave you a chance to make things right. I reminded you that grades would be posted soon. I sent you an email. I did everything that I needed to do. Hell, I didn’t even have to offer you extra credit. It’s not like you didn’t know about this. I don’t understand why you are begging after screwing up.”

I clenched my fists. The smugness on his face begged me to smack it off.

“I’ll do anything,” I promised, not afraid to grovel at his feet if need be.

He blinked at me with astonishment for a second, his disheveled hair and sexy as sin face making it harder to concentrate on the task at hand.

“Anything?” Caldwell tipped his head as if seeing me from a different angle would help him discover the answer to this problem.

I should’ve asked him then what he wanted me to do, but I didn’t. Instead, I nodded my head, yes, agreeing without thought to anything he wanted.

He smiled, and not a simple ‘I’m happy’ kind. It was the kind that said you just made a deal with the devil, sweetheart.

He licked his lips and crooked his finger at me, beckoning me to come behind his desk. Fire filled my belly, burning into my veins. I took a step and then another until I stopped behind the desk.

“What… What do you want me to do?” I had to ask. I wanted to know, and the question was burning a hole in my head.

“Take your panties off,” he demanded, and I couldn’t wash the look of shock that developed on my face away fast enough. I was speechless, and he didn’t seem a bit surprised by it.

“I don’t…” If he wanted my panties, I would give them to him, but what if he wanted more?

“Do you want to pass or not?” His voice changed, a deep growl erupting from within his chest. His possessiveness stare all but said he wanted to devour me.

I looked over my shoulder at the door where Carrie was supposed to be waiting for me. What if she saw? Hell, what if someone else saw? My eyes darted back to Caldwell, and his features remained calm, and of course, handsome as fuck. Morally, I didn’t think he saw anything wrong with this. Why should I?

“Tick-tock, Ava. Those panties aren’t going to remove themselves, are they?”

I inhaled a deep breath, knowing the answer to all my problems stood right in front of me. Professor Caldwell wanted me, and he didn’t want me on a student/teacher level. He wanted my pussy, while I screamed his name.

“Yes, Mr. Caldwell.” I kept my voice neutral, even though excitement filled my veins. Slipping my hands under my black skirt, the hem of it rising as I gripped the sides of lace panties with both hands, I dragged them down my legs. I burned under the heat of his stare and anticipation built in my belly. What would happen between us next?

My panties hit the floor, making hardly a sound, but the choice I made resonated through me. On shaky legs, I stepped out of the silky fabric, feeling exposed.

Leaning down, he plucked the panties up off the floor, bringing them to his nose and inhaling my scent. The entire thing was erotic as hell, and my pussy got wet just from watching him.

“I’ll give you a passing grade. Under one condition, Ava. Come to my place tonight. At seven.”

“Come to your house?” I asked, making sure I understood him correctly.

“Yes, my house. I want to do some one-on-one studying. I can’t let you pass unless I’m certain you understand the material.”

Something told me he had more than studying in mind, which is fine by me since I hate studying, anyway. Plus point, I had an excuse to miss dinner with my parents.

“Okay, where do you live?”

I licked my lips. I was stupid, so fucking stupid for making a deal like this. Yet, against my morals and better judgment, I said yes.

I watched him scribble his address on a piece of paper. When he handed it to me, our fingers briefly touched, and the shock from it buzzed through my entire body down to my toes.

Clutching the small piece of paper, I spun around and ran out of the door. The need to get away from him was too strong. But as soon as I hit the hallway, a sense of longing settled in my stomach.

I didn’t know what had just happened between Mr. Caldwell and me, but I would find out tonight.

2

ANDREW

It was wrong.

I didn’t give a fuck.

Now that I knew her scent, now that I had inhaled her while she watched, there was no turning back. I was home, having left her an hour earlier, and I could still see her in my mind’s eye. I could practically smell her arousal growing. Let her pretend to be surprised. I knew the truth: she liked it.

It took all my self-control not to jerk off in my car before ever leaving the parking lot. Behind the wheel with her panties over my mouth and nose, pumping my cock and imagining Ava doing it for me.

Ava. Sweet, sexy Ava. She was a drug, and I was already hooked.

I whipped up a quick dinner, one of the few dishes I didn’t need to do much thinking about because I knew it like the back of my hand. There was no room in my head for anything but her. The way I’d wrap her hair around my fist and pull while I took her from behind. How tight would she be? Exquisitely, I guessed.

And what would she taste like? Fuck, it was enough to make me want to forget dinner and feast on her instead. I could lay her down on the table, spread her smooth thighs, and bury my head between them until she screamed herself hoarse. Something told me that wouldn’t be enough. It would never be enough.

I caught sight of my reflection in the bathroom mirror when I went in for a shower and barely recognized myself. There was a light in my eyes I had never seen before, and the flaring of my nostrils and heavy breathing brought to mind a bull who just saw the red flag.

“Get your shit together.” My words fell on deaf ears since I didn’t want to get it together. I didn’t want to think about what this might mean for my career, the life I’d built. It didn’t have to mean anything if we were careful.

It was five minutes to seven when the bell rang. My cock sprang up like an eager dog, and I smiled to myself at her punctuality. Was she looking forward to this as much as I was?

I opened the door and had to catch my breath at the sight of her. She wore a black dress, a little too short to be modest, but then who cared about modesty? Her hair was swept over one shoulder, freshly washed and sending the aroma of warm vanilla my way. Blue eyes sparkled thanks to the makeup she’d carefully applied. “Here I am.” Her voice was softer than normal, huskier.

What had I done to deserve this? How could I keep doing it so I could continue filling my senses with her?

Those questions had to wait since she was still standing on my front stoop, and I wasn’t trying to broadcast our dinner to the entire neighborhood.

“I’m almost sorry you’re on time.” I stepped back, letting her enter. I watched in awe as she took in my tiny townhouse and all its contents.

She flinched slightly at the sound of the lock snapping into place, but managed to play it off.

“Why sorry?” She held her purse in front of her, clutching it tight enough that her knuckles stood out bone white. So, the sassy, ballsy girl had a vulnerable core, huh?

“That makes it one less thing to punish you for.” I turned away so she wouldn’t see me smile at her wide-eyed surprise. “Come on. I’m starved.”

“It smells delicious.” She took a seat at the kitchen table, where I’d already laid out everything we needed. “So, you cook, huh?”

“Mm-hm.” I wasn’t in the mood for small talk. My overheated brain couldn’t handle something that simple, not with her in the room. So close, so tempting. I rested the casserole dish on the table between us.

“Wow. It looks as good as it smells.” She helped herself to a chicken breast, then to some orzo and vegetables it baked in.

“That makes two of you, because you look like sin on two legs tonight.” I settled into my chair and had the pleasure of watching her body flush. “What? You don’t know how good you look? Don’t tell me that. I’ll know it’s a lie.”

She lowered her head, but she couldn’t hide the brief smile my words brought up. We didn’t talk much while eating. She was right. It was delicious, though the taste barely registered on my tongue.

Once she’d cleared half her plate, Ava set down her knife and fork. “I can’t sit here and eat like nothing’s weird about this. Why did you ask me to come here tonight? So we could have dinner together?”

“My cooking isn’t enough?” When her lips pressed together in a thin line, I set down my silverware. “Fine. You’re impatient, and I shouldn’t reward you for that, but I’ll let it go this time.” I lifted my hand and crooked my forefinger. “Up. Let me see you again.”

She was wary but did as I asked while I pushed back from the table. I had to catch my breath—so much beauty and sensuality in one delectable little package.

“If you want that A, you’re going to have to do a lot more than have dinner with me.” My eyes moved up and down her body. “You’re going to get down on your knees and suck my dick.”

Her eyes flew open wide, the way I knew they would. “You’re serious?”

“Do I look like I’m kidding?” I lowered a hand to my throbbing dick, never breaking eye contact. “This is what you do to me, looking like that. Don’t pretend you didn’t know what tonight was about, or else you wouldn’t have walked in with your tits hanging halfway out of that dress. You’re going to suck this until I come, and we’ll go from there.”

I pointed to the floor with my free hand, the other now rubbing the bulge in my pants. “Get to work.”

She bit her lip, which only sent a fresh surge of excitement through me. Even this innocent, shocked act was hot as hell. My eyes locked on her as she approached, until she was on her knees in front of my chair.

I lowered my zipper and freed myself. Her eyes grew even larger once she got a look at my thick eight inches, now dripping pre-cum.

“Do I have to grab you by the back of the head, Ava? Because I will, if you don’t put this in your mouth.”

She leaned in, eyes fixed on what now swayed slightly before her face. I watched, transfixed, as she extended her tongue and took an exploratory lick. “That’s right.” My eyes closed halfway as a rush of sheer pleasure washed over me. “Lick it. Taste me.”

Her tongue ran along the ridge of my head, catching the pre-cum waiting there. I closed my eyes and let my head fall back when she took me in her mouth, wet heat surrounding me, inching down. Either she was genuinely shy, or she was teasing me. Regardless, it was sheer torture.

I placed a hand on the back of her head, setting her pace, urging her to take all of me. “That’s right. Fuck me with your mouth. Show me how much you want that grade, Ava.” Her lips tightened, and I groaned in approval.

Looking down, the sight of her knocked breathless. Bobbing up and down on my cock, making it slick with saliva. She looked up, and our eyes met across the length of my torso. I moaned, helpless, balls tightening, cock surging. My hips jerked upward on their own, and I fucked her mouth in a frenzy as control slipped away. “Yes, Ava, yes, take my cum—” My roar of release filled the air as I emptied down her throat, pumping once, twice more before falling back with a contented sigh.

She let me slip from her mouth, then sat back on her heels. I found her kneeling between my thighs, watching me, once my awareness cleared a little, and I could think straight.

Holy shit, she could suck a cock. My instincts were on the money.

“Not so fast,” I warned when she stood and smoothed down the front of her dress. “I’m not finished with you yet.” I straightened myself out before standing.

She bit her lip again. “I thought that was all I had to do.”

I answered by thrusting a hand between her legs. She gasped but spread her thighs an inch or two, so I could cup her mound.

“These wet panties say you want to do more. Did it turn you on, sucking me like that? Do you like being on your knees in front of me?”

She turned her face away, cheeks going pink, but a soft moan escaped when I rubbed her warm, tantalizing pussy, pressing hard, her juices soaking the lacy strip even more. “Please…” It was a whisper, a plea, and I chuckled.

Leaning in, I caught the floral scent of her perfume, the vanilla of her shampoo, and something more. Something uniquely her. I inhaled as deeply as I could, savoring. “What do you want? What are you asking for? Do you want to come?” I increased the pressure, making her gasp before she moaned, eyes sliding shut.

Something about that undid me. I slid my fingers under the panties and dipped into her folds, making her lean against me for support. Her heart hammered against my chest, and one hand gripped my shoulder.

I wouldn’t make this easy for her. I wouldn’t lie her down or let her sit. She would stand there and take it because, for fuck’s sake, she’d been driving me crazy all semester. I deserved this bit of revenge, even if it felt more like indulging my fantasies. Her clit was swollen, waiting for my touch, and the slightest brush against that bundle of nerves made Ava gasp louder than ever.

Her fingers dug into my shoulder. “Yessss… oh, god, yes…”

My touch was feather-light, teasing, and she whimpered with every rapid breath. “You think you deserve a reward for sucking me off?” I ran my tongue over her earlobe before nipping it with my teeth. She gasped, then moaned louder than before. “You think you deserve to come tonight?”

“Please… let me…” Her hips moved in slow, sensual circles. I lowered my free hand to her ass and swatted it hard, sharp.

Her eyes flew open, meeting mine. “Don’t be greedy. I’m in charge here. Say it.”

“You’re in charge.” I could’ve made her say anything so close to release. So desperate for it.

“Good girl.” I increased the pressure on her clit while taking one of her tits in my hand, squeezing through her dress, moving my palm over the hard nipple. “Come for me.”

“Oh, god!” Her eyes closed, and her head fell back an instant before her thighs clamped around my hand. “Mr. Caldwell, yes!”

I caught her, held her against me when her legs weakened. I had no idea hearing her scream my name like that would be so fucking hot. A man could imagine all he wanted, but reality was something else. She caught her breath, trembling, and I waited until she calmed a little before releasing her.

“Good girl.” I licked her off my fingers, one at a time, hardening again. Her scent, her taste, the sound of her ragged breathing… it all worked magic on me, making lust surge to life again. “Now, you can go.”

She frowned. “Really?”

It was the last thing I wanted her to do, but it was for the best. “Yes, really. Go back to your dorm room.”

“Am I going to get an A?”

I had half a mind to tell her no, that her orgasm wasn’t enough, but I wasn’t a complete prick. I settled for saying, “We’ll see.” Then ushered her out the door before I could change my mind.

3

AVA

What was wrong with me?

Wasn’t it bad enough that we did those things at his house a few days back? I had already taken a huge step I couldn’t return from. I had done as he told me, and yes, I had liked it. No, I’d loved it.

But no matter how good it felt, that didn’t make it right. And it didn’t explain why I couldn’t get Caldwell out of my head. I should’ve been ashamed, should’ve been mad at myself for doing what he told me to do.

Instead, I couldn’t stop wondering whether I should go to him. Because I wanted more, twisted as that was. I wanted more of him, more of the way he made me feel. I craved it.

“What the hell is up with you, girl?” Carrie nudged me hard on the way into the building where Mr. Caldwell’s class was held. Where I would see him again for the first time since dinner at his house.

“Hmm?” I tried to pay attention. “What were you saying?”

“Forget it. You’ll get distracted again in a second.” She shook her head and muttered something about a space case, but I let it go. If I argued, I’d look guilty of something. Even if I was, she didn’t need to know. No, she could never know, and not only because I didn’t want her to hate me for what I did. Mr. Caldwell’s job was on the line. Nobody could ever know.

I told myself that was the reason he barely glanced at us when we entered the auditorium. I tried to catch his eye, but it was no use. My heart sank as I climbed the stairs and took my seat.

He hated me now. He had gotten what he wanted, and now I was less than nothing. All the hours I’d spent obsessing over him—what did he think of me, should I go to him, would he want me anymore—looked like a total waste of time.

I hadn’t felt cheap or used when I left his house. Now, I did. I was lower than low. And there he was, conducting class like nothing happened. Acting like I never took him in my mouth and tasted his cum. Like he hadn’t licked my wetness off his fingers while I watched.

One of the guys from class, whose name I had never learned, sat down in front of me the way he always did. Cute enough, but I had never paid him much attention. I was too busy trying to keep Carrie from getting me kicked out while I struggled to grasp the coursework. Now, when the guy smiled over his shoulder, I smiled back.

“Hey,” I whispered. “How’s it going?”

His eyes widened, like he hadn’t expected that. “Good. You?”

“Pretty good. Getting ready for break?” I twirled a strand of hair around my finger and fought the urge to look toward the front of the room to see whether Caldwell was watching. I couldn’t let him know I was doing this because of him.

Let him see what it’s like to be ignored.

“Yeah, it’ll be good to have the time off.” He grinned again, and now I could feel him looking me over with new interest. My stomach clenched a little, the way it always did when I got attention from a man I didn’t want attention from.

It wasn’t his fault. He might’ve been a nice guy, but he wasn’t the guy at the front of the room. Nobody could compare to my professor. I knew that in my soul. He was sexy, but I had already known that. Everybody knew that.

He was also commanding. In control. He knew exactly what to do and how to do it. No fumbling around. No hesitation. He’d taken what he wanted and left my knees shaking. I had never come so hard.

I wanted that again. And again. What had changed?

I forced myself to smile at the nameless guy in front of me. He was a kid compared to Mr. Caldwell. “Any big plans for break? Is there a girl waiting for you back home?”

A sudden, sharp noise made us both look to the front, where Mr. Caldwell glared at us. But he said nothing. Didn’t call me out. He only glared, but that was enough for him to get his point across. The nameless kid turned around in his chair and opened his notes.

I stared back at the man who had haunted my dreams and had the nerve to ignore me after what he’d made me do. Was this what it took to get his attention? He held my gaze for a beat, then looked away.

My phone buzzed with a text from Carrie. What’s with you? One minute you’re bitching about wanting to pass the class, now you’re fucking the guy in front of you with your eyes and pissing Caldwell off!

I could feel her eyes burning holes in my skull, but I didn’t reply or even look at her. There was no way of explaining. I could barely understand it myself. I should’ve felt dirty, used, ashamed of myself. I should’ve been glad the semester was almost over so I wouldn’t have to face him and remember what I had done for him. To him.

Instead, what was I doing? Throwing a tantrum like a bratty kid who wanted attention.

I couldn’t help myself. I knew it was wrong, and I was probably fucked in the head for wanting more than what we’d shared at his house. I didn’t even care if he wanted to use me like a cheap slut. If anything, I wanted him to do that. I wanted him to use me the way he did before, when the sound of his moans and the taste of his cock had made me so wet.

What was I supposed to do?

Right then, all I could do was get through class. He never looked at me, and his demeanor was even more uptight than usual. Like he had a walnut between his jaws he was trying to crack. I decided it meant he hated himself and me, and I guessed he was right. I was being stupid, childish. It was time to buy a good vibrator since I could tell I wouldn’t get another chance with my professor.

“Dude. You realize you’re losing it, right?” Carrie gaped at me as I got my stuff together, and the rest of the class filed out of the auditorium. Even the guy in front of me left, though he shot a sad sort of look over his shoulder when I didn’t get up and follow right behind him. Class was over now, and the odds of us having another class together were anybody’s guess.

“I’m not losing it. I was just talking with the guy.”

Meanwhile, half of my attention was on the front of the room, where Mr. Caldwell nodded to a few kids wishing him a good break. My heart was in my throat, and I didn’t know whether I wanted to confront him or melt into the floor. What if he ignored me again? What if he looked at me like I was scum? I didn’t know which would hurt worse.

But I couldn’t sit all day in my chair, either. I stood slowly, then practically crawled behind Carrie as we descended the stairs. He was chatting with another student, turned halfway away from us. I decided this was good. I should pretend nothing had ever happened and just hope he was good on his offer of an A.

Carrie, though, had no idea what I was thinking. “Have a wonderful break, Professor Caldwell!” She was so obvious. It would’ve made me feel sorry for her if I wasn’t so busy being horrified. She might as well have thrown herself at him.

That bitch. He’s mine.

Whoa, where did that come from? Carrie was my best friend, practically my sister, and here I was, wanting to claw her eyes out for even talking to him.

He turned toward us, and something flickered across his face, but it vanished in an instant. “Miss Marie, hang back a bit. I want a word with you.”

I didn’t know whether to whoop with joy or shake in my boots. He sounded so angry, so cold. Now I was in for it. He was going to shame me for what we’d done, like it was all my fault. His conscience probably got to him, finally, and he was regretting ever asking me over. Maybe he wanted to threaten me to keep my mouth shut, or else.

I would do anything he asked.

Carrie hesitated, eyes moving back and forth between our professor and me. “What should I do?” she whispered.

I tried to shrug it off. “It’s cool. You can go. I’ll talk with you later.”

“But…” She looked at him again. He had his back to us as he erased the board. I had to pry my eyes away from his shoulders. I knew what they felt like under my hands.

“Really, it’s fine. I’m a big girl. I can handle it.” I even smiled a little. “You can go.”

“I’ll wait for you, okay? Right outside.” She tipped her head toward the door before starting for it, looking back only once before disappearing.

A few stragglers followed her until I was alone with the professor. Again. Only now, we were in a classroom instead of his house. I didn’t know whether or not that was a good thing. It depended on why he wanted to see me. I watched, silent and holding my breath as he took his time crossing the room. He walked to the door for some reason. For a second, I thought he was going to leave.

He didn’t leave.

He locked the door.

I chewed my lip as heat started building in my core, spreading between my thighs until I was wet. When he turned around, and I could finally see his face, that wetness turned into a flood. How could anybody be that sexy, that smoldering?

“Wh-why did you want me to stay?” I could barely suck in enough air to speak.

“There’s unfinished business between us, Ava.” The way he said my name, the way it rolled off his tongue, made my mouth go dry and did the opposite to my pussy, which was now dripping, and he hadn’t even touched me.

“What business?” I whispered as he drew closer with slow, measured steps.

His eyes blazed when they locked onto mine, burning like emeralds on fire. “The business of me thinking about nothing but fucking you for the past three days. That’s what I’m going to do to you right here and now, Ava. I’m going to fuck you until you can’t take any more.”

4

ANDREW

There was something wrong with me. There had to be. There just wasn’t a legitimate excuse why I was making Ava do this. My cock was hard as steel, and the need to possess her right here on my desk was so consuming I couldn’t think of anything else.

“Come here, Ava.” My voice didn’t sound like my own. It was too deep, too turned on. Her soft doe eyes met mine. She looked like a bad decision wrapped up in a whole lot of temptation, and I wanted to own all of it. I wanted to fucking devour it.

She took a step forward and then another until she was directly in front of me. I itched to touch her creamy thighs that peeked out at me from underneath the black skirt she was wearing.

“Where do you want me?” she asked, her voice almost submissive.

I couldn’t help but smirk at her question, her eyes narrowing at my humor.

“I want you in a lot of places, darlin’, like on my cock while I’m throbbing deep inside your warm cunt, on my fingers while I’m pumping in and out of you, or even better, having your pussy sit on my face while I listen to you scream out my name over and over again.”

I could tell my words affected her, almost the same type of effect that her mere presence had on me.

“You want all of that with me?” A warm blush formed on her cheeks, and I took the moment to gently push her against the desk, her thighs resting on the edge, while I moved my chair, centering myself right in front of her.

“If only you knew the ways I want to possess you…” I gripped her by the hips firmly, scooting her ass onto the desk. A small gasp left her lips, which only fed the horny as hell beast inside of me.

“You’re my professor, though.” Her voice was weak. It was beyond noticeable how much she wanted this.

“I might be your professor, but I’m also male, and when I’m stuck in a room with a gorgeous, smart, sassy as fuck beauty like yourself, well, you can imagine how all of that makes me feel.”

I needed to own her. To worship her body like no one else ever had. I would prove to her that no one would fuck her like I could. I couldn’t hold back anymore. Especially knowing that her friend was waiting right outside the door.

I pounced like a starving man, craving so much more than I had ever had. My lips pressed against Ava’s, and my body spiraled into sensory overload. A shock of pleasure zipped down my spine, hitting me right in my ball sac, making my knees weak and my head spin.

A sexy moan filled the air, and I wondered for a second if it came from me until I realized Ava was wrapping both her arms around my neck, pulling my body flush to hers.

“You’re so sexy…” I mumbled, which gave her the opportunity to slip her tongue into my mouth. Her sweet and sultry flavor flicked against my tongue as we possessed each other’s mouths. Ava’s nails dug into my shoulder blades harshly, the pain only adding to the pleasure that filled my veins.

I needed more. I wanted more. I pulled from her touch, forcing her hands from around my neck. I needed to taste her, really taste her. With a smirk on my face, I placed a hand against her shoulder, gently nudging her backward onto my desk. She complied, leaning back onto her elbows as my hands landed on her knees.

Easy, Andrew.

As badly as I wanted her, I needed to take it easy. I had one chance to show her the ways I would possess her.

I looked up into her beautiful blue eyes, eyes that reminded me of the color of the ocean. There was nothing but trust lingering in them, so I made my next move, rolling forward in my chair, all while spreading her knees apart.

Holy fuck.

My heart was beating out of my chest as I glimpsed her pussy in the dim lighting. Gently, I lifted her skirt, the material bunching up by her waist, revealing a cleanly shaven pussy.

My fingers dug into her thighs. The raw need to possess her was overwhelming me. All I could see was her. All I could feel was her. All that mattered was her.

“Ahhh.” The sweetest sigh known to mankind came out of her mouth just as my finger traced her lips and the seam of her pussy. Unable to help myself, I slipped a digit deep inside her, my body shaking with need as I pumped in and out of her. Ava moaned loudly, her legs spreading wider as her knees fell to the sides.

“That’s it. Talk to me. Tell me how badly you want this,” I teased, pulling my finger out of her warm cunt.

An irritated huff escaped her petal pink, soft lips, and I smiled because I wanted her to know it was me who gave her this pleasure and no one else would ever give her something this great.

“Please…” she begged, her voice dropping to a whimper as she stared down at me with need in her eyes.

That’s all it took. A simple please, and I broke. I slipped two fingers back into her tight hole, a ripple of pleasure making its way down my spine as I leaned into her pussy, sucking her clit into my mouth.

I knew the moment I found her g-spot because her hands went into my hair, clawing at it like her life depended on it. I continued my assault on her pussy, licking, biting, and flicking my tongue on her clit, while pumping in and out of her tight hole. I wanted more, so much fucking more. But she wasn’t ready, not yet.

“I want you to tell me how much you want it, Ava. I want you to beg me. Beg me to give you your release. Beg. Me,” I growled against her pussy, her juices exploding against my tongue.

“Mr. Caldwell…” Her head moved back and forth as if she was trying to fight off the pleasure and pain she was surely feeling.

“Ava.” I reached up with one hand, pinching her pebbled nipple through her white dress shirt. A moan ripped from her throat, coating my insides with happiness.

“Yes, sir…” she huffed, out of breath, her eyes large and bright, as she stared at me with a lustful glare.

“Beg me. If you want to come, you need to ask me for it. Just like if you want that passing grade, you’re going to have to use more than your tight as fuck pussy on me,” I ordered, her body squirming beneath my gaze.

“Please. Please, let me come,” she begged, her nails digging into the wood beneath her hands.

“More,” I growled, pinching her other nipple, another moan escaping her throat.

“I want you. I want you to touch me. Please.”

Another plea for more. My cock was already stiffer than it had ever been. I leaned over her body, my breath fanning against her face.

“Roll over,” I ordered. She hesitated slightly but did as she was told. I moved off her a bit to give her room to flip over. As soon as she did, her pussy and ass were in full view.

“What are you going to do to me?” she asked meekly, like she had never been fucked before. Of course, a gorgeous girl like herself had to have fucked once or twice, or maybe even more. I shook my head, jealousy almost getting the best of me.

She’s mine.

“Fuck you. Now, grab onto the end of the desk. I don’t mean to be rough, but I want you too badly to be gentle right now.” I had never planned on fucking her here, and most definitely not right now, but it was all too much. I was too worked up, too focused on possessing her sweet as hell body. I needed more and touching her wasn’t cutting it.

She did nothing but smile, her eyes twinkling as if she had expected this to take place. Dropping to my knees again, I gave her a full lick from her pussy all the way to her asshole, then I stood without warning, landing a hard slap against her right ass cheek.

“Fuck!” She groaned.

A deep chuckle of laughter erupted from my chest. I lifted my hand again, smacking the left ass cheek. Her body rose off the desk as she absorbed the pleasure and pain from the hit.

“Ahhh. Please,” she mumbled, her cheek against the cold desk.

I gave her another rough smack while soothing the other side of her ass. Her pussy dripped with cum as her ass cheeks grew redder with each slap. Joy filled my chest. No, I hadn’t told her she could come, but she deserved that one. She deserved pleasure for letting me spank her.

“Good girl. Now it’s my turn.”

I unbuttoned my dress pants and pulled my cock out all in one motion. I stroked the fucker, knowing he would get to feel her from the inside out. She looked at me over her shoulder, while one of my hands slipped up her spine and weaved into her hair. She smelled like heaven and hell all mixed in one.

I massaged her scalp for a moment, her head falling back against my hand, as I centered myself at her entrance, her slick pussy coating the head of my cock.

“I want you to know there is no going back, Ava. I own you now. My cock owns you, and there will never be another man that touches you here. Do you understand me?” I needed to make sure she knew just how much this meant to me, just how serious I was.

“I want you. I want this.” The cry of pleasure that slipped from her lips as she spoke was my undoing. I wrapped a chunk of her dark hair around my hand, pulling her head back gently as I sunk into her in one fluid motion, my balls smacking against her clit forcibly.

Her pussy was warm and inviting, and my cock fit into her perfectly, her tightness squeezing me like a glove.

“Fuck, you’re so tight.” I nipped at her earlobe, her pants of pleasure filling my ear as I pulled all the way out of her, only to slam right back into the hilt a moment later.

“Mr. Callllddddweeeellll…” my name vibrated from her mouth as I upped my pace, slamming in and out of her until I felt nothing but our bodies meshed together. The heat and tightness of her hole, coupled with her body’s reaction to my touch, pushed me over the edge. I could see the finish line ahead. However, I wasn’t that kind of guy.

She needed to come before I did.

“Come, Ava. Clench my cock. Own it, baby,” I purred in her ear while squeezing one of her tits through her shirt. Next time I had her, we would be completely naked. That way, I could worship every single ounce of flesh on her body, marking it as my own.

“Fuck me,” she screamed so loudly I was sure someone was going to hear us. Would it matter if they did? Ava was worth it. This one moment with her was worth whatever trouble came from it.

I upped my pace, slamming into her roughly until my toes curled, and my body threatened to come. It was right then that her pussy clenched around me, ripples of pleasure shattering through her sweet body.

“Andrew….” She moaned my name, and it was so fucking heart-warming, I continued my relentless pace, forcing her orgasm to continue until I exploded deep inside her, my seed filling her hole to the brim.

“Ava. Fuck. Ava,” I muttered as I came to a standstill, shivers racking my body.

I was floating, and my entire body was warm. Light exploded behind my eyes, and my balls bunched up as everything that didn’t matter in the world fell to black. When I finally came back to reality, Ava was beneath me, her body gleaming in the light. All along, I thought it was I that would own her, but it turned out she owned me.

I pulled out of her, adjusting my cock and placing it back in my dress slacks. Then I helped Ava up off the desk, a smile marking both our faces as pleasure filled our eyes. I helped her adjust her skirt and smooth out her hair. Then, I placed a kiss against her forehead and hoped like hell that no one had heard us.

“Thank you,” she managed to get out.

“It’s my pleasure, Ava.” I snickered as she headed toward the door, stopping dead in her tracks a second later.

“Will I get my panties back?” Oh, hell no.

“No can do, sweetheart. I need to have your scent to beat off to later on.” The words came out in a rush before I could stop them. I don’t know why it bothered me for her to know I would beat off to her scent later, but for some reason, it did. I didn’t want to look weak to her.

“Okay. I’ll see you around then.” She turned on her feet, slipping from the auditorium as if she hadn’t been here at all.

With her out of sight, a coldness sunk into my bones. I had either just made the worst mistake of my life, or I had made the best choice on the planet. I didn’t know which one it would be yet, but I was satisfied one way or another. For a moment in time, I got to own Ava. My student. My girl.

5

AVA

I could still feel his lips on my skin and his cock claiming me with every single fiber inside of him. Every time I moved or my thighs rubbed together, I felt him. Carrie had been gone when I finally came out of the auditorium, and thankfully so. I wasn’t sure I could face her after being fucked like a slut. My cheeks blushed red every time a memory of what we had done flickered in my mind.

It was only three days into Christmas break, and I was staying in the dorms because holidays at home were like a category five hurricane barreling down on me. My mother invited everyone and their brother to the house and expected us all to clean up after each other. It was a lot safer and quieter staying in the dorms where I could be alone and manage a breath without being questioned. I loved my family, but I also loved my peace and quiet.

It took everything in me to push past the feelings Professor Caldwell was making me feel. I had never felt so tempted to walk the wrong side of the road before, but doing something like this, sleeping with the teacher for a passing grade, it was more than just about that now. We had crossed a line, one put in place by a higher authority than both of us.

My phone chimed loudly on my nightstand, signaling an incoming text.

BFF (Carrie): Want to meet up for coffee at Starbucks?

Me: Sure. Be there in ten.

I hit send, but my finger hovered over the button after I did for a fraction of a second. I hadn’t heard from Carrie in days, and honestly, it wasn’t like her to skip out on me like she did the other day.

Stop being so paranoid, Ava.

It probably wasn’t anything, but then again, it could’ve been something big. Something like Caldwell and me having sex. Then again, what kind of friend was I, hiding something so huge from my best friend? Shoving from my bed, I walked over to the closet, pulling out my brown knee-high boots and tugging them on my feet.

As soon as my boots were on, I grabbed my jacket from the back of the office chair and slipped it on, leaving the dorm room without another backward glance and heading down to the campus square to Starbucks.

My feet clattered against the sidewalk, my chest constricting as my eyes caught on him.

Andrew Caldwell. My professor. My savior. The man that owned a sliver of my heart, all because he had the power to make me feel like no one else ever had.

Anxiety took over with a vengeance. Could I muster up the courage to enter the same building as him and look him in the eyes, without a look of lust in mine? Carrie would know right away that something had happened between us. All it would take was one look from either of us. That is, if she didn’t already know.

Growing a pair of woman balls, I walked in a moment later, almost right behind him. His scent left a trail that all but said, follow me into the darkness, sweetie. I gulped, praying like hell that if I kept my head down, he wouldn’t notice me. The aromatic smell of coffee beans overpowered his scent, clearing my thoughts for a moment.

Andrew took a spot in line while I scoured the room for Carrie. So far, everything was going perfectly right.

I sighed in frustration as I continued to look for Carrie. Just as I was about to give up, I heard a bubble of laughter that I knew could belong to only one person—Carrie. Finally noticing her small form in the corner of the eating area, I slipped through the masses, taking the chair directly across from her.

She was just hanging up the phone as I sat down, her eyes sparkling in the dim lighting, a smile pulling at her lips.

“Sweet baby Jesus. I thought you would never show up. You said ten minutes, and I’m pretty sure it’s been twenty.”

I rolled my eyes at her exaggeration. Carrie had a habit of making things seem far worse than they usually were.

“What’s up? Why did you want to meet down here?” I kept my voice hushed, my eyes shooting over to where Andrew had been standing in line just seconds ago.

Carrie blinked, a shocked expression forming on her face. “Meet here? You mean Starbucks, the place you consider your second home?” She pursed her lips in disapproval. “Not all of us are like you, Ava. We can’t all handle sitting in our dorm room all day and night.”

I huffed out a breath. I didn’t come down here to argue, merely talk, and maybe see if she had heard my moans of pleasure while Professor Caldwell fucked me into sweet submission.

“I don’t want to fight. I haven’t heard from you in like three days, and you ditched me after…” I swallowed. “After business class.”

A hint of amusement formed in her eyes. Did she know?

“Oh, I’m sure you were upset with me leaving. You probably let Professor Caldwell have his way with you.”

I frowned, trying to skew my expression.

“No, that’s not what happened, Carrie,” I lied, the burn of said lie filling my chest with fire.

“I know. I know.” She laughed, and relief flooded me. “No harm, no foul, though. If he gave me the option, I would so drop my panties for him and let him fuck me.”

My eyes dashed around the room until they landed on Andrew’s dark ones. His emotions were hidden under a mask of rugged handsomeness as I took him in.

“Should you really be saying something like that out loud? We are still on campus property, Carrie,” I whispered under my breath, forcing my eyes from Andrew’s. My heart was beating out of my chest and sweat formed against my palms. It had been three days, but it felt more like a lifetime. Now, for him to be here, almost within touching distance was maddening.

“It’s no secret, Ava. Every woman on this campus with a pair of ovaries wants that man. He’s sex on a stick, mixed with a manliness that rivals even those on the covers of magazines, and he’s off-limits.” She winked. Every word that came out of her mouth made me feel guiltier than I had before.

My eyes darted back to Andrew, but this time he refused to meet my stare. Instead, it was his eyes on someone else that caused me to rest my hands against the table.

“Ava!” Carrie whisper-yelled my name, forcing me to come back to her. I could see the worry in her eyes and knew I either needed to leave or spill the beans.

“Uhhh…” I gnawed on my bottom lip in worry.

Tick-tock. Tick-tock.

“I have a bunch of homework to do.” I stood from the table, my hand on a nearby chair, the only thing that was holding me up.

“Ava, it’s winter break. Finals are done. What homework do you have?” I could finally hear the worry coming from Carrie. It laced her words with fear. That same fear consumed me right at the moment.

I couldn’t stop myself from looking at him one last time, my heart plummeting into the cold, hard ground beneath my feet.

His head was dipped low with another woman’s, his hand against hers in an intimate way. I felt numb, but more than that, I felt stupid. The woman lifted her eyes to mine, and I looked away. She was beautiful, far more beautiful than me.

“Ava, you’re acting so weird…” I could hear Carrie talking, but I didn’t care. Not about her, or him, or anything. All I wanted to do was go back to my dorm room and forget about the fact I slept with my professor for a decent grade. All while trying to convince myself I didn’t crave the touch of his body again.

“I’ll… I’ll talk to you later,” I muttered, releasing my hold on the chair. My steps were wobbly as I made it out the door, walking hastily back to my dorm room. Snow started to fall, heavy flakes landing in my hair. I stopped for a moment as soon as I made it around the corner and out of view to any passersby.

“Stupid. You’re stupid, Ava,” I scolded myself, knowing damn well I was to blame for the heartache I was feeling. If only I didn’t need that passing grade. If only I didn’t crave his touch like I did air.

I didn’t just want him. I needed him.

Even when I knew he clearly didn’t need me.

6

ANDREW

I felt like a complete douchebag for letting Ava think the woman I was meeting with was another lay, instead of who she really was—my sister. I wanted to give her a little taste of her own medicine. Wanted to make her jealous like she did me, flirting with that student in class.

I slammed back the glass of bourbon, letting the burn of the sweet whiskey warm my cold, cold heart. I broke the one rule I never suspected myself capable of breaking, the trust between a teacher and a student. If the association ever found out about what happened between Ava and me, losing my job would be the last thing I would need to worry about.

Still, the same part of me that said I needed to make sure this didn’t happen again was the same part of me begging for more of her. I was a conflicted motherfucker. My body and heart craved one thing, while my mind wanted to put a stop to all the temptations Ava stirred inside of me.

My finger lay idly on the keyboard of my laptop. Classes were officially out, which meant nearly everyone was home now, seeing their relatives. I clicked and then clicked again, opening the file that contained information regarding every student I had in my classes. I made an effort to have the email, address, and cell number on file in case I needed to contact them.

I sighed, knowing exactly what I was going to do. I scrolled through all the names, stopping once I landed on Ava’s.

Fuck!

I shoved away from my laptop, the back of my office chair slamming into the wall behind me. I grabbed a fist full of my dark hair, pulling it in agony as if doing so would give me the answer I needed.

You can’t do this, the rational part of me said. While the irrational part of me said we have to, because if we wanted to make it through another day, we could only do so by getting a taste of Ava.

I inhaled a deep breath, my eyelids fluttering closed as I tried to grasp onto whatever last shreds of hope I had. There was no way I would be able to see her in that classroom come the new year without the thought of her bared before me on my desk. Looking at her without lustful eyes would be nearly impossible, and in a room full of her peers, they would know almost immediately something was going on between us.

“One more time,” I whispered to myself. All I needed was one last time, one last kiss. One last thrust. I rolled across the room, grabbed her cell number from the document, and pulled out my phone.

Should I text her or call? Calling meant business and the chance to hear her voice, but texting her gave her a chance to read the message and absorb it. Gritting my teeth, I typed the words out that I wanted to send to her.

Me: I need you. I want you. Come see me. You know where I live.

It was a simple message and one that got straight to the point. She had to know who it was, unless there were others that were interested in her as well. I had to blink away the rage I was feeling. She was fucking mine, and I would prove it to any little bastard that tried to steal her from me.

My phone chimed loudly, and my fingers shook as her number appeared across the screen.

I read her response once, and then a second time just for good measure, a smirk pulling at my lips.

Ava: Why don’t you call the woman you were with earlier? I’m sure she can take care of you.

Kitten had claws, and I liked claws. For some strange reason, I liked that she was jealous and territorial of me because it meant the feelings I felt were mutual. That it all wasn’t a show in an effort for an A.

Me: Sounds to me like someone is a bit jealous? Don’t make assumptions, Ava. I promise your pussy is the only one my cock or tongue has touched.

I hit send, wanting her to get here already. Hell, if I had to, I would go over to the campus dorms and get her myself.

Ava: We shouldn’t.

That’s all she said. We shouldn’t. What a brave, brave girl she was, telling me no. Of course, I fucking knew we shouldn’t. Of course, I knew we were breaking every fucking law and oath I ever took, but didn’t she understand I did it for her? After an entire year of being in my class, I had been tempted by the sexy as hell blue-eyed temptress. She was like a goddamn wet dream wrapped up in a perfect box with a bow on top.

Telling me to not take a bite out of her was like telling me not to breathe. It was impossible.

Me: I know we shouldn’t, but if there was anyone I would want to do bad with, it would be you. Get here, stat, or I’m coming to you.

I hit send and held my head in my hands. I should let her be. Give her the goddamn grade and go bury my cock in some nameless chick. Saving us both a ton of heartache and trouble. I couldn’t, though, not with her slithering her way under my skin. The damage had already been done. If anyone found out about us, we would both be screwed. Therefore, fucking a second time wouldn’t do any more harm? Right? This was an absolute mess.

The buzzing of the doorbell rung throughout the house, and a satisfying euphoria surrounded me.

Good girl, I thought to myself, knowing it could be no one but her. She had heard the warning in my words, and I didn’t even have to speak them out loud to her.

I hustled to the front door, afraid that if I didn’t hurry, she might run off. Sweat formed against my hand as I twisted the metal doorknob, the door swinging open with far more effort than needed.

Every hair on my body stood on end as I took in her small form standing in the shadows of my porch. She was wearing a pair of black yoga pants with a long-sleeve T-shirt that said something about a book boyfriend on it.

Ava. My Ava.

I gestured for her to come in, and she did, her steps small as she slipped over the threshold. The slamming of the door behind her caused her to jump, her body turning to face me once again. Now that we were finally alone and together again, I couldn’t help myself.

I crossed the space between us in a breath, my hands cupping the sides of her face harshly as I brought my lips to hers. I expected refusal, maybe even anger for possessing her in such a rough manner. What I didn’t expect was for her to kiss me back with just as much possession as I was showing her.

The sweet smell of warm vanilla washed over me. She smelled like a freshly baked cupcake I wanted to devour. Instead, I forced myself to take a step away from her, even though my lips and cock begged me to do other things.

“I’m so glad you took my warning, because I wasn’t kidding, Ava. I’ve thought about you day and night. I’ve wondered what you were doing and who you were with,” I confessed. “Then I saw you at the coffee shop, and seeing you in person compared to just thinking about you put everything in a different perspective.”

Her artic blue eyes bored into mine, and I could see the wheels spinning in her head.

“I thought that woman was a girlfriend or something.” Her cheeks warmed, and her eyes darted to the floor as if she was ashamed to admit such a thought.

I couldn’t help myself. I had to remind her it was her I wanted and that no one else would ever get the chance to replace her. I was on her faster than I realized, my fingers digging into her hips as I lifted her up in my arms, forcing her to wrap her legs around me. My cock throbbed, begging to be unleashed from the confines of my jeans.

I possessed her mouth with my own, our tongues colliding as our teeth clashed together. We kissed like we were desperate lovers, without another chance to see each other.

I slammed her back against a wall, causing one of the pictures to clatter to the floor. I didn’t care, though. Nothing else mattered—nothing at all.

“I need you, Ava. I’ve needed you since you left my classroom the other day. I can’t get you out of my head.” I bit her bottom lip, and a loud moan of pleasure ripped from her throat and pulsed through me.

“You’ve gotten under my skin. Those mini-skirts you wear, your rebel ways when I tell you to do something and you roll your eyes…” I kissed a path from her lips, down over her chin, stopping at her throat, where her pulse was beating out of control.

I felt the thump of it against my lips as I placed a featherlight kiss against it. I knew then I didn’t just want to own her, but I wanted her to own me as well. Pulling away for a second, I shucked my shirt off and threw it to the wood floor behind me. I wanted nothing but our skin touching against one another’s.

Ava understood my move because as she looked at me with a longing that mirrored my own, she too shucked her shirt, revealing a pair of perky as fuck tits cradled by a black lace bra.

“I want to give you pleasure this time, Mr. Caldwell. I want you to remember me,” she purred, dropping to her knees before me.

My entire world spun as she reached for the button to my jeans.

“I’ll always remember you, Ava,” I promised, smiling down at her with adoration in my eyes.

7

AVA

I knew I was in trouble when I couldn’t deny the man, even through a text message. When he threatened to show up at my dorm, I knew I needed to just come to his place and end things the right way. Instead, I found myself coming inside, kissing him, and going to my knees for him.

I was so weak for this man. Terror had consumed me, thinking he had found someone else, someone better. The thought of us being discovered scared the fuck out of me, but it didn’t scare me as much as not being able to see him again.

His fingers gripped me under the chin. The look in his eyes was one I wanted to see over and over again. He appreciated me. He cared for me. He wanted me. Was that even a word I could say in the same sentence as professor?

I flicked the button on his jeans, and his cock sprung free almost instantly. Why had I not noticed that he went commando before? My lips lifted in a smile as my pussy clenched. I wanted him deep inside of me, forcing orgasm upon orgasm from my body. I wanted to be owned by him.

“Own me, Ava. I’m at your mercy.” His voice cracked, and I loved the weakness and strength he was showing me right now.

Taking his cock into my hand, I examined the length. He was bigger than I had noticed before, or maybe I had just forgotten.

I gripped his length, my hand stroking gently. As soon as I brought my tongue to the tip, his head tilted back, and a roar left his throat. It startled and excited me all at the same time.

“Fuck, Ava,” he hissed, his eyes almost black with mere flicks of green when he finally looked down at me.

“Do you like that?” I purred, my tongue gliding over the tip before I took the entire head of his cock into my mouth. He was wide and long, and it was no fucking wonder why I came within seconds of him sliding into my hole.

“Do I like it? Your mouth is like heaven, Ava. What have I ever done to enter the gates of such a pleasure fucking palace?” He growled as I cupped his balls in my other hand. I took more of him into my mouth until he was hitting the back of my throat, and my eyes were watering with every hard thrust inside my mouth.

“Sweet, Ava.”

My pussy clenched with every thrust he made into my mouth. The satisfaction I felt from simply giving to him was so much more than I had ever expected. With one of his hands pinching my nipple through the thin fabric of my bra, and the other at the back of my head, forcing me to take all of him, I felt the distinct building of an orgasm in my belly.

I massaged his balls while sucking harder until I felt the tightening of his fist in my hair and the rising of his balls. Hot cum filled my mouth and drained down my throat, the tangy saltiness almost too much for me to handle.

Looking up at Andrew made it easier, though. His eyes drifted closed, and his face looked at peace instead of the brooding, clenched jaw fucker I always saw him as in class. I had caused this. I had made him feel peace.

Joyous pleasure filled my heart as he pulled himself out of my mouth, his hands in my hair, forcing me to my feet as he possessed my mouth.

All I could feel was his hands on me, and the searing heat of his lips against mine.

“Andrew.” I sighed heavily into his mouth.

A smirk formed against his lips. I knew the fucker’s ego was getting a big stroke from the things I was doing and saying, but I couldn’t hold back how he made me feel.

“I want to feel your pleasure,” he whispered in my ear, placing my ass against the leather loveseat. I felt the nip of his teeth against my earlobe, and shivers ran down my spine.

I couldn’t speak a word, not even as I watched him rip my favorite pair of yoga pants from my body, his hands making fast work of the stretchy material. He dropped to his knees before me, grabbing both of my legs by the ankles as he shoved them upward, my back hitting the leather gently.

“I haven’t had dinner yet, Ava. Will you be my dinner and dessert?”

My fingernails scraped against the leather as I nodded my head yes. I could feel his fingers gripping my thong as he shoved the black strip to the side so that he could survey his meal. A giggle erupted from deep within my chest and filled the air.

“What’s so funny, sweetness?” Andrew questioned with a raised eyebrow, no humor whatsoever written on his face.

I bit my lip, shaking my head, too afraid that if I spoke, it would come out in a moan of pleasure. I watched eagerly as he dipped his head low between my thighs, his thumbs rubbing small circles along the sensitive inner skin as he held my ass in place at the edge of the loveseat.

“Fuck!” I swore loudly. One second he was staring, and the next, he was sucking my clit into his mouth, his tongue flicking against the sweet spot until I felt like I couldn’t take anymore.

He released my clit with a rumble of laughter falling from his lips. “Is that what was funny?” This man was utter torture. One second he had me begging and pleading, and the next, he made me want to smack the hell out of him.

“Please, don’t stop.” I squirmed beneath him, clearly ready to beg if needed. I was so close to that ledge, the distinct building in my belly now fading.

“Stop what? This…” He played dumb, diving back into my pussy, his tongue flicking against my clit once again.

My hands went straight to his hair, holding his head in place until I got exactly what I wanted.

“More,” I pleaded, and he delivered.

Two fingers entered me, the friction and angle of them just what I needed. I fell off the imaginary cliff within seconds. He worshipped me, all while giving me the perfect amount of possession. I fell apart in his arms, and even as my pussy throbbed around his fingers, he continued to feast on me, licking up every last drop of my release as it pulsed from my pussy. I had never felt this much pleasure before, the kind that made your bones melt and your belly feel like it was on a rollercoaster ride.

“Your fucking cum is delectable. I could literally eat the fuck out of your pussy all day and never care for another thing in the world.” His words were far from romantic, but everything he said showed me just how much he wanted me, his desired burning hotter than the sun.

“I think…” The words slipped away from me as he entered me painfully slow, his cock spreading me wider than I had ever been spread before. We were face to face, our bodies molding to one another’s, and every slip into my body brought me closer to the inevitable.

“Fuck me, Ava.” His jaw clenched, and his words were barely audible as he moved us around, so he was sitting on the couch, and I was riding his cock.

This position was deeper and gave me the chance to take from him just what I wanted. I stared down into his emerald green eyes. A mixture of emotions swam in them, and before I could decipher what exactly he was feeling, his cock was thrusting upward, reminding me of just what we were doing.

“Get out of your head. Own me. Fuck me. Break me. Take from me whatever you want, baby girl.”

I couldn’t stop myself from doing just what he asked. Pushing all the emotions that seemed to swim between us away, I raked my nails against his chest, the sweet moan that escaped his mouth sending pleasure straight to my core.

“Sit back and relax, Professor Caldwell, because the teacher is about to be taught.” I smirked, grinding my pussy against his cock, the parting of his lips and the flutter of his eyes closing told me I was doing just the right thing.

I moved slowly, in a circular motion, each slow grind wreaking havoc on his body. His fingers dug into the loveseat as he tried to restrain himself from taking control.

“Do you want me to fuck you?” I leaned into his face, my lips right next to his ear. I wanted to bite him and taste his skin.

“Please…” he croaked, on the verge of snapping.

I smiled against his throat as I ran my teeth along his throbbing pulse. Knowing all too well that one bite would push him over the edge, I grabbed onto his shoulders and held on for dear life as every patient nerve he had was ripped to shreds.

“Yes! Yes! Yes!” Instead of pulling away and letting him mark my body, I marked his as well, meeting him thrust for thrust as he slammed upward inside of me. My body bounced up and down furiously as I rode his cock.

“You’ve tempted me for far too long, little girl,” he purred in my ear as he took a fistful of my hair into his hand. I felt the sting of pain on my scalp as he pulled harder with every thrust. The combination of pain and pleasure filled my veins until I felt nothing but his cock inside of me.

It didn’t matter that we were breaking some rule. It didn’t matter that we were hiding from the world. All I wanted was him. My professor. The one man I should want the least.

“Come for me, Ava. I want your juices to coat my cock.” The deep growl that emitted from his throat coupled with the perfect angle of his cock caused me to spiral out of control. My pussy clenched uncontrollably around his cock as fresh oxygen entered my lungs.

“Andrew!” I screamed out his name as I rode every single wave of pleasure he gave me.

Seconds later, his seed filled my tight hole. I didn’t care if we used a condom or not. I wanted his cum inside of me. Knowing that I carried a piece of him with me all day warmed my blood. If this was wrong, then I never wanted to be right. The way he fucked me told me this was about so much more than a passing grade.

I crumbled against his chest, my face resting on his shoulder. I could feel the steady beat of his heart against my palm and the sound of air filling his lungs in my ears. A part of me said this could never work between us because, let’s face it, we were fighting against rules that were put in place for a reason. Still, I wanted to at least try to develop a normal relationship.

“I was wondering if you would accompany me to my family’s New Year’s Eve party?” I whispered, not wanting to ruin this perfect moment between us. No matter where life took me, I would forever remember the way he owned me, marking my body with his own branding.

Silence accompanied my question, so I assumed the answer was no until his throat cleared above me.

“Is that really a good idea, Ava? Are you ready to explain to them why you’re dating and most definitely fucking your business teacher?”

Okay, when he put it that way, it kind of made me nervous. Still, I wanted him to meet my family.

“You didn’t say no.” I trailed a painted fingernail over his chest. “Which must mean you feel the same way I do…” I left the question open-ended, hoping he would feed me the answer I wanted to hear most.

“I want you, Ava. Like I need the most basic essentials, but that doesn’t mean this can work between us. I don’t know if there is any kind of normal future for us. All I know is that I can’t get enough of you. Every kiss, every stroke, it makes it that much harder to deny us both what we desperately want and need.” His confession was endearing, and the truth in his words brought tears to my eyes.

He must’ve seen because he had my face cradled between his hands in a flash.

“It doesn’t mean I don’t want this, that I don’t want you as my girlfriend. It just means that if we have a chance in hell of making this work, we need to keep it a secret as long as possible.”

I nodded my head yes in understanding, craving his touch like a flower craved sunlight to grow.

“I want you to come with me. We don’t have to tell them who you are. I just want you there because I…” I stumbled over my next words, “I like you.” There, I said it. I let the words leave my lips carelessly, all while hoping he would feel the same. I didn’t have to explain what exactly I meant. He knew what I was trying to say.

“Crazy as it is, I like you too.”

We stared at each other for a long moment, nothing but compassion and pure bliss for one another consuming us. I wanted him again, and I knew he knew it.

Gripping my hips firmly in his grasp, he ground my pussy against his cock. And every single worry and fear that we had faded to black.

8

ANDREW

I agreed to do this for Ava and no one else. Worry formed in the pit of my stomach. What if someone discovered our sexual relationship? I would lose my job in a heartbeat, and then what?

If exchanging sex for a better grade wasn’t immoral enough, now I was sleeping with her on the regular. On paper, I was making the biggest mistake of my life. Problem was, I didn’t just want this woman; I needed her, and no one was going to rip her out of my grasp.

“I promise they’re going to love you,” she whispered to me, adjusting my tie.

I wasn’t the type to dress up, but I wanted to look good for her family. That, and Ava had promised me a present if I behaved, which was going to be very hard to do with her wearing that short red dress accentuating her assets so perfectly.

“Not as much as I’m going to love ripping this tie, and that dress off of you when we get home.”

“Can’t wait,” she smirked. “I’ll make sure my pussy will be nice and wet for you.”

Her words made my dick twitch. Down boy. I didn’t think walking in to meet her parents with a raging hard-on was going to make a good first impression.

“You keep misbehaving, and I’m going…” I landed a hard slap against her ass, and then I squeezed it, her sentence coming to a halt immediately.

“Did you just spank me?” She blinked, that sweet blush I loved so much forming on her cheeks.

“Yes. I sure did, and I’m going to do so much more than that later on. Remember that, as you’re stuffing your face with ham and slamming back a glass of Moscato.”

Her face brightened, warming the cold block in my chest. “I’m going to have you hard all night long. I promise,” she threatened, and before I could even get a word out, she was scurrying up the sidewalk of her parents’ house while I stood next to the car, trying to catch my breath because the woman was right. My cock was already hard and getting through this dinner without taking her up to her childhood bedroom and fucking her against her Barbie Dream House was going to be next to near impossible.

“Fuck,” I muttered under my breath, catching up to her, praying that my boner would slowly descend into my slacks.

Ava smirked like a sly fucker next to me as she rang the doorbell. A member of her family opened the door a second after we pressed the ringer.

“Behave,” Ava muttered, smiling and greeting her family with open arms. Everyone acted normal, surprisingly. The house was simple, clean, and had a lived-in feel that most homes lacked.

“Mom, Dad, everyone, this is Andrew. Andrew, this is my family.” She introduced us without skipping a beat. Oh, how I loved her courage and desire to make me fit in. Yet all of this was a stark reminder that if Ava hadn’t followed through with sleeping with me, she would be forced to move back in here.

“Welcome, Andrew. I’m so glad that Ava finally brought someone home.” Her father tilted his beer back, a look on his face that said fuck with her, and you die.

I forced a tight smile, and a jerk of my chin, letting her father know I got the memo. “Thank you for having me. It’s an honor to accompany your daughter here.” I gave them my best charm and smile.

Merely a week ago, I was still under the assumption that Ava was a stuck-up brat who expected me to pass her simply for batting her eyelashes at me, even though I told her continuously she needed extra credit to pass my class. Yet, she refused to listen. Now, I was seeing her for the person she was underneath the image she tried to portray to everyone else. It was strange to know that Ava and I had a lot in common.

“We’re very pleased to have you here.” Her mother walked up to me, wrapping me up in her arms. Her hug was warm and inviting, and it reminded me of home, of my parents.

When she finally released me, I realized everyone had moved into the kitchen where the food and all the fun festivities were taking place. My eyes found Ava’s across the room, and the stare off began. Her teeth sank into her bottom lip, making my cock harder than steel.

Oh, I was going to make her pay. She was going to be begging for hours for her release. I could guarantee that much. Forcing myself to think about anything but Ava’s pussy and tits, I followed her into the kitchen, the savory aroma of food entering my nostrils.

Looking at Ava’s mom, I knew where Ava got her gorgeous looks. They could’ve been twins. I also understood now, having met Ava’s family, why there was such an importance to her grades. Her family was picture perfect, and if she failed out of college, that perfect image would shatter, all at her hand.

I sighed, leaning against the counter in the large kitchen.

Ava sauntered up to me a second later, her fingers weaving into mine as she stood on her tiptoes, whispering in my ear, “Is Professor Caldwell behaving himself?” There was a hint of naughtiness to her words.

“Me?” I whispered back. “I think there is a very dirty, little girl here who needs her ass spanked until she comes for teasing me like this…” I slipped a hand under the hem of her dress, my finger gliding up and down the crease of her ass crack.

Her chest rose with a sharp intake of breath. “Andrew!” A hard slap landed against my chest, and I smiled like a motherfucker because I totally wouldn’t be against fucking daddy’s little girl in the guest bathroom down the hall.

“You’re going to beg later,” I whispered, pulling my hand out from underneath her dress before anyone could notice. Good thing they were all far too busy playing board games on the island and eating a variety of food.

Ava gave me a teasing smile before skipping away to socialize. I took it upon myself to grab a plate while I could and shoveled on a little of everything that looked good. Walking over to a large dinner table in the dining room, I sat down and started to devour the ham, deviled eggs, and creamed corn casserole.

I was overtaken with joy, until my cell phone vibrated in my pocket, and I took it out, wondering just who it was that would text me while on break from school.

I scowled. The number that flashed across the screen wasn’t one I knew or had as a contact in my phone. I read the message as it came across the screen, my heart beating out of my chest as everything precious in my life came crashing down on me.

Unknown: Sleeping with your students is frowned upon, Mr. Caldwell. Wouldn’t you say?

I clenched my fist so hard all the blood seemed to drain away from the appendage. How the fuck did this person get my number, and better yet, who were they? My eyes immediately found Ava’s in the crowd. She knew something was wrong before she even took a step in my direction.

Fuck! I couldn’t let Ava take the downfall for this. I would put in my resignation before I let them take her scholarship and degree away. I would protect her at all costs, even if I was protecting her from me.

“What’s going on?” Ava questioned right away, just as I knew she would.

I forced my jaw to go slack. The tension in it was enough to snap bone.

“I don’t want to talk about it right now. We can talk when we’re done with dinner, okay, babe?” I tried to soothe her. I really should’ve tried to hide the rage I felt, but in all honesty, I was fucking angry at myself for falling for her while knowing that morally it was wrong.

She looked as if she wanted to put up a fight, her blue eyes shining brightly down on me. There was a flicker of anger in those beautiful orbs, and for a second, I wondered if she would follow through with arguing with me. When she walked away, relief flooded my senses.

I squeezed my phone in my hand, sliding the message open to reply.

Me: Whatever you think you know, you’re wrong. You know nothing.

I hit the send button, not even once asking who it could be. I wasn’t stupid enough to ask, because even I knew they wouldn’t give me a straight answer. I would have to contact someone to run the information for me, but I would figure out who it was and when I did, I would make them pay for fucking with what was mine.

I might have made a terrible decision sleeping with one of my students, but I would never say I regretted it. Not when I was falling in love with the woman.

Unknown: I know you slept with Ava. What I don’t know is when you plan on telling the association about it? Or maybe the school board?

I clenched my jaw. The anger I felt had no outlet at the moment, and the fact that I could feel the smugness in their words didn’t make it any easier.

I should have been enjoying my time with Ava’s family, and instead, rage consumed me because someone was trying to blackmail me. Placing the phone on the table for a second, I looked up and spotted Ava’s mother staring at me.

“Is everything okay, Andrew?” she questioned, a worried glint in her eyes. Great, now she’s going to think I’m going to hurt Ava or something.

“Oh, yes. Everything is perfect. Just some personal issues going on, that’s all.” I smiled, trying to make myself less menacing.

“Good. Good. I’m glad to hear everything is going well with you, and whatever problems you have going on, I hope they get worked out.”

“Thank you.” I smiled again, unsure how to make myself seem less scary.

“I wanted to ask you something, though…” She took the open seat next to me, and then adjusted herself, so she was angled toward me.

“Go ahead, ask anything you need to,” I encouraged.

“Ava’s never brought a boy or man home. Not even once. You’re the first to step into this house as a boyfriend.”

My mouth popped open and refused to close. That couldn’t be true. Ava had to have had a boyfriend or two in high school.

“That’s unbelievable, being how beautiful and smart your daughter is,” I complimented.

Her eyes softened, and she leaned into my face before speaking. “Do you love her?”

The question hit me straight in the gut. I had barely admitted to myself that I was falling for her, and now her mother was asking me if I loved her. What was I supposed to say?

“Honestly…” I scratched at the back of my head for a moment. “I do love her. I’m just not ready to admit those feelings to her yet. It seems too soon.” I immediately wondered if that was the wrong thing to say to the mother of the woman I wanted to be with.

“Good. I was just checking. There is no rush. Not in this household. We go at our own pace. I just knew you had to be special for her to bring you around.” She patted me on the back one last time before getting out of her chair and scurrying back out into the crowd to socialize.

I should’ve been out there, talking, playing games, and enjoying all the fun things taking place, but I couldn’t stop the emotions I was feeling. I had just admitted that I loved Ava, all while telling some asshole that I never slept with her.

I tipped my head back and stared up at the ceiling. I needed to tell Ava what was going on, and I would as soon as I figured out who it was that was sending me these text messages.

Ava’s beautiful face formed in my mind, and I knew then I would have to protect her from anything that tried to stand in the way of us.

I loved her. I fucking loved her.

9

AVA

The first rule of teasing is always to expect the worst, but pray for the best. My ass cheeks were blistered after the night of fun I had with Andrew, and my body tingled all over. Still, every time our lips touched or his eyes met mine, I felt that disconnection occurring between us, and I just didn’t understand why.

I didn’t want to tell Carrie about sleeping with Andrew simply because I wasn’t sure how she would take it, and I didn’t want to chance losing my scholarship, or even worse, Andrew losing his job. But I also didn’t want to lose my friendship with her. I had to tell her.

When I texted her, asking her to come over to my dorm for girls’ night and to catch up on some gossip, I did so intending to tell her. She was my best friend, after all. Isn’t that what best friends did? Told one another their deepest, darkest secrets?

I felt a distinct disconnection between us too. Something I had never felt before, and I knew it had everything to do with this pesky little secret I was keeping.

“Open up, and nobody gets hurt,” Carrie’s sing-song voice filtered through the thin wooden door.

I jumped from my twin bed, eager to finally get everything off my chest. Flinging the door open, I noticed she had brought a bunch of goodies with her, and my smile grew.

“Are you going to just stand there, or are you going to let me in?” she said, and I quickly grabbed the grocery bag closest to me.

Once both of us got inside my small room, we shut the door and laid all the bags out on the floor. Carrie took her shoes off, and we crawled onto the bed together, getting comfortable with our snacks.

“I’ve missed you so damn much. I know things were strange at Starbucks last time we met, but that’s only because I have to tell you…”

She held her hand up as if to tell me to stop. “I’ve been your friend for three years, Ava. I don’t need an explanation for your behavior. As long as you’re okay, then I’m fine.” She spoke with confidence as if she didn’t care, but the sadness that she felt deep inside showed in her eyes.

I couldn’t lie to her, even if she expected me to.

“I wanted to tell you that Professor Caldwell is giving me the A.” My cheeks burned as I wrung my hands together, knowing that I was about to tell her the biggest secret ever.

“O.M.G, Ava. That’s so great!” she gushed, clearly as happy as I was about the passing grade.

“There’s more, though…” I skirted around how to tell her. Should I just say I slept with him or that we were now an item? Then again, were we really? Last time I spoke to him, things were short and straight to the point.

“Oh, fuck, tell me more,” she begged, eager to know the rest.

“Well, we struck a deal. More like I gave in to my female hormones and let him fuck me.” I exhaled a breath with the rest of the words, a sudden peace settling into my bones.

Finally, someone else knew.

Carrie’s facial expressions were wild, going from shocked to excited and then back to shocked. I wasn’t sure if she wanted to high five me or slap me across the face for making such an awful choice.

I forced a smile, trying to ease into this conversation slowly, knowing it could only go one of two ways.

“You let him fuck you? You let that uptight asshole stick his cock inside you?” Her eyes were as big as saucers.

I gulped. “I mean, now that you put it in such a vulgar way, yes. At first, it was for a grade because I was desperate to pass, Carrie. But now things have changed. I thought it would happen once, and we would be done, but then it happened again and again, and he met my family yesterday, and I’m pretty sure he is the one, Carrie.” My belly was in a nervous knot, and my hands were sweating. Maybe I had told her too much too soon?

She lifted a hand to her head as if this was all too much for her right now. “You love him? Is that what you’re saying?” There was an angry bite to her words, one I didn’t quite understand. Was she angry at him or me?

I nodded my head up and down. “I never meant to fall for him, Carrie. I just got to know him more, and I know he’s our professor, and I’m his student, and it’s against the rules, but…”

“You fucked him, and now you’re in love with him, Ava.” A crazy cat lady laugh erupted from her throat. “I’m going to have to admit that I’m a bit jealous that he gave you the D more than once.” A smile appeared on her face a second later, and I knew then I had been sweating it for no reason. Carrie didn’t care, just as I knew she wouldn’t. All that mattered was that I was happy.

“Tell me everything. I want to know if he’s good in bed? Did he make you call him Master?” She wiggled her eyebrows at me, causing a bubble of laughter to escape.

I rolled my eyes, popping a chip into my mouth.

“No, he didn’t. He’s dirty, though, and knows just how to work my body over. I’ve never felt so secure with a man in my entire life. When he’s around, it’s like everything fades away and all that matters is him and me.” I couldn’t believe I was spilling my guts out to my best friend about my professor, a man I shouldn’t even be lusting after, let alone falling in love with.

Carrie tipped her head at me, her blonde locks spewing over her shoulder. “I cannot believe you. You dirty little tramp.”

Her amusement at all of this cooled my veins, making it much easier to relax. She didn’t seem to care, not even a smidge of what I thought she would.

“I’m addicted, girl. I crave his touch, his kisses, his cock.” I blushed again, the word not really something I said every single day.

“Oh, yeah, you’re fucked. What are you going to do? I mean, if anyone else finds out, he’s going to lose his job and probably his teaching license. I mean, is it worth it? I’m not trying to change your mind or anything, you know that, Ava. I just want you to know that if anyone else discovers you guys messing around, that shit is going to go downhill fast.”

I didn’t like looking at what could happen to Andrew if anyone else found out about us, because that was like looking down the barrel of a shotgun. It was inevitable, the amount of pain and chaos it would cause. Therefore, it was easier to ignore it until that day came. That is, until Carrie brought it up.

“I know. We know. I’ve tried telling myself it’s wrong, but when two people want each other as badly as we do, well, there’s no changing things. I was attracted to him long before I made a move, and from what he told me, he’d been lusting after me since the start of the school year,” I admitted without thinking.

Carrie grabbed one of my hands in hers, and I gazed down at them. She was the only one I could trust with this secret.

“I don’t want to change your mind, girl. I just want you to be happy, even if it is with one of the hottest professors I’ve ever met.” There was a little tinge of jealousy in her words as she spoke, and to my shame, I enjoyed that. Knowing that he was all mine when everyone wanted him was a feeling I didn’t know I craved.

“We will work something out. I just wanted to tell you because it was eating away at me from the inside out.” I released her hand and wrapped my arms around her, engulfing her small frame in a hug. I was so fucking blessed to have such an amazing friend. Now all I needed to do was get things with Andrew squared away, and everything would be peachy.

“So this, all of it, is why you’ve been distant and why you acted like someone threw a grenade at you when we were at Starbucks together?”

I nodded my head yes in defeat, feeling like a joke for not coming clean sooner.

She made grabby hands for the Sour Patch candy bag, opening it and popping a few in, and I took a moment to respond.

“I’m sorry. I should’ve told you sooner, but I didn’t want to tell anyone unless I thought something was going to come from it. We didn’t expect to even like each other but then we fucked, and we did it again, and now… now, I can’t stand not seeing him.” I knew I had already said that once, but I wanted to make it known the way he made me feel.

“No more sorry. No more Professor Caldwell. Tonight is going to be about us from here on out. I don’t want to hear another peep about it, okay? You did nothing wrong.” She winked. “Except not share him. I mean, I’m kidding,” she joked, well, kind-of.

“Good. Then let’s put this DVD in and chill out for the rest of the night. It seems like forever since we had a girls’ night,” I admitted, trying to think back to the last time we had done this.

I got up from the floor, taking the DVD with me and putting it into the player. As I did so, I glanced over my shoulder, taking notice of the intent look on Carrie’s face as she looked at her phone. Had she met someone too? She never looked at her phone like she was right now.

“Who ya talking to?” I smiled, all my teeth showing.

Her eyes darted up to mine as she slid the phone into the front pocket of her jeans right away. There was a look of anger mixed with sadness in her eyes, and I wasn’t sure why.

“Oh, no one. Just this guy I met. He’s a total tool, though. So I won’t be going out on another date with him.”

That explained her sudden mood change, and from that second on, I vowed to make tonight one of the best. We would watch movies, eat popcorn, snuggle and talk gossip for the rest of the night, and not once would I bring up Andrew or any of the anxiety I was feeling about him and me.

I shoved all my emotions to the back burner and ignored my phone for hours as Carrie and I basked in the glory of happiness with copious amounts of wine and laughter. So much so, that I was sure I was going to pee my pants.

“I have to pee like a damn racehorse. All the wine.” I snickered. “I’ll be back in a few,” I assured her, slipping from the room and heading down the hall to the women’s bathroom.

As soon as I made it inside the stall, a low humming sound came from my pants. My cell had been vibrating all night, but I refused to look at it, knowing it would do nothing but deter me from spending the evening emotionally free.

Against my better judgment, I plucked the vibrating iPhone from my pocket and looked through the texts and missed calls. Two missed calls from Andrew and one from my mom, along with a dozen or so text messages.

I scrolled through them all, stopping on the one that stood out the most to me, the last one that Andrew had sent.

Andrew: We need to talk. It’s important. Meet me at the diner on eleventh tomorrow at one.

My stomach churned, and the contents inside it threatened to come up. The worst thought ran through my mind. Was he breaking up with me, or did he just want to meet up and talk things over? I blinked, tears forming in my eyes because of the unknown. Had I fallen for a man that I couldn’t keep?

I swallowed, forcing air into my lungs, and finished up going to the bathroom. Slipping my phone into my front pocket, I washed my hands and wiped away a couple stray tears, knowing if I didn’t, Carrie would know right away what was going on, and I refused to let her know I had made a bad choice.

Putting my mask back in place, I headed to the dorm room. Professor Caldwell would be the only thing on my mind tonight.

10

ANDREW

Me: I know who you are, Carrie, and if you think you’ll get away with telling rumors to people that you have no proof of, then I will have you removed from my class.

I sent the message, knowing what would come from all of this. Carrie, Ava’s best friend, was the one behind all of this. The person who refused to let us have our very own happily ever after.

With some research and a whole lot of Vodka, I discovered just who it was, and honestly, I wasn’t all that surprised. I’m smart. A professor. Maybe not smart enough to avoid sleeping with a student, but smart enough to know when another student has jealousy issues. And Carrie is jealous. Very fucking jealous.

Carrie: I don’t need the grade as bad as Ava, but I might be willing to strike a deal with you. It’s going to involve your eight-inch cock, though. If you fuck me, I’ll keep my mouth shut. If you don’t, I’m going to tell every single person who will listen.

My teeth ground together. You know what I hated more than anything? A really shitty friend, and that’s what Carrie was. I took a moment to digest the message and then shot a text over to Ava telling her to meet me at one of the local diners tomorrow. I didn’t know what she was doing tonight and hadn’t heard from her all day, but I was sure she knew how deep my feelings ran for her.

She had to know that even though times were stressful between us, that I would do anything I could to make things right for us. She was my everything now, and I would do whatever was needed to protect her—us.

I glanced down at the text Carrie sent, knowing damn well I wouldn’t ever betray Ava like she wanted me to. The only woman who would get my cock was the woman I loved.

Me: I will not fuck you, Carrie. Not now. Not ever.

I hit send, and the message flew out into the unknown. I could always forward the message to my boss and let him know there was a student that wanted to fuck me, and that was why I was resigning. Either way, I was going to be resigning from the school. It was the one thing I could do to protect Ava’s and my future from being destroyed. She had worked so hard for her degree. I would not let it all be ripped away because she slept with me.

Fuck. I needed to let off some steam but had no real way of doing so. I could go for a jog or down to the gym, I suppose. A smirk pulled at my lips as I realized what kind of release I needed.

Ava was busy. I was pissed. But I had a hand, and no one knew me quite like I did myself. Gripping the waistband of my sweatpants, I shoved them down over my cock, letting the fucker spring free.

I licked my lips in anticipation, my fingers wrapping around my stiffness. A warmth that only sexual need could give me filled my belly. Oh, how I wished it was Ava’s small hand gripping my length.

“Fuck,” I hissed out, my grip almost painful as I stroked my length up and down.

I was fucking turned on, and so angry, all at the same time. Having been with Ava the night before just wasn’t enough. I needed her every night, every day, every second. I squeezed my cock harder, forcing my release. Tingles of pleasure shot up and down my spine, and I sat for a moment, letting the peacefulness I felt from my release wash over me.

I fucking loved Ava. It was true. I could feel it in my soul. It was a raw feeling, foreign and almost painful, but it was there, and if I touched the spot just right, I could feel the love she felt for me too.

“Sweet, sweet, Ava. What did I ever do to get so lucky?” I whispered to myself while wiping away the cum that cradled at my waist.

My eyes blinked closed for a moment, an image of Ava looking up at me while she sucked me off. There was deep longing in her eyes, and I should’ve known then that I wanted her for more than just a fuck buddy.

Pulling out my phone, I screenshot the message that Carrie sent me, and then I told my boss I was resigning and that it would be effective as of tomorrow. I didn’t care if it upset Ava. She would have to understand it was for the good of both of us. I could find a job anywhere in the city. I couldn’t find another Ava, though.

I clicked send on the email and leaned back into my pillows. Sleep was just within reach. The only thing that would make it better was having the woman I loved right beside me.

I knew the moment Ava stepped foot in the diner because her sweet scent filled my nostrils. I took her small form in as she walked over to the booth I had gotten us. I figured this diner was far enough away from the city and college that we might go unnoticed by anyone, giving us a little time together without fear.

My body hummed with an insatiable need I didn’t understand how to feed. Ava was beautiful as always, wearing a dark plum dress that hung mid-thigh on her, with a pair of white heels. I was salivating by the time she took her seat next to me.

“You look absolutely delectable. I should slip underneath this table right now and eat you out.” I grinned at her, completely ready to do it too. Her cheeks turned red, and I knew she wanted me just as bad as I wanted her.

“Before we get to that…” I could feel the tension rising between us. “Are you breaking up with me? I mean, are we even an item? We never discussed it, but I’m assuming we are… or were…” She trailed off, slipping some hair behind her ear nervously. It seemed like every time we were alone, a nervousness came out in her.

I reached under the table, my fingers slipping underneath her dress and lingering against her thigh.

“I never would’ve fucked you and risked a lot more than my job if I didn’t want this with you. Shit’s been going on. Shit that we need to talk about. Just know that never, not even once, have I thought of leaving you or anything that we’ve worked up to. I want you.” I squeezed her thigh. “I want your pussy, your kisses, your moans of pleasure. I want you. Understand?” I narrowed my eyes, making sure she understood every word I was saying.

“I understand.”

The tension in her seemed to evaporate instantly. Had she been holding that in this whole time? Suddenly, the diner seemed too formal of a place for us to be discussing things. The need to get her alone was consuming me. I wanted to ravage every inch of her body if need be. I needed to be able to prove myself to her at any second, and I couldn’t do that here.

“Let’s go,” I ordered.

She looked at me with a bewildered expression before moving out of the booth. My fingers connected with hers, and I pulled us out of the diner and to my car. As soon as we were both inside, I was on her, like a man starved of oxygen. My lips pressed against hers harshly, a deep moan escaping both of us.

“I have to tell you something.” She panted, pushing a hand against my chest.

I forced myself to pull away so that she could talk. She stared at me with fuck me eyes, and I gripped the center console, forcing my grip to remain there.

Deep breaths. It was taking serious restraint not to shove her dress up and rip those lace panties from her pussy.

“I told Carrie about us. I didn’t want to, but it’s just… she’s my best friend, and I knew if there was anyone that I could trust, it would be her.”

Her admission surprised me. I never expected her to come out and tell Carrie everything. This changed things, at least a little bit. It meant that Carrie knew how serious Ava and I were. It also meant she was an even shittier friend than I had expected.

As badly as I didn’t want to tell her about the things her so called best friend was doing behind her back, I felt a need to be open and honest with her, especially about this. Everything I was about to say killed the mood for me, as I’m sure it was going to do the same for Ava.

“I need you to look at me, baby.” I sighed, wondering if she was going to assume I had taken her friend up on the offer. Ava’s emotions were fragile, and I didn’t want her running from me when she had nothing to run from.

“I’m sorry, Andrew. I’m sorry.” Tears swam in her eyes, and I had to stop the pain. I had to stop the tears from falling.

“Shhh. Don’t cry. None of this is worth crying over, none of it. I didn’t want to ruin seeing you by telling you something so shitty, but the other night at dinner, at your family’s house, I got a text message from someone.” I inhaled a breath, watching her facial features to make sure she was still with me. “The text said something like she knew I was fucking you and that she was going to tell the school board, which lead to another text message where I confronted her on who she was…” I paused.

“Who was it?” Ava’s mood had changed. She went from emotionally distressed to pissed in two seconds. And I fucking loved it.

I smirked at her briefly, living in the moment of chaos with her.

“Listen to me carefully, because I don’t want you to do anything just yet. I was able to do some searching online and discovered the number belonged to Carrie.”

Ava’s eyes filled with shock, her hands trembling as she brought them up to her head in despair. “No. She wouldn’t. It has to be a lie, Andrew. She’s my best friend. She wouldn’t do something like that.” Ava wasn’t going to believe, that much I assumed, but I had to tell her because If I wanted this to work between us, there needed to be nothing but complete honesty.

Cupping Ava’s cheeks in my hands and forcing her to look me straight in the eyes, I finished what I wanted to say, “She told me she wouldn’t tell anyone if I fucked her like I did you. If I gave into her, she wouldn’t go to the school board. Do you know how fucked up that is?” I was seething on the inside, but my touch was gentle against Ava’s cheeks.

Her sea-blue eyes squeezed shut, and when they opened again, a choice had been made. I could feel it deep down in my soul.

“You’re lying to me.” Her teeth clashed against each other, tears swarming her eyes as soon as our gazes connected.

I released my hold on her and pulled away as if she had slapped me. My mind was reeling. How had she come to that conclusion? I had done nothing to make her think I was going to hurt her or threaten our relationship.

“Ava…” I shook my head, gripping the steering wheel firmly in my hands. I was furious, not so much with Ava, but with Carrie and the entire fucking situation.

“Don’t.” She raised her hand to stop me from speaking, her beautiful face twisted in anguish. “I’m done with this. I don’t care what you have to say. I love you. I want you. I want this to work, but I can’t listen to you tell me you think my best friend, the woman I’ve endured countless college memories with, is trying to blackmail you or me.”

She reached for the door handle, and my entire world tipped upside down. My fists clenched, and my body begged me to make her stay, to reach out and stop her. To pull my phone out and show her the proof. Yet, would she even believe me? If she didn’t believe my word, why would she believe any type of proof?

“I love you,” I whispered, just as she slipped out of the car.

She slammed the door hard, and I watched as she walked on wobbly legs to her car, forcing myself to remain inside my car. I had to prove to Ava that it wasn’t me that was lying. I had to show her how much I fucking wanted this—us.

I squeezed my eyes shut and took a deep breath, trying to calm my breathing and erratic heartbeat.

She loves you. She wants you. She wants this.

No one could make her writhe like I could. No one could make her beg for a release like I could. She was mine. Forever. For always.

11

AVA

Tears stained my cheeks as my chest heaved out another breath. My heart was beating but was it really? It’s been three days since I walked away from Andrew. That day he told me my best friend was the one that was blackmailing us and I’ve felt like a piece of my soul was missing ever since.

I needed him like I needed my next breath, yet I refused to listen and believe him? A sob escaped my lips as I wrapped my arms around my legs, praying that my grip could hold me together.

I had texted Carrie and heard not one single thing from her, which only made my mind run rampant more. This issue wasn’t something I should really do over text. Andrew had texted me a dozen times, confessing his love for me and reminding me why I couldn’t give up on us.

I needed to talk to him too, but I just didn’t know what to believe, and with Carrie missing in action, there just wasn’t enough information for me to form a good call. Squeezing my eyes shut, I shoved all the pain back inside, putting an invisible band-aid over the wound.

Once I felt I had composed myself enough, I got dressed and put on some light makeup. Going and talking to Andrew wouldn’t be such a bad thing right now, I tried to assure myself. I just wanted to be in his presence more than anything.

I made my way down to the East wing auditorium, each step ringing out and bouncing off the other buildings. My legs carried me to exactly where they knew I needed to go. Anxiety ate away at my emotions as soon as I entered the building and headed for the door. The sound of a female voice just on the other side of the door caused my steps to falter.

“I told you, if you fuck me, I’ll let everything between Ava and you go.”

I bit the inside of my cheek, bile rising in my throat. Blood pooled inside my cheek; the need to scream out in anger was all-consuming.

“And I told you, my relationship with Ava is far more important than any fling you could offer me. Now get the fuck out because I never want to see your face again.”

I could feel the venom in Andrew’s words and felt immediate guilt for the things I had said to him.

Carrie laughed, but it wasn’t a funny kind of laugh. No, it was an evil laugh. It enraged me more that she continued to carry on like none of this bothered her. I should’ve listened to him.

“You mean this…” There was a pause and I took my hand, placing it over my mouth to stop the angry shriek from coming out when I looked through the slit in the door and watched as Carrie removed her blouse and her bra. She stood before my boyfriend completely topless. “Doesn’t appeal to you more than her bony body? You’re willing to pass up fucking me and risk the chance that the school may find out about your little love bird?” she snarled.

“Fuck this!” Anger fueled me as I ripped open the door. I didn’t care about anything else. I’d heard enough to know Andrew wasn’t lying to me and that I had made a really shitty choice in friends.

I didn’t feel any pain, not in this moment. I only felt anger as I walked right up to her, a mixture of shock and excitement filling her eyes. “Thank God you’re here, Ava. He told me to take off my shirt, or he would fail both of us.” She pretended to fake cry, and I did the one thing that I had wanted to do while waiting outside that door the entire time.

Pulling my hand back, I swung my open hand, landing against her cheek hard. Andrew looked at me with awe as if he was completely smitten by me and the fact that I had just owned my man.

“You’re a fucking liar. You couldn’t just be happy for me. It always has to be about you, Carrie. Always. Well, newsflash, it’s not. I’m not sorry for what’s happened because you brought this all on yourself,” I screamed, unable to hold myself back. I was angry, seething, an inferno of emotions.

“You fucking whore.” Carrie’s face came back to mine, a bright red slap showing on her right cheek. “You slept with our fucking teacher for a passing grade, and I’m the bitch? I’m the bad fucking friend? Jesus, if I had to hear one more ‘I love him,’ I was going to slap the fuck out of you.”

I was shocked, and that shock forced me to take a step away from her.

Andrew was right there, right when I needed him most. His arms wrapping around me, filling the void in my chest that only he could fill.

“You can do whatever you want, Carrie. Tell the entire school I fucked, Ava. Tell every staff member you can. None of it will matter now.” Andrew was so confident in his words, and I wondered why.

“Oh, you can bet your ass I will tell everyone about you two.” She picked her shirt up off the floor, slipping it on with no bra.

My teeth ground together. This was the woman that was supposed to be my closest friend. I told her things I never told anyone, and she ended it all because she wanted the man I was with more than she wanted our friendship.

“I will let everyone know you came on to me as well. I’ve already resigned, Carrie. I won’t be teaching here anymore, hence all the boxes. I’m cleaning out my fucking desk.”

I swallowed hard, my heart beating into my throat. He did what? I turned in his arms, an angry scowl marring my features.

“You resigned?”

I could tell she knew we caught her in a big ass web there was no escaping. All we needed now was a spider to come out and eat her ugly heart.

“Yes, I did. Not because you threatened me, though. But because I will protect Ava against anyone and everything that tries to hurt her, even if it takes a piece of my own happiness. I can always get another job, but I cannot find another Ava.” His admission was sweet as hell and made me hornier than I ever had been before.

“None of that matters. They’ll still believe me.” Carrie took a step backward, in the door's direction.

The only person who would believe her lies was herself. She scurried from the room as if someone had lit a fire under her ass. She knew she had been caught, and that there was no coming back from what she had done. Carrie had ended our friendship, and as sad as that is, having Andrew expose her for the actual monster she was, was the right thing to do.

“I’m sorry,” I cried into his chest, his manly scent washing over me and calming my erratic heartbeat.

“Shhhh. You don’t need to apologize, baby,” he soothed me, his hand rubbing against my hair and back.

I was owned by this man. He protected me. He craved me. He loved me. There was nothing more I wanted than for someone to take care of me like he had.

“No. I didn’t believe you when I should’ve. I failed you.” The tears were real. I was a fucking mess.

Andrew squeezed me to his chest tighter, holding all the fragile pieces of my heart together. “Ava, I love you. I knew deep down inside you would come back to me. It killed me to have you hear those things and to discover the truth this way, but I knew you wouldn’t believe me if I told you. I’m just thankful you showed up when you did.” He sighed into my hair, placing a kiss against my forehead. “I wanted to throw her ass out into the street. I hate that she hurt you. I hate it.”

I could feel the rage he was feeling, and I wanted to feel something else, something more.

I didn’t hate Carrie. No, hating her would give her a special place in my mind for the rest of my life. I simply would forget she ever existed, and I would do so by starting right now.

“Take me to your house.” I needed his touch, but I didn’t want it here. I wanted it in his bed. His house. I wanted him in his world.

“Are you sure?” he questioned, pulling back so he could look me in the eye.

I had never been so sure of something in my life. I tipped my head up and down and let him whisk me up in his arms. He carried me out to his car, uncaring of the boxes he should be moving. Once inside the car, he put the key in the ignition and started the engine.

“You didn’t have to quit for me. I would’ve transferred,” I admitted, my hands finding their way into his lap, my fingers tracing the outline of his cock. I heard his intake of breath and knew the effect I had on him.

“If you don’t stop touching my cock right now, I’m going to be forced to pull this car over and fuck you hard. Harder than you’ve ever been fucked before.”

A shiver ran down my spine as I smiled, continuing to trace his cock with my finger. I wanted this man to own me.

“Tsk. Tsk. Incorrect, Professor Caldwell,” I purred, gripping his shaft hard through his jeans. A moan of pleasure left his lips, and I nibbled on his earlobe, wondering when he would snap and slam his steel hard cock into my pussy.

“I did it because I love you and because you’re the only thing that matters to me. I will protect you till the end of time, and quitting here was protecting you. Like I said, I can find another job. I can’t find another you.”

My heart fluttered out of my chest and floated out the window. I gripped his cock again, harder than previously, watching as his eyes dilated. Now we were on the same level.

“That’s a great answer,” I whispered just as we pulled into the driveway of his townhouse.

12

ANDREW

I was going to fuck her so hard she would feel me for the next fucking week. She was a delicious fucking temptation and one I would always give into no matter the consequences. We didn’t even make it through the front door before we were ripping our clothes off, her nails scraping against the button on my jeans while my hands made quick work of her blouse and yoga pants.

“I’ve craved this since the day you walked away from me. I wanted to spank you so hard and force you to take my cock right there. You enraged me.” My teeth sank into her bottom lip right before I sucked it into my mouth, soothing the painful bite away.

“I’m sorry. Walking away from you was nearly impossible.”

Her words calmed me. I knew she was just trying to protect herself, and I was hardly mad at her, but having her ignore me for days made this crazy obsession I had with her that much more profound.

“No more talking. I want to show you how I feel instead of telling you.” I winked, carrying her to my bedroom. Our bedroom.

Placing her on the bed, I did the one thing I had longed to do over the last forty-eight hours. I kissed her. Really kissed her. I refused to stop until my lips had touched every single inch of her flesh.

“Andrew.” She sighed, squirming beneath me.

I was going to devour her pussy next, but instead of me being on my knees for her, she was going to be on her knees for me while she rode my face. Returning to the mattress, I directed her to sit up and on my face. Her cheeks warmed, but she did as she was told.

My hands moved of their own accord as I held her lips open, my tongue flicking against her clit with just the right amount of pressure.

“Fuck my face, Ava. Fuck it,” I growled against her pussy, her sweet juices dripping into my mouth. The salty taste of her against my lips almost overpowered me. I wanted to sink eight inches deep into her pussy, my home.

I continued my assault on her as she ground her pussy into my face. I slipped my tongue deep into her tight hole. She was so fucking tight, I was almost certain my tongue was going to get stuck inside her.

“More… Please…” she begged, clawing at my head as her movements became jerky. She was close, so fucking close, and I wanted that release. I wanted to own it. To claim it.

Sucking her clit into my mouth and refusing to release it until she dove off the edge, she fell apart on my face, her release filling my mouth. I had never felt so fucking proud of myself, and I was even prouder of Ava for letting me have this moment with her.

Without giving her a moment to rest, I eased out from under her, licking my lips. Then I rolled her over onto her belly and helped her to her knees. I wanted to pound my love into her.

“Fuck…” She pawed at the sheets as I slid in to the hilt, my balls slapping against her clit in one fluid motion.

“Oh, I’m going to, sweetheart.” I slapped one of her ass cheeks and then rubbed the pain away, watching as she arched her back into my touch more.

“Beg,” I ordered, pulling all the way out.

“Please, fuck me.”

I smiled because I would not give in that easily, not this time.

“How badly do you want it?” I questioned, pulling all the way out of her, swirling my cock at her entrance.

She gazed at me over her shoulder, her blue eyes glittering with mischief.

“Give it to me,” she begged, and my cock grew harder.

I laughed, sinking deep into her warmth. No, we weren’t your conventional couple, and every single law that could stand before us did, but we loved each other more and more every day, and I would be damned if I was going to let anyone take something as special as her away from me.

“Oh, fuck me.” The words vibrated from her throat as she tried to hold on. My hands held her hips in a vice-like grip while her pussy took from me every single piece of my heart.

“I am, baby. I fucking am,” I growled, placing my hand against her neck, pushing her down, so I could go deeper.

She obliged, sinking to the mattress with little convincing.

My head tilted back, and my entire body locked up as I hit the sweet spot in her cunt. Her muscles clenched around me, pushing me to my release. Light flickered behind my lids as my body soared into the heavens, a bolt of pleasure going down my spine.

I went against my body’s every instinct and pulled out.

Ava groaned like she was disappointed. “What’s wrong?” She turned her head to look at me. “What happened? I thought you were going to—”

“Not yet.” I ran my hands over her ass, transfixed by it. “I want this ass. I want to own all of you. I haven’t had this yet, and I’m going to take it now.”

I looked up from her firm globes to find her frowning.

“I’ve never done that before.”

“I’ll be careful with you.” I made a point of meeting her eyes while massaging her ass and thighs. “I would never do anything to hurt you. Your safety and pleasure are what matter. I know you’ll love it, getting fucked there. You’ve been missing out.”

I grinned. “Don’t tell me you’ve never thought about it.” Meanwhile, I picked up some of her slickness on my thumb and spread it around her asshole, rubbing her entrance. Her sharp intake of breath and the soft sigh that followed it told me she hadn’t expected the touch but enjoyed it. “Tell me you want me to take your virgin ass.”

She hesitated for only a split second before pushing against my thumb like she was presenting herself to me. “I want you to take my virgin ass.”

“You want me to drain my balls inside it. Tell me.” I stroked myself with my other hand while my thumb massaged her hole.

“Come inside my ass, Andrew.” She arched her back, thrusting it higher. Like a gift she wanted me to take.

I slid my thumb inside and groaned at the tightness. I’d be lucky if I managed a few pumps before coming if she gripped my cock as tightly as she did my thumb. “Relax, baby. Let me inside.” I went from stroking my cock to playing with her clit, hoping to relax her further.

“Mmm.” She rested her head on her folded arms. “Don’t stop.”

I had no intention of stopping. “Just wait. Once you’re used to me fucking all your holes, we’ll have even more fun. Maybe I’ll buy you a nice, thick dildo and use it on your cunt while I fuck your ass.”

She moaned, and the tightness eased, letting me slide in to the base of my thumb. “How would you like that?”

“Yes, yes, I want that.” She spread her legs further.

“Good girl.” I moved in and out, loosening her up while dragging the head of my cock through her sopping pussy. “You ready for me?”

“Yes, yes, please.” She looked back at me, wild and wanton, eyes half-lidded, mouth open as she drew breath in shaky gasps. “Please, fuck my ass.”

Nothing in the world could’ve stopped me. Still, I started slow, rubbing her juices along my length before inching in and letting her adjust. Fuck, it was exquisite, and that, combined with the taboo aspect, had me gritting my teeth to hold on.

“My nasty girl,” I grunted, withdrawing before easing forward again. “Letting me fuck you like this.” I reached down to play with her, thrusting two fingers deep into her cunt.

“Oh, yeah, just like that.” Her moans were like music, coming in time with every thrust. “That’s so good.”

She was mine. Totally, completely, and she always would be. No other man would ever touch what was mine, and I would make sure she knew every type of pleasure imaginable. I was still her teacher, only now I’d instruct her on the art of learning exactly what her body was capable of.

Like this, now. I couldn’t hold back much longer, couldn’t control the mindless lust.

“I can’t go slow,” I warned. “I’m going to take you now, hard.”

“Yes… please…” Her muscles tightened around my fingers, telling me how close she was to coming, and that was all it took. I let loose, pounding into her until our bodies slammed together, and she exploded, drenching my fingers and palm.

It undid me, hearing her and feeling her, and oh, fuck, she was so tight. When the familiar sensations overtook me again, I didn’t hold back. I let the release wash over me, and a moment later, my cock was coated in cum, dripping from Ava’s used hole. She was still trembling with the aftershocks from her orgasm, cooing and whimpering my name.

I looked down at her and found a cum-soaked, sweaty, tousled mess. And I had never seen anything more beautiful, more perfect, in all my life.

It would never be better than this. Ava owned me. She was more than my student now. She was my lover—my everything, my all.

EPILOGUE

One year later

I was so excited. My fingers were shaking as I picked up the test and looked at it again and again, wondering how I was going to tell him.

“Ava, baby, you’re going to be late for graduation if you don’t hurry,” Andrew warned, his voice dipping low. He was older than me, but that didn’t mean I let him boss me around.

“I’m pregnant, Andrew.” I blurted out the words, even though I wanted to do something amazing. I couldn’t withhold the information. I needed him to know. The moment was perfect. Life couldn’t have been more perfect.

He had a good job, better than at SU, where we had met, and where I was graduating today. I did night classes over the summer so I could graduate early.

Surprisingly, Carrie got what was coming to her. One guy she was sleeping with ended up exposing nudes she sent him to everyone on campus. Karma was a bitch.

“What the fuck!” He shoved through the bathroom door, a profound look in his eyes. He seemed shocked but excited.

“See, it says pregnant, right here.” I pointed to the small screen.

He pulled the test from my hand and eyed it like it was going to explode or something. “Oh, fuck, I need to sit down,” he muttered, sitting on the toilet.

I let out a girly giggle even though nothing about the situation was funny.

“You’re going to be a daddy, Andrew. We went from being nothing but a sassy student and asshole teacher to being lovers, who are now going to have a baby,” I announced as if he didn’t know any of the above.

“Deep breaths.” He stood and sunk to his knees on the floor. Was he sick?

“Are you o…” I stopped mid-sentence, watching as he pulled a small black box out of his dress slacks.

His hands shook, and his eyes sought mine. “I loved you then. I love you now. I’ll love you forever. Love isn’t perfect, Ava. It takes work, lots of fucking work. It takes time and trust. So, with this ring, I promise you all of those things. Will you marry me?”

I, too, dropped to my knees on the bathroom floor. We could’ve done these two things anywhere else, but that wasn’t who we were.

We were simple. Lovers. When the moment came, we reached out and grabbed it. Just like we did each other.

“Yes! God, yes,” I cried out.

His fingers trembled as he placed the perfect diamond ring on my finger. It shimmered in the light, and I had never felt so happy.

“Thank god.” He sighed, picking us both up off the floor, his hand weaving around my body as he clung me to his chest.

“I love you, and now I have something else to love. Our baby.” Tears slipped from my eyes as I let him squeeze me tighter than he ever had before.

“And to think all of this happened because you needed an A.” He snickered, ruining the moment.

I pulled from his arms and smacked him across the chest playfully. “Yeah, all because some asshole was thinking with his cock instead of his brain.” Reaching up on my tiptoes, I placed my lips against his, refusing to let him speak. There were no words that needed to be said.

I love you.

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ABOUT THE AUTHOR

If you like your books short, taboo and dark, then a Darcy Rose book is perfect for you.

She writes about shy and innocent heroines, to match them up with dark and intense heroes who have only eyes for one girl.

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