Forever Hearts

CJ Martín

Contents

Forever Hearts

Copyright

Prologue: Riley

1. Riley

2. Riley

3. Jesse

4. Jesse

5. Riley

6. Jesse

7. Riley

8. Jesse

9. Riley

10. Riley

11. Riley

12. Riley

13. Riley

14. Riley

15. Riley

16. Jesse

17. Riley

18. Riley

19. Riley

20. Riley

21. Jesse

22. Riley

23. Riley

24. Jesse

25. Riley

26. Riley

27. Jesse

28. Riley

29. Riley

30. Riley

31. Jesse

32. Riley

33. Riley

34. Riley

35. Riley

36. Riley

37. Jesse

38. Riley

39. Riley

40. Riley

41. Jesse

42. Riley

43. Jesse

44. Riley

45. Riley

46. Jesse

47. Riley

48. Riley

49. Jesse

50. Riley

51. Riley

52. Riley

53. Riley

54. Riley

55. Riley

56. Riley

57. Riley

58. Riley

59. Riley

60. Riley

61. Jesse

62. Riley

63. Jesse

Epilogue: Riley

Confessional

Acknowledgments

About the Author

Also by CJ Martín:

Also by CJ Martín

Also by CJ Martín

Snowbound

Prologue: Vik

Chapter 1: Elena

Chapter 2: Vik

Forever Hearts

CJ Martín

Copyright

Copyright © 2017 by CJ Martín

All Rights Reserved

No part of this document may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without prior written permission of CJ Martín. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights.

All characters and storyline are property of the author, and your support and respect are appreciated. The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or deceased, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

The following story contains mature themes, strong language, and sexual situations. It is intended for mature readers.

ASIN: B074D4R5GH

Cover Design: Hang Le, By Hang Le Designs

Edited By: Bree Scalf, Vivid Words Editing

Proofread By: Elaine York, Allusion Graphics, LLC

Formatting By: CJ Martín

This book is dedicated to my own forever heart, my husband, Joe. Thank you for always understanding when I need time and space to write, for listening to me vent about plots and characters, and for having faith in me even when I didn’t have faith in myself.

You are amazing.

I adore you.

You are my forever.

“Two souls are sometimes created together and in love

before they are even born.”

F. Scott Fitzgerald

Prologue: Riley

Now…

I shower, get dressed, make it all the way to my car, before I realize that I left my cell phone in my apartment. I pat my pockets, check my purse, and glance at the dashboard to see if the Bluetooth symbol is illuminated—it isn’t. I groan audibly as I switch off the ignition and rush back into the cold. It’s mid-March, yet the thermometer has barely reached thirty degrees this week, and with the wind whipping through the air, the “real feel” is in the single digits.

Back inside my apartment I locate my phone on the kitchen counter, still plugged into the charger. As I pick it up, my eyes scan over several notifications, one of which is a text message from Bill.

Bill: Hi, Sweetie. Just got back from the airport with my parents. Reservations are at seven. Are you on your way?

I glance at the clock. It’s five forty-five. I can make it across town with plenty of time to spare—I think. Bill’s perpetually early, as in, if we do not arrive twenty minutes prior to the start of any function—and I do mean any and every function— he panics. He’s chronically early; I’m chronically late. We balance each other out…in theory, anyway.

My thumb swipes the screen, but my fingers are too cold to register the touch, so I drop the phone and blow into my hands in an attempt to warm them up. A minute later, I type a quick message to Bill.

Riley: Omw. Left ten minutes ago.

This is an outright lie; I’m still standing in my kitchen and I would never text and drive. He should know that after nine months of dating, but he simply agrees.

Bill: Ok.

His response is simple. Quick. Efficient. Just like him.

I knock on Bill’s front door thirty minutes later—traffic was heavier and slower than I anticipated. His mother and father are seated on the sofa. It’s not the first time I’m meeting them, but every time they visit I have the feeling I should be walking on eggshells. They’re prim and proper, formal, refined—the exact opposite of me.

“Mr. and Mrs. Lewg.” I smile as I embrace first his father, then his mother, in the world’s most awkward hug. “So good to see you.”

“Lovely to see you, dear.” Mrs. Lewg—Carole, though she’s never told me to call her that—says. “Bill was just telling us he has a special announcement before we leave for dinner.”

“Oh?” I raise my eyebrows as I turn toward Bill. My mind quickly scans over our last few conversations. I can’t remember him talking about any major deal specifically, apart from the new property, but that deal closed weeks ago. All right, okay, I may not pay one hundred percent attention when he blabs on and on about investment properties or the price per square foot of Building A versus Building B, but can you blame me? Commercial real estate is freaking boring. Take it from me, I should know; it’s all Bill ever seems to talk about.

“Riley.” Bill makes no effort to move from in front of the mantle where he stands, but he extends his hand and pulls me toward him. “Can you come here for one second? There’s something I want to ask you. Something I’ve wanted to ask you for a long time.”

The smiling face of my roommate pops to mind and her words bounce around my brain. You’ll be engaged before me. But surely that’s not what this is. We haven’t been together that long. I haven’t even given him a key to my apartment yet. He just met my family.

“Riley Ann Jones.” He takes both my hands, and I will myself to close my mouth, which gapes open in the most unflattering way.

Oh, shit. Oh, no. Fuck. Please don’t let him be asking what I think he’s going to—

“This past year…” —nine months, I automatically correct in my head— “has been the happiest year of my life. You’re everything that I want in a life partner: smart, beautiful, kind, honest…”

I swallow. I’m not so honest.

He drops to one knee, looks up at me with caring brown eyes. “Would you do me the honor of becoming my wife?”

My gaze darts around the room, heart beating wildly in my chest, not from excitement, but from fear.

His mother smiles at me encouragingly, as Bill cracks open a small, velvet jewelry box. “It was my grandmother’s. It’s been in our family for generations. I asked my mother to bring it in with her.” He waves with his free hand to where his parents sit. “It’s part of the reason why they flew in early.” He smiles again. “So, will you? Will you be my wife?”

Holy fuck. Bill scrunches his nose and I press my lips together, sending another silent prayer heavenward that I didn’t just say fuck in front of his parents. In front of my (potential) future in-laws.

“Kind of waiting on an answer here, Riley.” His voice jokes, but I can see the tension around his eyes.

I squeeze my eyes tight, swallow a deep breath, and nod. “Yes.” My voice is the faintest of whispers. “Yes, I’ll marry you.”

“Wonderful!” his mother exclaims, clapping her hands in front of her chest. Bill pulls himself to his feet and slips the ring onto my left finger. It’s delicate, a solitaire, round-cut stone, light and classy, but it feels like a heavy anchor pulling me down. I’m suffocating. Sinking. Drowning.

Mr. Lewg claps Bill on the back. “Congratulations, son.” They shake hands as though they’re business associates rather than father and son.

Bill locks eyes with me, the megawatt smile that is plastered on every billboard within a thirty-mile radius beams at me. He mouths “I love you,” but all I can do is nod, because there’s only one thought looping through my mind right now, and if I’m not careful, the words will escape and topple the house of cards that I’ve struggled to build this entire year.

Those words are on my mind throughout our indulgent, five-course meal.

They’re there later that night when Bill makes love to me and tells me how happy he is.

And they’re still there long after his breath has slowed and he has fallen asleep. Then, and only then, do I let the devastating truth fall past my lips:

He’s not Jesse.

1

Riley

Then…

Two words: Senior year. A tight coil of nerves, equal parts excitement and dread, sits low in my belly. My emotions run the gamut...happiness because I finally made it; sadness because it will all be over too soon; anticipation to see all my friends after a long three months. And Jesse.

Especially Jesse.

I run down the stairs and make a quick stop in the kitchen to grab a banana for breakfast. “’Morning, honey,” my mom calls from near the sink.

“Good morning,” I parrot, voice light and breathless as I glance at the clock on the microwave. Jesse will be here in two minutes.

“You all ready for your first day?” my dad asks, as he walks into the room with my little sister, still half asleep, nestled in his arms.

“As ready as I’ll ever be.” I grab my backpack from the bench alongside the front door and hoist it onto my shoulder.

A car horn blares.

“Jesse’s here,” my mom states, even though it’s unnecessary. Who else would be in our driveway at 7:15 a.m. on a Monday morning?

My dad sneaks in a quick hug. “Bye, kiddo.”

“Good luck, honey.” My mom kisses my cheek.

“Bye, Ry-Ry.” Mikayla leaps into my arms. “Have fun at the big kids’ school.”

I squeeze my arms tighter around her. “And you have fun at the little kids’ school.”

I know that it’s practically mandatory to hate your little sister—or at the very least, be annoyed by said sister—but Mikayla is twelve years younger than me, so there isn’t any of the typical sibling rivalry. And when I do have to babysit her (on the rare occasion), I can’t complain, because who doesn’t like to watch Disney movies (although she was stuck on Zootopia for quite a while) and scarf cookie dough ice cream right from the container? Answer: no one.

The sound of the horn pierces the air again, and I rush toward the door. My entire family follows me out as though they’re sending me off to boot camp for six weeks rather than sending me to school for six hours.

“Bye.” I wave as I toss my bag into the backseat of Jesse’s old Honda Civic. “See ya later.”

* * *

“Riley.” Jesse leans over the console and wraps me in his huge arms. The happiness of seeing him is only slightly overshadowed by the fact that my parents and six-year-old sister are watching us. “I’ve missed you.”

I pull back and smooth my hands through my hair. “Couldn’t have missed me that much.” His brows wrinkle in confusion, so I continue. “You got in two days ago?” My voice rises at the end, and he nods in confirmation. “And I’m just seeing you now?” I smile to let him know I’m teasing, although I am a little hurt that I didn’t warrant more than a quick text message indicating he was home. Hell, we’ve been best friends, nearly inseparable, since we were five, and the fact that he was gone for the entire summer visiting his dad meant that we had a lot to catch up on.

He dips his head and scratches the back of his neck. “You know how my mom is. She took the whole weekend off work, and then we went to my grandmother’s house to visit.”

“In West County?” I question, surprised because his grandmother lives almost two hours away from us.

“Yep.” He nods, and then smiles his beautiful smile. The one that is special, only for me. “Don’t worry. I’m all yours now.”

“I sure hope you mean that, because you missed a lot over the summer.”

He puts the car in reverse, and I wave to my family one last time. “What’s your schedule? What period do you have lunch?”

Even though I have my schedule memorized, I still put it up on my phone to double check. “Fifth.”

“Sweet.” He glances my way. “Me, too.”

We pull into the school parking lot not even ten minutes later, and there are people… everywhere. For a moment I’m shocked by how much hasn’t changed.

Teachers and principals like to babble on at the beginning of a new school year with (corny) inspirational messages such as: New year! New you! You can succeed. Make good choices. Blah. Blah. Blah. But nothing ever changes. Not really.

My eyes scan the parking lot. Rachael Trunk, Tori Weether, Heather Plum, and Melissa Riche still roll up in Rachel’s flashy red Jetta. And Phillip McNorg and Bryan Traitor are still drop-dead gorgeous and two of Adams High’s most popular boys. Veronica Tish and Will Feeble are still Star Wars obsessed, with their dark black jeans and matching white Storm Troopers t-shirts. Same cliques, different day.

I rub my sweaty palms on my own denim-clad legs and heave a deep breath. Thirteen years of school. Thirteen first days. You would think I’d be a pro by now…but I’m not. I’m freaking nervous as hell.

Truth: I’m not what you would consider popular. Not by any means. While the reverse is also true—I’m not unpopular—I’m more of a drifter. I earn good grades—it’s not that I’m exceptionally smart, it’s just that I actually try in my classes. A good chunk of my friends are what could be classified as nerds. But I also became good friends with several people from my yearbook class, and they’d be grouped with the artists.

And then there’s Jesse. He’s my saving grace because he is popular. He’s friends with Phillip McNorg and Bryan Traitor. He’s considered the third (and quite possibly the most) popular boy at Adams High. They’re all starters on the school’s varsity basketball team. And just to be clear, basketball is a huge deal, as in, the entire school attends varsity basketball games. There’s a whole student pep squad dubbed “The Pack” that cheers exclusively for Phillip, Bryan, and Jesse, otherwise known as PB & J. The Adams Vikings won the state championship three years in a row. This year will make number four.

“You okay?” Jesse’s hand reaches over the center console and grazes my arm.

I glance at him and nod my head. “Yeah.”

“Yeah?” he questions one more time, and this time I smile to mask my nerves. “You ready to do this?”

My fingers grip the door handle and I answer the same way I did to my dad not even a half hour before. “As I’ll ever be.”

2

Riley

I still remember the blue T-rex t-shirt Jesse was wearing the first day we met. I was heavy into my princess phase (okay, okay, I still think Disney princesses are cool, but that’s beside the point). I was playing in my green turtle sandbox, attempting to replicate Cinderella’s castle. My tools were subpar, at best; I had a half-broken plastic bucket, a rake, and one slim shovel that bent every time I tried digging with it. Of course, I didn’t realize any of this at the time, but I digress.

Jesse walked up my blacktop driveway, dark hair slightly frizzy, vibrant blue eyes striking against his caramel skin.

Personal note: We live in a very small town, and up until that moment, I had never seen someone with a different skin color than my own which was white, not the beautiful porcelain white of China dolls, but more like the color of dried paste.

Jesse was different. Exotic. Beautiful.

Even at my young age, he sparked something inside me, not sexual attraction, of course, but something deeper, as if my spirit sensed a kindred soul, that caused me to want to be near him.

“Hi.” He extended his hand rather formally, but his voice was quite direct for a five year old. “I’m Jesse. Can I play with you?”

I’d barely said “Yes” before he sat down and was digging around the moat I’d created near the two lopsided spires of the castle.

He lifted my cracked, pink bucket. “This is broken.”

“My daddy stepped on it,” I answered, still combing my rake through the sand.

He didn’t say anything else, just lifted the bucket and began packing it full with damp dirt. I’m not sure how much time had passed, but before I knew it, we had constructed a complex structure of ten towers, including a fortress to protect against the flying dragons. I was entirely sure that there were no dragons in my kingdom, but Jesse insisted and I only acquiesced after he assured me it was for the princess’ safety.

“Jesse!” a woman’s voice called. “Jesse!” It was loud and deep, so unlike the thin, high voice of my mother.

He stood, dusted off his hands and turned back toward the small crack in the fence that divided our properties. A short, heavyset woman rounded the corner and walked into my family’s yard through the gate.

“Jesse Samuel!” the woman scolded. “What did I tell you about staying in our yard?”

“I’m sorry.” He bowed his head, but sneaked a quick glance my way.

She placed a hand over her heart. “You scared me half to death!” Then, if only just realizing I was there, her gaze shifted to me. She had the same striking blue eyes as Jesse and the same warm smile, but her skin was milky white. Like snow.

She turned her head back to Jesse, her voice softening. “You made a friend?”

“I’m Riley Ann,” I offered. “We built a sandcastle for the princess.”

“Wow.” She moved closer to the sandbox. “You two did a very good job.”

Jesse returned her easy smile, immediately setting me at ease.

“Jesse.” She ran her hand over his coarse hair, and my fingers itched to touch it, too. I imagined it would feel grainy, like the sand we’d just been playing in. “Supper is ready. You two can play after dinner if Riley’s parents say it’s okay.”

Jesse’s mom had already turned back toward their yard, but Jesse ran toward me and embraced me in a quick hug. “Bye.”

“Bye, Jesse,” I squeaked, as I watched him slip back through the fence.

That day Jesse Samuel Collins slipped into my yard, but he’s been slipping his way into my heart ever since.

* * *

“Not to sound like a dick, Ry, but did you lose weight?” Jesse asks me, as we eat our lunches at one of the long cafeteria tables. A slice of cheese pizza for him and a low-fat strawberry yogurt for myself.

My cheeks flame as his eyes continue to drag over me. “Maybe.” I shrug to downplay how hard I worked at losing those last ten pounds this summer. I was always a bit round. Baby weight my mother had called it. And she was right, for the most part. I had thinned as I grew but those last few pounds were a bitch to get off.

I’d gotten up at 7:00 a.m. every morning for the past three months to go for a two-mile run (I couldn’t manage more than that) before the sun became too hot, and I counted calories daily. Sometimes I questioned why I cared so much—a huge part of me screamed: just eat the damn cake— but then I’d look at girls like Rachel, Heather, Tori, and Melissa, the popular girls, and my willpower would quadruple. Because one of my goals this year? Find a damn boyfriend. I didn’t want to have to hold Jesse to our secret pact to take me to our senior prom because I couldn’t find a date. #Pathetic

“Why?” His brows draw together in confusion, as though he couldn’t quite possibly understand why a seventeen-year-old girl would be worried about her weight. Even though I knew he didn’t understand my plight, I loved that he liked me just as I was, that I could be myself with him and not worry about what I looked like or what I ate.

“Why what?” Heather sets her lunch tray down across from where I sit. She plants herself right alongside Jesse. He may not be my boyfriend, but he’s still mine, and the way she tries to stake her claim annoys me. Heather doesn’t seem to get the message. Or maybe she just doesn’t care.

Jesse’s gaze lingers on mine and I implore him with my eyes not to share our conversation with her, Miss-I-Can-Eat-Whatever-I-Want-And-I’m-Still-A-Size-Zero.

Without missing a beat, he says, “Why does Prob and Stats suck ass?”

I smile, thankful he steered the attention away from me, even though I know math is his strongest subject.

“I have Miss Stocker, too.” Heather touches her fingertips to his arm, and even beneath the fabric of his blue polo, I can see his muscles tense. “Maybe we can study together some time.”

“Maybe.” He casually brushes her hand away. “Ry, are we riding home together? I have practice after school—”

“Already?” Heather cuts in. “But basketball doesn’t start for another…four months?”

Jesse gives me a What the fuck? look, but says, “Pre-season. Coach is riding us hard. Practice makes perfect and all that.” Jesse’s eyes cut to me again. “So, Ry, after school?”

Not giving me a second to answer, Heather continues. Again. “The Varsity Cheer Squad will be at all home basketball games this year. We’ve been practicing our new routine… I can’t wait to show you my new moves.”

He cuts his eyes to her, and I see it there, just for a moment, a look of uncontrolled lust as her words sink in, the innuendo clear. Then his voice takes on a harsher tone, a tone I recognize from the many times I’ve witnessed him giving a girl the brush-off. “Maybe some other time.”

Heather, bless her little heart, still doesn’t let her smile slip. “Okay.”

“So, Ry.” He turns back to me as he crumples his plate and gathers my trash. “See you around four?”

* * *

I try to convince myself that I’m not pathetic. I try to convince myself that there are plenty of teenagers who don’t have their own car to drive. Getting a ride with Jesse is a far better option than sitting on a cramped school bus for nearly forty minutes, when the drive to school barely takes ten from my house. I may not be popular, but even I have my standards; taking the school bus is so middle school.

But as I amble into the gym nearly an hour after the last bell, I can’t help but wonder if things are ever going to change for me. I was really convinced that if I lost those last few pounds, a whole new world of opportunity would open up for me. That I’d be more confident. More comfortable in my own skin. More like Heather “Hoe Bag” Plum.

Okay, okay, I know calling her a hoe bag isn’t nice. We women should stick together and all that jazz… But I know for a fact that she blew PB & J (not all at once, obviously) within a week of them winning the state championship last year. And really, was it truly an insult if I simply thought it in my head?

I’m pondering all this as she sidles up to Jesse, her short, pleated cheerleading skirt barely covering her Spanx-clad ass. I snort at my assessment. Heather Plum doesn’t need Spanx; her body is flawless.

“Penny for your thoughts.” Tod Daniels’ deep voice startles me, and I drop the three library books I’d been clutching at my chest in a death grip.

“Shit,” I mumble, as I bend to pick up the books. He bends, too, and our heads nearly collide, but at the last second I amble back, nearly falling on my butt. Real smooth, Riley.

He picks up the book nearest his feet. “Fahrenheit 51.” He taps the cover. “Good book.”

My eyes widen in surprise. “You’ve read it?”

“Yeah. Hancock’s class. Last year.”

I nod because I don’t know what else to say. I had Mr. Toliver, so I can’t even commiserate over the teacher. “That’s good.”

He smirks at me in a way that makes my stomach tingle. “Can you keep a secret, Riley?”

I nod, dumbfounded as to why he’s even talking to me. We had PE together last year for an entire semester, and not once did he acknowledge me. I’m actually surprised he knows my name.

An easy smile stretches across his face, and he leans in close. So close that I think he may kiss me, which is ridiculous, but my heart starts beating loudly in my chest anyway. He angles his head slightly as his lips hover over my ear. “I didn’t read it. But SparkNotes count for something, right?”

A nervous giggle escapes my mouth, but I’m spared from responding when Jesse approaches. He’s drenched in sweat, so teenage boy, so familiar, that a huge, genuine smile lights up my face. “Tod.” Jesse pounds Tod’s fist. “What’s up?” Then to me, “You ready, Ry?”

“Yep.” I grab my bag off the bleachers and turn toward the exit. “Bye,” I call over my shoulder to Tod.

Tod’s voice washes over me. “Hey.” Jesse and I both stop walking as Tod jogs toward us. “You forgot this.” He hands me the book he picked up.

“Thanks,” I mumble, as I add it to my stack.

But before I can turn away, Tod says, “Phillip’s having a party this Saturday. You know, a little back-to-school celebration. There’s going to be a keg and music and…” His voice trails off. “You’re gonna be there, right?”

My mouth gapes open. Holy shit, is Tod Daniels inviting me to a party? “Umm…” I hesitate, stalling for time. I answer “Yes” just as Jesse says “No.” Jesse and I exchange a look, his eyebrows raised in incredulity, my own eyes round and wide and so fucking nervous.

“Come on, Ry.” Jesse loops his arm around my shoulders. “We gotta go.”

“Okay.” I let him lead me, but my eyes cast back over to where Tod still stands, smiling at us. At me. I can’t resist calling over my shoulder, “See you Saturday.”

3

Jesse

Out of the corner of my eye, I watch Tod, there’s only one fucking D, with Riley. I still can’t believe she came to this party. With him. I’d known Riley since we were five and although she’s all grown up—fuck, is she grown up—she’s still the same. She’s still the same girl who’d rather stay in and watch reruns of Everybody Loves Raymond. Still the same girl who claimed she’d never date a jock because she—and I quote—“hates all sports with a passion” is here with none other than high school swim star, Tod Daniels.

And can we just take a moment to acknowledge the fact that this dude probably shaves his legs more frequently than Riley?

I rest my case.

He’s playing the game right, laughing at her jokes, touching her, but not too often so he doesn’t tip his hand. Because you and I both know the end goal: he wants to get fucking laid. Ignoring the pit in my stomach, I make my way over to the keg but don’t grab a beer, as usual. Because my goal tonight? Make sure Riley gets home safely.

Gets home safely. With. Me.

* * *

“Oh, My God! You still have it.” Her voice is loud as she continues, “I can’t believe…” She walks toward my dresser.

My eyes drift to the baseball-size beach rock she gave me nearly ten years ago. “The brain.” She whispers the nickname for the buff-colored, oblong stone with tiny holes. “Did you know—”

I cut her off, knowing exactly what she is going to say, because she’d told me at least a dozen times that summer. “Yes, Ry, I know. The little holes are created by sea creatures. Sea creatures, like burrowing clams.” My grin is somewhat sarcastic as I meet her eyes. “And yes, I find it rather fascinating.”

“Hey.” Her voice squeaks. “Are you mocking me?”

“Who, me?” I joke, but my voice turns serious when she stumbles—loudly—over the Nike duffle bag resting at the foot of my bed. “Quiet.” I close the door behind us. “My mom’s sleeping, and unless you want her to see you high off your ass, I’d keep your voice down.”

“I’m not high.” She stumbles again, her body lurches forward and I think she might fall, but she rights herself at the last minute.

I raise my eyebrows. “How many of those brownies did you have?”

She holds up three fingers, but says, “Two.”

I shake my head. “Fucking Tod,” I grumble as I flip the switch on my lamp. “He knew those brownies were laced with weed.”

She doesn’t respond, but begins to undress, slipping the tight sweater over her head.

My anxiety level ricochets about ten notches. She cannot undress in front of me. I won’t be able to handle it. I need to stop her before, before…that. “What are you doing?” I cast my eyes away, willing myself not to look at her firm, round tits wrapped in perfect pink lace.

She shrugs. “It’s not like you haven’t seen me naked before.”

“We were six!” I practically shout, but she just shrugs.

“Besides, it’s like I’m wearing a bathing suit.”

This is not the same. This is everything I want from you. This is everything I’ve dreamt about.

“Here.” I shove a t-shirt at her with more force than I meant. “Put this on.”

I watch open-mouthed as she slips it over her head and shimmies off her jeans. Fuck, she looks good in my shirt.

She tucks her arms inside the material, and seconds later, the soft pink bra lands on the floor next to her jeans. Fuck me.

I turn away from her, my dick already rock-hard. Glancing down, I check to see if my boner is visible through my joggers, already knowing the answer. Shit.

Her voice drifts over my shoulder, and her words hit me one at a time. Four jolts, heavy hits to my already flailing self-control. Boom. Boom. Boom. Boom.

I swear, nothing could’ve prepared me for her question. “Do you watch porn?”

“Wh-what?” I stutter, nearly dropping my cell phone to the floor. I catch it and connect it to the charger.

She shrugs. “Do you?”

“Do you?” I counter, stalling for time, because I can’t tell her the truth: Yes, a shit ton.

“Occasionally.” She peels back the covers. “I don’t really see the appeal though.”

This conversation is a minefield. Riley and I never talk about sex. At least, not like this. She’s high, I remind myself, but still, I press on. My voice is deeper, more sensual. “Why’s that?”

“It’s all so… I don’t know. Fuck my pussy. Oh, baby. Yeah, that’s so good. You’re so big. It’s all so fake.”

Her words wash over me. I’m still stuck on pussy and fuck. I want to rewind time and hear her say those words again and again.

“Anyway.” She curls into bed. My bed. “Guys like it.” Her voice sounds forlorn.

I walk to my closet, grab my sleeping bag buried on the back shelf, and try to ignore the solid inch of dust lining the black fabric. I unroll it alongside the mattress. Clearing my throat, I finally say, “It’s fantasy. Guys know it’s not like that in real life.”

Her voice is whisper quiet. “Not all guys.”

My mind reels. I’m about to ask her what she means, but then she asks, “Do you have any fantasies?”

Holy shit. I suck in a breath, try to keep my voice casual as I respond, “Yeah, I guess.” All of them involve you.

“Like what?” she questions again, and I swear, I’m this close to cracking, ready to tell her every dirty thought that entertains my mind as I sit in boring class after boring class every damn day.

She rambles on. Riley is chatty on a good day, but tonight she’s a downright motor mouth. “I thought he might have been different.” She sighs and rolls onto her side.

“Who?” I question, my brain volleying back and forth like a ping-pong ball as we make our way through this fucked-up conversation.

“Tod.”

Anger cools the heat of my desire. “Did he try something, Ry?” I sit up and look at her through the light filtering in between the slats of the blinds. “I swear to God if he—”

Her sigh is loud in the quiet room. “He was really wasted, but…he asked me to blow him tonight.” The words are an ice-cold bucket of water dousing my heated skin. That son-of-a-bitch, piece of shit, motherfuck—

She interrupts my internal tirade. “I’m not that naïve. I know a lot of girls do it. What makes me so special? So different? It’s just... I freaked a little when he asked, ya know? I don’t even know him.”

What. The. Fuck. I don’t trust myself to speak, too afraid that I’ll scare her with the words, the anger flowing through my veins. Tod. Is. Fucking. Dead.

“Jesus.” My hands clench into tight fists, as I imagine her beautiful soft lips wrapped around… I choke. “Ry, you don’t have to do anything you’re not ready for. You know that, right?” Because the truth is: she is different. She is special. She is not like any of the other girls. “You are special. So special.”

“Thanks,” she says softly. “And I know I don’t have to…” She’s quick to agree, but then continues, “I wouldn’t… at least, not yet.”

“Ry.” My voice slices through the silence. I can’t hear any more of this. Not right now. “Please tell me you’re not actually considering”—my voice chokes on the words—“being with him.”

She pffts the air with her hand. “He said he always wanted to be with a redhead ever since he saw this one clip on…” Her voice turns pensive. “I don’t even think he’ll remember, but still. Fucking douchebag.” Her eyes find mine. “Thanks for having my back.”

I hold her gaze. “I will always have your back, Ry. You’re my heart.”

Her lips tip into a smile, repeating her line. “Forever?”

“Forever and for always,” I agree.

She quiets then, and if I didn’t know any different, I’d think she was asleep, but I do know different. I know everything about her, and she still hasn’t snuggled onto her right side and tucked the covers under her chin—the way she always does when she sleeps.

Despite my gut telling me not to, I ask the question anyway. “Do you like Tod? Do you want to, you know?”

Her answer is immediate, a rush of words that spill forth from her mouth without any thought, in typical Riley fashion. “Yes. I mean, no. God, I don’t know.” She buries her face in the pillow. “I do have hormones, Jesse. I am a teenager. I want to have at least kissed a guy before heading off to college.”

“You’ve never kissed someone?” My nose scrunches as I repeat her words. As her best friend, my duties include listening to her talk about her favorite TV shows, her crushes, her feelings, but I draw the line at sex. Listening to her talk about hooking up with other guys will kill me. “You never said—”

She cuts me off. “Of course, I didn’t say anything. I didn’t want you to know how pathetic I am.”

“You’re not pathetic,” I scold, because I hate when she puts herself down.

“Says the guy who hooks up with anything that walks.”

“That’s not true,” I interject and leave out the most crucial part: I hook up with other girls in an attempt to get over you.

Riley gives me a look that says, “Please.” She’s quiet for a minute then, pulls her bottom lip between her teeth the way she always does when she’s thinking. “What if…?” Her voice fades out but then gains strength again. “What if…we kissed?”

“What?” I whisper hiss. “Are you still high? Are you sure you only had two of those brownies?

“Shut up.” She throws a pillow at me and clips the right side of my jaw. “Forget I asked.”

I stuff the pillow behind my head. My voice is cautious and a whole hell of a lot curious when I ask, “Why do you want to kiss me?”

She shrugs. Not the best response. But then she adds, “I’m comfortable with you.”

I nod my head. “Obviously.”

“I was thinking it wouldn’t be awkward with you. And then maybe when I get my first real kiss, I won’t be so damn nervous.” Her palms twist in the navy sheet, and I follow the movement. Are we really having this conversation?

My racing thoughts are a mix of elation—she wants to kiss me—and sadness because it’s not for real, dude. She wants to use you as a guinea pig. “Ry, I don’t know. Won’t that be a little weird?”

She narrows her eyes at me. “I’m gonna try to not be offended right now.”

I keep my face an expressionless mask to disguise the fact that my brain is re-enacting one of my favorite fantasies despite my adamant order to not even think it for one second: Riley’s full, soft lips on my mouth, on my skin, on my cock, wearing nothing more than my basketball jersey.

“And no,” her voice draws me back to the present moment. “I don’t think it would be weird. Just two friends sharing a friendly, non-romantic, non-sexual kiss. I mean, come on, Jesse, you’re like a brother to me.”

Brother. I absolutely despise when she says shit like that. It makes me feel like my attraction to her is gross and wrong and like I’m a pervert for even thinking of her as anything more than just a friend.

When I still haven’t said anything, she huffs. “But clearly I can see the idea repulses you. I guess I’m not up to your standards. Just forget the whole idea.”

She flips on her side and I catch a glimpse of her matching pink panties from where my t-shirt has ridden up, before she tucks the blanket back around her.

“Ry.” I clear my throat and say louder, “Riley.”

“What?” Her voice is short and clipped, and she makes no effort to turn to face me.

“Ask me tomorrow.” I stand up and circle around to the opposite side of the bed so I can look into her eyes. My eyes burn with so much heat it’s a wonder she doesn’t ignite. “Ask me tomorrow when you’re sober.” Her eyes hold mine and widen as my own pierce hers with the fire and intensity that I usually keep hidden away. “If you still want this in the morning, I’m game.”

She blinks, breaking the connection and shakes her head. “Good night, Jesse.”

“Night, Ry.”

4

Jesse

The knock at the door startles me awake, and I jerk upright. My back aches and my neck is stiff. I blink, looking around the room, my eyes landing on the most magnificent sight: Riley, asleep in my bed.

The covers are tossed onto the floor. Her face is buried in one pillow and her body hugs another. Her long, lean legs are exposed, and my fingers itch to run over them, to feel their smoothness.

“Honey, are you—Oh.” My mom’s voice cuts off abruptly, her hand still on the knob. She lingers, halfway inside my bedroom, her face expressionless, almost as if she can’t decide whether to be pissed that there’s a girl asleep in my bed or mortified for having barged in. But this is Riley, after all, and my mom’s body relaxes once she recognizes the auburn hair.

“Shh.” I walk toward my mom, and her eyes do one final sweep of the room before I close the door behind me. We walk single file down the long hall toward the kitchen, where Mom pours herself a mug of coffee.

I plop myself onto the stool, relieved that she isn’t making conversation, but then she asks, “Riley stayed over last night?”

I keep my voice light. “Yeah.”

Her light blue eyes, a carbon copy of my own, find and hold me in their intense gaze. After a long moment, she voices her concern. “Is this something I should be worried about?”

I roll my shoulders, the movement following all the way down my back, and lean onto the island countertop. “Mom.” I blow out a breath. “She’s stayed over a million—”

“I know.” She cuts me off. “But things are different now. You’re both young adults with…” She hesitates and finally says, “Feelings.”

Fuck. My. Life. I can not, absolutely will not survive a sex talk with my mom at eight o’clock in the morning. “Mom.” I close my eyes, wishing I could disappear. “It’s not like that. Did you not see the sleeping bag?”

At the words sleeping bag, her body relaxes, and a genuine smile tips the corners of her lips. “Sleeping bag, huh?”

I grunt.

“I worry about you two… You know how her father can be.”

I grunt again, because I do know what an ass Mr. Jones can be. The man has a chip on his shoulder the size of Texas. I struck out with him a long time ago, and there’s absolutely no point in trying to get back in his good graces.

Strike number one: I’m black, or at least half black, and while Riley’s family would never be so crass as to admit it, this is a small town and I know exactly what they think. Don’t get me wrong; I’m not discriminated against, per se, but the idea of a black man dating a white girl? Never going to fly. Change is slow in the town of Cardinal’s Cay, and stereotypes are tough—if not impossible—to break.

Strike number two: In sixth grade during lunch I got into a fight with Tommy Williams and punched him in the face. Riley was understandably upset; she ran away, crying, and went to tell Mrs. Ruths, our language arts teacher. An hour later our parents were called in, and all three of us sat together in the principal’s office while the adults talked about behavior and consequences.

I got the worst of it, was deemed the “trouble maker” because I was the one who instigated the fight. Riley’s dad gave me the evil eye the entire time. What he doesn’t know is that Tommy Williams had dubbed Riley with the nasty nickname “Rhino Riley” after she was stung several times by yellow jackets outside during our gym class. At the time no one knew that she had a severe bee allergy. She was rushed to the hospital and the doctors administered two shots of epinephrine before releasing her the next day.

The swelling took more than a week to go away, hence the nickname. I hated Tommy Williams for making fun of her. She could have died, and to this day she still has to carry an EpiPen with her at all times. And when he wouldn’t stop running his big fucking mouth, I shut it for him.

I was suspended for three days after that, but it was worth it. What wasn’t worth it was the fact that Riley wasn’t allowed to see me for almost an entire month outside of school because I wasn’t a “good influence.”

Strike number three: There might have been this one other time when I was busted for driving without a valid license (I had my learner’s permit, same thing, right?) and Riley’s dad, or should I say, Officer Jones, pulled me over. You’d think the fact that he’d known me his whole life, that I was his daughter’s best friend, that I slept at his house for almost an entire summer the year before third grade, he’d give me a warning. But no, not Officer Hard Nose. He gave me a full citation in which I had to pay a two hundred dollar fine and had my driving privileges revoked for ninety days.

To him, I’d always be the troubled, biracial kid who would never be good enough for his little girl.

My mom’s voice pulls me back to the present. “And you know Riley is welcome in this house anytime. You don’t have to sneak her in—”

“I didn’t sneak her in,” I say, even though I absolutely did. “We got in late, and I didn’t want to wake you. I knew you had an early shift.”

“My son, so thoughtful.” She clicks her tongue. “And where were the two of you out so late?”

“A movie.” The lie is quick. My mom’s chill but not that chill. She’d flip her shit if she knew her precious son was at an underage party. She’d really lose her mind if she discovered Riley was high. I continue on, even though she didn’t ask for more information. “I picked her up after work last night.”

“Isn’t she seeing someone?” My mom asks, voice innocent.

“No,” I say with so much heat that my mom’s eyes widen. “Sorry.” I ease the tension in my voice because I don’t want to get into it right now. Because if I get started I won’t stop until my fist connects with Tod’s face. Over and over again.

“What is his name again?” Her finger taps her chin. “Tim? Tom? Tod?”

My stomach sours upon hearing the name spoken aloud. Tod fucking Daniels. My fingers curl into themselves in a tight fist. Just wait until I see that asshole. He’ll pay for pressuring her into something she isn’t ready for.

“Jesse?” My mom’s voice pulls me from my thoughts.

“Huh?” I shrug, then remember what she asked. “Yeah, that’s him.”

“Just be careful. Things could get messy between the two of you as you both start dating.”

I give my mom a dumbfounded look. “Everyone knows we’ve been best friends forever.”

“Well…” She drains the last of her coffee and places the mug in the sink. “Things change.”

That’s exactly what I’m afraid of.

* * *

After my mom leaves for her shift at the hospital, I head back to my room. Riley is still sleeping. I swear she sleeps like the dead. When we were younger, I used to torture her, see how many times I could prank her before she’d wake up. But now I’m grateful she’s a deep sleeper, because it gives me a few unguarded moments to admire her.

Tiptoeing around the bed, I grab a clean pair of boxers and sweats and head to the bathroom for a shower. I let the water run a few minutes longer than normal and try to convince myself that it’s not dirty or pathetic to beat off in the shower while Riley is asleep in the next room.

By the time I make it back into the bedroom, she’s awake. She sits with her back against the headboard as her hands scrub over her face. “Hey.” Her voice is hoarse.

“Hey.” I toss my towel in the hamper. “How do you feel?”

“Like ass.”

I chuckle. “Learn your lesson, Ryan?”

Her eyes narrow in a scowl. She detests when I call her Ryan. It’s my own personal nickname for her. It started when we were ten, and Jimmy McCready said it wasn’t cool to have a girl best friend. Being the bratty boy that I was, I immediately went back to Riley and told her that she was uncool. I quoted Jimmy verbatim when I told her “girls have cooties” and we couldn’t play together anymore.

I was able to stay away from her for all of five minutes before I broke down and sauntered over to her yard with my tail between my legs.

“What are you doing here?” she asked, in her snootiest voice. “Girls have cooties, remember?”

I nodded in agreement. “But I was thinking, maybe if you had a boy name, then we could still play together?”

“That’s dumb, Jesse.”

“No, it isn’t,” I argued, and kicked a stone near the base of the swing set where she sat.

“My name is Riley. Riley. Ann.” She enunciated each word and then stuck her tongue out at me.

“I know your name is Riley Ann,” I said in anger, but then the most brilliant idea hit me. “Ryan!” I shouted. “I can call you Ryan!”

“What?” She pumped her legs with more force, sending her higher into the air. “Why would you call me that?”

“It’s Riley and Ann. Ryan,” I said again, voice rising with genuine excitement. “No one will know you’re a girl.”

“You’re stupid.” She jumped from her swing and landed in the grass.

“Am not.”

“Are, too.” She stood up and dusted the grass from her jeans.

“Ryan,” I teased.

“Jessica,” she shot back, and my smile faded almost immediately.

“What?” She batted her eyelashes. “If I’m Ryan, then you’re Jessica. Jesse, Jessica, it makes sense.”

“No.” I chased after her as she ran away, the entire time taunting me. “Jessica! Jessica! Jessica!”

Every now and then I like to call her Ryan just to piss her off, because she is so damn sexy when she’s angry with me. I smile because today is no different. Plus, I know she never stays angry for long.

She returns my smile. “I should go. My parents think I stayed at Emma’s.” She stands and reaches for her skinny jeans that lie on the floor.

My eyes linger on her legs as she shimmies into her pants, my t-shirt riding up as she pulls the pants higher. Her hands palm the shirt before meeting my eyes. “Can I give this back to you later?”

“Yeah, sure.” I spin away from her and begin fumbling with random shit on my dresser.

“So, about last night…”

I turn around at the sound of her voice, only to realize she’s directly behind me. Inches from my face.

My gaze flits to her lips, and I wonder what it would be like to taste her just once. I give myself only a second to indulge the fantasy before I force a fake smile. I roll my shoulders down my back as I ease away from her. “Forget it.” I shake my head. “I know that was the pot talking.”

Her expression softens, turns nervous as she catches her bottom lip with her teeth. Stop it, Ry. Don’t make me look at your lips. Please have mercy on me.

After a moment she says, “Jesse.”

I clear my throat, then blink my eyes. “Yeah?”

She shakes her head once and takes a step closer. I counter with a step back, but my thighs hit the dresser. I’ve nowhere to go. I’m literally and figuratively at the end of my rope. She holds her eyes to mine, licks her lips once, and then says, “What if I was serious?”

Despite myself, my eyes widen and my dick twitches to life. When I speak, my voice comes out much deeper than expected. “About?”

“The kiss.” She reaches for my hand. “You said to ask you again in the morning. This is me asking. Last time.”

My mind races. The smell of her, the smooth drag of her thumb as she brushes my inner palm, the heat from her body. I turn her hand in my own, interlace our fingers and squeeze. Kissing her, touching her, knowing it means nothing to her will break me. But I won’t say no. I can’t say no. “You sure about this, Ry?”

She nods. “I’m comfortable with you. I trust you.” She hooks her pinkie finger with my own. “You’re my forever heart.”

A smile tips the corner of my lips as I stare at our entwined pinkies.

Don’t do this, man. Don’t do it. Say. No. “Okay.”

She pinches my hip with her other hand. “Okay?”

“Yeah.” I smile as I take in her hopeful expression. “I’ll teach you how to kiss…and whatever else you want.”

“Thanks, Jesse.” She plants a chaste kiss on my cheek. “You’re the bestest friend in the entire world.”

Yep. That’s me. The absolute fucking best.

5

Riley

The following Tuesday I get a text from Jesse during seventh period. As discreetly as possible, I slide the phone into my lap and read the message.

Jesse: Meet at the lake at 1:00.

I sneak a quick glance at Mrs. Grover. She’s still at the whiteboard, dry erase marker in hand. And yes, she still’s rambling on about the Pythagorean Theorem. My fingers fly over the keys.

Riley: r u crazy?! I can’t skip.

Jesse: There’s a sub 9th period.

Then a second message comes not even a minute later.

Jesse: We could practice ;)

My heart does this weird flutter thing, but I convince myself that I’m not excited to kiss Jesse. It’s probably just nerves—I’ve never kissed anyone before. Well, unless you count Carson Harthy. Freshmen year we were at Julie Pembrook’s birthday party and we were both “chosen” to go into the closet together. He was all braces and pimples, and I was all nerves and giggles. He barely pressed his lips to mine—seriously, my dad kissed me with more passion than him—and it was the most awkward ten seconds of my life up to that point.

Kissing Jesse was exactly what I needed. There would be no awkwardness between us because we didn’t think of each other in that way. Hell, I had to practically beg him to kiss me. And after the fear of my first kiss passed, I’d be much more eager at the idea of sucking face with someone who was interested in me.

I type a quick, discreet response.

Riley: I’ll see what I can do… No promises.

* * *

My footsteps are hurried as I walk down the A-hall toward the front entrance of the building. I’d given my escape plan a lot of thought and finally decided the main exit was my best bet. Students with scheduled early dismissals were required to sign out at the main office before leaving, so there were always people entering and exiting through the main doors. My plan was to slip out with the others, hopefully unnoticed.

And guess what? My plan is successful. In fact, I can’t believe how easy it is. No one bats an eye as I hurry out with book bag in hand. But when I turn the corner, the school fading fast in the distance, I quicken my pace, running the last half-mile to my house.

Jesse’s already on the steps leading to my front porch with a lopsided grin on his face. “Never thought I’d see the day.” He shakes his head. “Riley Ann Jones. Skipping!”

“Shh.” I push him into the house. “You’re gonna get us caught.”

“Relax. No one’s home.” He plops onto the armchair in the living room. “Go change.”

“We’re really doing this?” I’m not sure if I’m referring to skipping school or the kissing part.

Unaware of my racing thoughts, he answers easily. “It’d seem so.”

“What about you?” I walk toward the stairs. “You gonna change?”

“Already did.” He flashes a cocky grin. “Ditched after lunch.”

My mouth drops open, eyes wide in shock “You’re gonna be in so much trouble, Jesse Samuel.”

He shrugs, unworried. “Only if I get caught.”

I shake my head, halfway up the stairs, when his voice stops me.

“Ry?”

I turn slightly to face him. “Yeah?”

“Wear a bikini.”

The unspoken question is written in my eyes as they find his, but he simply smiles. “The red one.”

I take the stairs two at a time and strip out of my clothes. I don’t allow myself time to think or wonder as I tug on my bikini. The very one Jesse requested.

6

Jesse

I’m playing with fire, pushing this thing with Riley too far. But now that I had her, however small, however fleeting, I wasn’t missing one second.

I do nothing to hide my smile as she tugs her shirt off, exposing the flimsy red strings and triangle cups. I’d seen her wear this bikini once. One torturous time. It was right before I left for North Carolina. I spent the summers with my dad, so I usually didn’t have the privilege of seeing Riley in a bathing suit. But the day before I left, she and Emma were at the community pool, reclining on chaise lounges, talking and laughing. She never took off her damn cover-up—believe me, I waited all day. I’m guessing because she was too self-conscious. But here at the lake it’s just us. Me and her. And no extra layers are needed to shield self-doubt and insecurities, because there aren’t any between us. There never were.

“You’re staring.” Her voice is quiet as she drags a sandaled foot in the dirt.

“Can’t help it.”

Her eyes meet mine, searching, and I downplay the intensity that has blossomed around us. “You want to know what guys like?” I shrug but continue to hold her stare. “They like bikinis.”

She’s the first to look away. “Are we going in?”

I walk farther down the dock, closer to the lake. “Ladies first.”

She snorts and walks nearer to me as we approach the edge. She bends at the waist, extending her hand as though to feel the temperature of the water, but at the last second she reaches up, grabs my arm and pulls me forward. I gasp as the shock of cold water pierces my skin.

I break the surface, sucking in a huge breath. She finds my eyes, her own warm with laughter. “You have ten seconds,” I say, voice calm but menacing.

The laughter dies on her lips, and she narrows her eyes. “Don’t be a baby.”

“Ten.” My voice booms as I paddle toward the dock. “Nine. Eight. Seven.” My body cuts through the water until I’ve reached the ladder. My hand circles the top rung. She’s standing stock-still, watching me as she contemplates her next move. “Six,” I call, as I lift myself from the lake.

“Holy shit! You’re serious.” She begins to backtrack down the narrow, wooden deck. As I get closer, she spins around and breaks into a run, but I’m too fast for her. Much too fast.

My arms circle her from behind, holding her tight against me as I lift her up.

“Stop!” She squeals. “You’re all cold and wet.” She thrashes in my arms as I stalk back toward the edge. “Jesse, stop. Stop.” She’s breathless, and I can’t help but wonder if that’s how she’d sound during sex. Strong, yet desperate. “Please. I’m sorry.”

With those last words her voice softens, and if I didn’t know her quite as well as I do, I might have fallen for the cute and innocent act. My body shakes as a low chuckle rumbles through me. “Nice try.”

“Jesse Samuel Collins.” Her voice rises. “Put me down this—”

Splash. Her body hits the water and she shrieks right before her head goes under.

I jump in a moment later, set to grab her and toss her again, but she’s already cutting through the water. Riley’s a great swimmer. But then again, so am I.

I reach her a minute later, and she splashes me in the face. “Asshole!”

“Hey.” I splash her back. “Who pushed who first?”

“I didn’t throw you. Jesus. I almost lost my top.”

My eyes immediately drift to her tits, where the fabric remains fully intact, not an inch of extra skin exposed. “Then I’m only sorry I didn’t throw you harder.”

Her eyes flash once, but then she plunges beneath the surface and is off again. We swim for another hour. Splashing. Racing. Doing the same tricks we performed as kids.

When I was younger—before I started spending summers working with my dad in his mechanic shop—Riley and I would spend our entire break together. I can’t even begin to count how many times we came down to this very lake on lazy summer afternoons. I remember one summer she made me play Ariel and Sebastian with her every single day—that was during her Little Mermaid phase.

Today, though, things are different. Like when she climbs out of the water, my eyes remain glued to her ass. Yep, that’s definitely new. And when she leans back and raises her face to the sun, my lips twitch with the urge to suck the water droplets from her chest.

“God, today was fun.” She angles her face toward me. “Why don’t we do this more often?”

I shrug. School. Work. Tod. “Life gets in the way, I guess.”

Her smile slips a bit, but she quickly rights it. “Let’s make a deal.” I wave my hands for her to continue speaking. “Once a month, no matter what, we come here and go in.”

A bark of laughter escapes my lips.

“Don’t laugh at me!” She nudges me with her elbow.

“I’m not,” I lie, but she raises her eyebrows in disbelief. “It’s September, Ry. It’s warm now, Indian Summer, but it’s gonna get cold real quick.”

“So?”

“No way.” I shake my head. “No way you’re gonna do it.”

She squares her shoulders to face me, fully accepting the challenge. Riley is by far the most competitive person I know. “Wanna bet?”

“That depends. What are the stakes?”

She taps her finger to her jaw. “Okay, we both have to go in, together, once a month until graduation. The first one to back out loses.”

“Okay.” I scratch the back of my neck. “And what does the winner get?”

She shrugs. “Whatever he or she wants. Loser agrees to one favor of winner’s choosing.” She extends her hand. “Deal?”

I take her hand in mine and shake. “Hope you’re ready to lose, Ryan.” I can’t help tagging on the silly nickname, because I know it will rile her up even more.

She pulls her hand back and narrows her eyes. “In your dreams, Jessica.”

She gathers her hair in one hand and pulls it into a high ponytail atop her head. “Wanna get ice cream before heading home?” She speaks around the hair tie between her teeth.

“Huh?” I mumble, eyes still on her tits, her hardened nipples straining against the fabric.

Okay, so maybe I was indulging a fantasy or two, but when she said “one favor of the winner’s choosing” my brain hit the ground running. I can’t quite help it if the favor of my choosing involves her spread naked in my bed.

“Ice cream?” she repeats, and my eyes snap to hers.

Hell no, I don’t want to get ice cream.

When we were younger, Riley and I played for a co-ed soccer team, the Stardust Strikers. She had no interest in sports (still doesn’t) but she joined the league because I signed up, and back then we did everything together.

She was terrible—and no, I’m not being sexist—she was that bad. During game time she’d watch the “pretty” butterflies or wave to me when I tried to pass her the ball. To be honest, I’m not sure she even knew that the object of game was to get the ball inside the net.

After our Saturday games, Coach Bempke took the team to Dip Delight, and we’d each get to order a soft-serve cone. On days we won (hardly ever) we were allowed to order rainbow sprinkles.

As we got older, Riley stopped playing sports—thank God—but she still made an effort to come to my basketball games, the home ones anyway. And Dip Delight was a tradition (read: punishment) we kept to this very day.

Somewhere along the way our innocent ice cream dates turned X-rated. Well, at least for me. I remember when I was thirteen, her blue cotton candy ice cream had melted and dribbled onto her fingers. With bated breath, I watched as she sucked each digit clean. I was horrified when my dick hardened, absolutely convinced that she knew every naughty thought that had flickered through my mind. But she simply smiled that huge Riley smile and chattered on.

From that day, I both looked forward to and dreaded our ice cream dates. I covertly (or at least as covertly as possible) watched as her tongue licked round and round the cone, darting side to side, catching each drop of sweet cream.

And in those moments, my very first Riley fantasy was born: her on her knees, looking up at me, wide-eyed, slowly licking my cock as she would the cone.

Over the years, that fantasy had progressed, had become much more detailed, much more explicit. Now, she was naked underneath my basketball jersey, legs spread wide with one hand buried between her legs. Those beautiful full lips were wrapped tightly around my cock as I whispered all the filthy things I wanted to do to her.

“Earth to Jesse!” She waves both hands in front of my face.

I clear my throat once, and say, “Nah. No ice cream today.”

Her bottom lip pouts, but she says. “All right. Whatever you want.”

If only it were that easy.

7

Riley

Despite Jesse’s text message suggesting otherwise, he didn’t kiss me that day. In fact, it was as if he’d forgotten all about his agreement to help me overcome this hurdle. The more the days dragged on, the less inclined I was to bring it up, because a million doubts flooded my mind.

He was trying to be nice. He forgot. He’s hoping you forgot.

So here we are, nearly four months later and still no kiss, from Jesse or anyone else, for that matter. My anxiety increases daily because Tod—yes, the same Tod from the party—asked me to the movies tomorrow night. I know he’s going to kiss me, or at least try to, and I can’t go in there cold. I’m too awkward. Too inexperienced. I need Jesse’s help because I’m crazy nervous, no matter how many Buzzfeed articles I’ve read or how many clips I’ve watched. What I’m most worried about are my hands. What do I do with my fucking hands?

Today is my only chance, and I pray that I’ll have the courage to ask him. Again. Jesse’s picking me up in a half hour for our monthly “lake dive.” It’s the third time we’re taking the plunge, and its by far the coldest it’s been—I’m not looking forward to it.

It’s a typical Saturday morning at my house. Dad is working an extra shift at the station. Did you know, statistically, there are more break-ins around Christmas than any other time of the year? Mom took Mikayla to ballet practice so I have the whole house to myself.

I slept in a little later than I probably should have and have to rush to get ready. I put my bathing suit on first—a one piece this time because I need all the coverage I can get—and pull on Jesse’s old navy blue Adams Vikings Basketball hoodie that he let me borrow months ago and I never returned. Jeans and sneakers are last. I pull my damp hair into a clip without bothering to style it since I’ll be in a freezing ass lake very soon.

Jesse texts me a little after eleven to let me know he’s done with practice and is on his way over. By the time I make it downstairs, he’s already in the driveway. The drive to the lake is short, and once parked, we stare at each other across the console. It’s as though neither one of us wants to leave the warmth of the car. I check the weather app on my phone: twenty-nine degrees. He leans over to see the temperature and shakes his head. We have a decision to make, and we silently communicate our options with our eyes.

Option A: Go in and risk hypothermia.

Option B: We both get a pass this month, but the competition is still on.

Option C: One of us goes in and the other loses.

We both shake our heads. Not Option C, because neither of us wants to back down.

“What do you say, Ry?” Jesse reaches for his door handle. “We doing this?”

I nod, following his lead down to the dock. Thankfully, there’s no snow blocking our path, but once we get near the edge, we can see certain glassy patches of water that have crusted over with a thin sheet of ice.

No freaking way I’m going in.

“Uh-uh. No way.” I shake my head as I back away from the edge. “Not happening.”

“You forfeiting?” He cocks his head to one side. “That means I win.”

I roll my eyes. “Only if you go in.”

He raises his eyebrows. “You don’t think I’ll do it?”

Yes. Maybe. “No.”

He shrugs off his coat and hands it to me. “Jesse.” My voice booms in the quiet, my breath a puff of white smoke. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

He looks at me over his shoulder. “A bet is a bet—”

“Fine, fine.” I cut him off. “You win. You win.” I spread my hand wide. “Just please don’t go in there. You’ll get hypothermia.”

He gives me a look that says, “You’re being dramatic,” before stripping off his sweatshirt and jeans.

“Jesse!” I shriek, right as he dives into the water.

In a panic, I rush to the edge of the dock, gathering his discarded clothes along the way. I clutch the garments to my chest, and time seems to stand still. I count the seconds.

One…

Two…

Three—

Three long, dreadful seconds pass before his head pops up from beneath the water. “Fuck!” he curses, paddling full force. “Fuck! It’s cold.”

I drop the clothes and extend my hands to help pull him up. Once he’s out of the water, I band my arms around him, pulling him flush against me. I read somewhere that body heat, physical proximity, is the fastest way to raise core body temperature. He buries his head in the crook of my neck, and his cool lips press against my skin, causing me to shiver.

“You’re such an idiot.” I try to make my voice sound angry, but my concern and worry bleed through. I stretch my coat around him, pulling him closer and walk us toward the car. “Get in.” I point toward the passenger side. “I’ll drive.”

He raises an eyebrow at my authoritative tone.

I walk to the driver’s side and open the door. “Right now, the only thing you need to worry about is getting warm.”

He gets in and slams the door.

* * *

An hour later we’re in Jesse’s bedroom. He took an extremely long, extremely hot shower while I made him a mug of hot cocoa with extra fluff—just the way he likes it.

“Thanks,” he says, taking another big sip of the cocoa. “I’m finally starting to warm up.” He sets the mug down and his hand falls to his crotch. My eyes trace the movement, but I turn away, embarrassed when I realize what he’s doing: adjusting his junk.

He catches me looking anyway. “Just checking.” He laughs. “For a minute I thought my balls were gone for good.”

“What?” I question, confused.

“Cold water? Makes your dick and—”

I feel the blush on my face. God, sometimes I’m so naïve. “Yeah, I get it.”

Grabbing the blanket off the foot of the bed, I plop down next to him near the headboard and shimmy my butt against his hip so he moves over. He scoots to the side, and I drape the blanket over our legs.

“That was stupid. Promise you won’t ever do something like that again.” I pinch his side.

He pinches me back. “Won’t have to, since…I won.” He gently taps the side of his face with his finger. “Now, as for my favors—”

“Favor,” I clarify before he gets any ideas. “You get one.”

He nods his head. “Then I better make it good.”

I groan inwardly. He’s probably going to make me do something embarrassing, although after tomorrow’s date with Tod it won’t even matter, because I’ll be the laughingstock of the entire school.

“Maybe I’ll have you write my lit paper.”

I shake my head. “No thanks.”

“It’s my favor. I get to choose.”

“Yeah, but that paper is due next Monday.” I tick my fingers. “And it has to be ten pages long. And I’m pretty sure you haven’t even started it yet.”

He shrugs. “Okay, then, something else...” He closes his eyes in concentration.

“Jesse,” I whisper after a long minute.

“Shh. I’m thinking.”

“Jesse,” I whisper again. Just do it, Riley. Ask him. It’s now or never.

“Mm?” he whispers back, with eyes closed and hands resting atop his belly.

I swallow my nerves, take a deep breath and blurt the words, “Will you kiss me?”

His eyes pop open and he springs forward with impressive speed. “What?” He turns to face me. “What did you say?”

I square myself to face him and repeat the words, even though my face burns with embarrassment. “Will you kiss me?”

When he doesn’t immediately respond, I begin babbling. “You said you’d help me, show me… I still have never…”

He cups my chin with his fingertips, and I stop rambling. “You and Tod still haven’t… I just thought…” I can’t pinpoint the emotion I hear in his voice; maybe it’s a touch of hope, a little bit of wonder, a whole lot of incredulity.

I bite my bottom lip and shake my head.

“Riley.” He drags his fingers down my jaw. “Are you sure about this? I mean, do you want your first kiss to be with me?”

“Yes,” I agree, but then say, “No.”

He pulls back, eyes narrowed and intense. “What does that even mean?”

I squeeze my eyes shut, hating the pleading tone that infiltrates my voice. “I need to do this now, here with you, to know if I’m doing it right. Please.”

He leans into me. “And you’re sure this is what you want?”

“Yes.” The word whispers across his skin.

His eyes draw to my mouth, to where my lips have parted ever so slightly in invitation. One hand loops around my neck to draw me closer. My body trembles as he closes the distance between us, his lips grazing mine. Soft and gentle, like tiny butterfly wings fluttering against my skin. The touch is feather light, barely there, yet every ounce of my being pulses where our lips meet.

My eyes fall closed as he angles his head and increases the pressure.

Tingles begin deep within my belly, tiny bursts of excitement and need and want. When he traces my lips with his tongue, my hands reach for his shirt to pull him closer. Funny how my body responds so naturally; I was so worried about my damn hands, but in this moment I’m not thinking about them at all. All I’m thinking is more.

He nips my bottom lip and growls when I open for him—a deep, needy sound I’ve never heard him make before. And then I’m being pushed back against the pillows and Jesse is nestled between my legs. He tears his lips away, and I whine in protest until his lips find my neck. He’s playful at first, a nibble, a gentle bite, but then he sucks hard and my nails dig into his biceps.

“Riley,” he whispers against my neck. And it feels incredible, so unlike anything I’ve ever experienced, and a large part of me wonders what the fuck I was ever afraid of.

He drags his nose across my jaw, his lips inches from mine, poised for another kiss, when my phone beeps, a loud, shrill sound signaling a new message. We both jump apart. My breath is sped up and my skin is hot to the touch. I brush my fingertips over my swollen lips. “Is it always like that?” I croak, voice hoarse.

He leans back, scrubs a hand through his hair, and I miss the warmth, the shelter of his strong arms holding me in place. “Sometimes.”

The butterflies in my belly swarm. If this is what kissing Jesse is like, I could only imagine what it’ll be like to kiss Tod, because holy shit that kiss was intense.

My phone beeps again alerting me of the unopened message, and I roll off the bed and walk over to where my purse rests near the door. Finding my phone, I silence it without bothering to read the text. When I turn around, Jesse is seated at the foot of the bed, feet planted on the floor with his forearms resting on his thighs and head hanging heavy.

I sit next to him and lean my head on his shoulder. “You okay?”

He simply nods.

“Thanks for…” I clear my throat. “Thanks for helping me. I’m sorry you had to give your lame-ass friend her first kiss.”

He nods again. Why isn’t he talking? Dread hits me full force as the possibility that it was terrible for him washes over me. Maybe he doesn’t know how to tell me I suck. Maybe he feels bad for me because I’m pathetic and he wants to spare my feelings. I thought it was good, but then again, what do I know? Was I that bad?

I twist my palms. “W-was it okay?” I take a deep breath. “Was I okay?”

His head whips to face me, his clear blue eyes focused and intense. “It was perfect.” His gaze slips to my lips before returning to my eyes. “You are perfect.”

Flustered, I dip my head and mumble, “Thanks.” For a second the air remains charged between us, not easy and platonic, but sexual and needy. I’m not sure if it’s from our kiss or the awkward interruption, but I struggle to keep my eyes straight ahead and not on the obvious bulge in his crotch.

Shame washes over me as my thoughts spiral—how would he have felt, so hard and strong and big, touching me there? I blink my eyes, startled by my inappropriateness. This is Jesse. My best friend.

Shaking my head to dismiss my wayward thoughts, and wanting nothing more than to diffuse the weird vibe that is flowing between us, I ask, “So, now I guess I owe you two favors.”

His brow furrows, so I explain. “One for the bet, and one for the…” My voice trails off.

He shakes his head. “Consider your debt paid.”

Now it’s my turn to be confused. “Really?”

He nods his agreement. “Really.”

“Thanks,” I whisper, as I stretch my pinkie to the side and wait for him to hook his finger with mine. He pauses, his brows pinched together in thought, but then he interlocks our fingers.

With that simple gesture we’re back to normal. Our kiss, just another dot, another blip in the history of us that will be packed and filed away with all the other memories that bind our lives together.

I couldn’t have known that years later, I’d look back on this day and wonder and ask myself time and time again: How could I have been so blind?

8

Jesse

I can’t stop thinking about our kiss. I couldn’t stop even if I wanted to, but make no mistake, I definitely don’t want to. My brain is stuck on those sixty seconds, the lone minute where her lips pressed against mine, just like I’d dreamt about, like I’d imagined hundreds of dozens of times. I can’t help but wonder what would’ve happened, how far we’d have gone, if her damn phone hadn’t beeped? Because she seemed into it; it felt like she wanted me to kiss her. And touch her. And taste her.

I couldn’t bring myself to admit that maybe she was thinking of Tod, picturing his face, his arms, his dick, instead of mine. Because that would destroy me. I lied when I told her that other kisses could feel that way, because nothing even came close to having her mouth on mine.

I was hard as granite from our first touch—she had to have felt it, seen it—but at that point I didn’t care. Everything focused on her and her alone. The way she whined, as though she was as desperate for me as I was her when I pulled my mouth away. Fuck, she had to be feeling it, too.

“Dude!” Bryan shouts, running over to where I stand mid-court. “What the hell? That’s the fifth pass you missed this quarter.”

“Sorry.” I jog back down the court as the ball is tossed back into play.

“Districts start this Saturday. What gives? You’ve been playing like shit all afternoon.”

“I said sorry, asshole.”

“Does this have something to do with Heather?” He dribbles the ball back, rolling eights just to show off. “I heard what happened at Phillip’s party last weekend.”

Fuck, I silently curse and roll my eyes. Bryan gossips more than most chicks. I don’t have time for this shit right now.

He continues. “It’s okay, man. Happens to the best of us.”

Huffing a breath, I bring my hands up calling a time-out, and I storm off the court. As expected, Bryan follows. I turn to him with narrowed eyes. “Look, I don’t know what you heard, but you don’t know shit.”

He chuckles. “You drank too much and passed out before the party…” He wiggles his eyebrows, “…ever started.”

So that’s how Heather’s spinning it. Okay, because the way I remember it is I flat-out turned her down, not because I didn’t want her—she’s hot and sucks like a motherfucking Hoover—but because it felt wrong to be messing around with Heather when my head is still so fucked up over Riley. Plus, Riley really hates Heather, and it kind of felt like a betrayal on my part.

But then again, why do I even care? As far as I could tell, Tod was all over Riley at Phillip’s party. I should know. I had a front row seat.

Bryan finishes his water bottle before throwing it to the side. “Whatever, dude. Do what you gotta do, but get your head back in the fucking game before Saturday. We need our star center to bring his A-game.”

I grunt as my eyes skim the bleachers, looking for Riley, already knowing she won’t be there. She goes to Tod’s swim practices now. Not that I’m bitter. Much. Maybe Bryan is right. I need to get over this shit with Riley and move on, because she certainly has.

* * *

It’s game three of our tournament and we’re down by two. The Mighty Mountaineers are a tough team to beat; their forwards are mad fast and their center has yet to miss a rebound.

But rather than focus on the game like I should, my thoughts are on Riley. And Tod. Whom she’s sitting next to in the bleachers, seventh row. Correction: whom she’s practically on top of.

As though she can sense my stare, her eyes snap to mine. She smiles—a huge smile that lights up her entire face—and mouths “You got this” as she mimes dunking a basket. I return her smile, but it’s tight and far from genuine because fucking Tod has his hands all over her. Christ, he’s practically grabbing her tits. How the hell is no one else bothered by this public display of indecency?

“You’re back in.” Phillip claps my back, startling me from my thoughts. “Watch number seventeen. He throws elbows.”

I grunt my agreement and cast one last look into the stands. Riley isn’t looking at me; in fact, she’s not paying attention to me at all because her lips are pressed against Tod’s. Jealousy, cold and hard, flows through my veins. For a moment I forget I’m in the gymnasium because my body feels like I’m back in my bedroom with her body nestled beneath mine. I can almost hear her soft moans, feel her hands grabbing me, pulling me closer, her writhing beneath me…

“Collins.” Bryan shoves me forward, and the buzzer drowns out his voice as he says, “It’s game time.”

The second half flies by, and despite Tod and Riley’s over-the-top PDA, I manage to score twenty points, tying us up in the fourth quarter. With ten seconds remaining on the clock, our hopes of winning the game dwindle. McClusky, number thirteen on the Mountaineers, dribbles the ball down the court. With lightning speed, Phillip sneaks in for the steal and tears down court. The seconds tick by rapid-fire, and with two seconds left on the clock, he passes to me, even though I’m not in ideal shooting range. Zeroing in on the backboard, I release the ball, hold my breath, and watch as it whooshes through the net right as the buzzer sounds. We win the game with a final score of 81-78.

The crowd’s cheers compete with the trumpets and horns of the pep band playing our school fight song. The cheerleaders take mid-court and perform their usual victory dance to the screams of the fans.

I’ve barely opened my Gatorade before Heather approaches. “Jesse!” She squeals. “That was sick.” Her face is flushed, and she bounces on her heels in excitement. The one thing I will say about cheerleaders is that they experience (or at least seem to experience) the same adrenaline rush as the players after a win. I guess because they’re in it just as much as we are.

“Our boy, Phillip, for the win.” I chug down the rest of my sports drink as Phillip slings an arm around me.

“Nah, bro.” He pulls me in closer for the typical man-hug. “You know what they say, ‘team work makes the dream work.’ ”

I pull away and laugh. “Dude, you’re so lame.”

He chuckles as Bryan joins our circle.

“So what are you doing later?” Heather asks, and although all three of us are standing there, I know she’s speaking directly to me.

My eyes scan the gym and find Riley lingering near the concession stand, talking with her friend, Emma. Tod’s hands are wrapped around her waist from behind, and his head rests on her shoulder.

“Don’t know.” I tear my eyes away as Tod nuzzles Riley’s neck. Seriously, dude. What the fuck? Show a little restraint; you’re not a fucking dog in heat. Then again, maybe he is.

I try my best to ignore the fact that if Riley were mine—really mine—I’d be unable to keep my hands to myself at all.

“My parents are out of town, and I’m having a few people over…” Heather’s voice trails off as she looks at me with wide, round eyes. “You should stop by.”

Phillip is the first to decline. “Can’t. I have a date with Mandy.” The way he says “date,” we know exactly what he means.

Bryan’s next to dismiss her offer. “My dad’s leaving on some business trip for the next two weeks, so I promised my mom I’d be home early.”

Heather nods and looks at me. “Jesse?”

I glance at Riley one last time before turning my gaze back to Heather. “Sure.”

I guess she’s somewhat surprised, because she gasps a little bit, and then a huge smile stretches across her face.

“Cool,” she says, reaching for her phone. “I’ll text you the directions.”

“Sounds good.” I follow Phillip and Bryan into the locker rooms to hit the showers.

Moving on, accepting Heather’s (obvious) invitation to hook up, is a step in the right direction. I need to move on, because the girl I want is wrapped up in another guy’s arms at this very moment. I’m not who Riley wants. I’ll never be more to her than a friend. This is for the best.

And when Heather slips her hand inside my boxer shorts later that night, I’ve almost convinced myself that I was right in coming here. Almost.

9

Riley

Things haven’t been the same with Jesse since our “incident.” Okay, fine. Kiss. He’d swear up and down that he’s not avoiding me, but I know he is. Besides our morning drives to school, we barely see each other. I’ve tried suggesting that we hang out, texted numerous times, but he’s always busy with one excuse or another: basketball practice, basketball games, hanging with Phillip, or spending time with his new girlfriend—Heather “Hoe Bag” Plum. Oh, yeah, did I mention that they’re dating? Please stand aside while I congratulate the happy couple. Not.

The last few months of high school pass with us doing our own thing. I try to convince myself that I’m happy, that I don’t miss him, that I enjoy spending time with Tod as much as I do Jesse, but I’d be lying. And no one likes a liar.

One drizzly Friday morning on our way to school, a week before prom tickets are scheduled to go on sale, I finally work up the courage to ask Jesse about prom. We agreed that we’d go together no matter what, but with me dating Tod and him dating Heather, I knew the plan was bound to change.

“About prom?” I ask, my voice tinged with nerves.

He keeps his eyes on the road, but his grip tightens around the steering wheel. “What about it?”

I glance to him then back out the passenger window. “Are you going with Heather?”

He pins me with his gaze and fires back. “Are you going with Tod?”

I pick at a hangnail on my index finger and say, “He asked me, yeah.”

Jesse shrugs his shoulders and grunts, and I so desperately long for him to say, “You and I are going together. It’s our thing. We promised.” But he says none of that, just shrugs his shoulders again, and I read it as dismissal.

A cool, dark feeling, much like jealousy stirs in my body, slowly at first, just a whisper of breath, but eventually gaining momentum like a rolling rock. How dare he? He was supposed to be my date! Never mind that I had already reneged on my part of the deal.

And later the following week, when Tod and I purchase our tickets during study hall, I see the curly handwriting scrawled next to ticket numbers eighty-one and eighty-two: Heather Plum and Jesse Collins.

* * *

If this were a fairytale, now would be the time when I’d tell you that I went to prom with Jesse. That we made up, reconciled our differences, and lived happily ever after. Blah. Blah. Blah.

But this isn’t a fairytale, which explains why I’m sitting at the same table as Jesse and his date, Heather. Yep, that’s right. Even though it doesn’t feel like it these days, we are best friends, so it was more or less expected that we share a table, the reserved party bus, and the rented beach house for the weekend.

My mind wanders to when Jesse had promised me four years ago, at the start of high school, that no matter what, we’d be each other’s prom dates. The pact stemmed from my insecurity and underlying fear that no one—much less a cute boy—would ask me to prom.

Things change, I guess, but when Tod asked me, Jesse’s face was the first image to pop to mind. I agreed, of course, but a sick feeling coiled low in my belly, and I found myself nervous to tell Jesse that I’d accepted Tod’s “promposal.” Ridiculous, I know, because Tod and I had been dating well over five months.

Tod’s sweaty palm on my thigh rouses me back to the present. He squeezes not so gently. “I can’t wait for tonight.” Real subtle, Tod.

“Uh-huh,” I murmur, as I watch Jesse laugh at something that Hoe Bag says that I can’t quite make out. Don’t give me that look. It’s not like I call her Hoe Bag to her face.

I know I should be more focused on, more excited about tonight. About losing my virginity. To Tod. But I’m not.

I’m not excited. Or scared. Or nervous.

I’m…nothing.

In fact, I wish it were Jesse and me. Not having sex—God, no—but just spending the night together, ordering a pizza. Watching Netflix.

Jesse catches my stare, and I swear it’s like he sees right through me. His gaze is intense, and in it I read so many emotions. Sadness. Hurt. Resignation.

Tod grabs my hand and pulls me up. “Come on, babe. Let’s dance.” Translation: Give me an excuse to put my hands inappropriately all over you in a public place. He’s always been handsy, but lately, it’s getting on my nerves more than ever.

“Okay.” I turn away from Jesse, and just like that, the spell is broken.

By 11:00 p.m. I’m exhausted and my feet ache from where my cheap, too-tight leather shoes pinch my toes together. The DJ announces the next song; “Good Riddance” by Green Day will be the last song of the night. All couples rush to the dance floor, and the school photographer circles the perimeter to snap pictures of the happy couples.

Tod and I follow the crowd, but not even thirty seconds into the song, Jesse taps Tod’s shoulder. “Mind if I cut in?”

Tod’s eyes narrow in annoyance. “Actually, I do.”

The clenching of Jesse’s jaw is imperceptible to someone who doesn’t know him well, which is why Tod continues on, his voice condescending, “Dance with your own girlfriend.”

My eyes find Jesse’s and hold for a beat. “I’m sorry,” I say but he shakes his head and walks away.

I want to chase after him, to tell him I’d much rather be at prom with him, dancing and laughing with him. But Tod tightens his grip on my waist and pulls me closer. My eyes search the packed dance floor for Jesse. I find him and Heather almost instantly; they’re nestled in the far corner, swaying to the music.

God, everything is such a mess. I miss my friend. Will Jesse and I be able to patch up our friendship?

Sighing, I rest my head on Tod’s shoulder and close my eyes to stop my tears, because in this moment, it feels like Jesse’s gone for good.

10

Riley

The beach house is quiet as I crack open the bedroom door. Tiptoeing down the hall, I step over several beer cans and pairs of high heel shoes strewn haphazardly across the floor. My eyes dart to the second door on the right, Jesse’s bedroom. The very bedroom he shared with Hoe Bag. The door’s still closed, and I wonder if his night was any better than mine.

I make my way across the dune. The sun has barely risen over the greyish water, and I wiggle my toes in the sand. It’s early, much too early to be up, especially after a late night, but I settle onto the blanket I snatched off the back of the sofa and stare into the murky water, it’s somber hue a reflection of my own mood.

How did everything get so off track? I wish more than ever I could rewind time and take back the decision to ask Jesse to kiss me, swallow the words back one by one. I imagine them slipping past my lips, smooth and uneven as they descend back into my belly, safely. Me. Kiss. You. Will.

Because after the kiss was when things started to change between us. We never fought about it, per se, or for that matter, even discussed it, but it was there, an undercurrent of unease that never existed before.

A shoulder nudges me, startling me from my thoughts. “Hey.” Jesse’s deep voice whispers across my neck as he leans down to sit next to me.

Goosebumps dance across my skin, and I tug my blue and white polka-dot sweater tighter. “Hey.”

A minute of silence passes between us, and though not unpleasant, I long for the easy comfort that we’ve always shared. I clear my throat before speaking. “Couldn’t sleep?”

He continues to stare into the horizon, but answers, “Something like that.”

The hand closest to me begins tracing an arc in the sand, small at first and gradually bigger. I watch his long, strong fingers for a moment, the pattern increasing until he taps my hand. Once. Twice. The third time he loops my fingers and squeezes. Without thought I squeeze back. The tension breaks. We’re back. Months of worry and confusion wiped away. Reset. Thank God.

Turning to face one another, we both say “I’m sorry” at the same time. Jesse’s huge grin matches my own, and we fall back into the sand, laughing, staring up into the morning sky.

“You first,” I say.

“I don’t know.” He shrugs his shoulders. “Is it okay if we don’t talk about it?”

My eyes widen in question, but I say, “Yeah.”

“I guess”—he closes his eyes—“it’s hard seeing you with someone else. I’ve never had to share you before.”

“I get it.” I brush my fingers across the sand. “I feel the same way.”

He sits up, peers at me. “You do?”

“Yeah.” I dip my head, embarrassed. “Let’s forget the whole thing ever happened and spend time together before we both leave for college.”

“I’d like that,” Jesse agrees.

“Just us.” I motion between him and I. “No Tod. No Heather.”

He smiles. “I’d like that even more.”

We’re both quiet for several minutes, enjoying the return of the comfortable ease that was missing between us for far too long.

Finally, Jesse speaks. “So, how was it?” Of course he’s referring to my plan to lose my virginity on prom night. We’d never discussed it, but somehow he knew. Hell, I think everyone did. Giving it up after prom is like a rite of passage.

I roll to face him. “Wouldn’t know. Tod passed out.”

Jesse’s eyes widen.

I roll my eyes. “I know. Can you believe he’d rather drink than get with all this?” I drag my finger up and down my torso in the most obnoxious way.

He shakes his head solemnly. “No. No, I can’t.”

I laugh. “His loss.”

Jesse’s quiet again, but then says, “I didn’t hook up with Heather.”

I bite back my first thought: Why didn’t you? But instead say, “Let me guess, she passed out, too?”

He shakes his head. “Nah. Just wasn’t feeling it.”

So many thoughts run through my mind, but before I can voice any of them, he says, “What do you say? Wanna ditch the crew and spend the day together?”

He doesn’t know how wonderful that suggestion sounds, but I’m guessing by the way my eyes light up he might. “Absolutely.”

He props himself to stand and then reaches down for my wrist. “Come on, we better make a run for it before anyone else gets up and catches us.”

Not even a minute later we’re headed west, away from the coast. No destination in mind. Just Jesse, me, and the open road.

And I couldn’t be happier.

11

Riley

The summer sweeps by in an endless list of to-dos. Between working forty-plus hours a week at ESPresso Café, packing all my stuff for my dorm (I have a lot of stuff!), and spending time with my family (my parents were being extra clingy since their firstborn was all “grown up”), I barely had time to see Jesse since he’d gotten back from North Carolina.

After prom, things between us had returned to normal and I was grateful.

On the night before I leave for Lennox University, a little after 1:00 a.m., I get a text from him.

Jesse: You up?

Smiling, I type a response.

Riley: Yes.

Jesse: Meet me in ten.

I don’t need to ask where. We’ve done this—our secret rendezvous—a thousand times before.

I snatch my well-worn black hoodie from my desk chair, and tiptoe out of my room, down the long hall to the top of the stairs. I pause, breath held still, listening for any sound, but nothing but beautiful, sweet silence greets me. Shifting from side to side, I damn near glide down the stairs, skipping over the last tread because it squeaks.

The air is cooler than I expect, even though the humidity is thick and leaves a sticky coating on my skin. Before I can make it to the old tree house, a muscular arm bands around my waist, and a large hand clasps over my mouth, stifling my scream.

I panic until I catch a whiff of cedar and pine. Jesse. Pulling back, I swat at him, heart still racing. “You scared the shit out of me.”

“Poor baby,” he chides, following me up the old ladder. “Who else do you think’d be out here?”

“Not the point.” I settle against the rough wood wall as he lights the lone candle left over from God knows when. It’s a small stump of wax, but once lit, gives off enough light that I can see Jesse’s face clearly.

“So, what’s the occasion?” I nudge his foot. “We haven’t done this since… It’s been a long time.”

He shrugs. “Couldn’t sleep.”

My eyes find his in question. “Everything okay? It’s not your gram, is it?” I overheard my mom talking to Mrs. Collins last Tuesday about Jesse’s grandmother. Two weeks ago she suffered a mild stroke. The stroke caused some mobility issues, which resulted in her falling and fracturing her right hip.

“No, no.” He dips his head, scratches the back of his neck. “Just been thinking a lot.”

“About?” My fingers glide over the scarred wood, finding a rough carving of our initials in the weatherworn post.

“Stuff.”

“Stuff?” I repeat, even though I know Jesse won’t offer much more until he’s ready.

He reaches into the pocket of his grey sweatpants and thrusts a small cardboard box at me. “Here.” He shoves the box under my nose. “I got you this.”

Our fingers brush against each other as I take the box from him. It’s light and I shake it once, my eyebrows pinching together in concentration. “What is it?”

“A present—”

“You got me a present?” I cut him off.

He rolls his eyes. “Just open it.”

I lift the lid from the box to reveal a thin silver chain with a small black and white yin-yang charm on the end. It’s delicate and simple—I love it.

He peers at the necklace. “Maybe it’s stupid…” He hesitates. “But I thought, it was like—”

“You and me.” I cut him off again.

His eyes light up, maybe in relief, and he nods his head. “Yeah.”

On the most basic level, I understand the visual representation; he’s dark skinned and I’m of fair complexion. But on a deeper level, I also get the meaning: two halves of the same whole, unable to exist without each other. The black, so powerful and strong, much like Jesse, still needs the tiny dot of white for balance, a reminder to slow down and enjoy life. In contrast, the white, so light and pure, requires the small splash of black to push beyond its comfort zone, much in the way Jesse has inspired me to live more freely.

Apart, the colors are neither good nor bad.

Together, they are perfect.

Just like us.

“You like it?

“I love it.” My voice is tight with emotion. “Help me put it on,” I say, gathering my hair in a loose ponytail at the nape of my neck.

He moves behind me, his large fingers working the small clasp with surprising dexterity. Once the necklace is hooked, he rests his hands on my skin, sending a chill down my spine. But when he dips his head and places a soft kiss at the base of my neck, my whole body shivers. He had to have noticed.

But he doesn’t say anything, simply moves back beside me and remains quiet. A little flustered, my fingers toy with the chain.

“This is really beautiful, Jes. Thank you.” He meets my eyes and nods, but before he can say anything, I continue. “You didn’t have to…” My fingers drag along the tiny links of the chain. “I feel bad I didn’t get you anything.”

He turns his head to look out the small window before bringing his eyes back to me. “I know… I just…” He inches marginally closer. “I’m going to miss you. We won’t be able to do this anymore.”

I sigh. “I know.” Finding his eyes, I say, “We can talk on the phone. And text. And visit.”

He agrees. “I know, but it won’t be the same.”

“Jes,” I say, wrapping my arms around him in a hug. He would never admit it, but I know him, and he doesn’t deal well with change. At all. Ever since his parents’ divorce…

He lets me hold him like that, rests his head on my shoulder. A current of wind blows through, and the breeze extinguishes the candle.

I begin to pull away, but his voice whispers through the darkness. “Ry?”

“Yeah?”

“Stay with me?”

“For you? Always.”

12

Riley

Settling into college life has been easier than expected. My roommate, Liza, and I clicked instantly, even though we’re opposite in almost every way. She’s outgoing and I’m shy. She’s an early riser and I’m a night owl. She loves to gossip, and I mind my own business. But we balance each other out and whether I’d like to admit it or not, she’s helped to bring me out of my shell. Basically, she’s the female version of Jesse.

In the past two months I’ve done more new things (hello, salsa dancing!), eaten different dishes (Korean and Indian in one week!) and have met more cute guys than I did my entire four years of high school. So, yeah, college isn’t exactly what I expected, but there’s way less homesickness than I anticipated.

Not surprisingly, Tod and I broke up the week after he moved into his dorm. I’d finally slept with him a week after the whole prom debacle (seriously, I should have run when I had the chance). I was completely underwhelmed with the whole experience. Truly, I didn’t understand what all the sex hype was about; the first time, it hurt like hell and lasted four minutes from start to finish. We’d done it a few more times that summer, but it never felt good, and I never orgasmed. To make matters worse, Tod didn’t seem to notice (or maybe he just didn’t care?) that I didn’t.

One night, after a few too many shots of Tequila Rose, I’d confided my lousy sex life to Liza. She assured me Tod was a douche and that most guys made sure a woman was ready (or, in her words, “wet and willing”) before sticking it in. In any event, I wasn’t very eager to do it again.

Jesse left two days after me, and as promised, we called and texted, not every day, but as much as our schedules would allow. He’s busy with classes and basketball practices. I’m busy with classes and well, studying.

It’s a quiet Wednesday afternoon, and I’m back at my dorm, trying to convince myself to study for my chemistry class, but am losing the battle hard because my Instagram feed is way more appealing. I’m sprawled on my bed half asleep when Jesse’s face lights up my screen.

I answer on the second ring. “Hello.”

“Hey.” He sounds a bit off.

“You okay?”

I can hear the tension crackle through the phone, but he simply says, “Yeah.”

Hesitating, I wait for him to say more, after all, he was the one who called me, but he remains silent. Something’s definitely up. After another awkward pause, I ask, “So, are you going to tell me what’s going on, or are we just going to listen to each other’s breathing like total creepers?”

“Option number two.”

I smack my lips together. “You got it.” I know Jesse well enough to know that he’ll tell me what’s bothering him when he’s ready.

Sure enough, after another minute or so, he sighs heavily. “Coach Sanders is being a dick.”

I sit up. Playing basketball means everything to Jesse. It’s unlike him to bad-mouth his coach. I keep my voice light. “What happened?”

“Nothing happened,” he snaps.

“Okay.” I resist the urge to snap back, but barely.

“It’s bullshit. I’m failing a few classes, and all of a sudden it’s some goddamn big deal. I’m a freshman. I’m having a good time. It’s what I’m supposed to do.”

“You’re failing your classes?”

“Not all of them…just three.”

Holy shit. I’d be panicking if I was failing one, let alone three. Still, I try to be optimistic. “It’s early. You have plenty of time to pull up your GPA.”

He scoffs. “Tell that to Coach Asswipe Sanders. He put me on fucking academic probation.”

“What?” My voice is shrill. “Jes, that’s serious.”

“And,” he continues, “I won’t be able to play unless I maintain a 3.0.”

“So, what happens now? You have to get a tutor or something?”

He huffs a breath. “I don’t know.”

“How can I help?” I hesitate before saying, “I worry about you.”

“It’s fine,” he says, and then adds, “It’s college. We’re supposed to party and have fun.”

I hesitate, not knowing how far to push. “Academic probation is one step above expulsion.” One teeny tiny step. “You could lose your scholarship.”

“Ry, I don’t need a lecture. Whatever you’re going to say, trust me—I’ve heard it.”

His clipped tone needles my nerves, and I retort, “Jesus, don’t be such an ass. All I’m saying is be careful.”

He expels a forceful breath. “Okay.” I hear a door click closed, and the noise in the background quiets. “You still coming next weekend?”

“Yeah,” I agree. “Are you gonna be in a better mood by then?”

“I’ll be just peachy.”

“Ass.” I scold. “Assuming all goes well, I should get there some time around eight. My afternoon class is over at four.”

“Cool.” I can hear the smile in his voice.

Just then Liza rushes into our room, mouth working a mile a minute. “God, Riley can you believe that—oh, sorry, I didn’t realize you were on the phone.”

I glance at her over my shoulder from where I lie on the bed. “It’s okay,” I tell her, then say to Jesse, “You’re gonna text me directions, right?”

“Yep.”

“Okay, I gotta go.”

“Okay.” He pauses for a fraction of a second. “And, Ry?”

“Yeah?”

“I can’t wait to see you.”

“Me, too. Good night, Jesse.”

“Night.”

Before I’ve officially ended the call, Liza pounces on my bed—literally, she jumps on the small twin mattress so hard that my body catches airtime.

“So, who’s Jesse?”

I roll my eyes because we’ve been over this before. “I told you, he’s my best friend from back home.”

Her eyes search my face at first and then slide to the neat row of picture frames stacked along the shelf above my bed. Her eyes dance over the familiar faces from my childhood and land on the final, solid black frame. It’s a snapshot of Jesse and me on the beach the day after prom. The day we ditched our dates and the rest of our friends.

Her grubby fingers snatch the frame and she nods. “Cute. Nice bod.” For some reason her comment rattles me. It’s not jealousy, per se, but I don’t like how she’s sizing him up. She’s obviously attracted to him. Would he be attracted to her? Why do I even care?

“You have a boyfriend,” I remind her, as I grab the frame back and align it with the rest.

“Doesn’t mean I’m blind.” She clicks her tongue. “Besides, I think you’ve got that market cornered.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” I question, not in a bitchy way, but more of in an I’m-so-confused-right-now sort of way.

“Puh-lease.” She sashays across the room before sitting on her desk chair. She spins dramatically to face me. “You two have a thing.”

My mouth hangs open. “Yeah, I know, the best friend thing.” I enunciate the word friend just to prove my point, and then add, “I’ve known him since we were five. He’s like my brother.”

“So, you’ve never…?” She makes a crude gesture with her mouth and hand, mimicking a blowjob.

My face flames red. “What? No!” I grab the nearest pillow and throw it at her, even though my mind instantly darts to the kiss we shared in his bedroom many months ago. It felt like something, something more. Shaking my head to dismiss the thought, I ask, “What part of ‘we’re friends’ don’t you get?”

“You’re an absolute idiot if you don’t hit that. That boy is fine.”

“Whatever.” I open my laptop, swapping one torturous activity for another; time to review my chem notes. “We don’t think of each other that way.”

“Nope.” The “p” pops as she says the word. “Don’t buy it.” She gathers her shower caddy. “Boys and girls can’t be friends. At some point, someone always wants more.”

“Not us,” I say, more out of habit than actual agreement.

“Mark my words.” She grabs her robe off the peg near the door. “One day, I’ll happily say I told you so.”

I’m not sure how long I stare at the door after she’s gone, pondering her words. I’m used to people questioning our relationship. Hell, I endured enough jealous sneers and underhanded comments throughout high school from petty, stuck-up girls who tried to stake their claim. But for once, I wonder if Liza’s right. Maybe Jesse and I aren’t that different, after all. And if we aren’t, which one of us will fall first?

13

Riley

The following Friday, my afternoon class is canceled (thank you, Professor Winko!), so I was able to catch an earlier bus than expected.

Jesse attends Briar University, a private university with a long history of winning basketball titles. I don’t know much about their academic program, but then again, I suspect Jesse doesn’t either; he went there for one reason and one reason only…to play basketball.

Briar is only ninety-miles from my campus, but the bus ride is slow and takes well over four hours because of the many stops on its route. This is the first time I’m making the journey, and I suspect it may be the last; the bus is cramped and smells like dirty feet.

Because Jesse lives in an all-guys dorm, there is a strict no-overnight policy in place regarding members of the opposite sex (I checked the website, twice). He has assured me that no one cares and/or enforces said policy. Still, when I arrive, I curl my long ponytail underneath my hat to draw less attention to myself. The oversized, baggy sweatshirt doesn’t hurt, either.

I find his dorm, Nickeleroo Hall, rather easily. The campus is littered with “You are Here Maps,” not to mention, Jesse texted me explicit directions yesterday since he’s well aware of my penchant for getting lost.

As I approach the dorm, there are two guys scanning their ID badges at the entrance, and I jog to sneak in behind them before the door slams closed. Double-checking Jesse’s text, I find the south elevator and make my way to the seventh floor.

I knock twice before a tall, muscled, bald guy answers the door. My eyes drop to my phone and I double check the number: 713. According to Jesse’s text, I’m in the right place, but I distinctly remember Jesse saying his roommate is blond. Which begs the question—

“Can I help you?” The guy interrupts my thoughts.

“Hi.” I clear my throat and extend my free hand. “I’m Riley.” When he doesn’t immediately respond, I clarify. “I’m here to see Jesse.”

He glances at my hand one more time but doesn’t take it. Instead, he opens the door wider and calls over his shoulder, “Yo, Sam Adams, your friend is here.”

Sam Adams? I scrunch my nose. What the…?

As I enter, another door on the far end of the room opens, and Jesse emerges, a huge smile lighting his face. “Riley.”

He drops the hand towel onto the desk and rushes toward me, sweeping me into his arms. He sighs into my neck and squeezes a little tighter before releasing me.

Once I’m back on my feet he says, “You’re early.”

I nod. “Yep, my afternoon class was canceled, so I was able to get an earlier bus.”

“I’m so glad you’re here. I’ve missed you.” His voice is uncharacteristically tight, and I think I catch a deeper meaning to his words.

“Me, too,” I agree.

A throat clearing breaks the moment and we pull apart.

Jesse steps back a few more paces so the three of us form a perfect triangle. “Riley, this is Lucas. Lucas, Riley.”

Lucas’ eyes drift between Jesse and me as though trying to figure out our relationship, but by this point, I’m used to the funny looks and misassumptions. Chill out, dude. We’re just friends. Finally he says, “Nice to meet you.”

“You, too.” I nod.

Lucas’ eyes bore into Jesse’s, and there’s a noticeable shift in energy because the vibe in the room no longer feels welcoming or laid back. Deciding to give them a moment to diffuse whatever has blossomed between them, I ask, “Mind if I use the bathroom?”

“Sure.” Jesse leads me to the door where he just came from. “It’s a quad,” he explains, “so make sure to lock both doors.”

“Okay,” I agree and close the door behind me.

I pee and wash my hands, then decide to check my hair and makeup in the mirror to kill some more time. The walls are paper-thin, though, and I can hear every tense word of the boys’ conversation.

“Dude, you didn’t tell me Ryan was a girl.” Lucas sounds pissed.

Oh, shit. He told Lucas my name was Ryan? Did he want Lucas to think I was a guy? Wtf?

“What does it matter?” Jesse fires back.

Lucas snorts. “I planned on staying here this weekend. I’m not about to relocate so you can fuck your girlfriend.”

My mouth hangs open, and despite myself, my skin heats at his words. Me. Jesse. Fucking. Why does that thought cause something deep within my belly to flutter?

“It’s not like that,” Jesse replies. “Riley and I are friends.”

Lucas snorts again, I guess in disbelief, but then his tone changes. “Is she single?”

Jesse’s response is quick. “I think so, why?”

“She’s hot.”

“Don’t even fucking think about it,” Jesse’s voice warns.

Lucas chuckles and then clicks his tongue. “‘Just friends’, my ass.”

Having heard enough, I plaster a big smile on my face, emerge from the bathroom, and arrange my features to neutral. “So, what are we doing this weekend?” I glance from Jesse to Lucas in an attempt to show him that he’s included in whatever Jesse and I have planned. We are just friends. We’re not together. We most definitely are not fucking.

“Nothing’s really going on tonight. Thought we could order a pizza and watch a movie?”

Lucas doesn’t hide his eye roll, and although he mutters under his breath, I hear the words clearly. “Netflix and chill. Friends, riiiight.”

Jesse either doesn’t hear him or chooses to ignore him. He continues on, “There’s a party at Epsilon Phi tomorrow night. Couple of friends are going, if you want to check it out.”

I sit on the edge of the bed. “Sounds good.”

My gaze shifts to Lucas, who’s stuffing a pair of sweatpants in a duffle bag with more force than necessary.

I turn back to Jesse and mouth, “Where’s he going?” but he just shrugs.

After a minute, Lucas swings the strap over his shoulder and narrows his gaze at Jesse. “I’m out.”

Jesse tips his chin in agreement, but I can’t stand to be the reason why he and his roommate are fighting, so I stop Lucas with a hand on his shoulder. “Wait.”

Lucas glances at where my fingers rest on his bicep, then to Jesse, then back to me. “Yeah?”

“Stay.” I pull my hand away. “We’re just gonna watch a movie and eat pizza.”

“Yeah?” Lucas leaves his gaze pinned on Jesse, even though he addresses me. “That right?”

“Yeah.” I shrug. “We’re just friends.”

Lucas’ grin is devilish. “In that case, I’ll take pepperoni.”

* * *

Despite Lucas’ frosty welcome, he’s actually pretty chill. As the night wore on, he told me a few interesting stories about Jesse—much to Jesse’s displeasure. I especially liked learning that more than half of the freshmen class refers to Jesse as Sam Adams because he dressed up as the historical figure for the Theta Kappa Halloween party. According to Lucas, he even carried a six-pack of Sam Adams beer to complete the look.

Laughing, I turn to Jesse. “You never told me that.”

He shrugs and dips his head.

“I’d have loved to have seen that.” I shake my head and ask Lucas, “Please tell me you took pictures.”

“Nah.” He shakes his head. “Although Lily might have some.”

My nose scrunches. “Who’s Lily?”

“No one,” Jesse answers quickly, but Lucas whistles.

“No one? She’d punch you in the junk if she heard you say that.”

“Lily and I aren’t together.” Jesse defends himself.

“Jes.” I roll my shoulders. “I know you hook up. I think it’s kinda cute that you have a girlfriend.”

“Yeah, Jes.” Lucas’ voice takes on a mocking tone. “Besides, you and Riley are just friends, right?”

Jesse’s eyes bore into Lucas’, and for a moment they just stare at one another. When it’s clear neither one is going to back down, I say, “I’m super tired. It’s been a long day.”

“Yeah.” Jesse turns to me. “You okay with sharing the bed?”

My eyes drift over the narrow twin bed. There’s no way we’d be able to both fit without touching…in all kinds of inappropriate places.

Sensing my hesitation, he offers. “I could sleep on the floor.”

From near his desk, Lucas snorts, and I hear him mumble. “Gross.”

“No, no.” My hand reaches for Jesse to stop him from moving. “It’s fine. We can share. I mean, it’s no different than when we were younger, right?”

Jesse pauses for a moment, a heaviness settles over him, or maybe it’s resignation, but then he finally says, “Right.”

Twenty minutes later, after we’ve both washed and dressed for bed, Jesse pulls up the comforter, tucks it around us, and easy as one-two-three, I find myself back in Jesse Collins’ bed. And I have to admit, it’s a pretty damn good place to be.

14

Riley

The next night, Lucas, Jesse, and I squish onto the campus tram, appropriately nicknamed the “Triple B”—the Briar Barf Bus—to take us across campus to the Epsilon Phi party. According to Jesse, this is the “it” fraternity, and every Saturday the party is bigger than the previous week.

Case in point: tonight’s theme is “Suds and Sips.” From the moment we step off the bus and onto the front lawn, there are bubbles everywhere. I’m not gonna lie; I’m über excited for this party, especially since the small college I attend has no Greek life whatsoever.

Much like the bus, the party is jam-packed, hundreds of bodies sandwiched together like sardines, so that it takes us nearly twenty minutes to make it past the front hall. So far, three people have stepped on my feet (only one apologized) and some girl wearing a too-small tube top sloshed her beer all down the sleeve of my blouse. #Rude

Jesse snakes his arm around my waist and leans in close to my ear, his breath whispering across my skin. “Want a beer?”

I nod my head, even though I can’t stand the smell of beer, let alone the taste.

“Yes.”

“Be right back.” His fingers squeeze my hip before he turns and walks toward the kitchen where the keg’s set up.

It’s loud and I know no one else, so I fish my phone out of my back jeans pocket to check my messages. I smile as a picture of Liza lights up my screen. It’s a selfie of her in our tiny dorm room wearing a low cut dress with the caption, “When the roommate’s away, Liza gets to play ;) Scott thanks you in advance.”

A shudder and giggle roll through me simultaneously. I’m equal parts relieved not to be there for her and Scott’s sexfest—I’ve been subjected to that particular treat one too many times—but I’m also amused by her straightforwardness.

“Why you smiling, Ry?” Jesse hands me a red Solo cup filled with pale gold liquid.

“It’s nothing.” I shake my head, but he grabs my phone anyway, so I explain the photo. “My roommate.”

His eyes assess the photo. “This is Liza?” He angles his head toward me, and when I confirm his suspicions, he continues, “Shit. She has tits for days.”

My nerves prickle, not in jealousy, per se, but in overall annoyance of his immaturity. “God.” I snatch the phone from his hands and shove it into my back pocket. “Do you have to be such a guy?”

He laughs. “I am a guy.”

“Clearly,” I grumble, as I press the cup against my lips and wince when the lukewarm froth hits my tongue. My face scrunches in distaste. “This is gross.”

He chuckles. “Miller Lite at its finest. Come on.” He slips his arm around me once again. “Let’s get this party started.”

* * *

By the time we make it back to the dorm, Jesse and I are both rocking a slight buzz. Okay, his may be more than slight. I stopped after two and a half beers, because even though the taste grew marginally more tolerable, it was still pretty disgusting.

Jesse lets me use the bathroom first. As I wash and change my clothes, my body takes on a loose quality. It’s as though I’m dreaming, the edges blurred and fuzzy, and my skin is so freakin’ hot that I think I may combust. Maybe this explains why I forget to put on my pajama bottoms, and emerge wearing only a thin camisole and panties.

Jesse’s eyes dilate as I enter the room, but I tell myself it’s due to the alcohol and not because of me. Or my lack of pants. I sink into the bed, and minutes later, when he crawls in beside me, his bare skin presses against my back. Holy shit. Is he naked?

Needing to know, I reach my hand against his hip and feel the smooth cotton of his boxer briefs. When I pull my hand back, my fingers accidentally drag across his… Oh my God. Is he hard?

He swallows a low groan in his throat.

“Sorry.” My voice squeaks and I snatch my hand away as though I’ve been scalded. I don’t know why, but something feels different tonight. Something feels less innocent. Maybe it’s because Lucas is still out. Or maybe it’s because Jesse snakes his arm around my waist and pulls me flush against him. Or maybe it’s because we’re nearly naked and his thick erection pokes my hip. Yeah, that could be why.

A shudder passes through me when his lips graze my ear, and he whispers, “I’m so glad you’re here, Ry.”

“Me, too.” I try to keep my voice calm as I ghost my fingers along his forearm. Isn’t it funny how you can know someone forever but still discover new things about him? For example, the thickness, the cut of Jesse’s muscles, so strong, so hard—how did I not notice until now?

My body quivers as soft lips graze my neck, and the hand that was firmly planted around my waist begins to move in slow, soft sweeping strokes, side to side.

I hold myself ramrod straight. My throat is tight and dry, making me unable to force any words out. I’m unsure of what is happening between us, but I’m feeling things. Things I shouldn’t. Things that can only lead to trouble.

He’s drunk. I remind myself. He’s horny—of that much I can be certain. He thinks I’m someone—

“Riley.” His voice groans, causing my skin to erupt in goose pimples.

His hand drifts lower, sweeps up my thigh.

And…I don’t stop him.

I.

Don’t.

Stop.

Him.

What the fuck am I doing? I’m not drunk. I should stop this. Stop him before we cross a line that can’t be uncrossed, but still I lie there, a prisoner to my own body. To its wants. Its needs. Because this feels good. He feels good.

He stops, rests the flat of his hand just above the top of my panties, waiting, seeking permission. Say something, Riley. Tell him to stop. He won’t even remember this tomorrow.

After a moment’s pause, when I’ve still said nothing, the pad of his finger drags across the center of my panties. My nails dig into his hard flesh and my toes curl. I gasp. “Jesse.” It never felt this way with Tod.

Two fingers now, thick and solid, smooth over the delicate fabric, the friction exquisite. My thighs clench together, trying to capture and hold onto the sensation, but his hand works between my legs, parting them.

I moan when his fingers slip underneath the band, touching me right there. My mind kicks into overdrive. This is wrong, no matter how good it feels. This is Jesse. My best friend. “Jesse.” My voice is meant to warn, but it sounds desperate and needy.

“Riley,” he murmurs my name again, lips latching onto my neck and biting gently. “Turn around.” His voice is eager. “Baby, please turn around.”

No. This has to stop. We’re gonna fuck it all up. I shake my head and squeeze my eyes shut as my fingernails dig into his flesh.

His hand stills. “Do you…” He pauses, clears his throat. “Do you want me to stop?”

No. Please, don’t stop. “I think we should.”

I feel his body stiffen behind me as his hand falls away. The heat, that only moments ago flooded my body, turns ice cold. Our connection splinters, cracks apart, until we’re on opposing sides of an immense valley.

The silence is excruciating. Neither one of us speaks, and with every shift, every exhale, I feel the tension increasing. I try to fold into myself, to make myself smaller, the entire time praying that the morning sun will chase away the uncertainty. The doubt. The confusion. Praying that tomorrow when I wake, tonight’s memories will be erased.

For both of us.

Because I want my best friend in ways that I absolutely shouldn’t.

And I don’t know what the hell to do about it.

15

Riley

The next morning, I’m still lying in bed when Jesse exits the bathroom. He’s showered and is dressed in solid black basketball shorts and a white tee. When his eyes lock on mine, I know that all of my prayers have gone unanswered, because he remembers.

His eyes silently communicate the question, “Are we going to talk about it?”

But I’m a coward—a big, fat coward—so I paste a false smile on my face and change the subject. “When’s breakfast? I’m starving.”

His smile slips, eyes linger a moment longer before he nods. “Ready when you are.”

I’m grateful—and terrified—that Lucas refuses the offer to join us. In fact, I’m downright jealous that he’s still nestled in bed with the covers pulled overhead. That he sleeps peacefully and doesn’t have to have awkward conversations about best friends who blur the lines of their friendship.

Jesse and I need time alone to sort out what went down last night, but my inner child wants to bury her head in the sand and pretend that nothing happened.

The walk across the greenway is slow and quiet. Is he going to bring up last night? Or will he make me? Maybe this morning I was just being paranoid. A few yards away from the Student Union Building, when he still hasn’t said anything, I bite the bullet.

“Jes.” I pause outside the double doors. “About last night…”

“Yeah.” His expression turns guarded, like he’s not sure how to feel, like he’s not sure if he wants me to know how he feels. Welcome to the club.

I decide to shoulder the blame, although we’re both equally at fault. “I’m sorry things got out of control... I should have…”

He closes his eyes, shakes his head, and when he speaks his voice is cold, if not a touch annoyed. “Should have what, Ry?”

I take a step backward and wrap my arms around myself. “You know what.” I trace a small circle on the pavement, keeping my head bent down. “You’re my best friend. Things got a little crazy for a minute, but you know…” I take a deep breath to calm my nerves, at the same time cursing the tears that pool in my eyes. “I don’t want to lose what we have. You’re like a brother to me.”

“Right. A brother.” He nods his head once and takes a step back. “Got it.”

“Jes.” I reach for him, but he shrugs me off, not in an obvious way, but I catch the gesture, nonetheless. “Are we okay?”

He spins to face me, a smile plastered on his face. “Yeah, Ry. We’re good.”

“Yeah?”

His eyes are clear, calm, resigned, and for a moment I wonder if I’m making more out of this situation than necessary.

“Come on.” He holds the door open wide. “I’m hungry.”

We take the stairs rather than the elevator. The third floor cafeteria hums with surprising buzz for a Sunday morning. I glance at the clock on the wall. Eleven thirty-nine. I guess it’s not that early.

As I push my scrambled eggs around my plate, two girls approach our table. “Jesse,” the taller one coos. “How’ve ya been?”

Jesse’s smile widens. “Good. And you lovely ladies?” Gag me.

He continues, “I didn’t see you at Epsilon Phi last night.”

Because we were hanging together last night, asshole. The anger seeps into my veins, a slow simmer at first, but increases to a raging boil the longer he ignores me. I’m not sure what has me madder, the fact that he had his hands on me last night and is now openly flirty with these, these floozies, or the fact that he can turn off his emotions so quickly.

He ups his charm as he gestures to the two available seats. “Wanna join us?”

“Sure,” the shorter blond girl says, and plops down her tray.

Another twinge of annoyance surfaces. We only have a few hours left before my bus leaves. This is supposed to be my weekend.

“I’m Paola,” the blond girl says and then gestures to the brunette who is still chatting with Jesse. “She’s Lily.”

Lily. Alarm bells sound in my head. Didn’t Lucas mention something about a Lily?

Even though I know I shouldn’t, especially after what happened between us last night, I push for his attention. “Jes.” When he doesn’t answer, even though I know he heard me, I clear my throat. “Jesse. We should get going. My bus leaves soon.”

He turns away from Lily and nods. “Yeah.”

Finally, she looks at me. She’s very pretty, in an I-could-be-a-model sort of way. Her face is long and angular, and her nose is a bit too pointy, a bit too sharp, but somehow it works. Her eyes are wide set, the color of honey, but lack any warmth as she says, “I’m Lily.” She wraps her hand around Jesse’s bicep. A possessive growl surges through me. She’s staking her claim, only furthering my suspicions that they’ve hooked up, when she asks, not so subtly, “How do you know Jesse?”

Jesse’s cool eyes dart to mine, and his voice is direct when he answers. “Riley’s a childhood friend.” He smiles at Lily for a moment then glances back to me. “She’s like a sister to me.”

“Oh.” Lily’s body visibly relaxes and her smile widens. “You’re only here for the weekend, then?”

“Yep.” I nod, wanting to throw the remaining half of my orange juice in her face. Or Jesse’s.

He’s mocking me. Or at the very least, trying to get a reaction. I don’t know what to think or how to feel. I’m hurt and confused, but I know without a shadow of doubt that stopping us last night was the right thing to do.

Sure, Jesse is gorgeous. His striking blue eyes are enough to melt panties (not my panties obviously), but it’s so much more than that. He’s so much more than that.

His caramel skin is flawless and has always reminded me of rich coffee splashed with the perfect amount of cream. He’s muscular and strong, not because he cares about things like working out, but because he’s an athlete and his body was built to move. Watching him run up and down the court dribbling a basketball is nothing short of beautiful. In my intro to psych class, we learned about Howard Gardner’s Theory of Multiple Intelligences, and how each person possesses all seven intelligences but are stronger in certain areas than others. Without a shadow of a doubt, Jesse is gifted in bodily-kinesthetic intelligence. The way his body moves through space, the way he is just so aware—it’s art in motion.

But on the flip side, this is Jesse. My Jesse, and despite all of his amazing physical attributes, despite his caring attitude and wicked sense of humor, I don’t think of him in that way. Do I?

“Ry?” My name sounds like it’s being called from far away. “Riley?” My eyes squint into focus. Jesse and Lily both look at me expectantly. “Are you okay?” Jesse questions with more concern in his voice. “You look a little—”

“Pale?” the blonde girl, Paola, I think she said her name was, offers.

I shrug off their concern. “I’m fine. Just a little tired, I guess. It was a long night.”

Jesse’s eyes widen at my innuendo, but I continue. “I think I’m gonna head back. I have to pack up my stuff.” I snatch my tray from the table, and Jesse stands as well. I turn to face him. “Don’t leave on my account. I’m sure Lucas can let me in. My gaze shifts between Lily and the Paola girl. “Stay with your friends.”

His eyes narrow, and a muscle ticks in his jaw. “I don’t mind.” He reaches for my tray. “I’ll walk you back.”

“Such a gentleman,” I say, my voice falsely sweet. “Nice meeting you—”

Jesse takes my hand and pulls me away before I can finish my statement. Oh, well, no love lost, because I’ll probably never see either one of those girls again.

“Come on.” He stalks toward the door so fast that I’m forced to jog to keep pace with him. “You’ve got a bus to catch.”

16

Jesse

Inviting Lily and her friend to join Riley and me at breakfast is a dick move—I know it—but I do it anyway. Why? Because Riley is fucking with my head, that’s why. For years I’ve been struggling to keep her firmly planted in the “friends” column. It was damn hard, because there were times when I thought she wanted more. Times like when we kissed in my bedroom senior year, or the day after prom, when we ditched our crew to spend the day together, or last night. Especially last night. Fuck.

Had I been drinking? Yeah, I had some beers that made me a bit more brazen than usual, but I wasn’t drunk. Don’t get me wrong, I thought I was when she came out of the bathroom dressed in only panties and a thin tank top. Christ, her tits looked amazing in that shirt, her puckered nipples straining against the fabric. It took everything in me not to run my lips across the swell, suck the plump flesh into my mouth, bite her nipples. I had to touch her or I would go crazy.

When I crawled into bed beside her and she reached for me, it was the only green light I needed. And when I touched her? Her body responded in the way I had only dreamt about—wet, breathy, needy—and she couldn’t deny it, because I felt it. Felt her.

Our connection was damn near electric, and I knew just one tiny push, one little shove would tip us both into nirvana. But just when I’d been sure that last night was the night—the night I’d been dreaming about for nearly half my life—she stopped us. I felt her fear, sensed the uncertainty, the hesitation, and I would never push her for more than she wanted to give. I care about her too much, but even more than that, I don’t think I could bear it if she regretted us in the morning.

So I do the only thing I know how to do well, the thing I’ve been doing for years…I plaster a smile on my face and pretend like she isn’t ripping my fucking heart out. The icing on the cake? Her referring to me like a brother after I almost had my hands inside her. What the fuck?

When Lily approaches our table I can tell almost immediately that Riley doesn’t like her. To be honest, the more I think about it, I’m not sure Riley has ever liked one of my girlfriends—okay, I’m using the term girlfriend very loosely, but you get my point. Riley is territorial and I like it. It makes me feel like I am hers. Like she is mine.

But today, because I’m hurting, I want Riley to hurt a little, too, so I flirt shamelessly with Lily and imply that Riley is nothing more than a friend. That’s what we are, after all. Riley made that crystal clear. I even contemplate, for a fraction of a second, letting her walk back to my dorm alone.

Of course, I would never actually do that—she’s my best friend—but as we walk the slow path back in silence, I wonder if I did the right thing. Maybe I should have just let her go. Let her walk away.

This is too hard. I can’t keep doing this to myself. I have to move on with my fucking life.

“Riley,” I call after her, as she quickens her pace to catch the open elevator. We both hurry in just as the door closes, and cram ourselves beside four other people. No one speaks, and normally I’d crack a joke about awkward elevator silences, but now isn’t the time.

We get off on my floor, and I stop her just before we enter my room. I don’t want to have this conversation in front of Lucas. The dude already thinks I’m in love with Riley—he isn’t wrong—but still, I don’t need to add fuel to the fire.

“Riley.” I search her eyes, but she casts her own down toward the floor. “Hey.” I squeeze her arm. “Are we okay?”

“Yeah, why wouldn’t we be?”

I scrub a hand through my hair, which has grown out a little longer than my normal cut. “It’s just…back there”—I gesture with my chin toward the cafeteria—“things felt a little weird.”

“I agree.” She brings her eyes to mine. “It was a weird weekend. We both missed each other and college has been a big change…for both of us.” She pauses, bites her lip. “Let’s forget anything ever happened?” Her voice rises at the end, making her statement sound like a question. She’s asking for my agreement, my confirmation so that things can go back to normal between us. I experience an almost paralyzing sense of déjà vu. It’s like the fucking kiss all over again.

There are so many things I want to say her, so many ways I want to love her, and touch her, and cherish her, but I know that isn’t what she needs—at least, not yet—so I give her what she asks and force my voice to sound confused. “What are you talking about? Nothing happened.”

Her body sags in relief and she smiles, a wide, genuine smile. “Thank you.”

I extend my pinkie and she latches hers with mine. I pause for a beat and stare at our entwined fingers, hoping one day she’ll want me the same way I want her. Until then, I have to let her go, and I pray, fucking pray, that one day her heart—her whole heart—will find its way back to me.

17

Riley

Three weeks later I’m still not convinced that Jesse and I are over our “incident.” By outward appearances our relationship hasn’t changed. We still call and text every few days and even make plans to see each other over the upcoming winter break. But beneath the surface I sense a shift, a subtle change in our dynamic, that I can’t quite put into words.

Even though we’re close, we rarely talk about our sex lives. It’s not like we specifically set up boundaries, but apart from Jesse asking me about Tod the day after prom, we never discussed our hookups. But now in our conversations he mentions girls. A lot. Not in a look-at-me-getting-laid kind of way, but in a casual, nonchalant way that makes my heart pinch every fucking time.

He’s also partying, despite his academic probation. Sometimes I’ve seen him tagged in several online posts within the same week at three or four different parties. I never say anything, mostly because I’m not his mother, but I really feel that he should be worrying more about his grades and basketball than girls and booze. But that’s just me.

“What’s the matter, pumpkin?” Liza questions, as she looks up from her tablet. “You’ve been staring at your computer screen for over ten minutes.”

I close the lid of my laptop to hide the picture that sent my mind spinning: a shot of Jesse with Lily. His arms are wrapped around her waist, and her lips are pressed against his neck, while his smoldering blue eyes stare into the camera. “Nothing,” I reply quickly.

Liza’s brow quirks and she walks over to my computer. “Really?”

“Really,” I repeat.

“Come on. Whatcha looking at?”

“Nothing,” I say again, but she cracks open the lid.

“Ooh!” She teases. “Look who we have here. Jesse and his…girlfriend?” Her eyes alight with interest.

I snort and hit the power button before closing the lid again.

Her eyes soften when she notices that I’m not smiling. “Are you okay?” She sits on the edge of my bed. “I thought you guys were just friends?”

“We are,” I say with an edge to my voice.

She nods. “Did something happen when you went to see him?”

I shake my head. No way I’m confessing to Liza that we almost—whatever the hell we almost did. Besides, Jesse and I both agreed to forget anything ever happened, but still I find myself confessing. “Things are different between us.”

“Different how?”

I shrug. “I don’t know,” I say, not sure how to put my emotions into words. “Things are changing. We’re growing apart.”

“Yeah,” she agrees, and I stare at her for a moment, eyes wide because I half expected some encouragement or positive bullshit about how friendships are forever. “What?” She picks at the fuzz on my comforter. “College changes people. You both are doing your own thing. It’s part of growing up.”

I blink back tears. “I feel like I don’t even know him anymore. He’s partying a lot.” I pause before adding, “And he’s on academic probation.”

Liza is not bothered in the least. “Riley, listen. You’re friends, and you guys will always be friends, but he’s not the same guy he was. You’re not the same girl, either. You’re growing up. College is about experimenting and figuring out who you are.”

My eyes find hers, and I wonder where this insight has come from. Maybe she, too, left someone behind back home. She squeezes my hand. “Come on.”

“Where are we going?” I question.

“Out.” She crosses the room and opens her bureau to peruse her clothes. “Time for you to start living less in the past and more in the present.” She tosses a shimmery tank top at me. “No more sad talk. Time for some fun.”

I smile. Maybe she’s right. A little fun never hurt anyone.

18

Riley

Dry. That’s my first thought, as I slowly crack my eyes open. So fucking dry. I drag a hand across my face, not hard, but my fingers scrape my skin and cause me to wince. What the fuck happened last night?

Pushing myself to sit up, I squint at my surroundings. I’m in a carbon copy of my dorm room, but it’s definitely not my room. A black and grey poster of a band I don’t recognize is stretched across the far wall. The small student desk is littered with Kit Kat wrappers and empty cans of Red Bull.

A feeling of unease settles low in my belly, as I smack my lips and the taste of sour beer floods my mouth. I don’t even like beer.

As I swing my legs over the side of the bed, my muscles scream in protest. My body is sore. Tired. And it feels like I just had sex. Rough sex.

No. No. No.

My worst suspicions are confirmed, as I dodge the used condom thrown carelessly on the floor. Bending at the waist, I grab my panties, jeans, top, and shove them on as fast as possible. I need to get out of here before—

The door opens, and it’s like a freight train steamrolling through my head. Taking a deep breath, I bring my eyes to meet the guy standing in front of me. I don’t recognize him at all; he’s a total stranger. “You’re up.” His voice is unfamiliar, and I will myself to remember something, anything, from last night.

Flashes, vague images pop to life, but they’re fuzzy, as though the dial on the camera has yet to focus.

Panic must be etched across my features, because he holds his hand up in surrender. “Chill.” He takes a baby step forward as I take one back. “How much of last night do you remember?”

My eyes cast down as a wave of humiliation stains my cheeks pink. Nothing. “Bits and pieces.”

He nods. “Yeah, me, too. I guess we were pretty wasted. After leaving Hoozier House, it’s blank.”

The party. Yes. A flash of recognition lights up my brain. Us. Dancing together. Him being a little handsy. Me encouraging it.

What the fuck have I done?

Up until this point, I’ve slept with a total of one person, and I made Tod wait for nearly seven months before I was ready. Now? I jump into bed with a total stranger who could have hurt me, who could have given me a venereal disease, whose name I don’t even know.

I’m spinning out, as the enormity of my bad decision hits full force. Suddenly, there’s not enough breath to satisfy my greedy lungs, and I’m this close to vomiting.

I jerk my attention back to him, and his eyes are wide and confused, probably because there’s a random, hungover girl in his dorm room having a nervous breakdown. I’m guessing this is more than he signed up for.

“What’s your name?” I snap, angry with him, even angrier with myself for having been so stupid.

“Jason.” He dips his head, scratches the back of his neck. “Yours?”

I shouldn’t be offended—for crying out loud, I just asked him the same question—but I feel cheap, used, disposable. “I have to go.” The words rush past my lips as I move toward the door.

“So, no round two?”

My eyes widen, and if looks could kill, he’d be a goner, but only after I made him suffer for his douchebag comment.

He lifts his hands apologetically as though to ward me off. “Sorry, sorry. That was a dick thing to say.”

“This never happened.” I seethe.

“Works for me. See ya around.”

“Hopefully not.” I don’t quite catch his response, because I slam the door in his face.

I’ve not even made it to the corner before I double over, hands on my knees, and wretch. Dry, painful heaves that punish my already weak body, but I welcome the pain, consider it my penance for my poor decision.

And in that moment, I make a vow: no more drinking in excess, no more random parties, no more blackout one-night stands. I’m done experimenting. I’ve had enough.

Jesse could change all he wants, but I’m perfectly happy with who I am.

You deserve better than this, Riley, I remind myself.

Now, I just have to prove it.

19

Riley

My punishment doesn’t stop. No matter how many positive changes I’ve implemented—I stayed in on Thirsty Thursday, refused Liza’s invite to her boyfriend’s house party, and studied one extra hour per night—my debt has not been repaid. Unfair, isn’t it, how one decision, one awful, stupid decision, could alter your path forever?

My period—the same period that I’ve gotten on the third of every month like clockwork since I was twelve—is five days late. It’s hard to explain, but I already know, before any over-the-counter test or doctor confirmation, I know what the result will be. I feel it.

Still, I find myself walking the seven blocks to the nearest pharmacy, crumpled twenty dollar bill stuffed in the pocket of my down coat, to purchase a tiny piece of plastic that will permanently alter the course of my life.

My hair hangs in stringy ropes against my face, serving to cover my downcast eyes as I hand the package to the clerk. I catch the flash of sympathy in her eyes as she speaks, “Eleven forty-nine.”

I avoid her gaze as every doubt and insecurity washes through my veins.

Does she think I’m irresponsible? Does she think I’m just another statistic? Am I?

My fingers shake as she hands me my change, and I stuff the bills back into my coat. Glancing at my phone, I check the time again to be sure that Liza’s still in class, and then hurry back to our dorm to take the most important test of my life.

* * *

The test is positive. The pale pink plus sign darkens with each passing minute. Remorse, wicked and cruel, sits low in my belly. After I empty the contents of my stomach, I dry heave two more times, but I’ve got nothing left to give. I’m a hollow shell.

What am I going to do? This will devastate my parents. What will my younger sister think? Is she really going to be an aunt at seven years old? Am I ready to be a mother at nineteen?

Let’s not forget about Jason, the “let’s go for round two” guy I hooked up with while I was blackout drunk. There’s definitely no future between us. I haven’t seen him since the morning I stormed out of his dorm, and I’ve no way of getting in touch with him. I don’t even want to think about what he’ll say or do when he finds out. If he finds out.

And me? How do I feel? Alone. Scared. Fucking terrified. As much as I don’t want to admit this, as selfish as it is, as terrible of a person I might be, I know without a shadow of a doubt that I’m not ready to be a mother.

Options swirl in my brain, a soupy mixture of words and phrases combined with an odd image remembered from my eleventh grade health class of a short girl with wide eyes, one hand resting on her belly.

I’m at a crossroads; there are no easy paths from here. No right choice. And the worst part is I’m all on my own.

The decision.

I can barely bring myself to think the word, let alone say it. Can I…?

When is it justified, if ever? And is it ever better to end something, a life, before it begins?

So many thoughts race through my head; my mind focused yet unfocused, because it’s just too much to process. What will this child’s life be like? What quality of life will this baby have? Will there be endless custody battles? Court dates? Child support?

Adoption. The word whispers through my despair, a small streak of silver lining the dark cloud that has enveloped me and swallowed me whole.

Will I still be able to attend school? Everyone will know. Am I strong enough, brave enough, to carry this baby to term, only to give him or her away to another family? No. I can’t. I’m not selfless enough.

I’m a monster.

I jump when my phone buzzes loudly.

Jesse.

Knowing I won’t be able to talk to him without breaking down, I make a split second decision to decline the call. My thumb presses the button, and I sink back down onto my comforter.

I’m not ready to talk to him. He’ll know something’s wrong. He always knows. I can’t bear for him to know the truth about me, about what I’ve done, about what I plan to do. At least, not yet.

My mind races, lungs constrict as one singular question circles round and round my mind: Can I do it?

Yes. The devil on my left shoulder whispers. One call and this all goes away. No one ever has to know.

Don’t be crazy, Riley. The angel whispers back from the other. You have options. Your family will support you. Think this through.

But deep down I already know my decision. With shaky hands, my fingers search for the contact info on the clinic’s website, then press the keys, pushing each button with a sense of raw finality.

The line rings once. Twice. Three times.

My stomach is a knot, fingernails bitten raw, and I’m about to hang up when a tired woman’s voice answers. “Good afternoon. Thank you for calling New Horizons, a Center for Women. How may I direct your call?”

I squeeze my eyes shut, and my fist grips the phone tighter. I send up a desperate prayer, begging God for forgiveness, before I speak. “I’d like to make an appointment.”

20

Riley

The appointment is two days away, and I’m hanging on by a thread. It’s Saturday, and I have nothing to distract me from the prison of my mind. Nothing appeals to me. Not escaping into the latest Grisham thriller. Not mindlessly watching TV. Not going for a jog along the river. Nothing.

Since I’ve told no one about… I can’t bring myself to say the word… I find myself craving solitude. I’ve heard a lot of people overuse the expression “no one understands” but it’s truly how I feel. No one could possibly understand what I’m going through, but it’s because I don’t want them to. I don’t want to share my feelings or talk about my decision, because it will shatter what little remains of my heart.

No, this is my cross to bear, and I alone will endure the scars.

The campus library seems like the safest option to hide out until Liza’s left for the weekend. All my friends, but Liza in particular, have good intentions, but it’s hard to appreciate their concerns when I’ve no desire to be around anyone, let alone talk. Yet with each passing day they greet me with more questions: Are you okay, Riley? You seem so down. Why don’t you go out anymore? Have you been crying?

And although I could never, would never, share this secret with anyone, a small part of me hopes someone, anyone, will push until I break, because I don’t know how I’m going to survive this on my own.

I ignored all calls from my mom and Jesse and responded with clipped “Been busy, talk soon” texts. My mom seems satisfied with the response. Jesse, not so much.

I managed to make it to all my classes this past week, but only because after the appointment I assumed I’d have to miss a few days due to the recovery period.

My eyes squeeze shut. Don’t think about that now, Riley. You’re doing the right thing. Just get back to the dorm. Liza will be gone, so there will be no fake smiles, no forced conversation. Just you and yourself. But that’s exactly what I’m afraid of.

By the time I make it to the front door of our dormitory, I don’t recall the ten-minute walk from the library. I’m so wrapped up in my head, so disconnected from my surroundings, that a bomb could go off and I wouldn’t even notice. It’s frightening.

After dropping my book bag inside my room, I head down the hall to the communal bathrooms. Inside the stall, I make quick work of tugging down my leggings, and when I look down and see the dark red splotch staining my panties, I lose my breath. Stunned, I stare a few moments longer, and then I cry. I fucking cry.

* * *

Thankfully, the dorm is mostly empty on Saturday afternoons; otherwise half my floor would’ve witnessed my emotional breakdown. I stay in the bathroom stall for over an hour, sprawled on the floor, hands holding my stomach, all the while crying like a baby.

Emotions tear through my body, a tsunami of feelings so strong and forceful that I couldn’t stand even if I wanted to.

Sadness.

Guilt.

Emptiness.

Worry.

Remorse.

Relief.

The cold splashes of water do nothing to hide the blotchy patches of my skin or red puffy eyes. My hair is a rat’s nest. A few long stands hang down my back; others poke out in all directions from the messy bun atop my head. I hobble down the hall, movements slow and weak, long waiting for the moment I can crawl into bed and forget everything. Please, I pray, let sleep take this all away.

My head is down as I round the final corner, my hand searching for my ID badge, when I hear his voice. The only voice that could bring me comfort.

“Riley.”

I stop dead in my tracks, and when my eyes find his, so sincere and laced with concern and love, I burst into tears all over again.

21

Jesse

The right thing to do is to keep my damn mouth shut, to let Riley tell me things in her own time when she’s ready, just like she lets me do when I’m upset. But I can’t seem to stop the questions pouring from my mouth, mainly the ones about Jason, because I will kill the bastard who did this to her.

“It was only one time. And we used a condom.” Her voice breaks on the last word. Then she quietly adds, “I think.”

I squeeze my eyes closed in an attempt to shut out the images of her with another man. To erase the look of hurt that lies heavy within her eyes. To rewind time and undo the scars of her mistakes.

“Riley.” My voice strains the word, slow and controlled, because I don’t want to scare her with the rage that flows hot through my veins. “Did he…?” I can’t bring myself to say the word rape, so instead I say, “Force himself on you?”

She shakes her head side to side quickly. “No.”

One of my hands rests on her upper arm, the other reaches forward to cradle her face. I’m not sure how much I should push, but this is Riley, and I fucking love her, and if someone hurt her, so help me God.

“Baby,” I whisper, as my thumb drags across her smooth cheek. “Are you sure? If you were that drunk…” I trail off, not wanting to share the horrible scenarios that are roaring to life in my head: she said no, and he didn’t stop; he drugged her, she passed out and he had sex with her anyway. Fuck.

“No.” She catches my hand in hers. “He didn’t force me. He’s an asshole, not a rapist.”

My eyes stare into hers and say the things I’m too afraid to say. How do you know? You don’t even know him. He took advantage of you.

“I’m sure,” she whispers. “What little memories I have I’ve tried to forget, but I know it was consensual.”

I interlace my fingers with hers and squeeze. “Why didn’t you come to me?”

Her eyes search mine. “And say what? I had a drunken one-night stand with some guy who knocked me up?”

“Yeah.” My nostrils flare. “That’s exactly what you say.” I huff. “This is you and me.” I gesture between us. “We don’t have secrets.”

“Don’t we?” She looks at me for the briefest of moments and then casts her eyes down.

Dread seizes my stomach and twists it into tight knots. She knows. I lick my suddenly dry lips and force exhales through my nose to slow my heartbeat.

Tell her.

Tell her now.

Tell her you love her.

“Riley—”

But she cuts me off, whether intentional or not, I can’t be sure. “I was ashamed. I didn’t want you to think…” She takes a step back and sits on the edge of her bed. Her hands cover her face, and her body begins to shake. She’s crying. Quiet tears.

I move beside her, pull us both onto the bed, and wrap her in my arms. She collapses like dead weight into my lap. My fingers smooth the hair away from her face. I want to do anything—everything—possible to take her pain away.

“I feel like I have no right…” She sobs into my thigh. “I didn’t want this... I was…” Her breath heaves, body shakes, and I band my arms more tightly around her.

“Riley, baby.” I press my lips to her temple.

I feel her head move against my thigh, a slow up and down motion before she says, “I’m glad I don’t have to be alone right now.”

“You’re never alone, baby.” I stroke her hair. “I’m here. I’ll always be here.”

“Will you…?” She pauses, sniffles, and regains her breath. “Will you stay with me tonight?”

I kiss her temple once more, as I pull her up to face me. “For however long you need.”

22

Riley

Before I’ve even fully pushed myself up, Jesse gathers me in his arms once more. He lays us down on the bed so our bodies press together from fingertip to toe.

So close. So safe. It’s like I’m finally home.

My fingers curl into the back of his shirt, pulling him that much closer. God, if I could crawl inside him I would. Right now he’s the only thing anchoring me. Without him, I’d drift away, succumb to the nothingness that my life has become.

I ugly cry into his shirt, marking the light blue fabric with a hideous stain, and I imagine all of my darkness—my mistakes, poor decisions, regrets—concentrated in that one spot. My body is not my own as the sobs continue. Sounds I didn’t know I was capable of making slip past my lips. All the sadness, the worry, the fear—I let him feel it all and he takes it. He is strong for the both of us. Minutes pass, bleeding into hours, and finally, finally my body has exhausted itself.

I lie nestled alongside Jesse. His arms band tight around me and his hands rub my back in soothing, small circles as his lips graze my forehead. He doesn’t say a word, simply holds me, allowing me time to grieve the loss. The loss of a child I never wanted.

It’s then, in that moment, I confide my darkest secret. “I had an appointment.” My throat is hoarse when I speak, barely a whisper. It might be possible he hasn’t heard me, but I know he has when his arms squeeze me tighter. I continue. “Monday morning.”

“Riley.” His voice soothes, but I don’t deserve the comfort. What type of woman kills her own child? What type of woman feels relief when she miscarries? Me, that’s who. A selfish, heartless monster.

He gently rolls on top of me, plants his palms on either side of my face. When I don’t immediately look at him, his fingertips guide my face back toward his. “Life is about choices, Ry. Some good, some bad. And maybe, just maybe someone—God, the universe, the spirits, whoever—knew you weren’t ready for this choice, so it was made for you. Everything happens for a reason.”

I nod my head, half-listening, half-amazed at the profound words leaving Jesse’s mouth. He’s far wiser than his nineteen years. “Maybe.” I shrug, not allowing myself to indulge in the comfort his words bring.

“You will be a great mother someday. An amazing mother.”

My eyes squeeze shut. “Thank you.” When I open my eyes, Jesse is staring at me with an intensity, a rawness, that causes my heart to skip a beat. My eyes widen and flick to his full, round lips, remembering the way they felt pressed against my own all those months ago.

He shifts above me, and something grazes my thigh… Holy shit.

His eyes find mine and shine with love and something else, maybe lust. He leans forward, and I’m certain he’s going to kiss me, and God I want him to, but at the last second he rolls back onto his side and places a chaste kiss on my temple. “Don’t ever hide anything from me again.” He pauses, then adds more softly, “Please.”

“I won’t,” I whisper, trying my damnedest to calm my racing heart. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry.” He curls a lock of my hair. “No more secrets.”

I look at him, eyes searching when I say, “No more secrets?” My voice rises at the end. I’m trying to ask if he feels it, too. This connection, this pull between us that isn’t going away no matter how much I try to force it to.

His eyes narrow and a look of resignation masks his face. “I can’t lose you, Riley.” His warm breath dances across my skin. “You’re my everything.”

Disappointment hits low in my belly, but I try to explain it away. It’s been an emotional couple of weeks. He’s just familiar to you. He’s your best friend. I smile to hide my hurt. “Forever?”

“Forever.”

As he holds me, my eyes begin to drift closed. My body is spent, exhausted, and right here with Jesse is the safest and calmest I’ve felt in weeks. I’m somewhere in between consciousness and sleep, that fuzzy place where nothing seems real, when I hear Jesse whisper across the stillness, “I love you, Riley Ann.”

A smile stretches across my lips. I love you, too.

23

Riley

When it rains it pours. Two weeks later, on my way to English composition, I receive a call from my mom. “Hello?” I answer on the first ring.

“Riley?” My mom questions, although I’m one hundred percent positive she knows it’s me.

“What’s up?” I glance at the clock. “It’s early, aren’t you still at work?”

She sighs and my stomach clenches in fear. “Honey, I’m afraid I have some bad news.”

My hand grips the phone tighter, and my heart begins to pound in my chest.

“What’s wrong? Is Dad okay? Mikayla?” My words come out rapid-fire.

“No,” she continues. “It’s Jesse’s grandmother. She passed away this morning.”

“What?” My voice booms, and I drop my bag on the sidewalk. “When? How? Does Jesse know?”

“Yes.” She sighs again. “He came home last night. She had another stroke, but there was nothing they could do this time. I’m sorry to call you now. I know you have classes but Ms. Collins asked me to phone you. Jesse isn’t taking it well.”

Of course he’s not taking it well. Jesse never met his dad’s parents, and his maternal grandfather died before he was born. Mrs. Pepretts—Gram was the only grandparent he ever knew, the only grandparent he had. “Mom, I gotta go,” I say, but then add, “Thanks for letting me know.”

“You’re welcome, honey. By—”

Before she even finishes the word, I hang up the phone and dial Jesse’s number, but the call goes straight to voicemail. I hang up and dial again. When his recording picks up a second time, I decide to leave a message. “Jesse, it’s me. I just heard. Call me. Please.”

I end the call and pull up our last text thread.

Riley: Call me, please

Walking at a furious pace back to my dorm, I punch Liza’s number into my phone.

Her bubbly voice answers after the second ring. “Hey, girl, what’s up?”

I don’t bother with greetings and get straight to the point. “I need to borrow your car.”

“Is everything okay?” she asks with genuine concern in her voice.

“I need to get home. Jesse’s grandmother passed away this morning, and I need to get to him.”

She doesn’t question me further. “Keys are in the top, right-hand drawer of my desk.”

All the breath rushes out of me, making me dizzy. I stop walking and squeeze my eyes shut. “Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it. That’s what friends are for.”

* * *

By the time I approach exit fifty-six, the exit I need, Jesse still hasn’t called, even though I left him numerous texts and voicemails. It’s a gamble, but I drive straight to his grandmother’s house in West County rather than his mom’s house. Most of his mom’s family lives in West County, so I’m assuming that’s where everyone will be.

It’s been a while since I’d visited his grandmother’s house, but I remember the way (mostly) and only have to turn around once. When I pull onto her road, I know I’ve made the right choice, because there are at least seven cars parked in the driveway and street. I pull the car onto the side of the road and run straight through the grass to the front door. I don’t knock, just walk in, which, in hindsight, I guess is pretty rude, but I’m not thinking of manners or etiquette…the only thing I’m thinking about is Jesse.

I find his mom first, sitting in the front living room talking to her sister, Jesse’s aunt, Rhonda, and one of Jesse’s cousins whose name I don’t remember. She stands when she sees me, and I rush to her arms, embracing her in a hug.

“I’m so sorry,” I whisper, and she hugs me a little tighter. We both pull back and I ask, “Where is he?”

“Kitchen.” She gestures with her chin toward the back of the house.

“Thank you.” I squeeze her hands and turn away.

Jesse stands near the breakfast bar, talking to his Uncle John. His eyes are bloodshot as though he’s been crying, and he wears a Briar basketball t-shirt and faded grey sweatpants.

His eyes snap to mine and widen in confusion as I rush toward him. Wrapping him in my arms, I speak softly into his ear. “I’m so sorry.” Twining his arms around me, he nods once before I continue. “Are you okay?”

He shakes his head no and I squeeze tighter. “Wanna get some fresh air?”

Pulling back slightly, he nods his response. His eyes have a misty sheen to them and my heart breaks for him, for this boy who is usually so strong, so capable. In this moment, I would do anything to take his pain away.

He discreetly drags his palms across his face, and I run my hands up and down his back in what I hope is a soothing gesture. “Whatever you wanna do. Whatever you need…” My voice trails off as a young girl enters the kitchen, hair tied back in a ponytail. She wears black yoga pants and a Briar t-shirt, as well. She looks familiar.

“Jes, I found a—” She stops abruptly when she sees me with Jesse, and it’s then, when her eyes meet mine, that I remember who she is: Lily.

“Charger?” She sets a white cord and plug on the counter and Jesse reaches for it.

“Thanks.” He pulls his phone out of his pocket and says to no one in particular. “It’s dead.”

The words sound so cruel, so cold and callous, given the circumstances of why we’re all here. He turns away from us and plugs in the wire.

“Hi.” I reach my hand forward in greeting. “I’m not sure if you remember me. I’m―”

“I know who you are.” Lily’s voice is severe, almost accusatory. I must make a face because she smiles (or at least attempts to) before saying, “Sorry. You’re Riley. Jesse’s friend from back home, right?”

I don’t get a chance to answer before Jesse looks at me and asks, “Are you ready?”

My eyes volley between him and Lily. Can you say awkward? “Um…” I hesitate, but then I realize Jesse isn’t going to ask Lily to join us, so I do. “We’re gonna get some air. Wanna come?”

She seems unsure and looks to Jesse for an answer before saying, “I think I’m gonna head back. It’s a long drive, and I want to get on the road before it gets dark.”

Jesse snaps out of his fog. “No.” He meets Lily’s eyes. “Stay. My aunt fixed the bed in the spare bedroom for you. It’s too late to head back now.”

Lily’s gaze turns hopeful. “Okay.”

I offer a shaky smile as Lily continues, “Let me just grab my phone and then we can—”

Jesse’s voice cuts her off. “I just want to be alone right now. I’ll catch up with you in a little bit, okay?”

“Sure.” Lily’s smile slips.

We both watch as Jesse opens the door. He’s halfway onto the porch when he pauses and glances over his shoulder. “You coming, Ry?”

With one last, sad smile at Lily, I turn and follow him outside to wherever he wants to go, because he needs me right now, and that’s all that matters.

24

Jesse

I’m in Lily’s room, more than half naked when my mom calls. Normally, I’d kick the call to voicemail and call her back later on once I’m in my own dorm, but the timing of the call is off. It’s after 10:00 p.m., only two hours into my mom’s shift at the hospital, a time she wouldn’t typically be calling to chat.

“Hello?” I say, voice hoarse because Lily doesn’t stop smoothing her hand over my cock.

“Jesse.” My mom’s voice sounds different, more cautious. “Where are you?”

“I’m…” I grab Lily’s hand with my own and begin to sit up, but still she doesn’t stop. She dips her head and begins licking a path down my stomach. “What’s wrong?” I breathe, squeezing my eyes shut because fuck, what Lily’s doing feels good.

“I’m calling about Gram.” I suck in a breath as she says, “She had another stroke.”

Fisting Lily’s hair in my hand, I hold her head still as she tries to kiss her way farther down my abdomen. When she persists, I push her off me and stand up. “When?” I clutch the phone tighter as I search the floor for my sweatpants.

“An hour ago.” My mom’s voice breaks on a sob. “The doctors aren’t giving her much time.”

“I’ll be there as soon as I can,” I say, as I push my feet into my sneakers.

“Jes.” My mom’s voice carries through the phone. “Do you have someone to drive you? I don’t want you driving this late while you’re upset.”

“Mom—” I start to argue, but she cuts me off.

“Please, Jesse. I don’t want to have to worry about you on top of everything else.”

My eyes dart to Lily and I nod my head. “Yeah, I have someone who can drive me.”

* * *

My grandmother’s house is one of two houses on Brubaker Lane. It’s a dirt road that sees few cars and even fewer pedestrians. As a kid I loved coming to visit her because I could ride my bike without having to worry about traffic or people. It was like I owned the road, like it was my own private kingdom. I’ve never been more grateful for the peacefulness, the desolateness of her neighborhood than I am today.

We’ve walked more than a mile down the road before Riley speaks. “I went to the clinic.”

“Yeah?” I question, my heart filling with gratitude because she knows exactly what I need right now: a distraction.

“Uh-huh.” She kicks a small rock farther down the road. “Yeah, everything came back…okay.”

Thank God.

We continue walking, and when she comes across the same stone as before, she kicks it again. “Thank God.” She mirrors my thoughts. “I also got a script for birth control—I never want to go through that again.”

“That’s good, Ry.”

We walk another few feet and she says, “You know, you were pretty mean to Lily back there.”

I grunt. I know I wasn’t nice, but I’m not at my best right now. I just lost my only grandparent. My head is so fucked up. “I’ll apologize.”

Riley stops in front of me and takes my hands. “Lily will understand. You’re hurting right now. You’re not thinking straight. Your gram was…”

“I loved her so much.” My voice breaks and I dip my head, embarrassed by the tears forming in my eyes.

“I know.” Riley wraps me in her arms. “It’s okay to cry, Jes. It’s okay to be sad. It’s okay to miss her.”

I bury my head in the crook of Riley’s neck and let her hold me. No words are exchanged. Just her simply being here with me is all I need, and for once, I’m grateful that we didn’t complicate our friendship with sex or other intense feelings, because nothing is more comforting than her love for me right now. If we had crossed the line—a line we’ve been tiptoeing around for years—I might not have this. Her. Here with me now.

We stay like that until the air cools and the wind whips across our skin.

“We should head back,” I suggest, because it seems like the right thing to say, and I probably should apologize to Lily before it gets too late.

“You okay?” Riley angles her face toward me as she cradles my cheek with her palm.

I close my eyes and relish in her comfort for a moment longer. “I will be.”

She releases her hand, and I immediately interlace my fingers with hers. “Ry?”

“Yeah?”

“Thanks for coming.”

“There’s no place in the world I’d rather be.”

And the absolute best part is I know she fucking means it.

25

Riley

Jesse’s grandmother was buried two days later in a small, yet tasteful, service attended by her family and several close friends. Surprisingly, Jesse’s dad flew in from North Carolina to attend the funeral and stayed an additional week to help Jesse’s mother and aunt sort the estate and tie up any remaining loose ends.

Jesse and I talked when we could, and for the most part it seemed that he was coping with the loss well—or at least as well as can be expected.

The months bled into one another, and before I could blink it was almost the end of spring semester.

I’ve maintained most of the positive changes I implemented after my breakdown in February. I still attend parties, but I rarely—if ever—drink. In a way, it works to everyone’s benefit. My friends are grateful to have a reliable designated driver, and because of this, no one ever pressures me to do something I don’t want to do.

Occasionally I’ll let loose, but only with a close group of friends: mainly Liza, our mutual friend, Kara, or (when I see him) Jesse. I trust myself to never get that out of control again, but there’s no harm in being extra cautious. Besides, ever since that terrible night, alcohol, in general, is a touchy subject for me.

The first week of May finals are in full swing, and I resign myself to the fact that I’ll be spending every waking minute in the library for the next week so I can cram all the necessary information into my brain. I’m an interior design major, but my math class—I was assigned calculus based on my high school transcript, even though I only needed a general education credit—is kicking my ass. This past month alone, I filled up three notebooks with class notes and problems.

Studying in the library has always been my refuge. I have a special spot, a little table wedged in the corner that is hidden from view by three, tall, wooden bookcases that house the reference materials. It’s my secret place. Students rarely venture up to the fourth floor—why would they, when they have Google?—but even if they do, they never cross to the back wall, to my corner. And that’s exactly how I like it.

My phone buzzes alongside my calc notebook. A smile tips the corners of my lips as I read the text.

Jesse: Whatcha doing?

Riley: Studying calculus.

Jesse: Srsly? How do you even study for math?

I snap a picture of the three pages of notes I’d just completed and send it to him.

Riley: That’s one problem.

Jesse: Shoot me now. When you coming home?

Riley: May 7th Dad’s picking me up.

Jesse: Cool. I’ll be home May 10th. Tree house?

My heart does this weird flutter thing when I think about seeing him. Alone. In our tree house. At night. But I ignore it. I’ve just started “talking” to this guy, Dave, who Liza introduced me to from her speech class. We’ve hung out a couple of times and I’ve had fun. He’s sweet and has a dry sense of humor that cracks me up.

I type back my response, deleting the kissing heart emoji that I normally send in our texts, but at the last minute I tack it back on.

Riley: Sounds like a plan. *kissing heart emoji*

Jesse: Can’t wait to see you.

Riley: Me, too. Good luck on your finals.

Jesse: Thanks. I’m gonna need it. See ya May 10th Riley Ann.

* * *

The timber plank creeks as I pull my weight onto the last rung of the wooden ladder. The sky is a dusky mix of oranges and yellows as the sun shifts behind the clouds and the moon winks in the night sky. I settle against the wall, the tiny splinters of wood pricking my bare shoulders and upper back. A cool breeze whips through the open window, and I wrap my arms around my chest. Dammit. I forgot to bring a jacket.

I’m debating whether or not I want to go back to my house to grab my hoodie, the entire time knowing full well I’m too lazy to do so, when Jesse’s head appears over the top of the ladder. He pulls himself up and walks toward where I sit. I drag myself up to stand and he wraps me in a hug, lifting and twirling me around. “Riley.” He smiles as he sets me back on my feet. “It’s so good to see you. It’s so good to be home.”

I nod as we both plop onto the threadbare carpet that we pilfered from Mrs. Kennedy’s trash years ago. “How have you been?” I ask, the question laced with meaning.

“Good,” he says. “I’m glad to be back at my mom’s. She’s having a hard time. My gram’s house still hasn’t sold, so it’s a lot for her and my aunt to take care of.”

“It will,” I say optimistically, even though the house is in the middle of nowhere and needs upgrading. “Are you really doing okay?”

“Yes.” He smiles. “I promise.”

“Good.” I poke his stomach. “Now, fill me in on everything, Jesse.”

“Lily and I broke up.” He exhales once.

“What happened?” Truthfully, I’m not surprised. For one, Jesse doesn’t do long-term relationships, and after their rather awkward goodbye before his gram’s funeral, I’m shocked they lasted this long.

“Nothing. It’s just…” He shakes his head. “How about you? How’s Dave Thomas?”

“Stop!” I swat his chest. “That joke was funny the first five times.”

He smiles. “I’m gonna start calling you Wendy.” My eyes widen but he continues, “You do have red hair.”

“Seriously?”

He laughs again but then becomes more serious. “How are you really?” The sincere way he speaks the words tells me exactly what he’s asking.

“I’m okay.” I squeeze his hand.

He squeezes back. “I worry about you.”

“Same.” I stare into his eyes that begin to cloud over with emotion. I’m unable to tell which emotion exactly; maybe it’s worry, or conflict, or something else entirely. “So, tell me. How did you finish this semester?”

He pulls back, rests his arms on his bent knees. “I don’t know yet.”

I make a face. “Jes, grades post online almost immediately.”

He shrugs.

“We can check?” I lean forward to pull my phone from my back pocket.

He snatches the phone from my hands. “No.”

I turn to face him. “What aren’t you telling me?” I nudge his shoulder. “We said no more secrets.” He’s quiet, but I persist. “I know when you’re lying to me.”

He scoffs. “Really?”

“Fine.” I huff, voice angry. “Let’s not talk about it.

There are several moments of strained silence before he finally speaks. “I failed my classes.” I suck in a breath, and he glances at me before dropping his gaze. “That’s why I was a little later getting home. I had to meet with my advisor and Coach.”

“How many did you fail?”

His voice is sullen. “Four.”

After the words settle, after the initial shock wears off, I switch into fix-it mode. “It sucks, but you can make up the credits. Did they talk to you about enrolling in summer school?”

“Yeah.” He pulls at a loose thread on the carpet.

“Well, that’s a start.” I bolster my inner optimist. “I mean, your dad might be a little disappointed that you’re not spending the summer with him, but I’m sure he’ll understand. And if you need help, I can—”

“I’m not doing it, Riley.”

I gasp. Loudly. “What?”

“I’m not going back to college.”

“Jes.” I push myself to stand and begin pacing the small square of space to dispel some of the nervous energy. “You can’t be serious.”

He stands, shrugs off his zippered hoodie and hands it to me. “Here.”

I stare at him as though he’s grown two heads, but he shakes the jacket in indication for me to take it. “You’re cold,” he says, matter-of-factly.

I’m about to argue, but I watch as his eyes fall to my chest, to my hard nipples poking through the thin tank top. I snatch it from his hands and push my arms into the sleeves. It’s huge but warm and smells like him, woodsy, like fresh-cut cedar mixed with earthy pine.

We stand, facing each other, a challenge in our stares daring the other to speak. I cave first. “Have you thought about this?” I tug the sleeves over my hands. “Really thought about this?”

He exhales. “I don’t know. What’s there to think about, really? I failed.” The way he says the word failed rips my heart in two. He sounds tired. Miserable. Defeated.

“So, what?” I counter. “Millions of people fail classes.”

“You don’t.”

I give him a look that says I’m a nerd. “You can make up the credits and start fresh your sophomore year.”

He shakes his head. “I know it sounds crazy, but…I don’t belong there. I enrolled because it was the right thing to do and because I got a kickass scholarship for basketball, but…” His voice trails off. “With my gram passing away, it’s like life’s too short to invest time and money into something I don’t care about. I’ve never been good in school, you know that.”

I think about the truth in his words, about how we never really had a choice regarding our future. Everyone—from our parents, to our counselors, to the college admissions reps who set-up tables every lunch period during senior year—it wasn’t a matter of if we’d go to college, but a matter of where.

I never really considered the alternative, mainly because I liked school. I liked learning. But if I’m being one hundred percent honest, Jesse never did. He always scraped by doing the bare minimum, even though I knew he was capable of more. He cut classes, ignored homework assignments, and never took notes. Maybe he had thought about this decision more than I gave him credit for. Maybe he was finally doing something that was right for him, even though the decision seemed counterintuitive.

“What will you do?” My eyes search his.

He shrugs. “I don’t know.”

“Have you talked to your mom yet?” It’s a loaded question and we both know it. Ms. Collins is a single mom who started as a nurse’s aide and paid her way through night classes to become a registered nurse. She has an incredible work ethic and currently supervises an entire team of nurses in the cardiology department at our local hospital.

Jesse’s decision to quit school would gut her.

He shakes his head. “No.” He toys with the zipper on my hoodie—his hoodie, but whatever. “She’ll understand. My dad didn’t go to college, and he does all right.”

Because I met Jesse after his parents divorced when he was five, I don’t know his dad well. I’ve seen his dad, Ray Collins, a few times, most recently at his grandmother’s funeral, but our conversations were limited, at best. Ray Collins was a man of few words. At fifty-three, he’s never remarried and has devoted his life to the small motorcycle shop, Ray’s Rides, he owns and operates in Outer Banks, North Carolina. I looked it up online once, and it seems nice enough.

Jesse spends his summers with his dad working at the shop but has never really said much about it, other than the south is “hot as balls” and that the mosquitos are “fucking ridiculous.”

A cricket chirping in the distance pulls me back to the present. “I guess,” I agree half-heartedly. “If you go through with this, you’ll have to figure something out.”

“Creysto Plastics is hiring.”

My nose scrunches. “You want to work in a factory?”

He shrugs. “Just until I can figure out what the hell I want to do with my life.”

I nod.

He slides the zipper up and then down, his eyes tracing the movement.

Back and forth.

Back and forth.

He avoids my gaze as he asks, “You’re not disappointed in me?”

“What? No!” I halt his hand. “Why would you think that I’d be disappointed?”

He shrugs. “Because you’re so smart and I’m…”

“Stop it.” My voice is strong. “We’re both smart in our own way.”

He grunts.

“I’m serious. You’re good with your hands.” His eyes flash to mine, burn with heat, and I continue on, flustered. “You know every basketball play imaginable. And don’t get me started on the crazy player statistics you rattle off out of nowhere.”

He cracks a smile.

“We’re different. That doesn’t make one of us better than the other. Different is different. Different is good.”

His voice is quiet when he says, “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

He grins as his fingers grab the zipper once more and tugs it all the way up to my neck. He nearly catches my hair in the teeth of the metal, but I pull away just in time.

“Stop!” I knock his hand away. “What are you doing?”

“Covering you up.” A sexy smirk tips the corners of his lips. “Your nipples are seriously distracting.”

I’m thankful that the darkness disguises my blush. “God, you’re such a guy.”

“I like tits.” His voice is proud, as though he just solved a global crisis and not just declared his love of breasts.

“Not mine,” I retort.

“Especially yours,” he answers back, and I tell myself that I’m imagining the desire in his voice, the heavy weight of his stare.

I shrug to diffuse the tension. This is our new normal. The teasing banter, the sexy flirting, the playful touching. “Then I better keep ’em covered.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Come on.” I climb down the ladder and he follows. “Let’s go for an ice cream, and then you should talk to your mom.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he repeats, this time adding a salute.

I shake my head at the silly gesture. “Let’s move, soldier. My treat.”

“In that case, I’m getting a double.”

I fish for the twenty dollars I found in the pocket of his hoodie and wink. “You can get whatever you want.”

“Hey!” he scolds, and tries to snatch the bill from my hand, but I pull it away.

“You want it?” I tease. “Come and get it.”

Laughing, we both take off running down the street.

26

Riley

Time has a funny way of slipping away. I remember when I was a little girl, counting the days until my birthday. Back then, time passed as slowly as molasses. Each day dragged on, the minutes crawling by at a snail’s pace, and it felt like I had all the time in the world. Time to do anything and everything I wanted.

I longed for those days. Because now? Time passes in the blink of an eye. It felt like just yesterday I started at Lennox University, my stomach a ball of nerves and eagerness all cramped together at the idea, the excitement of a new beginning.

Now, as I start my senior year, I embark on another first: my first apartment on my own. It’s not much—and I’m not being modest. In the tiny bathroom, the paint’s peeling from the ceiling after a previous water leak from the above apartment that the landlord hasn’t bothered to fix. The kitchen is dated and boasts scuffed, laminate countertops that are a putrid, mustard-yellow color. But I don’t care in the least, because it is mine.

Even though I loved rooming with Liza for the past three years, even though we synchronized our schedules to damn near perfection, I secretly yearned for a place of my own. I longed for my own little corner of the world where I could sit in silence and think. Or blast the music and dance. Or walk around buck-naked. Or leave dirty dishes in the sink just because I didn’t feel like washing them.

I’d found the apartment by accident. It was late July and I was driving back to campus to attend a one-day training at Stock House Furnishings, a local business where I was completing a (non-paid) internship during my fall semester. The gig was a sweet deal—apart from it being unpaid—because it was within walking distance to campus, and the owners agreed to work around my class schedule.

I’d just gotten off the freeway and turned down the main avenue, when I spotted the “For Rent” sign stuck in the small patch of grass near the front steps of the building. On impulse, I pulled over and snapped a quick photo of the contact info.

With my busy day of training, I’d forgotten all about the apartment until later that night as I scrolled through my pics. The next morning, I called and set up an appointment for my mom and me to see the unit the following Tuesday.

Fast forward four weeks, and here we are. Moving day.

“Where’s Dad?” my mom asks as she sets another box on the kitchen counter.

“Last time I saw him, he was interrogating my neighbors.”

She chuckles, because we both know how overprotective my dad can be. It’s the cop in him, I guess. “Nice. He leaves us to carry the heavy boxes.”

“Hey!” Jesse nudges past her with another box labeled Kitchen stuff. “I’m helping.”

“You’re such a dear. Riley’s lucky to have a good friend like you.” My mom kisses him on the cheek before turning to me. “Riley, tell me again, why couldn’t Dave help today?”

“Because he’s a douchebag,” Jesse mumbles low under his breath, so low that my mom can’t hear, but I do.

“He had to work,” I say for the hundredth time. Just because we’re dating doesn’t mean he’s obligated to help me move. But the truth is I am a bit annoyed that he isn’t helping. We had this date scheduled for weeks, and I’m not buying the excuse that his boss refused to give him the day off. It’s most likely that he’s avoiding my parents, even though they know nothing about the incident.

“Well, at least you have Jesse,” my mom says, as she swipes a strand of hair from her sweat-stained face.

I look at Jesse and smile. I’ll always have Jesse.

27

Jesse

For the past two weeks, every free minute outside of work has been dedicated to helping Riley settle into her new apartment. My job duties include, but aren’t limited to, moving heavy items, assembling the new furniture she purchased from Ikea, and killing bugs. Two spiders and one earwig, to be exact.

I’m not complaining—I’d do anything for Riley—I just don’t understand what role Dave, her boyfriend, plays in her life, and more importantly, why she tolerates him, still wants him around, especially after what he did to her. He hasn’t lifted one piece of furniture, unpacked one box, or even come over to see her new place. He’s busy. But honestly, how in-demand are cell-phone reps anyway? At least, I think that’s what he does; he lost me somewhere after “increased network coverage.”

“Penny for your thoughts.” Liza sits next to me on the sofa.

I lift the can of Sprite to my lips to avoid answering her question.

“My back hurts,” Riley complains, as she flops into the armchair across from us. She winces as she leans forward to rub the sore spot. “I think I pulled something.”

“Getting old,” I tease.

She sticks her tongue out. “Shut up. Not everyone can be as fit as you.”

I turn my head and flex my arms. “All muscle, baby.”

Riley rolls her eyes, but Liza grips my bicep, her eyes widening in surprise. “Holy shit, Jesse. Your arms are ripped!”

I shrug out of Liza’s grip. My job at the warehouse is physical, and two days a week I play with a recreational basketball league at the community center. It’s not like I work out every day, but I am extremely active.

Liza’s eyes drift to the unopened gift bag near the door. “Hey! You didn’t open your present.”

Riley’s eyes dart toward the present. “Liza! You didn’t have to do that.” Her gaze flits to where we sit. “Besides, I should be buying you guys a thank-you gift. I don’t know what I would’ve done without you.”

Liza smiles. “Trust me. This present is as much for me as it is you.”

Riley pushes herself to stand and groans. “Ow.”

“Does your back hurt you that bad?” I question, genuine concern in my voice. She did move a heavy stack of boxes labeled Books, even though I told her I’d move it for her after work.

“Yeah.” Liza sneaks a glance my way. “I’m sure Jesse would be happy to rub it for you.”

My eyes narrow; Liza always makes these types of comments about Riley and me. She’s convinced that we want each other or some shit. Well, she’s half-right.

Riley ignores the comment and carries the bag into the living room. The telltale clang of glass, combined with the way Riley hefts the bag, is a dead giveaway as to its contents: bottles of wine.

Riley pulls the first bottle. “Niagra.” Her smile is huge. “My favorite.” She lifts the second bottle. “And Moscato. You know me well.” Her voice turns soft. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome, girl.” Liza walks toward Riley and hugs her. “Congratulations on your first apartment. You’re officially a grown-up.”

“Eep!” Riley squeals, and the girls laugh before Liza says, “Okay, now which one are we crackin’ first?”

28

Riley

My body is already starting to feel the effects after only two glasses of wine. My eyes find Jesse’s as Liza uncorks the first bottle. His eyes communicate everything I need to know: I got you. You’re safe. Have fun with your friend.

Knowing Jesse’s here, knowing he wouldn’t let anything happen to me, I let myself indulge a little more than I should. And by the time we’ve opened the second bottle, I’m feeling downright giddy.

As Liza and I chat, Jesse remains quiet, somewhat paying attention and occasionally commenting on or laughing at something silly we say. But then the conversation turns to sex. I’m not even sure how—well, that’s not true—I know exactly how this conversation started: Liza.

The girl loves to talk about anything and everything related to doing the deed, a trait that has earned her the reputation of slut, but those close to her know the truth. She’s fairly conservative in bed, and has had fewer partners than most.

“Come on,” she says, as she munches on another handful of chips. “All I’m saying is that if they made wax replicas of Chris Hemsworth’s penis, you’d buy one.”

I arch my brow skeptically and cast a glance in Jesse’s direction. My eyes plead with him to jump in and end the conversation, but his head is bent in concentration over his phone.

He’s probably texting Shelly. He’s probably arranging their next hookup. He’s probably going to fuck her after he leaves tonight.

I roll my eyes in disgust, but then I’m annoyed at myself. Why do I give a shit about who Jesse hooks up with?

“What?” Liza’s voice draws my attention back. “I bet it’d be a bestseller. Certainly better than the Jack Rabbit you have.”

“Liza!” My voice raises ten octaves. “Okay, I think you’re cut off.”

I’d confessed one night when we still roomed together that I preferred to use my vibrator, because it was quicker and more efficient than any of the men I’d been with. It was silly girl talk, and I never imagined that she’d share something so private.

“Sorry.” She shrugs and smirks at Jesse, who’s now watching me with sudden interest. “It’s not like he doesn’t jerk off.” She shrugs again. “We all do it. It’s biology.”

“Besides”―she tosses the bowl of chips on the low coffee table―“weren’t you the one who said…”

“Enough.” I slice my hand through the air.

“No,” Jesse interjects, voice husky and holding more heat than I’ve ever heard before. “I want to hear this.” He pins Liza with his gaze. “What did Ry say?”

Liza’s gaze jumps between Jesse and me, her smile downright wicked. “That she has more fun with herself than she ever has with any man.”

My face flames redder than a lobster, shines more cherry red than a summer-ripe tomato. It’s like I have a motherfucking third-degree sunburn.

Note to self: Kill Liza. Slowly.

The sound of Jesse sucking in a breath is palpable, and I hear the soft whisper of his words. “Holy shit.”

My hands shield my face, and my fingers dig into my scalp. How do I get myself into these situations? Yes, Liza is my best girl friend and Jesse is, well, my best, everything, but there are just some things that shouldn’t be discussed. Masturbating habits or otherwise included.

Not even a minute later, Liza has moved on to another inane topic, but my mortification doesn’t subside. The heaviness of Jesse’s stare weighs on me all night, and every now and again, in a moment of bravery, I sneak a glance his way. His blue eyes are round and dark, pupils dilated, lips parted in the most enticing way, and for a crazy moment I imagine those full lips on mine, on my breasts, on my belly, on my…. What. The. Fuck.

I’ve definitely had too much wine.

Blinking my eyes, I force my gaze back to the program. I chuckle at the appropriate scenes, nod my head in agreement whenever Liza says something that demands a response, but truthfully, I’m freaking the fuck out. My mind is reeling, wondering if I read the heat in Jesse’s eyes correctly, and if so, why the hell did I like it so much?

29

Riley

Liza and Jesse leave together a half hour later. Because it’s late and I don’t trust Liza to drive on her own, Jesse agrees to drop her off at her dorm on the way back to his apartment. I hug each of them goodbye and make Jesse promise to call me when he gets home so I know he arrived safe. What can I say? It’s the Leo in me—we’re worriers.

The combination of wine, our talk about sex and vibrators, and Jesse—holy shit, the way he looked at me—had me…worked up. Glancing at the clock on my nightstand, I grab my computer and settle into bed to enjoy some alone time.

I’m not even ten minutes into the video—a sexy video—when the shrill ring of the phone echoes in the room. I shift my gaze toward where my cell sits on my desk and reach my arm across to silence the sound. Right now I don’t want to be disturbed.

Directing my attention back to my computer screen, I lean against the headboard and extend my legs. The woman on screen is beautiful, dressed in a short, pale pink dress. She wanders through the empty house, finally stopping at an open door. She peers through the opening and spies on a naked man in the shower. The camera pans to the back of a tall, muscled body. Beads of water trace a path through the cut of muscle of his upper back, down his tight ass, to his strong legs.

The man turns suddenly when the woman on-screen gasps. Even soft, he’s huge and thick, just the way I imagine Jesse would be. Wait, no. Definitely not the way I’d imagine Jesse, because I don’t imagine Jesse naked. Or wet. Or covered in soap suds.

A faint voice calling my name catches my attention. I pause the video and cock my head in the direction of the sound. Hmm. I must have drunk more wine than I thought. I un-pause the screen and continue to watch, my skin already warming with desire.

But then I hear the noise again, more clearly this time. “Riley? Are you there?”

I know that voice. Jesse’s voice.

When I glance at my phone, I realize—to my utter horror—I didn’t decline the call but rather I answered it. Shit. Lurching forward, my finger stabs the “end call” button, but it’s useless because my phone screen is cracked to hell from the recent tumble it took out of my book bag. My finger continues to poke the screen.

Seriously, please, God, just let me hang up. Please make it end.

After another ten seconds of trying to disconnect, I finally raise the phone to my ear. I keep my voice light. “Hello?”

“Ry?” Jesse sounds confused. “Is everything okay? What’s going on?”

“Nothing. Why?”

“I don’t know. You picked up but then I didn’t hear anything…”

Then, as if things couldn’t be any worse, in the precise moment when Jesse’s voice trails off, in that perfect moment of complete and absolute silence, the woman on the screen begins moaning. Loudly.

Maybe he didn’t hear.

“What’s that?” Jesse’s voice questions, and I rush to mute the volume.

Fuck. My. Life.

#WorstNightmare

#Dying

#KillMeNow

“Nothing,” I clip much too quickly, my face a deep crimson. Did I seriously get busted watching porn? By Jesse?

My fast response serves only to pique his interest more. “Riley.” He draws out the syllables of my name, the singsong teasing of his voice carrying through the connection. “What are you doing?”

“Nothing,” I answer again, slamming the lid of my laptop closed.

“Uh-huh,” he agrees in a way that says he knows exactly what I was up to. “Were you watching an adult video?” The way his voice rises when he says the word adult tells me he’s smiling.

The truth is I’m not embarrassed that I (occasionally) watch porn or that I get myself off…it’s natural. Dave and I are in a weird place right now, I’m horny, and…for fuck’s sake, guys do it all the time. Why do I need to justify or explain myself?

But I am embarrassed to be caught. By Jesse. Because he was the one I’d been fantasizing about, the one I’d been picturing in the shower with beads of water trickling down his washboard abs, the deep cut V that leads down to his thick, hard—God, what is wrong with me?

“Whatever.” I roll my eyes and try to downplay the awkward conversation that will ensue. “I assume there’s a reason you called?” I ask, completely forgetting in my confused state that I told him to call when he got home.

He ignores my question completely. “Holy shit. You were, weren’t you?”

“Jes,” I say, exasperation creeping into my voice. “What do you need?”

“Ry.” His voice drops lower, and the tiny hairs on my arm stand on end. “I need you to tell me what you were doing before I called.”

“Why?”

“Do you really need to ask?” I hear a door click closed and some shuffling on the other end before he says, “Tell me. Now.”

The command in his voice pulls me, and I wait, teetering on the edge of a steep cliff, knowing what happens next has the potential to change our dynamic forever. Yet, my mouth begins to move, forming the words that I know should remain trapped inside.

But that’s the thing with bad decisions, right? Deep down we know they’re wrong, yet we plow forward anyway, thinking maybe, just maybe, the rules won’t apply to us. And in the end, when we discover that we’re not special and that we don’t get a free pass, we hang our heads in shame, vowing to do better next time, hoping we’ve learned our lesson and won’t fall victim to the same poor choices.

Jesse and I are no different.

I know this can only end one way: badly.

But I take a deep breath and jump anyway.

30

Riley

I squeeze my eyes shut even though Jesse can’t see me, and my fingers pick at the tiny pin-sized hole in the bottom of my t-shirt. “I was on a website…” My voice trails off as my bravado falters. I clear my throat. “A movie.”

His voice is even, so damn controlled, and I equally hate and love the racing of my own heart as nervous excitement courses through me. “What was this movie about?” He enunciates the word movie, and I can almost feel his voice, smooth as honey, dripping over me.

I don’t feel like myself. I feel like an amped version of me, the me who says and does whatever she wants. The me who says, “A girl came over to drop something off at her boss’ house, but when she gets there, he’s in the shower and…”

Jesse’s breathing, strong and heavy, encourages me.

He likes this. Is it turning him on? Am I turning him on?

“She shouldn’t want him,” my voice whispers, and I wonder if subconsciously I’m talking about my own desire, my longing for Jesse in a way that I know I shouldn’t. “She wants him… God, she wants him,” I say, voice heavy with lust.

“Are you turned on, Ry?” His voice strains with each word, like it takes enormous effort to push the sound past his lips.

“Maybe,” I whisper.

“Put the movie back on,” he says, and I pause only long enough to reboot my computer. “Tell me what they’re doing now.”

“She’s in the shower with him, his hands are everywhere.” My voice breaks as my fingers work beneath the waist of my pajama bottoms. “It’s so slippery.” I moan, grazing my swollen flesh underneath my panties. I bite my lip when I hear Jesse groan long and low.

Is he touching himself, too?

Fuck, this is crazy.

We should stop.

“Jesse.” I pant, my breath puffing in short bursts. “I should…go.”

“Don’t you fucking dare,” his voice warns. “What happens next?” And the way he asks the question, I’m not certain whether he’s talking about the movie or what happens next with us. I peek at the screen, but avert my gaze just as quickly, my mind much happier building my own fantasy. One that involves Jesse and me in the shower.

My words echo my thoughts. “She’s on her knees, takes him in her mouth. He grabs her hair to hold in her place. He’s rough, but she likes it.”

Heavy breathing pours through the line, followed by a strained, “Fuck.”

“She likes it so much.” I moan as I work myself harder, so damn close to losing it I’m afraid I’ll scream.

“Fuck,” Jesse curses again. “He likes it, too.”

“Oh my God.” I moan. Jesse definitely heard me, and I bite my lip as the familiar tingle of nerves begins in my belly, building pressure until it cascades over my spine like tiny bursts of water stretched to their breaking point, my whole body going lax from the effort. The phone drops to my side, and I lie spent, as tiny aftershocks course through my system. After several long minutes, I cradle the phone to my ear, almost positive that he’s hung up. “Jesse?” I whisper, voice sheepish.

“Yeah?” His voice is strained.

“Why did you call?” I ask.

His rough voice scrapes my skin. “No idea.”

31

Jesse

“Friendsgiving” is a tradition that Riley started our freshmen year of college and always took place the first Saturday of December. It began as a way to break up the final stretch of classes and the soul-sucking week of exams before winter break.

Even though I no longer attended school, as Riley’s best friend, I’m always on the guest list. Hell, I helped her organize most of the party. I chose the toppings for the pizza, picked up the beer, selected the party game (Cards Against Humanity, always), and listened to three different playlists before she decided on the perfect one. Riley and I are a team. What I don’t understand is why she invited Dave.

Maybe because he’s her boyfriend, asshole, my mind supplies.

My stomach sours at the thought. I still can’t believe, at nearly twenty-two years old, Riley and I are still playing this cat and mouse game. Christ, we got off together on the phone—and can I just say, holy fuck, was it hot—three weeks ago, but neither of us has yet to mention it. I suspect it will be the same as our other “near hookups.” To be filed away in the “Never to be Discussed” folder.

Hell, I was half-tempted to bring it up, if only to ask if (and when) we could do it again. Because the way she softly moaned as she came? Yeah, that gets me rock-hard just thinking about it.

“Anyone want another slice?” Riley asks, as she tips open the lid of the pizza box on the living room table.

“I’ll take another one.” Dave hands her his plate.

“Me, too,” Liza chimes in.

I look at Shelly—what? I had to bring her; this was a couples’ night if I ever saw one―me and Shelly, Riley and Dave, Liza and Scott—but she shakes her head no. I’m surprised Shelly even ate one slice. When we go out she normally pushes the lettuce around on her plate, claiming after two bites she’s “stuffed.”

“I’m so glad you guys are here.” Riley smiles around a mouthful of cheese. “My first holiday in my new apartment.”

Liza narrows her eyes. “Yeah, I know.” She laughs and tosses a throw pillow at Riley. “Thanks again for abandoning me!”

“I did not.” Riley whips the pillow back at her but misses and hits Shelly in the head.

“Hey!” Shelly whines and knocks the pillow to the floor. I look at Riley and watch as she catches her bottom lip with her teeth in an attempt to not laugh. It was kinda funny.

“Besides,” Riley continues. “I don’t think Scott is complaining, now that you’ve scored yourself a single room.” She waggles her eyebrows. “I bet he’s sleeping over every night.”

“Not every night.” Liza giggles. “Are you, Scottie boy?”

Scott’s eyes widen and he looks at me as though to say “Dude, help!” But what he really says is, “Want another beer?” He pushes himself to stand, and I follow him to the kitchen.

Scott and I have formed somewhat of a friendship over the past three years, mostly based on our shared desire to not get embroiled in the girls’ in-depth discussions on shopping and make-up. Also, I think Scott knows how I feel about Riley. He’s never asked me or said anything specifically, but it’s this vibe I get from him. That, and this weird chin-tip thing he does whenever he sees us together.

“Thanks, man,” I say, as he hands me a bottle. “I can’t wait for that guy to leave.”

“That guy?” He scrunches his nose. “You mean Dave? Riley’s boyfriend?”

I tip the bottle to my lips and swallow, the cold liquid sliding down my throat and burning slightly. I nod. “He has his hands all over her tonight. Did you see the way he grabbed her ass?”

Okay, maybe this is the real reason why Scott knows I have feelings for Riley. Because I can’t seem to stop myself from seething every single time I see her and Dave together. And the worst part is I don’t think Riley even likes him. Yet she keeps him around for God only knows what reason—Jesus, I pray it’s not for sex. Though, based on our phone conversation a few weeks ago, I’m guessing sex with Dave isn’t all that great.

Scott continues, “I think I heard Liza say he’s staying over tonight.”

What the fuck?

“And aren’t you with Shelly?”

I shrug. It’s complicated.

I met Shelly several months ago at Ho-Ho’s, an upscale version of Hooters, for lack of a better comparison. It’s a Christmas-themed bar where all the waitresses dress as sexy Santa elves and work for tips. They’re not nude, but they might as well be.

Shelly’s job doesn’t bother me. I knew what I was getting into. Hell, I met her during one of her shifts. A few guys from work suggested we go out for some beers and we ended up there. I was lonely and horny, and Riley had just got back together with Dave even though he fucked her over… One thing led to another, and three months later, here we are.

Shelly and I aren’t officially “together,” but we hook up now and then, a sort of mutual arrangement. Things are changing, though. I sense that Shelley wants more. More than I’m willing—or want— to give. I have to end it soon.

“She’s hot.” Scott takes a swig of beer as he leans back against the counter. “I could get lost in those tits.”

Here’s how I know I don’t love Shelly, that I have zero feelings for her: because if Scott, or any man for that matter, made a comment about Riley the way he just did Shelly, I’d rip his fucking throat out. My lack of reaction confirms what I already know to be true. Shelly’s temporary. Riley’s my forever.

I grunt my agreement. Shelly flaunts her shit for everyone to see. Scott’s a guy. He notices. That’s the whole point, right?

“What are you two doing in here?” Liza peeks her head around the corner.

Scott whispers conspiratorially, “Girl talk.”

I raise my beer. “Yep.”

“Come on.” She loops an arm through Scott’s, then through mine. “The game’s about to start.”

Scott groans, and I grab the remaining beers from the fridge. “We’re gonna need these.”

32

Riley

A groan rumbles from the sleeping boy next to me. Not boy, I correct. Man. Jesse is a full-grown man, tall and strong, with thick, sharp cords of muscles. So different from when we were kids, yet somehow exactly the same.

His hand darts to the side, smacking the full glass of water I set out for him. It crashes to the ground. His breath hisses. “Shit.”

“Good morning,” I say, my voice louder than necessary as I imprint my spine against the headboard. Back ramrod straight, shoulders squared, hoping it will give me the strength, the support I need for this conversation.

“Riley?” He pushes himself up in bed, the sheet pooling at his waist exposing his toned chest and thick abs, but I keep my eyes trained straight. “Fuck.” He flops back against the pillows and scrubs a hand over the stubble of his jaw. “How much did I drink last night? I feel like ass.”

Despite my resolve to remain cool and unaffected, I snort. I ball my hands together to resist slapping him. “A lot. You drank a fucking lot.” He winces as my voice rises in volume. “What were you thinking?”

“Jesus. What crawled up your ass?” He turns away from me, snuggling back into the soft, clean sheets of my bed. My bed, the bed that’s supposed to be occupied by Dave, not Jesse.

At that moment my cool exterior dissolves, and my hands latch onto his biceps. I roll him onto his back in one quick movement, my face inches from his. “What crawled up my ass?” I repeat the question once. “You!” My voice roars. “You’re what’s crawled up my ass.”

His eyes remain on mine, and his lips curve in a slow smirk. “Is that an invitation?”

My fingers aim to squeeze and twist the flesh, but the muscle beneath is rock solid, so there’s nothing for my needy fingers to latch onto. “Ugh.” I flop down next to him and fling my arm over my eyes. “You’re so...” Infuriating. Exhausting. Sexy. Wait, no, not sexy. Jesse is not sexy.

Of course those words don’t leave my lips, and the silence settles around us. My body intuitively matches the slow, even breaths of his body, and my muscles begin to loosen. It’s always this way with him, an explosive high, a calming low.

“Hey.” He rolls onto his side so we’re shoulder-to-shoulder, hip-to-hip. “I’m sorry.” He clears his throat once. “About last night.”

I close my eyes for a moment and then say what has to be said. “Jesse, this has to stop.”

He shrugs. “It’s fine.”

“It’s not fine.” My voice is hollow and sad. “You got wasted last night. You know how I feel about drinking.” I pin him with my gaze. “You almost hit Dave.”

“Dave is an asshole.” His voice drops, and the cool tone sends chills across my skin.

“Jesse—”

He cuts me off. “That douchebag cheated on you.” Some of his anger evaporates as he continues, “He doesn’t deserve you.”

“We were broken up.” I speak the words as if they will make what Dave did okay. They won’t. They don’t. But if I’m ever going to move on from the past, I can’t keep being reminded of his slip up. And I love Dave. I think.

“Of course.” Jesse pushes himself up, feet hitting the floor like lead, and he reaches for the balled-up t-shirt that rests in the same spot where he dropped it last night.

“Jesse.” I walk in front of him. “Tell me what’s really going on.”

“Nothing.” He shoves his feet into his shoes. “Why do you have to make a big deal out of everything?”

My eyes widen. “I’m making a big deal out of everything?” I shout. “You were loud and obnoxious and jealous, and if I didn’t care about you so much, I’d have kicked you out.”

His eyes flare and he spits. “You care about me? You don’t give a damn about me or my feelings.”

I recoil as though he’d hit me. “What?” I shout, fists clenched at my sides. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Exactly what you think it does.” His tone is so angry, jaw so tight, that I’m afraid his teeth may crack from the tension. He’s never been this irate with me. Never used this tone. “You want to talk? Let’s talk about what happened three weeks ago.”

My stomach tightens as I recall the memory. I’d been reliving the fantasy over and over in my mind, telling myself that it only felt that good because it was wrong—people always wanted what they couldn’t have, right?

“That was a mistake,” I say, trying to keep my voice strong, but it shakes nonetheless.

He shakes his head. “Unbelievable. I’m sorry I fucked up your night. It won’t happen again.”

My eyes stay trained on him as his chest heaves with each angry breath, and I can feel it, the anger transferring from him to me. I try to talk myself down, but I can’t. Maybe if I’d waited, maybe if I didn’t care about him so much, maybe if I didn’t love him, but right now my body reacts.

“Don’t put words in my mouth, Jesse,” I argue, moving into his space. “You were an asshole last night. In fact, you’re an asshole every time you drink.”

“So, I had a few beers? Is that a crime now? Because if so, we’d better convict the whole fucking nation!” He stalks around the bed. “And if we’re pointing out each other’s shortcomings…you’re the one who took back a cheating boyfriend because she’s too afraid to be alone.”

The harsh truth of his words sting like a whip, and I blink back tears. “That isn’t fair.”

He shoulders past me, stalks down the narrow hall, and I’m forced to run to catch up with him.

“Jes, don’t go.” I reach for his arm, but he tugs it away. “Let’s talk about this.”

He pauses for a moment, breaths strong and angry like a bull. I plead with my eyes, please stay. And I think he may change his mind, but then he shakes his head and says, “We both need to cool off before we say more things we’ll both regret.”

He’s probably right, but I don’t want him to go. Not like this. “Jesse.”

“I’ll text you later.”

“Jesse!” I shout at his back, as the door slams in my face. My hands pick up the glass candy dish my elderly neighbor, Nancy, gave me as a housewarming present. I don’t think, just react, and throw it against the closed door.

“Goddamnit,” I shout, and I feel a perverse satisfaction as the tiny shards of glass fall to the floor.

With one last glance over my shoulder at the broken mess, I stalk back down the hallway and crawl back into bed.

33

Riley

The sound of a closed fist meeting my front door jars me awake. Disoriented, I squint my eyes in the dimly lit room. The bright neon numerals of the clock grab my attention: 4:37 p.m. Holy shit, I’ve been sleeping for over three hours.

Another knock and I fling the blanket aside. As I walk down the hall, I pull my hair into a messy bun and scrub the sleep from my face. Relaxing my shoulders a bit, I tiptoe through the glass and open the door, fully anticipating seeing Jesse standing in front of me—our fights are always short-lived—but what I get is Dave. An angry Dave, at that.

My heart sinks. Hi there, Expectation. Meet reality.

“Riley, where the hell—” His voice cuts off as his eyes drag across my skin like a heavy weight. “You look like shit. Are you okay?” His eyes dart to the broken dish. “What happened?”

I shrug and open the door wider, and he walks through. “Just woke up.”

His eyes snap to mine in anger. “Did you forget that we were meeting my parents at Le Bec for brunch?”

“Shit,” I grumble, trying to inject some remorse into my voice but failing miserably. “I completely forgot.”

His jaw ticks. “You forgot? That’s your excuse?”

I huff an annoyed breath. Sure, I forgot, and it’s a lame excuse, I know, but I told him I wasn’t ready to see his parents again. Dave and I only just started talking after his incident. Brunch with his parents felt too soon, too rushed. I wasn’t ready. Isn’t a girl allowed a little goddamned time?

“I had to lie to them. You know how I hate to do that.”

Still sour from my earlier fight with Jesse—my patience threshold has definitely been reached—I snap, “You do, do you?” I stalk down the hall back toward my bedroom and he follows. “Because last time I checked, you had no problem lying to me.”

“Jesus Christ, Riley. Are you never going to let it go? What do I have to do? I can’t spend the rest of my life apologizing for one mistake.”

The truth is I’m not that bothered by Dave’s infidelity, and I’m sure that’s some sort of sign, right? I should be more upset by the fact that he hooked up with one of his co-workers during a “business” trip, but I wasn’t nearly as devastated as I should be. Sure, my pride was hurt, ego a little bruised, but I always knew Dave wasn’t my Prince Charming.

Dave’s voice pulls me from my wandering thoughts. “I love you, Riley.”

My mouth drops open. He’s never said those words to me. Not even before the betrayal.

He turns me to face him, rests both hands on my waist, and squeezes. His voice is sincere, eyes wide and open, when he utters those same, dreadful words. “I love you.”

“I…” My voice stutters. “I-I’m…”

He squeezes again as though he can transfer his love into me and that somehow I’ll magically have the courage to say it back.

I squeeze my eyes shut. “I’m sorry.” I shake my head. “I’m not ready to say it back.”

He relaxes his grip. “Aren’t ready now or won’t ever be ready?”

My eyes find his for a moment before they flit away. “I don’t know.” A lone tear slides down my cheek. I’m so confused. I need time to sort through my feelings. I’ve been overwhelmed. With the move, and school, and Dave’s slip up, and now Jesse—I’m about to break.

He follows my gaze as it lands on the framed picture of Jesse and me, taken the day of our high school graduation. “Christ.” He shakes his head, as a low, dark chuckle escapes his lips. “I’m so fucking stupid.”

“What?” I turn to him, but he’s already stalking toward the nightstand.

“This!” His voice roars as he snatches the frame. “This!” He throws it onto the bed and it bounces twice before crashing to the ground. “This is about him, isn’t it?”

My eyebrows pinch together in confusion. “What does Jesse have to do with us?”

“Everything!” His voice booms. “Fucking everything. He comes first. Whenever he needs you, you go running. Just like last night.” His body shakes in anger. “I was supposed to stay over, yet you kicked me out so you could take care of him.”

My tone drops in anger. “He’s my best friend.”

“Don’t I know it! A best friend who is more important than anyone, even me.”

“He didn’t cheat on me!” I scream. “He didn’t hurt me! He loves me!”

“I love you!” He screams back. “I love you. But that doesn’t matter, does it? Because you’re in love with him.”

“That’s ridiculous.” I circle around to the opposite side of the bed to create some distance between us.

“Really?” His voice booms in the silent space. “You tell him you love him all the time. I hear your phone calls. I see the texts.”

“That’s different,” I defend.

He prowls around the bed, grabs my shoulders. “I screwed up one time. One fucking time, and we weren’t even technically together and I’m crucified. But Jesse? He’s a nobody, a college dropout who’s going nowhere, and yet you think he walks on water.”

Rage pumps through my veins. “Don’t talk about him like that.”

He shakes his head. “Don’t think I don’t notice the way he looks at you. When are you two going to grow the fuck up and stop playing this goddamn game?”

“We’re friends.” I wish my voice was stronger than it sounds, but Dave’s anger is starting to scare me.

“Admit it. Fucking admit it.” His words assault me as though they are physical blows.

Stunned, I remain rooted in place for several seconds without responding, but then the floodgates open and I’m screaming like an irrational, crazy person. “Get out. Get out. Get the fuck out.”

It’s my second no-holds-barred fight of the day, and my body is running on pure adrenaline. I chase him down the hall and slam the door before he’s fully into the hallway. When Dave leaves, I’m grateful. There’s no lingering sense of sadness. Or the desire to fix it.

It’s over. Done. And I am relieved.

I grab my phone from the table and check to see if Jesse has texted me.

Nothing.

I stalk back down the hall toward my room and crawl back into bed, pulling the covers up over my head. Maybe when I wake up tomorrow, everything will be better. It’s doubtful, but here’s to hoping.

34

Riley

Things get worse before they get better. It’s been exactly a week, and I’ve received no calls or texts from Jesse. I do my best to ignore the fact that this is the longest we’ve ever gone without talking since…forever.

Dave, on the other hand, won’t stop calling and texting. He even went so far as to send a bouquet of wildflowers (my favorite) to Stock House. It was tons of fun explaining to my supervisor, why I, an unpaid intern, am receiving personal correspondence at her place of employment, even though company policy explicitly prohibits personal deliveries of any kind.

When Dave finally realized I wasn’t going to return his affection—I thought ignoring him was my best option—his texts and calls turned nasty. He hurled insult after insult, calling me hurtful names like cheating whore and lying, deceitful bitch.

Because I’m trying my best to keep my mind off of Jesse (and Dave), I decide not to cancel my monthly girls’ date with Liza. As we make our way to the theater, however, I’m seriously second-guessing my decision. As soon as we open the doors, the rich, buttery smell of popcorn wafts over me. I adore movie theater popcorn, but today it instantly sours my stomach.

“So, any more hate texts from Dave?” Liza asks, as she hands me my ticket and we walk toward the concession counter.

“Nope,” I respond, and then add, “I don’t get half of his insults. He’s the one who cheated on me, not the other way around.”

Liza nods her head. “Dave’s a dirtbag.”

I narrow my eyes at her. He may be a dirtbag, but he is (was) my dirtbag.

“What?” She ushers me forward even though the concession line hasn’t moved. “You broke up with him for good this time.” When I don’t immediately agree, she questions, “Right?”

I look away. “Yeah.”

“We’ve always been honest with each other, right?” she questions again.

“One hundred percent.”

“And you’d want me to say what I think, even if it wasn’t what you wanted to hear, right?”

“Riiiight.” I drag out the word, not liking the direction of this conversation.

“Let me give it to you straight. Dave is a class-A asshole who doesn’t deserve you.” I raise my eyebrows, but she continues. “And I’d say that even if he didn’t cheat on you.”

“You were the one who introduced us.”

“Yeah, that was before I really got to know him.” She holds up her hands in apology. “My bad.”

For some reason I can’t meet her eyes. I don’t know why I’m so emotional. I’ve fought with Dave before. Hell, I’ve gone weeks without talking to him. I watch the girl behind the counter fill a bag with popcorn. One scoop. Two scoops. By the third scoop, it finally hits me why I’m so upset: Jesse.

I’ve never fought with Jesse this way.

Sure, we’ve argued. We have our differences. No one’s perfect.

But I never once questioned where we stood. I care about him. He cares about me. We love each other, have since we were five years old. He is my forever heart.

But…he was so angry when he left my apartment.

“Earth to Riley.” Liza waves her hands in front of my face. “Did you hear anything I just said?”

I blink once, twice. “No.”

“I said, although I’d deny I ever said it, maybe Dave is right.”

“What?” My voice booms so loud, the two customers in front of us turn around.

“You know my feelings about guys and girls and friendship? No bueno. You and Jesse have been doing this dance for too long. I say fuck him and see where it goes.”

“Liza!” I scold, my cheeks flushing a deep scarlet. Did she really just say to fuck Jesse?

Why are you surprised, Riley? Isn’t that exactly what you’ve been fantasizing about for months, and if I’m being entirely honest, years?

“Come on, Riley.” The line inches forward a bit more. “Don’t tell me you never thought about it.”

More than you’ll ever know. “No.”

She raises her eyebrows. “You’re together all the time. You still have sleepovers, for Christ’s sake. And if you’d open your damn eyes, you’d see that boy is crazy about you.”

“It’s not like that between us.” If I had a dollar for every time I’ve uttered those words I’d have…a lot of freakin’ dollars.

“Maybe not for you, but I’m telling you that boy would jump at the chance to jump you.” She laughs at her own silly joke.

“Liza,” I say again in warning.

She turns to face me dead on, her expression serious. “Maybe he is your best friend. Maybe it will be messy. Maybe the time was never right before now… but you won’t know unless you try. You both may miss out on the best thing of your lives because you’re too scared. Take the jump. Maybe you will be sorry. Maybe you won’t. But you’ll never know if you don’t try.”

The time passes quickly, and I don’t recall a single thing that happens in the movie, because I’m too busy asking myself over and over again: Am I willing to try?

35

Riley

Hours later, after I’ve said goodbye to Liza, after I’ve eaten my veggie wrap for dinner and I’ve showered for the evening, I lie awake, restless, thinking about Jesse. About what Dave said. About what Liza said.

What am I so afraid of?

I flip onto my other side, last about fifteen seconds before rolling onto my back. “Ahh.” I actually scream the word, my voice exploding with all of my pent-up frustration, hurt, and anger.

I don’t know why I’m lying here awake and worried, when Jesse hasn’t had the decency to text me in seven days.

Seven. Days.

It’s not usual for us to go a week or more without texting—our lives are busy— but it is unusual for us to be angry with one another for this long. Our fights, which are few and far between, last a day or two…tops.

Snatching my phone from my nightstand, I type a quick text. It’s almost eleven, but Jesse’s a night owl. He’s definitely up, and more than likely, not even at home.

Riley: Hi, stranger. I miss you.

It’s not an “I’m sorry,” but it’s close enough. I’ve made the effort, extended the olive branch. The ball’s in his court now.

Not surprisingly, my screen lights up not even a minute later. The bubbles appear, and the seconds tick away at a snail’s pace. The dots disappear. Then they’re back. Gone again. He must be typing a fucking book.

My mind constructs a long, heartfelt apology. One in which he takes full blame for acting like a total ass. One in which he tells me how sorry he is, how miserable he’s been without my friendship, but what I get is: “Been busy. Miss you, too.”

I nearly throw my phone in frustration. Been busy? Seriously? I’m not some random hookup, some pump and dump chick who he can use those bullshit lines on. This is me he’s talking to.

My thumbs fly over the keys, my intent set on giving him a piece of my mind, when another message comes through.

Jesse: Ry. I’m sorry. I hope I didn’t screw up things between you and Dave. I wanted to give you some space.

Riley: Dave and I broke up.

Jesse: Fuck.

Jesse: Because of me?

I hesitate before typing my immediate response: yes. While it’s true Jesse played an important role in the demise of my relationship with Dave, it’s not for the reason he thinks.

I formulate a response in my mind: Dave thinks that you want me and that subconsciously I want you and we should fuck and see what happens. Oh, and by the way, Liza seconds that.

Yes, that sums everything up nicely.

Chuckling, I decide on a half-truth.

Riley: He told me he loves me. I didn’t feel the same.

Jesse: You okay?

Riley: Yeah.

And then before he can respond, I add.

Riley: Can you come over?

Jesse: Now?

Riley: Yes. Whenever you can get here.

I need to see him. I want the comfort of having my best friend back. With everything in my life so upside down, I want him. The familiar woodsy smell, the wide smile, the striking blue eyes, the strong arms. I need everything about him.

Jesse: Be there in twenty. Am I bringing ice cream?

Riley: Have you ever known me to turn it down?

Jesse: A pint of Chubby Hubby coming up.

Riley: See you soon. And hurry ;)

A huge smile stretches across my face. My forever heart is back.

36

Riley

Jesse knocks on my door a half hour later, plastic grocery bag in hand. I reach for it and peer inside, noticing that he brought two pints of ice cream. Over-achiever.

I root in the bag. “Hey! This isn’t Chubby Hubby,” I tease, as I place the pint of Cookie Dough in the freezer but keep the Mint Chocolate Chunk out.

“The twenty-four hour convenience store had a limited selection. I did my best. Still love me?”

“Of course.” I grab the two spoons from the counter and walk toward my bedroom. “You comin’?”

Jesse doesn’t move for a moment, just stares at me underneath heavy lids, and I’d almost swear that those clear blue eyes burned with heat. But then he jogs down the hall and catches up to me in less than five seconds.

Once we’re nestled underneath the covers, our legs extended long, our backs against the headboard, I hand him a spoon. We clink them together, smile, and say “cheers” before digging in.

After a third of the ice cream is gone, I ask, “So, where were you tonight?” Please don’t say with Shelly. Anywhere else but with Shelly.

“Hanging out with Shelly.”

My stomach sours because I speak Jesse, and “hanging out” equates to hooking up. I set my spoon on the nightstand.

“And you just ditched her to come here?” I sneak a glance at him. “She’s okay with that?”

He places the pint alongside my spoon before grabbing my hand. His hands, which are usually so warm, are cold as ice from holding the container. “I’d ditch anyone for you, Ry.” The intensity behind his words takes me aback.

Suddenly I’m nervous. He’s making me nervous. So I do what I always do when my nerves get the better of me: I start rambling.

“You don’t have to do that,” I say, and watch as his features constrict, recoiling from the sting of my words. I rush on. “No. I’m so happy you’re here.” I squeeze his hand. “I just don’t want to mess anything up.”

“You’re not.” He releases my hand and runs his own through his hair. “Shelly and I aren’t together. You know that.”

“I know.” I keep my eyes down. “It’s just…things have been a little…weird between us.”

He nods his head. “I know. I already apologized about the other night with Dave.” He rests his head against the wall and closes his eyes.

“It’s not just about the other night.”

He brings his head forward and turns to look me square in the eyes. “It’s not?”

I bite my bottom lip and shake my head. “No.”

I can feel the burn of his stare on my mouth, the temperature in the room increasing to near sweltering heights. My palms are sweaty and my mouth is dry.

“Ry. What else is going on?”

“You know what,” I whisper.

His eyes widen in surprise, but he says, “Tell me.”

My eyes squeeze shut, and I shake my head again. “I can’t say it.”

“Ry.” He squeezes my arm, and this time his fingers are back to their normal, warm temperature. “Tell me what you’re thinking.” But still I don’t look at him. Another squeeze, and my eyes meet his. “I need you to say it. Please.” His voice breaks on that last word, the desperation bleeding through.

With that final touch, the pressure inside me explodes and the words pour forth. “My feelings are all fucked up. It’s like we’re friends, but I don’t know… Maybe there’s more. I’ve been thinking of you in ways that aren’t friendly. For a while. And then the other night on the phone…what we did…”

His nostrils flare.

I continue. “Dave said all of these things and Liza agrees and I just… I’m scared. I don’t want to lose you.”

“Riley Ann.” His palms hold either side of my face. “You will never lose me.”

My eyes are wide and a touch unsure, but I nod my head in agreement. “It’s just… I don’t know. Is there something more between us?”

“Riley,” he whispers. “There’s always been something more for me.”

My eyes widen in surprise. “There has?”

He nods. “I love you, Riley.”

“I love you, too.” My voice is a whisper.

He shakes his head. “No, I’m in love with you, Riley. I have been…forever.”

I swear the Earth stops spinning. Jesse is in love with me. “But you never said…” My voice trails off, breathless.

“I didn’t want to risk losing you if you didn’t feel the same. I need you in my life, Ry.” He squeezes his eyes shut.

“All this time.” I trace his face with the pads of my fingertips, touching first his eyelids, then his nose and cheeks. He shudders when I drag my fingers along the length of his jaw that’s peppered with coarse stubble. My fingers continue their journey, wanting to touch him everywhere. His lips, the column of his throat, his broad chest.

He moans my name when my fingernails ghost over his nipples. “Riley.”

This time when he looks at me there’s no disguising the lust, the heat, the desire in his eyes. He wants me. And I want him, too.

“Jesse.” My voice is strained, a touch desperate, and the way he is looking at me, I feel as though I may combust. “What happens now?”

“Tell me what you want, Riley.” He places both hands on my hips, shifting me closer to him. My eyes drop to the bulge in his jeans. He’s hard. For me. Holy shit.

“Riley.” He squeezes once. “I’m waiting.”

“You.” I breathe. “I want you.”

He smiles, a sexy, cocky smile that makes my insides clench in anticipation. This is really happening.

“Yeah?” He leans close so that his warm breath tickles my skin. “And then his lips are on mine. Those beautiful, full, soft lips. Lips that I’ve known all my life, but have never really known at all, are on mine. And everything ceases to exist, because I am kissing Jesse, my best friend, and it is the most amazing, absolute best kiss of my life.

I don’t know where this will lead or what lies ahead; all I know is that I don’t want it to end.

“Jesse.” I moan in frustration when he pulls back, eyes at half-mast.

“Do you remember the first time I kissed you?” The gravelly tone of his voice scrapes my skin.

“Yes,” I whisper, as my mind replays the memory. I should have known back then. I shouldn’t have waited all this time. I love him.

“That’s when I knew.” He brushes the hair from my face. “That’s when I knew you were mine. Forever.”

“Jesse.” I lean into him, wanting another taste. “Please.” I breathe. “Kiss me again.”

37

Jesse

Maybe I’m dreaming. Maybe I’m drunk. Maybe I’ve entered some alternate reality. All I know is that Riley, my Riley, said she wants to be more than friends.

Okay, I may be exaggerating just a tad; she said she’s been thinking about it, but it’s all the green light I need. Because me? I’ve wanted to be more than her friend for over ten years.

“Jesse,” she murmurs as I pull back, but I still hold her face in my hands. I’m afraid if I let go, this moment will slip away. She’ll slip away. “Jesse,” she says again, nearly moaning my name, and it does things to me it probably shouldn’t. I’m already too excited, too worked up, the friction of my jeans against my raging hard-on borders on painful. But I don’t want to stop. I want to hear her say my name again, but this time while I’m inside her. Holy fuck.

She rests her hands over mine and her eyes pop open, searching my own for acceptance, for clarity, for God only knows what, and I pray she sees the answer she desires. It’s only a few seconds, but it feels like an eternity before she whispers, “What are we doing?”

“I don’t know.” My gaze falls to her lips. “But I really want to kiss you again.”

She catches her bottom lip between her teeth. “I want you to kiss me again.”

I’m caught between wanting her to say those words again—Christ, how long have I waited for her? How many times have I fantasized about this very moment—and wanting to taste her again.

But I knew there would be plenty of time for talking later, plenty of time for her to tell me over and over again what she needs, what she wants. Right now, I need to feel her again. To taste, to explore, to claim what’s mine. What’s always been mine.

My lips crash on hers, and this time it’s not gentle or teasing, it’s demanding and rough and so damn hot that I moan into her mouth. “Fuck.”

“Jesse.” I swear if she keeps saying my name like that I’m gonna come.

My hands settle on her waist, drag her on top of me until she’s nestled right over…fuck. When she starts gyrating her hips, my head falls back against the pillow and my eyes squeeze shut. Don’t come. Not yet. Fuck.

“Jesse.” She moans my name again. Doesn’t she know what that’s doing to me? “You feel so good.”

No more. I sit up and cup her breasts over the fabric of her shirt. Their weight rests heavy in my hands as I squeeze their fullness. I drag my fingers across her nipples, both at the same time, and it’s her turn to call out. “Fuck.”

“You like that?” I drag my thumb across the right breast again, then the left. “Do you like your nipples played with?”

I pinch both buds between my forefingers and thumbs, and this makes her go wild. Her hips begin pumping up and down, faster and more uncontrolled.

“Baby.” I halt her hips. “Baby, slow down.”

“What?” She half-opens her eyes, confused.

I roll her onto her back as my fingers crawl underneath her tank top and push up. “Is this okay?”

“More than okay,” she groans, palming me over my jeans. Fuck. I never thought Riley would be the aggressor. It’s turning me on. Way too much.

“Take these off.” She pops the button on my jeans and works one hand inside the denim. “And this.” She tugs at my t-shirt with her free hand.

Soon I’m down to my black boxer briefs which do nothing to conceal my hard-on, not just any hard-on, but the hard-on to end all hard-ons. One quick pass of her tight fist and I’ll blow.

I swat her hands away and pin both above her head. Her camisole is pushed up to her chin, her full, round breasts on display, nipples puckered and hard, begging for my attention. “Christ, Riley.” I drag my nose between her tits. “You’re so soft. So smooth.”

“Jesse.” My name breaks on a cry as my lips close around one nipple. Her arms thrash in my grip, but I hold firm. I can’t let her touch me. Not yet.

My lips drag across to the other nipple, giving it the same attention. Her hips gyrate in small circles beneath me, frantic, and if I didn’t know better, I swear she’s about to come.

“Jesse.” She jerks her arms against my hold. “Let me touch you. Please.”

It’s the needy plea, the absolute desperation laced in her tone, that causes me to release my grip.

Her hands fall free and circle the length of my cock, not one hand, but both. She slides her wrists up and down, and even over the fabric I’m a goner… There’s no turning back now.

38

Riley

“Stop stopping.” I whine as Jesse pulls his mouth away. God, I want him. Need to feel him there. I’m needy and impatient and I don’t care that my voice is whiny. We’ve been kissing and touching and teasing for over half an hour. Not that I’m complaining—I’ve never been this turned on before—but I’m ready for the main event. Especially since all of my previous sex sessions lasted no more than fifteen minutes each.

“Ry,” he whispers, as he brushes a kiss against each of my cheeks. “You’re so beautiful.”

I grind my hips against him, encouraging him, taunting him, hoping that the ironclad grip that he has on his self-control will break. Soon.

“Fuck, Ry.” He drops his head into the crook of my neck, and I reward him with another slow grind. “Don’t.” He sinks his teeth into my flesh and bites hard. Harder than I expect him to. But the tiny slice of pain mixes with desire and causes me to arch into him more.

“I need you.” My hands drag across his bare skin, and his perfectly sculpted back muscles contract and release beneath my fingers. “Please. Don’t make me beg.”

He withdraws, yanks me up to straddle his lap. “You never have to beg. Anything you want, anything I have, Ry, it’s yours.” His hands cradle my face. “All yours.”

Unable to make my request while looking into his eyes, I lean in, bring my lips close to his ear and whisper what I want most in this moment. “I want to feel you inside me. I want you to own me.”

“I do own you.” His grip tightens on my upper arms, the pressure almost bruising. “You’ve always been mine…you just didn’t realize it until now.”

My hand slides down to where our bodies are pressed together and circle the hard flesh, the obvious proof of how turned on he is. This is all for me.

His hiss of approval makes me bolder than I ever imagined I could be. “Prove it.”

Within seconds I’m naked on my back, legs spread wide. He’s stripped bare, and for a moment I simply stare and wonder how I missed this. How I missed him for so long.

He nestles himself between my legs, the fit so deliciously perfect that I mewl in delight, only slightly embarrassed by the noises I’m making yet can’t seem to control.

But I needn’t have worried, because Jesse wants to hear me. In fact, the louder I moan, the more he rewards me. A slow lick of his tongue across my breasts, a smooth drag of his nose along my collarbone, a teasing stroke of his finger between my legs.

Sensations explode in my body, the nerves firing so quickly that I cannot possibly process them all at once. This is Thanksgiving, Christmas, and my birthday all rolled into one. With a cherry on top.

My body bucks in protest as he pulls away and rests a knee on either side of my outstretched thighs. His eyes follow the slow pattern he traces across my belly for a few moments before he pins me with his gaze. “I don’t have a condom.” His voice isn’t strained or rushed, just matter of fact.

Mine, on the other hand, is breathy and wild. “I do.” I think I may even nod my head, I’m that eager. “In the nightstand, top drawer.” I lean to the side as my fingers grapple in the darkness for the box.

He captures my wrist, shakes his head once. “No.”

My breath stops short, eyes widen as understanding dawns.

He reaches for my right hand first, places a soft kiss in the palm before interlacing our fingers. He repeats the same motions on the left. “I don’t want anything between us. This is you and me. Only you and me.”

“Jesse…” My voice falters as my mind replays the memory that I keep hidden, locked, buried deep down. Suddenly, I’m not in my room anymore. I’m the scared nineteen-year-old girl staring at the pale pink plus sign on a dingy bathroom floor.

“No.” The word booms in my mind, but I don’t actually say it aloud. Still, I shake my head and close my eyes. I can’t go through that again. I learned from my mistake, never once agreed to sex without a condom even though I’m on birth control.

“I’m clean, Ry. I’ve never fucked without one.” His lips drag across my skin from my ear to my chin. “I need to feel you. Just you.” He places his hand over my heart as his eyes find mine. “I will never love anyone the way I love you.”

My eyes bore into his. Can I do this? Yes. Are we safe? As safe as we can be. I’m tested every year at my annual appointment, and I’ve taken my birth control pills religiously for over three years.

Think for a second, my brain scolds, this is serious. You know what happened last time. But last time I wasn’t on the pill. Last time wasn’t with someone I have known my entire life. Last time wasn’t with someone…I loved.

A split second image of me fat, with a swollen belly, pregnant with Jesse’s baby flashes through my mind, and I’m not filled with dread or panic. I’m filled with joy.

Decision made, I place my hand over his and interlace our fingers once again. “Yes.” My eyes, wide and honest, hold his. “Yes.”

A smile splits his face in two as he peppers me with playful, delicate kisses. Those kisses, however, turn much more aggressive as I shimmy my hips against his.

“Now, Jesse. Now.” I moan as his lips tease my breast, not quite reaching my nipple.

“Do you know how long I’ve wanted this, Ry?” His fingers dig into my hips, aligning my soft, wet center with his hardness. “I want this to last…all fucking night.”

“It can.” I pull his ass closer and his thick tip slips inside me. “Oh, God.” My voice breaks on the last word.

And with that one taste, it’s done. Game over. He flexes his hips, pushes a little farther inside as my tight walls stretch around him. “So goddamn tight.” His teeth graze my neck.

“More.” I encourage, lifting my hips to meet his shallow downward thrust.

“So greedy.” He nips my breast and I pulse around him. “And demanding.” He wraps his arms around my back, cradling me close. “I don’t want to hurt you. But Jesus Christ, Ry, I want to fuck you. Hard.”

“So hard.” My fingers latch onto his biceps and pinch. “Give me everything.”

One swift, quick thrust and he’s fully inside me.

Full. Stretched. Completely whole.

With closed eyes, he throws his head back, a look of pure joy etched across his face as he whispers my name, “Riley.”

And then he begins to move, powerful, rhythmic thrusts of his hips as he draws the pleasure out of me.

I keep my eyes open and focused, not wanting to miss a minute of my time with him. I watch as a bead of sweat forms at his brow, the way his eyes flutter open and closed, the soft sound of my name leaving his lips over and over. And when he brings his hand between us, settles his gaze on mine and demands that I come for him, I detonate, succumbing to the euphoria. His teeth latch onto my neck and bite, amplifying the tremors. Holy shit.

“Christ, Riley.” His pumps become more erratic, more forceful. “I can’t… I’m gonna come.”

“Yes,” I chant over and over, wanting nothing more than for him to fill me. “Please.”

And then he does, with a strangled, low groan as he empties inside me. It goes on forever and yet seems to pass in the blink of an eye. He collapses alongside me and pulls me into him, snuggling me close.

“God, I fucking love you, Ry. Please,” he says as he pulls me closer, “please, tell me you don’t regret this. I can’t go back to being just your friend.”

Shock passes through me and takes hold. Propping myself up on my elbows, I lean over him, letting my hair fall in a curtain around us. He lifts one hand and curls a few strands around his finger. “I regret...”

His expression clouds and he drops the tendril of hair.

“…that we didn’t do this sooner.”

39

Riley

Aside from our obligations (work for him, school for me), Jesse and I spend every minute together. After that first night, he’d gone to work, and I’d gone to school, with the understanding that we’d see each other again in a few hours. When he’d arrived at my apartment a little after 6:00 p.m. with a duffle bag slung over his shoulder, eyebrows raised in question, I pulled him inside and kissed the hell out of him, hoping that was all the answer he needed.

Truthfully, I’m not sure how to handle Jesse’s and my relationship—should we tell everyone? Or keep it to ourselves? What if it doesn’t work out? But once Pandora’s box was opened, I knew there was no going back. There was no fighting our attraction to each other. It was undeniable. Reactive. Explosive.

Recall how I had said that Jesse had amazing body awareness? Well, that control, that prowess, became even more pronounced during sexy times—in a big freakin’ way. I never had this much sex, amazing sex, in my entire life, and I finally think I’m starting to understand the expression fucking like rabbits, because neither of us can stop, and that’s if we even wanted to.

It’s true what I’d confided to Liza years ago in our dorm; I rarely (if ever) orgasmed with my partner. I don’t know if it was nerves, inexperience, or a combination of both, but let’s just say my grand finale rarely ended with fireworks. I’d compensated by using my Jack Rabbit to carry me across the finish line, because an orgasm is an orgasm, right?

Wrong.

Orgasms with Jesse are magical. A freakin’ full body experience that starts in the base of my spine, then sends tiny nerve pulses throughout every cell of my body before exploding in my core. And when the last spasm of pleasure ceases, he makes it start all over again.

I hadn’t even thought about my Jack Rabbit since Jesse and I started sleeping together, which is why I’m surprised tonight when he brings it up.

He’s pinned me beneath him on the bed—our bed—when he murmurs low in my ear, “Get your toy.”

My eyes snap to his and my face burns a deep shade of crimson. “What?”

“Get. Your. Toy.” His voice comes out a little harsher, and he slides back, giving me enough room to sit up.

“Jesse,” I placate, but his narrowed eyes silence me and I lift myself from the mattress to retrieve my vibrator from its storage place in the bottom corner of my underwear drawer.

His eyes trace the movement, and he nods as I place it on the bed.

His gaze finds mine. “I want you to use it.”

My eyes widen. “What?” I stumble and nearly face-plant on the mattress because I’m so flustered.

“Use. It.” When I’ve still made no attempt to move, he says, “Show me how you pleasure yourself, Ry.”

“Jesse.” My voice comes out as a warning, as a dismissal, but even as I resist, a teeny tiny voice inside my head whispers, Do it. What’s the harm? You’ve already masturbated on the phone with him.

It’s a staring contest, just like we used to have when we were kids, but this time I’m not sure I’ll win. Not sure I want to win.

Finally, he speaks. “I’m not asking, Ry.” His arms wrap around the backs of my thighs and he pulls me to lie flat on my back. His strong hands reach for the band of my pants and tug down. My shirt is next, until I’m in nothing more than my bra and panties.

He stares down at me with hooded eyes. “I like you like this.”

“Like what?”

His hands ghost over my thighs, my belly, my breasts. “Spread out and ready. For me.”

My heart pounds in my chest. I’m surprised that I let it go this far, even more shocked that I want it to go farther.

He withdraws his hands and saunters over to the corner of the room, like he has all the time in the world, and sits in the side chair where I normally drop all the clothes I’m too lazy to hang up. He leans back and stretches his legs wide. One arm is slung over the back of the chair, while the other rests dangerously close to his dick. God, I wish I were that hand right now.

I prop myself up on my elbows and meet his gaze. The corners of his mouth tip up, a sexy smirk of encouragement. Am I really considering this? Yes. Yes, I am.

“Riley, baby.” His voice stirs the desire low in my belly. “I want to watch.”

It’s the way he says my name, the soft, desperate sound of his plea, that has me nodding my head in agreement. My shoulders sag back against the pillows and I close my eyes as I drag my fingers across my panties. Not surprisingly, they’re already wet.

My touch is tentative at first, feather light, but I’m not good at teasing myself—never was—and tonight is no different. I grapple for the vibrator, thick and long, so much like Jesse that it makes me crave him even more. Knowing he is only a few feet away, watching, probably touching himself, too, turns me on even more.

One hand tugs my panties down to my ankles, the other drags the smooth tip of the toy up and down my slit. My legs are bent, feet planted on the mattress, fully exposing myself to him. I don’t dare look at Jesse, but I hear him. Each labored breath, each hiss, each growl that bolsters me on.

My index finger clicks the button and a gentle buzz fills the air. The moment the rabbit ears touch my clit, my back arches off the bed. “Oh, God,” I cry out.

Here’s the other thing I should be embarrassed about but am too turned on to care: when I get myself off with Mr. Jack Rabbit, I’m loud. Porn-star loud.

“Oh, fuck, that feels good.” I hiss, my free hand reaching up to cup my breast. I roll my nipple between my thumb and finger, imagining Jesse’s hands on me. Imagining his mouth, trailing kisses down, down, down…

A minute later I increase the speed. The ears, those tiny, torturous ears go to work on my clit, and soon I’m pumping the shaft inside me. “Fuck. Oh, fuck,” I croon, the waves cresting higher and higher. “Jesse.” My head thrashes to the side. “Oh, fuck. I’m coming. I’m coming.”

I lie there, spent. Breathing heavy, face flushed. Jesse joins me on the bed a moment later, hovering over me, his thick erection tenting his boxers.

His warm breath floats across my skin. “Did you enjoy that?”

My eyes flutter closed and I slowly nod my head. “Yes.”

“I’m glad.” His voice is assured, confident as he continues, “Because that will be the last orgasm you have without me.” His gaze penetrates mine. “All of them. Every. Single. One. Belongs to me.” His fingers snake their way up my thigh, skim across the over-sensitized flesh. “Do you know how long I’ve waited for you? I’m done sharing.”

* * *

For as much as I knew about Jesse, there were still things to learn. Some things were silly—like he never caps the tube of toothpaste—to more intimate things, like he likes morning sex. And shower sex. And dirty sex.

Really, really likes dirty sex.

Most things were pleasantly surprising, some mildly annoying. For the most part, I loved learning these things, but some new things upset me. Mostly the things having to do with Shelly, his ex-girlfriend.

Just to be clear, Jesse claims they were never officially together, but let’s be real, they hooked up for more than four months and went places together, which is the very definition of a relationship.

I know. I’m not the jealous type—usually—but Shelly’s different. With her long, blond hair and blue eyes, she’s wild and free in a way I never could be. Her persona screams sex goddess, and although Jesse never admitted it, I’m ninety-nine-point-nine percent convinced he had a threesome with her and her friend Melanie. Like I said before: sex goddess.

All of my insecurities, doubts, and fears, come to a head Thursday night. Jesse plays basketball in a recreational basketball league two nights a week. This doesn’t bother me. He’s been playing with the same team for as long as I can remember. What does bother me is the text message that I happen to see while he’s at said basketball game.

After my shower, I’m logging into the Hulu app, when Jesse’s iPad lights up with a message. My eyes latch onto the curve of the “S” then glide over the rounded shape of the “e” and before I even know what’s happening, I’m reading Jesse’s text messages to another girl. Not just any girl, but Shelly.

My lips turn down in a sneer.

Her text is innocent enough: Hi. What’s the name of the movie with Adam Sandler and Jennifer Aniston? But it makes my stomach sour nonetheless. I fight the urge to text back my immediate response: Ask Google like a fucking normal person.

I know I shouldn’t I let myself skim through their text conversation. There’s nothing suspicious or even that recent (the last message, apart from tonight, is time stamped more than a week ago), but it still infuriates me that one, he still talks to her, and two, he makes no mention of me or the fact that we’re together.

And that’s the funny thing about the human brain. Left to its own devices, it can spin crazy fantasies. My mind kaleidoscopes with thoughts, each one crossing and overlapping until nothing makes sense. I know Jesse. I trust him. I love him. But still I can’t stop the elaborate tales from filling my head. Maybe he still sees her. But when? We’re always together. Maybe he still has feelings for her. I don’t think so. Jesse claims they weren’t even officially together. Maybe they’re still friends. Kinda like how you guys are friends, Riley?

My sour mood worsens when Jesse strolls in a little after nine o’clock, happy as a clam. I’m appalled, but the injustice of it all―his stupid ex-girlfriend and her stupid texts ruined my night, while he was out having a good time with friends? My anger only intensifies.

“Hey, Ry.” He leans over the side of the sofa to kiss me. I let him, but make no attempt to kiss him back, and he notices. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah.” I click the buttons on the remote, not bothering to take my gaze from the television. “Just tired.”

I’m being a bitch, I know. It’s not his fault. He can’t control who texts him. But still I’m annoyed. Who does she think she is, texting Jesse? I’m upset that I had to share Jesse with Shelly in the first place. But even more than that, I’m scared. I’m terrified that this—whatever this is that Jesse and I are doing—is going to blow up and I’m going to lose him forever. And that I can’t handle, because I’ve fallen hopelessly and completely in love with my best friend.

Tears begin to form in my eyes, and I silently curse myself. What the fuck is wrong with you, Riley?

Pushing myself to stand, I say, “I’m going to bed.”

“It’s only nine o’clock.” His voice is tinged with confusion.

I shrug, and as he approaches I take a few steps back.

“What’s wrong?” He advances, like a predator stalking its prey.

“Nothing.” I sidestep around him.

“Ry?” His confused voice hits my back as I walk away. “What did I miss? Why are you mad at me?”

“I’m not mad, Jes.” I pause halfway down the hall. “I’m just tired.”

His tone changes as his patience turns to annoyance. “I know when you’re mad. What the hell did I do?”

His voice is more bewildered than anything, but I’m so angry in the moment that I don’t feel any sympathy. I stalk toward him. “You want to know why I’m mad?” My voice explodes. “Why are you talking to your ex-girlfriend?” I snatch the tablet off the coffee table and hold it up as proof of his wrongdoing.

His eyebrows pull together. “You read my texts?”

“Not on purpose.” At first. “Why didn’t you tell me you’re still talking to Shelly?” I hate the person I’m becoming. Jealous and insecure. Suspicious. Controlling.

This is not who I am.

“Because I’m not talking to Shelly.” He pulls his hoodie up and over his head, and his t-shirt rises, exposing the unbelievably hard abs beneath. I try my best to avoid looking, but it’s no use. His body is amazing. “And she’s not my ex-girlfriend.”

I shake my head as though to clear it. “Whatever,” I retort. Not my most mature response, but it’s better than doing something foolish, something like kissing the hell out of him. Or begging him to take off more of his clothing. “It’s fine.”

He approaches, wraps his muscular arms around me. “Baby, you have nothing to worry about.”

I know better. I know I should pull away. But I fall for it. Of course, I do. He’s strong, so capable, so masculine, so fucking hard that I’d have to be made of stone not to be affected.

“Now.” He kisses the top of my head. “Yell at me some more.”

I pull back, lips pursed. “What? You want me to yell at you?”

“Uh-huh.” He dips his head and his lips latch onto my neck. “You’re fucking sexy as hell when you’re mad. And jealous.”

“I’m not jealous.” My breath whispers across his skin and my hands grab onto his forearms for balance.

He pulls back, chuckles. “No?”

“Nope,” I barely manage, before a moan bubbles forth as his fingers find my nipple.

“And if I told you that Shelly wants to get back together?”

“What?” I back away, my vision blurring red. “You just said you weren’t talking to her?”

His smirk, sexy and infuriating at the same time, lets me know he’s teasing. “Thought you weren’t jealous?”

“You’re such an asshole.” I stomp my foot. “An asshole that can sleep on the couch.”

I barely make it two feet before strong arms circle me from behind. “Riley Ann, you’re hot as fuck when you’re jealous.”

“I told you, I’m not jealous.” I seethe.

He nips my neck, grazes the flesh with his teeth. “Are so.” His hands drift up my rib cage over my breasts, skimming my nipples in the most delicious way.

“Stop.” I shake my head even as my back arches to bring my breasts closer to him.

He clicks his tongue. “How many times do I have to tell you? You’re the only girl I want. The only girl I’ve ever wanted.”

I snort. “Still not getting lucky tonight, Casanova.”

He spins me to face him. “Is that so?”

The look in his eye is downright dangerous. Jaw clenched tight. Strong brow creased. Nostrils flared. It’s like I’ve just thrown down the gauntlet.

I keep my voice strong. “No way.” I shrug my shoulders. “Maybe Shelly’s available.”

“Fuck Shelly.” He breathes, grip increasing on my hips.

“You already have.” The words flow in anger, and once I’ve spoken them, I realize my mistake. His eyes darken, the look alone enough to melt me on the spot.

“I. Don’t. Fucking. Want. Shelly.” His voice is venom. “I want you.” He tugs my hand and wraps it around his already hard cock. “Feel.” We both look down at our hands as he squeezes my fingers tighter. “This is all for you.” His eyes snap to mine. “Now”―he smirks again―“give me what I want.”

Oh, God, I should resist, but the way he’s looking at me, the heat emanating from his body, his words…. Why was I mad again? Still, I try to maintain my self-control even though my voice lacks any conviction when I speak. “No.”

“No?” He quirks his brow. “Fair enough.” Seconds later he rips at the frayed straps of my tank top until nothing but thin scraps of fabric lay discarded on the ground. The material hangs, exposing my bare chest to him. He looks directly in my eyes. “I’ll give you what you want.”

“Jes, what the—” But my words are cut off by the sound of my shorts being torn.

“Riley Ann.” His hands reach for my breasts. “Beautiful Riley.”

Bending his head, he sucks my nipple into his mouth, not teasing or playful, but rough and with purpose. Marking. Claiming. Owning.

“Jesse.” I cry his name as my fingers thread through his hair, pulling him closer. “Fuck, Jesse.”

He doesn’t say a word as he switches to the other breast, the stubble of his five o’clock shadow, coupled with his gentle nips, driving me crazy. My muscles spasm, causing my legs to wobble like Jell-O, and I brace one arm on the wall behind him for balance.

“Stop,” I say, desperate as he continues his assault, because holy shit I think I might fall over if he keeps this up. “Please.” My voice pleads. “You’re driving me crazy.”

He rises to his full height. “Does it feel like I want anyone else when I’m with you? When I’m touching you? When I’m inside you?” He narrows his eyes when I don’t answer. “Does it?” He brushes his thumbs over my nipples and I tremble.

“No.” My voice is soft as I cast my eyes away.

He shakes his head. “Not good enough.”

Taking both of my hands, he turns me away from him and places my palms on the wall. “Spread your legs.”

My blood whooshes, as fast and loud as a raging river. Every nerve winds tight, my whole body thrumming with anticipation when I do as he says. Turning my head, I watch over my shoulder as he drops to his knees. With a firm hand on each thigh, he spreads me wider. When he leans forward, when his tongue licks me from top to bottom, I moan. Loudly. What the fuck is he doing? This is too intimate; I’m too exposed. He’s putting his mouth on me there?

“How about now, Riley? Do I want you now?”

“Jesse.” I whine, my fingernails curling into the wall. “Oh, my God.” My voice breaks when his tongue finds me again.

He takes his time, licks me in a place that I never thought I wanted to be licked, but holy hell, it feels good, more than good. I’m soaked, dripping with need for him, and I’m painfully aware of how empty I am. How desperately I need him to fill me.

As if he could read my thoughts, he adds his fingers. Two thick fingers slide into my aching center, and my insides grip him, pulling him in deeper. “Jesus.” He curses against my thigh.

My body is lax, loose as it lies against the wall, and I’m glad for the support because there’s no way I’d be able to hold myself upright.

“Jesse, I want…” I pant, breathless, as I squeeze my eyes shut.

“What do you want, baby?” He slaps my ass cheek. Hard. “You want to come all over my cock?”

“Yes.” I scream as he drags his fingers away. Turning my head, I catch the moment when his shorts hit the floor. My eyes dart to his hands, where he’s holding himself, smoothing the first few droplets of his release over the round head. I lick my lips. God, I want to taste him.

He catches the movement, his half-lidded gaze meeting mine. One hand strokes his thick cock, slowly, languidly. “But I don’t want you, do I?” He moves closer, slides his erection along my ass. My body quivers when his hot breath hits my ear. “Do I?”

I moan in response. He can’t possibly expect me to talk. I’m incapable of intelligible speech. He’s stripped me down to the most basic, primal level, where all I can process are needs and desire. And right now, I need him.

“How about now?” He grunts as he slides into me in one smooth thrust. “Do I want you now, Riley?”

One arm bands around my waist, tugging me closer, even as his forceful thrusts threaten to push me away. His other hand wraps around my throat, his thumb resting on the erratic pulse point in my neck. His grip isn’t light, the pressure just enough to make me aware of his control. And I surrender everything to him. Willingly. “Who do I want, Riley?” he demands, his teeth scraping my ear.

“Me.” I groan, fingers curling into the cord of muscle in his forearm. When my head threatens to roll to the side, he jerks me upright, holds me firm in his grasp.

“Who have I always wanted? Who do I want fucking more than ever I thought was possible?” He slams forward, remains still, awaiting my answer. “Who do I love?”

“Me.” I scream, and when he slams his hips forward again and pinches my nipple, I shatter. My body convulses, trapped between him and the wall, tremors rolling from top to bottom. Electric zaps of pleasure course through me, so forceful that I bite his arm from the sheer intensity of it. Holy fuck. Holy fuck. Holy fuck.

Both of his hands settle on my hips and drag me back toward him. He pulls me down onto him, matching each powerful jerk of his hips. “Riley.” He groans my name. “It’s you. It’s only ever been you.”

“Jesse.” I twist in his embrace, trailing my lips along his neck. His skin is salty, slicked with sweat, yet somehow sweet, and I want to lick him all over. I want to explore every inch of his body. I want to know everything about this man. The man I love more than anyone or anything.

“Fuck, Riley.” He groans as he releases inside me, hot jets of warmth that pulse and burn and mark me from the inside out, telling me everything I need to know: I love you. You belong to me. You’re mine.

I squeeze his hands and he loosens his grip. Turning in place to face him, I bring my eyes to meet his and place my hand over his heart. “We belong to each other.”

40

Riley

Do you ever get the feeling that time’s running out? You know the one I’m talking about. The feeling of dread that takes hold when life’s going too well, when everything seems perfect, and rather than enjoy it, you sit patiently on the sidelines waiting, just waiting, for the other shoe to drop. Because at one point or another, it will.

That feeling, that sense of this-is-too-good-to-be-true has been flitting around my brain for the past week, and I can’t seem to get rid of it, no matter how hard I try.

On the weekend, we’re forced to leave my apartment. It’s weird, because Jesse and I are both social people, but we both find ourselves wanting to stay in and…relax.

I was enjoying every single moment relaxing with Jesse.

But on Saturday night, Liza invited us to Bailey’s, a local pub-restaurant where her cousin, Craig, is performing a stand-up routine. I’m not one for comics—I always thought comedians were a teensy bit mean-hearted—but it’s Scott’s birthday, so we couldn’t flake, especially after we canceled plans with them the past two weekends in a row.

Of course, Liza was the first person I told about Jesse and me taking it to the next level. She pressed for specifics, just as I knew she would, but I decided to keep most of the details to myself, simply because I wanted Jesse all for myself. What we do, how our bodies come together, how we connect, is special and unlike anything I’ve ever experienced. And I don’t want to share that with anyone other than Jesse.

“You made it!” Liza jumps up from her barstool and tosses her arms around me.

I hug her back. “Why wouldn’t we be here?” I release Liza as my eyes drift to Scott and wrap him in my arms. “Happy Birthday!”

“I never know with you two anymore.” Liza wiggles her eyebrows. “Wasn’t sure if you’d be able to find your way out of the bedroom.”

“Stop.” I swat at her. “Did you put our name in for a table?”

“Twenty minutes ago.” Liza’s eyes dance around the room. “This place is packed.”

“Yeah.” I lean back into Jesse and he bands an arm around my waist. I sigh in pleasure. I love his hands on me.

I wiggle my ass against him and his grip tightens around my waist. He dips his head to whisper my ear. “Don’t get me hard, baby.”

I keep my voice innocent even though I’m anything but. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

He grinds against my ass and speaks low enough so only I can hear him. “You know how much I love your ass.” He leans in a bit closer. “And how much I want to fuck it.”

My pulse spikes as heat floods my face.

“You okay?” Liza questions, brows pinching together.

“Yeah.” My voice is breathy, so I clear my throat. “I just… I need a drink.”

Jesse’s lips twitch. “What do you want?” The question is innocent enough, but the quick nip of his teeth at my neck and slow sway of his hips against my backside cause my skin to erupt in goose pimples.

Liza catches the gesture. “You two make me sick.” She rolls her eyes in mock disgust and turns back toward Scott.

Jesse thinks he’s won, but two can play this game. I survey the crowded room. The lights are dim, and the overhang of the bar mostly shields us. Liza and Scott are talking to the couple seated to their right… I remain facing forward but reach my arm behind me. My fingers find him and circle his hard length. He hisses and he pinches my hip.

Dropping my voice I say, “I think I need something just like this.”

“Fuck, Ry.” He groans as my hand slides up again more firmly.

“What?” I say, just as he interlaces his fingers with my other hand and pulls me away. He tugs me behind him as he calls over his shoulder to Liza and Scott. “We’ll be right back.”

I have no idea where he’s taking me, but I’m game. I keep wondering when this insane hunger, this undeniable need will be satisfied, but a large part of me hopes it never will be sated.

I giggle as he pulls me down the length of the bar toward the bathrooms, but the smile dies on my lips as my eyes land on the man seated at the end of the bar, a man whom I hoped to never see again: Jason.

* * *

Jesse jerks to a stop a few seconds after he realizes I’m no longer walking behind him. He inclines his head over his shoulder, eyes questioning. He must notice my pale skin, my wide, fearful eyes, because he immediately drops my hand and turns to face me. “Riley?” He rests his hands on both my hips.

But I don’t answer. Can’t answer.

“Riley?” he questions again, and this prompts the man’s attention.

The man spins on his barstool and his eyes land right on me. They narrow as he tries to sort who I am. It takes him a moment, but then a sleazy smile stretches across his face and he says, “Round Two?”

My blood turns to ice. It’s been almost four years, four freakin’ years, and I run into him now? Here of all places. What the fuck?

Jesse wraps a protective arm around my waist and pulls me closer to him. “Ry, baby. Are you okay?”

Jason’s eyes drag over my skin, and I hate everything about him, from his thin moustache to his beady eyes to his sharp, pointy nose. I can’t believe I slept with him. That he could have been a father to—

Jason’s voice penetrates my thoughts. “Hey, man, I’m Jason.” He extends his hand toward Jesse.

I witness the exact moment when understanding dawns, because Jesse releases me and moves me aside. “Jason?” he questions through a clenched jaw.

“Yeah…” Jason’s nervous eyes dart to me then back to Jesse, who looks like he’s ready to attack.

“So, you’re the piece of shit who hurt Riley?” Jesse’s voice roars over the din of the bar, gaining everyone’s attention. Liza and Scott pause mid-conversation and amble toward us.

“Jesse.” My voice begs. “Please. Let’s just go.”

But he either doesn’t hear me or simply ignores my request.

“Look.” Jason holds up his hands in surrender. “I’m not looking for any trouble. What happened between me and…” His eyes find me again and I cringe, “her was a long time—”

Crack. Jesse’s fist connects with Jason’s nose, and I swear the snap of the bone is as loud and awkward as a needle dragging across a record mid-song. There’s a stunned silence before all hell breaks loose. People push and shove, and I’m forced forward. Shouting and shuffling blocks out Liza’s voice, but I watch her lips move, eyes wide with confusion.

A man, I’m guessing one of Jason’s friends, helps Jason to his feet. Blood gushes down his face, and his nose is bent at a weird angle. It’s definitely broken.

“What the fuck?” Jason screams, and blood trickles from his mouth. He brushes his friend’s arm away. His eyes narrow on me in an angry, hateful stare. He shakes his head, “All this and she wasn’t even a decent lay.”

“Son of a bitch!” Jesse’s body is a blur as he lunges forward and grabs Jason by his shirt. “You fucking piece of shit.” The patrons leave a wide berth as the two wrestle to the ground. One moment Jason’s on top, the next, Jesse. Punches are thrown, insults exchanged, a mixture of sweat, blood, and grit.

A distant siren rings in the background, growing louder and closer with each passing second. The cops. “Jesse!” I scream. “Jesse! Stop!”

He pushes himself to stand, his figure looming over Jason, who is curled on his side in the fetal position. Jesse sneers at him. “If you so much as look at her ever again, I will kill you.”

My eyes drift to the back door, where four uniformed policemen are plowing through the mob of people who have gathered around. When they make their way to us, their eyes jump between Jesse, standing with palms clenched and hard eyes, to Jason, who is lying on the floor, writhing in pain.

When the taller officer speaks to Jesse, the words hit me like a solid punch to the gut. “You have the right to remain silent…”

Everything fades away, and the last thing I remember is the click of metal as the handcuffs are fastened to Jesse’s wrists.

I think the other shoe just fucking dropped.

41

Jesse

I’m in a holding cell, a six-by-six room with nothing more than a wooden bench that is nearly splintered apart. My side screams in pain where that son of a bitch Jason landed a decent punch, but I do my best to ignore it. Besides, it’s not as though Officer McDougal is all that concerned with my health and safety.

The guy in the next cell over is missing more teeth than I can count and keeps screaming that he’s the next Messiah. The dude is seriously on some fucked-up shit, and the only good thing about tonight is that I’m not in the same cell as him.

Apparently, since I haven’t been officially “lodged” yet, I’m not allowed my one phone call or any visitors. This is my first time in jail, so I’m not sure if this is standard procedure or how long the booking process usually takes, but I suspect they’re just being assholes and taking their good ol’ fucking time.

I lost my shit in the bar. Saw red. Snapped.

A rage swift and strong took over, and it was as though I couldn’t stop, couldn’t control my actions. I’ve never been a particularly violent person. Never been a possessive person. But with Riley all bets are off.

Knowing how he’d hurt her, how he’d taken advantage of her—because let’s be honest, he did take advantage of her, no matter what she says. Any guy with morals knows you don’t fuck a woman who’s too drunk to remember or consent. I couldn’t walk away. I couldn’t.

Acting on instinct, I’d done what I wanted to do for nearly four years: make that piece of shit pay for even having breathed the same air as her. I meant what I said when I told Riley I’d do anything for her. Even knowing the result, even knowing I’d end up in jail facing assault charges, I’d do it all over again and I wouldn’t be sorry.

“Collins.” McDougal’s voice bellows. “You’ve got a visitor.”

I resist the urge to make a snide comment—thought I wasn’t allowed any visitors—and walk toward the door of my cell.

“This way.” He gestures with his chin. I pause and extend my wrists forward for him to uncuff me, but he shakes his head. “No.”

I grunt, and march down the hall. We pause at a cream-colored door on the left, and McDougal swipes his badge.

I’m expecting Riley or possibly my mom (although I’m really hoping no one called her). What I’m not expecting is the man sitting across from me, mouth set in a hard line, eyes even harder. Riley’s dad.

“Jesse.” He doesn’t even bother to stand as I approach.

I square my shoulders and puff my chest as I sit down. “Officer Jones, to what do I owe this pleasure?”

42

Riley

I panicked. I didn’t know who else to call. When that police officer took Jesse out in handcuffs and the other three stayed back to get witnesses’ statements, I damn near lost my mind. Words like aggressor, attacked, assault charges were tossed around. Jason was injured, that much was obvious, but he played it up big time.

Liza and Scott were dumbfounded. Liza asked me a million questions, rapid-fire, and all I could do was mumble one-word answers. Scott’s birthday went to shit, and it was all my fault.

“I’m sorry,” I mumble as Liza wraps her arms around me, but I don’t even take comfort in her embrace. I’m numb.

“Don’t apologize.” She squeezes my shoulders. “We’re worried about you. I don’t know what the hell happened, but…” She hesitates. “Jesse could be in a lot of trouble.”

I pull back, eyes wide. “What? What did they say?”

Her eyes soften. “I think Jason is pressing charges.”

“What?” I scream. “People get into bar fights all the time. They don’t actually go to jail.” Do they?

Her hand at my waist guides me forward. “Let’s get down to the station and see what’s going on.” She glances at Scott. “Can you get the car?”

“Yeah.” He nods, voice solemn.

Liza turns to face me. “Is there anyone you can call?”

My eyes widen in panic.

“Don’t worry. I’m not leaving you, but do you know any attorneys? Someone who can help or give you legal advice?”

The knot of dread coils tighter in my stomach, as my dad’s face pops to mind. I don’t know who else to call. “Yes,” my voice whispers. “I can call my dad.”

* * *

The next morning I’m at my mom’s house when I overhear my parents’ angry, albeit hushed, voices in the kitchen.

“I told you that boy was no good for her!” my dad whisper-hisses. “But you kept encouraging it.”

“Don’t you dare!” my mother argues back. “This isn’t my fault.”

“Isn’t it?” My dad breathes. “You’ve always defended him. We should’ve put an end to this, years ago. Now, I’m stuck calling in favors to neighboring districts when I should just let the kid serve his time.”

“Your daughter is in love with him.”

“Yeah, well, you didn’t see what he did to that guy. Besides, I don’t even know if Trooper Williams is still stationed with that borough. I say we wait and see before I make a fool of myself wasting my time and breath on some kid who doesn’t deserve my help.”

My mom laughs, a mean, sarcastic laugh. “It’s always about you, isn’t it, Jack? How do Riley’s actions affect you? What will your colleagues think? She’s our daughter.”

My dad retorts, “This has nothing to do with me. Or our family. He’s not like us.”

“Why?” my mom demands. “Why isn’t he like us?”

“He just isn’t.” My dad does little to disguise his anger at this point. “He’s got no college education, no future, and he’s—”

“Don’t you dare say it,” my mom interrupts. “Don’t you dare say it, Jack. We raised our daughters to accept everyone, to not judge based on skin color or sexual orientation or religion.”

“But—”

I can’t listen to my parents fight anymore, nor can I stand by another minute without defending Jesse. He’s in this mess because of me. If anyone is guilty of wrongdoing, it’s me.

“Stop.” I walk into the kitchen and slice my hand through the air. “Please, stop.”

“Riley.” My mom sets her mug of coffee on the counter. “How much of that did you hear?”

My eyes narrow on my dad. “Enough.”

“Riley,” my dad says, but I wave him off.

“Listen, I know what Jesse did was wrong, but he had his reasons. That man,” I take a deep breath before saying his name, “Jason, hurt me.”

“What?” My dad pushes to his feet. “When?”

“It was a long time ago.” I close my eyes and drop my head toward my chest. “I’m okay.” I take another breath. “But Jesse knew our history and…”

“Riley.” My mom moves around to the opposite side of the counter where I stand and wraps me in her arms. “Why didn’t you tell us?”

I shrug, even though I know exactly why I didn’t tell her: I was ashamed.

“Riley.” My dad clears his throat and faces me as my mom releases her hold. “Is there anything else we need to know? Did that man, did he force himself…?”

“No.” My voice is loud. “No, nothing like that.”

My dad nods his head, but his eyes still hold mine in question.

“Dad, I need you to help Jesse,” I plead. “I’ll do anything.”

“I’m not sure what I’ll be able to do. If the victim presses charges, Jesse will be arraigned.”

“No!” I scream again. “There has to be someone else you can call. Someone you know. Please.” My voice breaks on a sob. “I love him. You have to help him.”

My dad’s hard exterior falters in the slightest. “I’ll see what I can do.”

43

Jesse

Jason McDonovan, asshole that he is, decides to press charges. In addition, he’s suing for medical expenses incurred as a result of the altercation. Because I’d been locked up for two days and missed my shifts at the warehouse, I’d been let go, which is just a slightly nicer way of saying fired. And since I’m unable to collect unemployment benefits in the interim while I look for a new job, I’ve no way of paying my own bills, let alone Jason’s. Basically, my life is fucked.

I’m assigned a public defender who’s working four cases concurrently, so understandably, she can’t devote much time to my case. Communication is slow. Progress even slower.

The only spot of sunshine in my life is Riley. She’s by my side every day, researching, making phone calls, and even offering to let me move in with her at the end of the month when my lease is up. Although I don’t want to freeload, I’m actually considering her offer, because I don’t know how I’m going to make my rent payment.

I hate being weak and in such a vulnerable position. I rely on myself, period. But I don’t have many options. My mom offered to re-mortgage her house in order to pay my debt, but she has her own financial struggles with her own school loans and car payment. I couldn’t put her in that position because I fucked up and lost my temper.

I’d figure a way out of this mess. I had to.

I finally agreed to meet with Riley’s dad. Again. Even though I knew he’d talked to my arresting officer (and essentially) bailed me out of jail, I hadn’t spoken to him since the night in the holding cell.

“In trouble again, Collins?” He looked down his nose at me.

I held his stare, refusing to show any sign of weakness. “Why are you here?”

He snorted. “Why else? I’m here because, yet again, you’ve involved my daughter in your bullshit.”

My arms flexed and I barely resisted the urge to slam my cuffed fists against the table as he continued. “They’ll process your intake as soon as the defendant submits his official statement.”

“So, what? You came all the way down here to tell me what a fuck-up I am?”

“Don’t flatter yourself.” He leaned forward in his chair. “I came down here because my little girl called me at eleven o’clock at night, scared and crying.”

Shit. I hang my head, ashamed that I upset Riley. I never wanted to hurt her. “I’m sorry,” I said, as the consequences of my actions slowly sank in.

“It’s a little late for that.” He sat back in his chair. “I’ll see what I can find out. Until then, keep your head down and your goddamn mouth shut.”

I don’t even get the chance to express my agreement before the door slams shut behind him.

That was three weeks ago, and if I was being honest, I was in no rush to see Officer Jones anytime soon. Riley, however, had different intentions. She’s been nagging me—for lack of a better word—to meet her dad for a cup of coffee to reconcile our differences. He wants to help, she said. He might have a friend at the station. Don’t be an idiot, Jesse, she yelled last night, finally at her breaking point.

Riley was right—of course, she was. Apparently Officer Jones knew someone who knew someone at the Mills Borough Police Department where the original charges were filed. Every fiber of my being did not want to meet with him, but I acquiesced because…I didn’t have any other option, and I wanted to make Riley happy.

I’m early to the coffee shop where we planned to meet. The shop is located about a half hour from Riley’s apartment. Mr. Jones claims it is a convenient spot for both of us, since it is the halfway meeting point, but deep down I know it’s because he doesn’t want to be seen in public with me. Not only am I half-black—which apparently is a crime in itself in his book—but I’m also facing potential criminal charges. He doesn’t want me to taint his squeaky-clean reputation.

A gust of wind sweeps in as he enters and walks past the counter. He slides into the bench seat directly across from me.

“Hi.” I keep my voice polite even though he’s a condescending dick. I try to remind myself that he’s a condescending dick who might be able to help me.

He nods in response. “I’ll make this quick. First of all, let’s get one thing straight. I’m doing this for Riley, not you.”

I grunt in response.

“Second, I need you to tell me what that kid did to her.”

I recoil as though he punched me. Riley told him about Jason? “That’s Riley’s story to tell.”

“Don’t try to be a hero.” He glares at me. “She said he hurt her.”

I find his gaze, my own eyes menacing. “Let’s just say he got what was coming to him.”

He pauses as though contemplating my response, and slowly nods before saying, “I made a few calls.”

“And?” I prompt, to move things along.

“Best they can do is a year probation and a court-ordered anger management program. Plus, you still have to cover his medical expenses.”

“What?” I nearly spit my coffee. “No way.”

He shrugs. “Your call. But you’re taking your chances with a hearing. Magistrate Shoopeck is a tough old bird.”

“Fuck.” I scrub my hands over my face.

He narrows his eyes at me. “You made your bed, now you have to lie in it.”

My palms grip the table and squeeze, as I will myself not to lose it.

“Do you want my advice?” I ignore the question, but he continues anyway. “Take the deal.”

I scowl.

“Your probation officer will be assigned based on your primary residence. You could move in with your dad, work in his shop.” My eyes narrow on him and he shrugs. “I heard you lost your job.”

“You’d love that, wouldn’t you?” I seethe. “You’d love nothing more than to get me away from your daughter.”

I expect him to deny it, but he surprises me when he doesn’t. “Damn right, I would.” He leans forward in the booth. “You think I want my daughter tied down to someone like you the rest of her life? No college education? No career? No job prospects?” He ticks his fingers. “What can you offer her?”

Love. I want to scream. I can offer her love.

But all I do is stare, unable to form a response because he’s right. I can’t offer her anything…substantial. She deserves everything. More than anything I could ever give her.

He continues, “And now with this black mark on your record, it’ll be that much harder to find a job that pays a decent wage. What’s your plan? To move in with Riley and ride her coattails the rest of your life?”

His words hurt more than any physical blow ever could. He’s playing on every one of my insecurities, whether he knows it or not.

I’m not good enough for Riley. I never was. I never will be.

I need him to stop talking, but he keeps going. “You say you love her—”

I cut him off. “I do love her. More than anything.”

“Then let her go.” His harsh words cut my heart in two. “Give her a chance. Don’t tie her down to someone who has nothing going for him, who doesn’t have his own life figured out. You’re both so young. After some time, if you still feel the same way—”

“I will never stop loving your daughter. She’s everything to me.”

“Is she? Because all I see is a selfish punk who’s dragging my innocent daughter through the mud.”

His words, though cruel, aren’t inaccurate. Maybe I am selfish. Maybe I should have been grateful for having Riley in my life—in any capacity—because the truth is she is special. Amazing. Beautiful, inside and out.

“Enough.” I slice my hand through the air.

He pauses, face burning red with emotion.

“Tell your friend I’ll take the deal.”

He nods, satisfied. “And Riley?” he questions, his voice hopeful.

“I’ll be gone before the first of the month.”

He exhales a breath, clearly relieved. “You’re doing the right thing, kid.”

If that’s true, then why do I feel like I’ve just given up the best thing in my life?

44

Riley

Jesse is changing. Ever since he agreed to take the probation deal, he’s aloof, withdrawn, a million miles away from me, and I don’t know how to bring him back to me.

Every time I mention his moving in with me or ask him about job interviews, he changes the subject. Plus, he’s being secretive. The other night when I got back from my class he was talking on the phone, and when he realized I was there, he quickly ended the call. Odd, but not totally suspect. But the next day his phone rang three times and he declined every one and made some lame comment about it being a wrong number.

Now, before any judgments can be made, I’ll cut right to the chase: I’m still a bit insecure when it comes to Jesse’s and my relationship, especially after everything that has happened. Crazy, I know. We’ve known each other forever, but I’m still trying to find the balance between friend and lover.

After Jesse’s basketball practice tonight we made plans to chill. The past few weeks have been stressful, and I think we both need the downtime to reconnect. The plan is to order pizza and binge watch Pretty Little Liars—I asked, he agreed—so I’m completely taken off guard (and a little pissed when) I receive a text from him around 8:00 p.m.

Jesse: Going out for a few drinks.

I read the message three times to be sure that I didn’t misunderstand. What happened between now and two hours ago that caused him to change his mind? Furthermore, he’s unemployed, facing assault charges, and about to start probation. He honestly thinks that now is a good time to go to a bar? I don’t think so.

Fuming mad, my fingers stab the keys.

Riley: Are you serious?

Once I start the messages, I can’t stop.

Riley: Jes, I don’t think that’s a good idea.

Riley: Jes.

Riley: Hello?

Riley: Why aren’t you answering me?

Riley: Call me.

Riley: CALL. ME.

Every message goes unanswered, and by the time I crawl into bed at ten-thirty, I’m livid. If he comes to my apartment after the bar, if he even thinks about crawling into bed with me, I’ll…cut off his dick. Okay, maybe not, because I seriously love his dick, but you get the point.

As I toss and turn, my phone vibrates on my nightstand. I jump up and grab the phone, hoping that it’s Jesse, but at the same time cursing myself for even caring. My heart deflates when I see a number I don’t recognize. I silence the call, but not even a minute later my phone buzzes again.

My brow furrows. It’s the same number as before. My voice is almost a whisper when I answer. “Hello?”

“Hello.” I can barely hear the voice over the background noise. There’s loud music thumping a strong bass line and lots of people talking.

“Hello?” I say again. “I think you may have the wrong number.”

“Is this Riley?” the voice questions louder. I identify the caller as female, her tone light and cheery. A bubble gum voice, and I half expect to hear the telltale sound of gum cracking.

“Yes?” My voice rises at the end. “I’m sorry, I don’t know who this is, but now really isn’t a good time.” I sneak a glance at the clock. It’s twelve in the freakin’ morning.

But Bubble Gum cuts me off. “There’s a guy here. Jesse. Told me to call you.”

My blood turns cold. “Jesse? Is he okay?

“Umm…” She pauses and my heart beats faster. “He’s not hurt or anything. But he’s in rough shape.”

The coiled spring wound tight inside my stomach explodes and I fall back against the headboard, allowing it to support my weight. Rough shape. I knew exactly what she meant…he’s drunk.

Bubble Gum’s voice pulls me out of my head. “Hello?” And then I hear her address someone over the din of music. “I’m talking to her now.”

“Riley.” I hear Jesse’s voice slur. Son of a bitch.

“Where is he?” I twine the loose thread from the duvet cover around my finger. Round and round, then let it unwind. Start again.

“Danny’s Place. Fifth and Broad.” She smacks her lips.

I know the place. “I know the place.”

“He’s pretty trashed. I snatched his keys from the bar when he went to the john. He’s freaking out. It’s either you or the cops.”

Please, don’t call the cops.

I force a strong exhale through my nose and close my eyes. “I’ll be right there.”

* * *

“Riley.” Jesse eyes widen in delighted surprise when he sees me standing in the doorway of the bar. “I love this girl,” he says to no one in particular. “I fucking love her.” He slurs again.

He ambles over, leans into me, and plants a sloppy kiss on my cheek. I shift away from him.

“Get in the car,” I say, trying to keep my voice even and authoritative. He blinks once but doesn’t move. “Jes,” I say, more forcefully. “Get in the car.”

I don’t wait to see if he listens before I walk over to the bar. I nestle between two barstools and signal to the bartender— Bubble Gum—and she nods in acknowledgment as she finishes pouring a beer.

“Hi.” She approaches and reaches underneath the bar before handing me Jesse’s keys.

“Thanks.” I slip them into my coat pocket. “Does he have a tab?”

She shakes her head. “No, I closed it out right before I called you.”

I nod. “Thanks for calling.”

I turn to walk away, but her voice stops me. “Hey!”

I turn to face her.

“I’m not sure what your deal is, but that guy really loves you.”

I nod rather than say aloud what I’m thinking: Then what the fuck is he doing here?

45

Riley

Jesse dozes in the front seat on the forty-minute drive back to my apartment. I contemplated dropping him back at his place but I didn’t want him to be alone in case he got sick.

When I pull into the parking space behind my apartment building, his eyes pop open. He scrubs one hand over his face as I say, “We’re home.”

We both walk toward the building, calmly and quietly, and I notice that he seems to have sobered up. His movements are much less jerky, more fluid.

Even though I know we should wait to have this conversation until he’s stone-cold sober, I can’t stop myself. “What the fuck were you thinking?” I attack as soon as the front door is closed.

He doesn’t say anything, just continues to lock the deadbolt.

“Jesse.” I call his name to gain his attention, then again, louder. “Jes.”

“What?” He cuts his eyes to me in annoyance. “What do you want me to say?”

“For starters, why the hell would you go out to a bar with everything that’s going on?”

He doesn’t respond, so I continue. “And where the hell were Kyle and Matt?”

His brows pinch together in confusion. “At home, I guess.”

Now it’s my turn to be confused. “You said you were going out with the guys after basketball.”

“No I didn’t.” He shakes his head. “I went by myself.”

My mouth hangs open. “I guess I just assumed…Jesse.” My voice rises as I continue. “Talk to me. Tell me what the hell is going on!”

“You wouldn’t understand,” he says, as he brushes past me on the way to the kitchen, but my hand reaches out to stop him.

“That’s not fair.” My voice is hot, angry. “We’re supposed to be in this together. How can I be there for you when you keep shutting me out?”

He spins to face me. “Maybe I don’t want you to be there for me!”

I recoil as though he’s hit me. “What?” He doesn’t want me. After everything… I knew this was too good to be true. Knew this would never work.

He must notice the tremble of my lip, because his eyes soften and he reaches his hand out to smooth my hair behind my ear. “I’m sorry.”

I nod and close my eyes, willing myself not to cry. What the hell is happening to us?

“I love you, Riley. I want you to know I’d do anything for you. Even if it doesn’t seem that way at the time, I just want what’s best for you.”

My eyes snap open. “Jesse, what are you talking about? You’re scaring me.”

“Don’t be scared, baby.” He kisses my mouth once, gently, and then loops his arm beneath my knees and scoops me into his arms.

“Jesse.” I sigh into his neck. “What are you doing?”

“I’m loving you, Riley. I’m going to love you.”

46

Jesse

Riley’s auburn hair fans across the pillow as I lay her down on the bed. Dipping my head close, I inhale the citrus scent of her shampoo that I’ve grown to love because it reminds me of waking up next to her. Fuck, I’m going to miss it. Going to miss her. I already called my dad, made the arrangements to start full-time in his mechanic shop. I leave tomorrow.

Riley has no idea. I thought it’d be easier this way—for both of us—because if she begged me with those emerald green eyes to stay, I’d never have the courage to walk away.

My head is so fucked up. My heart wants to spend every possible second with her, but my mind tells me to push her further away to make tomorrow less painful. But all the alcohol in the world couldn’t numb my feelings for her. Couldn’t take the pain away.

Her hand reaches up to cup my face, her fingers drag across the stubble of my jaw. “You need to shave.” She smiles in the darkness.

“I know,” I say, as I scrape my face against her palm. I bring my eyes back to hers. “I love you, Riley.”

Her warm breath whispers across my face. “I love you, too.”

“I want to give you everything.” My voice is tight as I struggle to keep my emotions under control.

She places her hand over my heart. “You already have.”

My eyes feel suspiciously wet, and I absolutely won’t allow myself to cry right now, so I kiss her instead. My lips press against hers, soft and warm. I kiss her with everything I have, everything I am, everything I feel inside.

My movements are slow, unhurried, and if I could, I’d stop time and live this moment forever.

“Jesse.” She sighs my name as my hands skim underneath her shirt, over the soft, smooth skin of her stomach.

“You’re perfect, Riley,” I whisper as I kiss her ear, down her jaw, over her long, graceful neck. “You’ve always been perfect.” My hands crawl upward, reach the underside of her breasts, and skim back and forth. She gasps in pleasure.

“Jesse.” Her hands pull me closer but she doesn’t rush or hurry. It’s as if she knows this is our last time.

“Want. You. Naked.” I punctuate each word with a kiss. “I need to see you.” And it’s true. I need to see her one last time so I can memorize every inch, every detail, every curve, every freckle, every scar.

She pushes me back, sits up and reaches for the hem of her shirt. Her eyes never leave mine as she drops it from the edge of the bed. Next, she shimmies her pants and panties down in one fluid movement. My eyes draw over her body, starting at the dip in her collarbone, over her full, round breasts, down her smooth, flat belly, to her center, where’s she’s shaved bare. Fuck me.

“Your turn,” she whispers, but I’m too awestruck to move. She reaches for my t-shirt and pulls it overhead, and somehow my arms follow. “These, too.” Her fingers tug the waistband of my gym shorts.

When we’re both naked, I settle over her. I don’t move at first, just feel her soft skin pressed against my own, lighting me on fire. My dick twitches against her and she mewls in delight.

“I want to feel you.” She breathes against my ear as her fingers knead my ass.

I rub my dick against her, coat myself in her slickness. A ripple of pleasure rolls through me, and I groan into her hair. “Christ, Ry. You feel amazing.”

I nuzzle her neck, shifting my hips again, and this time my tip hits her clit. “Fuck, Jesse.” Her voice breaks.

I continue to slide against her, over and over, until I’m sure we’re both about to come. My hands and mouth are everywhere—from her breasts, to her neck, to her thighs. I can’t get enough, have come to the realization that no amount of time will ever be enough.

“Please.” She pulls my mouth away from her breasts. “No more.”

Smiling, I kiss her again before sliding down her body. I bury my face between her legs and lick a slow line from top to bottom.

“Fuck,” she curses, fingers spearing my hair. “I’m gonna come. I’m so close.”

“Baby,” I whisper between licks before adding my fingers, one to start, then two. I pump my fingers slowly, lazily, a direct contrast to the way my tongue works her clit.

We don’t speak after that. Just feel. Deft fingers tease and play. Pinch and twist, and finally, finally slide all the way inside her, stretching her open in the most glorious of ways. Moments later, without warning, she shatters. Her fingers grab my head so hard it’s a wonder she doesn’t tear my hair out.

Before she’s even had a chance to come down, I slide inside her. A long, deep thrust that buries me to the hilt. I remain still, and take a deep, calming breath as she pulses around me.

“Riley.” Her name falls from my lips, and along with it, other words that I can’t seem to stop. “You’re my everything. I love you so much. I don’t want to lose you. Please. I need you.” I continue to pump my hips, letting all the pent-up emotion overtake me. “I need you.”

“Hey.” She pushes me back gently. I roll to the side and cover my face, embarrassed by the sheen of my eyes and the shitload of emotion I just dumped on her. “Everything’s going to be okay.”

I nod, unable to meet her eyes, but she grabs my face and forces me to look at her. “Everything’s going to be fine,” she repeats, eyes wide and honest and so damn hopeful that I nearly break down and tell her everything.

She nudges me backward until I’m lying flat on my back, and she straddles my hips. “Now, tell me what you need tonight.”

“Anything.” I groan as she grips me at the base and begins to ease down onto me. “I want anything you’ll give me.”

“Everything,” she whispers, bringing her lips to meet mine. “You can have everything.”

She rides me slowly, so slowly that I can feel every gentle tug, every smooth glide as I sink back in. This isn’t fucking or even making love. This is her giving herself to me: heart, body and soul.

I take it all, memorize every single moment, knowing this is the last time I’ll ever be inside her, the last time I’ll watch the flush creep across her chest, or her eyes flutter closed, or her lips part in pleasure.

I sit up, wrap my arms around her and pull her close, burying my face in her hair. My hips slam up to meet hers, and she groans long and low in my ear. “Jesse.” Her fingers pierce my hair.

Knowing she’s close, I drop my hand between us, drag my fingers across her clit. Her body tenses immediately, and she begins rocking faster.

“Jesse.” She moans my name again. “God, just like that.”

I don’t stop, wanting to give her every pleasure imaginable, wanting her to always remember this moment, wanting her to remember me. And only when she finds her release, when her muscles stiffen and her toes curl, when she turns her head and bites my shoulder, her body clamping around my cock like a goddamn vise, do I follow her over the edge, emptying inside her, allowing her body to milk me in the absolute best possible way. “Riley.”

We stay like that—connected—for a long time. I kiss her eyelids, her cheeks, her nose, her clavicle, the dip between her breasts. I want her to know she’s precious. Special. Loved.

And only when she yawns and wiggles against my hips and says she’s tired, do I let her move. But I hold her all night, pressing my heart to hers. I hope one day she’ll be able to understand and to forgive, but mostly I’m hoping she’ll always know how much I love her and how much I always will.

47

Riley

When I wake up the next morning, Jesse’s gone. There are no obvious signs, other than he isn’t physically present, but the apartment feels cold and empty. I make the bed, something I never do, but deep down I know I’m stalling for time because I know he’s gone for good.

Don’t ask me how I know, because I don’t think I can put it into words. Mostly it’s the twisted knot that’s been in my stomach since Jesse agreed to take the probation deal thirteen days ago.

A quick scan of my apartment confirms my suspicions. His toothbrush no longer rests alongside mine in the cup, his black duffle bag is no longer slung over the dining room chair, and his grey hoodie no longer hangs on the peg.

With a sick feeling, I walk into the kitchen where a scribbled note lies on the counter. I read it three times before crumpling it and throwing it into the trashcan.

Five words. Seventeen years of friendship, of love, of memories, and all I get—all I’m worthy of—are five words.

I’m sorry. I love you.

But he doesn’t love me. He couldn’t possibly, because you don’t run away from someone you love. You don’t turn your back on someone you say you care about more than anything in the world. You don’t leave a note on a half-torn takeout menu. You don’t leave. Period.

The walls begin to close in around me, and I slide in my sock-bottomed feet onto the floor. Why would he do this now after we only just started?

I wrap my arms around my bent knees, as crocodile tears form beneath my eyelids and slowly begin to slide down my cheeks. No, I tell myself. He wouldn’t leave. He wouldn’t.

Dragging my sleeve across my nose, I crawl on all fours toward the table where my cell is charging. I tug on the wire and catch my phone right before it hits the ground. Through tears, I dial his number, but it doesn’t ring. When his voicemail picks up, when I hear his recorded voice—This is Jesse. Leave a message.—I throw my phone in frustration.

He can’t shut me out. He can’t ignore me. He can’t make me go away.

I love him. He made me love him. He can’t leave me now.

* * *

My mom intervenes a week later. She finds me curled in bed with the covers pulled overhead. I haven’t showered in eight days. I haven’t opened the blinds. Or gone to my classes. I’ve barely eaten. All I do—all I’m capable of— is calling and texting Jesse. He still hasn’t returned any of my messages.

He’s safe—of that much I can be sure—because I checked his bank account and he made several purchases at various gas stations along the East coast. My best guess is he’s heading to North Carolina to visit his dad, but I don’t know why. He was supposed to start his probationary period five days ago.

“Riley.” My mom’s voice infiltrates the safe haven of sheets and blankets.

“Go away.” I grapple for the blankets as she tries to snatch them away.

“Riley Ann.” Her voice grows sterner. “Get out of bed this instant.”

I squint as she peels back the curtain and the morning sun shines in. “Shit,” I curse. “How did you get in here, anyway?”

She moves to the other window and opens it. “Your landlord gave me a key.”

“He can’t do that!” I shout, stumbling out of bed. “That’s illegal.”

“Being that my name is on the lease as a co-signer, I highly doubt that.”

Fuck. “Why are you here?” I run a hand through my oily, tangled hair.

“Liza called me.”

That bitch.

“And I’m glad she did, seeing the state you’re in.” She peers at me, at Jesse’s dirty grey Jordan t-shirt that I found in the hamper and have been wearing for the past seven days. “When is the last time you bathed, Riley?”

I shrug.

“What’s going on?” She carefully balances on the edge of the bed. “Liza said you haven’t been in class all week and that you’re not returning her calls.”

I shrug again.

“Riley Ann.” My mom’s voice rises. “You’re scaring me. Are you sick? Are you hurt? Are you all right?”

“No, Mom.” I shake my head slowly as the tears begin to stream down my cheeks. “I’m not all right.”

48

Riley

I tell my mom everything I know, which let’s face it, isn’t a lot. She listens carefully but doesn’t say much other than a gentle nod or murmur of agreement.

It takes my mom over twenty minutes to convince me to take a shower. I finally agree but only if she promises to not change the bed sheets, because they still smell like him. She agrees, but when I return to my bedroom, the bed is freshly made and the old sheets—Jesse’s sheets—are gone.

“Mom,” I cry, already walking toward the kitchen to where I hear water running. “Mom. Where are my sheets?”

She stands in front of the sink, hands encased in rubber gloves as she scrubs the mountain of dishes that I’ve neglected to clean. “In the wash.”

“You promised!” I scream, surprised by the anger flowing through my veins.

She turns off the faucet and takes off the gloves. “Riley.”

“How dare you?” I slam my fist against the table. “You had no right to do that.”

She holds her hands up as she approaches. “Riley, sit down.”

“What?” I yell. “Don’t tell me what to do. I’m not a child!”

My mom’s voice rises considerably. “You’re acting like a child.”

“This is my apartment.” Technically, it’s hers, too, since my parents help me pay for the rent, but whatever.

“Sit down.” She speaks more firmly as she loses her patience. When I don’t immediately sit, she narrows her eyes.

Begrudgingly, I pull out the stool and drop my head onto the counter.

She sits on the stool next to me. “I talked to Ms. Collins.”

I jump forward. “What? When? What did she say? Is Jesse okay?”

My mom closes her eyes. “Yes, Jesse is okay.”

The relief hits me all at once, and I begin to sob, ugly, loud cries. My mom pulls me into her embrace and rubs my back, soothingly. “Honey, he’s fine. He’s with his dad in North Carolina.”

I lean away. “Why? What’s he doing there?”

My mom takes both my hands in hers. “Honey, he’s living there. He’s arranged to complete his one-year probation using his dad’s address.”

“No.” I snatch my hands away. “That doesn’t make sense. Why would he do that?”

She releases a long, slow breath, and it whispers across my skin. “I don’t know.” She purses her lips. “Did you two have a fight?”

I shake my head. “No, Mom, we didn’t fight. The night before, we—” I stop myself before I say had sex. “When I woke up he was gone.”

Her brows pull together in thought.

“There has to be an explanation.” I stand and pace around the small, circular island. “You don’t just decide to drop out of someone’s life forever.”

My mom nods her head. “Maybe you should give him some space. The assault charges are serious…maybe he’s scared.”

She might be right, but if he’s scared, why did he run away? He had me. I was there for him. I’d support him no matter what.

“Just give it a little time.” She squeezes my shoulder. “I’m sure it will all work out.”

* * *

My mom is like an infectious mold—I can’t get rid of her. She stayed with me the next four nights and agreed to leave only because Mikayla has dance class and my dad doesn’t know how to arrange her hair in a bun. Mikayla cried for ten minutes straight last night on the phone when my mom suggested she wear it in a ponytail.

I envied Mikayla and her frivolous problems. One minute you’re a kid, crying because your mom won’t style your hair, and the next you’re an adult whose heart is ripped into a million pieces and your mom wants to help but she doesn’t know how. And neither do you.

“I’ll be fine,” I assure her, as I follow her onto the hall landing. “I only have one class tomorrow.”

She smiles and nods. “I know, I checked your schedule.” I suppress an eye roll as she continues, “A few more weeks and then you’re done. Hang in there.”

“I will.”

“And I’m only a phone call away if you need to talk or vent or…”

“I know.” I wrap her in a hug. “Thanks for everything.”

She meets my gaze. “I don’t know what’s going on with you two, but you’ll find your way.”

I nod even though I don’t agree.

Jesse isn’t going to call. He isn’t coming back. He’s gone forever.

Her cell phone buzzes in her purse and she scans the screen. “That’d be your sister wondering where her stylist is.”

“You better go.” I shake my head. “Duty calls.”

“Love you,” she says as she descends the stairs. “I’ll text you when I get home.”

“Okay.” I make my way back inside the doorway. “Love you, too.”

When the door’s finally closed, when the deadbolt slides into place, when I hear the sound of her car engine roar to life, only then do I allow the fake smile to slip away. I allow my shoulders to round, and allow my hopelessness, my despair, to bleed through.

No pretending that I’m okay.

Because I’m not.

And I don’t think I ever will be again.

49

Jesse

You’re a coward. Out of all the text messages that Riley has sent me over the past six weeks, this one hurts the most. Couldn’t she see that I left so that she could have a better future? To give her a chance to find a nice guy, someone who could provide for her, someone who she could build a family with.

My grip tightens on the wrench in my hand at the mere idea of Riley talking, touching, loving, being with someone else. Suddenly, I want to strangle the nonexistent, faceless stranger my mind has conjured up.

“You’re over-tightening that bolt.” My dad’s tall figure looms over my shoulder. “It’s gonna crack.”

I drop the wrench, and it clatters to the floor with a loud bang. “If you’re such an expert then you fucking do it.” I wipe my hands on the dirty rag shoved in the pocket of my coveralls, but it’s no use. No matter how much I scrub my hands, I can’t erase the grease from my skin, nor can I get rid of the pungent diesel smell.

“Watch your mouth.” My dad slaps me on the back of the head. I stare at him for a beat. With his tall, athletic frame, we’re similar in many ways, same broad shoulders, same wide hands, same bright smile. But whereas he is dark—his eyes, his skin, his hair—I’m lighter, having inherited some of my mom’s softer attributes.

My dad’s a decent, if not simple guy. Things didn’t work out between him and my mom, but I’m not bitter. More than half of marriages in the United States end in divorce. Couple that with the fact that my dad dedicated more time to his motorcycles than his wife (and kid), it’s no surprise that my mom left.

But it worked out okay for us. I saw my dad during the summer and visited with him on major holidays. But still I can’t help but wonder: Do I want to turn out like him? Unattached. Married to my job. With no one to come home to each night, no one to share simple, peaceful moments with, no one to laugh or bicker with…

“Jesse.” My dad calls my name, and the volume at which he speaks makes me think he’s called me more than once. “Hand me the spark plug pliers.”

I grab the tool from the shelf and give it to him. He grunts his thanks.

“You’re happy here?” Even though I mean it as more of a statement, my voice rises at the end.

His head pops out from underneath the hood of the ’66 Plymouth he’s been working on. Bikes are his first love, but he recently ventured into repairing vintage vehicles. He’s been restoring the Plymouth for the past seven months. “Huh?”

I shrug and turn my head away, embarrassed. “You’re happy being single? Just you and the garage? Mom’s not here to bother—”

His voice cuts me off. “Your mother was the best thing that ever happened to me.”

My eyes widen in surprise, because this is the first time I’ve heard him talk about my mother in a way that didn’t directly relate to me.

“Your mother,” he repeats, “is a good woman who deserves a good life. She deserves a man who can take care of her and give her the world.”

“What?” My voice shakes a bit. This is news to me. When I was a kid and would question why my parents didn’t live together like other parents, Mom would say, “Honey, sometimes mommies and daddies live apart. This just makes you more special because you get to have two homes.”

At the time I thought it was great. I mean, what kid wouldn’t want two bedrooms, two sets of toys, two candy baskets from the Easter bunny? When I was old enough to actually understand what divorce was, I didn’t care enough to ask what really happened.

“Son, look around.” He splays his arms wide. “Your mother deserved better than this. You did, too.” He looks me in the eye. “So, I let you go.”

A chill sweeps through the room, even though it’s ninety fucking degrees outside. It’s as though the Ghost of Christmas Future has visited me, and I’ve caught a glimpse of the next forty years of my life: Alone. Tired. Merely existing.

And what did my dad’s sacrifice earn him? Happiness? No. Is he still in love with my mother all these years later? Clearly. Could they have made it work? Maybe.

I make a decision right here and now that no matter what happens, I will make something of myself, to earn my way and work hard, to become a man worthy of Riley’s love. And then I’ll go back for her. I have ten and a half months to become the man she deserves, a man she can be proud of. Until then, all I can do is hope and pray she will continue to love me as much as I still love her.

50

Riley

Why does the word routine get a bad rap? Some routines are good; for example, brushing your teeth every morning or recycling plastic water bottles. But then other routines are deemed unhealthy or pathetic. Things like checking Jesse’s Facebook.

What? Don’t judge me. The man has been a part of my life for over a decade. All of a sudden he’s gone, and I don’t know how to handle it.

The voices of Liza and my mother float around my head.

How are you supposed to move on? You’ve got to stop this, Ry. People leave your life for a reason.

But I can’t stop the compulsion to log on, to check to see if there’s a new sliver of information regarding his life, some tiny crumb tossed into the ether that will allow me to feel connected to him in some way, no matter how small. Nothing good can come from it, but it’s the barest of threads that still binds me to him, and I can’t bear for it to break. Truthfully, Jesse rarely posts on social media. Day in and day out, the same unchanged, un-updated page greets me. It’s remained the same for ninety-three days. I should know. I check. Every. Day.

Imagine my surprise then this morning, when I search his name and a host of new photos greet me. He didn’t post the pics, but he was tagged in half a dozen pictures, with Abigail (Who the fuck is she?) and three other people whose names I don’t recognize, nearly twelve hours ago. I glance at the clock and calculate the time of upload: ten at night.

Despite my gut telling me to close out of the browser, I click the first picture. And then the next. Then the next. My stomach churns as I fall deeper and deeper into the rabbit hole. Jesse looks just as I remember him. Same strong jaw, wide shoulders, casual-but-sexy grin. His clear blue eyes are slightly glazed, half-lidded, at best. He doesn’t look happy, but at the same time he doesn’t look unhappy. He looks neutral, resigned. He wears a steel-grey suit with a lighter grey button down and dark tie. He looks powerful, magnetic, and I mourn the fact that he never wore a suit when he was with me, because he looks damn good.

The bile churns in my stomach as a sick, deep weight settles over me. I’m struck by how relationships change. At one point in time I knew everything about this man, his favorite food (boxed Kraft mac-n-cheese, but only the shapes), his favorite movie (Zoolander), his favorite place to be touched (the inside of his elbow, apart from his penis, obviously).

But now it’s as though we’re strangers. Two separate ships sailing in the vast ocean of the world with no attachment or acknowledgment of each other. I graduated from college—a major life event—and he wasn’t there to celebrate with me. I remember the day of the ceremony I was so absolutely convinced he’d be there that my eyes kept darting to the back of the auditorium. After the President’s welcome speech, the back door squeaked open, and I held my breath, but when my eyes focused on the figure standing in the lobby, they saw a petite older woman. Not Jesse.

I have a new job that he knows nothing about. He has a new girlfriend that I learn about through a Facebook update. How did this happen to us?

My emotions are too raw, too real for nine o’clock in the morning. I’m at work for Christ’s sake. I can’t have an emotional breakdown. Another one. I’m lucky enough to still hold my secretary position after I walked out of our monthly team meeting meant to boost morale and productivity three weeks ago—that’s a different story for another time.

Logging off the site, I head toward the break room. Coffee, my mind screams. Coffee will make everything better.

I slip a K-cup into the Keurig on the side counter, just as one of the newer realtors, Shannah, I think her name is, enters. “A girl after my own heart.” She grabs another pod and stands beside me.

Sighing, I grab the warm mug of liquid gold and say, “It’s only Tuesday.”

She smiles rather perkily—she’s a morning person; God, I hate those, and says, “At least there are muffins.” She gestures to the table behind her.

When my eyes find the sugary confections, I wonder how I didn’t spot them earlier. I plunk a double chocolate, chocolate chip muffin from the box. “Who brought these?” I tear a piece of the top off and stuff it in my mouth.

She shrugs. “Lauren, I think. Mr. Lewg is coming this morning.”

“Oh, goodie.” I know I sound like a complete and total bitch, but part of me doesn’t care. I’d worked at Lewg and Morgan Properties for two months now and had yet to meet the infamous Mr. Lewg. Although we saw little of him around the office, his presence was everywhere.

Mr. Lewg likes the folders filed by date, not alphabetically.

Mr. Lewg insists that all his employees wear the God-awful, poly-blend, black polos that irritate the hell out of my skin.

Mr. Lewg likes the secretary to answer the phones with the approved, scripted message… Give me a freakin’ break.

I bite off another chunk of muffin and chew forcefully before saying, “Mr. Lewg is an ass.” Shannah raises her eyebrows, but I keep going. I’m in such a funk that it feels good to vent, even if it is about something as stupid as my mystery boss. “He needs to get his priorities straight. Maybe if he worried less about how I file the goddamn records and more about the troll he hired as an office manager, this place would be a lot better off.”

“Ah-hem.” A throat clears behind me.

Oh, shit. All blood drains from my face and I drop the remaining quarter of my muffin. Please, tell me that Mr. Lewg isn’t behind me. Please, dear God, I pray to all that is holy, don’t let him be right—

“Those are some great suggestions,” a distinctive male voice says.

Turning around, with my face the color of a ripe summer beet, I stammer out an apology. “I-I’m sorry.” I chance a quick glance at the man whom I suspect to be Mr. Lewg and have just insulted without reason. Well, not without reason, but still. He looks nothing like I had imagined. He’s young, thirty-five years old tops, with a solid build. His dark brown hair is thick and wavy even though it’s a bit untamed.

He holds my gaze for a moment, his warm, honey eyes holding a hint of amusement.

“I’m sorry,” I repeat, clasping my palms in front of me. My job is as good as done.

Shannah, not wanting to get caught in the line of fire, edges along the wall until she reaches the door. She casts one last long look over her shoulder before slipping out. Thanks for nothing, bitch.

“Mr. William Lewg.” The man in front of me extends his hand, and I try to (discreetly) rub my crumby hands on my slacks before extending my own. “You can call me Bill.” He winks. “Or ass.”

My face heats. “I am so sorry.” I stumble over my words. “It was an off morning, but that’s no excuse for my unprofessional comments. I understand if this needs to go on my employee review or if…” I let my voice trail off because I can’t bring myself to say the word “fired.” Christ, what else could go wrong in my life?

He chuckles. “Don’t worry. What happens in here,” he gestures around the break room, “has nothing to do with your employee review.”

“Really?” My eyes widen.

He shrugs. “Besides, I’ve been called a hell of a lot worse than an ‘ass’.”

Another wave of heat flushes my face. “I’m sorry. My life has been kind of crazy lately.” I stop myself from rambling, because this man doesn’t need to know details about my personal life. Nor does he care. I decide to end on a positive note, even if it is a lie. “And I do like these shirts.” I tug at the scratchy fabric.

“No, you don’t,” he says simply. When I say nothing, he continues. “Those shirts are awful. Lauren designed them and submitted a purchase order without my approval.”

“I knew it!” I exclaim. Lauren, my she-devil boss, claimed that Mr. Lewg hand-picked the winning design from the dozens of entries submitted by community members, but I had my suspicions. I mean, really, what businessman would select a graphic where the skyscrapers resembled two tall dicks?

He winks again. “Now we both have a secret.”

Just then, Lauren barges into the break room. “Riley. Get back to work. Mr. Lewg will be here any— Oh. Mr. Lewg, you’re here early.”

“Yes.” He speaks to Lauren but keeps his gaze on mine. “I was just chatting with Ms…?”

Lauren supplies, “Jones. Riley Jones.”

“Ms. Jones was just telling me how much she loves working at LAMP.” His eyes sparkle with amusement. “And how she’s particularly fond of the shirts.”

Is he mocking me? Or flirting? God, I’m so far out of the game, so lost on Jesse, that I don’t even know anymore.

Lauren’s eyes narrow on mine for a split second before she plasters a cheery smile on her face. “I’m so glad Riley’s happy here. Now, Mr. Lewg, if you’re ready, the meeting’s about to start.”

“Yes.” He turns to Lauren and walks toward the door. “Lovely to meet you, Ms. Jones.”

“You, too,” I mumble, but they’re already out the door.

I sigh and stuff what’s left of the muffin into my mouth.

Fuck my life.

51

Riley

“Chop it off,” I say to my stylist, Autumn, who has been cutting my hair since I was sixteen.

She shakes her head. “You can’t be serious.”

Like I said, Autumn has been styling my hair for a long time. I go to her salon exactly two times a year for a trim. Though I would never admit it aloud, I was damn proud of my hair, not that I could take any credit for it. It was full and thick, the auburn color reminiscent of burnt caramel. The natural wave gave my mane body, so I had to do little more than run my fingers through it in the morning. On days when I was feeling especially elegant, I’d flat iron it, allowing the smooth strands to frame my face. I loved my hair. The problem was, Jesse did, too.

I find Autumn’s gaze in the mirror. Her eyes are wide with shock; my own are narrowed and stern. “Serious as a heart attack.”

“Ooookay.” She draws the word out and begins to weave a loose braid at the nape of my neck. “How short are we talkin’?”

“Above the shoulders.” I nod my head slightly and the braid pulls.

I watch her reflection, watch as her eyes widen once more, but she simply nods before holding the braid out to the side. “I have to measure to be sure, but I think there’s enough length to donate to Locks of Love…if you’re interested.”

I nod, glad something positive will come from Mission Hair Chop.

She secures an elastic band around the tail end of the braid and pulls a shiny, sharp pair of scissors from her apron pocket. They hover at the nape of my neck. “Are you sure?”

I don’t hesitate. “Do it.”

The pressure from the blade, the slice of it, reverberates in my ears. And as I watch the loose locks fall free around my face, I stare at the person reflected back at me. I don’t even know this girl.

It’s like the old me is dead. Gone. The person who has emerged is new, different, jaded. She has sharp edges that need to be approached with caution. This budding relationship cannot be rushed. She needs time to figure out who she is, where she fits in.

Autumn measures the braid, a frown pulling down the corners of her lips. “It isn’t long enough to donate. Sorry.” Her foot pumps the pedal on the round trashcan. She drops the tangle of hair in the trash and the lid bangs closed.

The gesture feels oddly symbolic of my relationship with Jesse. We came close but not quite close enough. We could not be salvaged, the whole thing scrapped in one swift move. I squeeze my eyes shut to stop the slow flow of tears.

Autumn squeezes my shoulder. “Change is good.” Her smile is warm as she says it. “Let’s get you to the sink. It’s gonna be great.”

I manage a smile but say nothing because I really don’t think anything will ever be great again.

* * *

The following week I receive an email notifying me of a meeting that is scheduled that afternoon with Mr. Lewg and Lauren. Oh, shit, I think. I knew it was too good to be true. Maybe he had to fill out some paperwork with the HR department before he could actually fire me—employee discrimination and all that jazz.

After lunch, I trudge down the long hallway to Conference Room C. Lauren and Mr. Lewg are already seated along one side of the table and my eyes dart to the clock to double check that I’m not late. Twelve forty-eight. I breathe a sigh of relief; the email definitely said one o’clock.

Mr. Lewg stands as I enter. Lauren doesn’t move at first, but pushes herself out of her chair a moment too late, and it’s awkward. Mr. Lewg extends his hand. “Ms. Jones, good to see you again.”

“Nice to see you.” I grasp his hand lightly and then turn to Lauren and nod my greeting. “Lauren.”

Mr. Lewg cuts right to the chase. “I asked Lauren to arrange this meeting because,” I hold my breath awaiting the blow, “I think your talents are being underused.”

The breath whooshes out of me. “What?”

He raises his eyebrows quizzically, but Lauren narrows her eyes on me.

“Yes,” he continues. “According to your file, you have a Bachelor of Arts degree from Lennox, right? Concentration in Interior Design?”

Dumbfounded, I ask, “You read my file?”

He pauses, closes the folder and sets it on the table. “Don’t seem so surprised, Ms. Jones. I read all my employees’ files.”

“Oh, I didn’t mean,” I say, flustered. “I just thought—”

“Mr. Lewg has reviewed the sample portfolio you submitted when you applied,” Lauren interjects, voice clipped. What? When? “He feels like you’d be a good fit for the Parker Condominium Project.”

“Holy shit,” I gasp.

“Riley, your language,” Lauren scolds. “Honestly.”

“Sorry.” I place both hands on the table to stop them from shaking. Is this really happening? The Parker Condominium Project is huge. Every stager and realtor at the firm has been vying for a chance to present their ideas to Lauren, and ultimately Mr. Lewg, but only a select few were chosen. “I’m sorry,” I repeat. “I don’t know what to say.”

“The pitch meeting is scheduled for this Friday. I know it’s not a lot of time…” He places one hand on top of the file folder in front of him. “…but I’m sure you’ll be able to come up with something.”

“Yes,” I say, at the same time as I nod my head. “Yes, I can definitely come up with something.”

When I’ve made no attempt to move, Lauren nods her head in dismissal. “That’s all, Ms. Jones.”

“Right.” I push myself to stand and gather my pen and pad. Lauren’s head is bent over her notebook, but as Mr. Lewg stands, I catch his eye and say, “Thank you.”

He winks. “No problem. I’m looking forward to seeing your designs, Ms. Jones.”

Yeah. Me, too.

52

Riley

Seven o’clock Thursday night and I’ve still got nothing for tomorrow’s presentation. Nada. Zip. Zilch. Seriously, I may as well throw in the towel because all of my knowledge, all of my creative ideas, everything is gone. Poof! Up in a cloud of smoke.

“Arghhh.” I scream into the silence of my apartment. “This is useless.” I crumple another sketch and toss it onto the floor. The design elements are there—stainless steel, minimalist layout, cool paint tones—but they’re disjointed, incohesive, as though a toddler arranged them together rather than a college graduate with a fine arts degree.

My fist pounds the throw pillow on my sofa—the tiger print pillow that Jesse gave to me five days before he walked out of my life forever. I know. I should toss it. It completely clashes with my décor, but I can’t part with it.

My fingers trace the velour fabric, and despite myself, I smile as the memory washes over me.

We were lying in bed, naked, tangled up in each other after a long and satisfying sex session. I was blissed out, half asleep, but Jesse was wide awake. His fingers danced over my skin. He was always like that; always had to be touching me in some way.

I giggled as he skimmed my lower back. Then his fingers began to move with more distinction as he traced patterns—letters—on my skin.

“R,” I said, after he stilled his fingers.

“Good girl.” He kissed my shoulder. “This one?”

I scrunched my nose in concentration as he traced the next letter. “A.”

Another kiss. “And this one?”

But I barely had to focus because I knew what he was doing: spelling out my initials. “J.” I sighed as his lips traced a path between my shoulder blades.

“You’re very good at this, Riley Ann,” he said, his hot breath warming my skin.

“Mmmhmm,” I murmured as his hand kneaded my flesh.

“Remember when you wanted me to call you Raja?” He chuckled. “You were obsessed with Aladdin and that stupid tiger.”

My eyes popped open. “I was six!”

I groaned as his fingers worked a knot in my upper back. “I’m gonna start calling you Raja. You could be my own little tiger.”

“Don’t you dare!”

“Why not? You’re like a tiger in bed.”

I flipped onto my back so that I could face him. It was true; I was a different person—sexually—when I was with him. He awakened a desire in me, a confidence, a need that I never knew existed. But I wanted him to know that it was only with him No other man made me feel half as loved, half as desired, half as free. “Only for you.”

“Damn right, only for me.” He growled, resting his head against the soft pillow of my breasts. His fingers began tracing letters again, this time on my belly.

“R,” I said, as my fingers played with his hair, and he nodded. “A,” I responded, losing myself in his touch. “C.” I spoke the letter as my brain registered its shape, but my fingers paused on his scalp. I tugged the short strands. “Hey, that’s not my initial.”

“It will be.” His fingers continued to float across my belly. “One day. When you marry me.”

Holy shit. Did he just ask…? “Jesse.” I breathed, equal parts nerves and excitement, the thought slamming into me all at once: I want to marry him. I want to spend the rest of my life loving him, creating memories together, and sharing the good times and the bad.

“Then, I can call you RAC.” He chuckled, then added, “Because you have a nice rack.”

“Idiot.” I pulled his hair, and he stopped laughing.

When he spoke again, his voice was serious and calm. “One day soon, Riley. The whole world will know that you’re mine.” His lips whispered against my skin. “That you’ve always been mine.”

“Argh.” I growl, scowling at the stupid tiger pillow and the stupid memory that goes along with it. This is so not helping right now.

Wanting to get some fresh air and to clear my thoughts, I grab my jacket off the peg and head outside for a stroll around the block, hoping a change of scenery will spark my creativity. A half hour later, when I’m seated at my dining room table, still staring at my sketch pad and I’ve still got nothing, I know the walk hasn’t helped. It’s going to be a long night.

* * *

I’m not one of those people who can pull an all-nighter. In fact, I’m not entirely sure it’s possible. At least for me. A little after midnight, I crashed face down on my bed with a half dozen sketches and a loose color scheme in order. It wasn’t my best work, but it wasn’t my worst, either. Plus, I reasoned, I had significantly less time to prepare for my pitch than the other three designers on staff.

I set my alarm for an extra hour early to prep my notes and review my (measly) seven slides. Coffee was the only thing propelling me forward. That and a long, hot bath that I promised myself as an indulgence when the meeting was said and done.

“Good morning,” Lauren’s cool voice greets me as I take my place at the table. “Mr. Lewg had a last minute appointment, so I will be overseeing the design pitches.” Kiss this chance goodbye, Jones.

There’s an awkward pause as Lauren takes her place at the head of the table and asks who would like to present first. Everyone, including me, averts their gaze and does his or her best to look extremely busy. Finally Lauren looks directly at me and speaks. “Ms. Jones. Thank you so much for volunteering.”

The bratty five-year old who is alive and well inside me threatens to scream, “This isn’t fair. I didn’t volunteer.” But the sane side, the grown-up side, wins, and I take my place at the podium near the projector screen.

“Good morning.” I start with a bright smile. “Thank you all for coming…”

53

Riley

Liza comes over the following night to piece together my wounded ego. The meeting went worse than I could have imagined. The presentation from Shannah, the newest realtor, was comprised of more than twenty slides and included a video that she created herself. Show off. Jeremy, LAMP’s top stager, and his color scheme were incredible, and throughout his entire pitch, I cursed myself for not having the same intuition to combine opposite color groups the way he had done.

“It was awful.” I sink back into the couch cushions and draw a palm across my face. “So freaking awful.”

“I’m sure it wasn’t that bad.” Liza tries to bolster my spirits.

“Yeah, you’re right.” She nods her head in encouragement, but then I add, “It was so much worse.”

“Stop.” She swats my arm.

“I’m never going to design.” I whine. “Four years of college and I’m nothing more than a glorified secretary.”

She tries again, voice laced with even more enthusiasm. “Everyone starts somewhere.”

Liza is nothing if not optimistic—at least, where other people are concerned. Her own life is a different story. Recently, she’s been down because she and Scott are in a rough patch. He accepted a job in Phoenix and she has one here in Cardinal’s Cay. The long distance is taking a toll on both of them, despite their numerous attempts at trying to make it work.

“How are things?” I ask, just to change the subject, because once I get my self–pity party started, it’ll go all night.

“The same.”

“You still planning on flying out to see him next month?”

“Supposedly.”

“You two are perfect together. You’ll work it out,” I say, but only because it’s the right thing. My voice lacks conviction. The truth is, I’m the worst possible person to be doling out relationship advice.

She nods her head and we’re both silent for a minute. “Still nothing from Jesse?”

“Nope.” I shake my head. It’s been three months and twenty-nine days. Not that I’m counting or anything. “And the fucked-up thing? He sent Mikayla a birthday card.”

When I was home last week for my sister’s eleventh birthday party and saw the card hanging on the fridge, I nearly lost my damn mind. I did my best to downplay my reaction in front of my family—especially my dad, because he’s downright giddy that Jesse moved away.

It took me over twenty minutes to powder the red splotches on my face from crying and took every ounce of willpower not to rip the card down. I was torn equally between wanting to tear it to shreds and to treasure it because Jesse had sent it.

“What?” Liza’s voice interrupts my thoughts. She leans forward in her chair. “He hasn’t returned one of your calls or texts or emails, but he sends your little sister a birthday card?”

I shrug. “They were close.” We used to be close, too.

“That’s gotta be…”

I nod before she finishes her thought. I could fill in the blank with any number of adjectives: humiliating, soul-crushing, devastating… Shall I go on?

“I don’t know, Ry. Maybe it’s time to move on.”

“I know.” And this time when I agree with her, I actually mean it.

54

Riley

I got the Parker Condominium gig. Don’t ask me how or why—all three of the other presentations were far superior to mine—but I landed it, nonetheless. Mr. Lewg emailed personally to say that he was pleased with what I put together—um, did he have eyes?—and couldn’t wait to see the project come to fruition.

Rumors were flying around the office that he—Mr. Lewg—had recently broken up with his longtime girlfriend, Kelly something or other, and that we would be seeing him much more frequently in the office. According to the gossip mill, he wanted to become more involved in the structure and design of the firm’s newest acquisitions.

I wasn’t sure if the break-up rumors were true, but Mr. Lewg, or Bill, as he kept insisting I call him, was at the office way more often. He went so far as to treat the staff to a catered lunch on Friday which, if I’m being honest, was extremely thoughtful, not to mention delicious. Overall, the changes at LAMP were positive and rather enjoyable.

But tonight—the night of the Parker Condominium launch—I’m anything but carefree as my eyes squint at the clock on the far end of the wall: 6:57. Butterflies take flight in my stomach, and the nervousness that I’ve been battling all afternoon rears its ugly head. Again. This project isn’t big by company standards, not by a long shot, but the fact that I was given the lead is a huge deal, despite my less-than-stellar pitch. And I don’t want to disappoint my bosses. This may be my only chance to shine, and I want to damn well sparkle.

I spent the past four and a half weeks planning every single detail—from the color of the accent pillows (light turquoise) to the shape and scent of each candle (oval and sandalwood) displayed in each bathroom, to the exact metal finish of the curtain tiebacks (brushed nickel).

Lauren, or Cruella de Vil, as I had taken to calling her because I’d seen her wear a real—I know—mink coat to a company event last month, had been explicitly clear that I was to “stick to the plan” that we (read: she) crafted. Ever since I landed this project, Lauren has been extra frosty to me, probably, I suspect, because Mr. Lewg actually seems to like my work, and it’s something that she can’t quite see value in.

Knuckles rap on the open door, and I jerk forward. “Knock, knock,” calls a female voice. “Am I the first one here?” A short, middle-aged woman approaches. She wears a jet-black pantsuit with sharp black heels. Her lavender blouse softens the formal look, but just a tad. I would describe her look as severe, and even though her voice seems friendly enough, she makes my anxiety triple.

I plaster a fake smile on my face to conceal my nerves. “Yes.” I extend my hand. “I’m Riley Jones. I’m with Lewg and Morgan Properties. Thank you for coming this evening.”

“Yes.” She pumps my hand once, a firm shake that I’m not quite expecting, as she cranes her head to see around where I stand. “Well, I had to see such a ‘hot property’ in an ‘upcoming neighborhood’. You’re the realtor?”

I shake my head, dismissing her question. “No, I’m the just stager.”

At that moment Lauren appears at my side and rests her hand on my elbow as she says, “Now, don’t be modest. Riley is the absolute best stager in the tristate area. We are so fortunate to have her with us at LAMP.”

At her warm words of praise, my eyes nearly pop out of my head, but she simply smiles and narrows her eyes in a way that says, “Just go with it.”

I nod and smile, and am about to respond when another prospective client walks in.

“Jackson Densee.” He shakes my hand, and I repeat the same introduction over again.

I lose track of names and faces. Everything and everyone seems to blur together, and I’ve never been so grateful to have Lauren around. She’s a pro, using everyone’s first and last names, slipping specific details about each unit into the conversation. If I’ve ever had any doubt, I now know why she’s not only the office manager, but the bestselling agent at our firm. I can see why she makes the big bucks.

During the last hour of the open house, Bill arrives and splits his time “showboating” some of the higher-end clients and mingling with the remaining guests. By the night’s end, there are at least two firms that are seriously interested in investing in the existing building and its future sister property planned to break ground next September.

Bill finds me outside on the patio deck, taking a few moments to catch my breath. “Great job in there.”

I smile. “Thanks. Lauren was the one who did most of the work.” Almost as though she heard her name, Lauren’s eyes find us outside and narrow in a scowl. I ignore her glare and say, “I’m just the stager.”

“Don’t sell yourself short. Half the battle in this business is making investors think you have something they don’t, making them believe you have exactly what they need. Besides, I doubt anyone could do half as good a job as you did.” I shrug, but he continues. “Although, I must admit, it looks nothing like the original pitch.”

“Thank God.” The words push past my lips before I’ve had a chance to stop them. Bill’s eyes widen in surprise, but I continue, deciding to hold nothing back. “You know the original sketches were shit.” I raise my eyebrows in challenge, but he dips his head in agreement. I knew it. “Why then give me this project?” My hands splay wide. “Why take a chance on me? I mean, it turned out great, but I could have really…” I stop myself before I say fucked up.

“Fucked up?” Bill reads my mind and I gasp.

“Mr. Lewg.” I joke. “Language.”

He chuckles, hands in his pockets. “Everyone deserves a chance, Ms. Jones.”

But the way his eyes skim over me, the heaviness of his voice tells me there might be more to his reasoning than he admits.

I keep my voice light. “But somehow I don’t think that’s what this is.”

His eyes widen at my directness, but I’m done playing games. I don’t have time for games. Look how long I waited for Jesse, and we still crashed and burned. I’m left tired and broken.

“I like you, Jones.”

A smile curves my lips. I was right. “So, you only gave me this project because you wanted to sleep with me?”

He holds his hands up. “Whoa. I didn’t say that.”

“So, why then?”

“Because I think you’re talented.” I quirk my brow and he continues. “I think you have spunk, fresh ideas, and yes, I was hoping…” My eyes widen in anticipation. “To get to know you better.”

“Fair enough.” I nod. “Thanks for being honest.”

“So, you’ll have a drink with me?” His eyes hold mine.

“I’m not sure that’s a good idea.”

“I never said it was.” He winks. “What do you say?”

I take one last glance inside. Lauren catches my eyes, and in her penetrating stare I can read every thought: What the fuck are you doing, Riley? Stop flirting with Mr. Lewg. Do you know how lucky you are to get this break? I swear to God, you screw this up, your job at LAMP is done. Done.

Turning back to face Bill, I take a deep breath. “Sure.”

55

Riley

So begins my love affair with Bill. Okay, love affair is a tad dramatic, because the truth is I will never feel the way about another man the way the way I feel about Jesse. There’s no point in trying. But Bill is kind and considerate—the definition of a true gentleman. He doesn’t know it, but he’s slowly, ever so slowly, helping to heal my fractured heart.

I waited two months to sleep with him. I just wasn’t ready, and if I’m being honest, I’m still not ready, but it was time. God bless Bill, he was patient with me, never pressured or pushed for more. But I was out of excuses.

The first time we had sex, I closed my eyes and prayed for it to be over.

The second time, I faked an orgasm so that he would finish.

The third time, I mentally constructed my grocery list.

The fourth time…never happened because I lied and said I was on my period. Awful of me, I know, but I couldn’t muster the enthusiasm.

It’s not like Bill’s a bad lover; in fact, the opposite is true. He’s attentive and sweet and generous. There’s only one problem…he’s not Jesse. This is exactly what I tell Liza on the phone tonight.

“I think I’m cursed.” I flop back onto my bed and close my eyes.

I hear Liza’s laugh, although it’s a bit delayed due to the poor connection. “You’re not cursed.”

I sit up and look into the screen so I can see her face. “It’s been nearly seven months!” Seven months without him.

She smacks her lips but then says, “It’s all in your head.”

I roll my eyes. She can never understand what it was like with Jesse. How he made me come. How he worshipped my body like he owned it. How he made me crave him and no one else. No one will ever understand how I still crave him.

“Your largest sex organ is your brain—”

“Liza,” I interrupt, ready to cut her off, but then I remember reading an article that said something to that effect. Funny, I never really thought about it before. Never really had to. Jesse made me…

Liza’s voice steamrolls my thoughts. “You gotta stop thinking about him.”

“I can’t.”

“Well.” She clicks her tongue. “You know what they say…once you go black…” half black, my mind silently corrects as she continues, “…you never go back.”

“Really?” I shout. “Your best friend is having a mental breakdown, and you’re spouting nonsense about black men’s dicks.”

She stifles a laugh. “Well, when you put it that way…” She pauses, clears her throat. “Okay, sorry.” Then softer, “Ry, you have to move on.”

“I am moving on!” My voice gains intensity. “I’m dating Bill, aren’t I?”

“And how many times have you guys had sex?”

I scowl. “We have plenty of sex, Liza.” Does three times constitute as plenty of sex? No, the devil on my shoulder shouts. I remember when you and Jesse had sex three times in one day.

Liza huffs. “Yet, you’re the one calling me because you think Jesse put some voodoo on you and you’re never going to have an orgasm again?”

“What else could it be?” I cry, my mind replaying Jesse’s words all those months ago: That will be the last orgasm you ever have without me.

He meant it. He really fucking meant it. Despite my best efforts—and Bill’s—I can’t get there. Not even with Mr. Jack Rabbit…and trust me, I’ve tried.

Liza sighs. “Riley, you have to move on. You have to let him go.”

A pleading whine tinges my voice and I hate it. “I don’t know how.”

She must take pity on me, because I’m sure I look as pathetic as I sound, with my streaky mascara and ratty hair that sticks out in all directions. “Riley.” She speaks my name with sincerity. “You can’t keep doing this to yourself. You’re with Bill now.”

Part of me knows she’s right, and that part of me wants to rebel, to say fuck Jesse Collins, and never speak his name again. But a larger part of me wants to crawl inside the memories and remember. Remember every detail about the beautiful boy who stole my heart eighteen years ago and never gave it back.

It’s the latter part that I indulge. It’s the part I always indulge. I’m on a one-way roller coaster, heading down, down, down, self-sabotaging but not caring or bothering enough to stop it. But still I say the words I know she longs to hear. “You’re right.”

She nods her head and then adds, “You deserve to be happy, Ry.”

I nod, fighting back tears.

She steals a glance at the clock before saying, “I have to go. You sure you’re gonna be all right?”

“Yeah,” I whisper, “I’ll be fine.”

Maybe tomorrow, but not today.

56

Riley

You’d think I’d be used to these types of functions after nearly eight months of dating Bill. As a member of Cardinal’s Cay Chamber of Commerce, attending charity events like these are fairly common. Tonight’s banquet is in honor of basketball Coach Frankie James, who’s retiring from Breckland University after twenty-three years of coaching.

Bill explained before the party that Coach Frankie is a national icon, a basketball coach who has earned five consecutive NCAA titles, and is well respected by not only his fellow coaches, but also professional players and fans alike. He is a big deal in our local area.

I listened to Bill as if this was new information, but the truth is I know quite a bit about Coach Frankie James. He’s one of Jesse’s heroes, and Jesse used to talk about him quite often. In fact, I probably know more Coach Frankie trivia than all the guests at the banquet combined. For example, things like, Frankie James is a rather superstitious man and is retiring after twenty-three years specifically, because twenty-three is Michael Jordan’s number.

“Oh, my God. Did you see her shoes?” I stare at the petite brunette with the amazing four-inch Louboutins who passes us in the reception line. “I’d die for those shoes.”

Bill wraps an arm around my waist and pulls me closer, his lips inches from my ear. “I’d die to see you in them.” He kisses the shell of my ear. “And nothing else.”

I smile, a slow blush tingeing my cheeks red. My chemistry with Bill still isn’t off the charts—but let’s face it, I resigned myself to never having that type of attraction again. The heat between us isn’t a raging inferno, but rather a steady, lukewarm heat. It’s nice. Comfortable. Even. And good enough.

Bill takes a step back and looks toward our table in the next room. “We should take our seats. Dinner is about to start.”

“Sure.” I place my hand on his arm. “I just need to use the restroom quick.”

He places his hand on the small of my back, guiding me toward the bathrooms at the end of the lobby. “I’ll grab us another drink.”

“O—” The word is meant to be okay, an agreement to his simple suggestion, but instead it turns into “Oh”…a long “oh.” An oh-my-fucking-God “oh.”

My body is paralyzed, rooted to the spot, but my eyes race back and forth, up and down, side to side, not quite believing what they’re seeing.

It can’t be.

I’m hallucinating. Dreaming. Experiencing crazy déjà vu. Because it looks like the man with the dark charcoal suit is…

“Riley?” Bill and Jesse say at exactly the same time, but I only hear his voice. Jesse. My Jesse.

It’s been thirteen months, but in this moment, it feels like it’s only been thirteen seconds.

He looks incredible. The dark suit molds to his athletic frame, the powder blue tie enhances the azure tone of his eyes. His hair is cut short, shorter than he used to wear it, and my fingers itch to rub against the scratchy surface.

But I can’t focus on any of those things right now, because tonight all I see is the man who broke my heart.

Even though I’ve made no attempt to speak or move, Jesse approaches. “Riley.” He reaches for me, his arms extended as though he’s going to hug me, but it’s awkward because Bill still has his arm wrapped around my waist.

I move my mouth but no sound comes out.

Bill releases his hold, extends his hand. “Bill Lewg.”

Jesse takes his hand, and I watch, mesmerized, as those long fingers wrap around Bill’s. This can’t be happening. “Jesse Collins.”

“Good to meet you.” Bill pumps his hand.

Jesse nods his head, but says nothing, just continues to stare at me. If I’m being fair, I’m staring, too, my mouth having forgotten how to work. I twist my palms together like crazy.

Finally, Bill breaks the silence. “So, how do you know Riley?”

Jesse’s eyes narrow on mine and there’s a flash of hurt before he speaks. “I’m an old friend.”

What does he expect? I don’t go around advertising how he ripped my heart out. I finally find my voice. “Jesse and I grew up together.”

“Oh, always nice meeting a friend of Riley’s. I haven’t gotten a chance to meet much of her family.”

Jesse lifts a brow in question: Are you two together?

It’s new. It’s…complicated, I answer with my eyes.

“We’re at table number fifty-four. Stop over to chat after dinner, before the speeches,” Bill continues, oblivious to our silent conversation.

“Thank you, but—”

“There you are.” The brunette, the same one with the amazing heels, bands her arm around Jesse. “Thought I lost you there for a second.”

Now it’s my turn to question: Who is she?

But Jesse doesn’t answer, at least not in the way I want him to. “This is Abigail Houghton.” He gestures from the brunette to Bill and me. “This is Riley Jones and…sorry.” He glances at Bill. “I’m terrible with names.”

“Bill Lewg.” Bill extends his hand again. “Good to meet you.”

“Nice meeting you,” she agrees, voice saccharine sweet. I want to hate her, but she’s stunning, has the cutest dimples, and we’ve already established how I feel about her shoes. Plus, she seems genuinely nice.

Still, I can’t bring myself to acknowledge her. I don’t know how to greet Jesse’s new girlfriend. I don’t know how to make small talk with the girl who has replaced me. I don’t know how to smile and pretend that I’m not dying inside.

Silence fills the air as the harpist and cellist finish the final notes from their closing piece of music, and the waiters begin to serve the first course. “Looks like dinner’s starting.” Bill places his hand on my elbow.

Abigail nods. “I’m going to sit down.” She turns with wide eyes to Jesse. “You coming?”

He nods. “I’ll be right there.”

She turns to us before walking away. “It was nice meeting you both.”

“Same here,” Bill says, as I drop my gaze.

“Ry?” Jesse extends his arm but drops it when I pull back. I cannot let him touch me. If he does, I will fall apart.

“Yeah?” My voice shakes, and I pray that neither he nor Bill notices.

“Can I talk to you for a second?”

“Umm.” I hesitate and glance at Bill. “We really should take our seats.”

Bill, ever the gentleman, concedes. “It’s fine, sweetie.” I wince at his words. “Stay and chat with your friend.”

Fuck. Before I can speak, Jesse addresses Bill. “We’ll only be a minute.” Then to me, “It’s really good to see you, Ry.”

I nod my head but keep my eyes down.

“You look great.”

I take a deep breath and meet his eyes. All my pent-up emotions: the anger, the sadness, the heartbreak, pour into one question. “What are you doing here?”

“I’m here—”

But I cut him off. “I thought you were living in North Carolina with your dad?” His brow furrows. “Not that I would know that, because you cut me out of your life. You walked out and never once looked back.” My voice breaks and tears pool in my eyes. “Why did you leave?”

“Riley.” He reaches forward to swipe the lone tear that slides down my cheek.

“No.” I shake my head and remove his hand. “You don’t get to touch me. Or explain. Or be my friend. You broke me, Jesse.” I take a step back. “Not just my heart, but me. You broke me.”

“Riley.’ He says my name again, and the way he says it, with so much pain and emotion, I half-wonder if he’s hurting as much as I am right now.

“I have to go.” I spin toward the dining room where the waiters are already serving the second course.

“Meet me at ESPresso tomorrow,” he shouts at my retreating back.

I stop walking. “No.”

He moves behind me, so close that I can feel the heat from his body scalding my bare skin. One inch closer, and I’d feel the press of the hard planes of his chest against my back.

“Please.” He dips his head to whisper in my ear, and my body shudders. Every nerve, every cell sparks to life, and it’s like the first bite of chocolate cake after a forty-day cleanse. Heavenly. Euphoric. Divine.

I close my eyes. “I can’t.”

“One coffee,” he begs.

“Why?” I wish I didn’t sound as confused and unsure as I do.

“Because I miss my best friend.” His lips graze the nape of my neck as he draws closer. “I miss you.”

My palms curl into fists, and I curse myself for being so weak. “I miss you, too.”

57

Riley

Even though I don’t think Bill would mind me meeting Jesse for coffee—Bill’s the least jealous person I know—I still don’t tell him. Bill and I have been dating for months, but he still doesn’t know much about my past relationships, which is strange because usually I’m an open book—apart from the whole Jason incident, that is.

But my heart is barely healed, stitched together with a frayed thread, held loosely in place with a few scraps of tape. Talking about Jesse would reopen the wound, and I wouldn’t survive it; I’d bleed out.

I arrive at Café ESPresso almost twenty minutes early. I was afraid the more I hesitated, the more time I waited, I’d chicken out. Plus, a part of me knew that if I drove past the café and saw Jesse there waiting, it was a very real possibility that I’d keep on driving.

The irony isn’t lost on me that we’re meeting at the same café I used to work at during high school and my college summers. Thankfully, most of the staff is new, so I don’t recognize anyone, and my old manager, Ricky, doesn’t typically work Saturday mornings—and so today he isn’t behind the counter.

I’m twisting my coffee cup in my hands when Jesse approaches. I’m so nervous that I nearly drop the cup at his feet.

“You came,” he says, as he takes the seat across from me.

I shrug. I almost didn’t.

“So,” he begins. “How are you?”

I stare at him. Are we really doing this?

He attempts to make conversation again, but it’s awkward. “You cut your hair?”

I nod.

“Sorry.” He dips his head and combs a hand through his hair. “This is… I’m nervous. I never expected to see you at the banquet. I thought I’d know what to say…”

You had thirteen months to figure it out.

I take a moment to observe him. He looks the same, if not a bit older. Not in a bad way, but his edges are sharper, a bit more mature. When he pins me with those intense blue eyes, I lose my breath.

I knew this wouldn’t be easy, but I’m damn near suffocating. Say something, Riley. Anything. Just say something.

But my mouth won’t move. No sound forms, even though I’m concentrating every ounce of my effort to move my lips.

Thankfully, he breaks the silence. “You asked me why—”

“Jesse, don’t.” I cut him off. For the past thirteen months I dreamt of this moment, fantasized about the day he’d give me all the answers I needed, and I’d finally have closure, but now that it’s actually here, I’m anything but happy. I’m terrified.

“I have to.” He places both palms on the table. “I love you.”

My brain registers the word. He said love. Present tense.

My voice whispers his name. “Jesse.”

“Do you remember the time in fourth grade when we signed up for the talent show?”

“Yeah?” I don’t try to hide my confusion. What’s that got to do with anything? “I had to sing our duet all by myself when you got sick with strep throat.”

“You insisted on calling our group JC & the Barbie Doll.” He smiles as he remembers the memory. “I couldn’t sing for shit—or play an instrument—so I wanted to lip sync. But not you. You insisted we actually sing.”

I nod my head as I recite my life’s motto. “Go big or go home.”

He agrees. “I knew I’d make a fool of myself in front of the entire school, knew I’d never be able to do it, so I faked being sick.”

“What?” My mouth hangs open. “Why would you do that?”

He pins me with his gaze. “Because I knew I wouldn’t be good enough. I didn’t want to disappoint you.”

“Jesse, that makes no sense. We were eight. How could you disappoint me?”

He shrugs. “Mess up the lyrics or those stupid dance moves you made me learn.”

“Hey!” I argue, forgetting the point to this conversation. “They weren’t stupid.”

He smiles as though to say, Yeah, okay.

I smooth my hands over the table before I continue, “I don’t understand. Why are you telling me this now?”

He holds my gaze. “Because that’s how it’s always been, Ry. You’re an angel, a beautiful, perfect angel. And I’m just me.” He shrugs. “No one special, someone who rarely finishes what he starts.”

Even though I’m hurt, even though I’m upset, I still defend him because I can’t bear for him to think of himself in that way. “How can you say that? You don’t know how many times I envied you. How easily you made friends, your athletic ability—in every freakin’ sport, how you were always so carefree while I worried about everything…”

He shakes his head, dismissing my compliments. “I couldn’t stay, Riley. I couldn’t do that to you.”

I squeeze my eyes shut. “You never said a word. You made me fall in love with you. I wanted to spend my life with you…and you just left. I woke up and you were gone.”

My eyes find his, and he says, “It was the right thing to do.”

“That’s not fair.”

“It doesn’t make it any less true.” He shakes his head. “What could I have offered you?”

“You.” My voice rises and a few patrons glance our way. “You were my everything, Jesse. Not only my lover but my best friend, my family… You took that all away when you left.”

He leans forward in his chair. “I had to. I had to make something of myself, to be the man you deserved.”

I shake my head. “No.” I push myself to stand. “You were a coward. You were scared, and guess what? So was I! But I was willing to be strong enough for the both of us.” I look down at him. “You didn’t respond to any of my texts or calls or emails.” The tears flow openly down my face. “You cut me out of your life as though I meant nothing to you.”

He stands. “You are everything to me.” He takes both my hands, and against my better judgment, I let him. “I read every single one. Every text. Every email. I listened to every call.”

Somehow that makes it worse. “What does it matter now? We can’t go back. You’re with…” God, I can’t bring myself to say her name. “That girl with the shoes.”

“Abigail?” His brow furrows. “She’s a talent scout from Breckland. She’s assisting me through the interview process.”

Talent scout? Interview? What the hell is he talking about?

“She’s not my... I’m not with anyone.”

The words filter through my mind, as I slowly start to piece together what he says. Breckland University… Is he moving back…? “Are you moving back to Pennsylvania?”

He nods. “It’s very possible.”

“Why?”

He leans in a little closer, lowers his voice. “I’m being interviewed for a coaching position at Breckland. With Coach Frankie’s retirement, the university is restructuring their coaching team.”

My eyes widen. He might be coaching basketball at Breckland? “What? You’re back in school?”

He shakes his head. “Not exactly. There’s a new initiative program; young coaches can gain experience while earning college credit. The pay’s shit, but at least it’s a start. You know how competitive coaching positions are in Division I schools.”

Actually, I don’t. My mind works overtime as I process what he’s just said. “That’s why you were at the banquet.”

He shrugs. “Abigail thought it would be good PR. It’s not a done deal, but…”

I shake my head to clear it. The café begins to buzz with activity, as the lunch crowd rushes in to grab their paninis and veggie wraps.

“Can we…?” He places a hand at the small of my back and guides me toward the door. “Can we go someplace quiet to talk?”

No, we can’t. We’re not friends anymore. It’s better this way.

“Sure.” My lips move of their own volition. “I live about fifteen minutes away.”

* * *

The quick drive back to my apartment is both the longest and shortest drive of my entire life. My hands grip the steering wheel until my fingers are ghostly white. The nerves are cramping my stomach so badly that I nearly vomit. Twice.

I watch as Jesse backs his rental car into the tiny visitor space in the parking lot behind my building. He follows me quietly up the front steps, and when we stop at my door, I consider telling him to leave. My heart pounds loudly in my chest. I can’t believe he’s here. I can’t believe I’m inviting him back to my apartment. My new apartment, the one that I moved into only three months ago in the hope that it would further help me get over him. Fresh start and all that.

We’re both silent as I slide the key in the lock. “Come in.” I swing open the door and gesture inside with my arm.

He eyes me, not suspicious exactly, more cautious than anything, but finally he follows me into the foyer.

As usual, inside the doorway I pause to slip off my shoes, but the damn lace on my tennis shoe is tangled, so I lean forward to unknot the string.

As I stand upright, Jesse stares at me, really stares at me, and I grow uncomfortable. Why is his looking at me like that?

He reaches forward, fingers grazing my collarbone, and the sensation is so delicious, so damn electric that I nearly moan.

“Wh-what…?” My voice is breathy and uncontrolled, so I stop speaking before he can see how much his touch has affected me.

But I need not have worried, because he isn’t paying attention to my face or my voice. His fingers loop beneath the thin silver chain that has slipped from underneath my shirt.

Strong fingers skim below the necklace and tug, unearthing the pendant that is hidden between my breasts, a place where it has remained since the day he left, thirteen months ago. Somehow, wearing it made me feel closer to him.

“You still have it.” His thumb dances across the smooth surface, tracing first the white curve, then the black. My eyes follow his movement, and I don’t know how it happens, but somehow my hand finds its way to his hip and mimics the smooth pattern.

“Of course, I still have it.” My fingers squeeze of their own accord. “It’s you and me.”

“Riley.” His voice is filled with so much emotion: pain, love, sadness, regret, hope, lust.

I don’t know what the hell I’m thinking, other than I’m not thinking, and I lean forward to kiss him. Really kiss him. My free hand grabs his other hip, anchoring him to me, and I pour forth, unleashing all the emotions hidden inside me for thirteen long months.

One taste is all I need. It’s a high. An addiction. One that I can’t stop.

Warmth floods my veins, catches me in its rapid path, and I’m powerless to let it to carry me further.

He grabs me, rougher than I expected, and every nerve comes alive. I forgot what it’s like with him. How could I have forgotten?

I lead him backwards into the living room, and we nearly fall to the sofa. His lips suck on my neck. His hands are everywhere, and when he glides his fingers over my sweater, tugging my nipples in a gentle squeeze, I swear I almost come. It’s been too fucking long.

“Too many clothes,” I murmur.

I shove his jacket from his shoulders with one hard pass of my hands. His shirt is next on my list; my body knows, remembers exactly what to do. It’s like hearing a song on the radio that you haven’t heard in years, but suddenly you’re singing every freakin’ word like it was yesterday.

My fingers bunch the soft fabric of his long-sleeve shirt, and push it up over his stomach to reveal the chiseled abs. The abs I’ve dreamt about for three hundred and ninety-two days.

His fingers snap the button on my jeans, and I’m so on board with what’s about to happen, so in the here and now, that I’m thrown when he suddenly pulls away.

My eyes snap to his, half-lidded, but he’s not looking at me. He’s looking over his shoulder at Bill’s navy Broncos sweatshirt draped over the edge of the sofa. Fuck.

He tugs my hands away and then pushes his shirt back down.

“You and that guy…”

My voice weighs heavy as I answer. “Bill.”

“You’re together?”

Yes. “It’s new.”

“Jesus.” He scrubs a hand over his face. “What the fuck? You’re dating someone?” He gestures between us. “What is this?”

When I don’t answer, he continues. “This isn’t who you are, Ry. You’re not a cheater.”

You’re right. I can’t sleep with you; I’m dating Bill. What the hell am I doing?

I hang my head, refusing to meet his gaze.

“I want you, Riley. But you’re not mine.”

My eyes find his then and say the words that I’m not brave enough to say aloud: I’ve always been yours.

He shakes his head, a slow turn left to right. “At least not completely. I want all of you, Ry.” He reaches for his jacket that I tossed on the floor only minutes before. “I can’t share you. I won’t share you.”

And for some reason his words make me angry. Really fucking angry. He was the one who left. He was the one who didn’t call or text or email. He left me broken. Defeated. Lonely. Now, when I’m finally starting to pick up the pieces, he comes back and expects me to welcome him with open arms? Isn’t that what you just did? Do you never learn your lesson, you stupid, stupid girl?

I shake the thoughts from my cluttered mind. “What was I supposed to do? I haven’t heard from you in over a year.” I spread my arms wide. “A year, Jesse!” I take a few steps and begin tracing a wide circle to expel some of my pent-up energy. “Now you show up here and all these…feelings… Fuck.”

“I know, Ry and I’m sorry. I fucked up, but I’m not the same person I was. I didn’t contact you, I didn’t reach out, because I wanted to have my shit together, wanted to be off probation, to be a good man for you, someone worthy of you.” He approaches, places his hands on my arms to halt my pacing. “You know I never deserved you.”

“Why do you keep saying that?” I snap, but soften my tone as I read the sadness etched into his features. His eyes are wide, lips turned down, his jaw tight. “You were my everything.” My voice breaks on the last word, and I hate myself for it. Hate that my emotions are painted across my face, hate the heartbreak stamped into my words.

He shakes his head but continues. “A college dropout with a criminal charge? I always knew you could do better, but I was so damn selfish. I wanted you to need me the way I’ve always needed you.”

“Jesse.” His name whispers across the space between us. The physical distance is only a few feet, but emotionally it feels like an immense canyon, wide and impassable.

“When your dad suggested that I serve my probation in North Carolina—”

“My dad?” My voice is unreasonably high. “My dad is the one who suggested you leave?” My body begins to shake, not from nervousness but from anger. “And you listened to him? Why wouldn’t you come to me first? He was supposed to help us, not send you away.” My fists curl into tiny, tight balls, and I hit him. And then I hit him again. And again.

With each hit my anger turns to hurt and sadness.

My dad told him to leave.

Jesse holds his hands up and then catches me in his arms. “He was right, Ry. I was holding you back.”

I cry into his shirt. “I loved you, Jesse. I love you. You should have talked to me… We could’ve…together.” My words aren’t making much sense, and he tries to soothe me by stroking my hair.

I cry into him, and it’s a heartbreaking cry, one filled with sorrow and pain, and loss over what we used to have.

He wraps his arms tighter around me, and I try to pull away, knowing that he can’t be the one to comfort me, when he’s the one who has hurt me.

“No more.” I shake my head, but he still doesn’t let me go, and it makes me cry harder. “No more.”

Once my breathing returns to normal he lightens his grip, and I back away as he begins speaking. “When I saw you at the banquet, I couldn’t believe my luck. I thought this was the sign I was waiting for. I thought God finally brought you back into my life.” His eyes dart toward the offending Broncos sweatshirt, the physical reminder of the time and space between us. “I’m such a fucking idiot. I should have never left you… I love you. I want to spend my life with you—”

“Stop.” My hand slices through the air, cutting him off. “I can’t hear this right now.” Tears stream down my face.

“Ry, baby, please don’t cry anymore.”

I wrap my arms around my waist, an ingrained habit of protection to shield the emotional hurt.

His thumb swipes my cheek. “I never want to make you cry again.”

But the tears don’t stop. “I broke myself loving you,” I whisper, voice tight. “You broke me.”

He gasps, and I know my words have hurt him more than any one of my punches ever could. It’s a horrible truth, difficult words to utter, but it makes them no less true. “I was just starting to pick up the pieces. To move on…” I turn away and look out the window. “And then you show up. And I hate myself for still wanting you. For still loving you.”

“Riley,” he whispers, gently placing a hand on my hip. He presses his front against my back, and it takes every ounce of my willpower not to collapse back into him. To let him hold me and comfort me and fill me with promises of hope and love.

I close my eyes and whisper, “I don’t know how to let you go.” I slowly turn to face him.

His eyes are solemn. “You don’t have to.”

“I think I do.” I squeeze his hand. “We can’t do this again. I can’t do this again.”

He nods his head in defeat, but squeezes my hand once more. “Tell me what you want from me.” This time his tone is different, not his usual self-assured, confident swagger, but rather serious, mixed with equal parts hope and fear.

“I’m not sure.”

He nods once, stoically. “Okay.” He gestures with his head toward the door. “I should go.”

Tears still stream down my face, and I don’t trust myself to speak, so I nod. Suddenly he leans forward and places a soft kiss on my jaw. It’s meant to be platonic, but when his soft lips meet my skin, I nearly moan. His breath is hot, sending a shiver up my spine, as he whispers, “Goodbye, Riley.”

And as I watch his retreating back, I’m struck with the sickening thought that this really is our final goodbye.

58

Riley

I can’t sleep. My mind was such a tangled mess of emotions that I canceled my dinner date with Bill. I couldn’t bear to see him when my hands and mouth had been all over Jesse’s body only hours before. Didn’t know how I’d smile and act normal when I’d come so close to betraying him, a man who has treated me like nothing less than a princess, and who unknowingly helped patch back together the pieces of my broken heart.

I heard somewhere, a very long time ago, that the quintessential problem of mankind is that he cannot be happy. He will willingly fuck up what’s good in his life.

I could be the goddamn poster child.

The most sickening thought of all is that if Jesse hadn’t seen the sweatshirt, hadn’t stopped us, I would have fallen right back down the rabbit hole. I wonder how my body could come so alive, feel such a raw connection to Jesse, when for months I’d had to mentally coax myself to be intimate with Bill—in any way.

Maybe I’m holding on to the past, or maybe it’s mind over matter, but whatever it is, I want more. Rather than feel relieved for having dodged a bullet—I know better than to hurt someone so carelessly and selfishly—I feel sadness and longing for a man who I know I have no business wanting. My fist pummels my lumpy pillow in frustration.

I’m going fucking insane.

Around 1:00 a.m. I break down and pull up Jesse’s contact. It’s been over a year since we last texted, but when I begin typing his name, our last text thread pops up on the screen. Pathetic, I know, but I couldn’t bring myself to delete our conversations. Though I’d never admit this to anyone—even Liza—in my lowest of lows, I had re-read our texts just so I could feel close to him.

I’ve no way of knowing if his number is the same or if he changed it since moving away to whatever place he calls home nowadays, but I try anyway. A giddy feeling sweeps over me, like I just downed a straight shot of vodka. My stomach churns with a mixture of nervousness, excitement, and adrenaline, as my fingers dance over the keys My mind knows to stop this because it leads to nowhere good, but my heart and my body…dear God, my body, want it more than my next breath. My phone whooshes, indicating the text has sent, and for a moment I stare at the illuminated screen and wonder if Jesse will be able to read all my uncertainty and hope in those four little words.

Riley: Can we be friends?

I wait with bated breath, while I silently pray for a reply, knowing even as I wish it, it’s highly unlikely. Jesse’s a night owl—or at least used to be—but even he’s probably sleeping this early in the morning. After fifteen minutes of incessant checking, I place my phone face down on my nightstand, so I won’t be as tempted to look for a reply.

When I wake, the sun is nestled high in the clouds and small slivers of light creep in through my blinds. My hand reaches for my phone, and my heart skips a beat as I read Jesse’s response.

Jesse: I never stopped.

59

Riley

Sunday mornings, Bill likes to read the newspaper. I watch as he neatly folds the paper into thirds, and I don’t know why, but it annoys the shit out of me. With each pass of his thumb to smooth the crease, my patience thins. On top of everything, I’d like to know who still reads an actual newspaper, anyway? Come on, Bill, time to move into the twenty-first century.

“Sweetie, isn’t this your friend?” Bill stretches the Sports section wide across the table.

My ears perk up at the question, and I lean forward in my chair to check out the picture. Sure enough, Jesse is front and center, looking incredible in dark navy jeans and a maroon Breckland Tigers t-shirt.

Jesse and I have seen each other twice since ESPresso and texted a handful of times. We agreed to be friends, but neither of us know how to proceed. Well, that’s not true. Jesse has done a great job of keeping me in the friend zone. He’s talked about his new job and how he became involved in coaching at a basketball camp for high-risk teens in North Carolina. The youth camp was somehow affiliated with Duke University, and because he made quite an impression on one of the assistant coaches, he received a recommendation for the Breckland position.

Jesse wanted to be closer to his mother (and although he didn’t say it aloud, I’m assuming to me, too) so he applied. With the help of Abigail, he practiced his interview skills, perfected his resume, and mingled with some of the current coaching staff and trainers. There was no way he’d get the head coaching job—he had far too little experience for that—but he was pretty much a shoe-in for an assistant position. He interviewed for both the bench coach and shooting coach slots.

While we talked a lot about Jesse’s career, when he asked about my job at LAMP I didn’t offer much because I knew how it looked. Bill’s a controlling partner in the firm where I work and I’m dating him. Jesse will draw the obvious (and accurate) conclusion: I was promoted from secretary to a full-time interior design specialist due to nepotism. What’s not so easy to prove is that I keep my job based on talent. I work just as hard as, if not harder than, my colleagues to prove my worth.

“Riley?” Bill shakes the paper a little. “Jesse Collins? Says here he’s going to be the new Bench Coach at Breckland U.”

“Hmm,” I murmur as though this were news to me, when in reality I found out three days ago when Jesse did. He had texted me with the good news immediately after his meeting.

“How do you know him, again?” Bill’s question is innocent enough; he’s merely curious, yet it hits me like a punch to the gut. He scrunches his nose. “Are you okay, sweetie?”

“Yeah, yeah.” I’m quick to agree and snatch up our coffee mugs. “Just tired.”

His glances at his watch. “My video conference doesn’t start until ten.” That’s another thing that irritates me. He works constantly, even on Sundays. I can’t lie around in my pajamas all day and marathon-watch Netflix because I feel like a goddamn slacker. His voice turns sensual. “Let’s go back to bed.”

My stomach clenches, not in excitement, but in trepidation. Sex with Bill isn’t so much a pleasurable experience as it is an obligation. We (or I should say, I) lack physical chemistry. That tear-your-clothes-off, have-to-have-you-naked-now-or-I’ll-die attraction. I had hoped it would build over time, but it’s just not happening.

And I have a major confession. Are you sitting down? Good. In the entire time that Bill and I have been sleeping together, I’ve faked every single orgasm. Every. One. I long stopped trying to break Jesse’s curse, and at this point, I think I could win a freaking Oscar for my performance in the bedroom.

“What do you say?” Bill waggles his eyebrows. “You seem tense. I think you could use a little sexual healing.”

A nervous chuckle escapes my lips. “Next time.” I pat his stomach as I pass. “I’m meeting Liza in a half hour.”

“Oh, that’s right.” He makes a face. “But tonight you’re all mine.”

I walk toward the bathroom. That’s what I’m afraid of.

* * *

“It’s wrong, isn’t it?” I question, as I pour more syrup onto the thick stack of pancakes on my plate.

“What exactly?” Liza spears a sausage link. “The fact that you have a secret friendship with your ex that you refuse to tell your current boyfriend about? Or that you’re still in love with said ex?” My eyes widen, but she continues, “Because they’re both wrong.”

I groan. She’s one hundred percent right, but for once I wish she’d indulge me. I haven’t done anything wrong. Technically. Maybe I did see Jesse a few times, exchanged a few texts, but it’s strictly platonic. We’re re-kindling our friendship, not our romance.

And if you believe that, Riley, I’ve got a bridge to sell you.

“He’s my friend.”

Liza raises her eyebrows. “Who you’d like to fuck.”

“Liza!” I scold. “Keep your voice down. There are two kids sitting right behind me.”

She rolls her eyes. “If that’s the worst they hear.” She takes another bite of her omelet. “You know you’re playing with fire.”

I sip my chocolate milk. “He’s moving back to Cardinal’s Cay, Liza. It’s a small town. It’s not like I’m going to be able to avoid him forever. Besides, we were friends long before we ever…” My voice trails off.

“Seeing him…at the grocery store, say, is very different from meeting him for coffee or texting every day.”

I narrow my eyes. “We don’t text every day.”

“Yet.” She meets my gaze. “You do what you want. You asked my opinion and you got it.”

I nod my head. Liza has made it very clear that she thinks Bill is the proper choice—he’s rich (not that material things matter to me), he’s kind, smart, giving, and has never hurt me. On paper, I agree with Liza. But love isn’t only about tally marks and common sense. Sometimes it’s messy and complicated. Then again, maybe I have no clue what the fuck I’m talking about.

“When does your plane leave?” I ask, even though I already know the answer.

The subject change works because Liza’s smile brightens. “Friday at 11:00 a.m.”

“Are you nervous?”

“Nervous. Scared. Excited.” She ticks her fingers. “Moving across the country to be with your boyfriend is…”

“Romantic?” I supply.

“Some people would say stupid.”

“Some people are idiots.”

Liza chuckles. “The timing is right. My company has the open position in the accounting department in the Tempe office. Scott’s lease is up this month.” She glances at the picture of her and Scott on her phone. “It’s meant to be.”

“It definitely is.” I push my plate to the side. “What am I going to do here without you?”

“I think the question is who will you do here without me?”

I kick her under the table.

She yelps. “Ow!”

“Oops,” I say, unapologetically. “My foot slipped.”

“You bitch!” She reaches for the check the waitress placed on our table several minutes ago. “Forget having a free place to crash on the west coast! You, my dear, can stay in a hotel!”

I shrug. “I’m sure with Bill’s real estate connections, I’ll be able to find something.”

She smiles. “Be careful what you wish for. Knowing Bill, he’ll buy you an entire freaking building just for when you visit.”

I laugh, but inside I know there’s a vein of truth to her words. Bill’s presents can be over-the-top. Like the one-carat stud diamond earrings he bought me for our six-month anniversary. I didn’t know anyone apart from high school students who celebrated six-month anniversaries, but that’s beside the point.

“You watch,” Liza says, as she throws a twenty on the table, “you’ll be engaged before me.”

My eyes widen in panic, my breath catches in my throat, but then Liza laughs and the air whooshes from my lungs.

She’s only joking, Ry. Calm the fuck down.

I grab my purse, place another twenty on top of hers, and follow her to the parking lot.

She carries on, oblivious to my mini panic attack. “So, I’ll see you at the Bon Voyage party on Wednesday?”

“Yeah.” I unlock my car. “Bill’s parents are flying in this week, so I’m not sure what our plans are exactly, but I’ll be there.”

“Look at you, spending quality time with your future in-laws!”

My mouth gapes open, but she laughs and sticks her tongue out.

“Okay, you really need to stop that,” I scold.

She chuckles. “Sure thing.” She pulls me in for a quick hug. “I’m going. I have some last-minute packing to finish.”

“Text me later,” I say, as I open my car door. “I’m here if you need help.”

“I may just take you up on that…” Her voice trails off.

“Want me to come over now?” My voice is eager, and I tell myself that I’m not avoiding Bill or trying to distract myself from texting Jesse.

Liza’s my friend. My best friend. And she’s moving away in five days. Of course I want to spend time with her.

She quirks a brow. “Really? But you hate packing.”

“I’ll make an exception.”

“Okay.” She nods her head. “But no complaining.” Her eyes narrow as she adds, “And no crying.”

“Yes, boss,” I agree, as I get into my car and start the engine. “Be there in ten.”

60

Riley

I spend the rest of Sunday afternoon helping Liza pack up her apartment. She’s right; I despise packing, not that anyone’s a fan of it really, but still. When Bill texts me later that night, I decline his invitation to come over—don’t give me that look. I’m tired.

By Tuesday evening, I still haven’t seen Bill. He has just invested in a new property two towns over, so most of his time is divided between traveling to the job site and making phone calls with construction crews, code enforcement officers, and potential customers.

Even though the Easter holiday is next week, Bill’s parents’ flight landed this afternoon at three twenty-seven. Not three-thirty, three twenty-seven—Bill’s precise like that. We’re all going for dinner at Oyster.

I shower, get dressed, and make it all the way to my car before I realize that I left my cell phone in my apartment. I pat my pockets, check my purse, and glance at the dashboard to see if the Bluetooth symbol is illuminated—it isn’t. I groan audibly as I switch off the ignition and rush back into the cold. It’s mid-March, yet the thermometer has barely reached thirty degrees this week, and with the wind whipping through the air, the “real feel” is in the single digits.

Back inside my apartment, I locate my phone on the kitchen counter, still plugged into the charger. As I pick it up, my eyes scan over several notifications, one of which is a text message from Bill.

Bill: Hi, Sweetie. Just got back from the airport with my parents. Reservations are at seven. Are you on your way?

I glance at the clock. It’s five forty-five. I can make it across town with plenty of time to spare, I think. Bill’s perpetually early, as in, if we do not arrive twenty minutes prior to the start of any function—and I do mean any and every function—he panics. He’s chronically early; I’m chronically late. We balance each other out…in theory, anyway.

My thumb swipes the screen, but my fingers are too cold to register the touch, so I drop the phone and blow into my hands in an attempt to warm them up. A minute later, I type a quick message to Bill.

Riley: Omw. Left ten minutes ago.

This is an outright lie. I’m still standing in my kitchen and I would never text and drive. He should know that after nine months of dating, but he simply agrees.

Bill: Ok.

His response is simple. Quick. Efficient. Just like him.

I knock on Bill’s front door thirty minutes later—traffic was heavier and slower than I anticipated. His mother and father are seated on the sofa. It’s not the first time I’m meeting them, but every time they visit I have the feeling I should be walking on eggshells. They’re prim and proper, formal, refined—the exact opposite of me.

“Mr. and Mrs. Lewg.” I smile as I embrace first his father, then mother, in the world’s most awkward hug. “So good to see you.”

“Lovely to see you, dear.” Mrs. Lewg—Carole, though she’s never told me to call her that—says. “Bill was just telling us he has a special announcement before we leave for dinner.”

“Oh?” I raise my eyebrows as I turn toward Bill. My mind quickly scans over our last few conversations. I can’t remember him talking about any major deal specifically, apart from the new property, but that deal closed weeks ago. All right, okay, I may not pay one hundred percent attention when he blabs on and on about investment properties or the price per square foot of Building A versus Building B, but can you blame me? Commercial real estate is freaking boring. Take it from me, I should know; it’s all Bill ever seems to talk about.

“Riley.” Bill makes no effort to move from in front of the mantle where he stands, but he extends his hand and pulls me toward him. “Can you come here for one second? There’s something I want to ask you. Something I’ve wanted to ask you for a long time.”

Liza’s smiling face pops to mind and her words bounce around my brain. You’ll be engaged before me. But surely that’s not what this is. We haven’t been together that long. I haven’t even given him a key to my apartment yet. He just met my family.

“Riley Ann Jones.” He takes both my hands, and I will myself to close my mouth, which gapes open in the most unflattering way.

Oh shit. Oh no. Fuck. Please don’t let him be asking what I think he’s going to—

“This past year”—nine months, I automatically correct in my head—“has been the happiest year of my life. You’re everything that I want in a life partner: smart, beautiful, kind, honest…”

I swallow. I’m not so honest.

He drops to one knee, looks up at me with caring brown eyes. “Would you do me the honor of becoming my wife?”

My gaze darts around the room, heart beating wildly in my chest, not from excitement, but from fear.

His mother smiles at me encouragingly, as Bill cracks open a small velvet jewelry box. “It was my grandmother’s. It’s been in our family for generations. I asked my mother to bring it in with her.” He waves with his free hand to where his parents sit. “It’s part of the reason why they flew in early.” He smiles again. “So, will you? Will you be my wife?”

Holy fuck. Bill scrunches his nose, and I press my lips together, sending another silent prayer heavenward that I didn’t just say fuck in front of his parents. In front of my (potential) future in-laws.

“Kind of waiting on answer here, Riley.” His voice jokes, but I can see the tension around his eyes.

I squeeze my eyes tight, swallow a deep breath, and nod. “Yes.” My voice is the faintest of whispers. “Yes, I’ll marry you.”

“Wonderful!” his mother exclaims, clapping her hands in front of her chest. Bill pulls himself to his feet and slips the ring on my left finger. It’s delicate, a solitaire round cut stone, light and classy, but it feels like a heavy anchor pulling me down. I’m suffocating. Sinking. Drowning.

Mr. Lewg claps Bill on the back. “Congratulations, son.” They shake hands as though they’re business associates rather than father and son.

Bill locks eyes with me, the megawatt smile that is plastered on every billboard within a thirty-mile radius beams at me. He mouths “I love you,” but all I can do is nod, because there’s only one thought looping through my mind right now, and if I’m not careful, the words will escape and topple the house of cards that I’ve struggled to build this entire year.

Those words are on my mind throughout our indulgent five-course meal.

They’re there later that night when Bill makes love to me and tells me how happy he is.

And they’re still there long after his breath has slowed and he has fallen asleep. Then, and only then, do I let the devastating truth fall past my lips:

He’s not Jesse.

61

Jesse

Riley is back to avoiding me. We were making progress, slowly rebuilding our bond and learning about each other’s past year. But all of a sudden it’s like a switch has been flipped, and she’s back to shutting me out. Every single one of my calls and texts have gone unanswered. She’s busy, I tell myself. We’re not kids anymore. We both have responsibilities. But I know these are just excuses, lies I tell myself late at night to dull the ache, to fill the void that only she could satisfy.

On Easter Sunday I come home to visit my mom. And while I am excited to see my mom and meet her new boyfriend, I’m even more excited to see Riley. I know she’ll be home sooner or later, because there’s no way she’d miss celebrating a holiday with her parents or little sister.

A little after two o’clock, I get my wish. From the screened-in front porch of my mom’s house, I watch from behind the pillar as Riley’s long legs emerge from the passenger seat of the sedan that just pulled into her family’s driveway. Thank God, I whisper, thankful to even catch a glimpse of her beautiful face. But what I’m not quite expecting is Bill to be with her.

I shift from foot to foot and narrow my gaze as my eyes drag over the shiny, black Mercedes-Benz. An S-Class, no less. My stare turns even harder as he moves around the front of the car and loops his hand with Riley’s. He wears a tailored peacoat and Burberry scarf, a look that clearly says I have money.

I bet Riley’s dad loves him.

“Jesse.” My mom bangs the screen door open as she comes onto the porch. “Lunch is ready.”

I wince. Shit.

Riley stops walking, and Bill pauses, too, resting a hand on her lower back. I shuffle from behind the post so they can see me, and so that I don’t look like the creeper that I really am.

I raise my hand in greeting, just as Mikayla, Riley’s little sister, rushes through the front door. She’s humming a tune that sounds an awful lot like “Here Comes the Bride.” She wraps her arms around Riley’s waist. “Ry, Ry!” Mikayla’s high-pitched squeal carries through the air. “Let me see the ring!”

Those seemingly innocent words gut me, and I grasp onto the post for support. It’s like I’ve been kicked in the nuts and stomach at the same time. She’s engaged.

I stare a hole through her, willing her to look at me, to prove that what I heard is true.

Finally, her wide, sad eyes latch onto mine. I wish things were different, they say, but I shake my head, and I’m the first to look away, because things are not different. She engaged. She’s moved on. She’s promised her life to another man.

And in that moment, I know I’ve lost her for good.

* * *

James, my mom’s boyfriend, seems nice enough. He’s an EMT, has never been married, and has a golden retriever named Buttons. But even though he’s nice, and my mom is happier than I’ve seen her in a long time, I’m not in the mood for chitchat.

After we eat, when I absolutely cannot stomach one more second of small talk, I open the refrigerator, grab the six-pack of beer that I brought, and dart out the back door. I climb the rickety ladder to the tree house—our tree house—and sit alone in silence and allow my thoughts to flow.

Riley’s engaged to someone. That someone isn’t me. It’s over—we’re over.

I’m not sure how long I sit there. Long enough to drink two beers before I hear Riley’s voice.

“Hey.” Although soft, her voice pierces the quiet. Fuck. Why is she here? Surely she doesn’t expect me to congratulate her?

I tip my beer bottle in way of greeting.

She sits down beside me and lifts a bottle from the pack. “Can I have one of these?”

I shrug. “Help yourself.”

She twists the cap, takes a long pull, and winces at the taste. Same old Riley.

I don’t look at her but rather keep my eyes straight ahead. Out of the corner of my eye, I watch her peel the corner of the label from the bottle. She blows out a breath. “I was going to tell you.”

My eyes cut to hers and my voice sounds incredibly angry as I ask, “When?”

“Soon.” She squeezes her eyes shut. “I didn’t know how to tell you, didn’t know what to say.”

“How about, ‘Hi, Jesse, Bill asked me to marry him and I said yes.’ ” I chug the rest of my beer and crack open another one. “How long were you going to string me along? How long were you going to let me think there was still hope? That there was still a chance?”

“That’s not fair, Jes. You know that I’m with Bill.”

“Jesus Christ.” I scrub my free hand over my face. “Do you even hear yourself, Riley? A few weeks ago we almost fucked, and now…you’re…” I shake my head. “Are you happy?”

She lowers her eyes. “It’s not that simple.”

“It is that simple.”

She pushes herself to stand, and in her haste, kicks over her bottle. Foamy liquid seeps into the wooden planks. “What do you want me to say, Jesse? He’s a good man. I can’t hurt him. He loves me.”

I stand and face her, letting my hands fall to her waist. “Do you love him?”

“Yes.” She doesn’t falter, doesn’t hesitate, and that one word slices me in two.

My fingers release their pressure and I let her go. I nod once. If she didn’t love him, I’d fight, I’d beg, I’d plead. But I can’t interfere with her happiness when I was the one who walked away. I was the one who had something to prove. I was the one who didn’t answer her calls or texts because I thought she’d be better off.

I inhale a shaky breath, as I draw on my inner courage to say the words that a good friend—a friend who truly loves her—would say. “Then, I hope you two will be very happy together.” I turn away so she can’t see my face or the tears that are forming in my eyes. “All I’ve ever wanted is for you to be happy, Ry.”

“Jes.” She moves behind me, rests her cheek against my back, and bands her arms around my waist. “I never meant to hurt you.”

I rest my hands on top of hers and release a shuddering breath. “I’ll be okay.”

We’re both silent as she holds me like that for a few minutes longer. I feel her shift behind me, and although it’s the faintest of whispers, I hear her voice, nonetheless. “Am I doing the right thing?”

I squeeze my eyes tight and exhale a long, slow breath. When I speak, my voice is sad and unsure. “I don’t know.”

“Me neither,” she whispers against my skin. “Me neither.”

62

Riley

The night of my engagement party, my world falls apart.

The engagement is off.

Bill and I are over.

And I’m fairly certain I no longer have a job.

Let me start at the beginning. After he proposed, Bill more or less insisted that I move in with him. It made sense, he said, since we’d be married soon—he wanted a summer wedding—and my apartment was substantially smaller than his home.

“Why should we each pay for housing when it would be more economical to combine expenses?” he asked.

Because, I wanted to scream, I love my freedom. Because I don’t know if I can be around you all day, every day. Because I’m not ready.

Of course, I couldn’t actually say any of those things, so little by little, I began to bring (and leave) some items at his house. Toiletries. A spare hairbrush. A few pairs of my least favorite panties.

I hadn’t spoken to Jesse since Easter. He hadn’t called or texted. I knew why. He was hurting—we both were—and the more we ingratiated ourselves in each other’s lives, the more painful the reality of my engagement became.

With Jesse and me not speaking, and Liza in Arizona, I really needed a friend. But all my friends were either colleagues at LAMP or also friends with Bill and had never even met Jesse, understandably.

I could talk to my mom, but I was ashamed and didn’t want to disappoint her. A successful, smart man asked me to marry him, and I show my gratitude by daydreaming incessantly about another man? I didn’t need my mom to tell me how awful a person I am—I already know.

As the days passed, I allowed myself to follow Bill’s lead. Sweetie, what do you think of a pastel color scheme? We need to book a reception hall. My family priest has agreed to marry us.

I was a hollow shell, a woman without a voice, a woman with no control over her future, so when Bill suggested a fancy engagement party with two hundred of our closest friends, I simply smiled and nodded.

Now, here I am, in a house that I still don’t feel comfortable in, getting ready for a party that I don’t want, about to greet people whom I don’t even know. How did I get here?

The knock on the door startles me from my thoughts.

“Sweetie, are you dressed?” Bill’s voice carries across through the wall and I wince. Is this how our life is going to be? Formal knocks and polite requests.

“Yes,” I whisper, setting my brush on the vanity.

He enters wearing his new posh suit that boasts a designer name I can’t pronounce. I know this not because it looks expensive—although it does—but because I saw the receipt from Barney’s on the counter and nearly died when I read the price.

“You look beautiful,” he says, as he moves to stand behind where I sit. “I love your hair up like this.” He drags a finger across the nape of my neck. I wait for a spark, a chill, a shudder—something to happen, but I feel nothing.

“Thank you.” I keep my mask in place. This life—this relationship—is a lie.

My eyes trace his movement as he pulls a small, gift-wrapped box from his pocket. It’s wrapped in simple red paper and has a large white bow. “I got you something.” His eyes light up and a wide smile stretches across his face.

“Bill.” I turn in my chair to face him. “We agreed, no gifts.” My eyes narrow on the box.

“I know.” He leans forward and kisses my nose. “But I couldn’t help myself.”

I stare at him a beat before taking the present. Slowly, my fingers untie the ribbon and carefully remove the paper. I do this, not because I’m excited for the gift, but rather because it’s what’s expected of me. When I crack open the lid, I lose my breath. “Bill.” My voice breaks. “This is too much.”

“It’s never too much.” He takes the box from my hand and removes the necklace. He turns it over in his hands. “Do you like it?”

I nod, speechless. How could I not? The ruby red teardrop—my birthstone—is stunning. I don’t know much about carat weight, but it’s easily the biggest gem I’ve ever seen. It’s framed with two tiny rows of smaller diamonds that sparkle and wink even in the dim light of the room.

“You always wear that old necklace.” His eyes fall to the yin-yang pendant at the base of my collarbone. “I thought it was time for an upgrade.”

My fingers fly to the pendant, a pulse of comfort spiking through me just knowing it’s there.

He leans forward and drapes the necklace around my neck; it’s heavy and cold and feels like an anchor. I compare the ruby stone to the small, circular charm, which looks cheap and junky in comparison.

Bill pulls the necklace away. “Sweetie, take the old one off so we can see how the new one fits. The jeweler said he can adjust the length if the chain’s too long.”

I pause, hand still holding my charm, Jesse’s charm. It might be the way he says old, or the fact that it feels like I’m replacing Jesse with Bill, but I can’t do it. Won’t do it, because Jesse is irreplaceable. And I don’t want an upgrade…I just want Jesse.

My life—my future— flashes before my eyes. Bill is a good man, a great man. He would love me. Our life would be good. Comfortable. Average. But it’d never be great Bill’s not Jesse. And Bill could never, will never take his place. In my life. Or my heart.

After a moment, I find my voice. “I don’t want to take it off,” I whisper more to myself than Bill.

“What?” He leans closer.

“I don’t want to take it off,” I say, more clearly.

His puzzled eyes find mine in the mirror. “Oh, okay,” he concedes, but I can see the hurt in his eyes. “I didn’t realize it was so special.”

“Someone very special gave it to me.”

“I understand.” He places the ruby necklace back in its box and moves it to the side. His smile returns, though not as bright as before when he asks, “Who gave it to you? Your grandmother? Your mother?”

Even though I want to hide from him, I hold his gaze in our reflections as I shake my head and say, “Jesse.” I swallow hard. “Jesse gave it to me.”

His nose scrunches as he tries to place the name. I can’t blame him, it’s not like we talk about Jesse much. Or at all. Finally, he questions, “The basketball coach?”

I nod.

Bill moves alongside me, and I turn to face him.

“I didn’t know you two were that close.” He takes a few steps back. “How exactly do you know him, again?”

“We used to be friends.” My voice is paper-thin. “Best friends.” My bottom lip trembles as I try desperately not to cry.

He nods his head slowly, confused. After a minute, when I still haven’t said anything further, he asks, “Is there something else you’re not telling me?”

But I don’t know where to begin. How do I explain my feelings for Jesse when even I don’t understand them? All I know is that he is mine and I am his. Our hearts are forever entwined. I say nothing as my brain tries to formulate the words.

Whatever Bill sees reflected in my face he must not like, because he says, “Oh my God, Riley. Tell me you’re not in love with this guy.”

The tears that have been building reach their tipping point, and one lone tear slides down my cheek. I close my eyes.

“Oh my God.” He releases my arms and backs away. “I don’t believe this.”

“I’m sorry.” I hang my head in shame. “I want to love you. I do love you, but…” My hands begin to shake, so I clasp them together.

“But what?” When his eyes find mine they’re shiny with tears, and his sadness, his pain, is so much worse than anger. Why can’t he yell at me? Throw something? Scream? I deserve it. I deserve all of it.

“I don’t expect you to understand or to forgive—”

“Forgive?” His voice cuts me off. “Are you sleeping with him? How long have you been unfaithful to me?”

I shake my head side to side. “No. We’re not together.” His eyes narrow, but I continue. “We were friends and then we…”

“Stop.” He slices his hand through the air. “I don’t want to hear this.”

“I’m sorry,” I say through my tears. “But I can’t marry you when my heart and soul belong to another man.”

“Your heart and soul?” He paces the floor. “You just met this guy!”

My glassy eyes find his. “I told you, we grew up together. I gave my heart to him a long time ago, way before I even knew what a heart was.”

He chuckles, a dark, sardonic chuckle, and it causes my blood to turn cold. “You’re a real bitch.”

I wince as though he’s slapped me. I’ve never heard Bill curse, much less at me. Then again, I deserve it.

His eyes narrow on me, and he shakes his head once in dismissal before he brushes past me on his way to the door. “I want you gone before I get back.”

“Okay,” I whisper, but he’s already disappeared.

* * *

I gathered all of my belongings—everything I could fit into my tote bag—from Bill’s house, and left a scribbled note on the counter that I’d be back tomorrow for the rest, and if he could, to please text me a time that would be convenient for him. It felt rather formal, but I didn’t know what else to do. I didn’t want to randomly stop over and run the risk of seeing him. We both wouldn’t want that.

His assistant, Christina, called to tell me that the restaurant had been notified of the cancellation and that she would take care of informing our wedding party and guests of the dissolution of our union—yes, she actually said those exact words.

“Okay,” I agreed. “Thank you for your help.”

“It’s my job, Ms. Jones,” she said rather crisply, and I noted how she was back to referring to me as Ms. Jones, rather than Riley.

I didn’t give myself time to think about how I had royally fucked up my life. Not only did I end my engagement, but I also lost my job in one hard blow. Thankfully, I hadn’t terminated the lease on my apartment, so I wasn’t homeless. At least until I couldn’t make the rent payment…because I no longer had a fucking job.

Just breathe, Riley. It will all turn out okay. It has to.

I arrive at Jesse’s house a little after 9:00 p.m. Maybe it would be better to go home, get some sleep to clear my head. But I can’t. I need to see him tonight. Right this very second.

When I pull my car onto Jesse’s street, his house is dark and I don’t see his SUV parked in the driveway. My phone battery died ages ago, so I’ve no way of contacting him. Not at all ready to go back to my lonely apartment, I decide to wait for him. I need to get these feelings out. I’ve waited long enough. Too long.

I curl onto his porch swing and count the seconds, the minutes until I can see his beautiful face and tell him how much I love him. I don’t even realize I’ve dozed off until I hear his deep voice drifting somewhere above me.

“Riley?” He nudges me awake. “Baby, what are you doing here?”

I smile, my first genuine smile in months, as I stare into his striking blue eyes, and I know without a shadow of a doubt, I’m finally home.

63

Jesse

Sometimes practices run late, and I hate it. But tonight’s not one of those nights, because I need something—anything—to keep me from thinking about Riley. And her engagement party.

“Coach Collins.” George Smith, our new sophomore transfer, calls my name. “Can you stay a few minutes after conditioning to help me work on my free throws?”

I glance at the clock. It’s almost seven o’clock. Riley will soon be celebrating her upcoming wedding. To Bill Lewg. A fucking multimillionaire property investor with a squeaky clean record—I checked. I paid the upgrade fee for the extensive, extra thorough check, and everything came back A-OK, not even a goddamn unpaid parking ticket. As far as I could tell, this guy was a saint. And perfect for Riley in every fucking way.

Except for one tiny fact: he wasn’t me.

“Coach?” Smith’s voice calls me again.

I clap a hand on his back. “Sure thing. I can stay as long as you need.”

* * *

It’s quiet and a little cool as I make my way from the driveway to my front porch. I contemplated hitting the bar for a few drinks, because I could use something to ease this ache inside, but those days of my life were over. Or at least I hoped they were. Besides, a small part of me, the masochistic part, wanted to sit alone and indulge in the misery.

My head is bent over my phone, so I almost miss the figure lying on the porch swing. Almost.

For a moment, I’m sure I’m dreaming.

“Riley?” I pause halfway up the steps and call her name, but she’s asleep. I continue up the stairs and stop in front of the bench swing, where she lies curled on her side. On the ground beside her is a large tote bag and a pair of Chucks. I nudge her shoulder and say her name again, softer. “Riley. Baby, what are you doing here?”

She ignores my question, but stands up to face me. “I love you.”

Her words catch me so off guard that I take a step back and stumble over one of her sneakers. I brace my hand on the railing to catch myself from falling.

“I love you,” she continues. “I never stopped.” Her eyes implore mine. “I want to be with you. I want to fight with you. And make up with you. I want to build a life with you. I want to grow old with you.” She pauses for a breath, looks up from beneath her lashes. “I want to have your babies.”

I blink my eyes. Once. Twice. Is this real?

There’re so many questions, so many emotions pumping through my mind, but all that can wait. Right now, I have to kiss her. I drop the duffle bag from my shoulder and it thumps to the floor. I grab her face with both hands and press my lips to hers. Gentle, yet forceful. In this moment, I want her to know two things…that she’s precious, but also that she’s mine.

“Jesse,” she whispers against my lips.

“Riley,” I say, voice awestruck. “You came back.” My lips press kisses to her forehead, her eyelids, her cheeks. “You came back to me.”

“My heart never left you,” she whispers as she drags her fingers through my hair.

I lean back, cradle her face with my hands. “And Bill?” I hate to even speak his name, but I have to know she’s mine.

She closes her eyes and shakes her head. “It’s over. I ended it.”

“Why?” My eyes search hers. “What happened?”

“What happened is…” She takes both my hands in hers, kisses one palm, then the other, “…I’m still in love with you.” She drops both of her hands to my waist and squeezes. “I never stopped loving you.”

“Baby,” I whisper, trailing my nose along her neck, inhaling that citrusy lemon smell that I missed so much. “I’m afraid this isn’t real. I’m afraid to touch you. Afraid this is all a dream.” I don’t try to disguise the vulnerability in my voice, don’t think I could even if I wanted to.

“I’m real.” She looks into my eyes. “And I want you to touch me.” She places my hands over her breasts. “Please, touch me.”

“Fuck.” I close my eyes as my fingers knead the soft flesh. It’s been too fucking long. I forget that we’re outside. Or that I have nosy neighbors. Or that anyone exists beyond her. My lips latch onto her neck, and my hands work their way inside her shirt, tug down the soft cup of her bra. I roll her nipple between my thumb and forefinger.

“Fuck, Jesse.” Her arms wrap around my torso and pull me closer. “Fuck,” she curses again, as I lick a slow line across her collarbone and my fingers find her other breast.

She grinds against me, the friction damn near explosive, and before I’ve even had time to process what’s happened, her body convulses, shudders in my embrace, and her head hangs heavy on my shoulder.

“Baby.” I kiss across her jaw, hold her close and feel her erratic heartbeat against mine. “Baby, did you just come?”

I feel her head move against my shoulder, a slow nod: yes.

She lifts her head. “It’s been so long. And with the curse…”

I pull away. “The curse?”

She nods, but then dips her head in embarrassment. “Your curse. When you said I would never be able to orgasm without you. It’s been over a year, and…”

My mouth hangs open, but I quickly shut it.

“I just…” She drags her fingers across my chest, and even through my t-shirt, the sensation is delicious. “I really needed that.”

I lean forward, hover my lips above the shell of her ear. “It sounds like we have a lot of making up to do.”

She agrees. “This was a good start.”

I chuckle as I sweep her off the ground and over my shoulder. I slap her ass once as I kick open the front door. “Baby, we’re just getting started.”

And we are.

This is our chance at happiness.

This is our chance at friendship and love.

This is our chance at forever.

Epilogue: Riley

Later…

I stopped counting the days. Call me superstitious, but I didn’t want to jinx us, our new normal, our new happiness. I stopped worrying about the past, the future, and started living in the now.

And right now, Jesse is about to get the surprise of his life. I shift closer against the wall as the last two players walk through the door. With gym bags slung over their shoulders they shuffle past me, chatting about the upcoming weekend and some frat party they plan to attend. My eyebrows rise. I wonder if their coach would approve.

When the door clicks closed, I take a deep breath and make my way toward the gym. With his recent promotion to assistant coach, Jesse always stays later after practices to finish paperwork and prep the next day’s workout. Sure enough, he’s gathering up a few loose basketballs, his head bent forward in concentration. For a moment I admire his tight ass, the pull of his thin, grey t-shirt stretched tight across his back. Back muscles shouldn’t be that sexy, but his are, especially since I’ve traced their outline with my tongue.

He tucks the ball under his arm and walks to the conference table set-up in front of the open bleachers, picks up a folder, and heads toward the back door to his office.

I follow quietly and stand just outside his office door. He’s looking through the lone manila folder when I clear my throat to gain his attention.

“Ahem.”

He straightens and turns toward the sound. His face softens, recognition lighting his features when his eyes land on me. “Baby.” He drops the folder back onto his desk as I approach. “What are you doing here?” He squints at the clock. “I thought you had a showing tonight?”

I just started working with a small boutique firm, Roger and Rupert Designs, staging residential properties, rentals mostly. The staff is much smaller than at LAMP (so is the pay), but so far I’ve staged three properties and they all sold within their sixty-day contract.

I nod and smile my sexiest smile. “I do have a showing.”

He looks at me expectantly, as though waiting for me to say more.

I run my finger along his bare arm, the softest of touches, yet the sizzle is electric. “I have to show you something.”

His eyes narrow in interest and his tone deepens considerably. “Okay.”

Sucking in a deep breath (and my stomach), I untie the belt of my coat and shrug it from my shoulders. A shock of air hits my bare legs and arms, and a shiver passes over me.

My eyes look down, but then I draw on my inner courage and meet his gaze. His eyes smolder, gliding from the short hem of the jersey that hits mid-thigh to the low V-neck that exposes my cleavage.

Growing uneasy, I whisper. “Say something.”

“Fuck,” he curses, as he places his hands on my waist and gently spins me around. “Fuck.”

His fingers find the hem of the material and rub the nylon, toying with me like a cat sizing up its prey before he devours it. My eyes trace the movement. Back and forth. Back and forth. Back and forth.

“How did you get this?”

“I have my connections.” I play coy, but actually it was super easy. I found a website online that makes replicas of college jerseys for fans to wear to games. I even paid extra to have Jesse’s name and his high school number embroidered on the back.

“Fuck, Ry. Do you have any idea what I want to do to you right now?”

“Maybe.” My voice is silk as I sweep my palm across the hard length tenting his shorts. “You said this was your fantasy. Your high school fantasy.”

He groans as my fingers circle his length and give a strong tug. “You,” he croaks, voice hoarse. “You’re my fantasy.”

I lean in so my lips hover over his ear. “I’m gonna need a little more direction than that.” My teeth nip before I pull away, and his strong fingers squeeze my hip as he lifts me and sets me down on the desk. The metal is cool against my skin, but I don’t care because his kiss is sending flames down my spine.

His hands are everywhere, on my thighs, pushing up the flimsy fabric, widening my legs so he can settle between them.

I encourage him. “Tell me what you’ve imagined.”

He loops his hand in mine, pulling me off the desk and toward the chair. He sits down and spreads his legs wide. His eyes are intense, hooded with lust, and his husky voice scrapes my skin. “On your knees, Riley Ann.” With one hand on my shoulder he guides me to kneel in front of him.

“Like this?” I ask, voice innocent, even though I know this is exactly what he wants.

“Fuck, yes.” His eyes fall to where the material gapes, exposing my braless chest. “Touch yourself, baby.”

Widening my knees, I slip my hand underneath the jersey, smoothing my fingers across my damp panties.

“Goddamnit.” He groans as he spreads his arms wide behind him.

My fingers slip beneath the silky material that molds to my skin. Knowing how much he likes dirty talk, I say, “I’m so wet.”

“Yeah?” His voice rises at the end, a breathless question. His erection stands straight up, almost as if it were saluting me. He’s so hard that it looks painful.

“Wanna see?” I wiggle my hips and slide the panties to my ankles. I hand them to him and he drags them across his nose and inhales.

“So fucking good.”

“No fair.” I whine, nudging my nose along his cock. “My turn.”

My fingers grab both the waistband of his shorts and boxer briefs and tug down. He lifts his ass to help me, and soon I’m eye level with the world’s most beautiful cock.

His eyes dart between his cock and me before he says. “I’m all yours.”

I return his stare, hard, intense, possessive, because he is all mine. I don’t tease or hesitate; I suck his entire length into my mouth in one swift motion. Definitely too much, too fast, because he hits the back of my throat. I gag around him, and tears spring to my eyes.

“Fuck, baby.” His fingers thread my hair, gripping, pulling. “Just like that.”

I dip my head again, suck him as deep as I can and use my hands to cradle his balls. I roll them in my hand, something I know from experience drives him crazy. His hips shoot upward, pump into my mouth and I give him everything I have, because it’s him. I want him to have every piece of me. Always. He’s my forever heart.

He thrusts deep, holds my head in place, my throat constricting around him like a tight fist. “Riley.” He croaks. “Baby, please. Oh, fuck.” He pulls back and my eyes pop open, meeting his. “Touch yourself some more, baby.”

I nod as my hand falls between my legs, and my fingers drag across my clit. The sensation is there, but I’m much too focused on him. The steady pump of his hips, the deep grunts, the strong forearms clenching on either side of my head.

He stops suddenly, his ab muscles clenching tight. His eyes find mine, almost apologetic when he says, “I wanna come on your face.”

My belly flutters, turned on rather than repulsed by the idea. Nodding, I smile and suck only the head of his cock. “What are you waiting for?” I drawl, as my free hand strokes up his length.

He knocks my hand away, his own fingers wrapping around his length. His fist is a blur as he pumps his length. “Oh, fuck, baby. I’m gonna come. I’m gonna—oh.” His body seizes, his muscles rigid as he shoots streams of hot liquid onto my lips, cheeks, eyelids. My fingers band around his thighs, hold him close, as he shudders through his release. Resting my head on his belly, a contented sigh escapes my lips.

He leans back, his eyes dancing across my face. “I’m sorry.” He brushes a strand of sticky hair from my temple. “You said high school fantasy… I got carried away.”

He pulls me to stand. I rest my fingers against his lips. “No apologies. What we do together is never wrong.”

He stares at me for a beat, then his lips crash onto mine. “I fucking love you, Riley Ann.”

“I love you.”

He tugs his shorts back on. “Let’s hit the showers and get you cleaned up.”

“Hmm.” I chuckle, chasing him toward the locker room. “Time for me to live out a few fantasies of my own.”

THE END

Confessional

This is a new section I added, because there’s always so much I want to say at the end of a book but don’t know quite where to put it. Most of what follows are simply my reflections and experiences while writing Jesse and Riley’s story. If you’re like me and like to read every part of a book (really, I’m not kidding, I read everything), then read on. If you’d rather skip ahead, that’s fine, too. I’ve included an excerpt from Snowbound, my first novel, as well as a list of my other books!

Okay, here we go…

Few things are better than typing “THE END” upon completion of a book. While it’s true that the “writing part” is officially over, the process is far from finished. Forever Hearts is my fourth (eep!) book published, but as an indie author, I’m still learning the ropes. I promised myself that I wouldn’t release this book (or any other book for that matter!) until I learned more about marketing and the behind-the-scenes business of self-publishing, which, spoiler alert, up until now I haven’t been very good at. At all.

So, if you’re already a fan—Yay!!! and Thank you!!! And if you’re new to my books, let’s hope that I’ve at least (marginally) improved in getting my books out there—I’m so happy you’re here! Welcome, bienvenido, bienvenue, herzlich, wilkommen…okay, that’s all I got.

About this novel:

Riley and Jesse’s story was a roller coaster ride from the start. Primarily the song “Cover Me Up,” originally written and performed by Jason Isbell, inspired the story but I first heard (and fell in love with) Noah Guthrie’s version. Like most authors, I’m incredibly inspired by music and create a playlist (sometimes two or three) for each book I write.

Fun fact: Although I create these playlists, I rarely listen to them while actually writing because songs have lyrics…and I wind up singing rather than writing! I like it extremely quiet when I write. If I must listen to something, say, for example, when my dog won’t stop barking (like right now, grrrrr) I listen to my Deep Focus playlist on Spotify.

Okay, back to the story. When I started this journey, I had a general idea of the plot, but as any writer will tell you, things never go to plan. Jesse’s character changed quite a number of times throughout. He certainly didn’t like playing by the rules!

As an author, one of the most enjoyable things for me is to read the story back, start to finish. I write in pieces, the scenes and chapters in nowhere near any type of chronological order until the very end, and it always amazes me how it all fits together. Jesse and Riley’s story spanned years, and their love grew and changed over time. It wasn’t instant or fleeting, but a true, deep love that stayed with them forever.

What I wanted (hoped) to demonstrate most through Riley and Jesse’s characters is that humans are flawed. So often we read novels where the hero’s character is unrealistic or fake. While I’m a huge fan of these stories (I read and write about these types of guys!), real life and real love are messy and complicated. Jesse and Riley both certainly have their shortcomings; they’re frustrating and heartbreaking and endearing, and I hope you fell in love with them as much as I did.

Until next time, thanks for spending some time with me, and I hope to get lost again with you soon.

<3 CJ

Acknowledgments

BIG love to all my readers—without you none of this would be possible. Thank you for allowing me to share my stories and be part of your world for a short while. It’s truly an honor <3

To the many people who’ve helped sculpt and polish this story—thank you. To my incredibly patient and caring editor, Bree Scalf, your unwavering confidence and advice along this journey means so very much to me. Many thanks to Elaine York who catches all my typos (even when I swear there aren’t any!)

This section is always the toughest for me to write because there are so many people who are owed thanks. Just know that I feel truly blessed to have the opportunity to share my writing with the world and send all my love and gratitude to each and every person who has guided me, mentored me, took a chance on me as a new author, shared and posted about my books, left a review, or sent me an email—I appreciate it more than you will ever know. Your kind words and passion for reading push me to keep writing.

Until we meet again…

XOXO

CJ

About the Author

CJ Martín lives in Pennsylvania with her wonderful husband and her adorable (sometimes infuriating) dog, Albert. She is an avid reader and has been known to spend her days ignoring her responsibilities while engrossed in a good book. She enjoys traveling and yoga. Forever Hearts is her fourth book.

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Snowbound

A professional snowboarder. A novice skier. An inevitable collision.

Anders Vik is a force on the slopes and he knows it. World number one. Countless endorsement deals. Looks to match. But when a vicious scandal rocks his world, everything he's worked so hard for is threatened. Banished by his coach to a local ski resort, he spends his days losing himself boarding and in numerous women. But when she crashes into his world he's not sure which will change his life more. The wait for his name to be cleared, or her.

College senior Elena Espinosa plays by the rules. Work hard. Study harder. Rely on no one but herself. Coerced by her best friends, she reluctantly tags along on the final trip during winter break. For Elena, novice skier is an understatement. She never dreamed a lesson on the bunny slope would send her hurtling towards her destiny. Nor did she imagine it would come in the form of a blue-eyed Nordic God.

She isn't looking for love. He doesn't do commitment. But what burns between them is so strong it threatens to melt the polar ice caps. What happens when two different worlds collide?

Snowbound is a standalone new adult contemporary romance. If you like sexy snowboarders, crazy hot tension, and sizzling sex scenes, then you'll love Snowbound by best-selling author CJ Martín.

Buy Snowbound and hit the slopes with Anders Vik today!

Turn page for a preview…

Prologue: Vik

Busted. I count the ceiling tiles as I sit in my coach’s office. It’s a better option than watching his face get redder and redder as he screams at me. When his voice increases in volume my eyes drift back toward his face. His lips curl back, baring his teeth. I almost laugh at how ridiculous he looks. Back to the ceiling tiles.

“What the fuck are you doing, boy? Throwing everything you worked for away.” His eyes narrow when he realizes my inattention. “Look at me.”

When my eyes meet his gaze, he demands, “Vik, talk to me. Tell me what’s going on with you.”

I expel a forceful breath. “I already told you,” I bite out. “That shit’s not mine.”

He pounds his fist on the desk. “Try again.”

I don’t know what more I can say. I have an idea who planted the drugs, but I can’t prove it. Besides, I’m not some crybaby narc who’s going to run off tattling to his coach because of some dickhead. He reads my silence as guilt.

Taking a gentler approach, he sits. “Vik, you’re talented.” His voice softens a bit. “You have the world by the balls. I get it. I was young too.” He nods his head at me as if he has my life all worked out. “Have fun. Enjoy the parties. Enjoy the pussy. But…” He blows out a breath. “Don’t fucking take drugs. The SSC drug tests. All. The. Time.”

The SSC. Ski and Snowboard Commission. My experiences thus far haven’t been pleasant.

I can’t remain calm anymore. If I fuck up, and believe me, I do, I take full responsibility for my actions. But I’m not okay with anyone, not even my coach whom I respect as much as my own father, accusing me of something I didn’t do. His lack of faith in me hurts more than anything.

“I know.” My angry voice vibrates in the room. “I fucking know.” I surge forward and the chair topples over behind me. Standing, I tower over his seated form. I use my stature to my advantage. “Fucking test me. Test. Me.” Pressure increases behind my temples and my voice rises with my temper. “I don’t do drugs,” I say through gritted teeth. I leave out the anymore.

He comes around his desk to stand in front of me so we’re toe to toe. “Believe me. You will be tested. Multiple times.”

My jaw ticks in anger, frustration, but I don’t say anything.

“I’m sending you to Seven Pines.”

“What?” My mouth gapes open.

“Until this shit blows over. If the media gets wind of this, they’ll have a field day. Beth is already working to smooth things out with your sponsors. Burbex are threatening to pull their support. Same with LuckySnö Gear.”

Fuck. “How did they…?”

“Good news travels fast, Vik.” He shakes his head. “You leave tomorrow. Already worked it out with Jensen. You can stay there as long as you commit to some free publicity for the resort.” As if that blow wasn’t enough, he adds, “And I spoke with your father.”

He called my father? What the fuck? Am I twelve? My mind flashes back to my principal’s office in the seventh grade when I pulled the fire alarm because I didn’t want to take my algebra test. Waiting as Fru Lizzbarg called my father. The same knot forms in my stomach now as it did then.

Unbelievable. “How long?” I grit.

“As long as it fucking takes. Now get out of my office.” He walks back around his desk and sits.

The anger boils deep within me. I didn’t fucking do anything. Why am I being punished? Fucking test me. Give me a lie detector test. Something. My hands ball into fists. I’m about to explode.

“That’s all,” Coach says with finality.

And no one questions the respectable Albert Motu. No one. Not even me.

I’ll handle this ordeal on my own.

“This is fucking bullshit!” I roar as I fling the door open, and it hits the wall with a loud bang. Yep. That definitely left a mark.

Chapter 1: Elena

Five. That’s the number of layers I’m wearing. I can’t move. I can’t walk. I waddle. Waddle. My face is numb. And I lost feeling in my fingers hours ago. How did I let myself get talked into this? Go, they said. It will be fun, they said. You can’t be alone all winter break, they said. What the hell was I thinking? I don’t even like the snow. I never did. I really need to get better friends.

I’m on top of a grand mountain—truth: I’m on the bunny slope—with about 20 five-year-olds who demonstrate more skills on a pair of skis than I ever will. My legs bow on my skis as I wait in line for my turn to descend the slope. As I amble forward I lose my balance and face-plant in the snow. The majority of my group—aka the five-year-olds—bursts out laughing as a little brat, I mean, boy yells, “The old lady fell!”

Grrr. I never did like kids.

Erika, our instructor, skis over to me. “You okay?”

No. I’m not okay. Does it look like I’m okay? I can’t fucking move. I can’t stand up with these two gigantic sticks attached to my feet. What kind of sick individual came up with this sport? Like it is ever a good idea to glide down a giant, slippery mountain strapped to two pieces of wood in the freezing cold while the wind bites your skin and snow pelts your face. Yeah, no thanks.

But of course I don’t say any of that. Instead I say, “Yeah, I’m okay.”

Seeing my struggle, she bends and holds her hand out to me. “There ya go.” She smiles warmly as I finally stand back up. When I’m back vertical, she turns her attention to one of the kids. “Bend your knees a little bit more, sweetheart.”

Gag me. I stand very still and hold my arms out like two airplanes, teetering in place before I find my footing. Balancing my weight on either foot, I think I may actually be getting the hang of this ski thing, but something feels wrong. I slowly turn around and that’s when I see my two ski poles splayed in opposite directions.

Unreal. How am I supposed to retrieve the poles? I can’t ski with the poles let alone without them. I bend my knees and angle my skis in the direction of my poles. Then in a moment of utter humiliation I swoosh my arms behind me in an effort to gain some momentum. Thank God no one is here to see me.

Maria and Rob would be laughing their asses off right now. But no. They’re on the Diamondback trail skiing like motherfucking pros. While I’m stuck on the bunny slope with snotty, rude five-year-olds. Best. Winter. Break. Ever.

After a minute when I’ve still made no progress, I break down and decide to ask a kid to help me. A short boy glides off the ski lift looking like a straight-up advertisement for Northface. I mean, seriously, from the black snow pants and ski coat, to the matching hat, gloves, and ski goggles. I didn’t think it possible for a kindergartener to look so stylish. I call to him. “Hey.” He ignores me at first so I call again. “Hey! Northface!”

This gets his attention. He stops expertly on his skis. Not even a wobble in his perfect form. Really? I mean, really?

“Yeah?” His high-pitched voice sounds unsure.

“Can you get my poles for me, buddy? I seemed to have dropped them,” I say with as much dignity as I can muster, which let’s face it, is right about zero at this point.

“I’ll give you a push,” he says, skiing around me so he stands behind me.

“No, don’t!” I say nervously. “Please. That’s not a good idea.” My voice rises as panic sets in.

Too. Late. Before I know what’s happening, Northface shoves me from behind and I’m set into motion. My body lurches forward and I’m hurtling down the mountain—okay, slope, but whatever—at top speed. A silent scream escapes my throat and I honestly think I see my life flash before my eyes.

I can’t ski.

I can’t ski.

I can’t ski.

I. Am. Going. To. Die.

As I near the bottom of the mountain, my panic escalates as I realize I have no poles. I can’t stop. What was the instructor going on about earlier? Something about pizza? What to do? Tuck and roll? Will the skis pop off?

I’m going to break my fucking neck. I can see the headlines now. Young, promising, soon to be college grad killed in freak ski accident on the bunny slope.

As I contemplate my imminent death, a snowboarder glides right into my path. He’s looking in the direction of the ski lodge and can’t see me approaching.

“Move!” I scream and wave my arms frantically, knowing there’s no way in hell I can maneuver out of his way. We’re seconds away from a full-on collision.

He jerks his head in my direction. Responding with lightening quick instincts, he bends his knees and leans back, effectively angling his body away from me. He whizzes by still fully erect.

I, on the other hand, am not so graceful. With my arms thrown out in front of me, I turn my body away from him, but overcompensate and lurch to the side. My foot twists under me and I fall forward.

Of course I don’t stop right away. No. Gliding forward on my belly, I plow the snow as I go, until I come to a stop at the end of the slope. I lie there stunned for several seconds, face still in the snow. Rotating my head to the side, I spit snow out of my mouth. I am ski-less and pole-less. How am I going to explain this to the rental attendant?

First things first. I need to get up. In push-up position I maneuver myself up to all fours. I begin to push my weight back into my feet, but a stabbing pain shoots through my right foot and I fall back down. I turn my face to the side again and try to roll onto my back. With all my layers it’s difficult to turn and it takes several attempts until I gain enough momentum before I land on my back. My gloved hands rest behind my butt and I lean back onto my elbows.

Okay. Now, where to go from here? I grab for my knees, curling up so I can use my core to pull me up. Hmmm. Maybe I shouldn’t have blown off all of those Pilates classes Maria was always rambling on about.

As I sit there contemplating my next move, Northface skis down the mountain with his perfect outfit, perfect skis, and perfect form. He stops in front of me, spraying me with snow dust. “You fell.” His tone is mocking as he looks down at me.

“Nothing gets by you,” I say, gritting my teeth. I’m two seconds away from cursing out this five-year-old ski prodigy. One. Tw—

We both turn our heads at the sound of crunching snow. “Vik!” the boy says with admiration.

The boarder nods his chin before holding up his gloved hand for a high five.

“Cool!” Northface swishes toward the ski lift, leaving me literally in the dust.

“You okay?” the man asks in a bored voice.

He’s already turning to leave when I speak. “No,” I say, tears beginning to form in my eyes. “I can’t get up.”

The boarder curses under his breath. “Unbelievable.” There’s a moment’s hesitation before he holds his hand out to me. I grip it and he pulls me up smoothly.

“You good now?” His eyes drift back toward the lodge.

“Yeah.” But I stumble forward as I try to put weight on my right foot. “Ahhh.” I grimace and grab for him. “Sorry.” I sound weak. “I think I might’ve twisted my ankle.”

“Christ.” He unbinds his boots from his board, circles around me, and grabs hold of my arm before hooking it around him. “Lean on me.” He instructs as he swings his board underneath his other arm.

He walks slowly toward the lodge and I fall into stride beside him. I allow him to shoulder most of my weight, because honestly it really hurts. On our short walk I notice that everyone greets him. Some yell hello. Some tip their heads. Women openly stare.

A few curls of dirty blond hair peek out from beneath his ski hat. Goggles are perched atop his head and he wears a bandana around his mouth. All I can see are his eyes, which are a very light blue, almost gray in appearance. When he glances at me, they’re narrowed and hard. He seems annoyed by this inconvenience. Annoyed by me.

He stands his board outside the doors in a snow bank and then opens the door, pulling me forward with him. He’s not gentle, more robotic than anything. We walk toward the back of the building to a small desk with a sign above it that reads “Medic”. He sits me on a bench and I stretch my legs out. My right ankle is throbbing. I know, just know, that it’s broken. I’ve never broken a bone. I’ve lived twenty-one years without a break, even though I’m extremely accident-prone. Time is up, I think. Time to pay the piper.

“Get that boot off,” he commands.

I lean forward to unstrap the boot, but it’s useless with my gloves still on. I stop to strip off the first pair of gloves. The boarder stands to the side, watching me impatiently. When I get the first pair off, I begin on the second. Once off, I begin to grab the third, when he says, “Christ. How many pairs of gloves are you wearing?”

“It’s cold,” I say feebly.

“We’re not in Siberia.”

I detect an accent, something European, but bite back the question. His voice lacks humor and I’m sure any conversation from me will only irritate him even more. Without further comment, I watch as he makes his way over to the desk. He’s dressed in boarding gear that looks expensive, but then again everyone here looks wealthy. It’s hard to tell with the bulky clothes, but his build suggests he’s lean and muscular. Across the back of his black jacket white lettering spells the name Vik. I’m guessing it’s his name. But it also may be a brand of clothing.

There are two people already in line, but he walks past them to the desk. The medic greets him with a smile, and I see him glance in my direction as Vik relays the information. Warmth floods my cheeks and I glance down at my still-gloved hands. I quickly pull off my last pair of gloves and reach down to slip the boot off.

When I look up again, a tall blond girl has joined them. She pouts at Vik as his eyes sweep her body appreciatively. She’s beautiful in a snow-bunny, I-try-too-hard kind of way. Her fuzzy white sweater is stretched tight across her chest and her tight dark jeans are tucked into white snow boots that are laced up the front. Her blue eyes sparkle with mischief as she licks her lips suggestively. Vik’s eyes crinkle in approval and he slaps her ass. Without a backward glance they both leave.

* * *

Fifteen minutes later I’m still sitting on the same bench, having received no medical attention. I pull out my phone and send a quick text to Maria to let her know where I am, but she’s probably still on the slopes. I’m scrolling through Facebook when the medic approaches. He parks a wheelchair in front of me, helps me into it, and rolls me into an exam room that looks an awful lot like the nurses’ station from my elementary school. In the center of the room there’s a vinyl bed covered by a flimsy piece of wax paper. A table is off to the side with supplies such as tape, gauze, and bandages. The medic helps me onto the exam table and then sits in a chair at the side. The neon lights cast an eerie glow over the room, giving it that sterile feeling.

“Please fill this form out.” He hands me a piece of paper, which requests my basic information. Once completed, I hand it back to him and he glances over it. “Okay, Miss Espinosa. What brings you here today?”

Well, I really had nothing better to do. I love hanging out in crappy ski lodges on my winter break. It’s the highlight of my year. Is this guy for real? “I fell on the slopes. I twisted my ankle.”

“Which trail?” he asks, looking up from the paper.

I lower my gaze and pick at the zipper of my jacket. “Bunny Slope One.”

To his credit he doesn’t laugh, just marks the information on the file. “Okay, I’m going to examine your ankle. Lean back, please, and prop your foot up.”

I do as instructed. He’s gentle with my foot, bending and rotating my ankle slowly. I wince and little gasping noises of pain escape my mouth as he presses on my ankle.

“Is it broken?” I ask tentatively.

“No, just a bad sprain. I’ll tape it up and give you a strong pain reliever.”

“Oh, thank God.” My breath rushes out of me.

“Yeah. Good thing Vik was there to help you. If you had put weight on this, it would have been a lot worse,” he says as he picks up an elastic bandage.

“Good thing,” I agree.

We both remain quiet as he finishes wrapping my ankle and secures it with clips. “I’ll be right back,” he says, getting up from the chair.

I pull my phone from my coat pocket to check if Maria ever got back to me. Negative.

The medic comes back into the room and hands me a pair of slippers. “Put these on. You won’t be able to get a ski boot on for a couple of days.”

A couple of days? That’s almost my entire vacation. Fine by me. If I never get on another pair of skis again, that will be too soon. I nod in agreement.

“Just be careful. Don’t do anything excessive,” he says.

I slip the shoes on and bend to pick up my boots. My long hair clings to my face. I’m sweating. All these layers are unnecessary in this warm room.

“Take these for the pain.” He hands me a small bottle. “And you’re going to need to stop back in tonight or tomorrow with your insurance card. Otherwise we’ll have to bill you.”

“Okay. I will.” I slide off the table. The medic puts his hand out to steady me, and I realize that with the bandage the pain is manageable. “Thank you.” My voice is sincere, smile genuine.

“Don’t thank me. Thank Vik. He’s the one who got you here.” He smiles.

And I guess I really should thank Vik. Even though he was rude. Even though he made fun of me. He did help me. So I ask, “Where is he now? Vik?”

“Your guess is as a good as mine. I’d check the café or the shop.”

“Okay, well, thanks again. I’ll be sure to get you a copy of my insurance card.” I follow him out of the exam room.

“You’re welcome, miss.” He walks back behind the desk and is already on to the next patient.

I re-bundle myself up. All three pairs of gloves go back on, as well as my scarf and hat. By the time I’m done, all that is visible is a tiny space for my eyes. I slowly make my way toward the door and begin the journey back to the hotel.

* * *

Call me a terrible person, but I didn’t go in search of Vik. My foot really hurt. The pain was manageable, but I didn’t want to push it too hard. I already had a ten-minute walk back to the hotel, and at the speed I was moving it was closer to a twenty. Limping in the opposite direction toward the café in the off chance that Vik would be there sounded unreasonable. I rationalized I could always find him tomorrow when I was feeling better. Besides, I was starving.

After twenty laborious minutes I finally arrive at the hotel. Unzipping one of the pockets in my jacket, I find my key card and continue on toward the elevators. Spotting a sign for the ice and vending machines, I hang a quick right, hoping to grab a light snack before dinner.

The machines are located at the end of a long, quiet, isolated hallway and I pass a few closed doors with labels such as “Private” and “Office”. I walk close to the wall, using it to support some of my weight as I drag my foot along. Once at the machine, I scan the contents before settling on the pretzel bites. I feed my crumpled dollar into the machine and it takes three tries before the machine actually accepts it. I enter the code for the pretzels, then grab them and my change.

I turn and slowly walk back in the direction from which I came. I’m about halfway down the hall when I hear a muffled noise. I pause at a partially opened door on my right. The light from the hallway spills in and illuminates the figures inside, although the faces are cast in shadows. I bite back my gasp as I read the name on the back of the sleek black jacket thrown carelessly on the desk—Vik.

The room is dark enough that I can’t make out fine details, but it’s clear what they’re doing. His back is against a metal shelf at the end of the room, head thrown back, eyes closed. His shirt is pushed up slightly, revealing the rippled muscles underneath, and his pants are unbuttoned and shoved down. Shielding his most private parts is the blonde from earlier. She’s on her knees. Her hands and mouth are full of him. And from the sounds he’s making she’s doing a really good job. I stare a moment longer than I should, watching the muscles in his belly jump. My mouth hangs open as I stand rooted in place, completely overcome with the way his ab muscles clench with every stroke of her mouth. His arms are spread wide and his hands grip onto the metal shelf. I hear him groan once, twice, and then…

I drop my bag of pretzels.

Shit. Double shit. He brings his head forward and opens his eyes, but by the time his eyes circle in my direction I’m already halfway gone. I walk as quickly as my injured foot will allow, which is not very quickly, but it must be quick enough because they never catch up with me. Either that or they ignored me and finished the job.

I’m completely mortified. A wave of heat sweeps over my face, and my jacket is suddenly too hot. My fingers fumble over the zipper and my belly churns.

Please God, please God. I send a silent prayer upward. Please don’t let him have seen me. I don’t know what embarrasses me more: that I’m officially a creeper or that I’m turned on.

Chapter 2: Vik

The panicked voice startles me and I see her just in time to angle my board to avoid her. I continue on my path down the rest of the slope and I almost keep going. The blonde standing by the fire pit in front of the lodge has been giving me the eye all day. I knew she was down to hook up.

It was just too easy.

But watching as the woman plowed snow with her face, on the bunny slope, I found myself turning back around to help. I wasn’t that much of an asshole. At least not yet. With one last look toward Blondie, I board over to the fallen skier.

A young kid—Carson, I think his name is—is there too. Awesome. Maybe he can deal with this situation and I can get back to… Christ, what did Blondie say her name was?

Just as quickly as my hope escalates, it deflates when Carson skis away. Can’t say I blame him.

“You okay?” I clench my jaw, trying to suppress my irritation.

No response? Good enough for me. I turn to leave, almost free and clear when I hear her squeak. “No.” Followed by, “I can’t get up.”

“Unbelievable,” I mutter to myself. Amateurs. I give her a quick once-over. She’s dressed like the Michelin man. It’s no wonder she has no balance. Every inch of skin is covered and I can barely make out her eyes. How the hell can she even see? I hold my hand out to pull her up and I’m surprised by how little effort it takes. She’s much lighter than I anticipated. She looks so round that I expected her to weigh much more.

“You good?” I allow my eyes to drift back toward the lodge. Goddammit! Blondie is gone. She probably thinks I was out here hitting on Michelin. Fucking Christ.

“Yeah,” Michelin mumbles before falling into me, and if I weren’t so good on my board she would’ve plowed me over. “Sorry,” she says weakly. “I think I might’ve twisted my ankle.”

“Christ.” I bend forward to unbind my boots. “Lean on me,” I say as I loop her arm around me. She’s so stiff; she’s definitely not an avid skier.

We make our way over to the lodge and she’s going so slowly that I have to resist the urge to drag her along with me. At one point I contemplate picking her up just so we can get there faster. Jesus. I don’t have time for this shit.

I get her situated on a bench before I go over to see Tom, the lodge’s medic. This guy has worked on me more times than I can count. I ignore the people in line, knowing that Tom will give me his full attention. After all, everyone at this resort treats me like a god. Ever since I was instructed to lie low and stay here for a few weeks, Seven Pines has gotten busier. A pro-snowboarder on the trails every day attracts lots of guests. Not to mention the owner’s son, JJ, is one of my best friends. They even put me up in the resort’s private, premium loft. For free. All I have to do is smile and be polite. Sounds easy, but let me tell you, it’s fucking torture.

“Hey, Vik!” Tom greets me as expected, ignoring the other skiers.

“Hey, man,” I say, eager to get back to Blondie. “This girl fell on the slopes. I think she twisted her ankle. Can you take care of it?”

His eyes follow my hand gesture in the direction of Michelin sitting on the bench. His eyebrows rise and he gives me a disbelieving look. “Yeah…” he begins uneasily.

“She’s not mine,” I say on the defensive. “She almost plowed into me. Just doing my good deed for the day.”

A wave of understanding washes over his features and he smiles. “Yeah, I’ll check her out. Might take a little bit, though.”

“No worries, man.” I turn to leave and come face to face with Blondie. My eyes skim over her body in appreciation and land on her rack. I can’t wait to get my hands on her tits. Now, what the fuck is her name? Jen? Jamie? J-something?

“Hey, Jess!” Tom smiles at her.

Jessica! Thank you, my man Tom.

“Hi,” she replies, but she doesn’t take her eyes off me. “Vik,” she only says my name, but it’s as if she is saying, “Fuck me. Do it here. Now.” And the twisted thing is, I think she’d let me. That’s how all these girls are. They want a piece of me. They use me for my fame, my money, and notoriety. Not that I care. I use them too.

“Jessica.” I smile as I say her name and that’s all it takes. Like I said before: Too. Fucking. Easy.

“Wanna get out of here?” She cocks her head to the side and licks her lips suggestively.

I shrug. “Sure.” I don’t want her to get the wrong idea. This is not the start of a relationship. This is a hookup. Nothing more. I slap her ass on the way out, wondering where we’ll end up.

* * *

We end up in a back office on the first floor of the main hotel building. Jessica is sharing a room with three friends, so her room was out. No privacy there.

“We can go back to your place?” she suggests lightly, a note of hope in her voice.

Hell-fucking-no. I never take hookups back to my place. I don’t allow anyone into my personal space. Of course I can’t tell Blondie that. “Baby, I don’t think I can wait.” I squeeze her tits through her sweater.

She moans in approval and I know I’ve said the right words. “Where?” She breathes, stroking me over my board pants.

“Come on.” I pull her down the long hallway. There’s a small back office no one ever uses. I know this because JJ used to take his hookups here during high school.

I pull her into the office, not bothering with the light. The door shuts behind us but doesn’t latch completely. No matter. This won’t take long. I toss my jacket over the desk and turn around to face her. I kiss her a little bit more, but truthfully I’m not feeling it. Her mouth is slippery and wet and all I keep thinking is that it’s like kissing a dead fish. Wanting to move her along a bit faster, I grab her hand and place it on my cock.

“Baby,” I breathe, sucking on her neck gently, being careful not to leave a mark. “I’m so hard for you.”

She nods in encouragement before dropping to her knees. “Let me take care of that for you,” she murmurs. She wastes no time unsnapping my button and then shoves my pants down roughly. I spring free into her hands and she grabs me around the base.

Yeah. That feels good.

I stretch my arms out behind me to grab onto the metal shelf for balance. I allow my eyes to drift closed and focus on the sensations running through my body. I block everything out in my life, and in these few minutes find a brief respite of peace. When she wraps her lips around me I moan in approval, but I don’t touch her. Too intimate. I tighten my grip on the shelf and clench my belly muscles tight.

She continues using her hands and her mouth to work me, and I’m getting close. It’s not the best blowjob I’ve ever had. But let’s face it, a blowjob is a blowjob. None are ever really bad. Just as I’m about to let go, I hear a noise in the hall and it takes me several long seconds to bring my eyes into focus. When I glance toward the hall no one is there, but for the briefest of seconds I could’ve sworn I saw Michelin. The clumsy skier from earlier. Holy Christ, I must be tired or some shit. I redirect my attention back to the hot blonde on her knees with my cock in her mouth.

I have to give Blondie credit. Even with the noise, she never stopped working me. And after a few more strokes I’m ready, so I pull back and grab a tissue off the desk and come with a quick grunt. She pulls back, her mouth wet and lips a little swollen.

“I would have… you know,” she says, still on her knees as she looks up at me.

“It’s okay,” I say casually. The truth is I never come inside a girl. Ever. I can’t stand the idea of some random stranger having any part of me. Also, I may be a bit paranoid. I don’t need another scandal.

I tuck my cock back inside my boxers and re-button my pants. “Thanks, baby. That was good.” I help her to her feet.

She smiles. “Just good?”

“Really good.” But I’m already thinking of ways that I can get rid of her. “So…” I put my hands on her shoulders. “I better turn in soon. I have an early run tomorrow.”

Her face falls a bit, but she quickly plasters a smile back on. “Me too. My friends will be wondering where I got to.”

I should feel bad for using her. But I don’t. I have no respect for this type of girl. I mean, she just blew me in an office. In public. She just met me. Where does she think this is going to go? That I’m going to invite her over to meet my mother? I don’t think so.

“I’ll walk out with you.” I grab my jacket and usher her forward. “Are you staying in the main building?”

“Yeah,” she says as she walks through the office door.

I follow and turn to close the door, but pause when I spot a shiny blue bag of pretzels just outside the door. I bend forward to pick up the tiny bag. Hmmmm. These definitely weren’t here before. Someone was here. But who? And do I even care?

I toss the bag into a nearby trashcan as we walk down the hall. When we arrive at the front desk I say good night to Jessica.

She gives me an awkward hug. “Maybe I’ll catch you tomorrow.”

“Yeah,” I say, but know that I will definitely not be seeing her tomorrow or any other day for that matter. If I remember correctly, she told me she was only here for one more day. Perfect for a hookup. She won’t have too much opportunity to cling onto me. “See ya around.” I head for the door and back to my loft.

* * *

Inside my loft apartment I strip out of my boarding gear, leaving it in a pile in the middle of the floor. I remember when I signed my first big endorsement deal. I used to delicately hang all my gear. Not anymore. Thousands of dollars’ worth of gear in a heap on the floor. No big deal.

In the shower I wash my day away. I scrub myself and although I just hooked up with Blondie, I don’t feel the same sense of relief I normally feel after sex. Or at least the feeling usually lasts a little longer. I dry myself off and pull on a pair of gray Nike sweatpants and a long sleeve white T-shirt.

A quick glance at the clock lets me know it’s still early, only nine o’clock. I find my cell phone and check my messages. I have a voicemail from my mother.

Anders, it’s your mother. I haven’t heard from you all week. Call me.

Your father and I are worried.

My mother is the only person who still calls me Anders. Everyone, even my father, calls me Vik. I let out a frustrated growl. Ever since the incident three weeks ago they’re both up my ass constantly. I secretly wish they were still back in Norway where they wouldn’t be so aware of my every move.

When I signed my boarding contract six years ago, I moved to the States. Since I was eighteen, a legal adult, I didn’t need a guardian. My parents weren’t happy, but there was nothing they could do to stop me. It worked nicely for a few years, me in the States doing my own thing. Boarding. Partying. Living the good life.

But two years ago when my sister Brit decided to attend Stanford University, my parents decided to move over too. Which would be fine. If my mother and father spoke better English. If my mother and father weren’t retired and had nothing better to do with their time than to monitor my life. And although they aren’t right in Colorado, they’re still too close for my comfort.

Throwing my phone on the table, I decide to call my mother back later. I don’t need a lecture right now about how I’m wasting my talent. How they’re disappointed in me. That they taught me better than to do drugs. No matter how many times I tried to explain. Those. Drugs. Were. Not. Mine.

I snatch the blanket off the back of the couch and roughly throw it over my legs. I click the television on and scan the channels, landing on the National Geographic channel. Ed Woods drones on during an episode of Swamp Men, but I’m not paying attention. I wake with a start at 2:00 a.m. to find the TV still on. I turn it off and find my way to my bed where I don’t awake until 6:00 a.m. when my alarm goes off.

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